He saw the smoke before he saw the ominous clouds blotting out the stars, and quickened his pace. He was too late. Whatever it was that Dario had sought there (provided of course that Dario had been the one that had so mistreated his books) was either destroyed or already in his paws. Still - if Dario had been here, then he hadn't been at the concert and Aranaya was safe from him, for now. That, at least, was a comforting thought.
Smoke rose from the hill den in noxious, cloying clouds, although the fire had been tamed. Around it clustered a small group of onlookers, vultures that had swooped in to the kill, intermingled with horrified Orphanage staff watching the exhausted fire-fighters choke the last of the fire. Arron recognised Matron Johansson, still clad in the flannel cap and striped shirt she had favoured when he had been in her care. Indeed, the only change was a bit more grey in her pelt and some mass around her belt. Even though it was dark, she saw and recognised him out immediately.
"Ah Arron," she said and started towards him, the crowd falling away as if pushed by an invisible force. "Couldn't resist checking out the drama? You're certainly not here for the tutoring."
"Of course not, Matron," he replied, remembering how much he had loathed her, still loathed her. On several occasions in the not-so-distant past he had returned here to tutor some of the more difficult Orphans. Each time she had treated him with the same disdain and superiority he recalled from his childhood. "I was just hoping for some carnage, maybe a few scalded bodies, you know. Research - for my latest book. So what the heck happened here?"
Whilst he had not expected to find the place a smoking wreck, it surprised him that he could not feel any remorse, nothing more then the concern that people may have been hurt. Dancing Rains, despite its pretty name, had been the source of rather sizeable dollops of misery for him. The Matron had been only one of the factors.
"A fire," she said, as though it were not blatantly obvious. "Started in the basement." She shivered, "the poor kids."
"Arson? Did you notice anyone unusual hanging around?"
She rose an eyebrow at him. "What are you? The Inquirer²?"
"Just a concerned citizen," he answered.
"Just a nosy citizen." She grunted. "They're asking us and the kits questions, so why don't you wait for the magi-coverage? I'm sure it'll be deep and insightful." She said the last three words as though they were dirty.
There was no point in arguing with her. She would draw everything from him before she would admit to anything - and whilst he had seen no hint of her being a member of the Nocturne, it would not surprise him. So he merely smiled politely and bade her "goodbye".
As he walked away, he risked a glance over his shoulder and saw her staring after him, forehead creased into an expression that was either puzzlement or annoyance. His eyes dropped instantly. It was hard to believe, after all this time, she could still dominate him with a mere gaze. If she would not help him, then he would find someone that would.
The Fire Fighters were still doing their duty. There were two of them - which meant that they considered the situation dangerous. In Eriwyn, the Fire Fighters were Mages whose main talent lay in conjuring water.
"I know what happened." A voice spoke up as he entered the tree belt that surrounded the Orphanage.
He glanced around, trying to track it. "You do? Where are you?"
A small girl stepped from the shadow of an ancient oak. Her hair was cut in that neat "straight all around but for the fringe" style and her eyes were wide and green, set in a black mask. He did not recognise her - she must be newly orphaned, the poor child. She smiled at him. "The pretty fires ate it," she said. "All munched and burned it up. The golden lady, she came and saw and left damn quick-smart." The little girl giggled. "I said a naughty word, I did."
Arron wondered if maybe she were a little simple. She was not that young, after all, maybe nine or so turns of the seasons, certainly old enough to carry on a coherent conversation - which she was not exactly doing at the moment. "What golden lady?" He asked gently.
"No, no, no," the little girl shook her head vehemently. "She said not to tell, said not to say nothing about her. She said, if I did that I'd wish I were dead." A smile broke through her somewhat frightened expression. "That was a rhyme," she said.
"What's your name?" Arron asked, in an effort to change the topic and calming her.
"Matron told us to never talk to strangers," she said, "what's yours?"
"I'm Arron," he replied with a slight smile. "I grew up in Dancing Rains just like you and sometimes I come back here to help look after the other kits. And I'll tell you something, I didn't like it much. I was scared of Matron Johansson."
"She roars like a lion," the girl said. "And growls like a bear. And all the kits run and hide in fear." She clapped her hands delightedly at her own little rhyme.
