By Flame

by T Thorn Coyle

  Thank you, he thought again, holding the image of the tree in his mind. Thank you.

  He could do this. He knew it. Don’t forget what she said, Tobias, he said to himself. “Forge justice from the fires of love.”

  Once all the herbal tinctures and bottles were arrayed on his long work table, he took another breath and wiped more of the moisture from his face. Then he turned to his altar and lit a candle.

  “Holy Brigid,” he said, “show me. Tell me what I need to know. Help me make medicine to heal this city. Help me make a formula to ease the pain.”

  And then he turned, rolled up his sleeves, and prepared to put together as many formulas as he could from the tinctures he had on hand. He was suddenly filled with the urge to help as many homeless people in Portland as he could.

  It wasn’t just coming from Aiden. Part of it was the pledge to Brigid, he was certain of it. Part of it, though? Came from the conversation with his fucking father. His anger had honed the blade of his will. He was ready to do something now. To take his work to the next level.

  He prayed it would be enough for now.

  Make me into whatever weapon or tool you need, Brigid. I’m right here.

  And as for a medicine for the city, he didn’t know what that looked like yet. But he was damn well certain going to listen to these plants and tinctures and find out.

  18

  Aiden

  Long underwear, thermal shirt, flannel shirt, sweater, hoodie, wool hat, jeans, wool socks, boots. Big coat with the hood up.

  It was still cold. Aiden was freezing. His nose felt as if it were about to fall off. The back of his skull ached, and was starting to pulse in time with his heartbeat. His back was on fire, his knees were on fire, his hips hurt.

  Everything hurt and Aiden didn’t care. He embraced the pain. Jesus suffered, didn’t he? Aiden knelt on the sidewalk in front of the police station, determined and steadfast. Immovable.

  The rain pelted him, the ice pelted him. There was nobody on the street today, except the occasional cop that ran past him, heading from the big glass doors on their way to a patrol car.

  Aiden knelt, arms outstretched in the shape of a cross, heavy with the pain. His shoulders screamed. His biceps burned. His back was ready to seize up from the cold, the kneeling position, and yesterday’s injuries.

  And he was filled still with the holy fire.

  Stingray had yelled at him before he went out, “You need to stay in bed. Are you crazy?”

  “Yes,” he had replied. “Yes, I am crazy.”

  Crazy with the certainty that he had to do this thing, no matter how little sense it made. He was under a compulsion and had to obey.

  Aiden had slammed through the house, well, hobbled was more like it. But he had slammed drawers shut, slammed cupboards open, and forced himself to choke down some soup before he got dressed.

  “I can’t believe you’re even up,” Stingray had said. She’d followed him from his room to the kitchen to the living room, back to his bedroom again. She followed him until he finally thumped down the stairs and out the door.

  “Aiden,” she finally said, “please don’t do this. Don’t make me have to kill you.”

  “Well, if you do, that means this isn’t going to kill me, doesn’t it?” He had turned, clutching the cardboard under his arms, and looked back at his friend, his comrade, and said, “I’m sorry Stingray, but I have to go. I don’t know what else to do and I have to do something. I can’t just lie in bed all day.”

  “Well, then come with me to the kitchen. It’s your shift day. I can put you to work.” She was really pleading with him.

  “I can’t do that either,” he said, then turned and walked toward the bus that would take him downtown. He really couldn’t go to the soup kitchen; he was in no condition to lift anything. He supposed he could sit at a stool and chop vegetables or serve soup, but he couldn’t bear the chatter. He couldn’t bear the questions. He couldn’t bear the concern.

  So here he was, foolhardy, stupid, angry at himself, angry for being in pain, angry at his body for betraying him. Angry at the cops, angry even at Mary Jo for freezing to death, which wasn’t right.

  He was so angry. Infuriated.

  The rain and ice pounding him felt almost good, as they battered his already tortured body. It was as though he felt like he deserved the punishment of it. He needed to be punished for being so ineffective. And that made him angry too. That was old childhood perfectionist Catholic bullshit. He didn’t even believe it anymore, except part of him clearly did. He was angry at Tobias for being a witch. Angry at himself for the fact that he was probably falling in love with that witch. And through it all, his heart still burned with whatever fire had him in its grips.

