Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

The log soared through the branches as Konowa jumped to his feet and began to beat at his trousers.

Jurwan made a tut-tut sound and shook his head. "A whole year alone in the forest. It's a wonder you didn't burn it down."

Konowa glared at his father, but the old elf was busy arranging a group of vegetables for the cooking pot. He sighed and walked around to the other side of the fire to sit down, checking the ground carefully before he did so.

Jurwan handed him a thin wooden blade and a potato. Konowa hefted the knife and was pleased with its balance and weight. He twirled it between his fingers, faster and faster. It felt warm and comfortable in his hand and the edge gleamed with a sharpness to match any fire-forged blade.

"The potato will not hurt you," Jurwan said, peering down his nose at Konowa.

Konowa stopped twirling the knife and began cutting slices of the potato into the pot, gently sliding each chunk into the water.

"You haven't told me what you think about all of this," Konowa said.

"There is only one world," Jurwan replied, passing Konowa two carrots and a small pouch filled with a tangy-smelling spice. "All of us, from the smallest insect to the largest mountain, must live within it, and in harmony with one another."

"You missed your calling, Father-you should have been a courtier. You manage to say something and nothing at the same time." Konowa sighed dramatically as he diced the carrots with quick, smooth flicks of the knife. When he was done, he upended the pouch with the spice into the bowl, turning the water a rich brown color and filling the air with a tantalizing aroma.

Jurwan wasn't paying attention, handing Konowa a red kelsa root and some bright-green sprigs of reimoni. "Stir the water, keep everything moving," Jurwan said. He rocked back on his heels, looking up at the hanging branches, which suddenly parted to allow a thin shaft of sunlight to shine down in front of him. "The Empire thinks like the bull dragon. Exert enough force and it can impose its will. Bite, and bite hard, and it can kill anything. In this the Empire believes, so it seeks out that which it does not understand but nonetheless fears, and in finding it, would control it, or kill it."

"Yes, but the bull dragon, when using its wings, can walk across a frozen lake, fishing between the cracks without falling in." Konowa sat up a little straighter, pleased to be able to use one of the old elf's homilies against him for a change.

"More than fish swim beneath the ice, my son, but the dragon only sees its own reflection."

"Is there a moral to this story anywhere in the near future?"

Jurwan looked at his son with raised eyebrows and motioned for him to get back to the pot. "Only young bulls seek out opponents. The older, wiser ones lie in wait."

Konowa thought about that as he used the knife to stir the pot, adding more carrots and herbs between swirls. A chunk of potato bobbed to the surface, its already golden-brown hue a clear sign the soup was nearly done.

"If I didn't know better, Father, I'd say you were trying to warn me." Konowa watched the potato bob on the surface. He stabbed it with the tip of the knife and brought it to his mouth.

"Patience!" Jurwan scolded, slapping Konowa's hand down and sending the potato flying back into the pot. "And if you would open your mind as wide as you do your mouth, you might benefit from it."

Konowa rubbed his hand and looked at his father. "I've been heeding warnings all my life," he said, pointing to his ruined ear.

Jurwan looked at him and for a moment Konowa saw not the always-sage wizard, but a very worried parent.

"Your destiny is your own," Jurwan said at last.

When had that ever been true? Konowa wondered. "I know our history, Father. Somehow, in the world before this one, Her hand touched me as it did so many others, and I was marked, an elf destined for the Shadow Monarch's realm. Tokma ka Г¦ri."

Jurwan's voice grew louder and the wizard was back. " Nothing forged in fire is the mantra of the Long Watch, but it is not the only way. Do not think you know everything you think you know."

Konowa's head was already in too much pain to work that all the way through. "The Iron Elves were the tainted ones, Father, and we did our best to prove everyone wrong. We joined the Empire to fight against our destiny, and for a better future, and what did we get for it?"

"So this is your excuse for all you've done to yourself these last few years? Self-pity?"

Konowa pounded the ground beside him with his fist. "I didn't choose to be born with a black ear tip! I didn't court-martial myself! I didn't banish myself to the forest, and I certainly didn't volunteer to be an outcast!" he shouted.

"And yet you live as if you did," Jurwan said, motioning for Konowa to keep stirring.

Riddles and tests, always a new challenge. Growing up, Father had been like a shadow at dusk, teaching with questions, guiding with silence, never scolding, and never praising. His mother, on the other hand…

"Would not approve of either of us at the moment," Jurwan remarked.

"Damn it, Father!" Konowa said, the hairs on the back of his neck shivering. "I hate it when you do that."

Jurwan stared at his son in mock surprise. "My dear boy, you are as obvious as the night after the setting sun. It is no great feat to listen to the flow of life around you and follow its natural course." He held up his hands and waggled his fingers at Konowa, gently mocking him. "I can see you took the stories of the Long Watch a little closer to your heart than I imagined. I blame myself for letting your mother teach you that, but she was determined you would join us as ryk fauri and prove the birth omen wrong."

"And you?" Konowa asked, wondering where this was all leading. "You adhere to the old ways. This shelter, the cooking pot, the hides you wear, even the way you talk. If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a change of heart about steering me toward the Empire."

Konowa said it in jest, and was completely unprepared for Jurwan's response.

"Perhaps. If you had stayed with the tribe, we would not be in this land, and you would not be embarking on this quest for the Eastern Star."

The two sat in sudden silence, both staring at the fire.

"Father," Konowa finally said, "do you really believe it is true? A red shooting star falling in the east here? And now buried under some dung heap in Luuguth Jor, and the Viceroy come back to life?"

Jurwan's answer shook Konowa to his bones. "The rakkes are real enough, and I have seen things that make me believe the rest is true as well. And though you have chosen not to tell me, you have dreamed of Her recently."

"How did you know that?"

For an answer, Jurwan looked up to the branches overhead and whispered something. A moment later a single willow leaf came fluttering down to land in his outstretched hand. As Konowa stared, the leaf stood perfectly upright in his father's palm, slowly turning. Jurwan studied the leaf for several seconds, then closed his eyes. There was a rustle of wind in the branches above their heads and suddenly dozens of leaves were falling, but many were from different trees. Konowa pushed apart the wall of willow branches to look outside. A strong wind was snapping banners and chasing dust clouds high into the air.

"The rakke knew your name," Jurwan said.

Konowa turned back to his father, now surrounded by a pile of leaves on the ground.

"It doesn't anymore."

Jurwan nodded. "She's reaching out far and wide, beckoning to those who would serve Her. A black, cold flame in the night, invisible to most, but not all."

Konowa stirred the pot so hard he splashed some of the soup into the fire. "Serve the Shadow Monarch? I'd kill Her just like I killed Her servant."

"Not quite the threat it was a year ago," Jurwan said, winking at his son, "but I have no doubt you would oppose the Shadow Monarch with every fiber of your being."