Primeval Fire (Scarlet Odyssey, #3)

by C.T. Rwizi

“Thibault,” the woman whispers. “I wish you’d never come back.” Her words do funny things to Ilapara’s head, but their meaning is clear enough. Tuk steps forward, his eyes remaining dusky. “Madam Ayzel di Vestri. I haven’t gone by that name in a long time. I’d like to keep it that way.” The woman he called Ayzel shakes her head, tears limning her eyes. “Please know that this gives me no joy, but you’ve left me no choice.”

He doesn’t stop scowling at Ayzel. “She made illegal modifications to me before I crossed the Jalama. I’m a lot stronger and freer than any atmech is supposed to be.” He takes in the four silver machines as if for the first time. “Though I see now that my strength is no longer unique. Ayzel, you said you’d stopped playing god. What the hell are these things?” “They are nothing,” she says. “For my own amusement. I make them for myself, to keep my hands busy, but they’re not alive, not like you.” A tear spills down her cheek, stained with mascara. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy. I wish you’d never come.”

For the second time tonight, Ilapara casts her mind back to the shared dream she witnessed in the jungles of the Yontai. The Crocodile’s widow expressed regret at Salo’s death and seemed to know what Tuk was planning. She even offered to help, and now it seems she went ahead and paved Tuk’s path to getting what he wants.

“If I may say so, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” the woman says. “You’re a legend.” Tuk lifts an eyebrow, his eyes going dangerously dark, though his tone is playful. “Am I really?” “Of course!” the woman continues, oblivious. “One of the first sentient atmechs? You’re the reason this firm exists. Any artificer would kill to study how you work. But don’t worry. No one else knows what you look like. We’d have had to sneak you in through a back door otherwise.” Tuk gives a flirtatious, black-eyed smile. “Just as well. I’m too pretty for back doors.” “Quite,” the woman says with a blush.

Next to her Tuk shoves his hands in his pockets, licking his lips as he stares at the tank. “How long?” “A few days,” Ayzel says. “Maybe less.” “That long?” “It took me years to make you,” she retorts. “I don’t think you appreciate the feat I’ve just performed here. This room possibly contains the most complicated piece of technomagic in the world.” She folds her arms, gazing distantly into the tank’s liquid depths. “And I can’t even show it off.”

Before they leave, Ilapara takes one last look at the tank and suffers a spasm of crippling doubt. But the hope she felt when Tuk first told her of his crazy plan is still there, blazing like a bonfire. “I’ve gone to the ends of the world for you,” she whispers to the tank. “Don’t disappoint me now. Come back to us, Salo.”

“I’m a medic,” Priscille says happily. “You were a medic,” Sevan tells her. “You can hardly treat someone if you can’t remember what you were doing three seconds ago. And the only reason you’re still alive is that the Professor hasn’t yet decided what to do with you.” Priscille makes a scoffing sound. “My memory goes longer than three seconds, thank you very much. And I’m only occasionally forgetful.” She smiles at Salim. “It’s nice to have you back in the world of the living, young man. You had me very worried for a while.”

To be anywhere near as good a parent to her own child, Ilapara knows she would have to give up her life of dangerous thrills, of chasing ghosts across deserts and fighting tikoloshe, and return to the tranquility and safety of her homeland—essentially admitting that she failed to achieve the life she originally left to seek. She would return a failure, pregnant with a foreigner’s bastard, a cautionary tale for other young women with dreams of defying expectations. Mothers would point her out to their daughters and say, See? Listen to me, or you’ll end up just like her. You don’t want to end up like her, do you?

“Was it a success?” he says to Ayzel. She lets out a shaky breath. “Go see for yourselves.” Tuk looks at Ilapara, seeking reassurance. She has none to give, but she joins him as he slowly approaches the figure, walking along a path between hedged-in beds of flowers.

He looks her in the eye, an experience she’s unaccustomed to. “Can I really afford to do that? The things I saw, Ilapara. There was so much suffering, and there’ll be more to come. How can I just walk away?” He is the same person but also different. Ilapara can see it now that she’s paying attention. There is a new presence about him, an . . . authority. A fierceness.

She was overjoyed to see him just a short while ago. She’s still happy he’s back, but she’d forgotten how much she hated the feeling of being pulled into deep, murky waters just by being around him, the sense that she’s a piece on a board in a game more complicated than she’ll ever understand.

