Laura S. Fox
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Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 30
🕑 Added 2022-06-26 18:00:04 +0000 UTCChapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two / Chapter Twenty-Three / Chapter Twenty-Four / Chapter Twenty-Five / Chapter Twenty-Six / Chapter Twenty-Seven / Chapter Twenty-Eight / Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty – Raging Fire
What was that thing people said about best intentions? Duril had half his face covered by an old rag that Midnight had handed him to protect himself against the thick smoke, and still he was nearly overcome by the acrid smell of burnt wood and more filling his lungs and leaving less and less room for breathable air to get in.
They were barely out into the streets of Scercendusa, and the dimensions of the catastrophe engulfing the city appeared to overwhelm their minds. Duril had to fight his first impulse to run back to the haven offered by the Sakka deep within the walls. He was well aware that such temptations were human and normal, but he had made a decision, together with Varg and Claw, and going back only meant letting down Toru and his desire to save the city, or at least what remained of it.
Destruction lay everywhere he looked. Looked was no more than a manner of describing his actions. The smoke was dark and thick. It was impossible to say whether the day had arrived already, or the night still embraced the city in its indifferent arms.
“Varg, Claw,” he called out in desperation.
“We’re right here.” Varg’s reassuring voice came from much closer than he had initially thought would be possible.
Along with it, a warm hand on his shoulder assured him that he wasn’t alone in that sea of smoke and ashes. “What should we do?” Duril asked, not truly hoping for an answer. Their valiant decision seemed so ill-conceived given what they were going against.
His mind took him to dark places, despite his determination to honor Toru and his wishes. His duty toward people, which he had always sensed to be his reason to exist, was also at odds with what he felt right now. What could be the reason for it?
Somewhere, deep inside his mind, a foggy memory was striving to emerge and take over. The memory was born from pain, that much he could tell, and the state of fear gripping his soul didn’t allow him to move forward and decide whether it would be a good idea to let it break free from the prison cell in which it had dwelled until now, or suppress it and move forward.
“Duril, what is it?” Varg asked him, while the grip of his hand increased.
Duril shook his head. He couldn’t see any better for it, but the least he could do was reject the bad memory trying to take him over.
Claw was by his side, as well. “We must discover where the fire comes from first.”
“There’s more than one fire,” Duril stated what he believed to be the most obvious thing for them to bear in mind. “There are thousands,” he whispered.
“Then we should get to work and start putting them out,” Varg suggested. “One fire we quench means one fire less.”
Of such fine stuff were their hearts made.
“We’re here to help,” the Sakka that had chosen to come with them confirmed. Moth, Midnight, and Pie had enlisted the help of at least a dozen others, who hadn’t been difficult to convince once they had heard it was Toru’s desire to save the city. The change that came with the young tiger coursed through the Sakka, just like it did through the entire place. And everywhere he went.
“The fires come from underneath,” Midnight explained. “Pie, you should get us inside that house, the first on the left. Once we understand how the fires begin, we’ll be fitter and wiser about how to put them out.”
“What about your old history? Did it ever say something about the fires?” Duril asked. He didn’t stop to wonder how it was possible for the Sakka to still see clearly through all the smoke and identify the shape of anything around them, let alone houses and other buildings.
“Fire and blood,” Moth murmured. “It usually happens quickly, and it was the sign of victory, the first we always saw.”
“How did you survive? Each time this thing happened?” Duril asked, to keep his mind from slipping into that dark place that seemed so keen on bothering him now when he was most needed.
“We buried ourselves underground and went to sleep,” Pie explained.
Claw began to push with his shoulder against what had to be the door to the house. The sound of groaning wood under the assault sounded like a wail in Duril’s ears. What could it be made of to resist someone as powerful as Claw? The bearshifter sounded strained as he gained momentum and barreled into the door with a loud crashing sound.
