Chapter Twenty-Six - Fire

It was dark outside, and his grandfather was singing to him.

The trees were moving. Shifting, whirling. Spinning in the wind. There was a storm coming, flashing from a churned-black sky. Mountains stretched out, covering the world. Black as night, hard as steel. He was floating, floating over the trees, over all of it. The branches brushed at his bare feet. The wind howled, but he didn’t feel it. The trees whirled, crashed, dragging at the sky, and thunder soared on the air like song.

The mountains were ahead of him. Just like they always were. Black across the sky. Clouds were spilling over the peaks, churning, roiling, and fire rose up to meet them. Lightning flashed. Thunder filled his chest. The clouds came on, flinching at the flame, dread waves overwhelming embers. There was something white in the haze, just out of sight. Gleaming. The silence of it filled his ears, and his blood hummed, pressing against his skin. He was getting closer. Always closer. Floating over the trees. The clouds were reaching out to take him. Clouds with faces of black, eyes slicing through his skin. The fire sang, surging up at the dark, and the clouds came on all the same.

He screamed, but there was no sound. Someone was watching him, in the dark. Someone who didn’t belong. He tried to flee. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. The clouds opened, a mouth with fangs of shadow. He tumbled through, and the thunder split the sky.

*

Ren sat up in his bed, gasping.

He panted, heaving, and his heart thundered in his ears. He blinked. Blinked again. His room. Quiet. Empty. His bare chest was cold, wet with sweat. A silver sliver of moon was draped through the rafters overhead, and he squinted at it, dazed. No fire. No clouds. No storm. He took a deep breath, swinging his legs onto the floor, and sat for a while, head in his hands, listening to the sound of his heart. Just a dream. Just the same old dream. He frowned at the dark. Mountains, clouds. Storms. He was growing more bored of his nighttime spectres than he ever had been of the farm.

But there had been something different, this time. The watcher. Dark eyes, just out of sight. Hidden by the clouds.

He took a deep breath, shaking himself, and stood up, dressing quickly. The stairs were cold and hard against his feet, and the embers stirred and murmured below, amber light tugging at the gloom. He almost expected to see the old man watching him from an armchair in the firelight, gold eyes winking. They’d been getting worse, since his last visit. His dreams. Bad news, Trin whispered. Ren frowned. But the chairs were empty, and only the old hound lay snuffling beside the dying fire, so he put such thoughts from his mind, slipping out into the dark unseen.

Silence held sway over the farm. The midnight kind, black as pitch, heavy with its own peculiar sort of emptiness. Ren sighed into the cold air, feeling it slide over his fevered skin, and began to walk. He had no particular place in mind. He never did. Not really. It was more about the walking. The dreams never could keep pace, even if they had seemed closer, these past few weeks. The moon blinked down wearily through shredded cloud overhead, and the shadows were thick as water around the edges of the farm buildings, but Ren went softly on through the dark, paying them no heed. The barn, the stables, the dining hall. One of the hounds was mewling quietly in the kennels. Quiet, empty. Sleeping. As though nothing were any different. But there was an eeriness to the open spaces between the thatched roofs. The farmers had taken to the day as though preparing for a siege. Everything that could be carried had been packed away, disappeared into safety behind impenetrable walls and uncrossed doorways. Closer was safer, after all. Ren went on through the buildings, dodging around ploughs that were no longer there, over baskets and rakes and scythes invisible as the wind. The difference of it pulled at him, cold in his gut. But he was walking, and the dreams were fading behind him, just like they always did. He still knew this place, no matter how hard it tried to steal away from him, and so long as he knew it, no storm would touch him.

The shapes of the farm peeled back before his steps, and the fields stretched out into the gloom, black and flat and empty. He tried to make out where the grass ended and the sky began, to trace the tops of the trees on the hill, but he could see nothing. No matter how much he squinted.

‘You shouldn’t be out, boy.’

Ren tensed, turning. But it was only Hector, sitting in the shadow of his doorway, all wrapped up in wool and wrinkled like an old grape. The farmer frowned back at him in the silvery gloom, blinking dryly. Ren exhaled, looking away over the black fields.