Ilapara won’t recall the precise moment it happens. She won’t recall what she was about to say to Tuk in the moment just before. What she won’t forget is the flash that appears in the direction of the city, followed by the sudden release of an immense presence whose wrath presses against her mind with the weight of mountains and depth of oceans.

“Imperial history refers to it as the Astronomicon,” Julian says, “a secret treatise on the laws of heaven written by an unnamed apostle about two thousand years ago. However, intelligence we recently acquired suggests it isn’t a treatise at all but a historical account detailing the specific event that led to the end of the Ascendancy and its Hegemons.”

Salim tries to put what he saw in words. “The script and the story the book tells are a disguise. A decoy. It felt like . . . sunlight, or the auras around your suits of armor. But beneath it I sensed a hidden layer of a different magic. Red as the moon and born of agony and blood. As for the book’s true purpose . . . I only caught a glimpse, but I believe it holds memories from everyone who’s ever touched it, including the three of you.” The Imperial lords regard him in quiet shock.

He is on the floor now. He can hear Priscille and Sevan screaming; he can sense Adamus readying the final blow, extruding a blade from his machine hand. But a sudden explosion makes the whole ship groan, a rush of panicked signals coming to life on every deck, and then the captain’s voice booms into the bay. “Damn it! Listen up, everyone. The sunlords have caught up to us. Our shields won’t hold for long, and we can’t outrun them. The Ataraxis is lost. If you want to live, run for the skiff immediately. Anyone not there in the next three minutes is getting left behind. That includes you, Professor.”

Before he can prostrate himself, the king—the goddess?—comes and grabs him by the arms, helping him off the ground. “Gods and goddesses were never meant for this world,” she says forcefully. “By abandoning the Infinite Path, they unleashed a terror that we must all now confront. And I will need your help.”

Back in his broken body on the besieged ship, something has changed inside Salim. The insight that teased him earlier dances back into view. And this time when he reaches, it comes. He grasps; he pulls. And it responds.

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Balam could probably break it, but you won’t get him to stop shivering long enough to understand what you want from him. He’s too broken.” “Perhaps I can help.” They’re looking at me! If Balam could sink deeper into his corner, he would. But he’s too big. Too muscular. Too stuck with these frightening people.

on their own is nothing short of a miracle. He jerks his head to call the other rangers closer. “Thoughts?” “They’ll slow us down,” Sibu complains. “By a lot. We’ve actually covered more distance than I expected.” He looks in Addi’s direction with begrudging respect. “The kid rides like he’s been doing it all his life.”

won’t attack, he lowers his spear. “You’re the friendly ‘spirit’ who’s been watching over the Faraswa, aren’t you. Why? What’s your interest in them?” “Listen carefully, Ajaha,” the woman says. “The old magics of the desert are stirring. An evil banished long ago has returned in the flesh to rouse them and harness their power. The Faraswa who are called must get there in time to stop it, or all will be lost.”

“Something’s happening here. Something bigger than just Addi or these people or maybe even us.” The queen is hundreds of miles away, but Niko still lowers his voice. “The woman mentioned old magics awakening in the desert. Well, guess what: there’s a new king who’s claimed the desert for himself, and from what I’ve heard, AmaYerezi might be working with him. What if, inadvertently, something they did is what’s causing Addi’s seizures?”

With one hand he loosens his lone garment, and it falls away from his hips. Naked, he turns around and walks to the pool, stopping just shy of the descending steps. When he looks over his shoulder, his smirk says he knows every lustful little thought racing through Niko’s mind. “Are you coming?” The taste of sex and nsango rises with Niko the next morning and stays with him as he readies his quagga to set off again. These dreams are getting out of hand. More vivid, more real. Harder to live without. A nightly treasure. An addiction. Am I losing my mind?

Turning his back on them, Niko moves to put himself in front of the caravan, drawing power from his blessing and feeding it into his spear. The Jasiri steps forward, too, pulling a gleaming sword from where it hung by his side. A slight breeze recedes, and a stillness settles as they face each other. A child starts to wail and is promptly shushed. The moment stretches, and Niko suffers an unpleasant prickle of doubt, the fear of facing an unfamiliar foe, of having made a mistake. But when the Jasiri suddenly leaps forward, Niko surges ahead to meet him.

