Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (31 page)

He shook his head as he gazed at her. “Worse. And dreaming, I think.” He took a deep breath, the air tasting bitter to his fearful tongue. “I hope we get there soon.”

Grim, padding soundlessly beside him, let out a low whine and Will scratched him behind the ears. “Big brute, isn't he?” Castor asked, indicating the warhound. “But oddly sensitive.”

Will smiled and tickled his fingers over the top of Grim's muzzle. “And smart, too,” he said. “I can't imagine how the Westlanders came up with such a great combination. Clare said he was part wolf, part wolfhound. I wonder what a wolfhound looks like...” He trailed off, his mind veering from its brief stray to thoughts of Clare once again.

Suddenly Grim butted his head against Will's hand and growled. Will, startled, looked up and saw that Serah had stopped and was now facing the left wall of the tunnel with her arms outstretched. A ring of soft yellow light appeared in the wall before her, accompanied by a low, pulsing hum, and as Will neared he saw it stretch and widen until it was larger than a man with his limbs splayed. It filled in completely, its surface slowly swirling like a glowing pool of liquid light. He stopped next to Serah and she gave him a sidelong glance.

“This is the doorway,” she said, indicating the portal of light. “It will take us into the Dark Forest, and Feothon's domain.” She raised her voice then, and the air carried her words unnaturally far. “If there are any who wish not to continue on, now is the time to stop. Turn back and you will be granted safe
passage out of the forest, where you can return to your city.” Will heard the hush of thousands of frantic whispers wash over him, and realized that Serah must have had a difficult time convincing all these people to leave their homes. “Just know,” she continued, “that the yaru will return. They always do. And next time, we will not be there to drive them away.”

Without another word she turned and stepped through the portal, Jhai and Zizo close behind her. The light pulsed and made a strange, deep
whumpf
  as it swallowed them, a sound that Will felt deep in his bones, and then they were gone. He gazed at the twisting, churning vortex, and then looked down at Clare. His mind had been made up from the start.

“Listen,” he shouted over the din, and a wave of quiet rolled over the clamoring Ravens and Pradians. “I know you're all scared—I am too. But I think these people are here to help us.” The irony of calling the Titans—his siblings, apparently—“these people” was not lost on him. “Too many people have died already. This place is a safe haven, and I, for one, am going through.” He turned to Castor and gripped his shoulder. “See you on the other side,” he said, and then bent to unhook Clare's litter. The rider driving the horse it was attached to looked frightened, and kept eyeing the gateway nervously. “I'll take her from here,” Will said. “Thank you.”

And then, pulling the litter behind him, he stepped into the light.

The first thing he was aware of were the whispers—they were everywhere, all around him, both close and far away. But unlike the whispering on the wind, these seemed benevolent and helpful.
“Keep moving,”
one said.

“This way,”
said another.

“Feothon awaits you. He—”

“—can save her, but—”

“—you must hurry...”

They kept talking as he walked faster and faster, lending him encouragement. He followed them by sound alone, blinded as he was by the brilliant yellow light. It felt strange, like wading through a fog so thick that it actually hindered his progress. The only thing he had to ground him to the material world was the feel of Clare's litter in his hands, and it was thoughts of her that drove him to keep going—

And then he was out.

The whispers ended abruptly, and he felt the cessation of their dull roar almost as a physical blow that made him sway drunkenly on his feet. After a moment, he opened his eyes and saw...

Trees. Everywhere he looked he saw trees—trees so vast that ten men would not have been able to touch hands in a circle around them. They were tall, too, and try as he might Will was unable to see their tops. Their boughs crowded out the sky, giving the impression of a starless, moonless night; the effect was eerily claustrophobic. He set Clare's litter down slowly, too stunned to move.

But then he noticed something rather perplexing: there was sunlight. It illuminated everything at ground level, shining in great dusty shafts from the depths of the darkness. It played cheerfully across the ferns and creepers that covered the forest floor, and sparkled from the surface of a nearby stream that babbled a soft, soothing murmur.

It was...beautiful. Will could not remember having ever seen anything so picturesque. And in the absence of the gloom he had expected, he could see very far—the trees, spaced wide apart, continued unabated off into the distance, and Will had a strong feeling that the forest went on forever.

“The Dark Forest,” said Serah beside him, and he started, having failed to notice her before. “It has no beginning, and no end.” She looked behind Will then, and he realized that he had completely forgotten about Clare. He whirled around, all of his forgotten anxieties crashing into him once again.

