Chapter 288

Warm ash falling like snow. The two ships sailing south under a sky that gets redder with every league. And ahead, filling the horizon, a branch: black, colossal, a continent of charcoal arching down out of the sky and dipping its tip into the starlit sea, cracks across it glowing like embers, smoke rising off it in slow columns.

at the wheel, a wet rag over his mouth, squinting.

The crew at the rail, and on the planks at their feet, their shadows stretching ahead of them toward the branch, sharp and black, a beat before the glow that casts them reaches the ship.

Both ships coming in under the branch to a black wharf of charcoal, where the Burn meets the sea. And along the branch, climbing up its back as far as the eye can go: a line of people. Hundreds. Quiet. Each one holding a jar.

Old and young, sailors' widows, a farmer, a child with a jar bigger than her head. Clay jars, glass jars, a biscuit tin. Ash in all of them. Nobody talking.

as the crews step off onto it. Everywhere, flickering, ghosts of things: a burned moth relit, flying in a circle for a minute, then crumbling to ash; a charred fence-post standing whole and green for a minute, then going black; a burned letter on the ground reading itself aloud in a woman's voice, "…come home soon, I've kept your…", and stopping.

sniffing a black footprint pressed into the charcoal: a small bare foot. Then another, and another, a trail of them up the branch. Warm. He lies down on one with a happy groan, like a dog on a hearth.

far up the branch, from the very crown, carrying down on the hot wind. A chant, a hundred voices, over and over:

And under it, a woman screaming.

At its crown, a black hill of ash, five hundred years of it, shaped like a pyre, steps cut into its side. Around it, in white robes with soot halos painted round their faces, the Everlasting, a hundred of them, chanting. And on top of the pyre, arms spread, held by white-hot chains wound round her and staked into the ash: a woman of charcoal, glowing.

EVERLASTING · K-II MARKED · keepers of the pyre

already moving, lightning on his fists.

Slight, straight-backed even in chains. Charcoal skin cracked all over, every crack glowing like an ember. Hair of smoke, drifting upward. Eyes two live coals. A dress of fine grey ash. And at her feet, in the pyre, the ash she's being made to relight: a shape rising out of it, a crowned man of flame, flickering, failing, and every flicker tearing a new crack across her face.

ASKA · FERDINAND-7 · unranked (Order threat class K-IV) · not on any board

through her teeth, hoarse as smoke.

on the pyre's steps below her, in the rags of a showman's red-and-gold coat, lips scarred white, his breath steaming in the furnace-heat as if he stood in snow. Arms raised to the flickering crowned shape.

THE KINDLER · K-IV SHAPED · Scalelist #2,451 · High Flame of the Everlasting (Gluttony II)

her cracks blazing white, a scream tearing out of her, the crowned flame shape flaring once more and collapsing back into ash. Her coal eyes dimming.

Smurjan's shadow sweeping a dozen Everlasting off their feet.

Rougeina Swapping with a white-hot chain-stake, appearing on the summit beside Aska, the stake now jammed in the hill where she stood.

Perne, from the Upp Igen's masthead far below, Fjärran, the Long Look, a crimson tear: "Chain on her left wrist. Weak link. Third from the stake." BANG. It snaps.

Svala, pointed at the chain across Aska's chest, the crimson mark blazing: one line, through it, and on, crashing into the pyre's far side in a cloud of ash.

half free, slumping in what's left of the chains, coal eyes flickering open at the strangers tearing her loose.

turning on the steps, seeing them. Not angry. Hungry. He looks at Vigolas's fists, at the lightning wrapped round them, and licks his scarred lips.

Vigolas's Emerald Knuckle thrown at him, a column of green fire, and the Kindler opening his mouth wide, and swallowing it: the whole column of lightning-fire pouring down his throat like water down a drain.

staring at an empty fist.

shivering, rubbing his hands, steam pouring off his lips.

The Kindler breathing out: everything he just ate coming back up his throat hotter, a roaring river of green-white flame the width of a road, a dragon's breath, pouring down the pyre steps at the crews.

sliding on his knees on the dry charcoal, chalking at a sprint, a wall rising in front of the crews (TOK — VRRRMMP), and the breath of fire smashing against it, the chalk blackening, cracking, holding.

Krydog coming over the top of the chalk wall through the last of the flame, smoking, going down on the pyre steps, getting up, ba-dum, ba-DUM, and putting a Rising Fist into the Kindler's ribs. The gaunt man folding over it.

Vigolas behind him, not throwing lightning this time, just a fist, a plain pirate's fist, into the Kindler's jaw.

at the summit, Bror up, wrenching the last white-hot chain-stake out of the ash with his free hand, his palm searing, and Aska falling free into Roffe's huge arms.

The Everlasting falling back off the crown, dragging their chains, into the thick smoke rising off the pyre. The Kindler last, holding his ribs, steam pouring off him, looking back up at the woman in the cook's arms.

in the smoke, smiling with his scarred white lips.

The smoke closing over him. The Everlasting gone. The crown of the Burn quiet except for the crackle of the branch and the pyre's ash smoking. Two crews standing round a cook with a woman of charcoal in his arms.

pushing herself out of Roffe's arms, staggering, standing. Her cracks wider than they were. Her coal eyes dim. She doesn't look at any of them. She looks down the branch.

The whole length of the Burn falling away below, and on it, all the way down to the sea: the pilgrims. The long, quiet line. Hundreds of them. Every one with a jar. Every one looking up at her.

beside her, hand out to steady her.

walking down the pyre steps toward the line, unhurried, a mourner's pace, ash sifting off her, black footprints smoking behind her, counting under her breath. Stopping at the first pilgrim. Holding out her hand for the jar.