The Firebrand Legacy (14 page)

“I thank the flames I had Marie,” George
said, his eyes softening. “We were young then, newly in love, and
she was like a light for me. No matter what happened in my house or
in the fields when he came by, I could look across the street to
Marie. She was like Kavariel’s flame. That love we shared immunized
me to the despair of my family and friends, but it didn’t protect
my heart from breaking when she and I discovered that all that was
left for us was to flee.”

“That’s how we came here,” Marie
whispered.

“Why would Selius fake his own death?” Giles
wondered, shoulders square.

Carine shook her head. “Selius’ death was
real. I know it. I saw his corpse.”

“Then what do you suggest, Carine? That there
is something more powerful than the Heartless Ones?” Even as he
spoke, Giles’ tone changed from accusation to interest.
“
Could
there be something more powerful than a Heartless
One?”

“The thought gives me shivers,” Marie said.
“The Heartless Ones get their power from dragons. Who has more
power than that?”

Giles inhaled sharply, his conclusion
chilling, “Someone that doesn’t need dragons at all.”

“Stop here,” Carine said. It was past noon
the next day as she rode with Limly and the princes through a quiet
centaur town, one that didn’t seem affected so far by the absence
of flame. Children galloped through the streets playing ball, and
merchants sold their goods in stalls and colorful mats.

If the Heartless One—or whatever power it
was—came here, nothing this town could do would stop him. Nothing
Carine or the princes could do would stop him either, except
getting that flame, a task that required reaching the healing pools
without dying.

Carine slipped off their loyal horse onto the
dirt road.

“What are you doing?” David said.

Carine stared at the sign that hung over the
door. The words of the sign looped in flowing, golden Manakor.

“A wish shop?” David jumped down from his
horse. Giles landed seconds after.

Carine shivered. “We don’t know what’s out
there. Heartless Ones, other powerful creatures... The four of us
have no way to fight off an attack. Maybe there’s something in here
that can help us, like the enchanted bow that saved us on the
ship.”

David sneaked a smile. “Words I never thought
I’d hear you say.”

“It’s no laughing matter, David,” Giles said.
“She’s right.”

“If it pleases Your Majesties,” Limly said
from one horse, holding the reigns of the other, “I shall water the
horses and refurbish supplies.”

“Thank you, Limly.” David opened the wish
shop door with a flourish. “After you.”

Dusty old purses lined the shop’s shelves.
Dusty old books lined the floor. Scrolls, shoes, brooms, shields,
and axes piled in the corner, covered in gray spider strands.
Carine instantly recoiled, not at the dust, but at the enchanted
objects that lined the walls. She forced her balled fists to her
sides. Something in here could help. Something in here could save
their lives.

But no matter how much she told herself this,
another part of her felt that she was betraying Louise and her
parents, even herself. She was torn between wanting safety from
magic and wanting comfort in the beliefs she’d always held.

David squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Welcome, travelers!” cried the wish vendor.
She had thin, graying braids and a wide pink blanket spread over
her back. “Make yourselves at home. What will it be today?
Enchanted weapons? Flying carpet? Elixir of life?”

“You don’t really have all that stuff, do
you?” David said.

“Just a joke!” she said, clapping her hands.
“Though you might be surprised what has made its way to this little
town.”

“I don’t suppose you get much business,”
Giles said.

The wish vendor smiled, her teeth too small
for her wide face. “I add the dust,” she said excitedly. “Here,
see? I add it from this bag. It dissuades invaders.”

Carine inspected wishstones on a shelf. Even
covered in dust, their words glittered.

The vendor swung out from behind the counter
and picked an item from the floor. “Can I interest you in this
helmet for your journey? It’s noise-canceling.” Her face fell a
little when no one responded. “An ever-filling water pouch to keep
you hydrated. It’s always smart to invest in your health.”

“How much are the wishstones?” David asked,
joining Carine at that shelf.

“Ten rimecks per stone, or fifty rimecks for
six.”

Carine nearly whistled at the price. Ten
rimecks was a day of food for her family. David bought six, and as
he paid with a portion of the money that Limly had grabbed for
them, Carine stepped back from the shelves and looked up to the
high ceiling.

