L glyph [https://i.imgur.com/2vwU4yB.png]

In the vaulting darkness of a vast cavern, twenty or more green-clad children sat in groups, each group clustered round a lamp, each little light an island illuminating snatches of tortured rock formations. Childish chatter and laughter bounced off the curved walls.

Lorie’s heart leapt. She couldn’t see Sam, but surely he must be nearby — if she could just find him, and take him home — or at least know he was safe.

‘This is where we live,’ Ellise said. ‘Come and meet everyone.’

Deeper into the cavern, scattered bedding, discarded bowls, and rubbish littered the floor. The sulphurous background stink of the caves was joined by the sour smell of people who didn’t bother much with washing or laundry.

Their arrival had been noticed. Children streamed toward them, led by a tall older boy.

‘Oh,’ Ellise exclaimed. ‘There’s Paet. Paet, this is Lorie. She’s Sam’s sister.’

Paet regarded her gravely. ‘What did you bring her here for?’

‘Why not? She wanted to see Sam.’

‘Where is Sam?’ Lorie asked. ‘Is he all right?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Paet said. ‘You’re too late. The ritual’s over.’

‘What ritual?’ Her palms tingled. ‘Where is he?’

‘Maybe you should speak to the Master,’ he said.

‘Who is the Master? I just want to see my brother.’

Paet took her arm. ‘The Master will explain everything.’

The whole crowd followed them across the cavern to where a middle-aged, brown-haired man in a white robe sat on a throne-shaped lump of rock, his head bent over a book bound in red leather.

Paet coughed. ‘Master.’

The Master looked up. His eyes widened. ‘Why—’ His welcoming smile froze and faded. ‘What are you doing here?’

Lorie blinked. ‘Master Zakary?’ The face belonged with the dusty black robe of an Arcanum master. He ought to be sitting in a study cluttered with books and art, not perched on a rock in a huge cave, surrounded by wide-eyed children. ‘What are you doing here? And where’s my brother?’

He closed the book. ‘Brother? What brother?’

‘Sam, my brother Sam. Where is he?’

‘Ah.’ The warm smile returned. ‘This must all be rather confusing, but I can assure you, your brother is perfectly safe.’

He lies, said the Voice.

She clenched her fists. Fire tingled in her veins. ‘Where is my brother? What’s going on here? What have you done with him?’

‘Do not be alarmed, my dear. We’re all friends here. We’ll take you to him.’

‘Did Sam ascend?’ Ellise asked.

Zakary eyed her. ‘He did.’

‘Then…’ She frowned. ‘How could you take Lorie to him? If he’s ascended, I mean?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Zakary said smoothly. ‘Lorie doesn’t understand, yet, but she will. And perhaps she’ll want to join her brother.’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘Actually, she might do very well. Paet—’

Paet gripped her arm. She glared at him.

‘Prepare her for the ritual,’ Zakary said.

‘No.’ Lorie struggled to pull away from Paet, but he was stronger than her. ‘I’m not interested in your stupid ritual. I want my brother.’ Other green-robed youngsters closed in on her, their hands reaching to restrain her. The younger ones, like Ellise, looked confused and scared. Lorie kicked Paet in the shins. ‘Let me go.’

I can help, said the Voice.

Her heart pounded.

Let us burn them all. Why not? They deserve it.

— No. Lorie trembled in Paet’s grip, more with rage than fear. She was scared for Sam, but she wasn’t afraid of Zakary or his gaggle of teenage henchmen.

Burn them.

She gritted her teeth. Fire prickled along her nerves, flickering at the edges of her mind, only a heartbeat away. — The power is mine. I’m in control.

To be sure. All yours.

Flame rolled down her arms like water. Paet yelped and leaped away; the others screamed and scattered.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

‘What are you doing?’ Zakary rose from his rock and retreated, shaking his head. ‘You can’t do that.’

Lorie laughed. The fire felt gently warm and prickly, like a thick wool blanket, and it was so easy. Holding it back took more effort than letting it flow. Her lightest thought shaped the flames. She formed a ball between her hands, butter-yellow and hearth-fire orange, and its heart was a fierce white spark.

She advanced on Zakary. ‘What have you done to Sam?’

He glanced round for his minions. The children goggled at the fire from a safe distance. ‘I…’

The fierce firelight threw strange shadows onto the floor and ceiling high overhead.

‘Where is he?’ she said. ‘Or you can burn.’ She tore off a handful of fire and tossed it at his feet.

He jumped. ‘You can’t threaten me. I’m a Master of the Arcanum. I demand—’

‘And a Fire Master too.’ Lorie tutted. ‘Scared of a little heat?’ She threw another handful of flames, aiming at his robe.

Fire flared; he batted at it with the book he was holding, but it was her fire — it burned hotter. The book charred and burst into flame. ‘Ow. Ow.’

‘What did you do to Sam? Where is he?’

He’d dropped the book, which was burning merrily. The front of the white robe was on fire. He writhed in terror. ‘Stop it, stop it, put it out.’

Crush him. Burn him. Destroy him.

It would be easy to let the fire do what it wanted, instead of holding it back, and so satisfying, to watch him wriggle and squeal — but she could not. She had to find Sam.

— No. I need him to talk.

Zakary shrieked. ‘All right. I’ll tell you anything, just—’

She pulled the fire from him, drawing it back to the ball in her hands. ‘The truth.’