‘Not safe out.’ the old farmer told him. ‘Didn’t you hear your granddaddy? There’s Brothers abroad. Be Cursed Ones too, if he got his wish.’

Ren scowled in the darkness. Hector’s words in the barn were still too fresh in his ears to humour his jibes.

‘I… I needed to walk.’

The old man snorted. ‘You do enough walking for all of us together.’

Ren took a step closer. Hector had an uncorked flask in one hand, and a pitchfork was propped up against the wall beside him.

‘You’re on watch?’

‘Pulled the short straw.’ Hector spat at his feet, rocking back in his chair. ‘Midnight. Didn’t anyone tell them I can barely see my own hand at bloody dusk.’

Ren didn’t say anything. He looked back out over the fields, into the thick dark. Farm had never needed a watch, before. The wind rustled over sightless trees, tugging at the grass.

‘Oh, sit down boy.’ Hector grumbled, scowling. ‘Making me nervous.’

Ren hesitated, then slid his back down the wall beside the old man. The dirt was cold, but dry. He sighed, and Hector took a swig of his flask. Silence crept back in around them, and they both sat in the deep of it for a while, staring out into the shapeless dark. Ren shivered.

‘Ain’t nothing to shiver at but the cold, boy.’ Hector muttered, taking another sip. ‘Bloody Brothers, he says. Got us jumping at our own shadows.’

‘I remember how much you liked those stories, before yesterday.’ Ren shot back, cheeks suddenly hot. ‘Besides, you saw it, same as we did. They killed them. The mask-’

‘Fire! Masks! Bandits! Pah!’ Hector spat in the dirt, scowling. ‘I’ve been here a long time, boy. Longer than anyone still breathing. Heard a lot of stories. Told a lot of ‘em, too, to scare you young’uns. But nothing ever changes. You’ll see. Long way from anything, here. Winter, spring, summer, harvest. Winter again. We’ll still be here when the sun comes back. Seen my fair share of worries, down here. The war, the Black Breath… We survived ‘em both.’

‘Not all of us.’

Hector blinked at him, then looked away, frowning.

‘Aye, boy. Not all of us.’

Ren stared up at him for a moment, then back out over the fields. The moon peeked between the gathering cloud, and silvery light traced wet lines over the grass. In the distance, the wind had picked up over the trees, whining softly.

‘We’ll have rain before morning.’ Hector said quietly.

‘A storm.’ Ren murmured distantly.

‘Maybe.’ the old farmer agreed, squinting up at the clouds. He took another swig of his flask, and held it out to Ren, who stared at it for a moment, then took it and held it to his lips. The spirit burned a hot line down his throat, and he coughed, wincing.

‘Hard stuff, that, boy. Farmer’s drink.’

Ren swallowed, frowning, sour spit on his tongue, and handed him back the flask.

‘Tastes… good.’

Hector chuckled. ’You don’t drink it for the taste, boy.’

‘What do you drink it for, then?’

‘Lots of reasons, I suppose.’ Hector replied, sighing. ‘Some drink it to be happy. Some to be sad. Some to remember. Some to forget.’

‘What about you?’

The old man looked down at him, frowning, leathery cheeks creasing, then back out into the dark.

‘Like I said. There’s lots of reasons. Lots of folk to remember, too, if you’re lucky enough to get to my age.’ he said, taking another swig. ‘Breath took more than the war did, in the end. My Maree, too, Makers keep her soul. Didn’t have many left to send, after that.’

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled softly, and the wind fell away into a murmur. The moon flickered, vanished, and cloud pressed against the sky.

‘That’s what happens, when you let the wrong sort in.’ Hector went on. ‘Turns everything good and decent to sickness and rot.’

Ren hesitated. Storms and death marks. Death marks and storms. The old man was watching him from the dark, hooded and cloaked. Gold eyes hidden.

‘What...’ Ren asked quietly. ‘What happened that night?’

‘What night, boy?’

‘The night I was born. The night I got my death mark.’

Hector looked down at him.

‘Your folks don’t like me talking about that.’

‘But you did.’ Ren replied, frowning. ‘In the barn.’