  “St. Brigid, what do you want from me?” he cried out to the rain and the gathering dark. Though it was only midday, streetlamps were already lit, reflecting puddles that shone through the flying ice and rain. His body started to shudder and shake from the cold of it. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer but he had to be here. He had to stay here for a little while.

  A cop came over. “Hey buddy, you really need to get out of this.”

  Aiden looked at him, tight-lipped. “I’m praying,” he said.

  “Can’t you pray somewhere else?”

  “I’m praying for your soul,” Aiden replied.

  The cop just shook his head and walked away. Praying for your soul. The arrogance of it. But Aiden didn’t care.

  “Brigid,” he said again, “what do you want from me?”

  And then he heard a crash. The sound of a hammer beating steel. It repeated over and over in time with the beating of his heart and the pounding in his skull. And in the light of the streetlamp, he saw her.

  She wore a long green mantle, and held burning flames in one hand, coiling up to lick at the rain, a woven cross in the other. She moved toward him. The flames and cross winked out of view. Her milk-white hands unhooked the clasp at her throat and she swung the mantle from around her shoulders. She wrapped the cloak around his back. Aiden was surrounded by a sense of warmth and love, peace and well-being. He could taste the sweetness of honey on his tongue and smell the scent of grass, as though he were kneeling, not on a city sidewalk, but in a vast field.

  And then she touched his forehead and the pain in his head went away.

  :You are my child.: Her voice was warm inside his head. :Follow the path of love. Follow the fire in your heart.:

  She reached toward his chest with her flaming hand, igniting everything inside him. The pain rushed back in, worse than it was before. His body bucked and trembled. Ice and rain hissed as they met his coat and hat. Steam rose all around him. His eyes open wide, he stared into her two brown irises. Her eyes were huge. Her lips moved, forming words and sounds he could not understand. His skin felt as though it was being flayed from his muscles. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Over and over and over, her hands touched forehead, then chest. She whispered strange words into his left ear, then his right. The top of his head cracked open and flames rushed upward to the dark, wet sky.

  And then she was gone. Aiden was left, arms upraised, body shaking, pelted once again by ice and rain.

  No fire pouring from his head, though the top of his head tingled with warmth. No saint standing in front of him.

  He began to cry. His eyes filled up. His nose filled up. It took everything he had to not collapse forward onto the wet concrete sidewalk.

  Aiden didn’t know what she meant. He still didn’t know what she wanted. But the aching in his head was finally gone. His back felt slightly better too. She had muted his pain. The fire had cleansed him.

  He looked down and there was a green wool cloak, still wrapped around his shoulders, puddling on the sidewalk.

  No.

  “How is that possible?” he whispered. He lowered his arms, and touched the fabric. The wool was soft, with a slightly rough nap to it, beneath the fingertips that peeked out of his fingerless gl
oves.

  “This is real,” he murmured in wonder. “This is all real.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the warmth of the cloak protecting him from the rain. The trembling in his body slowed, and finally stilled.

  He opened his eyes again, and the cloak was gone.

  There was just gray concrete. Gray sky. Cold ice and rain.

  19

  Tobias

  Tobias paused, and looked in through the open wooden gate at a courtyard filled with half barrel containers holding trimmed-back rose bushes, pink flowering winter camellias, and herbs. He could smell rosemary and sage, their scents released by the rain striking leaves.

  The soup kitchen. Aiden’s soup kitchen.

  It was pouring rain. There were people huddled under a long overhang, eating soup, drinking tea, reading books, or talking. Dogs crouched under tables with bowls of water and kibble.

  He shivered. “Good a time as any,” he said, and walked through.

  He nodded at some of the men. He looked around. Didn’t see Aiden anywhere. Good. That meant he was still home in bed. Tobias admitted to himself that he wanted to make this first visit not under Aiden’s watchful blue eyes. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was nervous. Aiden was so clearly a man of purpose, and Tobias? He had a purpose as a healer, but this zeal for justice? It was new. He wanted to keep it to himself for a while, until he felt more comfortable with it all.

  Pledges made to the Gods unfolded in their own time. And some of them needed to be held in the cauldron of silence.

  Walking past the flowers, toward the sheltered overhang and the tables beneath it, he looked for someone who looked like they were in charge. Someone in an apron laughed with a few seated people at a corner table. Tobias didn’t want to disturb the conversation.