“We have to find Feo...thon...” He trailed off, shocked into silence. Clare was still in the litter. And she was moving—though not of her own accord.

The plants beneath and around her, however, were. They stretched and writhed, unfurling their leafy tendrils and touching her gently, their tiny movements almost ritualistically reverent. It was like watching a mother with her newborn babe, or a Gefanite with a relic of unimaginable worth, and Will
shook his head in stunned disbelief. Creeper vines slithered beneath her and slowly began to lift her off of the litter. Will automatically went to kneel down next to her, but Serah stopped him.

“Do not interfere,” she whispered, and he rose warily to his feet. The creepers carried Clare's body a few paces away before gently laying her atop a bed of ferns, which instantly began to grow and curl around her, covering her body with their leafy fronds. The creepers joined in, and soon wildflowers began to sprout up and down her length. Before long all that remained uncovered was her head, and soon that was gone too. Where only moments before there had been a body, there was now a thick mound of vegetation. And then, as abruptly as they had begun to move, the plants stopped. Will thought he could hear a low, throbbing hum similar to the sound the portal had made, but it could easily have been a figment of his imagination.

Serah gestured at the plants. “The Dark Forest is full of wonders,” she said softly. “It has taken her, and now it will decide whether she lives or dies.”

“'Tis my forest,” said a man's gentle voice behind them, and Will slowly turned around. “And I say she lives.”

~

She leans against him, sitting in his lap with her back to his chest and his arms around her. She feels at peace. She is in love. The feel of his bare skin against hers should be enough to excite her, but in the dream she is calm.

“Why do I need to be here?” she asks, the words barely above a whisper.

He strokes her arms with his hands, and when he speaks his breath puffs softly against her hair.

“Because of this,” he answers, and suddenly his skin is very hot. She gasps and struggles to break away, but he holds her. “Stop,” he says gently, and suddenly he is no longer painful to touch. Now the sensation is akin to stepping into a hot bath: delightful, electrifying...arousing. She squirms against him as her heart flutters in her chest, but he seems not to notice. “I have a power,” he says, and the rumble in his chest vibrates against her body. “But there is another like me—my other half, the second part to the equation.”

She attempts to turn around to face him, but he does not let her. “Will...”

“She is the Phoenix Empress.” His words carry a finality to them, a weight that makes her heart sink. “Serah believes she may not exist in this life; she is wrong. I can feel her presence—it hums through my body, stirs my thoughts. Once the Dragon King and Phoenix Empress meet, they are whole—nothing can come between them. It is the way of things.”

Clare feels a single tear roll down her cheek. She does not bother to wipe it away. Her heart is suddenly heavy—leaden in her chest at the realization that she can never be with the man she has come to love so strongly in such a short time. She feels a chill run through her despite the delicious heat.

“Why are you crying?” he asks.

“Because...” she whispers, but cannot continue. She hangs her head. “Please...please let me go.”

“I cannot.”

She turns to face him, and this time he lets her. His eyes are bright, churning crimson, just as they were in Prado, and yet she is surprised to find that they do not frighten her—not as they did before. They seem quiet now, at peace, and she almost fancies she can hear him purring like a contented cat. “We can never be, can we?” she asks softly, searching his face. “You are a god...and I am just a human.”

But, to her surprise, he laughs, and he does not stop for a long while. Finally his gaiety fades away into a soft chuckle, and then he is quiet, staring at her with a smile.

“Why are you laughing?” she whispers.

“I am laughing because I find you humorous.”

“Will, please—”

“I am not him.” The words silence her immediately, and she can only stare at him mutely. “This
body is not my own. Perhaps another time, I will explain. But at the moment, we have scant little time left to speak, and speak I must.” He pauses for a moment, looking at her expectantly, and she nods to let him know that she is listening. “You are special, Clare—very special, and very important. Your entire life has been spent preparing you for what comes next.” Not-Will holds her gaze steadily, his crimson eyes piercing deep into her soul. “You know now that Will is the Dragon King. He must be protected at all costs—but so must you.”

Clare begins to grasp his meaning, and she opens her mouth to speak, but Not-Will holds his hand up for silence. “Your life will make sense soon—I promise. When the time comes, you will understand everything.”

“Why do you speak in riddles?” she whispers. “I think I understand you, but...” She shakes her head. “Can't you just tell me true what it is you mean?”

