Children of Fyre

The Children of Fyre

Island of Fyre – Book 4

By Janet Lane-Walters

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-0780-9

Kindle 978-0-2286-0781-6

WEB/PDF 978-0-2286-0782-3

Print ISBNs

LSI/Ingram 978-0-2286-0783-0

Amazon 978-0-2286-0784-7

Barnes & Noble 978-0-2286-0785-4

Copyright 2019 by Janet Lane Walters

Cover Art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Chapter 1

The first bell of the morning roused Cerene. She stretched and touched her toes before sliding out of bed. A trip to her private necessary and a quick wash sent her back to her room in the hareem of the ancient home of the wizards. From the tales she’d heard about the one they’d been forced to abandon, this one spoke of poverty. The one they’d left had been a massive stone structure with high walls and iron gates. Even their numbers had dwindled since returning to this place. This stone house with wooden fences and flimsy gates didn’t suit her father or the other wizards. Their desire to regain the past colored their days.

For her the fence made for an easy escape to the waterfront, the beach and the woods. She had also discovered secret passages within the walls and had explored. These hidden ways had allowed her to spy on the wizards.

She pulled on wide legged trousers and sat to tuck them into her boots. After pulling a tunic over her head, she laughed. She refused to wear the shapeless chiton worn by the women, slaves and breeders alike. She braided her hair and let the plait hang down her back. Though her hair was the same icy blonde as the wizards, hers had streaks of the colors of the fyrestones, red, orange, yellow and blue, though in truth, she had never seen a blue stone. Her green eyes, unlike the frosted gray of the wizards, spoke of her less than pure blood.

Cerene sat on the bed and spilled the contents of a leather pouch on the blanket. Metal chains, metal cages either empty or holding fyrestones, and a single red stone. She lifted three chains and watched the caged stones flare to life. The yellow shed a ray of light, the orange a tongue of flame and the red brought her a sense of wellbeing. She hung the necklaces around her neck and tucked them beneath her tunic. She scooped the remaining treasures into the pouch and slid them into a small nook between the stones of the wall.

The second bell rang. Cerene, get out here now. Malda, the Hag Mother, shouted in impatience.

With brisk steps, Cerene entered the main room of the hareem. A dozen slave women, two breeders and six girls stood in a row while Malda inspected them.

The aged woman turned to Cerene. Serve the porridge and break your own fast. You will escort the women to the garden to harvest root vegetables. Fall is upon us and the tubers must be stored for the winter. Send the girls into the woods to gather kindling.

Yes, Hag Mother. Cerene bowed her head so Malda wouldn’t catch a hint of rebellious plans for the day.

The wizards have a confab after breaking their fast. I will see to them. The old woman wheeled and at the door turned. Make sure the women and girls remain outside until the meeting ends.

Cerene went to the cooking hearth and swung the huge kettle from the flames. She ladled cooked grains into bowls. The two breeders carried the food to the long table. When Cerene scraped the kettle clean, she filled the vessel with water, added grain, and swung the kettle over the lowest area of flames. Then she prepared food for Malda and herself.

Malda returned and scowled at the plates Cerene set on the table. She filled a cup with herbal tea. There is no sweetener but honey. No fine ground flour for bread. We must eat this. She grasped a piece of flatbread made from crudely ground meal. The fruit remaining on the vines is for the wizards. She scooped the eggs onto her plate, leaving none for Cerene.

Cerene cut goat cheese to spread on her bread. When she finished eating, she escorted the women to the garden and instructed them to pull the tubers and load the wheelbarrows. Then she escorted the girls to the woods. Once they were occupied, she scurried away.

So the wizards meet. She would hear their plans.

With stealth she found the spot in the wooden fence where she had loosened boards. She slid them aside and slipped into the yard. When she reached the rear entrance, she stepped into the narrow hall. A smile curved her mouth. Once inside the passage, ten steps would take her to the place where she could see and hear the wizards.

