John Forrester: Fire Mage

A stiff wind sent the cypress trees swaying above. The horses whinnied, spurred by the unsettled air. Talis thought of Naru, vowing he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to his family.

As he mounted his horse, he gazed east, filled with a sense of foreboding. What was out there waiting for them? His thoughts were interrupted as Mara rode up alongside.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” Her horse circled around, as if anxious to begin the ride.

“We can always go off on our own if it doesn’t work out with them.”

She came in close, and whispered, “Have you seen those servants Lenora’s father was talking about? More like an evil-looking sorceress and a grim reaper with a scimitar… We carry the most valuable relic in the world, how can you trust them? When it was just innocent-looking Nuella, that witch Lenora, and her fat father, it seemed harmless.”

Talis chuckled, not imagining Mara could ever be so jealous. “She’s not nearly as pretty as you.”

Mara blushed, looking down. She was about to retort when Rikar and Nikulo rode up, followed by Lenora and her sister. Nikulo’s horse seemed to strain under the weight.

“And what joker thought it was funny to give me this horse?”

“Why you’re perfectly matched.” Mara tried to stifle a snicker.

Lenora’s father trotted up, flanked by the sorceress and the blademaster. “Enough talk, off we go.”

The sorceress stared at Talis as if searching for clues. He felt a heat prickle under his skin, recognizing her use of magic. He knew he had to stay guarded against her magical senses.

After they left the village, they took a spindly trail to a bridge suspended between two huge boulders. The river flowed hundreds of feet below. The horse's hooves clapped against the wood as they trotted ahead.

In the warming of late afternoon, the sky cleared and Talis lifted his eyes and his mouth fell open. Sheer granite cliffs towered over them, to the left and the right, rising to the zenith. The glow of the sun reflected off the cliffs, a wash of brilliant light. Sentinel pines a thousand feet tall stood guard at the entrance of a pass that knifed through the mountains. But the mountains dwarfed those pines, rising seven or eight times higher.

The next day they trekked inside the dark pass, torches in hand, curving up and around until they broke out of the corridor and reached twilight on the other side. They’d climbed several thousand feet and the air was cold and dry. Swept before them, mountain lakes and sheer, jutting granite spires dotted the carpet of spruce and redwood and cedar. Talis loved these mountains, the invigorating, fragrant smell of pine, wind racing through rocks and branches. The shade of trees providing sanctuary from the unyielding sun, and when thirsty, the taste of sweet water from mountain springs.

After two days winding through the forests, the once fair skies turned dark and the air chilled. The horses whinnied nervously.

The blademaster stiffened and gazed at the sky. “Storm's brewing.”

Talis studied the thick grey and black clouds churning high above. Fierce winds shook the treetops and leaves and needles danced with each gust. The invigorating air rushed into his lungs, of storm and pine and cedar. It was as if nature was a crouched mountain lion, ready to pounce on its next victim. A drop of rain splashed into his eye and another landed on his chin. With a storm as fierce as this seemed, they’d need to seek shelter for the night.

Soon rain pelted his face and hair, and he grimaced and pulled his hood over his head. The trees grew animated with the force of wind, and large sheets of rain painted the grey sky. Inside his wool cloak he was warm and protected, but after awhile he was drenched.

The blademaster tried his best to keep the party moving, the wind whipping into a frenzy. Waves of leaves and rain made it impossible to see. Talis could feel the agitation of his horse under the erratic wind-her nostrils flared and she shook her head in contempt. Each moment a struggle, and each minute darker, he wished he was back in the warm comfort of the inn. The suffocating air from the low clouds and rain constricted his chest, making each breath more difficult than the last.

A sudden vast movement in the sky ripped the wind stronger, and the wind rushing through the trees howled in fury. Limbs cracked, branches flew and smashed against tree trunks. With the wind came an outpouring of torrential rain-the kind that reaches inside you and claws and digs and squirms, until you want to scream.

He glanced around, then kicked his horse and sped up to the blademaster. “We need shelter. I can barely stay on my horse.”

“Where?” the blademaster yelled, his strained eyes searching.

Talis blinked, wiped his eyes, and inspected the forest. Far off in the darkness, he spotted a flicker of light. The storm made it nearly impossible to see, but the light was there again, stronger now. Maybe it was a village? He stopped and turned his horse. He pointed at the light and the others squinted.

The blademaster nodded and rode on. One light expanded into many, dancing through the trees. Talis relaxed when he realized he was right, they’d found a village. Huts glowed and glimmered from fires inside. Smoke wafted out. He rode around a hut near the circle, and jumped at the sight of an old man sitting under a canopy attached to a hut. A smile crossed the man's face as he stared at the newcomers. The blademaster wielded his sword out of instinct, but softened after the man lifted his hands, and bowed in supplication. He wore tattered animal skins, as if from a hunt done years ago.

“Take shelter from the elements, friends. I’m Barnabus, our leader.” He motioned them inside. “Be our guests and warm yourselves by our fires.”

Talis glanced around and a chill shimmied up his scalp. Other old women and men poked their heads out of the huts, their eyes held a tired, hungry look, as if receiving the first visitors in years.

The blademaster sheathed his sword and slid off his horse. The wind gusted as he took refuge under the canopy. The sorceress followed, and the smell of roasted meat entered Talis’s nostrils as the blademaster went inside the hut. After a moment, he poked his head out and waved the others on. Talis licked his lips, imagining the taste.

Barnabus led Talis and Mara past several huts. Aged men and women stared at them as they passed. Their faces were filled with harsh wrinkles and their backs hunched over. Barnabus opened a flap to one hut and led them inside. “Our village is humble and our huts small,” he said. “You're welcome to stay until the storm clears.”

By a low fire in the center of the room, an old woman stirred an iron pot filled with stew. She wore a white lace apron. She smiled with soft, caring eyes as they entered. Her long silvery hair was tied up in a bun. She reminded him of his grandmother-always cooking stew on cold, wintry days.

Talis bowed to her. “Greetings, I'm Talis Storm. Thank you for your hospitality.” He pulled off his wet cloak and lay it on a bench near the fire. He was soaked to the bone. Shivering, he hovered around the flames, feeling life returning to his hands. He sighed as the warmth seeped into his body. Now if he could just sleep-no, he was hungry. He couldn’t decide what to do first.

The woman coughed slightly. “Welcome home, my son. What’s kept you away these long years? You've made a mother's heart grow sad, longing for her son.” She touched his shoulder and a million lines of electricity shot through his body. His eyes went wide, but he brushed off the feeling. He tried to imagine what it must be like for this woman to have her son abandon her.

“Let's get you out of these wet clothes.” She ambled over to a wooden chest in the corner. It creaked as she opened the lid. She peered inside, pulling out a green shirt and brown cotton pants. He eyed her cautiously as he accepted the gift.