The Fire Children (25 page)

Char cleared her throat, snapping Yulla back to the present. Yulla imagined her (in her mind’s eye, a taller, slimmer version of Ember) looking at the ground in shame, though she was likely doing no such thing. But it was easier to keep talking if she imagined the other girl cowed. “It’s these collars holding you here. You can’t take them off on your own, but maybe I can do it. Please.”

“We’re not supposed to go near humans. We hurt them. Mother will be angry.” Char’s voice faltered.
It’s a weak argument and she knows it.

“As angry as she’ll be if those humans upstairs kill her children?”

Silence.

“Have they bled you?”

Beside her, Ember stood up. “Yes,” he said. “They did it to me before they brought me down here. The others... They’ve done it a few times.”

“We think it’s why Mother Sun isn’t hearing us. They’re keeping her from hearing anyone’s prayers.” Char sounded chastened. Slightly.

“I’m sorry.” Yulla composed herself the best she could. What she had to say next wasn’t going to set Char any more at ease. “They’ll do worse than that soon. I don’t know what kind of power it would take to draw your mother from the sky, but that’s what they want to do. They want to bring her down here and punish her for what she did to Father Sea.”

One of the younger ones whimpered, the high-pitched whine of a knot about to pop in a campfire.

“Sssh,” Char soothed. “It’s all right, she can come down here. She’s done it before.”

She felt bad scaring the little ones, but there was nothing else for it. “They want to hold her here. Vedra wants to hurt her for sure. The others... Amara might want to kill her. Either way, they’ll kill
you
to do it.” She held out her hands, palms up, begging. “Please, let me help.”

Char and Ember argued awhile, in that language Yulla couldn’t understand. At one point, he slipped his arm around Yulla’s waist and kept it there. She suspected he did it as much to gall Char as it was to comfort Yulla, but she didn’t complain. Now and then another voice would join in, and Yulla remembered the other voices she’d heard when she first woke. This one—the other girl—seemed to have separated herself from the rest. Her words came from clear across the chamber.
Is she afraid of me?

If she frightened the girl, she certainly didn’t frighten the two little ones. Yulla felt other bodies near her. They were smaller, their heat inconsistent even with the collars. A tug pulled at her tunic as someone plucked at it, followed by scrambling, fleeing feet. The furtive whispers of scheming children reached her when Ember and Char paused, then would come another tug, or a tap on her wrist, or simply the sense of someone standing close by, watching.
I’m as strange to them as they are to me.
She smiled in what she thought was the children’s direction, and wished she had some of Abba’s butterscotch candies in her pockets.

Then Ember and Char’s discussion was done. Even the whispering children went quiet.

“Do it,” said Char, after an eternity. “You’re right. You’re both right.”

Ember let go of Yulla and took a step back. “Me first. I’m not as tired.”

The way he said
tired
packed a lot of meaning into that one syllable: the others had been captured in the first two days. Ember had spent that time running from the witch-women, but it had still been time where he was
free.
He’d eaten, he’d burned. He’d had time, while they were in the cave, to let his guard down. Sure, he’d been bled since the witches caught him, but it had taken a greater toll on the others.

Yulla nodded. “I saw rags in here the last time. Old blankets, maybe, or clothes. Are they here still?”

Movement around her as they searched. A minute later, a soft bundle was pressed into her hands. “These?” asked Char.

Yulla pinched the fabric, rubbed it between her fingers. Linen. “Perfect. Will you bring me the water, too?” The younger ones scurried off. She heard it sloshing in the bucket as they carried it over to her. Yulla wound the linen around her hands, wrapping them the way fighters did. She could only do two layers around each of her fingers before she lost mobility, but it would have to do.

When she was done, she tucked the loose ends in and dunked her hands in the water. Wool might have been slower to catch fire, but she needed to be able to feel for knots and seams on the collar, or a thin place she could tear (
don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t
). Once they were good and soaked, the linen so saturated it clung like a second skin, she stepped close to Ember. “Ready?”

