Light My Fire
“Blessings, lady. Sir.” She stepped to the side and gestured with her hand. “Please . . . join us.”
Elina walked inside and forced Celyn to follow. The smell of some foreign incense hit him first. And it hit him like a stone wall.
He stumbled a bit and the Rider glanced back at him, her head cocking to the side. She suddenly reminded him of a dog and he laughed.
With a shake of her head, she continued on.
As Celyn walked, he studied the people here. They were on their knees, some with arms outstretched; others with hands clasped. But all were praying to their god. To Chramnesind.
Who suddenly didn’t seem that bad a chap to Celyn. So Chramnesind thought the offspring of dragons and humans were wrong. Maybe they were. Maybe Celyn’s cousins shouldn’t be here. Maybe Celyn shouldn’t be here. And what about the world? Should the world be here?
Should any of them?
“Dolt. Are you listening to me?”
Celyn blinked, pulled from his absolutely amazing thoughts. “Aye?”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. You know . . . you’re very pretty.”
“What?”
“Not in the conventional sense. You’re not Talaith pretty. But she’s astounding. Briec lucked out with her. Though she argues everything with him . . . but I think he likes that. But you are pretty. And a beautiful soul. We should get naked,” he announced, now walking forward, “lay ourselves on that altar, and fuck for the blessings of the gods!”
He faced Elina, grinned. “What say you, Death Worshipper?”
Elina grabbed Celyn’s balls and twisted until she had him on his knees, his loud grunts of pain catching everyone’s attention.
“I will tell you once, Dolt. You will snap out of whatever is happening to you right now or I will tear these off and wear them around neck like ornament.”
“Is everything all right here?” some fool in white robes asked as he came near.
Elina glanced around and noticed that there were several men moving in. Close. Too close.
It was one of the first things that Daughters of the Steppes were taught: never let a group of men get too close. In a lot of ways, they were like wild beast packs and when they got too close to a lone woman, they attacked. That’s why it was so important to keep control of them and make sure they weren’t allowed to congregate in large groups.
Because they couldn’t be trusted.
“Get up, Dolt. Now.”
She released Celyn’s balls and he got to his feet. Reaching under his cape, she grabbed his chain-mail shirt and pulled him through the praying sheep on the ground. As she cut through them, she kicked a few, stepped on others, and forced Celyn to do the same.
It woke some of them out of their stupor and they shot up, confused and lost, stumbling into the way of the men trying to grab Elina and Celyn. They only slowed those priests for a few seconds, but the distraction gave Elina enough time to run through one of the doors that led into another part of the building. She slammed the door shut and threw the bolt closed.
She grabbed Celyn’s hand and started down toward the hallway, but more priests came from that direction while banging came from the door behind them.
“They will get through that in no time, Dolt.”
“Don’t worry, pretty little lady.” He patted her head. “I will help you.”
He turned toward the wall, took in a big breath, and then unleashed . . . a big breath.
“Huh,” Celyn said when he saw that nothing had happened to the wall. “Isn’t that funny?”
“Not really.”
A large hand clamped down on Elina’s shoulder and she immediately slapped it off.
In response, the priest backhanded her across the face. “Insolent fema—”
His words ended when flames drowned them out, and Elina flew back from the fire as Celyn shoved her out of the way.
The priest’s screams filled the long hallway and Elina rushed behind Celyn and pushed him down the hall until they reached a large window.
A priest followed behind her and when he was close, she grabbed him by his robes, spun them both around until she had some momentum, and rammed him into the thick glass. The glass didn’t break, but it shattered a bit. So Elina pulled the priest back and rammed him again, breaking the glass into pieces.
She dropped the priest’s body, kicked out the shards of glass that could cut them, and forced Celyn through. She quickly followed, took his hand, and started running.
Celyn didn’t know how long they ran . . . or when they reached their horses . . . or how he got on his horse and started riding . . . or how long they rode.
He just knew he had to stop, dismount, go off to the side of the road, and throw up everything he’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours.
The vomiting seemed to go on for hours, but he couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d wanted to.
When, finally, he could think again, Elina was there with a pigskin of water.
“Here. Drink.”
He was so dehydrated now, he finished it all.
“What the hells . . . what the hells happened?”
“You do not smoke, do you?”
“Only from my nostrils. And only when I’m annoyed.”
Elina gave a short laugh. “Not that kind of smoke. Before the Daughters of Steppes ride into battle, we take plants from land, dry them, shred them, and then smoke.”
“Why?”
“It makes one feel invincible. And most of the Daughters usually are. I smoked little because I usually stayed back with the old people and the children. But Glebovicha used to force me to attend the ritual anyway . . . to stand by and watch. So that I was well aware that I was not worthy to be among the warriors.” She shrugged. “I have been around so much smoke that none affects me now.”