‘Aye, boy. I did.’ the old farmer admitted, leathery face creasing. ‘We all say things we don’t want to, when we’re afraid. Not many things worth fearing more than Greycloaks.’

‘So you didn’t mean it?’

‘Doesn’t matter what I meant.’

‘It does to me.’ Ren told him.

Hector looked down at him again, and Ren stared back. They watched each other for a long moment, then the old farmer sighed, looking away.

‘Got a right to know, I suppose. Always did.’ Ren’s heart thudded, and his skin felt suddenly very light. Hector frowned.

‘Like I said, seen a lot of things, boy. Nothing like that storm, though. Biggest I ever saw. Came down out of the north like Temur’s own fury. Thunder so loud it shook the stable doors off their hinges. Lightning set the wood alight. Fire burned all night. Didn’t matter how thick the rain was.’

Ren stared up at him silently.

‘Your ma picked her moment, that’s for sure. Got the pains just as the wind picked up. By the time the rain was falling, they was already shut up in your folks’ house, waiting for you. Weren’t many of us left to help, in truth. Boys all gone off to die for the King. Half the rest took by the sickness, winter before.’

He trailed off, frowning. The wind rustled over the trees, and thunder creaked in the far distance. Ren blinked.

‘Then… He came.’

‘Yes, boy. He came.’ Hector agreed. ‘Just as the storm was breaking. Came riding out in front of it, all wrapped up in grey. First time any of us saw ‘im. Didn’t say a word, neither. Just rode up, like he knew the place better than his own hand, and disappeared inside with your grandfolks.’

The old farmer shivered. Ren waited, his gut tied in a cold knot.

‘The screams… Well, didn’t matter how loud the storm got. I’ve heard my fair share of whelps coming into this world, boy. Heard the women that birth them. This weren’t that. Weren’t natural. Turned my bones to cold, it did.’ he paused, shaking his head. ‘Can’t trust those Greycloaks, boy. Cursed, everyone knows it. Brought the war on us. Breath, too. Don’t know what magic he brought with him, that night. But it didn’t save her. And ain’t no rain exists that’ll wash off a death mark.’

I see a woman in a storm.

Ren blinked. The boy with the death mark. The fortuneteller watched him over silver flames, and the nightglass pendant pressed heavy against his chest.

She is dying.

‘He’s a… Greycloak? You’re sure?’

‘What else?’

Ren didn’t have an answer to that. That’s what the other children had always called him. It had never really mattered. Not until the last few days. He frowned.

‘You said it was the first time you saw him?’

‘Aye.’ Hector replied, not looking up. ‘First time any of us did.’

‘But… that’s not right.’

‘Memory’s on its way out, boy, but it ain’t gone just yet.’ The old farmer told him. ‘And that one ain’t the sort you forget seeing.’

You knew her?

Better than most.

Ren’s frown deepened. ‘But…’

‘Shhh.’ Hector said suddenly, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was staring out into the gloom, squinting.

‘Wha-’

The old farmer’s fingers dug into his skin.

‘Shut your mouth, boy.’

Ren winced, clamping his lips shut. He followed Hector’s eyes. North. The moon was all but gone, and the darkness was thick as pitch over the fields. Nothing stirred. He looked back at Hector, frowning.

‘Look.’

He looked again. Black, gloom, deep with quiet. He squinted, staring. There was something there. Scratching against the surface of the dark. Something flickering.

‘A torch?’ he murmured.

Hector didn’t reply. Ren stared, blinking. The light was a good way off, on the path heading north. Well past the hill. But it was moving.

‘Who is it?’

‘Makers be damned, boy, how should I know?’

The torch flickered closer, dragging an amber gleam across the dewy grass. The wind had fallen away. Silence filled Ren’s ears, heavy and aching.

‘We should wake-’

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

‘Who, boy? Ain’t no one here but us.’

‘But-’

‘No buts, boy. I won’t wake the whole farm for some lost traveler. Like as not it’s Brin. Likes a stroll, same as you.’

‘It could be the Brothers!’ Ren protested. ‘Or… bandits, like you said!’

‘Don’t look much like a band of Brothers to me. Bandits neither.’ the old farmer snorted. ‘You ever heard of one man burning a farm all by himself?’

