Fire Born, page 25
Gus swallowed nervously. "I can see your thoughts from here, boy," he said. Perhaps it was true, for the man knew him rather well. "If betrayal is possible, I'll kill him myself. No mercy for the weak."
"He never loved her," spat Phoenix. His red curls ran wild as the wind swept throughout the room. He looked a mess in the candlelight; greasy curls that had yet to be washed. The stench that wavered around the man wasn't to be tolerated in the slightest. He hadn't showered in days, although that, he believed, was through no fault of his own. All he could think of was retrieving his sister, but there had still been nothing found. It consumed his very being, from night to day. All he could think of was his promise to a mother which had long since passed. He had sworn to look after Aurelie, and yet here he sat.
"I know," whispered Gus.
The men exchanged a look of great despair. "All he wanted was her money and power," Phoenix said. "I promised her, Gus. I promised my mother I'd never let her be harmed. A fat lot of good that did me! Look where I am, how far I've come! And what has been earned? You tell me! I cannot see anything good that can come from all of this!"
Gus frowned. He couldn't reassure his former student and inform the man all would be fine, for such a thing would be a lie. Gus knew not whether Aurelie would survive. He supposed that was up to the hands of fate to deal with. A choice neither of them would have any part in.
Soft footsteps disturbed his thoughts, and both men looked towards the newcomer. He stood arrogantly, with much pride and little reluctance. The smile could almost be seen as a smirk. Gus knew this man, and equally hated him so.
Gillian was a blonde, or that's the colour he chose to wear. He was a strange man, with the oddest of tastes in fashion and jewellery. He could change his hair colour as quickly as the sun could peek through the clouds, a trait that was said to be magical but had been around for hundreds of years.
He crossed his arms, looking at the two men in disappointment, for in his own mind, they had failed him significantly. Aurelie, his beloved wife, had yet to return. But even they, the enemies of his mind, knew Gillian's thoughts only lingered in obsession and possession. That was all his wife was to him, a beautiful treasure and prize to be regarded from afar.
Phoenix sighed in exasperation. It truly wouldn't have surprised him if his sister had run away. But those screams he so dutifully remembered were anything but peaceful.
Gus eyed his bright orange robes in disdain. "My Lord. Such colours..."
Phoenix snorted. "Yes, I dare say. They look quite fitting upon such a man of high social standing." Although this was said with much sarcasm, Gillian did lack plenty of common sense.
“I’m sure my darling Aurelie would approve of them,” Gillian promised with certainty.
Gus barely concealed his snort of amusement, though it could easily be seen as disdain. His opinion on the matter was clear enough to be seen by Phoenix, and the Lord couldn’t wholly disagree with it.
“Do you have your own men searching for her?” asked Phoenix, mostly out of curiosity. He hadn’t heard of anything of the sort.
“I most certainly do!” Gillian hissed. “I’m insulted you could think so less of me. I shall always search for my darling prize. Aurelie is my heart and soul, I couldn’t live for much longer without her. I would perish as I am tonight. I swear on it, I shall never stop searching for my beloved.”
Gus sneered behind his hand, concealing his thoughts on the matter. “One can hope,” he said rather wistfully, dreaming of the death of the man before him. It brought such a smile to his lips.
“Indeed,” muttered Phoenix. “I shall never judge you so. I’m sure you’ll love my sister until she’s well into her grave.” He spoke joyously, but his insincerity was clear for all to see.
“You don’t expect her to come back?” asked Gillian.
“I never said that did I?” Phoenix retorted. “As a Lord of the Army, I must only speak the truth to you, Gillian. She spoke about you much, and even before we met, I felt as if I knew you already.” He smiled, but there was no warmth to be found. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you once more.”
“Oh, yes,” said Gus, a smirk upon his lips.
“Hush, hush, dear Gus. You don’t need to tell Gillian that,” Phoenix drawled. “I’m sure my words are enough.”
Gus could barely contain the laughter that desired to spill from his own babbling lips. But it was not to be, and he knew that well enough himself.
“My Lord,” interrupted another, bowing low with much respect. In his right hand, he clasped tightly at what could be seen as a finely made letter.
“Yes?” snapped Phoenix with little patience.
“A letter has arrived for you,” the servant informed. “It came minutes ago, before the sun began to set.” He shuffled nervously. “My Lord... it’s from the Striders.”
“Who?” asked Phoenix. He knew many noble families and their names; they had been taught to him as a child. Such lessons were tedious, and yet they paid off, for he knew them all. This name wasn’t familiar in the slightest.
“The Crimson Striders, my Lord,” the servant said, much to Gus’ horror. “It has their symbol, and only the Striders can claim to such.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! The Witches of the Mountain are an idle fantasy made up by those who wish to possess the mysterious properties of magic!” insisted Phoenix, as he quickly grasped at the document that he hardly believed to be accurate.
The letter was finely addressed; even he, the greatest Lord of the King’s Army, could admit to that. King Aurelian didn’t even write on such fine paper himself.