Arron chuckled, amused. Maybe she did not seem so simple after all, just somewhat fey. He had warmed to her immediately, but then again, he had always liked kitlings. Youngsters always seemed more open and tended not to view his mutation with anything more then curiosity. Of course, things had been rather different when he had been a kit himself. Maybe things were the same for this kit - she was not exactly what one would describe as normal. "Would this golden lady be afraid of Matron Johansson?" He asked.
The little girl shook her head vehemently. "Golden Lady not afraid of noone."
"Anyone," Arron corrected automatically. "So what's your name?"
"Luka!" She replied, doing a little twirl.
"That's a pretty name," he said, "I think there's a song about it."
She looked at him, all blue eyes and innocence. "Really? Can you sing it?"
"No," Arron said, shaking his head and smiling, "I'm afraid not."
"Awww," she pouted at him. "You're no fun."
"No," Arron agreed, "I'm not." He wondered how he could get her to talk more about what had happened. "She said not to tell anything about her, but if you told me about why she was there, that wouldn't be telling me about her would it? Just what she was doing, and she didn't tell you not to say that, did she just?"
Luka frowned at him for a moment, he was using child logic against her. "She opened a door in the floor," she said after a long pause, biting her lip in concentration. "Oh, I rhymed again. An' she got out a real big box and it was heavy and had stuff carved on the side. An' I was hiding in the shadows cos I was watching the furnace and heard her coming and thought it might be Matron come to call me a 'bad bad girl'. An' she looked at me and she smiled an' told me if I told me not to talk about her or else an' then I got kinda scared and then the door of the furnace blew open an' flames started dancing out and they were real pretty but I thought maybe if I stayed there I'd be kinda fried so I left real fast. An' so did she, only I can't talk 'bout her cos I'm not allowed."
"Well that's ok, I don't need to hear anything about her." Arron replied, "I think one of my friends knows her. So why are you hiding in the woods? Where are the other kits?"
"Matron'll be mad at me," she said, sucking her thumb. "She say I did the big fire an' it all my fault." He felt her small hand press into his. "Don't make me go back. I'll go home with you!"
"I have to," he said with a sigh, remembering how fearsome Matron Johansson could be. "I'm sorry. Look I'll take you with me and we can explain to her, together, that it wasn't your fault."
She shook her head emphatically, dark hair flying. "No, no, no! She no care, she say it my fault!"
Arron was at complete loss. He couldn't just take her with him, and he didn't really think the Matron would hurt her. "Why would she say it was your fault?"
"'Cos I was there when the fire exploded," she said, staring at him with huge blue eyes. "An' things often go all fiery and red and pretty around me."
"Did you light the fire Luka?" He asked, perplexed.
"No, no, no, I no light fire, I just call fire. It like me an' I like it."
Arron froze and stared at her. "You called the fire?"
"Sometimes," she whispered, shuffling her feet. "Sometimes I don't mean to call it but it comes anyway." She stared up at him. "You won't tell Matron will you?"
Something had occurred to Arron. Meeting this child had been no accident. The talent of Pyrokinesis was a "gift" of Elysia, although if not trained could easily become a curse. Luka was important. He did not know how, but he knew she had a part to play in the encroaching apocalypse. It went against his principles but he would have to take her with him.
He tried not to think of it as kidnapping.
"Don't worry, I won't," he reassured her. "Do you really want to come with me?"
She smiled at him. "Yes," she said, clapping her hands together. "You're nice an' funny an' maybe you're sing my song for me, yessir?"
"Maybe," he replied, "although my singing voice is not worthy of praise."
"Why not?" She asked, forehead creased in a frown.
"Because I sound like a squashed toad," he replied.
Luka unleashed a mad girly giggle. "I betcha you don't," she insisted.
"You're right," he replied, "I'm worse. Now, would you like to further unearth my flaws or would you rather head somewhere warm?"
She looked up at him and put her small hand into his. "I got with funny white man." She said. "Can I call ya whitey? 'Cos you're white an' stuff."
He smiled, despite the nickname that had been the bane of his childhood existence. Somehow coming from the mouth of a small child it did not seem so bad and certainly not insulting. "You may, but I'd rather you called me Arron," he said. "All of my friends call me Arron."
