Rise Up from the Embers Read online

  “Fog?” The air had taken on a frigid chill, and the word puffed steam from Madoc’s lips.

  With a quick shake of her head, Ash lifted her arms and heaved a spray of blue flames ahead, twice as far as the others could manage. Taro, standing closest, fell to her side with a cry, the heat of the blaze too intense even for a Kulan.

  The beacon illuminated a sparkling gleam ahead, rising into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. Fear raced through Madoc’s blood.

  Not fog. Ice.

  A solid wall of ice.

  “Stop!” Madoc shouted. “It’s a blockade!”

  The ship heeled as the captain turned hard to avoid the wall of ice. The change in course brought them closer still, and in dreadful awe, Madoc stared up at the gleaming wall, veined with a scaffolding of blackened vines. They’d heard that Hydra and Florus had created a barrier to anyone from the outside, but they’d assumed it was a barricade of ships, or dignitaries who would take their claims to the gods.

  They hadn’t expected a wall.

  Ash’s fire died as the starboard side scraped against the blockade, chunks of ice falling onto the deck. One hit a sailor, and with a stunted scream she toppled down the ladder.

  “They’re closing in!” shouted Spark. More calls rose around them, shifting Madoc’s attention.

  Then, snaking through the chaos, a golden thread of silence.

  It pushed through the wood, through the cloth and flesh and blood. Through the night and the water. It lifted the hair on his arms and the back of his neck, and as he breathed it in, he knew this curiosity was directed at him.

  Anathrasa.

  “She’s here,” Madoc murmured.

  Ash’s fierce gaze heated the side of his face.

  “Then we fight,” she said.

  He took her hand, squeezed her fingers in his. He wanted to look at her one more time. He wanted one more night of her sneaking into his bunk belowdecks, lying together in the quiet so they didn’t wake the other sailors. One more frantic kiss behind the mast when Tor wasn’t looking.

  There was no time.

  He’d known from the moment they’d left Deimos that his mother would come for him. He had what she wanted—the ability to drain the power from gods and transfer it, as he had with Ash. To give Anathrasa the energeia of the six gods and make them mortal so she could harness anathreia again and take over the world.

  He needed to stop her before that happened.

  “We fight,” he said.

  The ships were closer now. Their sails snapped in the wind. Their hulls smashed against the waves. Madoc made his way to port side, facing the closest ship that carved a line toward them, its silver bow like a battering ram, ready to shatter them against the monstrous wall of ice.

  The captain was still trying to push the ship faster, but they’d lost the wind beside the blockade, and their speed had slowed to a crawl.

  “Ready?” Tor called, somewhere to Madoc’s left.

  He tried to focus on his family, on protecting his home, but his concentration evaporated as Ash lit up the night with blue flames, revealing the old woman standing at the helm of the approaching ship, flanked by Earth Divine soldiers in silver armor and Air Divine warriors in pale, thin wisps of fabric.

  Madoc’s mother met his gaze, and even from three ships’ lengths away, he could see her smile.

  She would kill all these people—kill Ash—for him.

  It didn’t matter if he wasn’t ready or trained. He couldn’t let that happen.

  Raising his hands, he drew every bit of strength from his own soul and reached toward her. His fingers, white with cold, shook as he forced the power rising in his veins to stretch across the water.

  Stop.

  She deflected his attack like a slap, and his focus crumbled. Beside him, Ash’s flame faltered. Tor shouted his name, but he didn’t listen. He anchored his hips against the vessel’s rail and reached for Anathrasa again, pulling her into the net of his need. He would drain her like he had Ignitus and Geoxus, and then she would suffer a mortal’s death like all those she’d taken as tithes.

  Anathrasa’s scream filled his ears, so shrill he nearly clapped his hands over them. It rose, silencing Tor’s shouts for him to stop. In seconds, Madoc felt as if his bones were cracking under the pressure of that scream.

  Panic twisted through his anathreia, freezing it like the wall that blocked their escape.

  Then every frozen vein of his soul shattered, and the world went black.

