The Seekers Of Fire Part 1

The Seekers of Fire.

Lynna Merrill.

To my love, Alex.

Acknowledgements.

I thank my parents, grandparents, and great grandmother, for teaching me to love books and stories and for encouraging me to make them, and I thank my brother for sharing the stories of childhood.

I thank my parents-in-law and grandparents-in-law for all their care and support.

Most importantly, I thank my husband, Alex. He has been there for me in more ways than I can list, with love, support, inspiration, understanding, critique, example, ideas, insight. My love, thank you for pushing me forward even when I was not pushing myself, and for leading me forward. Thank you for being the most special and important person in my life, and for everything else. This book, as well as the whole series, is dedicated to you.

Chapter 1: Coldness.

Linden.

Day 73 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705.

Linden dropped the heavy metal bucket to the ground. The sound of its fall was only a tinkle, but a second later it grew as it reverberated through the rest of the buckets, while apprehension propagated through the people. Linden tensed. For several moments nothing happened, and then she felt a sharp jab in the ribs and smelled old Gara's foul breath.

"Ts, ts," she hissed in her ear, "can't even hold the bucket properly. Always making trouble. Your mother should'vea""

Linden relaxed a bit and managed to ignore the pain in her head, stooping to put her stiff fingers around the bucket's cold handle. In a strange way she felt happy that old Gara was here, although anywhere else the woman hardly rose to the level of a nuisance.

Linden smiled.

"Well met, Mistress Gara. May the Master always shed his light on you."

Perhaps Gara did not like more light than necessary being shed on her old and ugly figure, or she simply resented impertinent girls who answered her nagging with a common greeting. Whatever the reason, she had a speech prepared for moments like this, and the nervous silence and grim faces around would not stop her from saying it. For several minutes she muttered in Linden's ear anything scathing that she could fashion about Linden, her family, and the other families in the apartment house.

Linden tried to listen, her neighbor's voice having a soothing effect for the first time in her life. This was old Gara behind her, nasty and meddling; old Gara who watched from behind her ground-floor window the comings and goings of every resident of the house and always had a bad word to spare for everyone.

Imagine that you are at home now, Linden thought. Imagine that she has spotted you right after your Science experiment has accidentally broken her window. Imagine that she is now muttering the abuses that she is going to shout at you in a second, before she goes to yell at your mom. The thoughts made the pain in her head subside a bit. The mundane image of old Gara yelling somehow did not fit with Linden's pain and eased the eerie feeling at the back of her mind.

The line moved slightly forward and then halted. Linden felt people's uneasiness grow, and even old Gara became quiet. A big man hurried past her, holding a full bucket, and the line moved forward again. This time a tiny surge of hope spread around together with the uneasiness. Linden knew what every person thought. Perhaps the well would hold long enough today. Perhaps this night they would all survive.

It was winter now, but the firewells had already started failing in mid-autumn, about two hundred days after the firepipes broke. For most of Linden's eighteen years of life, there had been pipes in her family's apartment. They were small because her parents were not rich, but they gave enough fire for making two rooms comfortable in the cold days. The family even had fire to spare for more than one day candle, so Linden was allowed to read comfortably in the evenings, before night fell.

This candlelight was meager compared to the light of the lan-terns that some people had, which could illuminate whole houses. Rumor had it that the Bers even made firefountains for the n.o.bles, and that firefountains could create small images of Mierenthia with the Sun and moons, bringing day at night.

Linden glanced at the beginning of the line. Meager or not, it had been her own light. For those of her social status and higher, shared community firewells had been a thing of the past. They belonged to places where firepipes did not enter, and neither did people who cared about their purses and their throats not being cut.

The line moved forward again, as a woman stumbled away. She was thin and pale under the threadbare coat, and her hands were shaking with the effort of carrying the bucket.

