The Fire Children (8 page)

Still, it meant the Fire Children hadn’t come to their house yet. She looked out the window and tried judging how close it was to sunrise. Would the sky even lighten? She had no way to know. What if sunrise never came at all? Would the bells they rang in the Worship Hall echo up here?

She fished a fig from her pocket while she puzzled it out. Standing there was a waste of time. She should at least venture out a little way.The market was a quarter of an hour’s walk away. If she went there first, she could get a good look around before turning back. Surely that’s where the Fire Children would have gone first. Maybe she could figure out which way they’d gone, where in the city they currently were.

And if the witch-women had already begun stealing from them.

She passed through their house to the front door, squared her shoulders, and let herself out into the night.

S
HE’D NEVER KNOWN
the city to be so quiet. Even in the wee hours, Yulla could lie awake in bed and hear distant music sneaking through her windows, or laughter echoing along alleyways, or horses whinnying and stamping their feet in their sleep.

Tonight, Kaladim was nearly silent.

Nearly, except for the wind keening out over the sands.
Father Sea took the Wind for his mistress,
she remembered Kell telling her,
and she mourns him to this day. Listen. Doesn’t she sound like she’s crying?

Kell had been trying to scare her, of course. She’d followed it up with a story about the wind scooping up the unsuspecting and carrying them off.

It hadn’t been scary then, with Amma and Abba asleep in their room down the hall and the city’s other noises competing with the wind. Now that she was up here all alone, Kell’s story wasn’t quite as absurd. If the Fire Children could burn people up, why
couldn’t
the wind carry them away?

Stop it.

Yulla forced her thoughts toward the street. The sky was darker than when they’d gone below—even Sister Moon’s smile had completely disappeared now, and stars provided the only light. After her time in the dark, it was more than enough to see by.

Nothing had changed. The banners and streamers they’d hung to please the Fire Children fluttered from their posts. The street looked the same, the buildings, everything. Yulla wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting: scorch marks at least, the banners either completely burnt or reduced to singed tatters. Maybe a pool of shiny slag on the ground where the poles had melted.

She thought she’d have smelled smoke, burning stone, or charred meat, but as she passed down streets untouched by flame, she smelled only the faint scent of desert flowers and the ghosts of the livestock as she passed by empty pens. Cows and horses, camels and goats, all had been driven down into the massive caverns that lay below the eastern side of the city, where they were kept penned and fed until the eclipse ended. Yulla wondered how they were faring in the dark, if the lack of light frightened them, or if it even registered.

Then the market opened before her, and her heart sank.

The trestle tables were exactly as she remembered them, only in some places flies buzzed around the still-laden platters. Aside from the flies and wilted flowers, all was undisturbed.

Yulla had a sudden, terrible thought: what if there
were
no Fire Children? What if Mother Sun hadn’t sent them down this time?

Or what if the Fire Children
simply weren’t real?

That couldn’t be true. Kell said she’d
seen
the evidence of them the last time the Scorching Days came. Yulla herself had traced old burn marks around the city too many times to count.

But could the priests be behind those? Did they sneak above ground during the festival and set fire to the offerings? Was that why they kept to themselves during the Darktimes? Was it possible Vedra had told the truth, and the witch-women weren’t stealing from the people? That it was a priest she’d seen looking down, not Vedra?

I saw the flames leave the lamps. That couldn’t be a trick.

Could it?

Yulla ran around the market, forgetting to be mindful of the time. She peered beneath the tables, climbed into abandoned stalls, threw open the doors to several shops, but found no evidence of the Fire Children anywhere.

Neither, though, did it seem like anyone else had been through here. Not the priests, not the witch-women. Offerings lay on counters and tables and mantels, exactly as they’d been left.

When the bells at the Worship Hall rang to announce the sunrise, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Maybe they were tied to the ones below. Curiosity called to her, urging her to go and take just a quick look—she was already in trouble as it was. If Amma discovered her missing before she could return to the cellars, her punishment couldn’t possibly be much worse.

