Wildfire Phoenix by Zoe Chant
Chapter 29
The storm didn’t want to let him go. It pulled at him like clutching hands, seeking to drag him back. Just putting one foot in front of the other took all his strength.
Even with his eyes closed, lightning streaked his vision. He focused inward, blocking out the roar of thunder, the shriek of the wind. Concentrating on that distant, whisper-faint call.
One more step. Another. Just one more—
His foot crunched down into a deep drift of wood ash. He staggered, thrown off balance more by the abrupt cessation of the storm than the uneven terrain. His ears rang in the sudden silence.
“Blaise,” he said.
She’d been sitting on a blackened log, surrounded by skeletal, smoke-shrouded trees. Her phoenix perched on a branch over her head, black and brooding. All of her dreams lately had been like this; barren, charred, the aftermath of devastation.
At his voice, she turned. Her eyes were dull hollows in her soot-streaked face, looking out from a place beyond exhaustion. Yet she smiled when she saw him; a brief flash of true joy, bright as lightning.
That was worst of all.
“Zeph.” She scrambled up, hurrying over to seize him in a fierce embrace. Above, her phoenix rustled its wings, claws clenching on twisted wood. “I was waiting for you.”
He leaned his head on hers, closing his eyes. Trying to pretend that she was really here; that he could feel the flutter of her pulse against his chest, the warmth of her breath on his neck.
But he’d known her touch in the real world. No dream could come close.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“Since we last met in dreams?” Blaise pulled back a little, just enough to look up at his face, though her arms didn’t slacken their tight grip around his waist. “Three weeks.”
He breathed out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She grimaced, nose wrinkling. “Coyote camping by a fire line isn’t exactly conducive to a restful night’s sleep. At least our downtime finally coincided again.”
He traced the shape of her cheekbone, his fingertips leaving trails in the ash that dusted her skin. “You’ve been busy.”
“So have you. And on that topic, please tell me there aren’t going to be any new fires breaking out for a while.”
“I wish I could.”
“Still that bad?”
“Worse than any of us imagined. I don’t understand it, Blaise. Uncegila’s thrusting wave after wave of horned serpents into the world, in vast numbers, even though I’m waiting right there to destroy them. In previous years, she was much more cautious. She’d sneak her serpents out here and there, one at a time, to make it harder for me to sense them. Or find protected areas like the unicorns’ mountain, that I couldn’t reach at all, or send Lupa’s hellhound pack to harass me so I couldn’t get to the spawning sites in time. Now she’s just throwing her children’s lives away. It’s like she doesn’t even care if I burn them.”
“Maybe she doesn’t. I mean, she is a giant demonic snake.”
“She still has maternal instincts, in her own twisted way. It’s true, she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her own offspring if it served her purpose—but she wouldn’t slaughter them for no reason.”
“You think she’s planning something?”
“She must be. Perhaps she’s just trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. I can’t be in two places at the same time, after all. Uncegila is clearly trying to time things so that her children rise in multiple locations at once. Some of the horned serpents must be slipping past me.”
Blaise’s brow furrowed. “Maybe my dad could help. He can burn pretty much anything. If you could tell him where the demons are going to come up—”
“It wouldn’t work.” He’d already considered that option himself, in those rare, fleeting moments when he was capable of human thought. “I can’t tell where the horned serpents are going to rise until they actually breach the waking world. And even if I did have a way of communicating with you outside of dreams, it still wouldn’t help. For all your father’s power, he isn’t the Thunderbird. Only fires started by lightning can cleanse Uncegila’s corruption. He could destroy the serpents who’d already emerged, but not prevent more from spawning.”
“So Uncegila would just wait until he went away, and start popping them out again the moment his back was turned. Crap. So much for that idea.” Blaise frowned. “You said some of the horned serpents must be getting past your guard, but I don’t see how that helps Uncegila. You can still find them once they’re out, right?”
“To an extent. I can sense when they jump hosts, though it’s…” He searched for the right analogy. “It’s like fireflies at twilight. A brief flash that gives away their location at that moment. I’ve been watching out for that, but I haven’t seen more than the occasional glimmer right after they’ve spawned.”
“Guess any serpents that escape must be grabbing the first animal they can find, and going to ground. Darcy says there haven’t been any reports of missing people. So there’s one piece of good news for you, at least.”
