Stasia tossed and turned on her slim pallet of ice. In the dark tunnel beyond her small sleeping alcove, she could hear the quiet sounds of Glace polishing his weapons and his slink, washing itself compulsively. When did her High Captain sleep? How could he watch over her all through the night and then stand and train recruits for another full day? Beyond Glace, she could hear the sounds of shuffling, cries of babes, moans of sickness and hunger from her people echoing through the dark alcoves. Sleep was impossible, had been impossible since the refugees began to fill the spaces shaped out of the back wall of the burial chamber.
The afternoon council had been long, boring, and unresolved. No more proposals were laid before her, and she was almost relieved. She was beginning to realize that she could not storm into Council like a Warrior into battle; she had to tread lightly, and be patient, to whisper when she wanted to shout. She was completely inadequate for the role of Regent. If only her sisters would return. Queen, Glace had called her. Stasia knew she was not fit to be Queen; she had seen that in Casser's and Larc's eyes. There had never been any question of her destiny before the war; she was to be a princess forever, and the youngest princess, free to choose her own path.
She rolled over. She could not get comfortable in this little cave; the pallet was thin over the rock, and she was ill with anxiety. Surrender. How could they win, when they could not even defeat the Flames with the full forces of Iskalon? How would she feed the people, let alone lead them to victory? For every ten refugees brought in, four died of starvation, Larc said. Even the Icers could not prevent the deaths. They had to take back the lake. The scouts said the Flames still patrolled it heavily. Could Iskalon simply wait until Chraun grew bored with its conquest and left? It was not likely. But how was she to retake the lake with starving Warriors?
Perhaps because dreams of V'lturhst were easier to think of than the destruction of her Kingdom, her thoughts drifted there. She saw an endless expanse of green framed by the bright blue ceiling of lapis. Drawn by the image, she slipped into sleep, and Dreamed.
Stasia stood in the middle of the burial chamber, staring up at the long blue ice shaft above her head. In her hand she held a Flame’s torch, burning hot. She drew T'Jas from the heat and drifted toward the ceiling and the surface of the burial ice.
When the fire of the torch hit the ice, it melted away, dripping down over the council assembled on the floor of the burial chamber. The representatives all looked up and started yelling at her. “Heretic!” They screamed. “Blasphemer!”
She held the torch higher and drifted up into the opening it made in the burial ice. “Flame!” the voices below shouted. “Kill her! She’s a Flame, she’s the enemy!”
The ice sealed behind her, and she rose through the shaft, the torch melting away the ice. Water dripped over her, cooling her warm body. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she stood on a carpet of waving green stems. They tickled her bare calves. A soft, warm breath from some giant creature enveloped her whole body, and the stems moved, blown by the same breath. The ceiling was dark and covered with millions of tiny pricks of light, as if a cavern above was blindingly lit, and that light was filtered down through tiny cracks and holes in the ceiling. One large hole, perfectly round, let through enough light so that she could see the floor of the vast cavern. The carpet beneath her feet stretched endlessly.
The breath grew stronger. It tore at the stems, pulling the long strands from the ground until the carpet drifted away completely, leaving her standing on bare rock under that immense ceiling. The lights winked out one by one, until nothing but darkness remained.
Stasia woke with a start. First chime was sounding softly, echoing on the walls of her tiny room. Somehow, she had slept. She did not feel rested, though. She’s a Flame. She’s the enemy. Often she doubted the clarity of the Dream, but this one at least seemed obvious. She must learn to conquer the power of fire, or she would rest in the burial ice before her time. Stasia stood, hurriedly pulled on a dry suit of chirsh armor, and stepped out of the cave. Two Warriors, Glint and a recruit whose name she did not recall, had replaced Glace. “Send for Casser,” she said. “Tell him to meet me at the Spiral.”
A short time later, Stasia led Casser past the Icers posted at the entrance to the Spiral Tunnel. Her uncle looked anxious, and well he might; a Flame could appear around the next bend at any moment. Stasia held a tiny, dim icelight, casting just enough of a glow to see the nearest tunnel walls. With luck Flames would be distracted by the light from their own torches before they saw it. Stasia was reminded again of her reckless trek down this tunnel before the war. Perhaps this was just as reckless. But it was necessary. And if she had not made the previous trip, they would not know of the Burial Chamber that had become their sanctuary. Still, if they were caught by a patrol, not only would their lives be forfeit, they would be betraying Iskalon in Exile.
