77

A Dish Served Cold

"Take Zephi and go and tell Narimab to keep everyone below ground. And keep that egg close." She paused. "If it unleashes a hurricane how do we prevent ourselves from being caught in the destruction?"

"Best to drop it from a great height," said Murmux, flicking his hair over his shoulder. "And fly like crazy in the opposite direction."

"Right," said Candle, her insides churning. "Sounds...simple enough. Right. Okay, let's do this. Meet me outside the gallery in fifteen minutes."

He went.

Candle took one last look around the cavernous room that had been her home for the duration of her stay at Angarrack. It looked cold and empty. Strapping on her remaining iron dagger she shouldered her pack, and shut the door quietly behind her. The corridors of the castle had quieted, but there were still plenty of people about. But she dared wait no longer. For all she knew the celebrations would continue until dawn, or rather, she amended to herself, whatever time of Night passed for dawn in the Night Nation. No, she was done waiting.

Taking a deep breath she strode down the stairs with purposeful strides, trying to look like she belonged. A few people stood around, talking or kissing in dark corners. She hurried past and no one bothered her, although she drew several curious glances. Someone might have called her name but she hurried on without stopping, losing herself in the maze of passageways.

In no time at all she found herself inside the gallery, which was blessedly empty. But then who would choose such a morbid spot for a tryst, she thought, staring up at the grisly remains. The heads hung from the wall, sad and haunted, the hollow eyes accusing. Candle glared back at them, her heart thudding like a drum.

"Give me strength, Ancestors.”

The air shimmered and a woman in Sage's green appeared next to her. Candle did not know her name, but she recognised her from the crowd who had greeted her after Belias’ second death.

"Fire will cleanse this terrible place." The woman's voice was a whisper barely distinguishable from the rasp of Candle's feet over the stone. "Fire and water are the gateways for the soul. Be strong, young one. This is the right thing to do. Send them to the stars."

Candle nodded, steeling herself. She felt like the giant dragon’s skull was watching her. It was wreathed in shadows. Jowanet's eye sockets were pits of blackness.

"This won't take long," she muttered.

It would take a lot of energy to kindle flame hot enough to burn bones, but she had done it before. Just never on this scale. "Not all of their bodies are here," she murmured, to the ghostly Sage. "And I only have a name for Jowanet. Will it matter?"

Her unnamed Ancestor shook her head, dark curls flying.

"At home we had rites for unnamed babes who died before their time," she said, "and for lonely victims of the fell. I shepherded the souls of strangers and travellers who lost their way - poor people who could not be identified after wights had destroyed their bodies. Do not worry about these pitiful remains. Their souls will find them. Send them to the stars, Candle."

Candle nodded, and closed her eyes, searching for threads of energy. It was the work of moments to summon the fire she needed. Pacing the length of the gallery, her fingers left a trail of flames on everything she touched. Velvet drapes ignited with a rush, wooden display cases took a bit more time to catch alight. Soon the room smouldered and the air grew thick with the scent of burning. Candle stood in the centre and looked at the destruction with some satisfaction. If the blaze was to serve as a distraction as well as revenge for the tortured souls trapped within, the fire needed food. She was certain this fire would not burn out anytime soon.

Making haste, she spoke the funeral rites for each and every body in that terrible place, from the smallest imp to her great-great-grandmother the dragon. As she spoke the fire grew, burning brighter and hotter The air began to dance with the heat. Candle coughed into her sleeve, as the smoke grew denser, threatening to overwhelm her senses. Were the spirits moving, finally unchained from their mortal prisons, or was it just the shadows of the flames? She wasn't sure. When the last words had flown her lips she cast Kowlleski, to summon inferno. The resulting blast melted flesh from bone and turned bones into puddles. Candle staggered back as a chunk of the wall was blown out into the night. Cool air rushed in to feed the rising blaze. Staring at the devastation before her she wondered if she had misjudged the intensity of her feelings. But she was angry and it was time someone knew it.

Smoke billowed around her and she fell back, falling on her rear. And then she was surrounded by spirits. The imps touched her feet before skittering away into nothing, the humans squeezed her arm with ghostly fingers, murmuring their thanks. The lightning bird bowed to her before leaping skywards, his essence dissolving into ashen motes as he started his final journey. And then there was the dragon. Jowanet stood before her, her spectral body whole and sound, wreathed in plumes of ash and smoke. She phased in and out of Candle's vision, bending her head to nudge Candle with her black snout, huffing softly through her nose. Jowanet could have been Jotham's twin, and her eyes were just as golden, and just as kind. They stared at Candle with love and relief.

