Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) (3 page)

The ship pitched violently beneath them, almost toppling Eric from the crate. Inken stumbled forward and fell against him. He caught her before the rolling of the ship sent her tumbling. The wind howled through the rigging above, tearing at the sail. The sailors shouted over the gale, terror in their voices as they struggled with the sails. Storm clouds blackened the sky, while sheets of rain and hail lashed the deck.

They toppled from the crate as the ship lurched again. Eric struggled to stand, reaching for his power. His mind reeled with shock – he hadn’t released his magic, had he?

“I don’t think this is me!” he shouted, grasping for Inken’s hand.

“What? How is that possible?”

Lightning crashed. Eric winced, instinct driving him down into his magic. Power flooded his mind. He opened his eyes and saw a bolt flashing towards the mast. He raised a hand and gripped it with his magic, hurling it into the raging sea. Thunder clapped and the air shook as it struck. Boiling water geysered into the air and crashed over the railings. It swept towards them.

Inken tackled him backwards into the cabin. Breath exploded from his chest as they tumbled from the water’s path. Eric gasped, struggling to sit up, already searching out the next flash of lightning. Panic rose within him, swamping his concentration. His magic began to slip from his grasp. They could not afford that.

Eric closed his eyes and sank back into the abyss. He wrapped the magic threads in an iron grip and opened his spirit eyes. The storm raged around them, pulling his phantom body skywards. The air crackled with the energy of the Sky element, but he worked on instinct now – and desperation.

Threads of magic stretched out from him, forming hooks of blue light to grasp the wind and rain surging around them. Gritting his teeth, Eric unleashed a surge of energy, pushing them back from the ship.

Almost instantly, the air stilled and the sails sagged in their rigging. The violent crashing of the waves faded away, leaving the ship to settle back into a gentle rocking. The scent of rain was strong in their nostrils.

Eric drew in a breath of relief.

Then he felt a surge of energy burn through his mind, and the storm returned with renewed fury. The mast groaned, cracks appearing in the thick wood.

Eric stared in disbelief. It was not possible. His magic remained embedded in the storm that had struck them, holding it back from the ship. But this wind and rain had appeared from nowhere, as if summoned by some unnatural force. That was impossible – the first thing Alastair taught him was that Magicker’s could manipulate the Light, the Sky and the Earth, but they could not create.

Only the Gods could do that.

A sudden force struck Eric, hurling his soul back into his body. Gasping, he opened his eyes, searching for the words.

“
Where is she?
” a voice boomed over the roar of the storm.

Eric stood in the doorway of the cabin and watched in terror as a figure materialised on the bow of the ship. Wind and rain swirled around him. Thunder crackled as lightning struck the bow, the shock wave knocking sailors from their feet. The energy rippled along the figure's condensing arms and shoulders, gathering in his outstretched fist. The figure seemed to coalesce from the Sky itself, until a man stood on the deck, pure rage etched across his face.

Hair as white as snow hung down to the man’s shoulders. His ice blue eyes glared across at Eric, dark patches hanging beneath them. Lines of stress marked his forehead, but his face was clean shaven. He wore clothes similar to the sailors – a dark blue shirt and tight black pants.

Eric knew him from the vision Antonia had once shown him.

Lightning crackled around the man as he took a step. “
Where. Is. She!
”

The sky turned white as lightning flashed, casting long shadows across the deck. It raced towards Eric, crackling as it went.

Panic and fear fought within him, but instinct took hold. He reached out with his magic, with his hands, to catch it. The lightning flared as it struck. Thunder clapped and a shock ran through his body.

The force of the blast threw him backwards into the wall of the cabin. His head crashed against the wood, sending a jolt of pain down his spine. His ears rung and his head spun. He tasted metal on his tongue, then burning.

“
Tell me where she is, now!
”

The man stood over him now, seeming to tower higher even than the mast of the ship. Lightning crackled again. He held a fist above Eric, energy dancing along his skin.

Eric stared up at the Storm God, fear making his heart thud in his chest. “Who, Jurrien?” he croaked.

“My sister, Antonia.
Where is she?
”

Eric struggled to understand his words. He wiped the streaming rain from his face. His body shook with pain. “Antonia? What do you mean?”

