Quintessence Sky (46 page)

Then it hit her. The kiss. It hadn't been a
tragic, last symbol of love. He had pushed his tongue into her
mouth, taking enough of her saliva to make a connection. He was
taking her pain on himself.

She had only just comprehended his meaning
when he clenched his teeth and turned away from her. She knew it
had worked. The fire was higher now, but she felt nothing. Matthew
was feeling the agony that ought to be hers, the flames that even
now were licking at her feet.

She spoke, making her voice calm and
confident, loud enough that everyone could hear. "Are you done with
this charade yet, Captain Torres?"

Torres smiled at her, but there was
uncertainty in his eyes. "Very bravely spoken. Perhaps the devil
gives you strength. But even the devil cannot stand against
hell."

"You are mistaken," Catherine said. "We are
God's elect. Have you not heard of the three friends of Daniel, who
walked in the furnace and were not burned?"

"True. But God does not rescue heretics. And
the devil is not above twisting the words of holy Scripture."

The fire was rising fast. Matthew must be
suffering terribly, but he lay unmoving on the ground, not
betraying his anguish. Catherine hated to do it, but she knew she
must. It was what Matthew wanted. She lifted her foot and thrust it
into the heart of the flames. She saw Matthew's foot jerk, but he
didn't cry out.

She turned away from him and faced the
Spanish. "You cannot hurt me. We will tell you nothing. Repent of
your violence and greed and release us, and perhaps God will
forgive you. Perhaps he will allow you to return to your own
country in peace."

It was the best she could do. It couldn't
possibly fool them for long. They would just hurt someone else, or
they would wait long enough that Matthew would cry out, or the
substitution would wear off, and she would burn. Torres's eyes were
wide. If he were a monster like Tavera, this wouldn't work. He
would keep pressing until someone suffered. If he were devout,
though, doing this out of a twisted sense of godliness, then, just
maybe, it would have some effect.

Torres pulled a long branch out of the fire,
its other end hot embers. He reached over the fire with the stick
and pressed the embers into her cheek. It sizzled, and she smelled
her own flesh burning, but she felt nothing. She forced herself not
to look at Matthew. Instead, she smiled. "Stop this masquerade.
Would you fight against God?"

The conquistadors were backing away, crossing
themselves, clearly terrified. Torres dropped the stick. "Stand
your ground!" he shouted at them. "This is not God's work, but the
work of the devil. They are witches and demon worshippers. Do not
listen to them."

Catherine could have cried. She looked at
Matthew now, still curled on the ground, trying not attract
attention. It was intense bravery, and she loved him for it. Loved
him for taking her agony, if only for a time, and for being willing
to give his life in an attempt to save hers. Even if it hadn't
worked.

It was too late now, anyway. The fire was
burning too hot and too high, and there was no water; the Spanish
couldn't put it out now even if they wanted to. The smoke was
thick, making it hard to breathe, and she coughed violently. It
occurred to her that even if the flames never harmed her, she could
die from breathing the smoke. If the flames spread high enough that
they burned the ropes around her wrists, she could walk out
unharmed. But her wrists were tied above her head. By the time the
fire reached them, Matthew would be dead, and the effect of the
substitution would end. They would die together.

She wished that, before they died, she could
at least see his face one last time. Then, as if hearing her wish,
Matthew stirred and raised his head, astonishment written on his
face.

THE PAIN was worse than Matthew had imagined.
He moaned through gritted teeth, trying to keep silent. His legs
were in searing, blistering agony. He refused to writhe, refused to
scream, giving Catherine a chance to make this desperate attempt
work. When she held her foot in the fire, he opened his mouth to
scream, only to feel the strong, knotted hand of his father clamp
firmly over his mouth.

His father's voice whispered urgently in his
ear. "Don't give up now. You can do this."

Matthew clenched his teeth again, focusing on
the pain, trying to disassociate what he was feeling from the
reactions of his body. The fire consumed him. It became hard to
remember who he was or what had been so important to him a moment
ago; the world contained nothing but pain. It was colored lights
flashing behind his eyes, a buzzing in his ears, a suffocating
stench. There was rhythm to the pain, a throbbing, pulsing beat
that threatened to split him open.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

One moment, excruciating pain; the next,
nothing, as if it had never been. Afraid for Catherine, Matthew
snapped open his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. If the
pain had left him, it would be back to her.

But no. She was looking at him, still
unaffected. Yet he felt nothing. What was happening?

The fire rose quickly now, crackling loudly,
filling the air with smoke. Catherine coughed violently, but she
still seemed unaffected by the heat of the fire.

"Look, in the flames!" Ferguson shouted. He
pointed, and Matthew looked. There, standing in the fire with
Catherine, was a man. Torres saw it, too. He fell to his knees,
unable to tear his eyes away. "What have I done? Get water,
quickly! Douse the fire!"

