After the Fire (After the Fire: Book the First) Read online

  “I didn't,” said Eleni, still edging away. “I burned it. It died.”

  “While it was inside of you?” said the man. “You can do that?”

  “I can do many things,” said Eleni. “Right now I'm leaving.”

  “I could come with you,” said the man.

  “No, ” said Eleni, stopping and staring at him. “You cannot come. Don't follow me. They will hurt her if I bring you back. They might hurt you, too. Please stay away. I'll burn you if I have to.”

  The man raised his hands and took a step back. “All right. I don't want to get you into trouble. But please. Take the coat.” He held it out to her.

  “Why?” said Eleni.

  “Because it will give you comfort,” said the man, as if baffled by the question. “When you're cold, you bundle up.”

  “I've never been cold before,” said Eleni. “I don't like it.” She closed her fist and willed the fire back inside her body. She took the garment he held out to her. It was scratchy and still warm from his body.

  “Where are your clothes?” he said. “Do they burn off?”

  “No,” said Eleni. “They take them.”

  “In your village?” said the man. “That seems unkind.”

  Eleni didn't say anything. She felt a movement at her side and the wolf was nudging her hand with the prey from the night. Eleni took it and the wolf bounded away, towards the woods.

  “You trained it well,” said the man.

  “She is not trained,” said Eleni. “She usually tries to rip the throats out of anything that moves. I don't know why she likes you.” A bell clanged behind the high wall of the village. “I have to go. Please, don't let them see you.”

  “They call me Fin,” he called after her as she hurried toward the village. She didn't look back as she rushed home, her back and legs aching, and her chest sore and tender where the strago had been. She made it to the iron wall just as the bell stopped clanging. She dropped the boar thankfully on the ground outside the gate. An old man's head peeked over.

  “You're late,” he said.

  “I brought a boar,” Eleni said.

  “You'd better get inside before he notices,” said Sabin. “You know how mad he gets when you're late.”

  Eleni glowered at him, but walked briskly around the wall, her long legs feeling light without the weight of the pig, until she came to an opening. She walked into her iron box, the smell of metal heavy in the tiny, square space, and dropped heavily onto her straw cot. The metal squealed as someone began to lower the outer hatch. Eleni had one final glimpse out towards the forest and saw the outline of a man leading a horse away, towards the rising sun. She thought she saw him stop and turn to look towards her just as the hatch clanged shut and she was left in darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Fin dismounted his horse, Epona, and handed the reins to a boy who ran up when he arrived. Fin forgot what his name was, but the boy beamed up at him, eager for any chore he could get. Fin ruffled his hair and left him to the task, making a beeline for the dwelling at the center of the camp.

  “Fin!” said a high voice, just as a small girl latched herself onto his leg. “You came back!”

  Fin lifted her up and smiled at her. She was so thin she barely weighed anything. He frowned for a moment as he saw the malnourishment in the bruises under her eyes and the way the skin stretched on a face far too young to have any right to know of such things. He remembered himself and smiled again.

  “I could never leave you, Rika,” he said, making her beam. He set her gently on the ground. They must have gone through their stores of dried mutton. “Here, have the rest of this,” he said, handing her a pouch from his hip. He crouched down. “Don't tell your father, now,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. “He'll try to give that to your brother. That's for you, you hear?”

  The tiny wisp of a girl nodded excitedly and ran off with the pouch of stale bread and hard cheese. He saw her duck behind a large tree at the edge of the encampment. She needed it far more than he did. He saw Elek sitting on a log stoking a fire. Elek locked eyes with him and smiled, his eyes cold and almost daring Fin to act.

  It was their way. The men were the kings of their castles, or at least their tents, and the women took care of the men. The children were an afterthought. Fin thought of his own mother, her memory still raw. If anyone ever denied her food, they would have had to answer to him. If he had a small crumb of food, he would gladly give it to her, or to any of his sisters; even his brother. He didn't understand the ways of these people. But it was not his place to interfere. Magda depended on them, for whatever reason.