The God sucked in an angry breath. “She is gone. I can no longer sense her, feel her anywhere. But the taint of her magic is on you. You were with her, not long ago.
What has happened?
”

Eric shook his head. “She left. She wanted to hunt down the demon Archon sent to kill Enala.”

“
What?
One of Archon’s demons is
here?
” he swore. “How could she be so
foolish?
Going after it alone, in her state!”

“She seemed okay in the cove,” Eric croaked.

Jurrien’s icy eyes bored into Eric, his teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw. “She was exhausted. We barely held off Archon’s last attack, and then she runs off babbling about
Alastair
and
Eric
and
Enala
. How she summoned the energy to heal the lot of you I do not know. But to then go chasing a demon…” he covered his face with his hands and turned away.

“Alastair is dead,” Eric whispered. Jurrien had known his mentor as well.

Jurrien shook his head. “The old man was going to bite off more than he could chew sooner or later,” he spoke the words with venom. “But I never thought he’d bring Antonia down with him.”

Eric struggled to his feet. “Alastair had nothing to do with this, whatever
this
is!” he argued. “The demon was
your
responsibility, yours as well as Antonia’s. It should never have stepped foot in Plorsea in the first place.”

The Storm God stepped forward until only an inch separated them. He towered over Eric, his muscular stature no less intimidating for his silver hair. Eric looked into his eyes and saw the depth of power and wisdom there. He found himself remembering his first encounter with Antonia, the light hearted Goddess of the Earth. The fight went from him as he realised the meaning behind Jurrien’s words.

“Are you saying she’s gone?”

The God’s eyes softened. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. This has never happened before. I can always sense her, even those rare times when we sleep. But now – nothing. I need to find out what has happened,” he waved a hand as he spoke.

The wind ceased with a sharp snap. The sails slumped and the rocking of the ship slowed, released from the violent grasp of the waves. The crackle of lightning around Jurrien died away, until he seemed to be just an ordinary man. A man weighed down by worry, one teetering on the brink of defeat. The last God standing.

Eric prayed it was not so. “She was with us last at Malevolent Cove. She headed into Dragon Country on the trail of the demon.”

Jurrien nodded. “Okay. I will follow her path. I just hope I am wrong,” he turned and walked to the railings. With a grunt he levered himself over the side. A gust of wind caught him as he fell, propelling him into the sky.

Eric released his breath and looked around the ship. Jurrien’s appearance had left the wooden boards at the prow of the ship burnt and blackened, and a part of the sail had torn loose in the wind. The rigging hung in a tattered mess. Crates and supplies lay strewn across the deck, broken free by the raging waves and wind. Several barrels bobbed in the ocean around them, slowly drifting away. The creak of straining wood came from the mast.

His companions stood nearby, their clothes wet, faces bedraggled. They stared at him in shock, but one by one they moved to stand with him. Inken placed a reassuring arm around his waist, while Caelin grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Michael only nodded. There was no sign of Enala. Together they looked across the deck to where Captain Loris stood amongst his spoiled supplies.

Slowly the crew gathered around Loris, voices whispering as they glanced in his direction. Eric recognised the look on their faces all too well – the mixture of terror and rage. Blame would soon follow, and – if they did not put the mutinous glances to rest – violence. He sought out the young sailor he had spoken to earlier. His heart sank when he found the man and saw the hate in his eyes.

But for once his magic had not been responsible for the havoc, and he did not intend to suffer the consequences.

Eric took a step forward. The captain opened his mouth to stop him, a purple vein popping on his forehead. Eric spoke over the top of him. “Well, I hope you all enjoyed your first meeting with Jurrien, the God of Lonia. He’s not much for introductions, apparently.”

His words had the desired effect. A shiver went through the crew and the captain’s words died in his throat. These were Lonian sailors after all, which made Jurrien their God. Eric had never been to Lonia, so he was not sure how the people generally regarded the Storm God, but he doubted they were likely to argue with someone on speaking terms with him. Even if his conversation with Jurrien had largely revolved around dire threats on the God’s part.