“No. But we have to.” He touched his forehead to hers, briefly. “I’ll control my flames as much as I can. If it starts burning, you stop right away, okay?”

“I will,” she lied.

At first it was easy, tracing the length of that thin leather collar around his neck. She’d seen sturdier ones on dogs, but when she tried to tear it, the strip held. She worked her way around, the feeling slightly muffled by the linen, though the place where it fastened was an obvious lump at the back of Ember’s neck.

“It’s a sliding knot,” she said, and stifled a laugh. To be sure, she counted the lumps again, and again. Aunt Mouse had taught her and Kell how to make them years before, when they’d both come down with Mule’s Sickness. The intricate work of stringing beads for necklaces had distracted them from the harsh, braying coughs that went along with the childhood disease. Yulla could have tied those knots in her sleep by the time she and Kell were allowed outside to play again.

Usually it was a simple matter of sliding one end of the cord off of the loop, but the leather had been pulled so tight it bit into itself. “I have to... I have to pick at it, but I can get it.” She pulled the linen tighter and set to work. The others crowded around her, trying to get a look. Every so often, Char or the other girl chided the little ones for getting too close.

Her burnt fingers felt it the moment Ember’s control started to slip. It was like that first hot bath after staying out in the sun too long—he hadn’t warmed up too terribly much, but the burns said otherwise, like she’d stuck her hand into a firepit. Yulla bore it as long as she could, gritting her teeth and digging at the knot, but finally she had to pull away.

“You tried,” said Char, the disappointment ringing clear. “We’ll think of someth—”

“Bring me the water,” said Yulla. “I can do this.”

She thought they were going to refuse. A score of arguments rose to her lips, but then Char sighed and the bucket scraped along the stone. “It’s next to you,” she said.

“Yulla...” Ember caught her wrist.

She wrenched it away and bent to soak her hands again. Maybe it was a good thing she’d been blinded—if she could see his face right now, she might falter. “Don’t.”

He didn’t balk when she straightened and returned to her work. She was grateful for that, especially since the re-soaking didn’t stop the pain in her burnt fingers from flaring up again right away. Ember was getting hotter.
Calmly, now.
Picking haphazardly at the knot would only make it worse, she knew. The smell of steam was replaced by the acrid scent of scorching cloth. Yulla began pausing every few seconds to shake off smoldering flecks of linen, or to plunge her hands back into the bucket. The tepid water soothed her burns, but she didn’t let herself keep them there long—the more time she took, the less control Ember would have.

She picked and picked, imagining Aunt Mouse’s neat knots in her mind, feeling for any loose points in the leather, starting again. Soon the heat got too much for her good hand, too. It throbbed in time with the injured one, but she couldn’t afford to stop. Yulla gritted her teeth and wished she had something to clench between them.

Finally,
finally,
one of the loops pried free. From there it was an easy matter to unravel the rest of the knot. Ember gasped as the collar fell away. Yulla’s sense of pride and relief was cut short as he stumbled off to the other side of the chamber, his tread heavy on the stone. Fear shoved the other emotions away—had taking it off triggered another spell? Had they woven a trap into the (
skin
) leather?

A flash of heat washed over her, then a hot breeze in its wake. “Ember?” She stumbled forward, seeking him out. “Ember!”

“I’m all right,” he said at last. “It got shaky there, at the end. But I’m all right.”

I did it. He’s not hurt. There weren’t any traps.
Her knees buckled with relief. She didn’t want any of the Fire Children to think she was too hurt to continue, though, so she did her best to make it look like she was simply kneeling down beside the bucket to adjust the linen wraps and dunk her hands once more.

“Char? Come to me. It’s your turn.”

“No. The little ones next. I’m going last.”

“You aren’t.”

Char’s voice had come from just above her. Yulla took her good hand out of the water and groped for the girl. She found Char’s knee and tapped at the back of it until Char leaned down.