  “Tell me,” she said, rising with difficulty when he entered her tent. She had aged more in the last twenty years than the entire time he had known her. She had always looked old, but lately she had started to look hunched and frail. Her hair still hung in a braid down her back, though the plait grew thinner every time he saw her. Parts of her scalp showed through her hair. Fin wondered how long she could last without her sisters.

  “All dead,” said Fin. He found it hard to say the words without a tremor in his voice. He took Magda's elbow and helped her to sit back down on the cot. The women had raised it up with flat rocks so Magda wouldn't struggle to get up and down. Fin sat next to her and Magda laid a cool hand on his arm.

  “I'm sorry,” she said.

  He made himself smile, though it was almost painful. “It's not important right now,” he said. He took her cold, thin hand in his.

  “I may be old, but I'm not blind, Alaunus,” she said, blinking at him with her good eye. “Not completely anyway. Not yet. There is pain in you. They were your kin. You need time to mourn.”

  “I need time to find out what is happening,” said Fin, the smile gone from his lips. He felt a hollow in his chest, a numbness that he had only felt with grief. “Can you see anything?”

  Magda let go of his hand and clasped her own together. “My Sight is fading,” she said. “I need to find my sisters. I fear I am dying. Without them, I am nothing. You heard nothing of Danai in the islands? Of Anja?”

  “Nothing,” said Fin. “But there is something else.”

  “Good news, I hope,” said Magda. “I cannot bear more bad news. I feel my heart is breaking.”

  “I cannot be sure,” said Fin, “but I think I found Zaric.”

  Magda's good eye grew wide, the cloudy green clearing and blazing at him like a brilliant emerald. “In the islands?” she said, grasping his arm again. “Where?”

  Fin smiled, and this time it didn't hurt him to do so. It felt good to deliver good news, however unsure it was. He felt the hollow in his chest pain him a little less, the burden not quite so heavy. “Nowhere near as far,” he said.

  Magda frowned. “Speak, boy. Tell me your news.”

  “Just on the other side of these woods,” said Fin. “Not more than a day's walk from here.”

  Magda stared at him in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

  Fin shook his head. “No. But it's something.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Not a he,” said Fin. “A she. A girl. Or, rather, a young woman. I met her as she was returning to her village. It was the first village I have seen in these woods since the fire. Completely surrounded with an iron fence.”

  Magda snorted. “As if that will do them good.”

  “I do not think they even realize why they are safe. If I am right, it isn't the iron that the dark creatures fear. It's the girl.”

  “What was she like?” said Magda. “Did she look like him?”

  Fin shook his head. “No. Not a bit. She's a small thing, with long hair as red as the fire she wields.”

  “You sound smitten,” said Magda with a knowing eye. “Be careful, my dear.”

  “Not smitten,” said Fin. “She intrigues me. She was like a wild thing. She traveled with a wolf, a big black one. It must have stood nearly to her shoulder. It seemed to obey her, or at least be comfortable with her. And she killed a strago.�
�

  “Oh?” said Magda, surprised.

  “After it was inside her chest,” said Fin, still impressed.

  “It must be him,” said Magda. “It must be. We have found him after all this time. You must tell her to come. Does she know what she is?”

  “I think she knows very little of anything,” said Fin. “She was afraid I would come to her village. And I don't think she would have hesitated in stopping me.”

  “A woman that knows her own power,” said Magda. “That bodes well. It means she's not afraid of herself. It's so very common, you know. With the new ones.”

  “Aye, I know,” said Fin. He rubbed his beard.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Magda laughed. “I forget you're not one of the old ones, Alaunus.”

  “Magda, the village. There's something else. Something wrong about the village.”

  “What is it?”

  “She didn't want me helping her,” he said. “She was carrying a pig on her shoulder, and she looked about to fall over. After a strago she's lucky she was still breathing, and the damn girl was carrying a boar. It was as if she was afraid someone from the village would see me. She said I'd get someone killed if I followed her. And then they locked her up in a great iron box. I don't understand what is happening. I feel I should return. To try to help her. To bring her back.”