Ren opened his mouth, then closed it again. The light was getting closer.

‘We have to do something.’ he hissed back, staring at it.

‘We don’t have to do nothing.’ Hector pushed himself creakily to his feet, rubbing at his back with a wince. ‘If it ain’t Brin, I’ll send him on his way.’

He tucked his flask away into his shirt, disappearing through the doorway for a moment. When he reappeared, there was a gleaming oil lantern hanging from his fingers. He picked up the pitchfork, looking down at Ren.

‘Stay here, boy. Won’t take long.’

Then he went away into the gloom, and the shadows fled in amber spirals around the light of the lantern. Ren stared after him, frozen, back pressed against the wall. Out across the fields, the torch was coming closer, floating over the grass. Something cold had taken hold of Ren’s gut, pressing in around it like a vice. Hector’s footsteps crunched against the path, hemmed in by the silence. The torch came closer, and made no sound.

‘Who goes there?’

No reply. Hector held up his lantern, pushing out the amber gleam across the darkened ground. The torch had stopped moving. Ren stared at it. His blood pounded in his ears, and his gut dragged at his bones, pinning him in place.

‘You deaf? I said, who goes there?’ Hector called again. He took a few steps forward, setting the haft of the pitchfork in the dirt and peering into the gloom. The torch didn’t move. He was only a few paces away now. No distance at all. Beyond, the night blinked, held, black as tar. Ren opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

‘What d’you want?’ the old farmer demanded. He took another step. And another. The lantern brushed against the flickering ring of torchlight, nudging at it. Ren stared into the gloom, eyes peeled wide with terror. There was something dark behind the light of the torch. A shape in black, still as stone. The night flickered again. Clouds were moving. Hector lifted the pitchfork, pointing it at the light.

‘Had your warning! Clear off, now, before there’s trouble.’

The silence creaked, stuttering. The night froze. The torch was falling. It rolled over in the grass, went out, and something black moved in the sudden dark, slipped like a shadow into the lamplight. Ren’s breath caught in his throat.

‘Hector!’ he screamed.

Hector turned his head to look back at him. Their eyes met for a moment, and the old farmer frowned. Everything stood still.

Something flashed. Flashed red and silver. Hector flinched, groaning, eyes still fixed on Ren. The life drained from his face, slowly, filling it, inch by inch, with pale death. Then he crumpled into the dirt, and the lamp burst beside him, spilling hot flame across the grass. A man stood over him. A man all in black, bloody blade in hand, face frozen, gleaming in the light of the flames.

A mask on fire.

‘No!’ Ren screamed, suddenly on his feet.

The flames flickered, went out, and the man vanished. Ren froze. The darkness cracked, broke, split open. Torches. Dozens of them. Ren reeled, spun. They were all around them. A ring of fire around the farm, splayed out across the grass. Ren’s blood pounded in his ears, and his mouth seized, wordless and numb. Footsteps. Coming closer. Pounding in the quiet. He staggered, fell. Ran. Away into the buildings. His heart thundered, vision blurred, head span. Hector. He had to warn them. The Brothers. It was them. They were here. He opened his mouth to scream, but his tongue froze against his teeth. Breath caught in his throat, choking, breaking. Faster. He could feel firelight tugging at his eyes, spilling gleaming amber out of the dark. Faster. Clouds filled his blood.

His foot caught, twisted, and he sprawled gasping into the muck. The torches were closing in, bleeding between the silent buildings. Hot and bright. He rolled onto his back, dragging himself backwards across the dirt. Something dark was coming towards him in the gloom. A shadow surging across the open ground. Silver flashed, wet with blood. A mask gleamed, leering back at him, empty eyes dark as jet. He scrambled backwards, skin burning, terror numbing his lips, and the shadow lurched forward after him, raising the blade to strike. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. Clouds, black and churning. His blood was ice, and the blade began to fall. The nightglass pendant dragged at his neck, cold and heavy as an anvil. Ren closed his eyes.

Thunk.