"Am I ya friend then?"
"If you want to be."
She considered this question seriously. "I've never had a friend before," she said. "Does it hurt?"
"No," he said, chuckling, "having a friend is the most wonderful thing in the world."
"Good," she replied, skipping a little to keep pace with him.
He didn't want to think about what he was doing or what it meant. The Orphanage was not a real home and it would be dangerous to leave her there - for both her and the other kitlings. She was a Firebringer, one who called to the flames and could bend them to her will. Except that she was young and untrained and such a talent could have dire results. In the tree she would be safe, Arron was sure. Aside from the lack of any fire to call, the Tree had its own form of protection. The Tree would keep them safe from the Nocturne and surely it would keep them safe from her wayward talent too. He had to believe that.
The walk home seemed to take longer then usual and it was almost as though he could feel eyes upon him. Luka noticed it too.
"There's somethin' eerie-scary comin'," she observed, sounding more curious then frightened. "It's like something nasty is tip-toeing along behind us on tiny toes."
Arron closed his hand more firmly about hers. She shrieked a little in excitement as he whipped her from the ground and onto his shoulders. She was surprisingly light, little more then fur and bones. Poor food and funding for the Orphanage, no doubt. The tree rose before them and with much relief he made his way through the gate and into the long grass.
Only something was different. Something was odd.
As he approached the house he saw it.
The front door was gone.
He lowered Luka to the ground, perplexed. How could it just vanish? She glanced back at the darkness of the street and shuddered.
"Darkness comes," she said, "it whispers in the night."
Arron walked around the house, and around it again. On the second circuit he saw the door. It was large and in its usual place and impossible to miss. He paused, pondering his own sanity. It had not been there a minute ago, he would swear on it.
Luka had found something of interest in the grass and was poking around at it near the gate. In a few strides Arron had reached her and scooped her up. He did not trust whomever it was that followed. Despite this rather abrupt treatment, she made no protest - her entire attention was focussed on what she held in her hands.
It was tarnished and chipped, blackened and dented, but it was also a firelighter.
"Pretty," she whispered, staring transfixed at the dull grey object, caressing its surface with her small fingers. "I know your there, why won't ya come to me?" The ever so faint scent of smoke rose into the air.
Arron snatched the firelighter from her hand. The metal was warm, as though the fire insider were awakening. If not for the fact it had lain dormant in the grass so long, it would surely have ignited then and there. Instead he palmed it and Luka began to scream and pound on his arm.
"Givit back!" She shrieked. "It was answerin', it was listenin' - it's mine and I found it and it's mine."
The metal firelighter grew steadily hotter and an acrid reek filled the air as whatever fluid remained inside began to boil. He dropped it as pain seared through his palm. Luka pounced on it, grasping it with no sign of pain.
"Mine," she said firmly.
The albino Ringtail Lemur stared at his hand. It throbbed painfully, the skin streaked with red. What was he getting himself into? Was Luka really just a sweet and innocent child with a treacherous gift? He was beginning to wonder.
She met his eyes, ripples of orange-red fire surrounding her pupils. A small smile crept across her lips. "It is mine," she growled in a low, menacing voice. Flames seemed to leap from the palm of her hand, coiling and dancing about her fingers. She bent her knees, beginning to bend towards the long grass. "See how they burn," she sung in a childish melody.
"Stop!" Arron commanded, leaping forth in an attempt to grasp her wrist before the fire made contact. It licked out greedily, eager to taste the grass. His hand closed about her slender wrist. "No." He said it quietly but firmly.
Luka froze and stared at him, her irises were now completely orange, golden flecks flickering not unlike the flames. For the longest moment the two gazed into each other's eyes, the gold turning slowly back to blue as the flames around her hand flickered and died. She stomped her foot and then bit him sharply on the arm. Although not deep, her teeth were sharp and it startled him. For a moment he lessened his grip but that was all the moment she needed to make her escape.
She broke free with surprising speed and bolted into the darkness. Arron, blood dripping down his arm, darted after her, just tin time to see something tall and black and fast drop from a tree branch and grasp her about the waist, springing back upwards in an easy leap.
As he was consumed by shadows, Luka's laughter tinkled out, musical and filled with childhood enthusiasm.