  “That would no doubt be the wisest thing to do,” said Magda. “If she is who you think she is, and things are as bad as you say, she will be a target. If word spreads of her existence, alone in the forest, it's like she is just baiting them.”

  “I'll leave Epona here. A horse would just draw attention. I'll sleep and rest for a day before I go. It's been a long journey. And I've had many hard truths since I saw you last.”

  “I know, dear boy,” said Magda. “You rest now. We have lost loved ones, but it seems we may gain an ally.”

  “I hope you're right,” said Fin. He stood up, stretching. He was sore and weary from his travels. He walked toward the tent Magda always insisted they keep for him. He lay down on the thin, scratchy cot. As he drifted off to sleep he thought of the sky of fire from that day. They couldn't afford to be wrong. Without the girl, they were already dead.

  Chapter Three

  Eleni woke when the hatch squealed open and flooded the box with light. Someone stepped in and shut the door behind them. Eleni blinked and rubbed her eyes. A lantern hovered in midair. It took a moment before her eyes adjusted to see the man holding it.

  “I brought you some food,” said Alin, “but I see you've already eaten.” He nudged the pile of rodent fur with his boot and took a few limping steps toward her. He lowered himself stiffly to the ground next to Eleni and sat, placing the lantern next to him.

  “The snows are coming,” she said, sitting up. “You always get sore when the weather changes.”

  “That would explain it,” said Alin. “Are you well?”

  “How is my mother?” she said, ignoring his question.

  Alin looked at his hands. “She is well,” he said.

  “Does she ask about me?”

  “Every day,” said Alin sadly. “She asks after you every day.”

  “I want to see her,” said Eleni. “Please, Alin. I need to see my mother.”

  Alin looked at her. “You know I cannot help you do that, child. I would if I could. But Cosmin would kill my family.”

  “I could kill him,” said Eleni. “If I wanted to, I could kill him and you wouldn't have to be afraid.”

  “You know it is not just Cosmin,” said Alin. “Who is to say his friends would not kill your mother, my daughter, my son before you ever got to them? Best to just comply.”

  “I grow tired of complying,” said Eleni. “I grow tired of this life. I sleep in an iron box. I am a prisoner, a slave. They say I am dangerous and it's true. I am more dangerous than they know. How long will it be before I stop hunting for them? How long will it be before I walk into that village and burn it to the ground?”

  “Eleni, you must not say such things. Your mother would be in grave danger if you did this.” Alin looked away as he spoke.

  “You never look at me when I ask about my mother,” said Eleni. “What do you know?” Eleni could smell his bitter sweat, she could feel him fidgeting with his hands. He said nothing. He opened his mouth and closed it again. He did not look at her. “You were a friend to my mother,” said Eleni. “Once. You were a friend to me as well. But now I think you are just like the rest of them. You speak lies and half-truths. I do not think you came here to bring me food. You know I hate swine. I think you came here to spy for Cosmin.”

  Alin didn't respond. Just shook his head.

  “If you want something to tell Cosmin, tell him this: I can leave any time I want to,” said Eleni. Alin looked quickly at her.

  “How can that be?” he said. These walls are as thick as my hand is long. No one could escape.”

  Eleni looked at him defiantly. Without unlocking her pale eyes from his, she placed her hand on the cool metal of the wall. Alin's mouth dropped open as he watched. The metal under Eleni's hand grew quickly red-hot. Within moments it began to sink into the softly melting iron. Wisps of smoke rose from her hand. She pulled it away with a wet slurping sound. The red heat of the wall quickly cooled, leaving the imprint of her hand. Eleni held her palm out to him so the light from the lantern shone on her skin.

  “Not a mark,” breathed Alin. “Why do you stay? Why do you not flee?”

  Eleni's voice was cold when she spoke. “I want my mother,” she said. “And I want her alive.”

  Alin looked at her face for a long moment. “What will you do?” he said. He was sweating profusely.