The man in the fire raised his arms, and a
giant salamander leaped out of the flames. It was twice as big as a
man, and its flesh was ablaze. It fell on a conquistador, its
gleaming mouth agape. The others scrambled back, but they weren't
quick enough. More salamanders leaped from the fire, burning like
torches but unaffected by the flames. They chased down the
soldiers, fast and relentless, and where they touched skin and
cloth the men were engulfed in fire. Only Torres escaped, running
past his screaming men and into the forest beyond.

The ropes holding Catherine's wrists broke,
and she stumbled out, coughing and gasping for air, but otherwise
unharmed. The man whom they had seen in the fire was gone.

MAASHA KAATRA fought like one possessed. He
had always been fast and strong, but today he felt invincible, his
sword slicing cleanly through flesh, the manticores' pincers and
tails unable to touch him. Even so, it was the salamanders, not
him, who turned the tide. Rinchirith's manticores thought he had
called them out to war against them, and many of Tanalabrinu's
seemed to think he had as well. The enemy panicked, and once they
were on the run, their advantage was lost.

Tanalabrinu's army pursued them down the
slopes, but they scattered, retreating in every direction. Maasha
Kaatra didn't veer to help track them down. Antonia had sent him on
a mission, and he would not be diverted. He could see the smoke
pouring into the sky above the trees, and he headed that way. He
was sure he would be too late. With that much smoke, the fire must
be large, but he wouldn't give up now. He kept running.

As he drew close, he heard screams and the
grunting sounds he now associated with the salamanders. Had they
reached the spot before him? If so, who were they attacking?

His answer came quickly, as a conquistador
with a captain's insignia on his helmet came running toward him
through the trees, hardly looking where he was going. Maasha Kaatra
didn't stop. He swung his curved sword in a familiar arc and took
the man's head off his shoulders.

When he reached the clearing and the fire, he
saw that there was nothing left for him to do. The battle was
over.

The fire still burned, not a cool, white
quintessence flame, but a roaring furnace of heat that made the air
shimmer. The salamanders were everywhere, leaping and devouring,
but Maasha Kaatra wasn't afraid of them. He couldn't tear his eyes
away from the fire. It beckoned to him. He looked into its depths,
mesmerized.

The power that was in him, keeping him alive,
that he had drawn from the stars, wanted to be in that fire. It was
as if he was a key and the fire was a lock. He knew he would fit
perfectly into it, would click and turn and spring open. Instinct
took hold, the instincts of the two leviathans he had entered and
overtaken. He thought he had conquered them, but that wasn't
entirely true. They had entered him as well. He had overcome them
for a time, but he couldn't hold back their fate forever.

He needed that fire, and it needed him. He
stepped toward it, unafraid. He heard someone calling his name, but
he didn't stop. He walked into the fire.

There was no pain. He felt, distantly, that
his skin was burning. He licked his lips, but his tongue was dry.
Light was leeching out of his pores. There were beams of light, far
away, shining up to the sky from the ocean, and he joined them, a
golden river of light springing up out of the fire, with him borne
aloft on it, leaving his body behind to burn.

He left the island behind in a moment, and
then the Earth itself grew distant as he was lifted into the realm
of the stars. A great flash of light seemed to incinerate
everything he could see, and then it was dark. Utterly dark. The
void.

Was this it, then? Was this where it ended? A
pinprick of light broke the darkness. Maasha Kaatra shielded his
eyes with his hand, and was surprised to discover that he had eyes,
and a hand. There was motion in the light. He walked toward it.

In the distance, he saw two figures, young,
female. The light streaming behind them made it hard to make out
their features. "Girls?" he said. He whispered their names through
dry lips, but they heard him anyway. He could see it in their
postures, in the way they turned their heads, and then they ran to
him.

"Papa!"

CHAPTER 28

MATTHEW threw his arms around Catherine. They
both watched in horror and amazement as the burning salamanders
attacked their enemies but left the colonists unharmed. The man who
had walked in the fire with Catherine was gone.

"Maasha Kaatra!" Catherine screamed. Matthew
followed her gaze and saw the big man walking toward the fire,
heedless of the fighting around him.

"What's he doing?"

"I don't know," Catherine said. She shouted
his name again, but he didn't pause. Without changing expression or
stride, he walked directly into the flames. His clothes and hair
caught instantly, but the intent expression on his face didn't
change. Sweat poured from his body, and then, incredibly, light.
The light shone out blindingly in every direction, and then became
a column pointed at the sky. Maasha Kaatra's legs gave way, and he
collapsed into the embers. The light blazed upwards, apparently
from his body, which burned away rapidly. Finally, when there
seemed to be nothing left, the light faded and disappeared.