People were not used to this. Linden was not, either. Her own bucket was already too heavy for her despite its empty state, her fingers blue from clutching the handle. But then, perhaps the bucket would weigh just as much when filled. How much did fire weigh, anyway? Linden would not know. It was not a question that was asked freely, and she had not even touched a firebucket before today. Her dad would not let her. He feared that she would try to glean forbidden knowledge, that she would try to look inside the bucket like she had once, long ago, done with the candles and the heating stove.

Dad. The pain in Linden's head throbbed anew, as the image of funny screaming old Gara was shoved aside by that of him. He had been dutifully getting fire for the family every ten days since the day the pipes stopped, a.s.suming a cheerful face and trying to convince his wife and two daughters that it was all right. Or, trying to convince his wife and elder daughter, for they had sent little Eileen away to Grandma and Grandpa in the Sunset Lands soon enough.

The last time Dad went to a well, the well was attacked by a local gang. They seemed to mind that normal people had begun frequenting their slums. The people in the line had put up a good fight, but it was not their specialty. Most of them were craftsfolk or clerks, with a few teachers or healers, like Dad. Two men had carried him home, together with the little fire they could spare, and for ten days now he had been in bed, restless with fever.

Linden gripped the bucket more tightly, fighting a sudden urge to smash it to the ground. It was all because of fire! It was all fire's fault! A few of the people glanced at her, and she forced herself to slowly loosen her grip again and close her eyes. When she opened them again, they were close to expressionless. Somewhere else she might have cried, but not here with these people, not so close to the firewell and the gray rundown buildings next to it. She should not even think, for thoughts could easily be heard at a place like this.

The line moved forward once again, but the current woman with a full bucket ran away as fast as she could. The others looked nervously around, themselves prepared to run. Linden glanced at the dark shadows behind the buildings and then forced herself to think clearly and fixed her eyes in the direction of the well. Slum gangs might come from the shadows, but people would not run because of them. Like Dad, these people would fight for their fire. If there was a danger great enough to make them run, it would come from the well itself.

Another woman hurried away, and as the line moved forward, Linden saw it clearly for the first time. Somehow she had imagined it bigger, this thing that could mean the difference between death and life. It looked like a small metal hole in the ground instead, just big enough to fit in a bucket so that the plug at the bucket's bottom would connect to the outlet at the bottom of the well. Indeed, the well looked not unlike the outlet where the bucket would be plugged at home to give its fire to the apartment. However, whereas at home the metal of outlets and fireswitches was still white and shiny, here it was dirty with rust.

Rust. Had anyone even known, before this year, that metal could decay?

The well's metal groaned as the next man in line said his fire rites, inserted his bucket, and pressed the fireswitch. The sound made Linden wince in antic.i.p.ation of a new burst of pain. Surprisingly, it did not come, and she realized that her head did not ache any more. It is cold, she thought, and then the eerie feeling at the back of her mind started growing. Linden trembled and immediately knew that it was not because of the chilly air that had made her body numb. The firewell was cold, and she did not know how she knew that, or why she felt relief together with the anger and the rising worry.

The line slowly scattered into a crowd as people drew back from the well. Linden thought she saw tears in the eyes of the man who had just pulled an empty bucket from it, so she turned her gaze away from him. It was somehow not polite to see a grown man cry. The crowd wavered, and Linden knew that the anxiety that had hung over the line was now plain fear. It would get dark very soon, and it would get colder, and without new fire some young children and old parents might not make it through the night. They were all at the mercy of the Bers now, and people had started whispering behind closed doors that Ber mercy, like Ber fire, was fickle these days.

The anger in Linden's chest expanded to form a heaviness in her throat, and suddenly she could hardly resist it. It was so helpless, to depend on someone else's so-called mercy! And this shabby well ... Odious thing, she wanted to tread on it. Ugly, worthless holes, how could most people in Mierber depend on them!

Some thought at the back of Linden's mind, something related to the eerie feeling, tried to raise an alarm. No person in Mierber dared think like that about fire and firewells outside of her home. Outside, thoughts could be heard and punished. Linden shut her eyes tightly, trembling, suddenly fighting to both protect her thoughts and to control her body and mind, even though she had never had to fight for that before. She usually controlled herself well, hid herself so well that she was one of the very few in the apartment house who did not fear the Mentor when Confession time came.

