Hanno awoke with Liva lying on his chest.

She murmured a moment and raised her head, sharing a languid smile when she saw his eyes.

“How did the king sleep?” Liva asked.

“How did the princess sleep?” Hanno replied.

Liva grumbled and set her head once more on Hanno’s ribs.

“Burn the titles,” she mumbled. “Burn all but what’s right here.”

She intertwined her hands with Hanno’s.

“We cannot burn our titles. Why would we want to?” the king asked.

Liva smiled and shrugged.

“Will you have a title when you return home?” she asked.

“I would hope so. I would hope this journey renews my title. And yours?”

“Am I to return home?”

Hanno squeezed her hand and turned her chin toward his so he could kiss her.

“Our journey is not complete,” he said.

“I suppose not,” Liva agreed.

She sat up and retrieved her tunic amidst the pile of discarded clothing. She quickly found her belt and tied it around her waist.

Hanno held her hand to stop her from exiting the tent, and squeezed her tight.

“Was it just the trees?” Liva asked.

“No,” Hanno said.

“Why don’t we prove it tonight when we make camp?”

“A test I look forward to completing.”

They each smiled, kissed, and departed for the ship.

It took longer than usual for the crew to break camp and ready the trireme. By the time they pushed off into the sea, Artemisia had exhausted the Greek and Punic languages of all their curses and berated the rowers in Persian to move more quickly.

Only the helmsman and young Fierel seemed focused on their tasks as the ship took to the waves. The child climbed up and down the mast, unsure why his sister played the pipe with diminished gusto and his brother kept sneaking below deck to chat with some of the rowers. Even his mother kept her prayers to herself.

When Bostar spotted the king and Liva standing closer than before, he smiled at Hanno and gave Liva a slight nod.

“The wind is with us,” Bostar declared. “Sails should carry us far today.”

“Yes, and the mast’s stiff as can be,” Artemisia grumbled.

“You cast clouds upon such sunshine, Helmsman?” Hanno asked.

“You know, the Judeans chop off their masts when they get too tall.”

Liva laughed.

“You mean to tell me that with all this joy to be had, you could not find one that suited?” the king asked.

“I still have a husband. I’m not going to lay with some marine, especially not one I command,” said Artemisia.

“Forgive me, Artemesia, but I recall hearing that your husband had died,” Liva noted.

“He did.”

“So what’s keeping you from finding someone new?”

“I loved my husband.”

Hanno frowned under the helmsman’s wilting glare.

“Does the love of a dead man keep you from finding further love?” Liva asked.

“Get drunk on whatever bane you choose. I’ll have none of it,” Artemisia said.

“Come now, Helmsman, let’s not stamp out other fires just because yours has died,” Hanno urged. “You have the sea, you have your crew.”

“I’ll take Poseidon as a lover then.”

“There you are.”

“And I intend to ride him hard, so keep that sail filled.”

The wind made up for their slow beginning, and they progressed a full day’s journey beyond the mountain.

That night, when they made camp on the rocky shores, Liva shared Hanno’s tent.

They found their want no less diminished by the lack of trees.

When they returned to the embrace of Artemisia’s lover the following morning, they came upon a great opening of the sea. The low shore swept inward in a wide, flat channel. Lacking the forests of the Chretes, this inlet revealed its gentle bends far into the grass-covered distance. However, this low greenery tempered its prospects as well.

Hanno stared at the treeless terrain for some time before asking Liva, “Does it appear worthwhile?”

“We’re exploring, aren’t we?” she asked.

“We’re discovering. And ideally discovering the treasure I need to return with and placate Suffete.”

Liva frowned. “Of course.”

“Gold has been found in less fertile places,” Bostar noted.

“Do we have enough light for a journey inland?” Hanno asked Artemisia.

“So long as we don’t go far,” the helmsman answered. She peered across the bow. “Current looks strong enough it should have a suitable depth.”

“Then take us in.”

The sun lingered low on the broad horizon, offering suitable light for their advance up the calm inlet. The current could not be swift enough to earn the moniker of a true river, and the flattened shore appeared freshly carved, leading Artemisia to grumble about its inconsistency.

Every few spans, they’d brush the soft ground, though they quickly regained their pace.

After the third time this happened, Artemisia stifled her complaints and said, “Hanno, look at the shore.”

The king glanced over the railing and spotted blackened grass. The charred ground continued along either side. It lined the inlet’s flow ahead of them without interruption, like its edges had been traced with the same ink Hanno used on his map.

Hanno raised an eyebrow at Liva.

She shook her head. “It does look like a new river,” she admitted. “But… the fire.”

“Fire does not give birth to water,” Aba declared.

“I have to agree. But clearly flames have been here. Some peoples intentionally start fires to clear fields and help spread seeds, but it would have to be a highly controlled burn to accomplish this.”

“Marines, keep an eye out. I don’t want fire throwers attacking our ship,” Hanno commanded.

Not ten seconds after giving this order, a marine shouted from the bow, “Fire!”

“Where?” Hanno asked.

“Water buckets!” Artemisia ordered, sending the marines scurrying for axes and pails.

But the fire was nowhere near the ship. It reappeared far ahead, leaping from the port side shore. Then the starboard, then the port once again.

The fires fountained here and there in narrow columns, burning then extinguishing so rapidly none could locate their source.

“We should turn around,” Artemisia advised.

The fire leapt into the air much closer, its crackling roar almost sounding like words.

“Wait, listen,” Liva insisted.

