“It’s afternoon,” Raef said. “Can we get there by nightfall?”
“Unlikely,” the Bishop said. She turned to the knights. “We’ll march east. Form up. We’ve said the blessing, Seth. See to the bodies.”
“I—” he stammered.
“I know you have the fire for it,” she said sharply.
Seth set his mouth in a thin line.
“Yes, Bishop.”
“Come with me, Pol,” she commanded.
Raef followed as she put some distance between them and the dead pirates. He hated this, that they’d use fire, even though he understood that there would be fewer shades this way.
He imagined the flames licking at his skin.
Seth stood trembling near the line of corpses.
Raef narrowed his eyes. The other knights clearly had the fire. They should not expect Seth to do such a duty alone. He was too kindhearted. It was probably part of a knight’s training, to grow his strength and faith, or it was cruel, like his self-inflicted penance.
Then the flames fell from the sky in a wall, splashing across the beach.
The Bishop’s fire was crimson, but Seth’s was golden, liquid, and all too familiar. The taste of everything burning was all too familiar.
Raef stumbled backward as the sand blackened like it had in Versinae. It ran, glossy and sparkling, burned to molten glass.
Seth had the fire. He had more than enough fire.
The flames stopped raining. The bodies were ash. Even the bones were gone.
Raef understood now.
Seth could have saved them from the spirits who’d attacked them, but there’d been too great a chance that he might kill Raef and perhaps himself. Raef had thought him gentler than the other knights, but truly, he was the worst of them.
Seth lacked control.
He’d been holding back in the vaults. He could have brought the tower down. He could have burned Raef to a cinder.
The tremor racking Raef’s limbs almost brought him to his knees, and he wasn’t alone. Shaking, Seth wiped his eyes before he turned to meet Raef’s stare. Then he slumped to his knees. His tears shone in the last of the firelight.
Raef’s heart pounded. He needed to run—but the shaking had quelled.
A question rose, overwhelming the tremble.
Why?
Seth could have burned him to a cinder. He could have brought the tower down. Why hadn’t he?
He trudged his way toward the column of knights.
They didn’t speak as they marched.
For once, Raef had nothing to say. He let the question circle in his mind, a way to keep the fire and the worry for Kinos at bay.
“Bishop,” Seth said, nodding to where the sun had begun to set behind them.
“We’ll seek shelter now,” she announced. “The dead will come in force tonight.”
“There’s a hilltop,” a knight reported, returning from scouting ahead. “Rocky, flat on top. We should be safer there.”
“Can we leave him behind?” one of the knights asked another, nodding to where Seth lingered at the rear of their march. The other scoffed.
“We leave no one behind,” the Bishop said in a rigid tone.
Still tasting ashes, Raef fell back to walk beside Seth.
“Are they always like this with you?”
Seth nodded.
“I—I am flawed. The fire burns me. I lost control of it and people died. That is why I do penance.”
“You mean burn yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Who were they, the people who died?”
“They were on a beach. They attacked us.”
Raef had already figured that part out, and he had a hard time feeling bad for the Sharks. They’d been fools to attack the knights, unreasonable in their demand for gold when there’d been so much at stake. He’d been forced to call the Grief on them to get past them.
Still, no one deserved a death by fire.
“At least you’re sorry for it,” Raef said.
“It doesn’t matter.” Seth’s face twisted with sorrow. “I don’t want to hurt people.”
Raef pursed his lips.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Raef shook his head. “Just—you surprise me. You’re not what I expected in a Knight of Hyperion.”
“We earned the people’s fear,” Seth said. “I earned it. The most I can do is try to make up for that.”
Raef let Seth walk on before he hurried to catch up.
They reached the hilltop.
Camped atop it, they could defend themselves, or make a last stand if it came to that. Raef listened to the brush of the wind across the rocks and trees. He hugged himself for warmth.
There were three hounds, Argos being the smallest. Raef couldn’t be certain but one of the larger ones might have been the one who’d chased him and Kinos through Boat Town. He took little breaths and held them before letting them out. Surely it would have attacked him if it had his scent. The legends said the Hounds of Hyperion could track you anywhere if they tasted your blood.
The knights sank to their knees and prayed toward the sunset. Phoebe’s priests would have done the same at moonrise. Raef could see the value in their prayers. The knights’ faith brought the fire. They’d need it against the shades. Still, something in him tore to think how the full moon would have hung over this island, over the sea, shining and silver, if not for them.
Lady, he prayed silently. Give me the chance to bring you home.
Then it was dark, and the only lights were the endless stars and the knights’ swords, flaming like torches. The air chilled before the now familiar, terrible odor drifted over the hilltop.
“They’re coming,” Raef whispered.
“Stay close to me, Pol,” the Bishop said.
She cracked her neck and gripped her mace.
The hounds surrounded her, forming an inner ring while the knights held the outer.
“They will not harm you,” the Bishop said, catching Raef’s expression as Argos came nearer. “They were bred to fight demons.”
What if the hounds sensed what he was? What he partly was?
“They can summon fire,” Raef said, hoping she’d send them further away. “Shouldn’t they go after the spirits?”
“You have no magic,” the Bishop said. “I want them protecting you.”
“Thank you,” he said, meeting eyes with Argos.
Seth stood in the ring with his fellow knights, braced for the fight, but a small tremble rippled over his shoulders.
Raef should not care. He shouldn’t, but he didn’t want to see Seth harmed.
The cold deepened. Raef resisted the urge to hug himself again. He felt useless. Despite everything, he felt grateful for the warmth of the god’s fire.
Raef opened and closed his fists. The shadowknife pulsed in its mark, beneath the leather cuff. It raced with his heart as a shape crested the hill.
It was a child, a peasant girl in a plain dress and rough skirts. Her unbraided hair made a wild nimbus about her head. Her eyes were empty white, but focused on him. She carried a toy, a doll made of mud and sticks. It wore one of the red flowers in its straw hair. Lifting it, she held it to her ear as if to listen to its whispers.
Sparks lit along the hounds’ fur.
“Hold,” the Bishop ordered.
The hounds stopped pawing the ground but they kept growling, low and menacing.
Raef could feel it too, like a blade whispering over his skin, just on the verge of cutting. The mark burned with cold. The shadowknife wanted to fight this cousin of his, this—
“Demon,” he whispered.
Shades gathered behind the girl, a waiting army.
These were the ghosts Raef had seen lining the shore. Most wore simple clothes. They carried hoes and pitchforks. All had ravenous eyes, but they weren’t blank. They were focused on Raef, like he was a prize to be taken.
The girl smiled. Her eyes filled with red, and the spirits charged.