Phoenix Reborn (Woodland Creek)(27)

12





The fire was warm and reassuring, like an old friend who’d come to curl up at Ashling’s feet.

The vastness of the wild was the only place where she welcomed flames, and even then it was only rarely that she did so. These were her allies, these dancing orange shapes, and she’d summoned them with nothing more than her own thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, this — this strange magic of hers. But Ranach had told her there would be more surprises to come, and she felt at times like a child anticipating Christmas. Only she didn’t know what sorts of gifts it would bring; it could be that she would receive a teddy bear or a pile of flaming charcoal. And that was the scary thing.

She knew that after the attack by the water, it was probably a bad idea to run off alone. But this was what her assailant had wanted, wasn’t it? To have her leave, to cease existing, at least in Woodland Creek. All her life she’d felt expelled from society, so maybe it was time that she do it herself.

Inside her, emotions were churning: sadness, loss, confusion. She looked for happiness but her search came up short. Each time she came close, it was only Hawke that brought her there — Hawke, whom she would lose soon, if she hadn’t already done so by leaving without a word. Maybe it would be better for him to hate her. To think she was inconsiderate, fickle. She couldn’t explain to him what she was; after all, even she didn’t know.

Night descended from above as the glow of the fire illuminated the tree trunks in the distance, its reflection bouncing off the stone walls around her. Here was another of those moments that she would have loved to share with someone. No, not someone — with him. With Hawke. He would, no doubt, love to sit under the cover of trees, the cool breeze wafting by as it tried to take the fire along with it. But each time a spark threatened to move through the air towards a nearby leaf or twig, Ashling directed it back to its home in the fire itself with the flick of a finger.

Never in her life had she taken this odd power for granted. Rather, she’d always wished it far, far away, gone forever to leave her in peace to a normal life. But in moments like this she wondered what potential lay beyond, if she could manipulate flames. Would she become like one of those fictional heroes she’d seen in comic books, throwing fireballs like a mage?

It was no wonder people seemed to want her dead.

The sounds of crackling from the fire seemed for a moment to grow, and this time it wasn’t her doing. But no, it wasn’t the fire that made the sound. Somewhere behind her, twigs were snapping underfoot.

Ashling rose, looking about at the shapes moving against the distant bark and brick. She listened again, and again it sounded as though a foot was breaking through a dry twig.

“Who’s there?” she asked, recalling the strange man who changed voices with such seeming ease.

“It’s me,” the voice said. Hawke? That wasn’t his voice, nor was it Ranach’s. But it was a man’s, without question.

Into the light stepped the same man she’d seen in front of the bar; the one who had tried to attack her. But this time Hawke wouldn’t be around to help her.

“You,” she said, noticing for the first time that he grasped a long, pointed knife in his left hand. She wondered if she could find a way to melt it, as she’d done with silver so many times. “Why are you here?”

“To find you,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were foolish to come here alone, but you know that, don’t you? A young woman, out in the woods like this.”

“I’m not alone,” she lied. “My boyfriend just went to get some more wood.”

The man laughed. His yellowed, crooked teeth seemed eerily apt for such a creature. “You think I’m stupid,” he said. “That’s fine. It’s a fair tactic, that. But no, your boyfriend is nowhere to be found, because he doesn’t exist. You are alone and vulnerable. It’s almost as though you want to die, coming here unprotected as you did.”

“I don’t,” she said. “Not at all.” She tried in vain to hide the fear in her voice as she spoke.

“Well then I’m sorry for what’s about to happen. But if I let you live, you will destroy us. What we are, how we live. I can’t allow that to happen. If I don’t kill you, someone else will.”

Ashling backed up as the man advanced towards her, the knife glinting in the firelight.

She continued to retreat, her hands out, grasping at air and unsure what to do with themselves.

“I can manipulate fire,” she said, once again attempting to sound brave.

“Good for you,” the man replied. “But I don’t much care. I’ve known about you for some time, Ashling. Oh, it took me a while to figure out how to find you, but I did. To be clear, I’d hoped that you would never learn what you were, but that old man had to go and tell you, didn’t he? And now you are more dangerous than you know.”

“It’s not his fault,” she said. “It’s nobody’s fault, what I am. If I had my way, I would be a normal human.”

“No, of course. It’s nobody’s fault. But you are what you are: a fire lord, a demon of sorts. We can’t have you in this world. You don’t belong. You have never belonged.”

She knew it, of course. The words never needed speaking. But he used them now as a weapon, as an excuse. Once again, he was going to attack her. And this time no one was around to protect her.