Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (5 page)

As he walked around Scar Harbor, shops were closing
and taverns were filling. Civil servants were about with brands, lighting the
oil lamps that kept the main streets safely lit throughout the night. Mothers
called their children home from play and sent them off to bed. The city streets
grew quieter and more somber. Most folk about were heading somewhere for the
night, whether that be home and bed, or a night of revelry. He exchanged
greetings with a few people he knew and accepted congratulations from several
relative strangers who happened to notice his newly acquired Expert’s Medallion,
before he self-consciously tucked the chain under his shirt so as not to draw
attention to it.

On the other side of the street, walking his way from
the other direction, Kyrus spotted Abbiley Tillman. Abbiley was a girl near to
Kyrus’s own age, one who had caught his eye some time ago, and continued to do
so whenever he saw her. He did not know much about her, just that she was an
artist and sometimes a singer, and that she supported her younger brother since
their parents had died. She seemed shy and he had never gotten up the nerve to
talk to her. He was equally shy, especially  around pretty girls. She had
short, dark hair that she wore loose, the prettiest blue eyes, cheeks that
dimpled when she smiled—Kyrus was shocked from his musings when he saw that she
had noticed him looking her way.

He quickly turned away, but an inspired bravery struck
him at that moment and he gathered up the courage to look back and smile. He
was greatly relieved and elated when she actually smiled back. It was a shy
little smile but it was clearly directed his way. He raised his hand to wave to
her and was about to call out a greeting when a horrified look crossed her
face. Kyrus’s heart fell immediately, thinking he had pressed his luck too far.

Thunk
!

A sharp blow struck him blindside in the head, and he
blacked out.

Groaning, Kyrus opened his eyes to be greeted by the
faces of a pair of concerned bystanders, framed by a backdrop of the night sky
above him. His head stung both just above the right temple and directly in the
back, where presumably it had hit the cobblestones.

“Are you all right?” one man asked. “You should watch
where you are going. You walked right into a lamppost.”

Please do not let Abbiley have been watching,
Kyrus thought in despair. Luck was not with him,
though, for he heard hard-heeled shoes hurrying across the cobblestones toward
him.

“Oh my, are you hurt?” asked a concerned voice.

As the speaker came up next to him and crouched at his
side, he easily matched the voice with its owner: the shy—but apparently
caring—Abbiley. He had not realized until just then that he had never so much
as heard her voice before. All that he had learned of her had been through
acquaintances.

Kyrus took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed
at the side of his head. It came away speckled with blood but not as much as he
had feared to see.

“I should live,” he announced. “But I would swear that
lamppost was a full pace or more farther to the right just a moment ago.”

He managed a slight, rueful smile at his own expense. Those
gathered around him shared a chuckle and knew he was not badly hurt. Abbiley
did not join in the mirth, though, for she seemed genuinely concerned about his
injuries. She remained as the rest of the small crowd dispersed.

“I am so sorry. This is all my fault. Please forgive
me,” she said.

“How do you figure that?” Kyrus asked, rising to a
seated position. “Are you the one who decides where to place lampposts on this
street?”

She tried to hold back her amusement and not be
sidetracked. “It was my fault. I distracted you and you walked into the post.
If it had not been for me, it would not have happened.”

“Well, if by that you mean if you had not been so
captivating that I could not help but look your way, then I accept your
apology.” Kyrus kept his tone lighthearted but it still made Abbiley blush.
“Though … it was my own fault that my legs kept moving in one direction while
my eyes drifted in the other.”

It must have been the blow to his head but Kyrus could
never remember having such a long conversation with a beautiful young woman
before. He normally was stumbling over his words long before this point.

She helped him regain his footing and stand up. “My
name is Abbiley,” she introduced herself, not realizing that Kyrus had already
known that much.

“Nice to meet you. I am Kyrus.”

“Oh, you were Mr. Chartler’s apprentice, the new
Expert Scribe?” she asked, clearly impressed.

“Yes, that would be me,” Kyrus admitted.

“Well, I must say, I had expected you to be much
older. I guess I just always thought of experts as being old men, like nice old
Mr. Chartler. I was sad to hear he was leaving.”

“Well, I cannot say much about your expectations but I
am working on the ‘getting older’ part. I still have some work yet to do on it,
and walking into too many posts will not do much good toward that end, but I
promise to keep trying.”

Seemingly relieved that Kyrus was apparently all
right, she laughed.

After a pause, he continued: “Davin was a good friend
and I am going to miss him, way off in Golis. The shop seems so empty without
him around and it has only been one full day.”

“Umm … Well … maybe I can come by tomorrow, you know …
to see how you are faring?” she stammered out, trying to avoid looking Kyrus in
the eye.

He took her hand in his. “Thank you. I would like that,”
he said.

She looked up at him then and saw him smiling down at
her. She licked at her lips and swallowed.

“Oh … I have got to go. My brother is going to wonder
what has become of me.” She gently pulled her hand away from Kyrus and turned
to hurry away. “So I shall see you tomorrow, then?” she asked over her
shoulder.

“Mind the lampposts!” he called out to her, smiling.

She quickly turned her attention back to where she was
going, but not before a wide smile spread across her face.

Who was that?
Kyrus thought.

He did not mean the girl, either. He vaguely
recognized the voice as his own, but where were those words all coming from? It
was as if every clever thing he had ever thought to say to a girl—but could
not—had suddenly sprung to the tip of his tongue. While he had promised to
avoid walking into posts, he seriously considered running his head into a few
more to see what other wonders they could induce. He shook his head—until
realizing that it hurt to do so—at the strange development.