They battle through the woods, over a hill and farther away from the road, goading each other down the slopes of a low, misty valley dotted with limestone ruins.

By the Mother. This again? Rabid anger grips Kamali. His sword is now somewhere at the bottom of the lake. A Primeval Spirit infested his mind with horrible visions and nearly killed him. He’s wet and tired and still hasn’t acquired his target. All because of this stubborn, stupid ranger. Kamali picks himself off the ground. “I’m done being diplomatic,” he says to the boy. “Now we dance.”

She starts walking, slowly, obliquely. “I never thought a man like you would let himself become a tyrant’s most faithful lapdog. What are you doing here, Jasiri? Why are you fighting the emperor’s battles and wearing his insignia on your chest?” The tingle of shame caresses Kamali’s skin. “I serve the emperor because he’s the best way to restore peace and order to the Yontai. I cannot allow my preferences to cloud my judgment.”

Of course the emperor wants to destroy her. I don’t serve him because he’s a good man, Kamali thinks. I serve him because he has power that could wash the jungles of the Yontai in blood, and I want to stop him from doing so. “Kamali, look at me.” Ayana has come close enough for him to see the specks of gold and silver in her sunlit irises. “Look into my eyes and see the truth of my words. If your duty is to the people of the Yontai, then you have no greater enemy than the man you serve. Even as we speak, his new ally seeks a key to a gate they wish to open; should they succeed, what you saw coming out of this lake will be a trifle compared to the horrors they will unleash.”

The flavor of her fear shifts, and she looks at him the way one might look upon a beloved relative who’s gone mad. “What are you talking about, Kamali?” “It’s difficult to explain, but there’s a dangerous artifact he’s trying to activate to gain more power. It’ll destroy us all.” He’s not getting through to her. He can feel her slipping away. He takes a step forward, but she retreats. “Taji, I need you to trust me. The emperor is no good.”

The whole time he fails to convince himself that he’s only imagining the sensation of many eyes watching him from the direction of the lake.

They all glance at the Jasiri and find him watching the Faraswa woman with an unreadable look. Seeing him now, Niko almost can’t believe he’s the same demon-possessed fiend who nearly dismembered him. He’s actually quite easy on the eyes, a light-complexioned fellow with short hair and a broad, stubbled face Niko might have admired if it didn’t belong to a man who’d nearly killed him. “The woman has something to do with it,” he mutters, remembering how she conjured a ball of light that banished the tikoloshe coming out of the lake. Did I even see that, or was I just delirious?

He sighs, looking ahead. “I gave it my all, and it still wasn’t enough.” “It looked pretty close to me,” Addi says. “Not in the end. I think he might have been holding back at first.” It pains Niko to admit this, but he’d rather face his flaws than pretend they don’t exist. “When he gave in fully to his spirits, I stood no chance.” “But you drove him to that point,” Addi says. “I’m familiar with Umadi spirit charms, and what I know is warriors who possess themselves with spirits don’t like to yield to them completely because then it’s the spirits in control. You pushed him so hard he had to give up control, and he’s a damned Jasiri, the emperor’s general himself if Aaku Sissay is right.”

“You earned your luck, Bra Niko,” Addi says. “You’re a hero to everyone in this caravan, myself included. Now cheer up and stop brooding.”

They follow it into the semidesert, a thin strip of cracked paving cutting a line across endless flats of rusty sand and dry vegetation. They advance fairly rapidly along its length, but the sunlight in these parts hits with an intensity that soon becomes unbearable. Niko ends up hiding his face beneath his conical straw hat and covering himself with a light woolen cloak. Addi and the other rangers do the same. As the day wears on, Niko slowly begins to appreciate just how unprepared they were for this part of the journey and how they might have actually saved themselves by taking on the Faraswa caravan. Being used to grassy plains where streams and watering holes are never far away, none of them paused to think about how they’d cross long stretches of land where water would be scarce. How lucky then that the Faraswa brought barrels of water for their own animals and have more than enough to share with the quaggas. They also continue to share their generous provisions of food, which saves Niko and his team the hassle of having to hunt and cook for themselves.