“And let it all happen again,” Varg remarked. He sounded displeased, and Duril had an inkling about what was eating at the generous wolf’s heart. Yes, just like him, he truly believed that it would not be much better if everything was left to fate, only because the old history had been written that way. The Sakka obeyed nothing else but the implacable rules of destiny in which they appeared to believe blindly.
This time, destiny would suffer irreparable changes. Duril knew in his heart that it would be the last time that evil would try to take over the world and pick it apart. Toru must have defeated Hekastfet. His sole act of bravery went against everything he believed in when he had sealed his father’s fate as the only way to chase the evil out of Scercendusa and off the face of Eawirith.
But had the evil been vanquished? Duril wanted it to be so, but while he trusted Toru’s strength and big heart, he wasn’t entirely convinced that Hekastfet would relinquish his hold on the world as easily as that.
His mind was a nest of contradictions, and Duril wanted nothing more than to put it at ease. He murmured a short encouragement to himself.
“Did you say something?” Varg asked and leaned toward him while they stepped behind Claw to enter the house in flames.
Duril shook his head, although he had no idea if Varg could see his denial.
“There,” Midnight said, and they all followed the direction of his voice.
They had to be close to the hearth that served as the center of the house and the place where all the cooking was done. The smell of grilled meats and boiled vegetables must have been permanently absorbed into the stone walls, never to be washed away completely.
“Let’s make some light,” Midnight added.
Duril no longer asked himself where the power of the Sakka was coming from. They were living through the most astonishing tale not only of their lives, but of anyone else’s. He longed for a time when he would be able to sit down and write in the big tome Elidias had given him. He was eager to record all of the adventures that had transpired lately. With Toru’s help, those might be the last of such magnitude he would have to write.
The hearth was illuminated by Midnight who seemed to release pure light directly from his chest. That single patch of light in the sea of dark smoke seemed taken from another world. At the bottom of the hearth, they could all see the flames rising and licking the walls, bent on devouring everything in their path.
“What feeds them?” Claw asked.
Pie moved closer and knelt by the side of the hearth. For several long moments, he remained unmoving save for his nose that scrunched up and sniffed a few times. “It is the same fire that brings Scercendusa to life every day.”
“What do you mean? The fire that the people make for their cooking and such?” Duril demanded to know.
“Fire is not made in Scercendusa,” Pie explained in a teacher’s voice. “Fire comes when it’s needed.”
That reminded Duril of something and he turned toward Varg. In the light made by Midnight, they could see each other’s faces, covered in dark soot. “Fire,” he said slowly.
Varg appeared to remember the same thing he did. “The fire that fuels the city,” he confirmed.
“Wait, that reminds me--” Claw began. “Oh, damn, are you trying to tell me that The Dregs are doing this?”
“The Dregs?” Moth asked. “Ah, that would make sense… but those people must be dead by now.”
“Why would they be dead?” Varg questioned, as surprised as Duril was by that supposition.
“Is it something from your old history?” Claw asked.
“Indeed it is. When the battle between good and evil is finished, there is no more need for Scercendusa. A gust of wind will rise,” Pie said in a sing-song voice, “and will first wash over The Dregs. The people there will perish, as their hardened bodies are not able to breathe the sweet fresh air it brings with it. Then, Scercendusa will fall.”
Varg rubbed his forehead. “What sort of sense does that make? I understand that the people from The Dregs cannot breathe freely in air that is not made of soot and ashes, but why would this happen to the city?”
“Our history tells it like this,” Pie said solemnly. “We are not ones to question it.”
“I thought you sought the truth,” Varg reminded him. It was their understanding that the Sakka defined themselves as such, seekers and holders of the truth. “This is your truth,” he said and pointed at the flames rising high in the hearth. “Can you quench this fire?”
Pie shook his head slowly. “This fire, no. It courses like a river beneath the city. It is nothing but pure lava there. Try as we might, I don’t believe we will be able to make it go away.”
“Are you telling me that the fires burning all over the city, taking lives along with them, are just like this one? Fed by the fire from within?” Varg asked the same question that was on Duril’s mind. Claw let out a grunt that said everything about what the bearshifter believed, as well.
