Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (36 page)

“This has been done for a reason,” Feothon finally said. “Did Talyn perhaps think that the traitors would attempt once more what they did in the past?” He shook his head. “We've no way to know for certain. But 'twould explain why Clare has been hidden so thoroughly. 'Twould not surprise me to learn that the traitors cannot see her either. In fact, I would be willing to bet my life that they cannot.”

“It would explain why she has been able to hunt the yaru so successfully, no?” said Serah.

“Indeed. And such a gift would make sense. But why was Will not shielded in such a way as well?” Feothon's eyes narrowed. “I do not understand any of this.”

“What should we do?” asked Borbos.

“I think,” the Forest Lord said slowly, “that we should do nothing.”

The other Titans looked at him as though he were mad.

“But...Brother,” said Serah, “surely we should tell her—”

“No,” he said, and the word brooked no argument. “Whatever is veiling her from our sight is also protecting her from the Dark One's and the traitors'. We must let this thing take its course. The fact that we are able to catch faint hints of her aura now is a sign that the power over her is weakening—I believe 'twill disappear completely once she awakens.”

“But,” Leyra said softly, “when will that happen?”

Feothon shook his head slowly. “That, I think, depends on Will. I saw both of their faces when they discovered Asper's mortality. I fear...I fear one of them will try to pull away now.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “'Twould complicate things greatly. I only hope that we have not already done irreparable damage to their feelings for one another.”

Serah slapped her palm against her forehead. “And I told Will there might
be
no Phoenix Empress,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why did I do that? So
stupid.
”

“I would not be afraid,” said Borbos. “I knew Davin and Talyn well—and there was nothing that could keep them apart for long.”

~

“It's beautiful here, isn't it?” Clare said softly. She and Will sat side by side atop a grassy rise overlooking a small lake. The red light of the evening sunbeams played across its choppy surface, making it shimmer and glint majestically. Every now and again there was a soft
bloop
as a fish poked its head momentarily into the air, and somewhere in the distance frogs chirped a tuneless chorus.

Asper had long since disappeared, undoubtedly to tend to the child growing inside her, and now Clare and Will were alone. Clare decided that it was
a
nice sensation.

“It is beautiful,” Will agreed. He chuckled. “I think I could get used to living here.”

“I wonder what happens to the sun rays at night?” Clare murmured absently.

Will
smiled
at her. “You'll see in a few to
cks
. It's...well, you'll see.”

For a long time they sat in silence, watching and listening to the life around them. The crimson rays continued to darken, fading slowly from red to purple, and then on to deep blue. Soon Clare could barely see Will; he appeared as little more than a dark shape to her left, his blue-lit shirt and the two shining points of light that were his eyes the only signs that he was there. The frog chorus grew, and occasionally amid the smaller chirps there was the deep, low bellow of a bullfrog. Crickets set the evening to a soothing tune, filling the air with their music.

The scene was perfect, picturesque—a vision from a dream that came true only in faerie stories.
And the feeling of Will sitting next to her, that faint heat that signaled the presence of another close by, made it all the better.

“You lost your sword and hammer,” Clare said quietly. “And all your armor.” She looked at him, searching the silhouette of his face, but he continued to stare out across the lake. “What will you do?”

He was silent for a long while. Finally, he breathed a soft sigh and murmured, “I'm not sure. You know,” he chuckled softly as though at a private joke, “it's almost...a relief. You get so used to the weight of the things that you forget what it's like not to wear them.” He shrugged, and then turned to her. “I feel lighter now.” The silver light twinkled in his eyes. “Free.”

They held each other's gaze for a time. She looked away first, a smile playing across her lips. She felt his eyes linger on her for a few moments more, and then he, too, looked away. Again, the moments danced by in silence but for the nighttime sounds of the Dark Forest. The beauty around them was so enchanting that Clare, for the time being, was almost able to forget the myriad tribulations circulating around her mind—including the problem of her mortality.

“Now lie back,” Will whispered suddenly, “and watch.” Clare held her breath in anticipation, grinning despite herself.

For one long instant nothing happened.

And then, quite suddenly, the night's music ceased. As she watched, the blue glow of dusk faded away, leaving in its place the silver of a full moon. The darkness overhead, devoid until then of any color, was suddenly sprinkled with countless small, pale green lights. She gasped in delight, wondering briefly if she would be able to find any of the Westland constellations. But then she realized that they were not stars; they were—

“Fireflies,” Clare whispered. “They're fireflies.”

They twinkled and glimmered like the faeries of legend, drifting lazily beneath the forest canopy on silken wings invisible to the naked eye. It was an ocean of light—an endless sea that stretched off into the distance for as far as her eyes could reach.

