The Burning Shadow (20 page)

H
e was falling through scorching red smoke: bouncing off rock-faces, clawing at stones that snapped off in his hands. Then the Mountain punched him in the back and he wasn't falling anymore.

The air was black and bitter with ash. His eyes stung and every breath hurt. He felt battered and scraped—but he could move.

Coughing, he rolled onto his knees. Beneath his palms the earth was restless and hot. At any moment it might open up and swallow him. Lightning speared boiling clouds of ash. Fireballs hissed through the air, striking the ground around him.

Craning his neck at the crater wall, he saw the edge, dizzyingly high above. Behind him, not twenty paces away, lay the heaving red chaos of the burning lake. Its heat blasted him. He heard it thickly bubbling, spurting jets of liquid fire that netted the darkness with dazzling scarlet, before spattering back into the crater.

If it spattered him, he was dead.

Through the murk, he made out a small hillock of cinders at the foot of the crater wall. He stumbled toward it. It wasn't very tall, but when he'd scrambled to the top, the stink was slightly less biting.

To his surprise, he still had his lion claw around his neck, and this heartened him a little. At his belt, he found the rag that Akastos had given him to hide the dagger. He tied it over his mouth and nose—and breathed a bit easier.

The crater wall sloped outward like a giant cauldron, but as he groped for handholds, it crumbled in his fingers. He tried again and again. The truth sank in. He wasn't going to be able to climb out.

Is this how it ends? he thought hazily. The Crows keep the dagger, and it was all for nothing?

Then across the burning lake, he made out the cankerous bulge. It had grown so huge that it thrust like a hunchback above the crater's edge. It came to Hylas that the dagger didn't
matter
anymore, because when that burst, everyone on Thalakrea would be killed.

Strangely, he felt no fear, only a weird kind of peace. Now that the worst was happening, there was no more dread.

Then he thought of Zan and Bat and Periphas, and all the other slaves. Hekabi and the Islanders. Akastos and Havoc and Pirra. Anger flared within him. They didn't deserve to die.

Lurching to his feet, he stood swaying on his hillock of cinders. “Why punish us all?” he croaked. “
We're
not Crows! We didn't
do
anything!”

The Mountain growled, spattering the rocks around him with liquid fire.

“What do I care?” he shouted. “I'm going to die anyway!”

The Mountain roared—and Hylas roared back. “I did
everything
I could! I gave the deep levels back to the snatchers! I saved Havoc—one of
your
creatures! I did my best to destroy the dagger—but
you
stopped me,
you
did! What more do you
want
?”

Lightning flared, the Mountain shook, and Hylas thought it was the end.

Then, abruptly, the roars sank to a rumble. The lightning died. The cankerous bulge stopped venting smoke.

Hylas sank to his knees. “What do you
want
?” he panted.

The liquid fire ceased to bubble and spurt, but now its glowing heart began to heave. The air quivered with the presence of an immortal.

And from the blazing lake rose the Lady of Fire.

She walked in a crackling glare of light, and Her burning shadow seethed behind Her. Her floating hair trailed filaments of flame, and Her face was more terrible than a thousand Suns.

Hylas knelt on the hillock with his arms across his eyes. “Please,” he gasped. “Let the people get away!”

She turned toward him and he felt the full blast of Her gaze.
And in return?
Her voice rushed through him like a forest fire.

He clutched the lion claw. “T-take me,” he stammered.

Fiery laughter engulfed him.
I already have!

“Let the others get away. Just give them time!”

Though his eyes were shut, he felt Her stoop over him, dripping fire. He didn't dare look, but in his head, he saw Her bright hair blazing in the black air. He tasted Her bitter breath as she reached down to him. He cried out in pain as She touched his temple with one searing finger.

The fire gives . . .
whispered the Lady.
And the fire takes
 . . .

With a jolt, his wits returned. His head throbbed where the Shining One had touched him—but She was gone. Again, thunder crashed and lightning speared the clouds. The cankerous bulge vented smoke, and liquid fire spurted from the lake.

Something shifted painfully in his chest, and everything changed. He could hear the snatchers far away, burrowing under the earth, and every particle of ash pattering onto the Mountainside. On the lake, he glimpsed figures as insubstantial as flame. He heard their high thin voices and saw their fierce, inhuman faces.

This must be death, he thought, and those are the fire spirits coming to get me.

And yet—his bruises still hurt, and he could still taste the gritty bitterness of ash, so he must be alive.

As he squinted at the burning lake, a small, bright ball of flame that didn't feel frightening detached itself from the fire spirits and bounded toward him.

In her sleep, the lion cub wasn't caught by the bad humans in the horrible cramped tangle of branches.

In her sleep, she was sleek and strong, hurtling as fast as a full-grown lioness: up the Mountain and down into its fiery belly. In her sleep, she was racing to help the boy.

He was stuck, and he couldn't climb out. It was just like the time when she'd been stuck down the hole—only now it was
her
turn to help
him
.