“Honestly... who do they take me for, a fool?” hissed Phoenix, ripping into the paper that had yet to reveal its answers.
“They are very real, Phoenix,” Gus said, his voice low, “and nothing good will come from receiving a letter from the Witches.”
“Gus,” hissed Phoenix, his fingers shaking with barely concealed rage.
“Phoenix?” Asked Gus. “Is everything alright?”
“No,” he spat. “They have her. The Witches have my sister! They took her in the night, as if she was something that could be taken.
“They will pay for this, mark my words. I’ll reign hell down upon them all. Not a single soul shall be spared from my wrath, not until every single one of them is dead. Their petty little parlour tricks won’t protect them from me.”
“My Lord, they’re witches!” screeched the servant, horrified with the mere prospect of magic itself.
Gus nodded. His thoughts on the matter were clear enough. “He’s right,” he said. “You mightn’t believe in their abilities, but I’ve seen what they can do! If you don’t have faith in that, at least fear the armies they possess.”
Gus didn’t say much else out of fear. It quickly consumed all that he knew. Phoenix had the past of making rash and reckless decisions, perhaps not on the battlefield. Only at matters that involved the heart, and this very much did.
He glared with all the fury he could summon. These witches had dared to take his sister from his own home, as if they held little care or respect for the man he was. It was insulting. Phoenix Volun would get his sister back, no matter the cost, for blood was all that mattered in the world in which he lived.
“They will pay with blood,” he sneered.
Gus didn’t like the words that simply passed from his lips, for nothing good could come from taunting the witches of the mountain. He knew this well enough; he had seen magic at its worst. The destruction it could cause was horrific, and Gus didn’t wish to see it once more.
“Please,” he begged. “Think before you do something you’ll regret!”
Phoenix said nothing. He simply laid back in the chair, long fingers tapping the leather on which he sat. “I won’t regret taking a single life,” he said with certainty. Phoenix, just like any Volun before him, wanted his enemies on a spike. Whether it was an arm or a leg, it mattered little.
And he would have it.
PART TWO
Fire Born
The Rebirth
Available Later in 2020
CHAPTER ONE
It had been three weeks since her own beloved children had gone missing. The Slave Masters hadn’t put her grief into consideration; they had simply demanded her service, as always. Chen baked, that was all she had ever done. But now, it wasn’t enough. They wanted more, and she was hardly surprised. The Ministry was driven by greed, and cared little for the others around them. The loss of her two children was nothing to them. If a daughter of one of the Lords demanded a slave as a maid, they accepted. The chosen couldn’t deny the demand in the slightest, even if they were a grieving mess.
“Slave!” called out the shrill voice of her Mistress. Chen had never had a Master who was a woman before. Perhaps she had expected a kinder fate, and a more pleasant life and home for herself, for surely, a woman would be more disdainful of the whip and the blood in which it spilt. But it was not so, or, at least, that wasn’t the case with Lady Qualiarth Blight. She held no regard to the poor slaves that were forced into chains. If she wished for entertainment, it would be men dancing over hot coals. She liked the bitter screams of agony that flowed throughout the room. And Chen, well, she was disappointed in herself. She had believed her naivety had been beaten out of her a long time ago. But clearly, this was not so.
“I see,” Qualiarth said. “I have barely had any time to greet you. The past few days have been hectic, my apologies. I’m sure you're wondering why I brought you from Master Vandeen.”
Chen blinked, as she wasn’t often asked a question. But she quickly realised it wasn’t even that; this was a statement. Lady Blight needed no words from Chen.
“You see,” sighed Qualiarth, “I’ve become rather lonely. No, that’s not the word for it. My father only owns male servants. He prefers it. But I’ve had enough of men trying to be women. What do they know about dresses and gowns? Nothing!” This last word, she spat, her beautiful dark features turning into something far uglier.
Chen couldn’t help but smile, for indeed, what did they know about silk and satin? “Nothing, Lady Blight,” she said. “I’ve never met a man that knew how to wear a dress.”
Qualiarth’s dark brown eyes widened. “Yes!” she exclaimed with excitement in her voice. Grasping tightly at the chin of her new slave, she gazed into Chen’s bright red eyes. The admiration could be seen, and it almost brought a smile to Chen’s lips, but not quite. “You have fire! Please, do keep that. It will serve you well. No master enjoys a broken servant!”
Chen’s eyebrows rose in surprise, for this was news to her. She had often thought it was quite the opposite; nobody liked a slave with passion and life upon their tongue.
“Truly?” asked Chen.
Qualiarth looked upon her with a scowl. “I gave you no permission to speak, slave. Just because I like your fire doesn’t mean you have such permission. In fact, next time you speak out of turn, half of your tongue shall be removed! I mightn’t like a soulless slave, but you shan’t be one that is allowed… leniency.”
Chen barely refrained from disdainfully looking upon her Mistress, but she held off. She liked to think terrible thoughts about the woman within the dark prisms of her own mind. It gave a sense of solace, one she desired above all else.