  Two

  ASH

  UNPREDICTABLE IGNEIA DURING training was one thing—no one’s lives depended on Ash countering Tor’s moves. But in a battle, with Anathrasa’s ships bearing down on them and the other Kulan sailors already streaking fire across the night sky—Ash’s chest constricted with equal parts fear and dread.

  She had been training for years. She could control her igneia.

  Only this wasn’t her igneia.

  Ash shoved aside the thought and thrust out her palms. A funnel of blue arced over the waves. The heat in it came straight from her heart, stole her breath with the searing intensity of the white-blue flames.

  From one of the Deiman ships, an Air Divine warrior let loose a column of wind that slammed into Ash’s fire. She flinched and her fire arc missed the lead ship, slamming into the water with a hiss that clouded steam into the air.

  Cursing, Ash shook her hands out by her sides and shot another stream of blue fire into the night, chasing the orange ones sent by the Kulan sailors. Sweat beaded along her hairline, racing in trickles down her neck. She focused on bending the fire stream toward the lead ship, toward Anathrasa.

  Anathrasa, whose alliance with Geoxus had caused Ash’s mother’s death on the sands of Kula’s arena, and who had drained Cassia of her energeia before Petros killed her, and who had drained Ash’s own energeia.

  Anathrasa, who would force Madoc to destroy the world—or force Madoc to murder her himself in order to stop her.

  However demented she might be, Anathrasa was still his mother—and beyond that, could he even truly hurt her? Or would she just rip the anathreia from his body before he could do anything and leave him an empty, aching shell while she went about siring other Soul Divine mortal children who would actually obey her?

  The fire pouring from Ash’s hands wavered, then shot out even stronger. It burned so hot she saw the wood rail at her hip start to glow red. But it wasn’t just the fire that was hot—it was her, her body, and if she hadn’t been wearing fireproof Kulan reeds, she’d be bare in the night.

  Ash clamped her eyes shut, every nerve aching with conflicting emotions.

  Burn it all. Kill her.

  Stop! It’s too much—too much—

  Then, a scream.

  Ash peeled her eyes open. Images blurred in sweat, flashes of firelight, and movement on the Deiman ships.

  Anathrasa, bent over on the forward deck, her lone figure flickering in the light from the Kulan fires.

  Hope tasted bitter. Had Ash done that? Had she truly hurt—

  But then she saw Madoc reaching for his mother, his face set with vicious intent.

  He had been trying to take Anathrasa’s soul. Were they close enough to each other?

  Who had screamed?

  Madoc’s knees cracked onto the deck. He let out a strangled moan and Ash’s resolve tightened.

  There could be no more pretending that Madoc had given her her own igneia back. The night they’d left Deimos, Madoc truly had given her Ignitus’s power. The fire god’s body was gone, but his energeia lived on. It was why the Kulans were still able to use igneia—it hadn’t vanished into nothingness. It was in her.

  No longer did Ash have to pull igneia from a source. It was always just there now, inside her, ready. And she could make orange flames, sure—gold and yellow and scarlet. But the first one that burst out of her was always a startling turquoise flicker of scalding heat.

  She had the god of fire’s soul inside her now. She had power,
and damn it all, she would use it.

  It terrified her. It twisted her stomach into knots and had her choking down food she couldn’t taste and falling into fitful sleeps, because she was terrified of what having this much power meant. What was she now? Who was she now?

  But she was more terrified by how much it didn’t terrify her.

  And seeing Madoc on his knees, clutching his head, made all Ash’s worries seem trivial.

  This ended now.

  Ash stepped up to the rail, her nails biting into her palms. The Deiman ships twisted through the obsidian waves, a trio of matching wooden bows. Their masts flew the flag of Deimos, a pearly column against a silver background, and the orange flashes of Kulan fire gave the flags a vivid glow. Across the decks, Ash caught sight of Deiman centurions with their fingers splayed, using geoeia to keep palm-sized knots of pebbles aloft, while the Lak warriors funneled coils of wind over their heads. All of them waited for Anathrasa’s orders.

  Anathrasa was now clutching the wooden rail. Was she gasping? Had Madoc done something to her?

