Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (80 page)

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Kyrus’s meal had been strange, but not entirely bad.
He liked the reef fish they had cooked for him, but the meat from the melons
with the rock-hard shells would take some accustoming to appreciate. A small
crowd had gathered to watch him eat, and Kyrus found the attention a bit
unsettling as they watched for his reactions to the foods he was trying for the
first time—though the fish tasted much like he had eaten back home.

After the meal, Gahalu took Kyrus on a bit of a tour
of at least the region of the island where his village was. It seemed that
there were several villages spread throughout the island, which must have been
larger than Kyrus initially realized. Tiny dots on a map still covered vast
reaches when traveled by foot, he had to remind himself. The interior of the
island was still relatively untamed, with dangerous creatures bearing names
Gahalu could not translate in Acardian, as the Acardians had no name for them.

“So these other villages, do you trade with them, or
war with them?” Kyrus asked.

Acardian history showed that any contact between two
peoples invariably resulted in one or the other. Leaving another people
entirely alone could not persist, even among those who styled themselves
xenophobes—those usually went to war with the “dangerous” outsiders at some
point.

“We used to war with them, long ago. Now we just
trade. All the villages are near the coast, and we each fish near our own
shores. The ocean is huge, and the reefs are ripe with fish. We do not fight
over who fishes where,” Gahalu said. “Some men like to travel the island as
traders, but most things that one village can make, the others can make too, so
there are not too many traders. Many have friends in other villages, though, so
travel is common. When word reaches the others that there is a spirit man here,
many
will come to see.”

“So what is it that I am supposed to do? I do not know
how to be a spirit man.”

Kyrus was growing worried that he might not be able to
live up to the expectations that these people obviously had of him.

“You are a spirit man. It is not up to us to tell you
what to do. You have powers we do not understand, though Captain Zayne told us
some of what you can do. We hope to have the aid of your wisdom, the help of
your powers. You will have every comfort the island can offer in return, as
well as the love and respect of its people. No worry, you will do fine,” Gahalu
told him.

Kyrus was not yet certain, though. Even as a sorcerer,
he had much to learn … and he was still prone to rather dangerous mistakes.

“So what did Captain Zayne tell you?”

“He showed us the marks you bear and the protection
they give you. Pardon us, but we poked you with spear points to see that it
worked; Captain Zayne assured us you would be unharmed, and you were. He also
said you can make fire from air and move even heavy things without touching
them. Is that not true?” Gahalu asked.

“I suppose all that is true, though I dislike hearing
that I was jabbed with spears in my sleep, though I suppose that the ward
protected me well enough that it did not so much as wake me. Please do not try
that again, though,” Kyrus warned. “So what do I do all day as a spirit man? I
do not expect that you will need me to make fire for you; I can see that you do
that fine without me. And I do not see many heavy things to move, certainly not
enough to fill my days.”

“You are still young to Denku Appa. For now, just
learn of the island and our people. I am sure that in time you will find what
you wish to do, and if need arises, we will ask you for your help.”

The tour of the island lasted hours. Gahalu showed
Kyrus the freshwater streams that they drank from and the crude roads that cut
through the island to reach the other villages. He showed Kyrus groves of
cultivated trees that grew the fruits the Denku liked best. All the while, a
cluster of Denku with no better tasks to occupy themselves with had followed
them around, listening without understanding as Kyrus and Gahalu spoke in
Acardian—though Gahalu occasionally answered questions from the gawkers in
their native tongue. They pressed close around him, and Kyrus noticed that many
were young women with their hair dyed various colors, from reds to violets to
yellow-whites. He noticed that unlike the night before, none actually came
close enough to touch him, keeping an arm’s reach back from him. It was not
much space, but it did not feel so confining without them pressed physically
against him.

At length, the heat of the island convinced Kyrus to
remove at least his shirt, and the gawkers found interest anew in examining his
pale body. Of special note was the tattoo on his arm, which amusingly shifted
the crowd almost entirely to his left side. There was much pointing and
discussion among the Denku, who used tattoos of their own. Kyrus figured there
was significance to the designs they wore, but had not discovered the meanings
of each. After trying to continue the tour despite the distraction, Gahalu
eventually relented to the questioning of the other Denku.

“Spirit Man, they are asking what the marks on your
shoulder mean. Could you tell them so they will let me continue in peace?”
Gahalu asked.

“It is a protective ward,” Kyrus said. “Watch. Here,
have that man there give me his knife.”

Kyrus gestured to one of the Denku fishermen who
carried a steel knife on a leather cord slung over one shoulder. It was
undoubtedly a valuable tool, since Kyrus saw no evidence of smelting or
metalworking among the Denku, unless one or more of the other villages was more
advanced. He suspected instead that it had been traded from the rare visitors
the island had received. Despite the knife’s value, it was handed over
immediately after Gahalu translated the request, with no question asked.

Kyrus took the knife and pressed it hard against the
bare skin of his forearm, then drew it quickly across his flesh. He startled
the Denku, who seemed worried that he had just injured himself badly. Though
Kyrus knew it not, the Denku held that steel was the sharpest thing possible,
and it seemed incredible to them that the knife had not cut Kyrus’s arm to the
bone, the way he slashed himself with it. Instead they gaped in awe at their
new spirit man, as his skin was unmarred by the blade.