Duril stared at the flames. They were beautiful, shades of yellow and red, and yet so dangerous. This couldn’t be as far as they would come. No, as long as their bodies moved and their minds worked, they would give nothing less than their best.
“Let’s go stop the fire at its source,” Claw said. “We will only be useless here.”
They all nodded in silent agreement, their eyes glued to the unrelenting flames burning brightly, throwing sharp shadows against the walls in the abandoned room.
***
The hardest things to ignore were the wails and cries of pain that fell upon their ears at every step they took. Varg had one arm wrapped around Duril’s shoulders and the other entwined with Claw’s stronger one. The Sakka were walking rapidly in front, guiding them back to the wall and beyond. He could only hope that their suppositions were correct. Was it fair to abandon these people in their hour of need to chase the only guess they had?
But if they were right, they would be able to quench all the fires at once. They would save many. “Moth, where did you take those children Duril asked you to save?”
“They’re up on the walls,” Moth said. “I could not take them any farther. The smoke in The Dregs is even thicker than here, and taking them over that vast land would have been a feat with the likely outcome of saving but a few.”
An idea began to take shape in Varg’s mind. “Do you believe that the people would be safe up upon the walls? Just like the children?”
“For a while. But as we know from our old history--” Moth started.
“Which is being rewritten,” Pie reminded him. “We cannot know a thing at the moment. You are our lord’s close friends and companions, and we are indebted to you. We will do everything that is asked of us.”
“They’re suffering,” Claw said in a deeply pained voice. “We must do something.”
“We are,” Pie reminded them. “If there’s a key for quenching the fires burning everywhere in the city, it must be in The Dregs, and that is where we’re heading. Not much else for us to do.”
“I cannot accept it!”
Duril’s abrupt cry took them all by surprise.
The healer appeared to be prey to a state of extreme agitation. “They can be saved, they can!”
Varg wasn’t prepared for Duril breaking free from his gentle hold and making a run for it, deep into the smoke. “Duril,” he called out. “Duril, where are you? Where are you going?”
His nostrils flared. Normally, he could pick Duril’s scent out of a thousand, but the smoke was thick and overpowering, and his nose couldn’t bear for him to breathe the air in deeply.
“Follow me,” Claw said.
“There is no time,” Pie intervened. “We should put out the fires!”
“We cannot abandon our friend!” Varg shouted as he rushed after Claw. What a blessing it was to have the bearshifter with them. His keen sense of smell was bound to help them in this desperate situation. Varg couldn’t even consider thinking of going back to Toru without Duril, who was now lost in the smoke, just like the rest of the people wailing around them.
***
Toru was aware of people moving around him. He couldn’t open his eyes, and he didn’t care about doing so, anyway. A scent he knew tickled his nostrils and he sniffed, trying to make it part of what he could remember. The dream from before called out to him once more.
“What is this?” Toru asked.
His father held a beautiful flower in his hand. It reminded Toru of his own coat, bright and beautiful, in orange and black.
“Can I eat it?” He opened his mouth wide and leaned over, but his father pulled him back gently.
“No, it is not to be eaten. It is called the tiger flower.”
“So, it’s like me? Is it a baby?” Toru asked.
His father laughed softly and patted his head. “No, it is not like you. It is meant for you to draw your strength and dreams from.”
“How so? Should I eat it to become stronger?” Toru was proud of always being praised for being so strong for his young age, but he believed he could be even stronger than he was. He was yet to be as big and strong as father, and that meant that there was a lot of growing he still needed to do.
“No. But you can smell it.”
Toru accepted he had to keep his mouth shut as the crown of the flower tipped toward his nose. He inhaled deeply; maybe that was how a tiger became stronger, because of the flower and its powers. A bit of pollen landed on the tip of his nose and he sneezed.
His father laughed. “My Toru,” he said with affection, “never doing things by half.”
Was there another way to do things? Toru didn’t care even if there was. “Am I stronger now?”