“Overwhelmed?” Giles asked.

Carine exhaled, her hand to her temple. “Is
it even possible, Giles, to have magic without a dragon?”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “Possible?
Everything is possible. Magic isn’t a far-off phenomenon. It is
simply the calling of nature, the manipulation of physics by the
pronunciation of Manakor.”

“Right, simple. But only dragons can
pronounce Manakor. For everyone else, it’s impossible.”

Giles crossed his arms. “You are too quick to
write off possibilities. True, it is dragons that pronounce
Manakor. It is too deep a language for folk to imitate. But I have
studied scholars that have gotten close.”

“Who?”

“Two or three centaurs. Menfolk and faunfolk
don’t live long enough. It took one philosopher a hundred years of
dancing in the shallow waves of Verdiford to convince the water to
trust him. He joined in with the call of nature, the call of
Manakor, with his physical movements. He wrote in his journal that
he suspected he could convince the waves to crash to the right or
left depending on how he moved his hip. Of course, he died soon
after in his old age and never proved his claim.”

“But that’s nothing compared to the havoc in
Esten,” Carine said.

Giles raised a brow. “Well that’s a different
story. Pronunciation is the purest form of Manakor. The more
manipulative magic comes from mispronunciation.”

“What is that?” Carine said.

The wish vendor looked up from her counter,
handing a few small coins of change to David. “Ahh, you speak of
physics!” She narrowed her eyes. “The opposition of pronunciation
and mispronunciation—fascinating subject.” She stepped out from
behind the counter. “Just as fire can cleanse and tear down, so too
can language. Have you ever mistakenly thought you heard someone
say your name?”

Carine nodded. She’d also, many times,
thought she’d heard people saying the name of Louise, when in fact
they were carrying on normal conversation.

“What happens when nature has the same
experience? When nature supposes that it heard a call that wasn’t
meant for it?”

Carine didn’t have a good feeling.

“And more interesting, what happens when a
creature with the Gift to pronounce intentionally mispronounces the
call of the Etherrealm?”

“Does that ever happen?”

“Ahh,” the wish vendor said, “every day.”

“So anyone can mispronounce? Why doesn’t
everyone use magic then?”

“No,” the wish vendor answered. “One can only
mispronounce as a choice, if and only if one has the power to
pronounce in the first place, like dragons. This is called the Gift
of Calling. Those without that Gift cannot mispronounce—not with
any effect, anyway.”

Carine tried to connect the dots between the
dragons’ power and the man who was isolating Esten. “So what is the
difference between pronunciation and mispronunciation?”

“Good magic and dark magic,” said David.

Giles raised an eyebrow. “In layman’s terms,
yes.”

“When you say that dark magic happens every
day, who do you mean? Who, besides dragons, has the Gift of
Calling? The Heartless Ones?” Carine said.

“The Heartless Ones use dark magic, yes. But
they do not own the power they use. That Gift belongs to someone
else,” the wish vendor said, a spark in her eye.

“The snow dragon,” Carine said. “They borrow
his power when they feed him their hearts.”

“Precisely.”

This dichotomy all felt so simple. “What
about Kavariel? Does he use dark magic when he kills?”

“No,” said the wish vendor.

David stepped in, grinning. “I know this!
Kavariel is one of the nine obedient dragons. They have never
mispronounced.”

“But I don’t get it,” Carine said. “How can
killing not be considered dark magic?”

To this, no one had an answer. On the one
hand, the difference between pronunciation and mispronunciation
finally made sense. But it wasn’t clear how Kavariel could justify
killing Louise. Carine no longer believed that all magic was evil,
but neither could she believe that all magic was good.

Carine asked the wish vendor, “Do you have
any defense against someone with the Gift of Calling?”

“If I do, dear, I don’t know it. That’s not
the type of object one can easily test.”

“Let’s go then,” Carine said, the whole
experience more overwhelming than helpful. But David picked up a
bow that he found in the corner and tested it out.

“Wait a second,” he said.

