On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [147]
She had been sweating profusely, but her skin was dry. It was so hot that her sweat had evaporated instantly. Kevla gasped in short, harsh breaths, willing the fire to fade, to leave, to return to wherever it dwelt deep inside of her until she called it again. Slowly, the nearly unbearable heat subsided.
Kevla opened her eyes. “Asha,” she whispered, her hands fluttering to her shoulder. “You can cut out the arrow head now.”
She closed her eyes and knew no more.
The man resembled those who had attacked her people, but Kevla knew he was not one of them. Tall, with yellow hair, he waited for her on a hill covered with white. She walked toward him, and the strange whiteness melted at her footsteps.
His face had laugh lines around the bright blue eyes, but now those eyes were hardened with pain and anger. This was a man who understood suffering, and who also understood the desire for vengeance.
And sitting at his feet, blue stripes running along its body, was a creature that resembled a simmar.
Jashemi’s dream, she thought; I am dreaming Jashemi’s dream. Floating toward her as she slowly swam toward the waking world came a voice she knew and loved. Jashemi’s.
“You must hurry, Flame Dancer. Hurry, or you will be too late.”
When she awoke, it was to find the Dragon gazing down at her. “You’d sleep through an avalanche, wouldn’t you?”
She grinned up at him. The grin faded as memories flooded back: the memory of fireballs leaving her hands to destroy an enemy, the memory of a flow of molten stone that obeyed her commands to engulf hundreds, perhaps thousands, in its flood.
The memory of turning an arrow shaft to ashes inside her own body.
He helped her sit up. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said. Her garment had been cut away so that Asha could tend to her injured shoulder. It was bandaged securely. She winced. “It hurts.”
“I imagine it would,” said the Dragon. “You melted the arrowhead itself. When Asha removed it, it was but a molten lump of metal.” He eyed her. “You can heal the wound, too, if you choose to do so.”
She shrank from invoking that power again so soon. It was still so strange and frightening to her. But her dream had been laced with urgency, and she would not serve her great duty if she were injured and taking time to heal.
“I don’t want to leave so soon,” she said softly.
“I know,” said the Dragon. “But the other Dancers are ready, and you have made an enemy here.”
“The Emperor,” she said, and he nodded. “I felt him. He is full of hatred. He—he wants the Dancers dead, doesn’t he?”
Slowly, the Dragon nodded. “I am not certain, but thus far, I think he is only aware of you. You need to find the other four, Kevla. Trust me, they are ready. Fire has always been the leader, the most passionate of the four Dancers. They will follow you.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Follow me, Kevla Bai-sha. It seems absurd.”
“But you know it is not undeserved,” he said. “You know how well you fought today.”
Bile rose in her throat as she heard again the cries of the dying. She would probably never know exactly how many lives she had taken today, and she did not want to.
“I did what I had to do.”
“As the Dancers and Lorekeepers ever have,” he said gently. “Call on the power again, Kevla. Heal yourself.”
Slowly, she put her left hand to her right shoulder and, wincing, undid the bandages. The wound was clean, but deep where Asha had dug out the arrowhead. The heat came so quickly it was startling. She confined it to her hand, felt it penetrate deeply. Her skin began to crackle and smoke, then suddenly, the heat abated. The wound was seared closed. After a moment, even that redness faded, leaving her skin unscarred.
“Behold the healing power of Fire,” the Dragon said softly.
“Fire, then,” said the Emperor. “He was the Flame Dancer.”
The advisor nodded, then said hesitantly, “Our men said they saw a woman riding the Dragon, Your Excellency.”
“Man, woman, it matters not. What matters is that it was one of them. It is no wonder we were defeated