His walk was taking him generally back toward the
shop, though he was barely aware of his surroundings. His thoughts were
revolving all around Abbiley and that pretty smile she had shown him. The image
was fixed in his mind as if she had painted it there herself. He continued in a
daze until something strange caught his attention.

One of the lamps had gone out.

In and of itself, it was not so unusual an occurrence.
The lamps ran out of oil despite the light-keepers’ best efforts to prevent it
and sometimes a strong wind or mischievous children would climb the posts and
blow them out. What was unusual was the familiar feeling of standing by an
unlit lamppost in the dark.

The dream
!

It came back to him suddenly …

*
* * * * * * *

He was stumbling along in the dark, unsure of quite
where he was going. Shadows stretched in front of him from a small light some
distance behind. Feeling in front of him with his hands, Kyrus caught hold of
the post of an unlit lamp and used it to steady himself. It was an effort to
maintain his balance for some reason.

This all seems wrong. I never dream about things from
my real life, yet that was clearly Scar Harbor. All my dreams take place in a
world that exists only behind the lids of my eyes, and have for as long as I
can remember. There are no lampposts or streets like the ones we have in Scar
Harbor; the world in my dreams is like something out of the fairy tales I had
always loved when I was little. I am a mighty hero there, a knight. I have
never dreamed about wandering in the dark, drunk … not that I can remember, at
least.

“Sh … Shtoopid lamp.”

He tried to shake it, but the post was firm in the
ground.

“Can’t shhheee where I’m going. Turn back … on.”

He tried again to shake it, but gave up when once
again nothing happened.

“Oh, shtubborn, huh? I’ll show
you
,” he
threatened the lamp.

“Alephhhh… kalai… abdu,”
he slurred out, pinching his fingers together and
inscribing a circle in the air.

Kyrus felt a chill wind rush through his body. The tip
of his finger burst into a soft white light. He brought the glowing finger up
in front of his face, so close that his eyes crossed. He blinked and pulled his
head back. It did not hurt and it certainly did not look like fire, but he
could not tell what was making his finger light up.

That is not right at all! Magic never worked for me
before in any of my dreams. I have tried before—many times. It was a recurring
nightmare years ago, the same incantation, performed just as the instructor had
said, yet nothing happened. Other students snickering, succeeding so easily
where I had failed …

Kyrus shook his finger, trying to extinguish the light
as if it was a flame, but it clung stubbornly to the tip of the index finger of
his right hand. He tried to wipe it off on his shirtsleeve, with no better
result. Dumbly, in his drunken state, he thought to light the lamp with it, in
the hopes that it would be transferred and leave him. He pushed his finger
inside the glass of the lamp and held it there, but the glow would not leave
him.

Down the street, another reveler was walking his way,
seeking his home after a night’s drinking. Panicking, Kyrus tried to hide the
offending digit, certain that it would be trouble if anyone else caught sight
of it.

He thrust his hand into his pocket, but the glow was
bright enough that it shone through the fabric, illuminating his pants from
within. He tried covering it with the fist of his other hand, but light seeped
out the cracks between his fingers, casting ominous shadows all about; that
just made things worse. At last, and in desperation, he stuck his finger in his
mouth and was satisfied to see no light pouring forth.

Turning away from the person approaching in the
darkness, he hurried away as best he could towards the shop. Fear had lent him
some relief from the dizziness of the alcohol in him, and he managed an awkward
run, one arm swinging in time with his stride while the other was held up in
front of him, keeping the weirdly glowing finger safely hidden in his mouth.

*
* * * * * * *

He thought it odd that all of the reverie came back to
him just then, but as Kyrus looked around him, the environs in his dream looked
much like where he was right then. The similarity was striking, even down to
the fact that one of the lamps had blown out. Kyrus assumed that the sight of a
street so akin to the one in his dreams must have been the cause of the sudden
remembrance of the dream.

It still seems so odd that for the first time for as
long as I can remember, my dreams have included elements from the waking world.

His head still bothering him as he walked, Kyrus
dabbed again at the wound above his temple. There was only a little blood this
time but as he looked down at the handkerchief, he once again noticed the cut
on the knuckle of his index finger—the one on his right hand. Kyrus felt dizzy
as blood seemed to rush to his head. He held the finger up for a closer look,
then, glancing about to see that nobody was watching, put his finger in his
mouth, just as he had remembered from his dream. He winced as the cut fell
right in line with his teeth. His breath started coming short.

How much of that was a dream? This cannot be real.
There is only one way to find out, though.

Kyrus hurried through the streets, the frantic beating
of his heart causing his head to throb in the two places where he had hit it
earlier. All thoughts of Abbiley and what for a moment had held the promise of
being one of the best days of his life, flew from his mind. He reached the shop
after just a few minutes and burst through the door, drawing a startled yowl
from Ash as he was rudely awakened.

Kyrus tried to calm his breath, for he was near to
hyperventilating. He would not be able to tell for sure until he tried it and
he needed his voice for the attempt.

Hopefully,
he thought,
this will all just turn out to be a weird coincidence of a
nightmare and a drunken stupor
.

When he had finally mastered himself to the point
where he felt he could speak without his voice trembling, he went up to his
room and closed the shutters. After a moment’s reflection, he decided that it
might be best to use Davin’s vacant room instead, just to be on the safe side.