Fireborn

35 ¦ My Sister, the Spitfire

An insistent knock woke us from our sublime reverie.

"You'd better get that," Peter said in a dreamy whisper.

I threw on my long, black Fireborn robes that reached my ankles. When I opened the door, the same odd messenger stood before me who'd informed me Bragda had been found.

"How is my sister?"

"My leader," he replied, stiffening to a ramrod straight posture. "I'm here to inform you that she is awake if you wish to see her."

I turned to Peter, who leaped to his feet. "Yes, let's go!"

"You are to come alone," the messenger said. "She's to have only one visitor at a time so as not to overexert herself."

"I understand." I turned to Peter with an apologetic look, but he smiled and nodded in approval. "Lead the way."

The messenger and I meandered through cavernous hallways made of basalt rock and obsidian stone, dark and cold as I'd always imagined the bowels of Paxus. I was grateful to have a guide, or I'd have gotten lost about a dozen times.

With a casual toss, I drew my hood over my head, not only for warmth but also to prevent Bragda from having a heart attack. My voice was already starting to deepen. She didn't need to see my growing horns or my mottled human flesh peeling and darkening into snakeskin.

We walked in silence until the narrow hallways opened up into a large foyer. Obsidian sconces adorned the walls from which torches blazed, casting ominous shadows onto the dark gray stone. Decorative rugs hung from the walls depicting Fireborn warriors in the midst of battles.

I gasped when I saw an ornamental rug hanging on the wall. A roaring Fireborn Queen stood on a basalt stalagmite far above a sea of fallen bodies, holding up the severed head of a Dwarfish Fighter.

The head looked exactly like Bragda. And the Queen looked like me.

My stomach churned in protest. What in Hades is happening? Is this some kind of sick joke?

I took an involuntary step backward, and the room began to spin. I thought I'd sink into one of my visions, but the dizziness cleared and only a headache remained.

When I gazed at the tapestry again, it depicted a battle like any other. No traces of Bragda or me to be seen.

Great! Now I'm having hallucinations.

The messenger gave me a quizzical look. "My Leader? Are you ill?"

"I'm fine. It's just the treatments."

"If you follow this passageway," he said, gesturing to the narrow tunnel ahead, "it will take you to the infirmary, and you can see your sister. Shall I accompany you?"

"No, thank you."

He clasped his right fist over his heart. "Good day, my Leader."

When I finally exited the narrow corridor, a whirlwind of buzzing, chirring, and beeping machines greeted me. Technology that I'd never seen in my life monitored the patients' vital signs and blood levels or performed body scans depicted on translucent screens.

"Good morning," I said to the young Risan nurse flipping through a medical chart. Her dark-brown hair was swept up and clipped with a green ribbon. "I'm looking for Bragda Ironfist."

She gave me a curt nod. "Just this way, my Leader."

As we drew nearer, I could hear Bragda complaining in a gruff voice. "Damn you, woman, stop fussing and let me out of this bed."