"Long have I pondered my fate," said Jowanet, her voice a rich timbre. "Long have I pondered the choices that led to my death. I have many regrets. But seeing you here, standing before me, my choices were well made. Thank you, my child. I will not linger, for I see your danger, and I am eager to depart this mortal plane. Know that you have my thanks and my eternal gratitude. Please – take care of my other children, and carry a message to my brother?"

"Of course," said Candle, holding her shirt over her mouth. It was growing hard to breathe. She was growing dizzy and spots danced in her sight.

"Tell Jotham I love him. Tell him, whatever guilt he harbours in his breast, it is unfounded. I always knew how much he cared for me and mine." Jowanet inclined her sinuous black neck. "I will take my place among the stars now. Farewell, my daughter."

Jowanet flexed her spirit wings. For a moment her outline was visible, inexorably intertwined with the smoke and drifting soot. Candle blinked, and she was gone.

"Farewell," murmured Candle, and clambered to her feet with some difficulty. Coughing, she made for the door.

The fire was raging now, licking up the walls, eating anything that was not made of stone. A pity she could not leap out of the gap in the wall and fly away, but she had promised Zephi... The door handle was uncomfortably hot to the touch but Candle managed to pull it open and slam it shut behind her.

The corridor beyond was no longer empty.

"Candle!" Said Asher, surprise in every line of his body. "I thought I saw you. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just felt like a walk," she said, keenly aware of the smoke leaking from under the doorway behind her. "I was having trouble sleeping. Was the party good?" She edged away, hoping he would follow her with his eyes and the fire would go unnoticed. But Asher would have to be blind not to notice the great belch of smoke that poured through the cracks of the door into the hallway. She picked up a large ceramic vase that stood on a nearby table. It was beautiful, a real work of art, with metallic patterns worked over a white glaze. It must have taken someone many hours to create, she thought with some regret.

"What's going on," cried Asher in alarm. He rushed over to her, standing, as he always did, a little too close. "Is there a fire? Candle, did you–"

Candle heaved the pot with all her might. It caught him on the side of the head with an almighty crack and he slumped to the floor. She stared at his crumpled body, feeling sick.

"I'm impressed," said Murmux, from the shadows. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Is he alright?" Zephi ran forward with a cry, dropping to her knees next to Asher's limp body. "Why did you do that?" Candle sank to her heels next to her, feeling with her magic. She needed to make sure she hadn't done any permanent damage.

"He would have tried to stop us leaving," Murmux said to Zephi. He looked at Candle. "You are not going to heal him, are you? I thought that was our thing?"

"I need to make sure he's okay," she said, sending a pulse of magic into Asher's body. "I don't want to hurt him. I just – just wish he'd stayed away." She looked up, relief painted on her face. "He's okay."

"Then let's get going," said Murmux. He cast an admiring glance at the gallery door which was now clearly on fire. The edges glowed orange and the heat was making the air shimmer. It was growing hard to breathe, even in the corridor. "I wouldn't want you to have to destroy all the pottery. Actually, I'm not sure there are enough vases..."

"Wait," said Candle, casting a guilty glance at Asher. "We can't leave him here."

"Why not?"

"Because he's unconscious and he will burn to death," she said between gritted teeth.

"Oh that," Murmux grinned and brushed a speck of soot off his shoulder. He watched with some amusement as Candle tried and failed to lift Asher. "Is this all part of the plan? It seems like a strange plan. Although," he stared down at Asher's prone body. "He's prettier when he's asleep. But this isn't practical."

"Do you have any better ideas?" growled Candle.

"Drop him in the grounds, but quickly."

"Fine," said Candle. "Fine."

She transformed into her dragon self, and turning, managed to grasp Asher's unconscious form between her forearms. It felt like holding a doll. "Zephi, climb on my back. And whatever you do hold on tight!"

The small Necromancer climbed up Candle's side with a squeal of delight and positioned herself carefully between two of her spine ridges.

"I'm ready," she announced.

"Then let's go," said Candle, and launched herself out of the window.