Earth Shaker: A Fire Heart Novella (The Fire Heart Chronicles) Read online

  The rom baro sucked in a sharp breath. “And?”

  “Wesh and Nico disappeared,” Hanzi continued, voicing what I was afraid to. “Marko and Duke stayed to look for them.”

  My father and Danior exchanged an intense look.

  “They are the best,” my father said. He could try to fool us, but I could see the tension in his thick neck. He was nervous for his son. “If anyone can find Wesh and Nico, it’s them.”

  “You’re right. Let’s give them a couple of hours. If they aren’t back by noon, we send another team after them.” Danior straightened his back. “Now, let’s get these animals settled.”

  I glanced at the building behind us.

  The place looked like a prison. It even felt like a prison, but it wasn’t. If I squinted, I could pretend it was a stable with six large stalls on each side—with reinforced walls, thick metal bars, no windows, and big doors, which were watched day and night.

  These were built to hold the animals until we could take them to the sanctuary—a hidden place in northern Canada. It was a temporary condition. The safest place for them right now.

  It still looked like prison, though.

  It didn’t take long to guide the animals from the truck to their cages, especially the white lion, who had growled when we tried to catch him and simply walked to the cage by himself, much like he had done before.

  Everyone looked as stunned as I felt by the lion’s lack of resistance.

  While Hanzi, my father, and I made sure the animals had food and water, Danior called on the other warriors.

  “Take the alchemist away,” he instructed. Armed to the teeth and with their magic at their fingertips, the warriors escorted the alchemist to the real prison. Danior accompanied them.

  After they were gone and all the animals were settled, I halted in front of the white lion’s cage. He had lost his mate. Lots of animals had died today.

  My father came to my side. “You should take care of that wound.”

  “I will later.” Now that the adrenaline was fading, the pain stung more and more. “We need a plan to take these animals to the sanctuary soon. Having too many here is dangerous.” I looked at my father. He was a tall man with wide shoulders and a long beard, but warm and kind brown eyes. “They’ve already suffered too much. They need a safe place.”

  “I know.” My father rested a heavy hand on my upper back. “But right now, here is the safest place for them.”

  “I—” My phone dinged.

  I fished it from my pocket and read the message.

  Marko: We’re back. Going to the infirmary.

  I gasped. “Marko is back.”

  Hanzi stayed with the animals while my father and I raced to the infirmary on the other side of the enclave.

  When we arrived, the lobby was empty. I counted two minutes while I looked from the front door to the archway that led to the back room. Marko was coming to the infirmary, or he was already being treated in the back room?

  With a grunt, my father started walking toward the back room.

  I held his arm. “No, wait a little longer.”

  Then, Marko and Duke emerged from the archway. Like my father had done to me, I ran my eyes over them to make sure they were okay. A long, relieved sigh escaped me when I noticed they didn’t look any worse than the last time I had seen them.

  My father approached them and clasped their upper arms. “What happened?”

  Danior burst into the infirmary and rushed to his son. “Are you two okay?”

  Duke nodded. “We are.”

  My father frowned. “But?”

  “Wesh is in the back,” my brother said. “He was beaten up pretty bad, but he’ll be okay.”

  Silence.

  “And Nico?” I asked.

  Duke’s eyes flickered before he answered. “Wesh said the alchemists took him.”

  By Saint Sara-la-Kali.

  Danior paced from side to side. “We’ll send another team to look for him. And—”

  “Dat,” Duke interrupted him. “We know what happens when an alchemist takes a tzigane.”

  My father stepped forward and clasped his brother’s shoulders. “Danior, there’s nothing we can do now. The alchemist don’t—”

  “I don’t care!” Danior barked. I flinched from the fury and frustration irradiating from his body. “I won’t let another one of us succumb to the evil machinations of these pests. If we are quick enough, we can find him and we can save him.”

  After a last hard look between brothers, Danior marched out of the infirmary.

  I watched as the door slammed closed after him. I got why he was frustrated, why we were all frustrated. So many times, we had tried to save tziganes in time. To no avail.

  Two years ago, the warriors were out on a mission to find a Heart Flower—the rare flower that gave us our powers—when they were attacked by a large group of alchemists. Douglas, Danior’s oldest son, was captured. A couple of days later, the warriors found his body abandoned on the side of a road—beaten, broken, with thousands of cuts, bloodless, and missing several body parts.

  No one had ever come back from being kidnapped by alchemists. As far as we knew, they killed us right after and then harvested our blood and specific body parts—eyes, ears, tongue, nails, and heart.

  It seemed like a gruesome death, one no one deserved.

  The healer emerged from the back room, a washcloth in her damp hands.

  “How is he, Roma?” my father asked, looking at the healer.

  Roma sighed. Whenever she was tired or aggravated, the wrinkles around her eyes and neck seemed more pronounced. “He was beaten pretty badly. He might have a concussion, so I would like to keep him overnight for observation. Other than that, he has a broken arm and several purpling bruises, but he should be fine.”

  “Is he awake?” Marko asked.

  Roma shook her head. “I gave him something strong for the pain. He’ll be out for a couple of hours.”