  She’s weak, Ash’s warrior instincts barked. Attack!

  “Attack!” Anathrasa’s gravelly voice filled the night air.

  For weeks, Ash had been stacking rage like kindling in her soul. Cerulean fire streamed out of her, charging from the Kulan ship to the lead Deiman vessel. Anathrasa’s face was pale in the coming light, and she dropped behind the rail as the scalding flames raced across the ship. The fire washed into the Deiman centurions and Lak soldiers behind her, who stumbled back.

  Ash didn’t hear their cries of pain. The sear and churn of the fire swallowed her up.

  A lifetime ago, Ash had practiced with other fire dancers before performing for Ignitus, and she’d trained with her mother in igneia fighting techniques. She’d thrown fire whips and sustained flames and had spun fire in interlocking circles over and over and over, until she had complete control.

  She didn’t want control now. She wanted Anathrasa to cower knowing that Ignitus’s energeia lived on. She wanted the Mother Goddess to know that, for all her centuries of planning her revenge against her murderous children, she could not extinguish Kula.

  Sweat beads tumbled down Ash’s temple as she bent her arms, remembering her dancing, all elegance; and her mother, all precision.

  Her fire coiled around one, two, three remaining soldiers, and she squeezed. The flames contracted and her victims shrieked.

  These weren’t the screams she wanted.

  Ash’s concentration broke and she dropped the soldiers. Where was Anathrasa?

  “The God Killer! Attack!” shouted one of the men she’d released. “Avenge Geoxus!”

  Ash huffed an empty laugh. She remembered Geoxus’s body dropping limply onto the marble floor of his throne room, the knife in her hand wet with his blood. She’d been suppressing her satisfaction at killing him just like she’d suppressed Ignitus’s power. She’d thought she should feel guilt, or regret, or reverence for killing something immortal—but all she’d felt was glee.

  God Killer. She liked the sound of that.

  More centurions used geoeia to hurl rocks into the air. More Air Divine sent powerful winds to carry the rocks higher, faster. A wave of stones vaulted through the star-speckled sky, a shower of rocks as vicious as arrows.

  Time slowed. There was only the burn of fire in Ash’s limbs, the taste of salt and sweat on the air, the vague awareness of Spark tending to a barely conscious Madoc.

  Ash’s heart gave a hard lurch, horror almost yanking her to her knees next to him—it was only by sheer force of will that she kept her feet. Then that will turned to fury.

  Anathrasa had hurt him.

  Tor shouted something, but Ash couldn’t hear through the noise in her mind.

  She thought she’d feel some release after finally breaking the restraints she’d placed on herself. But the more igneia she poured out of her fingertips, the more a different need built. Pressure welled up in her throat, something that had sat under her igneia these past two weeks, waiting, waiting, waiting.

  The stones came closer. Kulans across the deck sent up a cry.

  Beyond them, Anathrasa sneered.

  You will not touch him, Ash promised. You will never touch him again.

  She lifted her arms. Her blue fire raged, hurtling up from the deck of the Deiman ship and washing through the air after the stones. Some of the rocks she could simply burn up before they did any damage; others she redirected with quick flashes of heat.

  Fire and earth.

  It made Ash dizzy, seeing the flames twist around the rocks. Each bump of fire against rock hurt. She could feel the singe, a sharp jab of awareness that made her recoil.

  Ash sank back to her own body with a jolt and gulped scorched air. Her nerves felt deadened. She was raw and drunk and dizzy. It was so sweet, so simple, to use igneia—

  But she wasn’t using only igneia.

  She could feel the rocks. She could feel the grit of porous sandstone, the razor-sharp edge of shale. They were like fire, but they were nothing like fire, and Ash felt a part of her soul sigh, stretch, and burst forth.

  “Ash!”

  A voice, calling her. Something bucked beneath her—the very foundation of the earth.

  “Ash—stop!”

  The world pitched again. No—the ship.

  Reality broke over her. Her heart hammered as though she’d run twenty laps around Kula’s largest arena, and when she peeled her eyes open, she saw rocks.

  Rocks all around her.

  Boulders, chunks of marble, granite—they filled up the deck of the Kulan ship.