Yet, now she felt uncannily insecure in herself, and when her legs suddenly weakened, she shook with fear of coldness and fire alike. Linden fought to keep herself steady, resisting her legs' urge to fall on her knees. Then, as a surge of cold slum wind hit her, she opened her eyes to see that she was the only one standing.

No. Not the only one.

A young man walked towards her, while a young woman turned back and bent over the well. Linden could not see her face, but she could see that of the man, and what she saw made her body shake even more. She had thought the old Mentor frightening, with his stern features and heavy whip. The face of the man in front of her was actually handsome, and as far as she could see, he did not carry anything in his hands, and there was no weapon visible over his heavy black robe and cloak, either.

His eyes, however, had no mercy in them.

"Kneel." The voice seemed normal, but Linden felt it brush at her mind and then penetrate her body, settling in her legs, trying to bend them. Ages seemed to pa.s.s before she got control of them, performed a curtsy, and stood up again.

"Hail to the Master, who brought you here today, lord Ber. We humbly await the blessings of your fire."

It was not the right thing to do or say, and she knew that. It was the right thing according to her books and the teachers, but the teachers had rarely met Bers before the pipes' breakage, and the books ... Who knew about books. The same books that claimed Bers kind and benevolent claimed Ber fire unfailing.

"I told you to kneel, wretch."

Linden quivered, then suddenly steadied her feet completely and looked straight into his eyes.

"That you did."

His voice had been loud. Hers had become very, very quiet, and yet, like a bucket's tinkle, it seemed to reverberate through the kneeling crowd as if she had shouted.

"But I am not a wretch. I am a student, daughter of a librarian and a healer. I do not live in a slum, and neither do the others who are waiting by this firewell right now, so they should not be kneeling, either. I have given you the respect due to you from people of my social status, lord Ber. Now please do your duty and light the fire. There are children and old people waiting for it."

She would die for these words. She knew it when the man stepped forward, his boots ominously grating on the dirty ice, his eyes fixing hers. It was not right. Her words were true. She had given him the respect prescribed by the books, and he did not deserve even that, for he had not given anyone fire. Could the others not see that, too? Would they not help her? People said that there were no longer rules, that after the collapse of the fire system, after the Bers had come out of their towers, Ber whims and Ber desires had become the only rules that mattered. But was it perhaps so because people so easily knelt? Linden might not die if everyone rose to defend her ...

What felt like a blow forced the air out of her lungs, and the world swirled around her, spots of light and darkness drawing patterns before her eyes. They blended with the sign the Ber's fingers had drawn in the air. Linden jerked her head. Inadvertent tears stung her eyes, but she ignored them, gritting her teeth to dissipate the blurriness and to overcome her body's urge to crawl. Shakily, she remained on her feet. Everyone else was still kneeling.

"Is this the best you can do?" she whispered and thought that she glimpsed someone else's movement at the end of the line, but then everything was still and quiet again.

She was supposed to have fallen. People said that the Bers could steal your body, leeching your strength while your mind was reduced to no more than a watcher. A pathetic watcher. Linden glanced at the people around as the Ber's hands gestured before her. There were many people, their ages ranging from almost children to grandparents, and they were all silent and kneeling. The young Ber did not need to subdue their minds and bodies. They had done his job for him themselves.

The middle-aged man beside her caught her eyes while some new invisible force battered her jaw. A second later Linden did not know what had hurt more, the Ber's blow or the man's fear and hatred. d.a.m.n you all. Her fingers shifted to mirror the Ber's gesture, just as the man looked away and the Ber glanced at his approaching colleague.

Linden forced her lips into a mocking smile when she saw the Ber woman notice her action. Tears still threatened to wet Linden's eyes and anger stiffened her throat, but her smile was as unwavering as her fingers. Her enemies would see no more pain and anger; uncontrolled emotions meant weakness. Even if two Bers and their Magic could finish her off quickly, in no way would Linden help them. Besides, what she had seen from the gestures was not that intricate.