Bone crunched. Ren’s eyes snapped open, and the shadow tumbled limply away into the dirt, twitched, was still. Ren scrambled backwards again, wide eyes darting. His heart thundered in his chest. His head spun. He was sprawled somewhere between the walls of two of the houses. There was a dead Brother beside him, bleeding into the dirt. But nothing else stirred. There was no one there. The torches were gone. The spaces between the buildings were dark. Silence had rushed back in like a cold veil, as though it had never been broken. He stared down at the dead man beside him, blinking. Its mask gleamed wetly in the gloom, cracked at the brow by some immense blow, and sightless eyes stared back at him. Blood was pooling around its hood. So dark it looked black.

‘Fire!’

He flinched, blinking.

‘Fire!’ the shout came again, louder this time. He scrambled to his feet, numb and breathless, staggering towards it, leaving the dead man where he lay. Shadows reeled and fled back between the buildings, hissing. A faint glow was bleeding around the barn ahead of him, shimmering. The farm was finally stirring. Doors burst open around him as he went, spilling pale-faced farmers into the night, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Somewhere off in the dark, the bell started to ring, filling his ears. Dogs were barking. People all around him now, women, men, running with him, shouting, calling out. He tried to speak, but no one seemed to hear him. The glow was building, an amber silhouette surging over the thatching. Somewhere, a child was screaming.

Ren staggered on, breath ragged, heart thumping in his chest, then rounded a corner, skidding in the dirt. The farmyard was on fire. People hurried stumbling across the open ground, black smoke rolling over them in waves thick as tar. Flame was climbing the walls of the stables, spitting sparks out into the black air. The thatching of the nearest cottages were already aflame. The bell clanged furiously from the top of the barn. More and more people spilled into the yard, stumbling over each other, shouting, dragging up buckets from the well. The flames hissed, spat, kept rising. Ren blinked. Just farmers. Where were the Brothers? Where were the torches?

‘Ren?’

His grandfather appeared out of the smoke beside him, hands black with soot.

‘Are you hurt?’ His hands were on Ren’s shoulders, staring at him.

Ren shook his head, vision blurring. ‘I saw… I saw them… I-’

‘I know. I know.’ his grandfather told him. Ren frowned, staring back at him dumbly. ‘They’re gone.’

‘What… I…’

‘Stay-’

He choked, spluttering on the smoke, and doubled over in a fit of coughing. Ren grabbed him around the waist, keeping him upright.

‘You… We need to get you inside!’

‘No!’ his grandfather told him, throwing off his hands and dragging himself upright. He looked pale. ‘Stay here, Ren. Do you understand me? Stay here.’

He turned and vanished into the smoke. Ren stared after him, dumb. His mind reeled. Heart pounded. The flames roared from across the yard, spitting embers into the grey haze. He blinked. The torches. The masks. They were gone.

‘Ren!’

Trin was beside him, cheeks ruddy, chest heaving.

‘Have you seen Helen?’

‘I… I don’t…’

‘She’s in there!’ Dina ran out of the smoke, pointing. The house beside side of the stables had caught fire, and flames were licking down through the thatching, creeping greedily down the walls.

‘Come on!’ Dina shouted, dragging them away into the smoke. Ren reeled, staggered, blinked. They passed the well. Tomon was there, heaving at the rope, big eyes wide. Seril was beside him. He watched them go wordlessly, frowning, twitching, muttering, cheeks covered in soot.

‘Fire. Fuck. Fire.’

Ren stumbled, kept his feet. His eyes darted through the smoke. Black coils of it twisted around his face. Shadows spun, clawing at him. Hector. Brothers. He saw his grandfather, running, bucket in hand. Dann, carrying a woman in his arms, face red with heat. Shapes, twisting, out of the smoke, vanishing back into the seething gloom. Ren tried to breath, and the heat seared his throat, choking him.

‘Quick, help him!’

They spilled into the light beside the burning house, spluttering. Two of the farmers were beating at the flames with a wet blanket. A few more had buckets in hand, throwing flashing water over the cracking wood. Brin was crouched, axe in hand, slashing at the flaming wall. The smith’s big arms corded, wet with sweat, and sparks spat over his shoulders.

‘More water! Quickly!’