Her fingers found the pattern on the stone. Silently the wall parted, revealing a wide area that became a narrow passage. She entered and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Walking into the passage, she counted her steps and took care not to raise dust to make her sneeze. Her first visit to these passages had nearly revealed her presence. She’d removed the cobwebs and swept most of the accumulated dust.

At the tenth step, she halted and pressed her face to the wall where a pair of holes allowed her to view the happenings. She saw the conference table and the eight remaining wizards. Since their exile here on the isle where they had once lived had begun, most of the wizards from the captured Citadel had died. Of the nine, only two were first level.

Her father Cemon, Chief Wizard, entered the room. He raised his ironwood tipped wand. The white stone on the tip remained unlit. He rapped the table. We are gathered here to find a solution to our problems. Our supply of white fyrestones dwindles. Soon there will be none.

Zondo, her father’s second snorted. All such stones are found on the Island of Fyre. This small isle has no more to mine. Our trader cousins have reported finding no other sources.

Her father nodded. For the present we must learn ways to keep the ones we have active.

One of the second level wizards shook his head. Yet you call on us to join in calling a trader’s ship.

Zondo leaned forward. You must listen to Cemon. If we join our powers none of the stones will die. We must call our kin.

Even if a trader arrives, what can they do to help us? the protester asked. They are banned from landing on the Island.

Cemon pounded the table. Two decades and five years have passed since we were driven from Fyre. Those who drove us away have forgotten our existence.

The sole dissenter laughed. Do you propose we retake the Citadel? Impossible.

In due time we will live there again, her father said. First we must amass a store of white fyrestones. I have a plan.

Where will you find such a treasure?

Cemon’s laughter filled the room and seeped into Cerene’s hiding place. A chill washed through her. The temple priestesses have all the whites we could desire. They even allow commoners with a tinge of power to use those stones.

Zondo slapped his beefy hand on the table. Their stones don’t burn out as ours do. We must learn their secret.

The dissenter laughed. So will we pose as one of their people and each get one more stone?

Don’t be a fool, Cemon said. We will ride in one of your cousin’s ships and lure a priestess to the shore. When she is our prisoner, we will make our demand.

Zondo grinned. She will be ours and we will demand whites as a ransom.

That is the plan. Cemon held his wand high. We will ask for a hundred thousand. Let the summons for a ship begin.

Cerene watched as the others rose with wands held high. One by one the whites glowed. She gasped. The stones beneath her tunic grew warm. Suddenly they blazed. She stumbled along the narrow passage. Only her hand on the wall kept her erect. Her head spun. She reached the opening and triggered the wall to retract. As soon as the wall slid into place behind her, the fire in the stones ebbed. She slumped against the wall and slid to sit on the floor.

She must have dozed. Voices woke her. She pressed against the wall. Two second level wizards ambled past.

When we have all those whites, the world will be ours, one said.

The ship will arrive in two days, a second declared. Once we have the stones we’ll invade the land where the dragons abide. Think of all we’ll gain. New protective trousers, tunics, gloves, boots and capes. We’ll be invincible.

Then the Citadel will be ours again. We’ll have many new slaves. The hareem will be filled with young women instead of the old hags who reside there now.

Before long their voices faded. Cerene sucked in a breath. A ship comes. She had a way to escape. Somehow she would stowaway and hide until they reached a distant shore.

She dashed to the garden to check the progress of the women and ordered the guards to wheel the full barrels to the keep. Then she walked to where she’d left the girls. They had stacks of kindling ready. With her knife, she cut vines and used them to bundle the wood for the girls to carry to the keep.

Once the girls returned to the hareem, Cerene escorted the women inside. They set about storing the root crops in a cool stone shed. In the kitchen, she stirred the porridge and added bits of turnips to the mash.

Her chores done, Cerene walked to the gate and stared toward the harbor. When would the ship arrive? Though the wizards had said two days, she feared it might be longer. As she turned to walk to the hareem, her father grasped her arm.