At first, Clare had found the constant darkness overhead oppressive and claustrophobic. There were no stars in the dark forest, nor was there true sun or moonlight; the trees obscured everything from view. But now, for the moment at least, the little creatures that painted the night sky with their shimmering bodies captivated Clare with their ethereal beauty. Her father had once taken her out on a ship to watch a hatching of squid as a little girl, and their little glowing forms had lit the black sea like the night sky. Now, the endless field before her evoked the memory so strongly that she felt tears sting her eyes.

“They're beautiful,” she breathed. “Perfect.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Will, his face lit dimly by the pale glow, smile. She turned toward him, and he to her. For a long time they said nothing; no words were needed. They simply lay on their backs in the grass, hands clasped across their slowly rising and falling chests. Eventually their gazes returned to the fireflies overhead.

Her body was exhausted, weary from both her recent injuries and her unnaturally rapid recovery, and slowly but surely the impulse to close her eyes began to take over. But tired as she was, her mind remained wide awake. She thought about the past few weeks, and about her life leading up to them. She thought about the rapid succession of events that had led her to this point in her existence. She thought about the Dark Forest and its beauties, wondering what else the enchanted realm could have in store for her. And most of all, she thought about Will—the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he looked at her...and the way it had felt to kiss him, however briefly.

But he was a Titan—immortal, unchanging. Did he feel the same way?
That's a stupid question,
she thought. Of course he did—everything he did around her gave it way. But would he always?
I love him,
she thought, not for the first time, and yet she was pleasantly surprised as always at the admission.
Truly, I do. And I know he feels something for me, but...what happens when I get old, and he is still young? Will he feel the same way?

She let her gaze fall on him once more, her eyes roving across his dimly lit features, and listened to the nearly inaudible sigh of his breathing, watching as his chest rose and fell serenely. He must have
seen her looking at him out of the corner of his eye, for he turned toward her with a gentle smile. “What?” he whispered.

His smile was infectious, and she could not help but follow his example. She loved the way he did that to her. For a long time she could think of nothing to say.

“Where do we go to sleep?” she finally asked, her voice soft so as not to break the tentative silence that had fallen over the forest. It felt fragile, as though the slightest sound might send it tumbling back into the chaotic chorus of dusk.

Will looked around, and then back at her. She could only just make out his face, but she could see that the smile was still there. “I hadn't really thought about it,” he murmured,“but right here is good enough for me.”

She smiled back at him. “Then...good night.”

“Dream well.”

Will's eyes slid shut, but for a long time Clare's stayed open, drinking in the beauty of the night. When she finally drifted off to sleep, the last thing she did was look at Will. Eventually she closed her eyes, but the smile that continued to tug gently at her lips never left.

It was while the other Titans battled the Void-spawned horrors that the Dark One came in secret to visit Koutoum.

“Brother,” it hissed, and its voice was as smooth and as foul as oiled silk. “Why have you not joined in the crusade against me?”

But Koutoum knew his brother best of all, and he knew that Keth and the Dark One were not the same. “Pretender,” he snarled. “You are a hollow shell. Keth would never have done these things.”

“But he did,” the Dark One breathed, and it circled Koutoum's golden throne like a wolf eyeing a sick lamb. “And it was you who drove him to such atrocities.”

Koutoum made to retort, but found he could not. Anything he said to counter such an accusation, he realized, would be a lie. “Why are you here?” he asked at last, and the Dark One cackled.

“To make an offer, dear brother,” it hissed. “Every living thing knows that you are the strongest, and that I am second only to you.” It held out its own warped and distorted version of Keth's hand. “Join forces with me. You have no idea how freeing insanity is. We could rewrite the realms however we saw fit, and to the Black with our siblings.” It grinned with hideous expectation at Koutoum.

“Twisted monster,” the Titan of flame whispered. “You are not Keth. My brother is dead.” He rose to his feet and unleashed the full glory of his power. The Dark One shrank back from his fury with a hiss, shielding its face from his wrath. “This ends here, Pretender.”

But before Koutoum could smite Keth from existence, the Dark One faded into the shadows and fled back into the deepest reaches of the Void.

And it was then that Koutoum finally made his decision.

~

That night Will dreamed of an oak tree. It was impossibly tall and wide, much larger than any oak he had ever seen, and its branches stretched out far to either side, providing him with a spacious pool of shade that hid him from the advances of the midday sun. He sat upon one gnarled root, knowing neither how he had come to be there nor what he was supposed to be doing. But the dream was nice, at any rate, and the warm breeze that ruffled his hair and gently kissed his skin brought with it a hint of lavender. The scent made him think of Clare, and he smiled.