‘Yes, the truth.’ His hands shook, the palms red and blistered. He reached out to her, pleading. ‘Come. Come with me.’

She stood firm, the fireball between them a shield and a threat. ‘I’m going nowhere, and neither are you. Talk.’

He hesitated still, his gaze darting to his followers.

‘Or burn,’ she said calmly. ‘If you’d rather.’ She made the fireball pulse to underline the point.

He cringed.

Not much of a Fire Master if you ask me. Pitiful worm.

‘What did you do to Sam?’

‘A ritual.’ He licked his lips. ‘A summoning.’

‘Summoning what?’

‘A, a Power. I don’t know exactly. I thought it was a demon—‘

Insorcism, the Voice said helpfully. A Power is summoned into a vessel, who is possessed.

‘You gave my brother to a demon.’ The fire flared in her hands, white-hot and reaching for him.

He stumbled backward, cowering from the heat. ‘Please.’

‘Why? Why would you do something like that?’ The fireball stretched. She formed it into a blade, a sword of fire ten feet long.

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds—‘ He squawked as the fire sword swept toward him. ‘Demons can see the future! Think of the possibilities! People are so afraid of possession, but with sufficient experiments I believe we can find ways of safely—‘ The sword licked through his hair. ‘Ai!’

Her anger drove the fire to incandescence. ‘You’ve done this to others? To these children?’

He squirmed. ‘Yes.’

‘How many?’

‘I don’t know. A lot.’

A sound came from the watching children then, a collective indrawn sob or groan. In the stark light of her fire, they huddled together, their faces pale and grubby, the robes filthy rags.

With an effort of will, she quieted the fire. ‘Where is Sam?’

‘The ritual didn’t succeed, he wasn’t possessed,’ Zakary babbled. ‘I think. It may have destroyed his mind. The subjects must be disposed of, of course, quite humanely, they don’t suffer, but it wouldn’t be safe. You see? It’s for the best. They don’t suffer.’

‘But you told us they were all right, afterwards,’ Paet said. ‘That they recovered.’

The sword wavered in her hand, glowing white. Shadows fled from corners of the cavern that had never known light and danced across the distant ceiling.

Burn him. Burn them all.

‘He lied,’ Lorie said. ‘Once someone’s possessed, they don’t just get better. Even with the best treatment most die or go mad.’

The Master cringed from her, whimpering over his burns, his eyes pleading. To think she had once respected him, even liked him, that Phin had liked him. Zakary got on well with his students at the Arcanum. Did any of them ever find their way down here? Or was it a fate reserved for the children no one would miss?

‘I know where your brother was taken,’ Paet said.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘You can show me the way.’

Putting the fire out was hard. It wanted to live, it yearned to grow and leap, and she must force it in on itself, smaller and hotter and tighter until there was no space left and it puffed into nothing.

The children edged closer. Ellise looked to Lorie. ‘But what about us? What do we do now?’

Despite their obvious terror, still they turned to her, as if, having defeated Zakary, she was bound to take his place. Poor stupid little fools. ‘Whatever you like. It’s not my problem.’

Paet led the way from the cavern, and Lorie followed. Behind them, the Master cried out. She didn’t look back to see what happened to him.

Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

Riga hadn’t been bluffing. When she marched Simon out of the Refuge, they were met by a low-browed, square-jawed Phylaxes troop-captain, backed by twenty armoured men, all with swords and guns, and an equal number of common soldiers.

‘So.’ The troop leader inspected Simon without much interest. ‘You got him then. Are we done here?’

She sneered. ‘Scared of the dark, Nevin?’

‘We do have other duties.’

‘Lord Oryche put me in command of you. Your duties are what I say they are.’

They glared at each other. Nevin scowled. ‘And what are your orders?’

Riga squeezed Simon’s arm, not gently. ‘I’ll take the prisoner back to the House. You blast the tunnel. Block these rats in their hole for good.’

Simon swallowed. The small sturdy casks stacked along the corridor wall were instantly recognisable from the shape, even without seeing the maker’s glyphs, as was the spicy smell that hung in the air. She hadn’t been bluffing about the blasting powder either.

Nevin frowned. ‘The Wardens are harmless. They have a lot of respect in the city.’

‘You may be your father’s favoured son,’ Riga snarled, ‘but Lord Oryche is the one in charge here, and I speak with his voice.’

A muscle twitched in Nevin’s jaw. ‘All right. We’ll blow the tunnel. You need any help with the prisoner?’

Riga snorted. ‘Do I look like I need help with a half-crippled old man?’

‘There’s trouble on the streets in places.’ Nevin shrugged. ‘But it’s your funeral.’

‘Two.’

Nevin gestured to the two nearest men, who fell in on Riga’s heels as she dragged Simon away. He stumbled, struggling to match her pace. Half-crippled old man. That was about right. They were going to blow up the passage with blasting powder, and there was nothing he could do, no way to warn anyone.

Still, the Refuge, and this corridor, were ancient; they’d survived a thousand years of earth tremors. Simply exploding a lot of powder might not destroy the passageway, and even if they succeeded, the Refuge must have other exits. The Wardens would be all right. Perhaps they’d have to live off their stores until they dug themselves out, but they’d survive.

Only Lorie was out in the undercity, somewhere, looking for Sam, and Sam was lost… And he could do nothing for any of them, and neither could Grace if she was trapped in the Refuge.

Light help them all.