  My father grunted. “We’ll talk to him later, then.”

  Silence filled the room while Roma continued to pat at her hands with the washcloth.

  Then Duke looked up at my father. “I should go talk to my father.”

  My father nodded in agreement. Duke left the infirmary. On instinct, Marko took a step to follow Duke, but stopped and looked at our father. “I can help him.”

  “I know.” My father nodded. “You can go. Danior might listen to the two of you.”

  Marko glanced at me, then put his fist over his chest and bowed to our father. “Sastimos, dat.”

  Then my father turned to me. His eyes were heavy with emotion. He offered me a small smile. “And you’re getting close to being a great warrior like your brother and cousin.”

  “I better be, after all the training you and the guys put me through,” I said in a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood.

  But it was true. Since I was young, I had shown no interest in what the other girls had—first dolls, then makeup and dancing, then knitting and other domestic activities. All I ever wanted was to be a great warrior like my father and his brother, and my brother and cousins. My mother detested it, but my father thought it was the best idea anyone had ever had. A girl warrior? He helped me prove it was possible, and now I was one of the best. And at only eighteen years old, I was one of the youngest.

  He nodded. “Now, oh, great warrior, let Roma take care of you.”

  At my father’s words, the pain flared up and I hissed. “I had almost forgotten.”

  With a small smile, Roma put her hand around my waist and tugged me forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you all better.”

  3

  “Here.” My mother—daj in Tzigane—walked into my room and pivoted me toward the tall mirror behind my closet door. “These will look great on you.” She held up two big golden hoops to my ears. “What you think?”

  I looked at her from the mirror. She was so beautiful and young, she could have been my sister. Tziganes who came t
o visit from other enclaves often thought that. Especially since we both looked so much alike. Long, straight dark hair, tanned skin, a thin face with high cheekbones, full pink lips, and hazel eyes.

  I smiled. “I like it.”

  “Great.” She placed the earrings in my hands. “They will look pretty with your outfit.”

  I glanced at myself on the mirror. For special occasions, I gave up my warrior’s clothes for regular tzigane clothing—a long, flowy skirt and a beautiful blouse, and lots of jewelry. My mother was thrilled.

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” I told her.

  She shrugged. “Yes, I am. You’re always wearing pants. What tzigane woman wears pants?”

  “One who is a warrior.”

  She scrunched her nose. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “And you know I don’t care. I like being a warrior. It’s my choice.”

  She sighed. “And that’s exactly why I never tried stopping you.” She smiled at me through the mirror again. “All right. I’ll be going to the main square now to help out with last minute things.” She retreated. “You’ll be there soon, right?”

  “Yes, daj, I will.”

  She waved at me, then disappeared out the door.

  I glanced at myself once more at the mirror. Like this, if I ignored the aching of the wound on my shoulder and the bandage beneath my clothes, I looked like the other girls from the enclave—pretty, feminine, delicate. Why couldn’t I be pretty, feminine, delicate, and strong? My father, my brother, and most of the warriors seemed to accept that. Even my mother seemed to have come to terms with it. The rest of the enclave, however, didn’t think like them.

  Who cared? I didn’t owe them any explanation.

  With a sigh, I walked away from the mirror and out of my house.

  The streets were busier than usual, with people coming and going, getting ready for the big banquet. I didn’t feel like celebrating when we had just lost Nico and Wesh was still hurt.

  In the end, Wesh had slept all day and all night. It was early this morning when he was well enough to talk, but none of the information he told us was useful.

  “I … I don’t recall much,” he had said, his voice weak. Sitting up on one of the stretcher in the back room of the infirmary, he looked like shit. The left side of his face was swollen and purple, and there was another purple bruise peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. His left arm was bandaged. We were going to take him into the nearest town—forty miles away—to get a cast. “They were too many and they moved too fast … and they had Nico.” His lower lip quivered. “I fought. I tried fighting until I couldn’t anymore.” He glanced up at my brother and Duke who were standing by his bed. “I had given up fighting when you two found me.”

  It was a miracle that Marko and Duke had found Wesh, one that wouldn’t be overlooked. As my father usually said, life went on. Once Wesh was well, we would honor Nico by celebrating him, and then we would celebrate Wesh for making it, but for now, we continued with our traditions. And every Friday evening, our enclave held a banquet for everyone in the main square.

  Feeling unusually lazy, I started my walk toward the main square.

  A minute later, Charity and Yana walked past me, casting glances my way. I rolled my eyes, trying hard not to bark insults at them. Charity was considered the most beautiful young woman in our enclave. She had been betrothed since she was a little girl, but it was no secret a lot of the men would love to marry her. And Yana was a close second. They were everything a tzigane woman should be—pretty, feminine, and delicate. They knew how to cook, clean, knit. They were taught to take care of a house, husband, and kids.

  While they learned all that, I trained with my father and brother so one day I could prove my worth and join the warriors.

  I didn’t regret any of it.

  While I walked up the path leading to the main square, Marko appeared on my right and Duke on my left. They matched my slow stride. I was in no rush to get to the celebration.

  “Don’t let them get to you,” my brother said.