“I am sorry,” he answers, “but I cannot.” He gestures expansively at the rolling fields around them. “This place has too many eyes—too many ears. This tree is a gift from...from someone who wishes to help us. Only beneath it are we safe to speak unnoticed, but even the oak's power is fading.” He runs his hand along the bark, sadness on his face, and Clare notices for the first time that the leaves on the outermost branches are brown and dead. “I dare not risk exposing you,” he whispers. “Too much is at stake.”

Suddenly his eyes flick to the horizon, his lids narrowing, and she follows his gaze. Far, far into the distance, she sees the beginnings of a storm front, and for some reason she feels a thrill of fear run through her. “It is time for you to go,” he says. “This place is no longer safe.”

“Wait,” she says, reaching up to touch his face, “please, isn't there anything else you can tell me?”

He takes her hand and shakes his head regretfully. “Truly, I am sorry. But I can say no more.”

“Then...” she trails off and looks deep into his eyes. “Thank you, I guess, Will—or whoever you are.” A sudden impulse seizes her, and she leans in to kiss him, but his fingertips touch her lips, halting her advance.

“Not in this place,” he says with a knowing smile. “Not with me. It would not be right.”

“But...why not?” she whispers, her eyes falling. “I may never get the chance again.”

He gently lifts her chin. “You will,” he says softly. “Will's feelings for you are the same as yours are for him. Soon you will both realize that.”

“I see.” After a moment she asks, “Will I remember this?”

“Not here,” he says, touching her temple, and then his hand moves down to rest against her heart. “But you will in here.” His eyes take on a distant look. “It is time,” he murmurs. “Sleep now.”

And she fades away into peaceful darkness.

The Titans gazed in horror upon the world they had created. The armies of humanity waned against the onslaught of the Dark One's minions, and the Titans wished desperately to help them. But they were creatures of the Void, and the only actions they could take in the material world were indirect. They held council in Ataavtic Vinouac, but anger ruled over reason and their deliberations ran in endless circles.

“He seeks to destroy everything we have created,” said Forod. “This cannot go unpunished.”

“Keth is not a monster,” Koutoum countered. “We made him like this. Can you not see it?”

“He created death! How is that not a monstrous act?”

Forod was furious, but now Koutoum's rage had bubbled over. “He sought only to give our flawed creation perfection!” he cried. “But you have been so blinded by anger that you can only see what you wish to!”

The Titans were siblings, and their love for each other was unquestioned. But each knew that Koutoum had loved Keth the most, and they did not care to fuel the flames of his wrath even further.

Then Dinn, the oldest, spoke. “Brothers,” she said, and her voice calmed their rage, “this is not the way. We have done this—through our machinations, the world has been cast into darkness. We created the Dark One, but now we must stop it.”

“But how?” Beros asked. “We can create armies to fight for humanity, but it will never be enough. Keth is infinitely more imaginative. And infinitely more powerful.”

“Not more powerful than Koutoum,” Sorr countered, but when she looked at her brother for confirmation Koutoum only hung his head in sadness.

“I have an idea,” Dinn said, and they all looked to her. “We cannot provide the assistance humanity needs from this place. So we will become human.”

~

He was a tall man, with beautiful shoulder-length hair that shimmered red-gold in the ethereal sunlight. He wore only a pair of deerskin breeches; his upper-body and feet were completely bare, exposing pale skin and a muscular physique that moved, unlike Will's predatory gait, with an ease that spoke of a life of peace and quiescence. His hazel eyes, very much like Clare's, were flecked with gold. They were kind eyes, almost grandfatherly, and within them Will could see the steady march of time that, despite countless tragedies and an unfathomably long life, had failed to take its toll on the man. And when the man smiled, Will felt his heart warm in response.

“Brother!” Serah cried, and rushed forward to embrace him. He lifted her up and spun her around in a circle, laughing, and then set her down and turned his gaze to Will.

“Feothon,” Will breathed, for the man could be no other. Feothon, the Titan of life—the Lord of the Forest.

“Dragon King,” said Feothon, his smile widening, and he took a step in Will's direction. The plants leaned in toward him as he passed by, the stalks of grass brushing his skin and the flowers tilting their petals to kiss his divine flesh. Even the trees high overhead seemed to move ever so slightly closer, an eerie effect that made Will feel as though the woods were closing in around him. Grim, silent until that moment, moved toward the Titan tentatively as though testing unknown waters. Feothon knelt and held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation the warhound bounded forward to nuzzle his palm.

