Excerpt: The Fireman

This is it.
The murmuring of the crowd from behind the door fluctuated like waves against the shore. Omaron took a deep breath. What would happen to that slightly uneasy drone once he'd spoken his piece? Would it fledge into a roar of anger? Or would his constituents be struck dumb, unable to speak after his betrayal?
Or would he be able to get the words out at all? Shard might not be really gone. What if she reasserted her presence just in time to stop him? She could take his voice, or worse. A horrible picture of himself dropping to the floor behind the podium flared up in his mind's eye, grey eyes staring forward vacantly...
The tension in his chest mounted. How could everything around him seem so peaceful? The cool stone floors, the dark wood of the doors, even the sunlight streaming through the window seemed to be mocking him with its serenity. The politician shook his head and closed his eyes. He thought about the boy from the main square, wisdom beyond his years displayed in his words. If you're really out there listening, I could use some support right now.
It was a few minutes before the murmuring died down. Footsteps sounded as someone walked up the stone steps to the stage. His shaking hand went to the doorknob. Seconds later he heard the voice of Elora.
“Ladies and gentlemen, High Chairman Omaron.”
He paused for a second that seemed like an eternity.
Then he gritted his teeth and walked inside.
The crowd broke into cheers and applause. “Omaron! Omaron! Omaron for king!”
It seemed almost like a scene from a dream as he walked out to the stage's center. It was difficult to see past the sunlight streaming from the hole in the roof, but he could feel the eyes of every person in the room. They weighed in on him almost tangibly.
I might as well get this over with.
He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent. “Citizens of Veliath, I will make this as brief as possible,” he called out in a sharp, clear voice. It sounded unnatural to his ears. “As you know, I have gathered you here today in order to announce the decision I have made regarding the proposal to elevate the position of High Chairman to Overseer of Wartime Affairs. Rest assured that I have only the best interests of our great country at heart.”
He paused. It was so quiet he could hear the faint noises of the market from outside the auditorium.
“I am resigning from my position on the council, effective immediately.”
The silent room exploded with an angry hum better suited to a swarm of hornets than his constituents. Omaron raised his voice. “I would not be doing this unless I thought it absolutely necessary for the furthering of Veliath. I cannot be more specific as to causation at the present time, but if you have any questions or concerns you can contact my representative, Elora. It has been an honor serving you. Goodbye.” And with that, he turned and walked out of the building.
He wasn't able to get far from the auditorium before people began swarming towards him, angrily spouting questions. It was the crowd from the auditorium, augmented by friends in the market-place who'd heard the news. Omaron glanced nervously over his shoulder as they began to catch up with him. The scared and confused faces were turned towards him accusingly as the volume of the shouts rose. He walked a little more swiftly.
I have got to get out of here.
As he thought this, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, jerking him to the side and out of the street.
Omaron pulled out his dagger and spun to face the unknown entity.
“Elora? What in Blazes-”
“Shut up and follow me,” she hissed, obviously agitated. “Something's wrong.”
The politician re-sheathed the dagger with a sigh of exasperation. “Of course there's something wrong. You saw that crowd, didn't you?”
“Yes, you've made a right mess of things,” his Public Representative muttered. “But that's not important right now. You need to take a different route home. This isn't safe.”
“Isn't safe?” He hesitated. “I didn't think they were that angry.”
Elora frowned. “I thought you'd been playing this game a few years.”
“First off,” he said a little sharply, “politics isn't a game, or at least it shouldn't be-”
“Just come on.” Elora grabbed his arm again and led the way down the alleyway. Omaron's other hand slipped once more to his dagger.
Elora may have been right about something being wrong, but that didn't mean she wasn't a part of it.
After ducking through a few alleys and pausing a few times to avoid crowds, they arrived outside his house. Omaron sighed and unlocked the gate.
“I'm home, you can leave now.” It irked him a bit that Elora thought he needed to be escorted to his own house.
“No.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I need to talk to you about something. It's urgent.”
The gate swung open, and he turned to look at her. “Why can't you tell me here? There's no one else around.”
“Can you ever really know that? Please Omaron, this is sensitive information. If it were to fall into the wrong hands...”
