Firesoul by Gary Kloster

Author:Gary Kloster [Kloster, Gary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-60125-742-0
Publisher: Paizo Inc.
Published: 2015-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Lost Things

Nestled in the bag, the kindi stared up at her with brown agate eyes. Its face was small but exquisitely detailed. Not stylized, but realistic, so realistic that Jiri almost expected the little lips to curl up into a smile.

A smile. Jiri could picture it, a cocky little smile that would make this face so handsome. Make it look just like—

Hadzi. It looks like Hadzi. Jiri picked up the carving. The ebony wood was warm to the touch, but not hot. The iron spear, free from rust despite the passage of centuries, didn't burn her when she ran her thumb lightly over it.

She didn't touch the face.

It wasn't exact. The nose wasn't quite right, and there were lines lightly carved in the wood. This was an image of an older man. But it was close.

Our ancestors made this. Long ago. When they made the walls of Kibwe, when they made many things.

Many dangerous things.

Who are you? What do you know? What can you tell me? Jiri felt the questions crowding around her. What was this carving doing in the heart of the Pyre? Did that mean something? Was it related somehow to the kindi that Patima had stolen from that terrible place?

"Or were you just lost?" Jiri whispered. She tilted the carving, watching the sharp edge of the spear sparkle in the light. Oza had warned her about the kindi. But he told me how to use them, too. Why would he do that, if he hadn't suspected that some still existed? If he hadn't expected that, someday, Jiri might have to use one?

Before she could think more about it, Jiri pressed her thumb down on the sharp point of the kindi's spear. The pain was instant, a small sting, and she raised her hand. Her blood tipped the spear now, and a fat drop of red sat on the pad of her thumb. Jiri took a deep breath and brushed her fingers across the necklace that hung so heavy around her neck.

Watch over me, Oza. If you can.

She pressed her bloody thumb to the carved lips of the kindi.

"Speak, and I will listen," she said, and darkness rushed in, boiling over everything like smoke, and took the world away.

∗ ∗ ∗

The stars were bright.

They hung over Jiri, brilliant white dancers turning in the sky. Jiri blinked at them, then let her gaze fall.

She was in a city.

A city like Kibwe, but not. In places she could see the walls, high and dark against the sky, but mostly they were cut off by the buildings that stood around her. Buildings of hard granite and soft limestone, buildings solid but graceful, their walls crowded with carvings. Beautiful stone inlays made those walls glow with color beneath the too-bright stars, gorgeous as butterfly wings.

Jiri turned slowly, staring at them all. She stood in a vast open space, a great circle of smooth stone bounded by those buildings. On its edges, high pillars rose, each one topped by a statue. Men

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