The flame reappeared, dancing just off their starboard side and whistling through singed grass.

“It almost sounds like… help,” Liva said.

The fire burst on the port shore. “Help!” it scorched.

“Help!” crackled the flame on the starboard.

Soon the ship was surrounded by a pleading inferno.

The flames leapt up and down like bouncing children eager for their mother’s attention.

“Help us! Help!” the flames shouted.

“No, don’t!” Liva warned as the fires tried to reach the ship.

They stepped into the water and shrieked in pain, retreating to further scorch the shore.

“Spirits of Baal Hammon!” Aba declared.

“How is it I understand the sound of flames?” Hanno asked.

“They are spirits of fire!”

“That doesn’t explain how I understand them.”

“Who cares? I don’t want anything to do with fire. Ready reverse and furl the sails!” Artemisia commanded.

“Hold, Helmsman, what’s your fear?” Hanno asked.

“We’re on a boat made of wood.”

“They don’t appear to be hostile. They’re asking for help,” Liva noted.

“Then they can ask it of someone less flammable.”

The flames stayed at pace with the slowing trireme, dancing at the shore and falling over each other to wave their flickering arms at the crew. Some leapt high as they could on unseen legs, flying above the top of the mast then falling back down.

“We see you, fires!” Liva shouted.

“I am King Hanno of Carthage,” Hanno added. “And who are you?”

“Tell them to stay on the shore,” Artemisia cautioned.

“They don’t seem eager to jump into the water,” Liva shared.

“Yes, but I’ve never seen a hint of wisdom in a flame.”

“You’ve probably never heard fire talk either.”

“I’ll ask the next time I heat my porridge.”

The flames leapt even higher now that they’d been addressed.

“We are fire!” they crackled.

“We are flame!” they hissed.

“That’s helpful,” Artemisia scoffed.

“Greetings, Flame,” Liva called out.

“Help us!” they roared.

“How can we help you?”

“We have been cast out. We need home; we need food!”

One of the flames braved the leap from the shore and reached an oar. It danced with delight upon the wood and consumed it to a blackened nub.

“Drop that oar!” Artemisia commanded.

The rower had the wisdom to do so, and sent it splashing into the water, where the gleeful little flame hissed and died.

The fires at the shore shrieked in horror.

“You attack us!” they shouted.

“Oars in, all of you! Douse the deck and drench the sides,” Artemisia ordered.

Each and every oar was pulled free of the fires’ reach while the marines filled and dumped bucket after bucket onto the hull.

“Stay on your shore,” the king commanded the flames.

“We only want food! You look like food — please feed us,” the fires demanded.

“I still can’t work out how they understand us and we them,” Liva noted.

“Grab a bucket; worry about that later,” Bostar advised.

He led the crew in drenching the vessel, but while they readied their defenses, they quickly realized they’d be unable to turn about or row to the ocean without risking the oars. And the flames grew ever braver with their high leaps.

“You have the grass. You can eat that!” Hanno offered.

“The grass doesn’t fill us. We need a home. We need food,” the fires insisted.

“Where do you come from?” Liva asked.

“We come from our mother and father.”

“What lands?”

“We come from the land of the burning mountain. Of wind and heat we were born. But our father cast us out. We didn’t please him, and we must find a new home.”

“Our ship cannot be your home,” Hanno insisted.

“But why?”

“You’ll burn us up. The burnt ship will sink and we’ll both drown, little flames,” Liva explained.

“No!” the fires raged, though they backed away from the shore to blacken more of the field.

“Name your speech, flames,” Hanno demanded. “How is it you speak Punic?”

“We do not speak!” the flames crackled. “Our words and fears live in the hearts of all men.”

“So how do you know our speech?”

“We know. We burn, we heat, we see. We are the living flames, born of sky and earth and the warmth of their embrace. Our father gave us his knowledge of all things warm and filled us with a hunger, then rejected us for taking his food.”

“Who is your father?”

“The mountain! The mountain of smoke and heat and depth!”

“We cannot help you if you harm us,” Hanno insisted.

“No!” the fires shrieked.

They leapt higher and higher on either side of the river. Some flew from the shore into the field, as if they were testing the distance they could jump. Black spots erupted all over the burning grass as the sentient flames spawned unthinking cousins that sputtered and died with their lack of fuel.

“We have to do something,” Liva said.

“How do you help living fire?” Hanno asked.

The marines continued dousing the ship while Artemisia inspected their work.

“They can jump on us for all I care,” she said. “I think we can risk a turn. If we’re quick.”

“Pray that they’re sent to Hades. That’s the home for living flame,” Aba demanded. “Open the earth and go inside, cruel fires!”

“No! Not to father — we can’t!” shrieked the flames.

“Stop scolding them, they’re terrified already,” Liva said.

“You share sympathy for the spawn of hell?”

“They’re not hellspawn, they’re just fire. What would you do if everything you touched burned?”

“Jump into the ocean and accept an honorable death.”

“Not all share your sense of duty, Priestess.”

“Then they deny their own nature. They are fire. They are not allies of man.”

“We offer heat! We offer light!” the fires shouted.

“And you offer destruction!”

“Don’t you make sacrifices using fire, Priestess?” Hanno asked.

“Yes, yes!” cheered the flames.

“That’s different. I control that fire,” Aba insisted.

“Then will you submit to our control? Will you do as we command?” Hanno asked the flames.

Two bolts of light shrieked with fury and shouted, “No!”

The fires leapt toward the trireme.