Stasia went right at the exit, up the steep tunnel toward the lake. Within about a hundred paces, she led him into another offshoot. It was a quiet, short tunnel, with many high pockets of heat and low pits where cold air pooled. It was the kind of tunnel where slink nested and Flames hunted them. It was also a loop, so if Flames came up, Stasia and Casser could escape back to the Spiral Tunnel. The Warriors Glace had assigned to her remained by the Spiral, out of earshot. They would give warning if they saw torchlight.
“Perfect,” she said, flopping down in a pit of cold. Casser stopped behind her, crowding her in the cold pocket.
“What are we doing down here, Stas? You swore to the council that you would not leave the Burial chamber except at greatest need.”
Stasia drew deeply from the cold, then stood and climbed up the rock wall to a ledge above. It was empty, though from the tiny bones and musky smell, she thought a slink had used it in the past. The air was warm; not hot, but warm. It surrounded her body, uncomfortable, a strange contrast to the cool air. Her armor, dry and without ice, held the warmth against her skin, and it became heat. “The need is great, Casser.”
“It had better be. A Flame could come up that tunnel any minute.”
“We are still far from their main tunnels. But even if we had to get closer, I would risk it. I must do this, Uncle.”
She heard him scratch his hair and lean against the cool wall in the dark. “You're trying to learn, aren't you? How to use your mother's T'Jas. Ancestors, you must be careful, niece. We don’t know what the effects could be. The Flame life spans are short, it is said. They do not have vaerce to track their rate of decline. If you use Flame T'Jas, your life may be shortened without your knowledge.”
Stasia did not answer. She held herself very still and concentrated on the heat. The memory of burning up from the inside out was fresh; Larc's cool healing had not erased it. She did not try to bring the heat inside her body. Instead she tried to concentrate the heat outside her body into one place, right above her palm. She focused for a very long time, feeling the air currents and trying to guide them, but it was like trying to sculpt lake mud underwater. She was working as hard to repress her cold, to keep it from taking over and pushing the hot air into one place, as she was to move the hot air.
At last she jumped back into the cold, and let it wash away the heat. She was exhausted. “Did you ever see my mother use Flame T’Jas?”
“Not one single time, Stas. It was too cold for her.” What must it have been like, to love the heat and then be forced to live in the cold? Hatred for her mother overwhelmed her without warning. It served her right, the chirat-dung Flame. The hatred trickled over. Stasia, herself, was a Flame. Her eyes went wide in the dark. I am an Icer! I am an Icer, and I will do what I must to save my people. Even if it means to be a Flame.
“Did she ever speak of how they use T'Jas?”
Stasia heard the thunk of his ice-armor against the rock as he slid down to sit next to her in the tunnel, leaning on the wall. She moved aside to give him room. “She spoke mostly of her child. He was nine years old when she left. She worried for his life constantly. Seemed to think the Fire King would kill him, or worse, for what she had done.”
“Surely she must have mentioned something?” Stasia pried a rock free from the tunnel floor and held it in her hand, considered throwing it against the opposite wall, then set it down gently.
“She said that if her son lived to be twelve or thirteen years, he would gain his lava mesh and begin his training. They stand by their river of lava and pull in as much heat as they can bear. Some burn out their powers this way, and some die and tumble into the river. But most walk away from the river with a lava mesh crisscrossing their skin. From that day forth, they are Flames. So even if the King didn't kill him, there was still a chance that he would die.”
“Well, that's out,” Stasia said, prying out another rock and squeezing it with all her might. “If I got within ten feet of that river, the flesh would melt from my bones.”
“I'm not so sure, Stas. Taking in that Flame's heat should have killed you, but it did not. Perhaps you would survive the river of lava. In any case, you couldn’t get there alive. It’s in the heart of Chraun.”
Stasia clambered onto the ledge again, immersing herself in the hot air completely. She tried to do what she had done during the war when the Flame captured her, drawing all of the heat into her body. She sweated and her stomach rolled, but that was all. She kept waiting for a fire to leap into being inside her, as it had done before, but the only thing that leaped up was the bit of dried morchella she’d eaten last. Choking on bile, she fell back to the cold floor. Casser caught her in his arms and began healing her.