The low, heavy throb of energy that announced the arrival of another person through the portal resonated steadily behind Will, and suddenly he was aware of dozens—no, hundreds of other people walking toward him from out of the trees. They were all dressed similarly to Feothon, with the same pale skin and red-gold hair, and each carried baskets of food or skins of water for the Pradian refugees. And as he watched, Will saw dozens of animals join the throng, each carrying their own contribution for the battered humans. The sight almost made him laugh out loud—he seemed to have been transported
right into the middle of one of his mother's faerie stories.

He watched in amazement as the animals, both predator and prey alike, walked peacefully among one another—he saw a fawn carrying a bunch of grapes stumble and fall, only to have a full-grown wolf put its nose under the fawn's chin and gently lift it to its feet. Will gaped and shook his head.

“What in the name of the Void...” he whispered. 

“Is it not wonderful?” Feothon asked him softly. He spoke with a strange accent, one that Will had never heard before. It almost made him want to dance. Will turned back to the man with his mouth still hanging open. “The Dark Forest is home to many such miracles,” Feothon continued. “Witness your friend.” He indicated the lump of vegetation that obscured Clare from view. A ring of flowers had sprung up in an outline of her body, and small saplings were growing in a protective circle around her to fend off stray feet.

“Will she be alright?” Will asked in a hushed voice.

Feothon put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “As I said before—'tis my forest, and I say she lives. She will live, I promise. I am, after all, the god of life.” He smiled. “Have a little faith, Brother.”

He put his arm around Will's shoulders and began to lead him away. Serah and Grim followed close behind. “Where are we going?” Will asked, trying to pull away from Feothon's grasp, but the Titan was surprisingly strong. “I need to stay with Clare, and the other people—”

“Will,” said Feothon, “I told you, she will be fine. No harm will come to her in my forest. And my people and Serah's will see to your refugees. You must follow me now. We are going to a secluded place where we will be able to talk undisturbed.” Will looked behind them and saw that the crowd of Pradians and forest dwellers had grown significantly, with the portal of light continuing to flash and throb and  emit more survivors. “'Tis too crowded here for my liking.” He patted Will on the back. “And besides, we've some catching up to do.” He smiled warmly and Will found that he could not resist the urge to smile back.

They walked for a short while longer until the throng of people behind them was swallowed by the forest. Eventually the trees before them thinned out and vanished, leaving in their place an enormous lake. Its surface churned amiably, and the quiet way in which its waters lapped at the edge of the shore put Will's mind at ease despite the multitude of troubles tumbling around inside his head. Feothon motioned for both him and Serah to sit on the grass, and they did. Grim laid down on his belly next to Will and watched the Lord of the Forest intently, who sat and folded his legs beneath him.

“I imagine you've quite a few questions for me,” he said. “And for Serah as well.”

Will could barely think. Everything that had happened—the yaru attacks, Pestilence, Clare, and now Feothon—had left him in something of a daze, and his mind buzzed drunkenly. He felt as though he were being tossed about in a whirlwind that showed no sign of abating any time soon. He shook his head, trying to order his scrambled thoughts.  “Erm...are...are the Pradians going to be alright?”

Rather than look surprised as Will had expected, Feothon looked pleased. “The survivors will recover—physically, at least. You lost many people in the defense of that city.” For a moment his eyes took on a distant look. “They are in so much pain,” he whispered.

Will's face fell. Now, along with the men he had lost over a week ago, he could add several hundred more to his tally. Feothon must have seen him, though, for he said quietly, “Will, 'twas not your fault.”

Will glared at him. “Oh? It wasn't? So the fact that Pestilence and his yaru were stalking
me
had nothing to do with it?”

“You did not know, Will—” Serah began, but he cut her off.

“But you gave me the hint—you told me I was the Dragon King. And Pestilence kept hinting at it the first time I met him.” His voice shook with the anger that had been bubbling inside of him ever since his first fight with the yaru. “He was hunting me all along and he
told
me, but I didn't do anything.” He shook his head, eyes downcast, and whispered, “If I had just left instead of going back to that city...”

“Stop it,” Serah said, and the anger in her voice took Will aback. “Stop it right now. They would have come to Prado regardless of whether or not you were there. You were blocked from Pestilence's
sight just as he and his yaru were blocked from mine. Do you not see that Prado was the next logical step in his hunt for you?”

“Wait...how do you know he couldn't see me?”

“I know because I could not see you, either.” She paused for a moment, a look of confusion crossing her features, and then she closed her eyes. “Wait...how odd. I can see you now. It is...vague, blurry...but you are there all the same.”

