The Burning Man

10

In the warm womb of her room, Sophie lay back on the cushions before the fire and watched the cat move across the furniture, its shadow sometimes swelling to panther-size. Sophie had summoned it with her will alone, and while she had tried to pretend it was a normal animal, she only had to glance into the depths of its eyes to know the truth.

It was a simple trick, a testing of limits to see if she was still able to manipulate the Craft, and her skill had exceeded her hopes. It was a product of memory and emotion. Regaining the knowledge of who she really was — artist, romantic, wanderer — and bringing Mallory back into her heart had opened up the wondrous landscape of her abilities.

Pleased with herself, she left the room and made her way along the cramped, dark corridors, still flushed with love from her sudden and surprising reconnection with Mallory. As she reached the level of the main court rooms, she heard the sound of crying. Cautiously, she entered the stifling heat of one of the chambers and found Niamh curled up in a chair so large it made her look fragile and childlike, her head buried in her arms.

Sophie hesitated, then ventured in. ‘Is everything all right?’

With red-rimmed eyes, Niamh forced a smile and quickly tried to regain her composure. ‘For most of my long existence, I have never cried. Church taught me how to, along with many other things, and I will always remember him for that.’

‘You were close?’

Niamh motioned for Sophie to join her. ‘I loved him in a way I have not loved anyone before. But his heart always belonged to another.’

‘Ruth.’

Niamh nodded. ‘Brothers and Sisters of Dragons have their own special gravity. At least, that is what I tell myself.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘Now I have other matters to concern me.’

‘The war?’

‘It threatens all the Golden Ones have ever held dear. My people are in disarray. The Great Courts have never worked easily together. Now any failure to unite will lead to our complete destruction. Yet still they will not talk.’

‘There’s something else on your mind, I can tell.’

‘Your Craft gives you great perception. My brother is missing again, and I fear he may have fallen into the hands of the Enemy. Others, too, are missing. The Morrigan, of course. Math has not been seen for …’ She waved a hand wearily. ‘I am afraid the Enemy has infiltrated the Court of the Soaring Spirit. That no one here is safe. What kind of a queen am I to allow that to happen? In my darker moments, I believe I do not have the ability to lead. I wonder if I should give up my title for the sake of my people. Let someone else take charge, someone better suited to lead in these trying times.’

‘Church told us all about you. No one could do a better job.’

‘You are kind, as befits a Sister of Dragons. But still, the weight of these days lies heavily on me.’ She dried her eyes, but her face remained taut. ‘I am troubled by too many mysteries. My own existence … I have dreams that I died. I cannot recall how I returned to the Far Lands from your world.’ Unsettled, she leaned towards Sophie in confidence. ‘And now I am all alone.’

‘You’re not alone. We’ll stand by you, in the way that you’ve always stood by us.’

This appeared to soothe Niamh, for she smiled warmly. They were interrupted by the crash of the door as Caitlin marched in.

‘You’ve got to see this,’ she announced.

Sophie and Niamh followed Caitlin up onto the palace’s ramparts. In the north, fire flickered in the sky near the horizon.

‘What is it?’ Sophie asked.

‘A candle, calling someone home.’ Caitlin handed Sophie a brass spyglass.

The distant flame sharpened into focus. It was the burning outline of a man. Sophie estimated it must have been hundreds of feet high.

Behind then, Niamh began to mutter, ‘They are bringing him back. They are bringing him back.’

‘Bringing who back?’ Sophie asked.

But Niamh appeared to be in a trance where something was speaking through her.

The wind carried the bitter smell of ashes, and the air of disaster drawing closer.