Firebrand

Estral smiled again and went inside, leaving Karigan alone to contemplate the blanket of stars above, and the glowing orange embers of the pyre of the dead below.

SPIRITS IN THE SMOKE

Karigan’s chin slipped off her hand as she nodded off. She shook her head in an attempt to wake up.

“This won’t do,” she muttered groggily.

She stood to stretch her back. Movement near the embers of the pyre made her catch her breath. She stilled to listen, but at first heard only the restlessness of tree branches in a breath of air. As her sight sharpened, she noticed the smoke from the pyre winding in sinuous ribbons along the ground, where before it had been drifting straight up into the sky.

The smoke then billowed and reformed into humanlike shapes, six of them. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. The smoke apparitions drifted toward her.

Ssseee . . . their voices hissed. Ssseee . . .

She backed away until she was pressed up against the door. Condor whinnied from the paddock.

Ssseee . . .

“See what?” she demanded.

The smoke figures elongated and twined together. Before she knew what was happening, the smoke gusted into her face, forced its way into her mouth and nose, burned down her windpipe. She was held there, her back arched and eyes watering, unable to breathe with smoke filling her lungs, and then the visions came.

It was the lumber camp in daylight, and snow flurried down. She saw as if from multiple pairs of eyes, which was confusing. Arrows whizzed by. Men scattered. They ran for the woods. Armed warriors entered the camp, hunting each man down. She caught the flash of a tattoo on the wrist of one of the assailants—the dead tree of Second Empire. One by one, each viewpoint vanished as the life of each man was snuffed out. As the last faded, she saw an old woman walk out of the woods, snowflakes alighting on her gray hair. Grandmother.

Then all went dark and she exhaled smoke. She fell to her knees, retching and choking, her lungs burning. She could not stop.

“Galadheon, let me help,” came a gentle voice. Enver helped her into the lodge.

Estral sat up from her bedroll. “What’s going on?”

“Please boil some water,” Enver instructed. He eased Karigan down onto a chair. “Better that you are sitting up for the moment.”

Karigan could only cough. It was not as severe as it had been outside, but she could not get in an easy breath. While Estral moved about the hearth, Enver rummaged through his packs and . . . She was too busy coughing and her eyes too runny to see what he was doing exactly.

An interminable time elapsed. Her chest felt tight, hurt, and all she tasted was smoke. Enver stood before her and placed his hands on her head. His touch was soothing. He began to sing though she was not aware of the words. His voice resonated through her like cool, clean air into her lungs. It made her easier, made breathing less of a challenge.

Without breaking off his song, he accepted a pot from Estral and crumpled leaves into it. He held the pot before her and said, “Breathe deep of the steam.”

She obeyed and an herbal fragrance penetrated through the stench of smoke, cooled and calmed her irritated throat and lungs. The coughing quieted.

“What happened?” Estral demanded.

“Smoke,” Enver said. “Unnatural smoke.”

“Second Empire,” Karigan said in a hoarse whisper.

“They’re here?” Estral asked in alarm.

Karigan shook her head. “Killed the men.” She started coughing again.

“Don’t talk,” Enver told her. “Just inhale the steam.”

She obeyed and he started singing again. She was doing much better, but the stinging of her airways persisted. She actually started to doze off, or so it seemed, but a need came upon her to finish what had been left incomplete. She stood and, like a sleepwalker, left Enver and Estral and headed for the door.

“Karigan?” Estral called. Her voice was a far-off dream, and Karigan paid it no heed. She was only peripherally aware of them as they followed her outside. She strode purposefully toward the pyre. The smoke hazed along the ground.

“Karigan,” Estral called again, “what are you doing?”

“Let her go,” Enver said.

Smoke apparitions formed before the fire, billowing and wavering, waiting. A voice rose up inside her.

“Sleep,” she commanded. “It has been witnessed. You will be avenged.”

The figures of smoke melted away until there were just normal wisps of it lifting from the remains of the pyre. She exhaled, and more smoke was expelled upon her breath.

• • •

She lay upon her bedroll. It had all been a dream after all, but then she coughed and tasted smoke. The steaming pot sat near her head.

“What in the hells?” she said, her voice ragged.

“That is the question,” Estral replied, kneeling beside her. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Smoky.”

“Then you’d best sleep. We’ve still got a couple hours till daylight.”

“Enver?”

“He’s keeping watch outside. Do you need me to get him?”

“No.”

“Would you like a drink? Are you warm enough?”

At the suggestion of a drink, Karigan felt as parched as the pyre’s flames. “Water, please.”

Estral brought her a skin. “Enver says you are to take it slowly.”

Karigan did, and when she had her fill, she lay back down, exhausted. “What happened, exactly? It’s all a little confusing.”