The oak tree stood atop a high grassy knoll amid a sea of hills that rolled gently off into the distance. Beneath the tree the grass was green, but as abruptly as the shade ended, the grass withered and turned a dull, dry brown. The hills were just as lifeless, and the wilted corpses of wildflowers far past their prime speckled the terrain. He heard no birds, no insects; though peaceful, the dream world was almost completely dead.

Another breeze gusted past him, and he caught the scent of lavender again. He looked around and spied its source: a single sprig growing a few paces to his left. The tiny purple blossoms lent the shaded area beneath the oak an innocent and carefree quality that the rest of the dream lacked, and when he looked at them he felt his heart lighten. He rose from his spot on the root and walked over to the sprig, kneeling slowly and caressing it with one finger. The corners of his mouth tugged upward into a smile and, for reasons he did not quite understand, he breathed a soft chuckle.

He heard something whisper behind him and he whipped his head around so quickly that he felt his neck twinge. He winced.
Odd,
he thought.
Usually you don't feel pain in dreams.

His gaze roved across the area beneath the tree, searching for the source of the noise but finding nothing. He narrowed his eyes, but put it out of his mind and turned back to the lavender.

It was bigger now—two sprigs instead of one. He cocked his head in confusion and reached out to touch the blossoms again. This time, when the tip of his finger made contact, he felt the Other stir within him. It was barely noticeable at first, just a faint prodding deep inside him that his mind chose to ignore.
But as he stroked his finger along the length of one of the sprigs, entranced, the feeling of the Other intensified. His heart skipped a beat as he felt something deep inside his chest move fitfully for the span of a breath, like a creature seeking to worm its way out. It ceased the moment he pulled his hand away and clutched at his ribs, twisting his shirt with skittish fingers.

Then he heard the whispering again, louder this time. It came from behind him first, and then off to his left. When he looked around to find its source he heard it again, this time so close to his ear that he could feel the gentle tickle of breath on his skin.

“Over there.”

His body shuddered, and he felt the words almost as a compulsion upon his soul. He could not see their speaker, but he knew where he was supposed to look, and he could not disobey. He turned around slowly, as though encased in mud, and looked out over the horizon.

There were storm clouds far off in the distance, a massive thunderhead that rolled and billowed with boiling menace as though it had a life of its own. It was spreading quickly, much more so than it should have been, and an ominous feeling slithered through Will's gut. There was something wrong about the cloud bank—something sinister.

It was then that he noticed the outermost branches of the oak tree; they were dying, their leaves shriveled and brown like the grass, and the bark cracked and dry. And as he watched, he fancied he could almost see the blight spreading inward, its path a slow yet inexorable crawl toward the oak's heart.

The dream, Will decided, was no longer pleasant. A minuscule thrill of fear raced through him, but he smothered it with a small effort. His gaze went once again to the lavender, the one beautiful thing left within the deteriorating dream, and he was only mildly surprised to find that it now had three flowering stalks. He reached out to it, sensing that it was the correct thing to do.

“I can see,”
the voice whispered, this time from a spot just over his shoulder.
“Can you?”

“I don't understand,” Will said aloud, and to his credit his voice carried only the slightest hint of disquiet. “Who are you?”

“Look, and you will see.”

He looked over his shoulder. The thunderhead was closer now, and much larger. It could only have been a few
leagu
s off at most, and even from that distance Will could make out the thin grey wisps that churned at its edges, constantly growing and expanding with frightening speed. The dark mass at the cloud's center seemed to pulse like some mockery of a heartbeat, throbbing with dark red energies that flashed intermittently within its depths.

“I can see,”
said the voice again.
“Can you?”

And then he woke up.

~

Will sat up with a gasp, his body moving so quickly that the muscles in his stomach wrenched and he clutched at them with a grimace. The pain faded away quickly, and with it went remembrance of the dream. His heart was pounding in his chest so quickly that he feared it would burst, and cold sweat beaded on his brow, but he did not know why. He remembered being scared, but beyond that...

He eased himself back down, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself, and slowly he regained his composure. The forest helped—the ethereal lights had changed again, this time to a pale pink the color of dawn. The lake sloshed softly against the shore, and he could hear the scattered chirping of birds all around him. And then the sound of quiet, even breathing reached his ears, and he remembered Clare.

He turned his head and found his face a mere finger's breadth from her own. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were parted ever so slightly. He could feel the soft puffs of her breath gently feathering against his skin, and he smiled. A dark strand of chestnut hair had fallen across her face, and with gentle fingertips he brushed it back behind her ear. She stirred slightly in her sleep, but did not wake.

“I trust you slept well,” said a soft voice behind Will, and he started, whipping his head around quickly to see who it was.

“Feothon,” he said, and relaxed instantly. Of course it was Feothon. He felt rather ridiculous for his reaction now, but stood up all the same. Feothon was wearing the same garb he had been the day before, and the lightening morning sun accentuated the rigid lines of muscle beneath the pale skin of his bare chest. The dawn light shimmered off of his hair, sometimes catching the red and sometimes the gold, so that his locks seemed to be in constant liquid motion when he moved.