The wall creaked, burst, and splintered wood caved blackened into the smoke. Brin threw down the axe, surging into the gap. For a moment, he was gone, and the smoke frothed and seethed over the flaming hole. Then he staggered back into the yard, falling to his knees. Helen was in his arms, ruddy hair caked with ash, clothes singed and blackened, falling away from her like rags. Her eyes were closed.

‘Helen!’ Dina screamed, darting to her side. Trin stared after her, wide-eyed. Ren blinked. The flames roared, hissing, and smoke filled his eyes. He choked, falling to his knees, and Trin grabbed his arm, hauling him upright.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I… I…’

The smithy roof was on fire, now. People were everywhere. Water hissed against the flames, blankets beat at blackened wood. The bell was ringing. Ren winced, closing his eyes.

‘The stables…’

‘What?’

‘The stables, Trin… We have to…’

‘What are you talking about?’

Ren shrugged off his friend’s arm, grabbing one of the farmers by the sleeve.

‘The stables… Why is no one…’

‘Forget them, boy. There’s people in these houses.’

‘But… Faia…’

The man was already gone, vanishing into the smoke. Ren stared up at the stables. The flames were on the walls, and the door was on fire. No way out. Smoke poured through the thatching, spitting spiralled embers into the dark.

‘Ren, what are you…’

The building groaned. Ren blinked, and a section of the wall gave way, splintering, bursting. One of the ponies screeched, charging out through the smoke in a hail of sparks. Trin dragged him out of the way just in time, and they tumbled into the dirt together just as the terrified animal charged past them, disappearing into the black haze.

‘Wait! Ren!’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘It’s the death mark!’

‘Get him out of here!’

Ren was already up. Flames licked around the edges of the ruined wall, hissing, roaring. He gritted his teeth. Trin was behind him, shouting his name. He barely heard it. He staggered, stumbled, kept his feet. Smoke poured out over his shoulders, filling his mouth with bile. The black pendant dragged at his neck, chafing his skin raw. He held his hand out over his brow, squinting.

‘Ren!’

‘Leave him!’

Then he was through. The heat hit him like a hammer, driving the breath from his chest. He gasped, and smoke filled his lungs, choking him. His eyes watered, blurred. Flames licked at his shoulders, his head. The empty stable was full of smoke. Beyond it, horses screeched, butting helplessly at their latched doors. Overhead, fire was trickling over the ceiling. Chunks of blackened wood cracked and tumbled into the air, and flames crawled across the walls, hissing. Ren staggered into the stable gate, fumbling with the latch, half-blind, metal burning his fingers.

‘Ren!’

The door fell open, and Ren staggered into the aisle, reeling. The horses pounded against their doors, screaming, heads tossing in the smoke. Behind him, the main doors were wet with flame, creaking. He could see Wil staring at him with wide-eyes, lips pulled back over his teeth. Ren spun, eyes blurring. Not the horses. Fire was crawling across the floor, licking at his feet. He stumbled forward, smoke filling his eyes, his lungs, his throat. The horses screeched at him as he passed, butting at his shoulders. But he didn’t stop. The tack room doorway opened up before him, black, shimmering with heat.

‘Faia!’ he gasped. The smoke was thick as water, blinding him. The saddles cracked, bubbled, hissed, dripping wax. Fire was licking across the ceiling. Ren staggered forward, dragging his shirt up over his mouth, squinting.

‘Faia!’

He saw her. Curled against the far wall beneath the smoke, rocking back and forth, shirt singed and skin red with heat. Ren was on his knees, grabbing her by the shoulders. She was shaking.

‘Faia… we have to go!’

‘Faia. Faia. Faia.’ she whispered, rocking, shaking.

‘You have to get up!’

The little girl opened her eyes, staring at him. Wide with terror. Hair plastered against her skin.

‘Faia! Faia! Faia!’ she screamed.

‘We have to get out of here!’ Ren shouted. The fire roared overhead, and sparks spat over his shoulders. The rafters creaked, groaned, cracked. She stared at him. Then she nodded.

‘Come on!’

He grabbed her hand, pulling her after him into the smoke. They spilled out of the tack room, gasping, and the roof caved in behind them, crashing into a wave of sparks.