Fast as a flame, she left the fire spirits on the burning lake and bounded toward him. She felt amazingly sure of herself: She knew exactly where to place each paw, when to grip with her claws, and when to push off and go leaping through the air.

For the first time ever, she could really
climb
.

The ball of fire bounded toward him, and Hylas shielded his face with his hands as it quivered and resolved into Havoc.

Except—it wasn't really Havoc, she kept blurring and scattering sparks. He sensed that what stood gazing up at him with those great golden eyes wasn't Havoc as he knew her, but her spirit.

There was no time to wonder what was happening. The spirit-Havoc flicked one fiery ear and scampered past him, leaping—with un-Havoc-like grace—for a boulder that he hadn't noticed before, which jutted from the crater wall not far above his head. Her paw prints left a glowing trail over the cinders, and when she glanced back at him, her meaning was clear.

Follow
.

The boulder looked big enough for him to crouch on—
if
he could reach it. But he was dizzy with exhaustion, and his limbs were made of stone.

And yet—Havoc's bright spirit wouldn't let him give up. With an impatient glance at him, she climbed deftly higher, lashing her glowing tail for balance as she found another boulder: another small island of solid rock in the crumbly wall, which Hylas would never have spotted without her.

When she reached it, she peered down at him, her ears expectantly pricked.
Now it's your turn. Follow me. I'll lead you to the top.

Hylas heaved to his feet and began to climb.

W
ith every step, Pirra sank ankle-deep into fine black ash, then slid two paces farther, down a choking tunnel of darkness.

She told herself that Hylas might still be alive. She hadn't actually
seen
him killed; and if the dagger could get stuck on a boulder, then so could he. He was a mountain boy, he could climb anything.

“Keep up, Telamon!” barked Pharax from somewhere in front.

“It's the girl, she's slowing us down,” called Telamon behind her. “Can't we just leave her?”

“No,” Pharax replied coldly. “If she's the daughter of the High Priestess, the Keftians will pay to get her back.”

“Oh they'll pay all right,” muttered Telamon. Since the fight at the crater, there was a new grimness in him. As if, thought Pirra, the Mountain had scorched away the boy he had been.

They hadn't bothered to search her, so she still had the obsidian knife strapped to her thigh—but she knew that trying to reach it would be fatal. To Pharax, she was nothing but flesh and bone to be used as he saw fit. If she made trouble, he'd slit her throat.

He and Telamon had come alone to the Mountain—she guessed they hadn't told their men the dagger had been stolen—and now he strode with it in his fist, scorning danger. The Mountain was merely another obstacle to his will.

At last dawn came, but it was unlike any she'd ever seen. It didn't begin in the east, where the Sun woke up, but lit the whole sky with an angry red glow.

It was the end of the world.

The day had been born in a welter of anger, but it hadn't lived long. The ash spewing from the Mountain had spread in a vast pall across the Sun, and for a long time now, Hylas had been riding through a ghostly gray twilight.

He galloped with his head against the horse's straining neck. Although he was exhausted, his mind felt sharper, now that he was out of the crater's toxic fumes.

He missed the company of the spirit-Havoc. She had led him up the crater wall, then down the Mountainside to the thickets, where she'd vanished in a shower of sparks. Shortly afterward, he'd heard a desperate whinnying and found the horse he and Pirra had stolen, struggling with its reins snagged on a root.

At last he reached the Neck and skittered to a halt. All was eerily silent: The guards had fled. Jumping off and winding the reins around his wrist, he searched the camp. He found a waterskin and drank greedily, splashing some in a trough for the horse.

He tripped over a guard sprawled in the dust with a knife-hilt jutting from his belly: Killed in some desperate struggle to escape. Hylas yanked out the knife, wiped the blade on the dead man's tunic, and jammed it in his belt. No time to spare for the man's angry spirit. Not even a ghost could follow him in this.

As he galloped for the crossroads, he passed signs of flight, but no people. He wondered if they'd all gone, and he was the last one left on Thalakrea. Then through the murk he made out figures swarming down from Kreon's stronghold, and more fleeing the mines. Where was Havoc? And Pirra? Had Pharax killed her on the Mountain, or taken her with him?

Suddenly the earth roared and a great crack zigzagged across his path. With a squeal the horse flung him off and thundered into the gloom.

Painfully, Hylas got to his feet. A trail led north, that must go to the village; if he took it, he might find passage on a boat. To the south, another led past the mines and down to the shore. If Pirra was still alive, Pharax would have taken her there.

Hylas leaped the crack and headed south.

Chaos on the shore. The fury of the Earthshaker had ripped a great chunk from the western cliffs and flung it into the Sea. The furnace ridge no longer existed; Hylas hoped Akastos had escaped in time.