“You’re very young, son,” his father said gently. “But one day, when you’ll think yourself lost or weak or without a purpose, the scent of this flower will remind you of who you are.”
“I’m never weak,” Toru declared. “And I’m careful not to become lost. I always come back home. Mother shouldn’t be concerned.”
“It is her right to be concerned,” his father explained. “That is what mothers do. They worry.”
“But I’m always coming back,” Toru insisted. “She shouldn’t cry.”
His father didn’t say anything for a moment. “When did you see her cry?”
Toru shrugged. He couldn’t quite remember, but he had felt quite funny at the time, like there was something unpleasant in his belly from eating something bad. And then, his nose had started to itch, and his eyes to water, and he hadn’t liked it at all. Scared of it, he had run and hidden his face in the folds of his mom’s skirt, and she had grabbed him in her arms and kissed his nose and laughed. And then, he had forgotten all about it until now.
Father might feel troubled just like him and have his belly hurt, too, if he knew.
“I didn’t,” he lied. Lying to your parents was bad, but Toru believed that he was doing the right thing now. “But she shouldn’t cry.”
He took pleasure in how his father kissed his forehead. “Come now. It’s time for dinner. I’m sure your mother told the cooks to make something you’ll love.”
“Like steak?”
“Something like that, yes,” his father confirmed, much to his delight.
Why would anyone have to cry when there was delicious steak, and a backyard garden, and an entire world out there? Toru wanted to forget all about the time when he had seen his mother cry. The scent of the tiger flower was pleasant, too.
But underneath it, Toru couldn’t escape another, the smell of ashes brought by the wind. It had to be from that dying world his father had told him about just days before.
***
Duril could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He stumbled and fell for a moment, then he pushed himself up to his feet and continued running. If anyone asked, he didn’t know where he was running to and why. But he knew one thing, and that was that salvation wouldn’t come from someone else. He had to save himself and others.
Someone gripped the floating sleeve of his shirt, the one on the side with the missing limb that must have come undone during his run. “Take him, take him,” a voice urged him from that sea of black fog.
A greater tug at his sleeve and he realized that someone was hanging on to him. He turned and reached for that person with his good arm, and caught a hand. A small one, and with it, came the rest of that person, a child who cried and climbed into Duril’s hold.
“Come with me,” he urged the voice behind the child, belonging to a woman, as far as he could tell. “You must come with me. Everyone should.”
“Duril, what are you doing?”
Through the fog of his troubled mind, he had great difficulty telling who that voice belonged to. It was familiar, though.
“Don’t run away like that.” It was Varg, he realized, as a bit of that rush of longing over his mind lifted. “What are you doing?” Varg repeated the question.
“We must save everyone,” Duril pleaded. “Look, they are so many.”
“Then, we should guide them out of here,” Varg said. “But we must also reach The Dregs and stop this madness. The fire comes from there, do you remember?”
He remembered something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. The only thing he felt he must do if it cost him his life was to hold that boy hanging around his arm and afraid to let go, close to him and protect him from all evil and anyone who tried to hurt him.
“The smoke is getting thicker,” Claw announced while starting to cough. “We need to get out of here.”
Duril remained standing, people gathered around him and waiting. Varg took him by the shoulders. If he could only explain to his friend what was inside his heart, it wouldn’t feel so heavy, like a rock inside his chest.
“Let’s guide everyone up the walls,” Claw suggested. “Moth, is it too much to ask to have you take as many as you can and get them up there?”
“I’ll do my best,” the Sakka promised.
“It’s not enough,” Duril heard himself saying. “How can it be enough?”
Around them, people were falling to the ground, coughing. They didn’t have the strength of a wolf, the resilience of an orc, or the power of a bear. They were helpless, and Duril believed himself to be just as much so because his desperation continued to grow. Even if he couldn’t see them, he could hear them, and that was enough to rip his heart apart in thousands of little pieces.
“We’ll save as many as we can,” Varg said, still holding him. That hand, squeezing his shoulder, seemed to be the only thing preventing him from coming completely unraveled. “I’ll drag them up that wall myself if it is what I must do. I’ll drag them until my heart stops beating.”