At last the captain drew in a breath and bellowed. “Okay, back to work everyone. I want this ship ready to sail within the hour,” he banged his fist against the mast to emphasise his words.

Loris walked towards the rear of the ship to take over from the helmsman. He glanced at them as he swept passed. “Guess your tale had some truth to it after all. Just wish I’d been wrong about the trouble,” the glare in his eyes could have melted iron.

As he passed, the others turned to stare at Eric.

“What happened?” they asked in unison.

*************

Jurrien slumped against the tree, a dark weight crashing against his soul. Around him, the forest was silent, dead. All colour had leached from the trees, leaving the woods grey and lifeless. Not a single creature stirred. Birds and squirrels lay in silent death on the leafy ground, their tiny bodies twisted in agony. A rotten stench spread throughout the clearing. The taint of dark magic hung thick in the air.

A single tear ran down Jurrien’s cheek. He let it fall, unable to believe, to comprehend what his eyes told him. Antonia lay amidst the fallen animals, eyes closed. Her auburn hair spread out around her head, her tiny lips parted slightly as though she still breathed. She could have been sleeping, if not for the blood staining her sky-blue dress. The blood had seeped out around her, soaking into the earth that had bourn her.

A groan rattled up from Jurrien’s throat. His fists clenched on thin air. He closed his eyes, opened them again, but the image did not change. His soul reached out for his sister, for some last trace of her. Nothing. She was dead, gone.

He was alone.

And Archon was coming.

Inken rested her head against the wooden crate behind her and looked down at Eric. She smiled fondly as she watched him sleep. His head was nestled in her lap, a few wild tuffs of dark brown hair covering his eyes. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, interrupted every few breaths by a muffled groan. The brief fight with Jurrien had clearly cost Eric more than he’d let on.

She reached down and wiped a streak of soot from his cheek, then brushed his fringe from his face. A gentle warmth filled her heart. Just yesterday he had teetered on the brink of death. She had come close to losing him forever. Then Antonia had come, had saved him.

Yet not a day later, Antonia’s brother had almost reversed that blessing. Inken could not believe Jurrien had attacked them. With empty ocean all around, far from any spies or demons, Inken had allowed herself to relax – and the Storm God had taken her by surprise.

Now she realised the darkness could find them at any time. She would not be caught unawares again. Her bow lay within easy reach, her sabre strapped to her side. If they were attacked, she would be ready.

Across the deck she could see Caelin arguing with the captain. She knew it would take every ounce of diplomacy the young sergeant possessed to cool the man’s temper, and even then it might not be enough. Eric’s words may have averted a mutiny, but Inken could sense the crew’s anger, festering just beneath the surface. They feared the power they had witnessed. The captain’s command could only do so much to stop that fear from bubbling over.

It would be a long two days before they reached Lon.

Inken’s hand brushed the hilt of her sword. Its leather grip felt reassuring, although hostility from the crew did not worry her. She was confident Caelin and herself could handle them if it came to it. After facing demons and Magickers, Inken would almost cherish a fair fight.

It was the aftermath she worried about, when they would be left stranded at sea. None of them knew how to sail a dingy, let alone a ship.

Behind her, silence blanketed the cabin. Inken sighed. Its only occupant was the girl, Enala. She had yet to speak a single word. It was past time that changed. They had to reach her, bring her back from the brink of whatever crevice she teetered on.

Inken gave a wry smile. The men did not have a clue about how to go about the task, so it seemed it would be up to her. It would be easier now. Before, in the cove, the fear of Eric’s death had weighed on her mind.

She sat there a few minutes more, enjoying the warmth and closeness of Eric’s body. How the young man had wormed his way into her heart remained a mystery, but she was not about to let him go now. The ship offered little privacy for a couple – the crew slept in hammocks beneath the deck while their company squeezed into the small cabin with the captain – so she had to savour every little moment.

Finally, she lifted Eric’s head from her lap and tucked a rolled up jerkin underneath him for a pillow.

Eric stirred, his blue eyes flashing as they opened to watch her. “Where are you going?”

Inken leaned down and kissed him, lingering as their tongues met. It was a while before she pulled away. “I want to check on Enala. You get some sleep. We need you well rested.”