So sincere is her tone, Niko would swear she speaks the truth even though he can’t understand her directly. Addi himself might as well be hypnotized. “‘What they call a curse was a noble sacrifice,’” the boy continues. “‘Our forebears were accomplished scholars of the secret dimensions between worlds, and in their explorations of these hidden spaces, they came upon a great evil lurking, waiting, bent on destroying humanity. They could have saved themselves, retreated into their caves while the evil rampaged across the world. Instead, they dedicated all their knowledge and resources toward building a prison to contain this evil and save not just themselves but all of humankind.’” Addi shakes his head, incredulous. “I can’t believe my ears. This can’t be true, can it?” “Focus, Addi,” Niko says. “She’s not done yet.” “Right. She’s saying the prison was a double-edged sword. The same power that would hold back the evil would weaken the ancient Faraswa as well . . . and they would lose their magic. They made the sacrifice anyway, knowing that the alternative was to stand by and watch the world burn. They gave everything they had to save a world that would not thank them and were rewarded with slavery, strife, and oppression.”

Another voice shouts in protest, and Addi keeps up so fluidly Niko is able to follow the conversation. “So our lot is to suffer as slaves and victims for eternity?” “I am proof that there are ways around the curse,” Ayana replies. “Our people are due a reawakening. We will reclaim our dignity and our homeland, but we must honor the sacrifice our forebears made. We cannot let centuries of suffering be for naught, and I for one will not sit idly by while the enemy destroys the world and robs us of the chance to recover who we once were. I will fight. I have already been fighting.” She points at the crystal pyramid behind her, the one with the glowing blue heart.

“I know, I know.” The boy shakes himself out of it and tries to speak through his shock. “Er . . . ‘Let me be clear. Some of you won’t survive. The inhibiting power of the prison our forebears built hasn’t waned, and attempting to awaken under its influence will kill more often than not. But those of you who’ve felt the call strongly enough to suffer seizures are more likely to survive, and I will need your help . . .’” Addi falls silent again, shaking his head, eyes mad with horror. “She wants us to become mystics. She wants us to . . . oh dear Ama, I think I’m about to have a seizure.” At that exact moment, a light goes out inside of Niko, a fire that’s burned for years in his bones abruptly extinguished. He sags forward, enfeebled, his limbs inexplicably heavier, and he starts to wonder if he’s been poisoned. But then he looks to his left and sees Jio hunched over, and to his right, beyond Addi’s now-writhing form, Sibu and Mafarai have the same dazed grimaces. When their eyes all meet, they immediately know what has happened, but Niko refuses to believe. It can’t be.

The queen has withdrawn her blessing from us. She’s forsaken us, and we’re no longer rangers. We’re nothing. But I must not fall apart.

That strikes a nerve. She gets up, the chain attached to her fetters clanking, and comes to the bars of the cage so he can see the depth of her rage. It does nothing to hide her beauty. “A friend, Kamali? I hardly know you. You’re a traitor. A murderer.” The words are meant to cut him, but he carries no shame for what he did. Regret that he had to do it but not shame. “I betrayed a man I feel is no longer worthy of my service. Nor yours for that matter. And Daudi and Neema would have killed me had I not struck first. We both know that.” “And they would have been right to do so! We had a mission, Kamali. We were supposed to capture Meddur, not join him and his caravan of fanatics.”

“Does she mean something to you?” “She’s a friend.” He sees Ayana smile out of the corner of his eye. That’s the other thing about her. She isn’t just a terrible liar; lies don’t survive for long in her presence. “I see the truth on your face, Kamali.” His head dips lower, and he looks down at his feet. “We were both lonely.” She takes hold of his arm and gently tugs him to a stop, forcing him to look into her eyes. They twinkle up at him with amusement. “Kamali, I’m a grown woman. We had a moment back in Yonte Saire, but that doesn’t mean I get to claim ownership over you.” “What if I want you to?” he says, turning her amusement into mild surprise. He takes her hands in his. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day we met. I know we’re practically strangers to each other, and I know you owe me nothing, but I don’t want you having any doubts about my intentions.”

She conjures a small ball of light that hovers in one hand, cosmic shards coming to life across her face. The boy watches with wide-eyed wonder. “The Veil between worlds is a dampening field that inhibits the power of the gods, but the suns are more affected than the moon, perhaps because they’re more distant—I never learned. The point is, sun magic is naturally weak.”