At that point, the tour ended. Gradually the crowd
drew Kyrus back to the main village, pressing him for further displays of his
powers. Gahalu translated the requests spottily, as dozens of people were
clamoring to make their requests of their newest resident. Kyrus made lights of
various colors appear for their amusement. He created bursts of flame is
midair, and jets of it shooting from his hands to catch the tips of sticks they
held out for him, or roasting bits of meat held on spear tips. He spent a long
while lifting different Denku high in the air, much to their delight. It was a
frightening experience but also an exhilarating one, and it seemed nearly all
wanted to take a turn once they found out it was within his power. At one
point, he tried to walk through a tree, which was met with mixed results. He
was able to turn himself insubstantial again, much like he had during his
Acardian jailbreak; however, he did no better at keeping his clothing in the
process. He did not have to understand a word of Denku to grasp the thrust of
the ribald jokes and leering looks cast his way as he scurried to retrieve his
pants.

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By nightfall, Kyrus was exhausted. He had never used
his draw so extensively, but more than anything, he was footsore and mentally
drained from being what amounted to a stage performer for nearly the whole
afternoon. His Source, by comparison, felt limber and ready to continue.

At least part of me is not worn out. Nothing they
asked of me was particularly taxing.

There was to be another feast but a different sort
from that of the previous night. When the
Fair Trader
had arrived, none
of the Denku had known that they were welcoming a new spirit man, and had
certainly not expected one who would be staying with them. So while the feast
of the night before had been lively and festive, it had been planned with
little notice. A day of preparation had allowed the residents of the village to
hunt for choice game and practice their festival entertainments.

The feast was held in the center of the village
itself, with the central bonfire as its focal point. Kyrus was given a seat of
honor, the front row around the fire, where he would have an unfettered view of
the night’s entertainment. He was also joined again by Tippu and Kahli, who
took up their same positions as they had at the previous night’s revels. Kyrus
had asked Gahalu about them and discovered that he had been claimed by them in
what amounted to a semi-official reservation. Kyrus was free to spurn them any
time he wished, but unless he did so, no others would approach him.

Kyrus had asked Gahalu about why there were two of
them, and whether that was common among the Denku. As Gahalu had explained it:
“When twenty children are born, there are ten boys, ten girls. One boy and one
girl die young, due to illness or weakness. One boy dies in his test of
manhood. Two boys die of wounds taken while hunting. So we are left with nine
girls and six boys. Each girl cannot have one boy all her own, so some choose
to share. They do not share spear-makers and fishermen. They choose hunters and
chieftains—and spirit men.”

Kyrus looked and saw only a few at the festival who
were likewise attended. Kyrus was unsure what to do about Tippu and Kahli, but
he expected that it would be … rude … to spurn them after apparently sharing
his bed with them the night before. Yes … rude.

The feast was three whole boars—or what looked close
enough to be called such in Acardian at least—spitted over small fires about
the villages. Around the main fire, men and women danced and sang, wearing
masks and paint, seeming to act out historical scenes.

This must be something akin to opera
, Kyrus mused.

He tried to follow the action, but between not
understanding Denku and his other distractions, he settled for just enjoying
the spectacle of it.

The drink he was served was so weak he wondered if
there was any alcohol in it at all this time. It was cloyingly sweet and
fruity, and he needed the saltiness of the boar meat to cut the edge off its
flavor. He found himself intoxicated again, but by the atmosphere of the festival
and not the liquor.

At the end of the night, his two escorts led him out
of the village toward a hilltop where Gahalu had explained there was a hut for
him. The tour had been cut short before he had seen it, but it had been the
home of their last spirit man, kept empty since his death many years ago, but
cleaned and prepared for him to have as his own.

When they arrived, Kyrus was quite surprised to find
that it was not of the same wood and grass construction as the rest of the
Denku homes. It was made of square-cut stone blocks, fitted as would a mason
from anywhere in the more civilized world Kyrus knew, with proper windows and
all. The roof was of clay tiles, and they looked to be in excellent repair.

On the inside, there was a small fireplace complete with
a hook to hang a cooking pot, and the cooking pot was there as well, all cast
iron in defiance of the Denku’s poverty of metal. A wooden writing desk and
chair graced one wall, and a low bed occupied the other. The bedding was
unusual, made of the woven grass mats that the Denku used for sleeping, but the
headboard and footboard were of a style he would not have been shocked to see
in Acardia.

 Tippu and Kahli waited respectfully as Kyrus examined
his new abode. They seemed to think of the bed as a place that the sleeping
mats were stored and quickly took a few of the thick-piled mats and covered the
floor with them. Kyrus sighed as he watched them but lacked the language skill
to properly explain the situation to them. Besides, there was barely room for
two in the bed, and he was not going to upset them by sending them away so late
at night.

Instead Kyrus met them halfway. He lay down upon the
mats and waited for the two Denku women to join him. When Tippu moved to divest
him of his pants, he took hold of her wrist and shook his head slowly. Instead
he motioned to the mat next to him. Disappointed but understanding his meaning,
both Tippu and Kahli curled up next to him to sleep. Both of them were a little
tipsy from the same drink Kyrus had imbibed, and fell asleep after not very
long at all. Kyrus breathed a sigh of relief. He was still plenty sober enough
to keep his wits about him. As easy as it would have been to give in to every
temptation—and he could not deny the temptation—the two sweet young girls
sleeping peacefully next to him were not who he wanted.

The mystery of the previous occupant of the
un-Denku-like home could wait for another time. As for Kyrus, his thoughts were
elsewhere. He turned his head slightly to the side and looked at Kahli sleeping
there. The red of her hair was all wrong, but it brought his thoughts in the
wrong direction. Turning to Tippu, he imagined away the green hair and tried to
picture Abbiley’s dark hair in its place.

I wonder if Abbiley would enjoy life in a place like
this.

It was Kyrus’s last thought before sleep took him.