Nothing happened. What had she expected? No one but Bers could do Magic. She had finished shaping a perfect image of the Ber's symbol while his attention was diverted, but he still stood unscathed. He had not noticed Linden's attempt to mimic Ber attack methods, but the woman had, and she was now watching Linden's hands with an inscrutable expression. Linden straightened. A moment might be all she had before they killed her, and suddenly time seemed to stretch, her thoughts coming as if from a greater distance.

"Arion, put a stop to this nonsense," the Ber woman said, but Linden barely heard.

Instead, details of the world not espied before stormed into Linden's senses. A strange bird was floating far up in the sky, and a tiny shot of gra.s.s had managed to grow on the ground, battling both concrete and winter. A single dark, red-tinted lock of hair had escaped the Ber woman's hood, and beside the dirty ice where the Ber man stood, a tiny square of clean ice wove shapes of crisp beauty.

Linden's eyes lingered on the dirty ice while the man raised his hands. The woman reached towards him, her lips shaping urgent words.

Linden should try the Ber sign again, but of course she did not know how it worked, and imitation seemed to not activate its function. Swiftly she raised her own hands, but her mind refused to focus on the symbol, drifting instead towards the Ber's boots and solid water. The streets were derelict. It was possible that the dirty ice hid a hole and that down below the ice the water moved freely. No one would let water move freely, uncontained in a gutter, in more civilized neighborhoods. The tricky substance was an enemy of fire and as dangerous as vital. However, this neighborhood was not civilizeda"and if suddenly many drops of unfrozen water rose from below and aimed a little aside from the man's boots, the ice would break.

But that was Science, and right now no Science could help her. Or water. She had neither time nor tools or vessels to make the water move. She could only think, think ...

For a moment Linden considered praying, but dismissed the thought just as her strength drained and her body sagged; just as the Ber man cursed and wavered. The last thing she perceived was conflicting emotions in the Ber woman's eyes, and the sound of ice breaking.

Rianor

Day 73 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705 Rianor, the young High Lord of Qynnsent, shifted in the stiff clerk's clothes and for the hundredth time wished for better gloves. The cold bucket's handle was incredibly uncomfortable, although his fingers should not be feeling it too much, for they had become numb long ago. He watched the faces of the people who were hurriedly pa.s.sing him by, their full buckets tightly clutched in their hands. Their expressions were a mixture of fear, awe, confusion and relief, and he wondered whether he could imitate them enough as to not stand out too much. Then he thought that it did not really matter; no one seemed to pay any attention to him. Rianor was certain that these people did not know what had happened. He was not sure about it himself, but he was going to find out.

The fair-haired girl had actually defied Bers and survived, which was not a small feat. Rianor had almost intervened in the end, which of course would have blown his cover, so all the better there had been no need. Now he was especially interested in how the girl had withstood spell attacks, and why the ice below the Ber man's feet had broken at the most critical moment.

Rianor rubbed his eyes. He still could not believe it. And this was not all. After the rebellious girl had collapsed, the Ber lady had stood motionless and stricken for what seemed an eternity, her eyes cast down at the broken solid water, and at her fallen partner and the fallen girl. The Ber herself looked like a girl then and not like a mighty Ber; like someone way too young and perhaps way too scared. Then, she did not look scared any more. Suddenly her eyes flashed with an emotion that Rianor could not quite define, and suddenly everybody's bucket was full, including the girl's.

Both Bers were gone as instantly and as stealthily as they had appeared.

I need to contact the girl as soon as I can, Rianor thought. Her next encounter with Bers might not be so lucky if she went to fetch fire alone again. And he had better try to learn more about the Ber lady, for such fire mastery was unusual, at least at the wells. She looked oddly familiar, too, even though her hood hid most of her face and hair.

Rianor abandoned his attempt to a.s.sume the confused expression of a commoner and allowed himself a wry smile. It was finally happening; the Bers had been out of the towers for too long now for Magic to remain as hidden as it had been. The endless waiting at cold and objectionable places had finally given Rianor a thread to follow.