The Sea was sludgy with ash, the beach crammed with fallen boulders and panicking people desperate to get on a ship. Hylas saw three ships packed with Crow warriors heading into the bay, and many smaller fishing boats bobbing near the shore. In one he spotted Hekabi; he guessed the villagers had come to rescue as many as they could. Far out to Sea, he glimpsed a splendid ship with bellying black sails. Koronos and his kin were saving their skins and leaving the rabble to take their chances. Hylas prayed they'd taken Havoc.

Farther along the shore, someone was shouting. “Flea! Flea! Over here!”

A small battered-looking ship packed with escaped slaves was rolling in the shallows, and Periphas was beckoning. “Flea! Hurry!”

“I can't!” shouted Hylas. “I've got to find Pirra!”

“Who's Pirra? We can't wait!”

Hylas raced off along the beach, dodging carts, donkeys, people. No Pirra. Then the wind tore a rent in the ash and a ship loomed over him. Astonished, he took in its beaked prow and huge painted eye. What was a
Keftian
ship doing here?

On the deck, he made out a young man with a shaven head and black-rimmed eyes, shouting at the oarsmen. Hylas recognized Userref, Pirra's Egyptian slave, but as he opened his mouth to call to him, someone blundered against him and he fell over a crate.

The crate yowled. It was Havoc: upside-down, half-dead with fright, but alive. The Crows had brought her this far, then abandoned her.

“I'm here,” Hylas told her, righting the cage and pushing his fingers through the bars, while the frantic lion cub mewed and tried desperately to lick his hand. “It's me, you'll be all right now, I'll get you out.”

But as he drew his knife to cut her free, he hesitated. If he freed her, she'd be off like an arrow, he'd never catch her again. He would have to leave her to wander alone until Thalakrea blew up.

In consternation, Hylas glanced at the Keftian ship, then back to Havoc. His heart twisted. She would never understand. She would think he was dooming her to captivity; which he was—but at least she'd be alive.

“Userref!” he yelled, staggering into the surf with Havoc's cage in his arms.

The Egyptian saw him and his jaw dropped. “Who are you?”

“Doesn't matter!” gasped Hylas. “Take this!” His arms shook as he held up the cage. “Her name's Havoc! Pirra said you worship lions! You've got to save her!”

“You know Pirra? Where is she?”

“Take her!
Please!
”

He felt the cage lifted out of his hands as the Egyptian swung it aboard. Then the oars creaked and the ship was pulling away, and Hylas stood with the gray water swirling about his waist and the ash raining down like thick tears, watching Havoc struggling wildly in her cage. Her yowls pierced his heart.
Why are you abandoning me?

“Hylas!” shouted someone behind him.

And there was Pirra. Bizarrely, she still had the waterskin slung across her back, and she was filthy and grinning from ear to ear. “I can't believe you got out!”

“What about you?” he panted. “How'd you get away from Pharax?”

“There was a landslide, I—”

“
Pirra!
” shouted Userref, signaling to the oarsmen to stop rowing. Pirra saw Userref and the Keftian ship. Her face worked.

Userref yelled something in Keftian and threw her a line.

It struck the waves near her. She shook her head. “No! I can't go back to Keftiu!”

Hylas stood blinking seawater from his eyes. There were no more boats, and at any moment, Thalakrea might blow up. “You've got to,” he told her.

She turned on him. “We'll find another boat—”

“What boat?” he shouted. “They've all gone!”

“I told you, I'm never going back!”

“This is your only chance!” Grabbing the line, he splashed toward her and slung it around her waist.

“What are you
doing
?” Desperately she clawed at his hands but he ignored her, securing a knot she wouldn't be able to untie. “Pull her in!” he yelled to Userref.

“You can't
do
this!” screamed Pirra. But Userref was hauling her in and lifting her struggling on board, while barking orders to a seaman to cast another line to Hylas.

“You too!” cried the Egyptian.

Hylas waded for the line—but the Keftian oarsmen were pulling hard and the ship was moving too fast, dragging the rope out of reach.

A massive crash behind him, and another vast chunk of cliff toppled into the Sea. The impact sent a huge wave racing toward him. He was rolling over and over in gray sludge, he couldn't tell up from down. When he surfaced, spitting sludge, the Keftian ship was already far out in the bay.

Hylas floundered ashore. No one left except a panicking donkey and a litter of discarded possessions. Not long now, he thought numbly.

Then through the pattering ash, he glimpsed a small scruffy ship rocking in the shallows. He saw the escaped slaves thronging the deck, and Periphas leaning over the side. “Swim, Flea! We can't wait any longer!”

With the last of his strength, Hylas flailed toward them; then many hands were reaching down and hauling him aboard.

As the oarsmen brought the ship about and headed into the bay, Hylas pushed through the crowd to reach the prow.

The Keftian ship had set sail and was speeding away from him across the ashen Sea. Pirra stood in the stern, her hair wild, her face ablaze with fury.

“I
told
you I couldn't go back!” she screamed. “I hate you, Hylas! I'll hate you forever!”