Page 65 of Aubade Rising

I push my grief away as I watch thick, acrid smoke encircle the camp, causing confusion.

The smoke’s movements are unnatural. Then I realise, the rebels have us surrounded.

My legs lock in panic. Zephyrs are controlling the billowing clouds of smoke, inciting chaos.

The fires are small but multiply. As soon as some are put out, more are lit.

The smoke provides cover and is disorienting the sailors.

Shouts from Cado carry over the wind but his words are muffled and ineffective.

We’re hopelessly outnumbered: the sailors in the camp are overrun with rebels.

Where is Dervla? She has enough magic to defeat the intruders – to wash them all away.

Our sailors are comfortable with water, they can navigate a manufactured flash flood and wait for it to recede.

The rebels won’t. I wait for her to act but the fires burn brighter and the panic from the sailors is thick in the air.

Flecks of glowing ash rise up to the moody sky.

The tall trees protecting the clearing are bone dry and I watch in horror as the brittle pine needles catch alight in the wind.

The flames in the trees spread, a fiery halo, damning all of us. I need to get Dervla out of here before it’s too late. Taking control of my body, I sprint for the centre of the burning camp, calling her name loudly.

Smoke burns my lungs with every inhalation, my eyes stream and I dodge figures appearing through the plumes. They’re not Dervla and I don’t pause to see if they are friend or foe.

An errant gust clears the air momentarily and I see the ring of fire working its way down tree trunks, sealing us in.

I’m running out of time; if the fire reaches the floor and cannot be contained, we’ll all die from the smoke or burns.

The heat from the small fires becomes all-consuming and the flames are spreading fast. I double-back several times through the smoky haze to avoid being consumed by the crackling flames.

A piercing cackle rips through me. I’ve heard that maniacal laugh before. My body is thrown violently sideways and my vision goes dark.

Screams of pain rouse me. The smoke in front of me sways, then flickers dark again. I lift my head from the dirt and vomit, black streaks coating the ground. This sets off a coughing fit and, as I wipe my eyes, another explosion rocks me. The laughter pauses, then starts again, closer now.

I turn, catching a glimpse of Dervla through the parting smoke and scramble towards her. She staggers, blood leaking from a gash on her forehand, one hand stemming the flow as she struggles to stand. Before I can reach her, a wall of solid air slams into me and I’m frozen in place.

We’re separated and I can’t break through.

I’m pummelling my fists, when out of the mists walks Kitto, fresh-faced and full of maniacal glee, her band of rebels close behind.

As she opens her mouth to speak, a mighty pine falls with a huge crash which shreds the air.

It clears a path through the mist, blowing it apart, revealing Cado fighting hand to hand with a rebel.

He sees us frozen in place and dispatches his attacker whose body crumples on the spot.

Kitto’s solid air stops him in his tracks and traps us in a swirling, misty cage, sweating as the flames tickle the sky around us.

Dervla’s thin voice barely carries over the flames to Cado, “There’s not much time. You need to stop the fires.”

His face is grim and his head turns to survey the raging flames above and around us, then looks back at Dervla. She stumbles and hits the ground, her blood spattering in the mud.

Kitto’s laughter fades and her focus is absolute, studying Dervla and Cado. It looks as if she’s assessing them for any weakness.

While she’s distracted, I reach into my magic, bringing it close to my fingertips.

I don’t have much to offer if it comes to a fight against Kitto; she’s stronger than I ever realised.

But, if I could get close enough, I could blind her.

If she falters with these solid walls of air, we might have a chance.

I need Cado to be ready to act, to give me a sign.

But his gaze is fixed on Dervla and the fires surrounding us.

“Cado!” I shout. “Kitto – we have to take her out.” I interrupt his indecision, desperate to stop her.

Dervla catches my eye; she looks like she did in the aqueduct when we arrived in Pentargon – completely broken. “The fires, our people. We need to save them,” she counters weakly.

I open my mouth to respond but the familiar choking sensation, a weight of air crushing my windpipe makes my eyes bulge. A small smile plays across Kitto’s lips.

I turn desperately to Cado, as his hands start to move.

Static builds, making the magic in the air oppressively warm.

I stand and wait for floods of water to pour from his hands or ribbons of steam to erupt, but nothing happens.

Something feels wrong. The King’s body is relaxed, eyes closed, hands drawing complex patterns.

Dervla’s eyes are locked on Kitto, she pulls herself upright.

I hope she has something left to take Kitto out, or to hold her in place until Cado can deliver justice.

The smoke clears a little. I breathe more easily and the burning in my lungs dissipates. Around us, rebels clash with Cado’s Navy, the metallic clang of swords battles with disorganised shouts of orders from both sides.

Cado’s body shakes and the fires creeping down the pines around us recede. He’s extinguishing them. They’re being sucked into nothingness by the vacuum which has enveloped them.

I clear the ringing of war from my ears and turn to Cado. “You are not a Mordros,” I accuse, venom leaking from my voice.

His shoulders sag. “No, I’m not.”

The walls of air have disappeared. I stride towards him, incensed.

This man and his family are responsible for the repression of Aubades for years.

He hides in his fancy palace, ruling Trevesiga from afar, perpetuating the oppression of people like me.

If his secret were discovered, the Mordros would exile him too.

“I can explain.” He catches my wrists, preventing me from raining ineffective blows on his chest. “But not now. You need to trust me.” His face is strained, his body covered with a fine sheen of sweat and I realise he wasn’t wielding, he was channelling.

He sucked the fire into his body, turning its energy into a huge amount of magic and I think he’s struggling to control it.

“You need to run.” He pushes me away, and I turn back to Dervla, to ask for her help. If he combusts in the middle of the battlefield, everyone will be annihilated. She’s standing with Kitto, looking mildly pleased and not at all exhausted.