And if she arrived there to find one of the priests ringing the bells up here, she’d have plenty of questions for him.

That’s when she noticed two things in quick succession:

In the east, the sky hadn’t lightened one whit. Where Mother Sun ought to be (and was, she reminded herself: this
was
Mother Sun) a dark black disc rose, surrounded by a ring of swirling silver.

And in the street before her, peering around the corner of a building, blazed a figure made of flame.

Y
ULLA STOOD PERFECTLY
still, waiting to feel her skin crackle and burn.
That’s only if he—she?—touches me.

Isn’t it?

It was what the stories suggested, at least. Nothing else near her seemed to be in danger of burning, either. The air was still as cool as it had been since she first emerged from the cellar; even with Mother Sun climbing higher, Yulla felt no warmer. She took her eyes off her new companion to look at the sky. Dark as midnight, every piece of it she could see, except where Mother Sun’s light flowed out around Sister Moon.

She ought to be hearing birds, or cattle lowing, or roosters crowing to start the day. Instead there was only the wailing wind and her own frightened breath.

She sensed movement against the building. The Fire Child had stepped out into the alley and was watching her. Its eyes were bright points of blue in a face that shifted from yellow to orange to red and back again. It illuminated the ground around itself, driving back the shadows the way Mother Sun should have been doing. It placed one slender hand against the building, and scorch marks spread along the stone.

The sensible part of her, the part that spoke in Amma’s patient voice, told Yulla she ought to flee.
Get out of the market and go into the first house you see. Run to their cellar, worry about explaining what you’re doing there to the family after you’re safe.

Curiosity overrode practicality, though, and kept her rooted firmly in place. She couldn’t take her eyes off the Fire Child. Sometimes she could see the outline of its body through the flickering flames. It was slim and narrow-hipped, like she was. Though she could see its eyes and catch occasional glimpses of a pointed chin, any of its other facial features remained obscured. The flames atop its head reminded her of short, spiky hair. It was taller, now that she got a look. Probably a little taller than Yulla herself, definitely not the size of younger children, like the Fire Children in her own imagination.

Dust stirred around her ankles as the breeze picked up. Yulla could trace its path across the market by the ruffling banners and swirling dirt; it made an oddly straight line between herself and the Fire Child. When it reached her companion, it stopped. Those bright blue eyes widened as the wind ruffled the flames of its hair.

The Fire Child ran towards Yulla.

Her courage broke at last, though whether she turned and fled because she feared for her safety, or because the Fire Child looked frightened, she didn’t know. What could possibly scare one of Mother Sun’s children?

They hurtled through the market, the Fire Child several paces behind Yulla. The breeze rode along with them, growing stronger. As it whispered along the ground, it sounded like a sigh. Yulla tried following the advice her Amma-voice had offered up. The first house outside the market was Hatal’s. She veered towards the door, but as she did the wind gusted, sending a spray of sand into her eyes and mouth. Yulla backed away, coughing and wiping at streams of gritty tears.

The Fire Child was closing in.

She turned and ran again. Whenever she’d put distance between herself and it, she’d try a door. Every time, the wind gusted and shrieked and sent another spray up at her. When she squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her lips together to fight it, the wind tore the doorknob out of her grip and slammed the door shut in her face.

Soon enough, she abandoned the idea of getting into any of these houses and headed for her own. She’d left their door wide open. Maybe she could run through it before the wind could react.

By the time she reached their street, Yulla was panting for breath. Her legs ached. The wind carried away the sweat she’d worked up from fear and exertion, and she shivered with the cold. Mother Sun and Sister Moon had risen above the buildings now, but they provided barely any warmth. Not two days ago, she’d thought she’d melt in the brutal heat leading up to the Scorching Days. Now, she broke out in gooseflesh all over from the chill.

The thought of the blankets waiting for her down in the cellar spurred her on. She could see the door now, still wide open. Casting a glance back over her shoulder, she saw the Fire Child wasn’t far behind.