“The sleep of the weary,” the Titan said with a smile, his eyes going to Clare's still-motionless form. “'Tis very much like the sleep of the dead, only less depressing.” He winked at Will. “How is she?”

Will shrugged. “She seemed fine last night,” he said softly. “Should I wake her?”

“No, no—best let her sleep. She has earned a reprieve, I think.” Feothon chuckled and turned to walk away. “Follow me, please.”

Will looked down at Clare's sleeping form. “But...what about Clare? I can't just leave her here.”

“Nonsense.” Feothon did not turn around. “The Dark Forest is the safest place in all the realms for her right now. If something were to try to harm her here, countless horrific and terrible things the nature of which I will not go into would happen to them. Now please, come along.”

After a moment's pause, Will reluctantly trotted after the Titan. “Why are we leaving?” he asked when he caught up.

Feothon shrugged, his hair swirling around his shoulders. “I've a mind to speak with you. Truth be told, I missed Davin and Talyn more than I have ever missed anyone before. I feel as though they were stolen from me. They were not given a fair death, and that fact has been difficult to accept.” He half-turned to give Will a sidelong glance and a smile. “But now you are here. Dark days are coming, so we had better make the best of our time together while we still can.”

Will's eyes widened in surprise. “That sounded rather fatalistic.”

Feothon shrugged. “Yes, well. I am over seventeen hundred years old. After so long, I know my time must be coming.” He laughed, his voice like sweet music. “I am glad for this. I have seen too many of my loved ones die, Will. It does take its toll. Now 'tis time for the next incarnation of Forod to take my place, so that I may retire to the peace and quiet of the Void.” He smiled softly. “My, but that sounds rather poetic, does it not? I've half a mind to simply be on my way right now...”

Will shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I can only hope you stay alive for at least a little bit longer.”

“And why is that?”

Will gave him a surprised look. “You're apparently my brother, for one. That has to count for something. And then there's the bit about me being one of the most powerful forces in the world but not knowing how to control myself.” He raised an eyebrow. “I figure you can help me with that last part.”

Feothon laughed again. “Very true, very true. Though I think Serah may be better suited to such a task; wind is so very akin to fire, you know, always going where it wills, and never where 'tis told.” They stopped by a small waterfall set within two halves of an enormous granite boulder. The water poured down through the great crack in the stone and splashed into a wide, shallow pool below, shifting the surface so that Will's reflection stared back at him with comically distorted features. Fish darted just beneath the surface and frogs sat motionlessly upon floating lily pads, eyeing the newcomers with vapid indifference. The burble of water was soothing, the pool inviting, and Will felt a sudden urge to simply sit down, strip off his boots, and kick his bare feet in the water like a child.

“Feothon,” Will said slowly, his eyes staring absently into the water's rippling mirror surface, “I've been wondering something. I know I'm the Dragon King now, and I know there are a lot of problems in this world that need fixing, but what am I supposed to do?” His brow wrinkled. “I've only ever been a mercenary before. But now, all of a sudden, people are acting like I'm supposed to be some kind of savior.”

Feothon was silent for a moment, and simply stared into the dark canopy above. A look flitted across his face at the word “mercenary” that was distinctly unpleasant, but to his credit he did not
comment on Will's profession. “There are five Fallen left,” he said finally, and his voice sounded pained. “They are the reason this world is in such a state of chaos at the moment. Because of them, we Titans are mere memories, faded shadows from a distant age all but forgotten. 'Twas the traitors that allowed the birth and ascension of this new, monotheistic religion that controls the Lower Kingdoms, and 'twas the traitors that ushered in a new era of prosperity for the beasts in Ainos and Karkash.

“I do not know why 'tas taken so long for you to reform yourself from the darkness of the Void, but now is as good a time as any to halt the injustices in the world. Your purpose—our purpose—is to safeguard life. 'Tis time for the reign of the Fallen to come to an end.” He shook his head, confusion marring his features. “But I do not understand why you were not reborn sooner. We could have annihilated them centuries ago, when they were still weak. So why now?”

Will was silent for a long while before stating simply, in a dull voice, “So I'm supposed to kill the Fallen.”

“Yes.”

Will walked a short way away and breathed a deep sigh.
Kill the traitors...
How in the name of the Void was he supposed to do that? They were obviously ready to fight—witness the one that had attacked him—but how was he supposed to fight back? He had no idea how to even begin using his power, and every moment they wasted teaching him the tricks of the trade was a moment that the enemy could spend taking more innocent lives, or growing stronger, or improving their defenses, or a myriad of other unpleasant things.