Carine crossed her arms, perused a shelf of
vials, and looked closer at the tag on a tiny vial of green liquid
. “Dragon’s bane—a thousand rimecks for an ounce of liquid? That
can’t be right.”

“Indeed, dear,” the wish vendor said. “It’s
worth every rimeck. What you see there is gullon blood. If you’re
interested in more affordable medicine, I have strawberry jam to
heal infections and enchanted ash water to heal burns, thirty
rimecks each.”

Carine had heard of gullons—the part-man,
part-wolverine folk type—in the tales told around Esten. Like every
other folk except humans, gullons had an innate magical quality.
They had the gift of healing blood.

For most of their evolution, they built quiet
villages up north in Gullonia. But as Navafort and other kingdoms
grew wealthier, gullons began to trade each drop of gullon blood
for huge sums. Newly rich, the creatures built ostentatious towns
with magnificent buildings, contracting centaurs and others to do
their work. They were wealthy, fat, and happy until the more
generous of them decided to heal outside their kingdom walls.

What followed was disaster. The gullons
healed a few people, but were then taken captive not only in
Navafort but in other countries as well. King Marcel II demanded a
ransom from Gullonia for the gullons’ release, and once the gullons
were drained of their fortune, the king demanded supplies of gullon
blood. The story was that the current King Marcel had traded away
his predecessor’s stores to afford his lavish lifestyle.

“I’ve heard one drop of gullon blood heals
the severest wounds in any creature,” Carine said and recounted how
the bartender at the Hopping Rabbit got sick once. Everyone—Carine
included—was sure he was going to die. When he walked in one day
completely restored, he served the whole tavern free lunch. His
uncle had been able to get him gullon blood through the black
market. It had saved his life.

The wish vendor nodded.

“Even dragons?” Carine asked.

Silence blanketed the room. The wish vendor
turned, slowly understanding Carine’s suggestion.

David spun on his heels and grabbed the vial.
“Dragon’s bane,” he said. “Carine, you are a genius!” He kissed the
side of her face and the glass of the vial. “Ha! I’ll take it. One
ounce of gullon blood to heal our beloved beast.”

“You carry around a thousand rimecks?” Carine
said.

Giles went rigid, his lips particularly
severe. “This is a terrible idea. Retrieving a flame is one thing;
feeding a dragon, quite another.”

“Giles, I was made for this mission,” David
said. “You know how much I love the dragon. This must be why. I
will feed the gullon blood to the dragon. He will magically be
healed, and everything will go back to normal.”

“He will turn you to ash.”

“Then I’ll shield myself. Do you have
anything fireproof—a shield, maybe, or a cloak?”

The wish vendor shook her head. “No, you’re
not likely to find that type of article enchanted by our
dragon.”

“We can’t spend that much money on a fool’s
errand,” Giles said. “We only have so much left to make the rest of
the trip.”

David put the rest of his money pouch on the
table. “I have to.”

“But…but…Your Majesty…to feed blood to a
dragon…you will die!” Limly said when David proudly told him of the
new plan.

Carine rode with David this time, and the
more he prattled on about the dragon and how King Marcel would
finally be proud of him, the more she feared that David wouldn’t
make it out alive. Then again, to capture the flame would protect
Navafort for one year; to heal Kavariel would restore the pattern
that had kept the kingdom safe for centuries.

“I’ve been thinking…the one that killed
Selius, how did he do it?” Carine asked.

“I have been thinking about that too,” Giles
said. “It is possible that Luzhiv decided on his own to extinguish
the Heartless One, Selius. Although it is the most technically
feasible, it is the least probable for behavioral reasons. Luzhiv
seems to take pleasure in having his Heartless army run amok. I
doubt the motive.”

“So it was the second magician?”

“That is the other possibility. In order for
a folk person to extinguish a Heartless One, he would need the Gift
of Calling, just like a dragon. He would have to pronounce the
Manakor word for
sever
so authentically that it would cut
Selius off from his connection with Luzhiv.”

“It won’t matter,” David said. “Once I heal
Kavariel, he’ll fix everything.”