The sight of it—a golden blur speeding through the not-quite-dawn towards her—gave Yulla the last burst of energy she needed to throw herself through the doorway. The wind screamed after her, pushing hard enough at her back to knock her to the ground. The door slammed so hard the house shook.

She bit back a sob as she pushed herself to her knees. Her cuts and bruises still ached from yesterday’s fall, and now she was adding more on top of them. She should have run for the cellar, but she couldn’t resist a peek back at the front door.

At first, it was one solid wall of grey. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dim starlight outside, and now her house—which had seemed so bright when she’d first emerged—felt nearly as dark as the tunnels below. Then the gap between the door and the threshold began to glow. Dimly at first, then bright... brighter... so searingly bright she had to shield her eyes against it.

It’s right outside. It could light the whole house on fire, with me in here.

That got her moving. Yulla scrambled the rest of the way to her feet and ran for the cellar. Outside, the wind howled. She thought she heard a soft cry beneath it, tinged with... despair? Fear? ...but by then she was through the kitchen and scrabbling at the door.

It wouldn’t open.

The knob turned freely, left and right and back again with every twist of her wrist, but when she pulled, the door stayed shut. She braced one palm against the frame and yanked with the other, straining so hard she felt the effort all through her shoulders and back.

She clamped both hands around it, planted her feet and pulled until she thought her arms might tear clean out of their sockets. Still, the door stayed closed.

And now the wind was in the kitchen with her, wailing and screaming and buffeting her face. Yulla had to fight to stay in front of the door. She raised her hands and pounded, crying for
Amma-Abba-Aunt-Mouse-Kell come help me, come let me in,
but the wind was louder than she was, stealing her voice away, blowing it back behind her. Her voice echoed through the empty hallways, but the sound in front of her was muffled.

They had to hear her knocking, though, didn’t they?

Yulla struggled to stay upright, to hear something, anything over the wind. Surely by now, Abba would be at the top of the stairs. They’d be calling her name, listening for her reply, trying to get the door open from their side. Wouldn’t they?

She stepped back and peered at the sigil painted on the door. It kept the Fire Children out, but why would it impede the wind? Banishing the wind from below would be the same as banishing the air—if they did that, the air in the tunnels would go stale and kill everyone. Was it slipping through the cracks beneath the door and keeping even her muffled cries and knocks from reaching her family?

Suddenly Kell’s stories about the vengeful wind carrying people away didn’t seem so far-fetched.

“All right,” she said, backing away from the door. “All right, I’ll stop. See?” Yulla stood in the middle of the kitchen. She peered around. Where did you look when you spoke to the wind?

It didn’t answer, but it stopped howling.

What now?
she thought, and on the heels of that,
Where did the Fire Child go?

She whirled, but the only light in the house was the odd light of Mother Sun’s crown filtering in through the windows. Yulla tiptoed through the house, the wind swirling around her heels. The front door remained intact, if a little warm to the touch. Had the wind scared the Fire Child off? If it was protecting Yulla, why wouldn’t it let her go back down below?

Maybe she could try other cellars, but it hadn’t let her into any houses along the way.

She had to let someone know she was here, somehow, if only so they could tell her family where she was, and that she was safe.

For now.

She’d be hungry soon, too. A pocketful of figs and jerky wouldn’t keep her long. Maybe there was food left in the other houses—not offerings, but a stray loaf forgotten in a bread box, or a wedge of cheese in a pantry.

“I’m going to look around the city,” she told the wind. “I won’t try to go down below. All right? Will you let me pass?” It wasn’t quite a lie; if she let the wind think she was exploring long enough, maybe it would leave her alone. She needed time to think, though, and now that her fear had subsided curiosity started gnawing at her: why was there only one Fire Child? Where were the others? Why had it left her alone? Why hadn’t it touched the feast tables yet?

On her way through the living room, she paused. Aunt Mouse’s quilt lay draped over the chair where she’d left it. Its warmth tempted her. Yulla was dressed for the chill of the cellars, but up here, without Mother Sun shining down, she felt the cold keenly. She bit her lip. It felt wrong to take the quilt from the Fire Children; it was for them, not her.