  “You’re way more beautiful than they will ever be,” Duke said.

  I slapped his shoulder. “Don’t tease me.”

  “Ouch.” He recoiled, a hand over his shoulder. “I’m not teasing you. It’s the truth.”

  “He’s right, you know?” my brother said. “They look at you like that because they are jealous. You’re more beautiful than they are and you can fight as well as we can. It’s a powerful combination.”

  I groaned. “One that is looked down on in this enclave.”

  Duke bumped his shoulder on mine. “Who cares? We appreciate it, and they will learn to do the same. You’ll see.”

  “Speaking of which,” Marko started.

  Duke shot him a glare.

  I looked from Duke to Marko. “What?”

  “I probably shouldn’t say anything but we heard rumors,” my brother said.

  “About?”

  “Rye is going to ask dat for your hand tonight.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I stopped dead at my tracks. “W-what?”

  Marko showed me a lopsided grin. “Exactly. I told dat you wouldn’t want it. He’ll probably respect your wishes.”

  I … I had never thought about it. I had never considered someone asking for my hand. At eighteen, I was already considered left behind. Didn’t I want it? I didn’t know.

  And Rye …

  He was a great warrior. I had heard different rumors, one of them was that Rye was preparing to challenge Duke for the warriors’ leadership. And, to be honest, if Duke and Rye fought, I didn’t know who would win.

  But to ask for my hand? I didn’t believe that.

  Rye had lost his betrothed when she was still in her early teens, and even though he had been young too, the other rumor I heard was about how much he hurt from of losing her. So much, he wasn’t ready to choose a new fiancée and probably never would.

  “Don’t worry,” Duke said, his tone firm. “Just say the word, and we won’t let it happen.”

  I stared at him, my throat dry, my thoughts too fast to process.

  “Wait.” A furrow appeared in between my brother’s brows. “You’re considering it?”

  Was I? I … I wasn’t sure. No, not considering, because to consider something, I would have to understand it, to process it first, and right now I was lost.

  “There you guys are.” Hanzi stepped in front of us, saving me from saying anything. “The party is about to start.” He stepped between us and hooked his arm over Duke’s shoulders. “Let’s go grab some beer.”

  Marko shot me a look that said we would talk later, but I dismissed him. The guys walked into the square, and I fell behind, even though I was sure Hanzi had meant to invite me too.

  Right now, I needed time to think. Alone.

  I stepped into the square and halted again. Long tables with food were being set up, musicians were positioning themselves beside the fountain, and dancers gathered around them. All the tziganes of the enclave milled about the square, talking and laughing and drinking—and soon eating and dancing.

  This might not be the best place to think or to be alone.

  I took a step back, intent on leaving this place and going back home, but then I stood my ground and lifted my chin. I was a warrior, and a damn good one at that. I wouldn’t run from a square full of people, or a silly rumor. And if in case I was completely wrong about Rye, I could simply kick his ass if the rumors ever came true.

  But, within two minutes of walking around the square, my steps faltered and I halted once more. Across the crowd, Rye approached my father, who received him with a big smile and a firm handshake.

  My heart sped up, pounding against my ribs.

  No, it wasn’t true. There had to be another explanation for why Rye was suddenly talking to my father as if they were best friends. Standing beside my father, the warrior turned around. While they talked in what looked like a casual manner, Rye’s vigilant eyes swept
around the square.

  I shrunk beside a lamppost, hoping its shadow would make it harder to spot me.

  At that moment, I forgot about the busy square, about the loud people, the scent of the delicious food floating around, and I focused on one thing, as if I was getting ready to attack—I checked out Rye.

  Even though I saw him every single day, it was like I was actually seeing him for the first time. Before, he had just been another stoic warrior, training and going on missions alongside me. Now, I noticed how tall he was, just as tall as Marko and Duke, and how out of room his strong shoulders and arms seemed inside his dark red shirt. His usual wild mess dark golden hair was neatly combed back, and his sun kissed skin shone golden under the sunlight.

  He looked as stoic and quiet and hard as always, and yet I had to admit it was the first time I realized he was cute. No, scratch that. Cute wasn’t a strong enough word. Rye was handsome.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Not ten feet in front of me, my mother crossed my line of sight, carrying a huge tray overflowing with food. She hurried to a long table to my left and, together with other women, started organizing the food.

  I hurried to her side. “Daj, may I speak with you?”

  She smiled at me. “Of course.”

  “Hmm, in private, please.”

  Her usual smile faded. “Sure.” My mother followed me to the edge of the square, where there were fewer people to hear us. She knotted her hands on her blouse and faced me. “You’re making me nervous, chey. What is it?”

  “I heard something …”

  “About?”

  I pressed my lips tight. Deciding honesty was the best, I blurted, “Marko and Duke told me Rye is going to ask dat for my hand.”

  Her mouth made a little O as she looked out, to where my father still talked with Rye. She returned her eyes to me, softer. “You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

  I gasped, my heart squeezing. “So it’s true.”

  “It was Rye’s dat’s idea,” she said. “Rye lost his fiancée years ago, and you two are unpromised and getting older. You both need to marry soon.”