“You do that,” Ayana replies with a wistful look as she watches him slowly walk away. “It’s good to see there’s still fire in my people,” she says after some time. Kamali watches her, this astounding woman, both transparent and a mystery, but he thinks he’s beginning to understand her. “Come,” she says. “I believe you were telling me about your intentions.”

Ayana turns away from Kamali and lifts the curls of her hair so he can better see the tattoo on her nape. It’s a stylized eye made of sweeping curves, drawn in an ink so intensely blue it might be luminescent. “The Eye of Vigilance,” he murmurs, recognizing the design. There was a cult in the undercity who revered it. “May I touch it?” She nods, and he runs a gentle finger over the tattoo, feeling its ridges and contours. They are prominent enough he decides that maybe the eye isn’t a tattoo at all but a physical object embedded beneath the skin.

Then the moment ends, and he cries out as he releases himself into Ayana’s heat. They collapse onto the bed still entangled, and Kamali can’t help the stream of tearful laughter that pours from him. “You know,” Ayana says afterward, “laughter is not the reaction I usually get.” Kamali lifts his head so he can blink at her. “Usually?” “That got your attention,” she says with a snicker. “I was just thinking about how sex with you is so wonderful you literally took me to heaven,” he says. She snuggles her head onto his chest. “Hmm, I suppose I can live with that.” And so can I, Kamali thinks, holding her closer. Now and forever.

Am I better looking than your former betrothed? No, you’re more hideous, and I’m only with you out of the kindness of my heart. He laughs and kisses her when she says that, vowing to convince her to marry him when her war has been fought and won. But one morning he awakens with an unpleasant pressure building up inside his chest, an itch at the base of his spine.

The weapon flies into the air. In a split second Kamali lets go of the spear to catch this new treasure, and then he’s opening fire. He’s never used such a thing before; he’s only ever seen them being used, but it responds in his hands like it was made for him. His essence-enhanced reflexes instantly adapt to the way it feels in his hands, to the flight path of its projectiles, and for a few seconds he is king.

Salo is different now. More independent, more sure of himself. He’s no longer the young man who begged them to stay with him in Yonte Saire. He doesn’t need us anymore, she realizes. In fact, Salo begins to spend less time with them and more time alone, locked inside his cabin, insisting he must dedicate himself to the task of rebuilding his Axiom. To rub salt on the sting, he still finds the time to take walks around the ship in the company of the countess and Gregoire Silver Dawn.

Salo removes his crown and places it on a richly carved chest of drawers; then he moves to stand by the windows, giving his back to her. “What is it?” he says. Ilapara’s anger spikes. “Is this how it is now? We risk our lives to bring you back, and then you behave as if you don’t know us?” He doesn’t reply for a long time, and when he finally speaks, his voice is distant. “I owe you a debt I can never repay,” he says. “But I can’t be the person you want me to be right now. I have a mission more important than you could ever understand.”

“He seems sure of what he’s doing,” Ilapara remarks. “Quite possibly the only reason I haven’t already slaughtered everyone on this ship.” The shadow of malice crosses Tuk’s face. “The second he indicates otherwise, I honestly can’t be held responsible for what I do.”

Ilapara gets her first look at just how many people are in the convoy as they all disembark. Hundreds, at least. Lords and ladies wearing enough gemstones to buy a kingdom. Crews of the windcrafts in plain uniforms, humble but clearly overjoyed to be here. Warriors with shimmering armor and heavy typhonic weapons. Some wear gold-and-white capes, others cloaks as deep crimson as the sunset moon. An eeriness sweeps over Ilapara as they all follow Salo in a procession toward the lake. “I feel like we’ve suddenly joined a cult,” she whispers to Tuk. He doesn’t respond. His obsidian gaze is fixed on his sister up ahead, walking next to Salo like a faithful acolyte.

He gets mutters of agreement from all around the table, and Alinata almost smiles. The general must have been coached by an Asazi to deliver such a strong yet oblique criticism of the queen’s actions. “And why not let this so-called ‘King of the West’ fight his own battles?” says the general of Khaya-Nyati’s regiment. “Why must we shed our own sweat and blood to protect his lands? If he is truly a king, let him field his own armies to defend his treasures.”