Feothon gave Will a searching look. “Very curious,” he murmured. “I wonder what has changed.”

Will looked at Serah, and he saw an expression of dawning realization. She said nothing, though, which confused him. Feothon followed his gaze a moment later, and tilted his head inquisitively. “Serah?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “It is nothing,” she murmured. “Just...a feeling.” Abruptly she changed subjects. “Will, there is much explaining to be done. I never did finish the story I started telling you. Would you like to hear the rest of it?”

The question caught him completely off guard. “I think I very much would,” Will admitted after a moment, realizing that he did indeed want to hear the end. Perhaps it would shed some light on the madness that had so recently become his life. “Your words at our first meeting have been ringing around inside my head for
a while
now. And I really would like some answers.”

“Then I shall be happy to continue.” Serah settled into a more comfortable position, and Feothon leaned back to rest on one elbow. A vine sprouted from the ground beside him, producing in scant moments several large, plump bunches of grapes. He tossed a cluster to Will and then popped a single grape in his mouth with a smile.

“Storytelling is always better with a full belly,” he explained. Will shrugged and ate a grape. It was very good, and he found that the sweet juices helped to revitalize him and narrow his focus. He smiled, and then settled his attention on Serah.

“So,” she began, her dark eyes taking on a distant look as memories long past began to form on her lips, “I believe we had ended on the note of the Phoenix Empress.”

Will nodded in affirmation.

“Then that is where I shall begin.

“Talyn was Davin's equal in every way. No foe could best her in battle, and with a mere glance she could set a forest to flame or melt an army's weapons and armor in a matter of moments—along with the men wearing them. Together she and Davin could overcome any obstacle, defeat any challenge. Nothing could stand in their way and live.

“But they did these things reluctantly, and only in times of great need. They feared their power, and fought constantly to keep it under control, just as each avatar of Koutoum has done since the very first days of the reign of the Immortals. The spirit of Koutoum is a strong one, even when it is only half a spirit, and for a human mind to control it is a difficult thing indeed. Davin was Talyn's lifeline, and she his—because of each other they never lost focus, and consequently their power never escaped their grasp. Chaos and control are two sides of the same coin, and without each other Davin and Talyn would have ceased to exist long before the traitors killed them.

“Naturally, when the traitors struck, it was when the two were separated. I have told you before of the seven treacherous High Councilors, but only in passing and never what they did to drive us into exile or who they truly are. They go by many names now, but the one you are perhaps most familiar with is 'Belahan'. It is an old word from a civilization that has not set foot in the Inner Kingdoms for centuries. In the Eastlands they are known as the Krish, and in the Northlands they are the Lok Tarr. Regardless of its origin, each name is simply a word for the evil things that lurk in the dark reaches of the world, and to us they will always be the traitorous Fallen. The Fallen have done much to cultivate their own myths and legends, and we are the last few who know the truth.

“They were Sirens once: men and women chosen by the Titans to learn our ways. Every living thing on Pallamar can trace its origins to the Void, and because of this a human can be taught to reach into the
ether. It is a difficult process, and never safe. Only those we trusted most were trained, and the traitorous seven have guaranteed that no Siren shall ever walk the earth again by our hand. It was the power we taught them to control that allowed them to seize the Dark One's soul for their own, and we will not make such a mistake again. They are responsible for the Great Fall, and the consequences of their actions continue to ripple throughout history even today.”

“You have never known a different life, Will,” Feothon quietly interrupted, “but we can remember a time when Ainos was little more than a backwater nation of angry Northmen who posed no real threat to the civilized world. I myself witnessed the birth and rise to power of the people you now know as Karkashians. Before the Great Fall, when the Soréllian Empire was still very much alive in your Southlands, Karkash was merely an inconstant annoyance.” He chuckled softly to himself. “Of course, I can also remember when the tyrants in the Northern Hinterlands were a problem. They are not anymore.” Serah looked at him patiently and he motioned for her to continue.

“They split their forces in two in order to draw the Fire Hearts away from one another,” she said, and now there was sadness in her voice. “They knew that only Koutoum was strong enough to defeat the likes of Keth, and so by dividing their horde and making it seem as though they were in several places at once, they ensured that Davin and Talyn would be forced to go their separate ways. They waited until Davin was fighting the Dark One's hordes far away from Talyn,” she breathed a small sigh, “and then they went to her at Castle Phoenix, her stronghold in the Kahara desert.