Chen said nothing, while fear and great anger went to war against one another. She vaguely wondered if anyone would notice if she stabbed the woman to death with her own quill. Qualiarth was an author, and enjoyed studying the old scrolls that could be found in the archives deep below the ground in the Libre. Chen thought it would be somewhat ironic if she died from the very quill that she often applied to most of her work.
It was rather unusual for a daughter of a wealthy family to work. If slavery hadn’t stripped Myra-Chen of her titles, then a life of work would’ve been a rather foreign concept.
Qualiarth smiled, placing her quill upon the desk on which she worked at. The woman was young, unlike Chen herself. Her skin was dark, and Chen couldn’t help but compare it to the chocolate that she used in baking. It was smooth, or perhaps that was the cream she applied daily in fear of wrinkles that she would never prevent. Her eyes were dull compared to Chen’s, but they sparkled in the winter sun. A different kind of light, not cold, but certainly not bright either. She was intelligent; her eyes showed it.
Chen couldn’t help but wonder if the shrew had any flaws. It would be a shame if she had none. Her short, shoulder-length brown curls were a marvellous sight. An artist would surely appreciate them. There seemed to be nothing wrong with this woman, and that in itself was an accomplishment. This could be said for her beauty, though her inner self was cruel for all eyes to see. And maybe she did have a heart, but it was somewhat absent.
Chen bit her lip in thought as she admired Lady Blight from a distance. Even her manner of walking had been perfected with a certain elegant poise. It was daunting. It made Chen feel rather inadequate in the eyes of all men. How could she be noticed when facing such a beauty as that?
She smiled, because it had been made quite clear: her fingers were wonky. That was at least one flaw in her endless beauty, but her personality was another matter altogether.
Qualiarth stood before her with a fierce smile and glinting brown eyes. Perhaps if she was a little kinder, Qualiarth would be a delight. But it was not to be. The woman judged Chen, looking upon her filthy rags in disdain. Her nose twitched as if she could smell something truly vile. And there it was, the truth of such a woman. Those eyes revealed all. Despite the beauty that could be seen, her hatred and greed were acknowledged, as was her petty nature and a need to look down upon all those who carried no status like her own.
Qualiarth pulled at the loose string on Chen’s cotton dress, and it quickly gave away as a hole was made. Not that it hadn’t been there before; it had simply been fixed with a thread and needle. The colour was dull, unlike the luxurious purple and blue silk dress that was worn by her Mistress with exquisite elegance. Chen couldn’t even attempt to wear such clothes. Her body had long since lost its characteristic self-confidence. Her figure was hunched, and she wore her scars along her face and arms with fear. She was no longer Lady Myra-Chen of Glade Castle, the Ancestral home of the Doreens. She was simply Chen. There was no one left in her life that knew her as Myra-Chen. They lived a world away, where her name had probably been long forgotten.
Glade Castle was magnificent. It was upon the highest rock in a long glade of flowers, of which there were many. Chen could almost remember the whistling wind and the creaking trees, as their long claw-like branches scratched against one another. They’d whisper secrets, from one leaf to another. The forest that surrounded the glade was vast and dangerous to those who didn’t keep to the old stone road. There were many names for it, Doriin Forest being one of them. It was wild and held a sense of life to it, and in the world of sand and sun, Chen greatly missed the place.
She yearned for the long and ancient stone hallways that curved throughout the castle. It was home, and Chen would never see it again. They had no horses on Haast, or, at least, they had none like the ones in Dria. The city her family had ruled over for many years now was a mere few minutes away from the Castle. Doriin Bred was what they called them, the fastest horses in the twelve realms. The horses in Haast were slow in comparison.
Chen missed the people; they were kinder on Andriis. Slaves looked out for one another, that much was known. There was death upon the crimson dunes of Haast. It was either from the heat that bore down upon all, or it was an owner getting sick of a service that couldn’t be met. Often enough, the people here killed slaves for pure enjoyment, or one slave was simply sold to another.
It was a ghastly way of life, but it had been hers for the past few years. There was no escape from the rattling chains of slavery. The people of Dria despised the thought of bloodshed and found it horribly untasteful. This could not be agreed upon in the land of fire. The people here thought that barbaric.
Glade Castle held many secrets, much like the temple in which she and her husband had been moved to. Although their quarters were small, they were much more preferable to their home upon the Vasnor Cliffs. There was more warmth to be found, but Chen found herself yearning for her daughter and son. There was no life within the walls of her new home, as their childish laughter was yet to be found.
How could she move on from that? No mother truly could. But the fact remained: she would never feel at home until her Freya and Stuart were tucked safely back into her own arms.
The Temple they lived in was a triangle, like all others, made of pure gold. Romias was the wealthiest city to be found. and held a finery and sense of dominance that couldn’t be described. It was like that of a rainbow, but made of gems. Purple and orange, more colours alike, glittering under the beaming sun. Each significant temple had a colour of its own. Why? Chen had asked herself, but the answer couldn’t be found. Perhaps it was men and their desire to show the wealth they so clearly possessed.