Claw let out a frightening roar, and only then Duril realized that Claw must have turned into his other form. The people let out cries of fear, even though they probably couldn’t see the majestic beast among them.
“Get as many as you can on my back,” Claw commanded. “You do the same, Varg. Yes, we have no time. Yes, we’re going against the worst odds here. But we will do this until there’s no life left inside us, as you said, my friend.”
Toru, if fate lets us do one last thing for you, let it be this,Duril thought as he began helping people get on his friends’ backs, all the while not letting go of that boy. He didn’t have to worry; the child didn’t show any signs of wanting to let go, either.
***
Was it a kind of madness that drove them? Varg couldn’t tell. Any sign of a mind free of that should have guided them toward their own safety first, all the while keeping their thoughts on how to limit the loss of lives on the streets of Scercendusa.
But all those plans had gone down the drain when he had sensed the great distress in Duril’s heart. The healer hadn’t said a lot, but his cry for help in the name of many, had convinced him beyond any shadow of a doubt.
Toru, I hope the Sakka will take care of you if we never return from this.The surety in his heart told the whole truth. Saddled with at least a dozen people, Varg began climbing the stairs on the side of the wall, running and thinking of nothing but how to leave those saved on the top of the wall and go back for others.
“Send word for everyone who can still run, walk or crawl, to come to the wall!” His shout was addressed to no one in particular, and everyone, at the same time. It was the only way to save as many as he could.
Claw, stronger and faster, was on his way back from delivering his first load of passengers.
“How is it up there?” he fired the question.
“The sweetest air you’ll ever breathe,” his friend assured him while hurrying back.
Duril trudged at a much slower pace behind him. But Varg knew that any plea for Duril to let himself be carried would fall on deaf ears. No, what he needed to do was to save as many people as possible.
Up and up, down and down. Varg lost count of the many times he came and went. Claw was right; on the top of the wall, one could breathe, even if they only allowed themselves this luxury for moments at a time. They needed those moments, they needed that air in their lungs so they could climb down again and carry other people.
When the crowd at the foot of those stairs thinned, they began searching for more survivors, grabbing them where they stood or had fallen, despite their natural cries of distress.
One thing he hadn’t done. He hadn’t looked down on that wall on the other side. Moth flew incessantly up and down. The rest of the Sakka that were with them had devised a system of ropes that carried people up in a continuous line. Everyone was helping, but was it enough?
“Did you find any other survivors?” Varg shouted at Claw as they almost clashed. They were both running to and fro, searching for signs of life, but they were growing scarcer and scarcer.
“Not here, not anymore. I’ll run around, see if there are people buried under rubble,” Claw replied in a grim voice.
Varg stopped for a moment. “Did you look? Out there, over The Dregs?”
“We can only do one thing at a time. The fires are still raging,” the bearshifter confirmed his own suspicions.
The last words had barely left Claw’s lips when a horrendous thunder-like sound came from above. The ground shook under their feet.
“What is going on?” Varg bellowed.
His heart faltered as he looked up. Through the smoke above his head, heavy rocks began to fall, pushed by unknown forces, like an avalanche. Varg lost his footing, and a sharp pain traveled through his skull. As he was falling, and the world tilted, the last thing he saw was the expression of unadulterated fear in Claw’s eyes as he was rushing toward him.
***
No one was saying a word. Toru shifted in his high chair. Usually, dinners were a lot more fun than this. But this time, he was only sharing the meal with mother and father, and they looked serious, like when Toru did something they didn’t like, and they scolded him.
He had done nothing to put such expressions on their faces. Nonetheless, he ate quietly, making sure not to break the silence by chewing too loudly. It was difficult to enjoy the grilled meat like that. If it were up to him, he would gobble everything down.
Dinner concluded without anyone talking much. Toru felt relieved to get out of his chair and scamper off, but once he was behind the large doors, something convinced him to stay, something like curiosity. If mother and father were mad at him, probably they would talk about it once they were alone.
