Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

She lifted a hand. The prophecy had ended. The attendant came forward with a cup. It vanished under the veil; the holy woman drank, returned the cup empty. Adica could hear again: a child’s laughter, the bleating of goats, the murmuring of the weavers, a waterfall of notes made by the harpist.

In a more normal tone, staggered only by her usual halting speech, Brightness-Hears-Me went on. “Go to the land of the stone giants where the phoenix flies. The one with two fingers will guide you. You must not walk into Horn’s country by the great loom that stands outside the city built by the tribe of Horn. You would only walk into the knives of the Cursed Ones. Go by the secret way. You are the young one. We rely on your strength. The rest of us must wait. If Horn is dead, then we must hope that the one she teaches as her apprentice is ready to take her place.”

“If her apprentice survived the attack,” murmured Adica.

“We must prevail, or the Cursed Ones will make slaves of all of us.”

With that, they were dismissed.

Outside, Alain had managed to relax, seduced into a doze by the heat and the ease offered by the soft pillows. Adica stopped dead in the entrance, staring. He had never looked more beautiful to her than he did at that moment as he woke and looked up at her: his expression radiant, his eyes bright, even his hair somehow glossier, as though it had been washed in egg white.

He yawned, sipping at his wine. “I had such a strange dream,” he said drowsily. He had such an expressive face, open and honest without being simple. “Petals of roses falling like snow. There was a wind at my back, huffing and blowing. I thought a huge creature stood behind me, beating its wings.”

She shivered, as though a spider crawled up her back, recalling what Brightness-Hears-Me had said about him. But for once, he seemed not to notice her disquiet. He lifted a handful of the moist fruit toward her, like an offering, but as she bent to take them, one of the attendants gently pressed Alain’s hand aside with a stick before their hands could touch.

“We are bidden to go,” said Laoina.

Startled, they discovered that a new guide had appeared, this one also swathed in black robes and hood. Their supplies of water and food had been replenished. After hoisting their gear onto their backs, they followed the same trail past the spring into the riot of vegetation. It was unbelievably hot, even in the shade. The sun stood at zenith. They could not possibly walk back across the sands to the stone loom. When they halted in the shade of the last palm tree, their guide lifted a ram’s horn to his lips. He blew, although Adica heard no sound issue from the horn.

A spit of dust appeared along a distant ridge. Three of the lion women loped down the ridge and across the flat with graceful strides, wings half open. Their eyes, so uncannily inhuman in a face so like to human form, examined Adica, Alain, and the Akka woman before they sank down to the ground, legs folded under them. The guide indicated their backs.

Laoina swore in her own tongue. Adica could not move, unsure which was hotter: the breath of the sun, or her fear. Alain stepped forward cautiously. His back bowed under the weight of the sun’s heat as he crossed from shadow into sun. He hopped from one foot to the other, swearing at the heat of the sand, and finally dashed to the nearest sphinx. As he clambered awkwardly onto her back, his dogs trotted forward to sniff at the hindquarters of the huge creature. She lashed her tail, once, to drive them off to a respectful distance, then kneaded her claws in the sand as she made a rumbling sound in her chest, soft and threatening.

“Come.” Alain looked delighted, like a child whose innocence frees it from fear.

Adica touched Laoina’s elbow. “Come,” she said, for she saw that the Akka woman was frozen in terror. “You have seen the dragons rising. Surely these creatures are not more perilous than dragons!”

“Only because we war against the Cursed Ones,” muttered Laoina with a resigned sigh. “This I must do as my part.” She made a complicated gesture, a sign against evil spirits, and without warning ran to the second lion woman. Adica stepped out onto the stingingly hot sand. The grass bound into her foot coverings sizzled as she ran. Jumping, she got her chest and belly over the forequarters of the third lion woman, then heaved a leg over so that she sat astride as she had once ridden on the back of the Holy One. Its rumbling purr shook through its body and her legs as it rose.

Rocked from her precarious balance atop it, she grasped at its shoulders, groped for a handhold, and finally hooked her legs tightly around its wings and simply threw herself flat against its neck where she held on as well as she could.

It proved, after all, easier than she had feared to stay on. Its stride was smooth and supple, although its rough fur chafed the skin of her thighs. Her pack of regalia bounced uncomfortably on her back, striking the same spot along her spine over and over, but she dared not let go with one hand even for an instant to adjust it.

ifted a hand. The prophecy had ended. The attendant came forward with a cup. It vanished under the veil; the holy woman drank, returned the cup empty. Adica could hear again: a child’s laughter, the bleating of goats, the murmuring of the weavers, a waterfall of notes made by the harpist.

In a more normal tone, staggered only by her usual halting speech, Brightness-Hears-Me went on. “Go to the land of the stone giants where the phoenix flies. The one with two fingers will guide you. You must not walk into Horn’s country by the great loom that stands outside the city built by the tribe of Horn. You would only walk into the knives of the Cursed Ones. Go by the secret way. You are the young one. We rely on your strength. The rest of us must wait. If Horn is dead, then we must hope that the one she teaches as her apprentice is ready to take her place.”

“If her apprentice survived the attack,” murmured Adica.

“We must prevail, or the Cursed Ones will make slaves of all of us.”

With that, they were dismissed.

Outside, Alain had managed to relax, seduced into a doze by the heat and the ease offered by the soft pillows. Adica stopped dead in the entrance, staring. He had never looked more beautiful to her than he did at that moment as he woke and looked up at her: his expression radiant, his eyes bright, even his hair somehow glossier, as though it had been washed in egg white.

He yawned, sipping at his wine. “I had such a strange dream,” he said drowsily. He had such an expressive face, open and honest without being simple. “Petals of roses falling like snow. There was a wind at my back, huffing and blowing. I thought a huge creature stood behind me, beating its wings.”

She shivered, as though a spider crawled up her back, recalling what Brightness-Hears-Me had said about him. But for once, he seemed not to notice her disquiet. He lifted a handful of the moist fruit toward her, like an offering, but as she bent to take them, one of the attendants gently pressed Alain’s hand aside with a stick before their hands could touch.

“We are bidden to go,” said Laoina.

Startled, they discovered that a new guide had appeared, this one also swathed in black robes and hood. Their supplies of water and food had been replenished. After hoisting their gear onto their backs, they followed the same trail past the spring into the riot of vegetation. It was unbelievably hot, even in the shade. The sun stood at zenith. They could not possibly walk back across the sands to the stone loom. When they halted in the shade of the last palm tree, their guide lifted a ram’s horn to his lips. He blew, although Adica heard no sound issue from the horn.

A spit of dust appeared along a distant ridge. Three of the lion women loped down the ridge and across the flat with graceful strides, wings half open. Their eyes, so uncannily inhuman in a face so like to human form, examined Adica, Alain, and the Akka woman before they sank down to the ground, legs folded under them. The guide indicated their backs.

Laoina swore in her own tongue. Adica could not move, unsure which was hotter: the breath of the sun, or her fear. Alain stepped forward cautiously. His back bowed under the weight of the sun’s heat as he crossed from shadow into sun. He hopped from one foot to the other, swearing at the heat of the sand, and finally dashed to the nearest sphinx. As he clambered awkwardly onto her back, his dogs trotted forward to sniff at the hindquarters of the huge creature. She lashed her tail, once, to drive them off to a respectful distance, then kneaded her claws in the sand as she made a rumbling sound in her chest, soft and threatening.

“Come.” Alain looked delighted, like a child whose innocence frees it from fear.