  Tor’s fingers bore into her arms. “Ash, you have to stop! You’re sinking the ship!”

  You’re sinking the ship.

  “No.” Her mind tripped. “I’m trying to stop the assault—”

  But as she spoke, a rock filled her open palms, then clattered to her feet. Another followed, and another, stones pouring out of her hands.

  She was Fire Divine, not Earth Divine. She couldn’t be—

  The night they’d fled Deimos, Madoc had taken Ignitus’s igneia—and he’d taken Geoxus’s geoeia, too. Madoc had been nearly unconscious, unable to walk on his own, from the pressure of holding two gods’ souls in his body. Then, belowdecks, he’d given Ash igneia. Afterward, he’d been his normal self.

  No one had asked where Geoxus’s geoeia had gone.

  Ash’s senses widened and she felt every grain of sand on the Deimos ships. Geoeia pulsed through her body, heavier than igneia, but in a sturdy, immobile way that Ash suddenly craved.

  Impossibly, she felt herself smile.

  She was the god of fire now, and the god of earth.

  She had both powers.

  Tor shook her. A look of horror crossed his face, and it was enough to break her out of her euphoria.

  “You’re sinking the ship,” he repeated. “You have to get rid of these rocks.”

  Behind him, Taro and Spark knelt next to Madoc, the three of them gaping at her.

  The Kulan ship groaned as the great vessel lowered, dropping closer and closer to the thrashing ocean waves. This boat was built for speed, not to bear the weight of stones.

  Ash’s mouth fell open. “I—I don’t know how I’m doing this.”

  Burn it all—she had no idea how to use geoeia. Where had these rocks even come from, except her own subconscious will? Panic heated her body, and columns of blue fire surged out of her hands.

  Tor wrenched back, hissing in pain as the fire licked his ankles. Only Ignitus’s fire could burn a Kulan. Her fire. When she’d sparred with Tor in the past two weeks, she’d tried and tried to keep her flames away from his skin. Still, she saw red burns on his shins and arms. He had never mentioned it. Neither had she.

  She buckled, dropping onto a boulder. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—”

  Her apology died. Sorry for what? Burning him? Sinking the ship?

  Tor’s face was sympathetic but scared.
/>   Their ship was in chaos, Kulan sailors hefting stones overboard, while in the distance, Anathrasa’s ships sat still and watchful, likely confused as to why their prey was suddenly sinking.

  Ash had doomed them.

  Stomach clenching, she gagged and stared down at her traitorous hands, now wreathed in flame. She shook her fingers, curled them into fists.

  Geoeia, she willed. Control it, control—

  The ship lurched to starboard before rocking back to port. The crew wailed, grabbing for purchase on wood or stone as the ship rose through the water and came to a trembling stop.

  They had been sailing for so long that the sudden immobility made Ash dizzy.

  Had they hit the blockade? She and Tor stumbled for the rail and he shot fire over the water.

  Not water now. Ice.

  The whole of the ocean around the Kulan ship had solidified into a sheet of foggy ice that matched the barricade at their backs. Only the Deiman ships, rocking in angry waves, were still free. And Anathrasa, now upright again, was calling orders for her centurions to regroup.

  “What happened?” Ash panted, her breath a cloud in the chilly air. Even with igneia living inside her, she was so cold here.

  “Hydra,” Tor guessed.

  Madoc, now standing, shot his eyes to the wall of ice and vines. “Or Water Divine guards on the barricade.”

  Madoc. He was all right.

  Ash lurched toward him, not caring about anything else. She had been furious at Tor for playing the role of overprotective father and for trying to keep her and Madoc apart on this voyage, as though she was a child who’d given her heart to the first boy she’d seen. She threw herself around Madoc now, Tor’s glower be damned.

  “What did she do to you?” she whispered against his neck.

  His arms clamped against her back, weaker than usual, but still resolute. “I’m not sure. I tried to take her anathreia.”

  Ash stiffened. She wanted to tell him he shouldn’t have done that, not yet, he wasn’t ready. But how many other chances would they have? She would have done the same thing.