He had left the doors slightly ajar, so all he had to do was stay there and listen intently.
“Have you gotten any word from your people?” his mother asked.
His father’s people lived out there, in the mountains, where it was always cold.
“Not since three moons ago.”
“That’s a long time not to hear a word,” his mother insisted.
“Indeed. I sent a messenger, and we must hear from him any day now.”
“The skies are burning. We will need allies.”
“I am working on it.” His father sounded angry. But why would he be angry at mother? Toru clenched his little fist. He loved father, but he also loved mother. He didn’t want them to fight. At least, they weren’t fighting because of him.
“What went wrong?” his mother asked again. “I thought the evil was vanquished.”
“For the last thousand years, yes.”
“So? We should just send someone.”
His father remained silent for a while. “You know who it is that we are supposed to send. It’s too early. He’s too young… only a child. Do I really need to point these things out to you?”
“Someone else,” his mother said, weighing hard on each word.
“I understand. I will go.”
“No.”
“Woman,” his father let out in frustration, “who do you expect me to send? In his stead? It is my duty.”
“We’re a tribe. We’re strong.”
“What is it that you’re asking, Raine?” his father asked again, his voice pained.
“All of us train for this, in one way or another. Don’t say another word. I know we can’t compare to Toru’s strength.”
Toru felt his heart swelling in his chest. Mother and father agreed that he was the strongest. And yet, he still couldn’t climb that high wall at the back of the palace.
“But should we just wait for the evil to reach us? We should go forth and quash it where it stands, in the heart of the gilded city.”
“Do you truly believe it is wise to do so? You said it yourself, we need allies.”
“Then, what do you propose we do? Wait here? For Hekastfet to strike?”
“Don’t speak its name!”
Toru cowered in fear behind the door at the sound of his father’s angry voice. What is that name? Hekastfet? What did it mean? Why shouldn’t mother say it? Was it like a curse?
“Aneros, you need to see. Not taking any measures is as bad as if we left the gates open for that thing to crawl inside and infect us all. We must protect the people. And Toru, above all.”
“We do,” his father agreed. “I will go to Scercendusa, nonetheless. No, do not try to stop me.”
“I don’t intend to. But I will come with you, and our hundred strongest. We might not be the chosen tiger, but we are strong together. And now, don’t you be the one trying to stop me.”
“What are we going to do about the rest? About Toru?”
“We will hide them. I was hoping for your people to come here and take them.”
“We must wait for a little while longer for the messenger to arrive.”
Toru walked backward, moving silently over the polished floors. Mother and father wanted to send him away, to that land of snow and white. But he didn’t know that place; it wasn’t home. And after saying that he was the strongest, why were they so willing to leave him behind?
He snuck out and headed for the stables. No one would search for him in that smelly place, for sure. It was easy to get inside, as the evening was setting in, and the servants had almost all gone to bed.
He couldn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. But the sound of snorting horses woke him up. There was someone there, a stranger. Toru peeked from where he had hidden, and saw a man in black dismounting a horse. He had his back to him, so it was impossible to see his face, but there was a foul smell coming from him.
Toru barely kept from losing his earlier meal, that overpowering the odor was.
“You’re here,” someone said, and Toru recognized his father’s voice. “What is happening there?”
The stranger turned on his heel, and Toru gasped. There was no flesh on the man’s face, nothing but clean bone beneath. However, his father didn’t seem surprised by the man’s appearance.
Toru blinked and then he saw that the man now had a face as he bowed to Toru’s father. The horrible smell was gone, too. Maybe he had just been dreaming.
“Sire, your family is well. They send their good wishes.”
“That is wonderful news. Come with me. There is another important mission I have lined up for you.”
The stranger followed Toru’s father out of the stables. Just before walking out, he threw a glance around. Toru moved deeper into the shadow, but he could swear that, for a moment, the man had seen him, and just like that, his mask of flesh slipped one more time.
TBC