“I’d feel better about it if it made any sense. The horned serpents feed on the life force of their hosts, and they’re never sated. Normally, they drain their victims as fast as possible and move on, driven by their eternal hunger. That’s why the Thunderbirds had to banish them from the waking world in the first place. Uncegila is forcing her children to act against their own nature. She must have a plan, one that I’m not seeing. I’m worried for your safety.”
Blaise shrugged. “I think we can handle an army of chickadees and bunnies. Well, maybe not Rory, based on past evidence.”
“I’m serious, Blaise. I’m terrified she’s going to come after you.”
“Nah, Uncegila’s too smart to waste her time.” Despite her flippant words, Blaise’s tone was bleak. “It’s pretty obvious I’m no threat to her.”
Her animal made a low, lonely sound, like a solitary crow in a winter sky. His heart twisted. Even with the mate bond twisted and shattered, he could feel her pain.
All he could do was hold her, in this shadowy, unreal world. He dropped his head, hiding his face in her short, dense curls.
“I hate this,” he said savagely, throat tight and burning. “I hate that I can’t come back to you, that I wasn’t strong enough to hold on. I hate that I can’t control the Thunderbird, that I’m destroying people’s homes. That I’m putting you in danger.”
“Hey.” Her hands tightened on his back. “None of this is your fault, Zeph. Sometimes forests just have to burn. Every wildland firefighter knows that.”
“It’s not just the wildfires that I’m worried about, though they’re bad enough. I still think Uncegila may come after you and the others. For revenge, if nothing else.”
“We’ve fought the horned serpents before, and lived to tell the tale.” She kissed the hollow of his throat. “Besides, it’s not like they can possess any of us. We’re all mated.”
The ghost of the mate bond glimmered in his heart. He closed his eyes, listening to that whisper-faint beat. Trying to memorize it, so that he could find it again, even in the middle of the storm.
Knowing that he wouldn’t.
“I don’t think you can count on me to protect you,” he whispered.
“Don’t worry about me.” With a last squeeze, she released him, stepping back. “Wystan may not be able to ward the entire base with so many people coming and going, but he’s protected my cabin. Not that I’m actually there much these days. But when we’re out on the line, he’s right there with me, ready to fling up a shield at the first hint of trouble. If Uncegila does try anything, I’ve got the whole squad at my back.”
That fact was the only true comfort he had, in the heart of the storm. He knew that the squad would protect his mate. Even from himself.
“Just be careful,” he said. “How is everyone?”
“Tired. Hungry. Badly in need of a shower.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Pretty much standard, for fire season. And hey, our overtime is going to be epic this year. I might put down a payment on a house.”
She was trying to make him feel better. He appreciated the effort, even though it only added to his guilt.
“And my uncle?” he asked.
Blaise’s forced grin faded. “Working a lot, and not talking. You still haven’t been able to reach him?”
He shook his head. “I can only find you. The Thunderbird’s storms drown out everything else. Whatever Uncegila is doing, the Thunderbird doesn’t like it. I’ve never known it to be so agitated.”
Even as he spoke, a slight breeze plucked at his clothes, like a child demanding attention. Thunder rumbled, low and distant. Blaise’s phoenix called out again, louder, lightless eyes searching the smoke-shrouded sky.
He caught her hands, pulling her in for one last kiss. She pressed against him, mouth fierce and desperate.
All too soon, he had to release her, forced back by the rising wind. Smoke rolled in slow, heavy drifts between them, untouched by the gale whipping through his hair.
“I have to go,” he said, raising his voice over another peal of thunder.
Lightning flashed, whiting out the world. Blaise didn’t flinch. Her phoenix spread its wings over her, dead wood splintering under its claws. Her lips moved, but the wind snatched her words away.
It didn’t matter. He knew what she’d said.
Come back to me.
He wanted to tell her he would. That they would meet again, and not just in dreams. That one day the wind would drop, and he would be able to find his way home.
But he’d never lied to her.
The storm closed over him. Thunder echoed through his mind, wiping out all thought.
Corruption. Sickness. Wrong.
It all had to burn. Every tree, every leaf, every blade of grass. Nothing else mattered.
The Thunderbird spread its wings. As it circled away, a high, plaintive cry followed it into the sky.
It didn’t look back.