‘We have to go!’ Ren told her, pulling her towards the empty stable.

‘Horses!’ she told him, dragging on his hand. He squinted into the smoke. The main doors were coated in flame, groaning.

‘There’s no way out.’ he told her, pulling her forward. She stared at him, setting her feet. The roof creaked, and sparks showered over the terrified animals, screaming.

‘Horses!’ she said again, not budging. Ren frowned. He stared back at the flaming doors, at the horses thrashing in their boxes. Smoke billowed from every wall, fire sent spurts of ash stabbing through the haze. He blinked.

‘Red.’

He dragged Faia forward. The big plough-horse stared at him as he approached, terror frothing from its mouth, eyes white and muscles cording, bashing its chest against the door of its stable like a drum. It butted his shoulder, knocking him back across the aisle, but he came on again, gritting his teeth, fumbling with the latch. Smoke reeled, fire roared, sparks hissed. The whole building was creaking. Breaking. The latch wouldn’t budge. Burning his skin. Ren clawed at it, fingers numb and scorched bloody. Red screeched, rearing up behind the door, giant hooves flailing.

‘Come on!’

The latch came free. Red’s hooves crashed against the door, flinging it open, knocked Ren spinning into the dirt. The plough-horse surged out into the open, wide-eyed, frothing, but Faia was ready, slapping him hard on the backside, and he lurched forward, thundering away between the other horses. The door rose up to meet him, covered in flame. Wood crashed, burst, and Red vanished into a hail of sparks. The door crashed down after him, splintered to ash.

‘Horses!’

Faia’s hand was on his, pulling at him. He staggered to his feet, and they set off down the aisle, throwing open the stable doors as they went. The horses screeched, charging into the smoke. Wil nudged at his shoulder as Ren set him loose, and he slapped him on the rump, hard.

‘Go, Wil!’

The pony whined and jolted forward. Ren staggered on, blind, smoke filling his eyes. The fire roared, spat, hissed, and the stables groaned. That was the last of them. Behind him, a section of the roof caved in, filling an empty stable with a cartload of flaming timber. Ren gasped as embers spat over his head, searing his skin.

‘Come!’

Faia had hold of his hand again, dragging him forward, eyes full of terror. They stumbled forward, staggering. Blind. Breathless. Flaming beams rained down either side of them, exploding in a hail of ash and sparks. The empty doorway loomed ahead of them, black with smoke.

‘Look out!’

He dragged on Faia’s hand, and they fell back just in time as a flaming beam crashed down out of the rafters in front of them, spitting sparks across their feet. Ren gasped, holding a hand over his eyes. The roof was coming down. They had to move.

‘Come on!’ he yelled at Faia. But the little girl was rocking back and forth in the smoking dirt, wide-eyed and staring.

‘Faia! Faia! Faia!’

Ren took her in his arms, hauling himself upright. She clung to him, shaking. The flaming beam hissed, spitting sparks across the floor. The roof groaned overhead, and gouts of flames shot out from the empty stables. The nightglass pendant hummed with heat, cool against his burning skin. Ren took a few steps back, holding Faia tight to his chest. Then he pitched forward, throwing himself into the air. His feet brushed flames, burning, and the beam cracked and raged. Then he hit dirt again, stumbling, staggering, and somehow kept his feet.

‘Faia! Faia! Faia!’ the girl screeched in his ears.

The ruined doors opened up before him, black with smoke. The fire roared, and the roof groaned. Sparks twisted, spun, blinding. He choked, lungs full of smoke, blind, staggering. Faia clung to him, shaking, screaming. Just a few more steps. Fire shot out of the stable beside him, searing his arm, and he flinched sideways, stumbling. Just a few more steps. His blood was on fire. His head ached. The roof groaned, fire reeled, sparks cracked. Faia screamed. The roof burst over their heads with a sound like a thunderclap, and Ren leapt forward with all the strength he had left. Fire swept up either side of him, sparks burned his cheeks, and smoke dragged at his feet, pulling him back into the flames.