“Look,” said Yulla as softly as she could. “Look at my hands.”
She
couldn’t see them, but from their stiff, swollen feel, she had a pretty good idea what Char would be seeing. “I can only do one more. Ember and I are going to need you if we’re going to fight. You’re the eldest? Or at least the one in charge?”

“... yes.”

“The three of us getting out and getting help is our best chance. Will you trust me on that?”

The girl was quiet for a long moment before she spoke. “You’ve earned Ember’s trust. You came back for him—for all of us—when you could have run. And your poor hands...” Char’s touch was nearly as gentle as Ember’s had been. She took Yulla’s hand in her own and wound a new layer of linen over the old. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Good,” said Yulla. “Thank you.” One last soaking, and she got to work on Char’s leash.

H
ER HANDS WERE
two lumps of red hot agony by the time she was done. Ember had been right about how tired Char was, how little control she’d have over her flames and her heat. Yulla had untied the sliding knot as fast as she could, but still the linen burned away. It never quite caught flame, though whether that was Ember’s doing or Char’s, she didn’t know. Either way, bits of ash fell away in smoldering chunks until there was nothing left to protect her skin.

Ember came over to hold her steady. With the collar gone, he had control of his flames again. Yulla thought he might try to pull her away, but he merely stood behind her, his hands a comforting weight on her shoulders, until the knot came free.

Only then—after Char had scrambled away like Ember had to let out that sudden burst of heat—did Yulla let herself feel the pain. This was beyond any sunburns she’d had, or the time she’d broken her wrist falling from the stable master’s fence. She smelled burnt meat. Her fingers crackled when she flexed them; a low animal moan escaped her throat as she fought to stay conscious and not throw up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, to anyone who might be close enough to hear. “That’s all I can do. But there’s a rockfall. There’ll be people on the other side. They’ll help us.”

“They might not be there anymore,” said Ember. He sounded grim. “Char, do you feel it?”

She was quiet a moment before she let out a moan that echoed Yulla’s. “I do.”

“What is it?” Yulla turned towards Ember’s voice, then Char’s then back again. “What happened?”

Char sounded like she might cry, or scream, or both. “The eclipse is over.”

“W
E HAVE TO
go,” said Yulla. “There might still be people down here.” Her thoughts spun wildly—what time was it? It had been nearly noon when Vedra had thrown her down here, and Ember said she’d been out most of a day. No more than an hour could have passed since she’d awakened and freed Ember and Char. “When did you last hear bells?”

“Not too long before you woke up,” said Ember.

“They must have gone on for a quarter of an hour,” Char added. “We thought they’d never stop.”

The hope that had blossomed in Yulla’s chest withered. “They ring them that long for the Reemergence.” By now, everyone would be up above. They’d have seen the untouched offerings. The priests would surely have found Anur by now, dead or alive. “Maybe they’ve stopped it. Maybe they’ve already found Vedra and her sisters and stopped it.”

“Wouldn’t someone have come down here by now?” asked Char. “What they did to the building outside is hard to miss.”

What could the witch-women be doing to the people of the city? How could they stop a crowd of thousands?
They bound the Wind and stole the sun’s children. Regular people must be so much easier to control, compared to that.

She thought of Aunt Mouse, her parents, Kell. Old Moll and his family, Hatal and his floured apron, all the faces she saw every day at the market and on the streets—all of them, at the mercy of Vedra and her sisters.
They won’t be kind.

“Let’s go. There has to be something we can do.” Much as she wanted to charge up the stairs here, Yulla knew it would be unwise. If a witch-woman was standing sentry on the other side of the door, their escape would be thwarted before they could do any good. “We’ll go to one of the other houses,” she said. “One they’re not watching.” Ember took her by the elbow, careful not to touch her hands. She found that if she held them still, curled against her chest, the pain was manageable. Not gone, not by any means, but at least dulled to a low roar.