The Fire Children Read Free Page A

rare for Abba to be so carefree. She played along, like the others.
    At sunset, they made their way to Kaladim’s main thoroughfare and took part in the feast. Amma and Aunt Mouse had made a double batch of lemon cakes—one for the townspeople, one for the Fire Children. While the adults prepared smaller tables for their families and friends, the children of Kaladim set to painting the great stone trestles in the middle of the street. Suns dominated the others’ pictures, and likenesses of how they imagined the Fire Children would appear. Squabbles broke out here and there among the younger children as artwork got critiqued.
    Kell drew winter flowers, “Because the Children are here in the summer, so they won’t be able to taste them.” She looked sad as she dabbed crimson on the white petals’ tips, and Yulla thought she knew why: Kell was seventeen. As much as she enjoyed playing the grown-up, this would be the only time she’d be able to participate in this part of the festivities. When next the Darktimes came, she’d be an adult—maybe even married, with children of her own. The last time, she’d been too young to remember much of anything aside from the excitement of her little sister’s birth.
    It was true for all of the older children in Kaladim, Yulla included. She could be twenty the next time Sister Moon visited Mother Sun. Or older. It was too far away for her to worry over, but she’d heard the others discussing it these last few weeks as the temperatures soared, heralding the return of the Scorching Days.
    “What is that?” asked Kell. She’d finished her flower and peered critically at the scene Yulla had been painting. Yulla’s heart sank.
    Now that she looked at it, what had been so crisp and real in her head was barely more than a pair of brown blobs with a silver X between them to represent bared steel. One had a smeary dab of crimson on what was supposed to be its head. Yulla had applied her paint too thick, and the day’s heat had made it run. “It’s the Brigand Queen,” she murmured, “and...” Yulla had begged Abba to read the tale to them at least once a week when they were little. How would the Fire Children know, if her own sister didn’t recognize it?
    “No, wait, I see it now.” Kell patted her shoulder. “I just wasn’t looking close enough. Why don’t we fix the flower in her hair, so they know it’s the Brigand Queen?”
    Yulla frowned at it. “Can it be fixed, do you think?”
    Her sister bent and, with a hand steady as Old Moll’s, thinned the smear of red paint, making the impression of petals curling outward. The scene came alive again in Yulla’s mind: the Brigand Queen, her signature rose tucked behind her ear, confronting the Scourge of the Seven Sands.
    Sometimes, Kell wasn’t entirely horrible after all.
     
     
    T HEY FEASTED UNTIL Sister Moon rose, only the crescent sliver of her smile visible in the eastern sky. By the time the people of Kaladim had eaten their fill—or more; Yulla was so stuffed she didn’t think she’d need to eat again until after the Fire Children were gone—the painted trestles had dried. The grown-ups arranged the extra food and set out wooden plates and utensils for the Fire Children.
    In a few hours, Sister Moon would begin her visit with Mother Sun, and the Scorching Days would begin. A hush rippled through the gathered crowd as the priests said a final prayer. Yulla looked around at the city, at the festival lanterns strung up over the streets like stars, at the banners fluttering in the evening breeze, at everyone dressed in their feast-day finery. The priests and priestesses stood on the steps of the Worship Hall, repeating the blessings for those who couldn’t fit inside. Yulla took it all in; it was one of the last things any of them would see for days.
    On their way home, Yulla spied a trio of witch-women huddled near the feast. Two of them seemed to be arguing in hushed, urgent voices. The third’s eyes glittered