Eric yawned and nodded, closing his eyes again.

Inken grinned and stood, climbing down from the crate and walking back to the cabin door. Pulling it open, she made her way into the darkness within. A single candle provided the only source of light in the small room, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust. A desk was crammed into the rear corner, making way for the sleeping rolls they’d squeezed into the cabin. A single bed took up the other wall.

Enala lay curled up on the bed, covers drawn around her head with only a few tuffs of blond hair showing. The covers shook as the door swung closed, and a half-choked sob came from the darkness. It was the only noise the girl had made for two days.

Inken moved across and sat on the foot of the bed. The pile of blankets grew still, so Inken scooted back on the mattress and leaned against the wall. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she sat in the darkness, contemplating what to say.

What
could
she say to this girl? In less than two weeks Enala had witnessed the brutal murder of her parents, the death of a friend, and the loss of the dragon she rode. Never mind the revelation that the ancient evil known as Archon was hunting her, wanted her dead.

It was too much for anyone to take, let alone a seventeen-year-old girl. Inken doubted she had the strength to cope any better – she would be in the same position as Enala if their positions were reversed.

Even so, Enala had to know she was not alone anymore. For Inken herself, the search for Enala had never been about the Sword of Light, but a girl who needed protection from evil. She had to convince Enala that, though they were strangers, they cared about her. She had to convince her to trust them.

Inken released a long breath as she realised she had no idea where to start. She chuckled, and decided not to mention to the others she was as clueless as them. Still, she had to try
something
.

Closing her eyes, Inken began to talk.

She began with the trivial, the mundane. She spoke of the white mare she had purchased just a few short weeks before, and how absurd she’d felt riding such a conspicuous animal. A bounty hunter riding a white horse would be the talk of the town – not an ideal situation for a profession requiring subtly. She spoke of her debt back in Chole, the cost of her equipment, her old friends and what they must think of her now, after she’d betrayed them to rescue Eric and the others.

Then Inken spoke of her childhood, of the time her mother finally decided she’d had enough. Cold to the end, the woman had walked away without looking back. Not a kiss or a hug goodbye for the five-year-old she left behind, just a wave and a door slammed in her face.

From then on it had been just Inken and her father.

And things had only grown worse. Her father was a notorious drunk, and with her mother gone his attention soon turned to Inken. He often returned drunk in the early afternoon, unleashing strings of profanities which quickly disintegrated into screaming fits; the kind that shook the walls and led to knocks on the door from neighbours. In his drunken rage, the man blamed Inken for everything from her mother’s desertion, to their poverty.

Inken learned to keep her mouth shut in those early years. Eventually the neighbours stopped knocking.

For years Inken had suffered his insults, his curses and threats. She had grown thick skinned, deaf to all but the worst of his curses.

But on the first day he hit her, the ten-year-old Inken had walked out the door and never looked back.

Hot tears spilt from Inken’s eyes and ran down her face. In all her years, she had never told a soul about her past. She had always thought of it as just that – her past, nobody’s business but her own. She could not imagine what made her speak of it now. Not even Eric knew the story of her parents.

She heard a rustling come from the other end of the bed and tried not to look. She glimpsed movement from the corner of her eye, and then Enala was curling up beside her, lips still pursed tight. The young girl pulled the covers up around them and leaned her head against Inken’s shoulder.

Inken stretched out her arm and wrapped it around the girl. They sat in silence for a while, each contemplating the various horrors which were their lives. Inken had lived on the streets for most of her teenage years, but she did not regret her decision to leave. She smiled to herself, thinking of the convoluted path she’d taken to become a bounty hunter.

But that was a story for another day.

“We may not seem like much, Enala, but we are all here for you,” she whispered.

Enala wriggled closer. “How do you know?”

“They’re like me. Eric, Caelin, Michael, they’re good people. They want to help you, help everyone in the Three Nations. You can trust them.”

Inken caught a flash of blue eyes in the darkness. “I hope so,” she heard Enala’s soft voice.

“You can,” Inken repeated, then. “Are you hungry?”

For the first time Enala met her eyes. “Bloody starving,” she flashed a smile.

Inken laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

*************

“What’s going on here?” Caelin looked up as Michael interrupted his argument with the captain.