“All right, all right. Come on.” He led the way up the path to the almost cavernous front entryway. When he opened the door, he frowned. The house was dark and empty.
“Hello?” Where were his servants?
“I called ahead. It's better if there's no one here.”
The politician stiffened, hand wrapping around his dagger. “And why is that, exactly?”
Something cold and hard reached out of the darkness and grabbed his neck. Omaron clutched at his throat in surprise as the faceless front of one of the androgynous statue-like creatures that attended Shard turned towards him. The familiar voice sounded from behind.
“Well, dearie, it's a rather long story, but we assumed that you already knew.”
His face paled.
“Elora? His dagger, please.”
The representative stepped forward and pulled the dagger from his belt. Her face was cool and emotionless.
Through the fear, Omaron felt something click. “You switched from me to Elora,” he rasped. “That's why you weren't in my head today-” but then he choked. The Guard's grip tightened until it was almost too tight to breathe; speaking was no longer an option.
“Oh, you're so VERY clever,” Shard snarled. She wrenched his hands from his throat and pulled them behind his back. “Elora if you would be so kind.”
“She won't always ask, you know,” Omaron managed to choke out as the girl bound his wrists there. “She might start out nice now, but-”
He stopped as the Guard's grip tightened again.
Elora bound his ankles as well. It would have been hard for him to stand if the Guard hadn't been holding him up by the neck. Omaron tried to sort everything out in his head, heart pounding.
“I don't understand. Why did you switch? And why aren't you killing me?”
Shard stepped back as the Guard turned so Omaron was facing her. Her shattered-glass wings flexed in irritation. “Think,” she said sharply. “You're not entirely stupid. If I were to kill you now, everyone would assume you were assassinated by a disgruntled citizen, irked by your betrayal.”
“That doesn't explain why...” His eyes widened. “No... no, you weren't... you weren't going to kill me, were you?”
Shard's pleasant almost human face was graced with an innocent smile. “Why would we have done that? You're the one link I have to Veliath! Without you, I would have no access to your country's military! Destroying you would be ever so counter-productive, my dear.” She hesitated. “Then again, there is the possibility that I would be able to, ah, find a replacement.” One of the cruel birdlike claws traced the line of his jaw; Omaron shivered, grey eyes filled with hate. She pulled back with a satisfied smile.
“Just think about it, dear: the country, distraught at the untimely demise of their great leader, just recently elevated to the status of king. They find he has been cut down in his prime, and they seek desperately some way to take vengeance on the party responsible.” She cackled. “And lo! There comes a new leader, one with information on who destroyed their precious Omaron. She brings forward a suspect, a deranged assassin. And to my very good fortune, the man happens to be of Urung. Imagine just how motivated they will be. The army, my army, will mobilize against Sister Plague, and I'll not have to lift a finger.”
Omaron looked stunned. “I can't believe I didn't see it before.”
Shard's eyes narrowed dangerously. “You didn't know? Then why in Blazes did you... no, you must have known, don't lie to me.” She took his face in her talon, fierce brown eyes fixed on his bemused grey. She sat like that for a moment, studying him. Omaron sat as still as he possibly could. He stared back defiantly.
“Hmmph.” She thrust him away from her. “Elora, tell me when you are finished.”
He watched her leave and suddenly panicked. Finished with what?
“Elora, listen,” he whispered. “You don't have to do this. I was in your position once, and-”
“I don't have to listen to you any more,” she said in clipped tones. “I suggest you stop talking.” The woman had taken out a piece of chalk and began to draw a circle on the floor around Omaron and the Guard. He frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm calling forth your new master.”
“What?”
Elora ignored him and stood up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I just want you to know it's nothing personal,” she said with an odd twisted smile. “You probably won't be in any fit state to listen after this is finished, but it's all part of the game.” She turned her attention to the windows, drawing the shades.
Then she closed her eyes and raised her hands. “I call on you, Wanderer, abandon your rest. There is a new host here for your use.”
“NO!” Omaron struggled for a moment before gagging. His captor had closed its hand just tightly enough to make speaking problematic.
And then a cold yet somehow stale wind began to blow through the room...