John Forrester: Fire Mage

“You did amazingly well, Talis.” Mara glanced up at him, pride and wonder in her eyes.

Talis squeezed her hand and grinned at her, his head bobbing from side-to-side. “I’m starving.”

The air smelled of sweet pies from the baker’s oven, with wafts of apple and honey and pear stirring in his nostrils. His stomach complained.

As they rounded a corner, a small, dirty boy in shoddy clothes ran up to Talis.

“Please sir, have pity on an old lady and her grandson.” The boy gestured to a frail, wrinkled woman crumpled against a stone house. Her hair looked windswept and tangled, and her skin was sun-burnt and dry.

Talis wanted to go home and celebrate with his father, but the boy wouldn’t let him pass.

“Wait,” Mara said, and held Talis’s shoulder. She turned to face the boy. “Where are you from?”

“We’re refugees…from the city of Onair. Please, sir, just a few coppers?”

“Onair?” Talis said. Father was from the western coastal city of Onair.

“She looks hungry,” Mara said.

“I wouldn’t ask for myself,” the boy said. “But my grandmother is so cold. I’m afraid for her life.”

“We should help her… Give her some coins.”

Talis nodded, glancing at the woman. She cringed as they approached.

Mara put out her hand. “Please, we mean no harm.”

The woman blinked, breathing in and out haltingly.

“You see,” Mara said, “my friend here has a few extra coins…we wanted to share them with you. It’s cold out.”

Opening her mouth as if to speak, the old woman coughed several times instead, wincing as if something hurt inside. She took a long breath, lifting her moist eyes to stare at Mara. “It is cold outside. Cold, cold, so cold…” A tear spilled down her cheek, but she remained motionless.

Talis placed some coins in her hands. They were like ice, as if nothing could ever warm that flesh. The woman stared at the coins for a while, then smiled at Talis. “You’re a kind boy. I’ve not had such kindness since”-she glanced off-”since before…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes glazed over.

Turning to the boy, Talis said, “What happened in Onair?”

“We came with the others that escaped. All is lost now, lost to the waves.”

“To the waves?” Mara said.

“Aye, to the fury of the sea. When our rulers refused to yield to the Jiserians, their sorcerers sent a tide such as has never been seen to destroy our walls.”

Jiserians? Naru was allied with the Jiserian Empire. He thought of his father telling stories of his childhood in Onair, along the beautiful sea. What would Father do if he knew that Onair had fallen to the Jiserians? Surely Naru would break the alliance.

“And then the necromancers came, sending hordes of undead into our city, killing the innocent and foolish. We were all fools for not leaving earlier.”

A cold shiver swept through Talis as he imagined an undead army. He’d seen drawings of them inside books of legend and myth. Ghosts roaming the frozen forests to the north, animating slain humans and animals, their lifeless bodies filled with demonic spirits. Those stories still terrified him.

“You must come and stay with my family, until you’re well-”

“We cannot. I thank you, I do. But we cannot bring curses upon your house.”

The old woman gazed at a shadow scarring the cobblestone street, her head shaking like she was possessed by a fit of terror.

Despite any words Talis said, she just stared at the ground, ignoring the world around her. The shadow of darkness did seem to cast over her, and nothing could lift it.

“I want to go,” Mara whispered. “Take me away from here…”

As they left, Talis stopped a moment, watching the spot where the old woman looked. In the dark form, where the shadow merged with the light, he swore he noticed a shape: a wraith. Its eyes seemed to pierce his soul.

In the fires of the great kitchen of his house, Talis pictured the image of the wraith he’d just seen. Although the room was warm, he felt a chill so strong his arms trembled. He gazed at the flames, remembering the story of the siege of Onair. His mind drifted off, and all he could see was hideous scenes of his nightmares. The ones where fingers gripped his neck so hard he’d wake up coughing. Darkness and fire intermingled. The sound of wicked laughter ringing in his ears.

“Are you alright?” His mother, Nadean, ran her fingers through his hair.

Talis snapped his attention back and smiled at her. What was he worried about? He’d just won the Blood Dagger competition. He couldn’t wait to tell them the news, but he had to do it right.

Mother was preparing dinner: roasted pheasant, walnut and pear cake, spinach and garlic, and chicken bone soup. The delicious smells and the warmth of her smile made him relax, and he slowly felt the heat sink into his body.

Father stomped into the room, his silver and black Elder’s robes swishing, dark eyes gazing at the floor, and sat at the table with a thud, the chair complaining in response. He stared at the roast and frowned.

“Problems with the negotiations?” Mother set a plate in front of him, then took his black hat.

Father rubbed his weathered face brusquely and pinched his eyes together. “Always troubles to deal with…” He sighed, glancing around the table. “A lost caravan, marauders in the desert, prices too high, Viceroy Lei playing politics again with the Order of the Dawn…”

He studied Talis. ”Someday these will be your concerns, son. To hold high the House of Storm.”

Father made it sound like he was an ox carrying a burden. Talis nodded, pretending he was interested.

As if responding to Talis’s expression, Father’s eyes lit up and he leaned in close to Talis. “What we need is a small band of warriors to send those marauders to the Underworld”-he sliced the air with his fingers-”a quick trip to Hell.” He slapped Talis on the back and laughed like it was the best idea ever.

“I’d like to fight them.”

“You?” Father raised an eyebrow. “Been practicing your sword techniques?”

“You could say that.” Talis smiled. “Mara and I won the Blood Dagger.“

“What!” Father’s face shone. “You two really won?” His brow furrowed. “Who did you fight?”

Talis groaned to himself. Father hadn’t even bothered finding out who he was fighting, like he believed Talis didn’t have a chance of winning. “We fought Rikar and Nikulo.”

“Rikar? Madam Cheska’s son? The cruel one?”

Talis nodded.

“Didn’t he hack off an opponent’s head in the training arena? He killed the poor chap…what an odd family.” Father shook his head. “And you say you and Mara beat him?” He scoffed. “Well I suppose the gods of luck favored you today.”

Talis flushed and clenched his fist. How could Father just dismiss his victory so easily?

“You won all the same. I suppose this calls for a celebration.” Father looked at Talis’s mother. “Let’s plan something. Invite Mara and House Lei, if they’ll come.” He chuckled. “And perhaps a few friends.”

“A party would be nice. It’s been too long since…” Mother’s voice trailed off as her face held a sad smile.

They remained quiet awhile, staring at the flames, until a flurry of pops from the fire startled them to attention.

“I suppose I’ll retire to the study.” Father stood and smiled pleasantly. “You did well, son. And you surprised me, you did. Not once did I suspect you’d win, but you did it.” He turned, and strode off, nodding to himself.

Later that night, around the hour that the dead call out to the living, Talis found himself unable to sleep, still feeling a buzzing in his stomach from winning the Blood Dagger. His father’s words of praise echoed in his mind. You did well, son. So Talis snuck out and stalked through the dark streets of Naru. He craved the crisp cold air and the solace of the quiet past midnight.