Still smiling, he approached the old woman whom he had heard talking to the girl earlier. He was quite certain that they were neighbors. The woman was struggling with the heavy bucket, so he reached over and tried to pull it from her hands. A second later he learned that old women could punch young men, and that it hurt.

"My good madam," he said, his smile slightly wryer, "Would you let me carry your fire to your home for you?"

Linden

Day 77 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705 Four days after her dad's fever finally subsided, Linden ventured to go for a walk outside. Calia was already waiting for her, her cloak wide open to reveal a new silk dress. Calia smiled sweetly, and for a moment Linden's old woolen trousers urged her to throw something heavy at her friend.

"What's with you, Lind dear? You look sour." Calia shivered as they crossed their hands, and Linden wondered whether it was the cold or the worry that, with Linden's sour face next to hers, people might not pay her enough attention. Linden decided to return the smile.

"It is the cold, Cal." Linden drew the heavy cloak more tightly around herself and lowered her voice. "With Dad's sickness, we are almost out of fire earlier than normal. He is thinking of getting some today, but meanwhile the water at home almost froze."

"Oh, Master! In your home!" Calia had the skill to squeal even with her voice hushed.

"It is just ice, Cal!" Linden snapped, barely resisting the urge to raise her own voice, then slowly detached her fingers from where they had gripped her cloak. She should not display nervousness. Calia's exclamation certainly concerned lack of fire, and the common belief of ice bringing misfortune to a house. It had nothing to do with the ice of four days ago. Many neighbors would not come near "that chit that doesn't know her place," as if a.s.serting your rights were a contagious disease, but they did not know about the ice. The ice was a most fortunate coincidence, and it had better stay like this.

"Ice is dangerous, Lind! Mister Podd said so." Calia drew her own cloak tightly, the new dress temporarily forgotten. "Don't you remember? The Lost Ones used ice against the Master. Mister Podd said that although it was already raining fire, they made ice fall out of the sky!"

She looked at Linden, beaming expectedly. Linden sighed. Cal was all too happy for once to point out what their teacher had said, since it was usually Linden who paid attention to his lessons. Had been, at least, until four days ago.

"Cal, if you had read the Introduction to Science book when you had to, instead of going out with stupid males, you would know that there is no such thing as a rain of fire, and no one can make ice fall out of the sky." Linden herself had read all three Science books, even though only the first one was mandatory. "Ice falls only whena""

Cal looked at her stubbornly. "Only three days ago Mister Podd said that it all happened."

And you believed him, right? Linden pursed her lips before the words had a chance to escape them and closed her eyes for a second, to keep the thoughts in. A second was all she needed; she was getting better at it. Of course, Calia and all their cla.s.smates believed their teacher, although there were moments when the teachings contradicted each other. They were expected to believe everything, and any deviation was punished by the Mentor.

Calia seemed to have just had a similar revelation.

"If it is really written in the book, Linden dear, then fire cannot really rain." She laughed nervously. "And ice falls only when it wants, of course. But Mister Podd said that the Lost Ones controlled the ice, and the Master fought it, and fire rained, soa"I know! It all happened before the Master gave us the Science book, but now that we have the book, it cannot happen any more!"

Linden patted Calia's hand, then took it in hers and led her down the narrow street. She felt the girl's slight tremors and wanted to hit herself. She did not have the right to talk to her in this way. Calia tried hard to believe everything, but had already tasted the Mentor's whip when she had failed believing that thinking about the Master's glory was more important than reflecting upon the qualities of live young men.

"Oh, ugliness!"

Linden gave a sigh of relief. It was a typical Calia swear word, which meant that all thoughts concerning Science and scholarship, and even the Mentor, had left her head. Other, more urgent concerns had entered it, in this case regarding a high heel stuck between two cobblestones. She was hesitating between hiding behind Linden or revealing her trouble to the two young men who were pa.s.sing them by. Linden was certain that it would be the young men and their potential help, so Calia clutching to her in tears and freeing her own shoe was a surprise.