The Firefarer

Part Eight - Ol Labrena / Chapter One: Dreams of Fire

She woke as dawn sunlight fingered its way through oak trees, the hardness of the forest floor impressed into her back and the taste of Andre in her mouth. How was that possible? Moran twisted her head to the right, taking in the slim curves of Muna's sleeping back, her arms twisted like vines around her brother's shoulders. To her left Carin also slept, her trident buried hilt downwards in the earth beside her hip, her mouth wide open as she released long, shattering snores.

She must have been dreaming. These dreams seemed to bubble up from beneath the bedrock of her conscious thoughts with greater potency every night. She sought to suppress them, spent her waking hours focussing on their weary march towards the Harars, herding Muna and Hori before her, fearful of the covetous looks Carin stole at Hori.

Carin grew wilder with every passing mile, Moran decided, and she knew what spirits now led her sister onwards, tempting and tormenting with whispers of destruction. Carin had witnessed the power of the Firefarer, had seen with her own eyes the incineration of men, of women, of horses, their ashen remains mingling with leaves upon the floor of the forest. And it had been the touchpaper to her own lust for vengeance. If Carin had ever harboured doubts that the Ruach would destroy the Pagi, they were evidently now gone. Now she ran, sometimes carrying Hori in her desperation to deliver up their prize to the Golach.

Moran eased her way painfully into a sitting position, flicking dry leaves and twigs from her hair. She understood Muna's fears now, and she wondered at Carin's blindness, at her inability ˗ or her unwillingness ˗ to see them too. In her dreams the forest had blazed once more, spitting down sparks and flames, the skin melting, dripping from her own face. And there, in the midst of the fire stood Andre. Moran's dream returned to her, so vivid, so clear that she sucked in her breath. They had pressed together, kissing, as brightness and heat consumed their bodies, as they crumbled into ash, their remains carried away on currents of hot, fume-choked air into a scream-ridden night. Andre's voice still carried to her through the heat and fury, begging her to stay.

Moran struggled to her feet, bent double, clutching her belly as she clawed her way from the camp, spewing the contents of her stomach into a briar patch. And no matter how hard she retched, nothing took away the horror of the dream, the dry taste of ash, the realisation that this was the fate towards which they were heading.

Behind her the others stirred themselves awake: moaning as they stretched out aching, frozen limbs and rose. She wiped her mouth hastily on leaves, hauled herself upright, forced her way back to them. Carin handed her a skin of water. It smelt of the moss and silt of forest streams, but she drank with relief.

"Bad dreams again?" Carin tugged the skin from her hands before she could drain it. She nodded, her breathing still heavy and laboured.

"Never mind, Moran. You'll sleep like a newborn when we reach the Harars."

"I shouldn't count on it."

Carin shrugged, tugging her trident free of the ground. "Let's get moving." With a broad swipe at the undergrowth, she turned to go.

"Does she ever rest?" Muna asked, rubbing tired eyes awake.

"Never." Moran gazed after Carin as her sister swept up Hori, balancing him on her shoulders before marching off, head down amongst the trees. "Never," she whispered again to herself.

"Moran, there's something I must show you. Something you ought to see." Muna began to swing the leather tube from her shoulder, but Moran raised her hand.

"Later, Muna. We'd better catch her up first." Ignoring Muna's growl of impatience, she set off in her sister's wake, her stomach still burning and lurching in reproach.