Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

She followed around the perimeter of the oak, wondering at its age and how it came to be in the center of the Paracelsus Tower. Had it been tended or had her uncle purchased it and moved it, as the rumors stated had happened. Some workers rested under its paltry shade and shared a flask between them. She walked around to the other side and found no one there; she slowly approached the trunk.

The bark was rough and craggy, like an ancient woman’s skin. The branches seemed to be sagging, as if they had been defeated long ago. As she approached, she felt something stir inside of her, a warm, buzzing feeling. It was difficult to describe. It was a little like drinking sweet wine, and it made her slightly dizzy. She approached warily, reaching out until she touched the bark with her fingers. It was brittle, making it easy to pry loose a chunk with her fingers.

She gazed up the length of the trunk until the branches began mushrooming away from the base. The majesty of the oak tree had always impressed her. Oak was great to burn and produced a solid, satisfying flame. Acorns could be made into food. It was interesting that there was no debris beneath the canopy. Not even a desiccated leaf.

The feeling came over her again. It was a warm feeling, like a lingering kiss. It made her shiver involuntarily. Her breath started up. What was happening to her? Why was the tree making her so dizzy? She started to back away from it nervously, unsure at the flood and surge of emotions conflicting within her. There was something eerily comforting about the tree, and she was not used to that feeling. It was a dangerous feeling. It threatened her with tears.

She turned and was about to walk away when she heard it whisper her name.

“Hettie.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Was it her imagination? There was a presence behind her. She knew it. She could feel it.

Whirling, Hettie turned to face it.

The spinning motion disoriented her, nearly making her stumble. There was no one there. She blinked with surprise.

A leather pouch nestled in the earth at the base of the tree. It had not been there before.

Her heart thudded in her chest. Fear snaked inside her skin. Kneeling by the trunk, she reached for the leather pouch. It was thick and slightly heavy, but it felt empty. As she touched it, she felt hard objects encased within the leather. Her lips were suddenly dry. Opening the drawstrings, she peeked inside at the smooth, uncut stones.

There was a nagging sensation in her mind, as if she were missing something obvious. Why was the bag sitting at the base of the tree? Had it been there all along? Had she seen it while circling the tree and that was what had brought her closer? She could not remember. Someone had whispered her name and then she had found the bag. How did the tree know it was her?

She stared at its ancient boughs, feeling overwhelmed and small. Deftly she stuffed the bag into her tunic belt and retreated from the branches. There were two workers, idling with their flask, staring at her. One raised it toward her, inviting her over. Men were always the same, especially when drunk.

She gave them a cold, disdainful look and then left the Paracelsus Tower, walking briskly away, going as fast as she dared. Her heart raced. There was something so odd and strange about the experience. Something crucial, but she could not remember it. She continued down into the lower realm of the city and ventured back toward the Bhikhu temple. She would hide the stones there for now. It would be safer than if she were caught with them. Anxiety throbbed in her stomach. Something was wrong. Something was missing. She wanted to run, to sprint.

When she saw the Bhikhu temple, she nearly wept with relief. The door was open, so she entered and hurried inside, walking past the training yard where she had first seen Paedrin practicing with his fellows. The memory was sharp and acrid in her mind. It was painful as well. Where was he? Had the Arch-Rike provided information about his whereabouts yet?

Hettie went to her chamber and silently knelt on the pallet, removing the small leather bag and testing the drawstrings again. Her fingers were trembling. She did not know why.

Tilting the bag, she emptied the stones into her palm. They were cold, ice cold. It was uncomfortable. The stones were blue with milky white streaks through each one. They each looked unique; they were not a matching set. She stared at them a moment, feeling the cold burn her palm, and then she dumped them back into the leather bag and rubbed her hand against the side of her leg.

A shadow fluttered in the corner of the cell.

Kiranrao leaned against the far wall, his eyes gazing into hers quizzically. “My, my, you are resourceful. There is an old Romani saying. There are three creatures beyond ruling. A mule, a pig, and a woman. Is it still true?”

Hettie’s heart nearly failed her. She was shocked to see him in the heart of Kenatos, in a city where he could be arrested and killed on sight. He had earned the Arch-Rike’s contempt many times over.