“This is not the only reason you asked me to come here, is it?”
“I need to share something with you, Casser.” She was only half healed, but she withdrew and stood facing him in the dark.
He was silent, waiting, and Stasia took a deep breath and used T'Jas from the cold to enter his mind. She had wanted to try using heat for this, but it was not working, and she did not have the patience. Trying not to pry into his thoughts and feelings, shutting out all she could, she pushed her own thoughts into his mind. She gave him her dreams, her visions of V'lturhst, her endless searches, her knowledge of the Outer Tunnels. Without speaking, she told him what she wanted. When she withdrew, he was silent for a long time. She waited, patient as she could be. He has the right to refuse, she reminded herself. He is my Uncle. I will not command him to do this.
“I had hoped you had set this all aside, Stasia, especially given the duty you now bear.”
“Don’t you understand? If V'lturhst exists, we could find refuge from this hopeless battle. We could go to a place where there are no Flames. Find a new home. If I was not Regent, I would leave today and not stop until I had found V'lturhst.”
Stasia did not need to be in Casser’s mind to hear the disappointment when he spoke. “I wish you could hear how foolish you sound, Stas. Can you not see your dreams for what they are, pretty fancies? This is reality. This is what you have. You have me, and Kiner, and Larc, and the people who have survived. We are the tools you have to work with. Use us. Set aside these useless visions.”
A flare of anger rose in her chest and Stasia tried to quench it. At least he had not called her a blasphemer. Was she ill in the head, like some of the guildless were? How could he see what she saw in her own mind, and not understand how real it was? “Tell me that you will at least consider my request.”
“I will not lie to you, Stasia. I will not abandon Iskalon, any more than you would, to chase fancies in the Outer Tunnels.”
Anger rose again, in spite of her efforts. “Then I will give you a command, as your Regent, and perhaps, Ancestors forbid it, your Queen. I command that if we must surrender our lives to the Fire King, you will flee before you are taken. You will take the images I have put in your mind and search the Outer Tunnels for the way to V'lturhst. You will find a new home for any of our people who still live.”
“You command that I abandon our people in their time of greatest need?”
“I command that you save your own life, for they will surely kill you and me if we are captured, and perhaps save the lives of some of our people. Even if V'lturhst is just a dream, you will be of more use to Iskalon alive and free than dead or imprisoned.”
After a long, dark silence, Casser spoke. “We should return to the Burial chamber. Council will start soon, and we have been here too long. Promise me you will not leave the Burial chamber again, Stasia.”
“I will not promise that. Iskalon may need a ruler who can resist fire, Casser. And my life may depend on it. You know that is worth the risk.”
Cold quiet settled between them, and grew as they returned through the Spiral Tunnel. Glint and the other guard followed like creeping slinks. Halfway back to the tunnel to Iskalon in Exile, a sound echoed up the Spiral, and they both turned, peering into the darkness. It drew closer. Casser pulled nearly all of the cold out of the air, preparing for a fight. “It is our raiding party,” Stasia said quietly. “If they were Flames, they would have torches.”
“Best to be sure.” He did not relax. Stasia leaned into the wall and drew cold from it. The sound of footsteps grew. It was accompanied by a louder, deeper sound, like heavy hides being dragged over rocks. Low voices echoed up to Stasia's ears.
“Oh, Casser!” Stasia barely remembered to keep her voice low in her excitement. “Do you hear what I hear?”
“Sounds like Jath’s voice,” he said teasingly. “And Mazol. Are you so happy to see them?”
Stasia drew moisture from the rock and sent a puff of powder ice down the tunnel, to welcome them home. Unable to wait, she raced down the tunnel. “How many?” She asked Jath, who was leading the raiding party. “How many did you get?”
Mazol answered. “Thirty, Majesty! Most are breeding fems.”
Stasia sagged against the tunnel wall. Thirty cababar, of the right sex. They could butcher half and keep the rest for breeding. The relief was like a jump into Lake Lentok after running up a steep tunnel. Stasia thought of all her people, slowly dying from hunger. They would have the food they needed. She did not wait for the raiding party, but pulled in cold and flew up the tunnel, racing Casser back to the burial chamber. Mowat would be pleased to know that she could put her Guild to work again. Thirty cababar weren't many, but they were a start. They would be a symbol of hope in the hard times to come.