  “I will bide my time,” said Eleni. “I will hunt for the village. For now. But not because of Cosmin or you or anyone else. For my mother. See that she is well-fed and I may be merciful when the time is right.”

  “Why do you wait?” said Alin. “Why not just take her now?”

  “Because the time is not right,” she said.

  “When will the time be right?”

  “If I knew that,” said Eleni, “I would not tell you. First snow is coming, though. I do not think she would survive in the wild through the winter. I will wait until spring. So sleep easy, old man. You could very well be dead by the time I come.” Eleni saw him swallow heavily, as if trying to swallow his fear.

  There was no joy to be had in frightening him. He had been more kind to her than anyone else. But she was tired of these games. It was time the village knew who held their fate. They had no livestock after the Reivers came last full moon. Their crops had rotted. Without Eleni, everyone in Krasna would die, either from starvation, invasion, or from the predators that lurked in the forest.

  Alin stared at Eleni, his bushy eyebrows quivering, his lips moving, trying to form words but failing. “I want you to go now,” said Eleni. “Lock me up if you must, but know that it will do no good.”

  Alin rose slowly, heavily. He lifted his lantern and turned to leave. He banged on the hatch door three times.

  “Alin,” said Eleni. He turned to look at her, slow with shock. “Take that plate with you,” she said pointing to the food he had left on her pile of fresh carcasses. “The smell makes me sick.”

  Alin reached down and took the plate and when the door opened, lifted by two men that Eleni recognized as Cosmin's friends, Alin walked slowly out. The door closed behind him and in the darkness Eleni made a fist. Lying in her cot she opened her hand and watched the flame flicker, casting strange shadows on the wall of her prison. She closed her fist and extinguished the flame. Then she rolled over and slept.

  The hatch squealed open again what seemed to Eleni moments later. But after getting her bearings, she realized it must be almost nightfall. The light streaming in from the open door told her it was dusk. And the hulking silhouette standing there looking at her could only be one man.

  “What do you want, Cosmin?” she said, annoyance in her voice. He stepped into the d
arkness of the metal room. He had lost his swagger, and his movements were slow and uneasy. He crouched down just out of arm's length from Eleni and rested on his haunches. He rubbed his hands on his knees. Eleni looked past him. He had left the hatch door open. He'd never done that before. He held a bundle which he tossed to her. They landed softly on her cot.

  “Clothes for you,” said Cosmin. “Fabric is scarce now, so try not to burn them.”

  “Alin has spoken to you,” said Eleni.

  “Yes,” said Cosmin. The smugness that usually permeated everything he said had disappeared. It was very unlike him. Eleni sat up, her head foggy from lack of sleep.

  “How is my mother?”

  “I cannot let you see her,” said Cosmin.

  “Why not?” said Eleni, her voice hard.

  “I cannot let you into my village,” said Cosmin. “You are a danger to everyone beyond the wall. You must understand, I have to look out for my people.”

  “It's my village, too,” said Eleni. “I was born there.”

  “Your mother was an outsider,” said Cosmin. His voice was quiet, calm, but his body had become twitchy, as though he'd like to be anywhere but here, speaking to her. Like he itched to be away. “We still have no knowledge where she came from.”

  “Then ask her,” said Eleni.

  “She does not speak to us,” said Cosmin. “Not anymore.”

  “Bring her out, then,” said Eleni. “Bring her to me and I will not have to come.”

  Cosmin was quiet for a time. He looked toward the open door. “I cannot,” he said finally. “I fear the winter too much to let her go.”

  “You are making plans for your own funeral, Cosmin,” Eleni said quietly.

  “If you kill me now,” he said, a tremor in his voice, “Rastin has instructions to slit her throat. He will not hesitate.” Eleni knew this to be true. Of all Cosmin's friends, Rastin was the most fearsome. He was smaller than the others, but there was a manic look about his eyes that told her that he would do anything if he could get away with it.

  “If this is the way of things,” said Eleni, “it will not end well. For any of us.”