Captain Loris scowled at the doctor. “None of your business.”

Caelin raised an eyebrow. “None of his business? I think the good doctor would be just as upset as the rest of us were you to abandon us on some deserted beach.”

“What do you expect me to do?” the captain snapped. “The crew are an inch from mutiny. God or no, that
thing
almost sank us. And he was clearly not fond of the bunch of you. The men are
scared
.”

“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Michael put in. “He was looking for his sister, Antonia, and I can assure you we don’t have the Goddess of the Earth tucked up our sleeves,” he waved at the wide sleeves of his coat with a smile.

“That’s all well and good, but the crew don’t know what’s going on. And from what I’ve heard, the less we tell them about the whole affair, the better,” he shook his head. “They won’t stand for this. This is your fight. I cannot risk the lives of my crew for your affairs. We are only simple fishermen.”

Michael spread his hands. “And I am only a priest. Caelin is only a soldier. We are all
only
something, but this fight goes beyond who and what we are. It doesn’t matter to Archon; to him we are just souls waiting to be enslaved.”

Caelin glanced at the resolve on the doctor’s face. Michael’s words warmed his heart, gave him hope.

But the captain wasn’t having any of it. His brow drew down into a scowl as he glared at them. “Archon or no, it’s
you
who are a threat to our lives just now. Won’t matter a jot whether Archon comes or not if we’re at the bottom of the ocean.”

Anger swamped Caelin. He swore. “If you abandon us in the middle of nowhere, you risk the lives of everyone in the Three Nations,” he took a breath. “This is your chance to be more than
just
fisherman, to make a difference in this world.”

“And what about our world? Who will pay our wages if we lose our cargo? Who will feed our wives and family if the ship sinks?”

Caelin wanted to shake the man. Michael interrupted before he got the chance. “We understand your concern, Loris, and the concerns of your men. I assure you, you will be safe. Jurrien will not return, nor any other vengeful spirit. And if its money that concerns you, then perhaps we could come to an arrangement?”

“What?” Caelin and Loris asked in unison.

The captain glanced at Caelin and then continued. “What sort of payment? A priests blessing is all well and good, but it doesn’t pay the bills.”

Michael smiled. “The temples of the God’s are not rich, but I am sure they have a few spare funds to reward the ship that provided us safe passage to Lon.”

Caelin swallowed, wondering whether Michael was bluffing. If so, this was one man he did not want to play poker with.

The captain grunted. “And what about
our
safe passage? It would have to be a hefty sum to convince my men to continue with this business.”

Michael grinned. “Gold is a strong motivator, I believe.”

Straightening his shoulders, Michael began to negotiate with the captain what they considered a ‘reasonable’ price for their passage. Caelin could only shake his head in wonder. He had not seen this side of Michael before. Until now the doctor had been withdrawn, and Caelin had assumed him to be a fearful and timid man.

Now he found his first assessment to be changing quickly. With his priestly upbringing, Michael might never be a fighter, but there was clearly more to the man than the green robe of his order.

Ten minutes later Caelin joined Michael at the railing, their passage to Lon assured. At least for now. They stood in silence for a while, staring out at the jagged coastline sweeping past them. A gull skimmed the waves, its high pitched caw carrying across the water.

Caelin glanced at Michael. “That was well done,” he hesitated. “Is it true though, will the temple in Lon really pay?”

Michael smiled, running a hand through his greying hair. “I think so.”

Caelin laughed, but Michael continued. “It’s at least standard practice for the Earth Temples to have a stock of gold available to aid those doing Antonia’s work. I can only assume the Sky Temples would be the same,” he laughed himself. “Perhaps they even have a store to cover damages when the Storm God loses his temper.”

Caelin chuckled. “I hope that was not a common occurrence.”

Michael’s face darkened. “I doubt it. Whatever is happening with Antonia, it must be serious. For Jurrien to lose control like that… I mean, his temper does have a reputation, but even so...”

Caelin glanced at the burnt timber at the bow of the ship. “Agreed.”

Silence fell again. A sadness came over Michael’s face. “I’ve been thinking; it might be best if I were to stay in Lon.”