Then they were out, flames nipping at their heels, crashing head first into Trin. They fell into a tangle of limbs, tumbling over each other in the dirt. Behind them, the stable walls groaned and toppled inwards, crumpling beneath the weight of the burning roof and sending a great gout of amber flame leaping skyward. Scorched timber crunched like bone, and Ren threw a hand over his eyes as a wave of sparks shot out of the smoke, sweeping across the grass.

‘Ren, I… I was…’ Trin stammered. ‘Are you hurt?’

Ren gasped, coughing up smoke, and retched emptily into the dirt. He fell back, staring up at the sky. Faia still clung to his chest, whimpering softly. Something wet pattered against his scorched skin. Rain. There were shapes looming over him, staring.

‘What… were you doing, Trin?'

‘I tried to get help… but no one would… you were gone too long, I…’

Rain was falling. The smoke in the yard had begun to clear. The houses beside the stables were smoking, steaming, but the flames were gone. The farm folk had fallen still. Everyone was staring at him. The ruins of the stable hissed wetly. Quiet filled the yard, heavy. Waiting. The bell had stopped ringing.

‘It’s alright, Trin.’ Ren murmured breathlessly. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Except… Except you aren’t though, are you!’ Trin told him, pushing himself up onto his elbows. ‘You’ve got a death mark, Ren! You trying to get yourself killed?’

Rain whispered over the embers. The farm folk murmured, and their eyes bore into his skin.

‘I had… I had to get her, Trin. No one was listening, I…’

‘You what? You could be dead!’ Trin shoved himself to his feet, scowling, ruddy cheeks glowing, and stormed off across the yard. Ren sat up, wincing. His skin was on fire. The other farmers watched, covered in soot. Faia was staring at him sadly.

‘Faia gone.’ she said seriously.

Ren frowned, looking back at the stable. Rain was falling, cold, gleaming. The flames were dwindling into embers. The farm folk were moving again, tending to the injured, the burned, the cut. But he could still feel their eyes on him, sharp as blades.

‘I suppose so.’ he agreed.

‘Horses.’ she told him.

‘Bolted.’

Faia nodded. She got slowly to her feet, stretching for a moment, then ran off into the rain, vanishing into the smoking gloom.

‘Ren.’

His grandfather’s hand was on his shoulder.

‘Grandfather… I…’

‘Come.’

Derin helped him to his feet, leading him away into the haze. The farmfolk watched them go, pale faces wet with rain. The splintered ruins of the stable hissed, smoked. A child was crying.

‘Don’t look at them.’ his grandfather told him, but Ren did. Staring, wordless. Familiar. Apart. A death mark, they whispered. Bad omen. Only brought ruin. Ren frowned. Then they were away into the darkness between the houses, and the rain swept in behind them, sealing the yard in water.

‘Grandfather.’ Ren stammered, leaning against him for support, staring at the farmers as they slipped away out of the yard. ‘They… They think it’s my fault.’

‘It’s not.’

‘The Brothers. I saw them. They were here.’

‘I know. But they’re gone.’

They passed into an alley between two of the houses, and Ren blinked, frowning. There was blood in the dirt, leaking inkily into the rain. Black blood. But the dead Brother was gone.

‘But.. I don’t understand. The torches. The fire. Where did they go?’

‘It doesn’t matter. They’re gone.’

‘I… Hector. They killed him.’

‘I know.’ his grandfather told him. His face was pale, but his cough was gone. ‘I know.’

Ren stared at the wet ground, gleaming beneath his feet. His throat burned, his vision blurred. His shirt was wet with rain. He let himself be led away between the buildings, slumped wearily against his grandfather’s shoulder. Hector. The Brothers. His heart pounded in his ears. He retched smoke, choking. He felt very light, and his skin throbbed, but the nightlass pendant was cool as stone at his chest.

‘Come on, Ren. Easy now.’

They were at their door, opening it. It was dark inside, thick with shadows. His grandmother was there, staring back at him from the light of the fire. There were tears on her cheeks.

‘I’m fine, grandmother. You don’t need to…’

Another shape stepped out of the shadows. A small shape, thick as a wagon wheel, hunched like an old root. Ren stiffened, and the fortuneteller stared at him over the flames, gold eyes flashing.

‘I warned you about fire, boy.’