Songbird

1. Dislocation-4

They came for her with boots on stone and the rattle of keys. Harsh light burned her eyes and voices brayed complaint at the reeking bucket. They led her from the cell, hands gripping her arms or she would have fallen. Daylight and the warmth of the sun hurt her eyes, made them water. She glimpsed trees and high walls of stone blushed by the lowering sun. She stumbled at a sudden change underfoot and realised she was now walking on grass. Nearby she heard the gurgle and rush of a stream. The men deposited her at the opening of what looked like a makeshift fence and prodded her through. Her hands were so cold and stiff they ached. She rubbed them on her jeans, puzzled they had released her without a word and in such a strange manner. Were they were setting her free? She blinked and looked around. Why had they put her in an animal pen? A circular wall surrounded her. Standing in the grassy centre she turned around and around, wondering what she was supposed to do. The barrier was rib-high and woven from long dry canes. At the bottom of the wall the canes formed a mat that extended about a metre toward her. Outside, men were closing the gap through which she had entered. They avoided looking at her. She saw Yashi and went toward him, but the cane matting stopped her; it was springy, difficult to walk on, and equipped with thorns.

She called to him over the wall. ‘Why am I here?’

He held up his hand, palm out. ‘Go back.’

‘What? Where…?’ Did he mean for her to go back home?

He pointed to the middle of the enclosure. ‘Stay in the centre.’

A sudden whoosh and a crackling sound swung her around. The barrier on the far side erupted in flames. A second later, fire flared in two other places around the circle. Heedless of the treacherous footing, she threw herself at the wall. Thorns tore her clothes, cut her hands.

‘Help me! Please—help me.’ She managed to climb two steps up the wall, but the springy canes hampered her efforts and every movement hooked her on the thorns.

Yashi shouted. ‘Get back. Quickly. Before this wood catches.’

‘I’m stuck.’ She kept her sight locked on his pale blue eyes. ‘For god’s sake, help me!’

One of the men prodded her with a long pole. She grabbed at it and missed. A flame shot up between them. The pole caught her high in the chest and disentangled her with a tremendous shove. She fell awkwardly and thrashed about, knocking away the thorny twig stuck in her thigh. A strip of her white shirt fluttered on the fiery wall.

She pushed to her feet. ‘Get me out!’

Yashi was no longer there.

‘Irenya O’Neil.’

The voice jerked her around, hope surging through the hollow of her chest. Over the flames, she saw the archprince astride a horse. His features trembled in the heat-warped air. Free of the silver helmet, his hair shone in the light. She stumbled toward him.

His voice carried over the crackling of the fire. ‘This is a test. There is no smoke. If the heat threatens, use your Gift to escape.’

‘I don’t know what you want. Please…’

As the solid canes ignited, the barrier flared into a wall of fire. Her body, so cold just minutes ago, was now too hot, her skin beginning to prickle. The strip of shirt crisped and shrivelled.

She retreated to the middle. They had planned this for her while she had been vomiting into the bucket, while she lay striving to understand, crying for Mikey in the dark. They had made it to trap her—to watch her die.

Bright fingers of yellow began to lick through the cane matting. She dropped to the ground and pushed at the matting with her feet. The springy canes hardly budged. Arms protecting her face, she tried to stamp out the creeping flames, but the heat from the wall forced her back. She turned in circles, sobbing in raw bursts. Tendrils of smoke snaked into her mouth and nose. He said no smoke. Above the roar of the fire she thought she could hear sirens. She prayed the police would reach her in time.

A sudden breeze fanned the flames. Some were close enough now for her to hear each detonation, each crack and pop. She buried her face in her arms and huddled to the earth. She tried to shape the mewling in her throat into a prayer, see Mikey’s face, but her mind wouldn’t respond. A long moan seemed to come from her throat and ears and eyes, as if her very essence was escaping, leaving her body to endure a hideous death. Terror obliterated every thought and image, burned away her name.

A harsh blow hit her on the back, tearing a cry from her. Another hit her head and shoulder. The blows struck her again and again, the stinging pain making her twist and flinch. Then the nature of the pain registered. Cold and wet. Water was pouring over her neck, running down her scalp, dripping in runnels off overheated skin. The repeated drenching on her back set up an ache as unpleasant as the heat had been. A great roar exploded around her and the air filled with spitting steam and debris. She hunched into the ground, terrified of what might come next. In clouds of ash and steam, the circle of fire hissed to a reluctant end.

A thin squeal issued from her throat, changed pitch, gathered strength, and emerged in a long howl. The sound quivered and broke into sobs. She cried for the sheer relief that she was alive, for the nightmare hours alone in the dark, for the supermarket trip from which she had not returned. She cried for the pain of each second away from her son, for her parents and brother who had not lived to see her grow, and for her grandmother who died without knowing she still loved her. She cried until every bone and sinew ached. Before a spiralling exhaustion claimed her, she felt a hand on her shoulder, saw Yashi’s tear-streaked face, and heard his voice rough with emotion.

‘Come away now, Miss. His grace wants me to take you to Aeryl.’