  There were two rust-painted steel doors ahead, with bright lights shining from the window to the left, so he opened one and entered a large brick dining room with big skylights, plants up in the rafters, and a long counter. People served soup, bread, and salad. Other workers bustled around behind them, and throughout the dining room. A few people lined up for the soup.

  The air hummed with conversation and the clatter and clash of dishes moving from the wash sink to the rinse sink to some third sink that he wasn’t sure what was for—sterilizing, maybe?

  And against the back brick wall, a big altar filled with all sorts of statues and objects and religious items. It seemed like every religion was represented. He didn’t see a pentacle. He grinned. Well, maybe someday he’d rectify that situation, but today was not that day.

  “May I help you?” A short Black woman, wearing a red apron and a blue shirt, approached. She had dark hair, a brown, wide face, and friendly eyes. She was wiping her hands on a rag.

  “I’m Tobias. Are you Stingray?”

  She nodded, “You called. You’re Aiden’s friend.”

  He tried to stifle a blush at that. “Yeah. I met Aiden a little while ago and he said that you might be willing to let me come in?”

  She nodded. “You bring your herbs?”

  “Yes, I’ve got them in my bag.” He patted his messenger bag; the tiny bottles clinked inside.

  “Well, let’s get you set up. Do you need anything special?”

  “Just a table and a chair.”

  “Okay. Grab a chair from that stack and I’ll go get a folding table.”

  He turned around, and sure enough there was a stack of formed plastic chairs with metal legs against the brick wall near the metal doors. He grabbed one and looked around again. He wasn’t sure where she wanted it.

  He thought she had gestured over to the empty corner near the altar, and that seemed like as good a place as any to set up. He carried the chair over and had just set it down when Stingray came out from behind a closed door wrestling with a long folding table. He set the chair down and ran over to help.

  “Thanks,” she said. They snapped the legs out and set it up at an angle to the corner. “Just let me know when you’re ready to start. I’ll make an announcement.”

  “Thanks.”

  He saw people looking at him curiously. The rain pounded down on the skylight overhead and the smells of soup and bread and tea filled the air. It was a lot nicer here than he expected. Actually kind of warm and homey. He could see why Aiden loved it.

  He set out several larger bottles, and a whole array of tiny, empty ones. He had filled some of the small bottles in advance, but he figured he’d ask people what they wanted or needed before filling the rest with the pre-made formulas. He raised a hand to let Stingray know she was ready, and she made the announcement. A moment later, an aproned volunteer came over and set a cup of tea down with a smile.

  “Thank you,” he said, and then the people started to approach. Some ragged, some clean, some who clearly looked like they had homes and jobs to go to and some who clearly lived on the streets. He hadn’t expected that variety either. He expected everyone to be homeless—or houseless, as Aiden called them.

  “I’ve got this cough,” an Hispanic man said. “You got anything for that?”

  “I do, pine bark. It’s great for congestion and coughs. I’ll give you some in a bottle,” he said, filling one of the small vessels. “And then I have this, it’s called Fire Cider and it’s good for general health and immunity. So take the pine bark before your coffee for the next few days. But take the Fire Cider every day for as long as you can.”

  The Fire Cider was a staple, and he always made up plenty in advance of winter, so the ingredients had time to meld.

  “How much?” the man said.

  “Just one dropper full of each, every day.”

  “Thanks man.”

  And so it went for the next hour. People approaching, people thanking him. Some people wanted to stay and tell him their stories. That broke his heart. They seemed lonely, hurting. Some had a long list of grievances, others were just thankful someone was there to help.

  Even the people with jobs and homes wanted help. He asked one woman about it. “If I don’t eat here at least half the time, my money runs out by the end of the month.”

  What a way to live, he thought.

  About an hour and a half later, the door crashed open and there he was: Aiden, dark hair plastered to his face, drenched and shivering. Tobias had to force himself to stay in his seat and not rush forward. Aiden didn’t even look at Tobias’s corner; he just headed for the kitchen and disappeared behind the counter.

  Tobias felt torn. There were a few more people waiting for help, and he didn’t want to rush them, but he also knew that Aiden really didn’t look so good. What was he even doing out of bed?

  Finally the line died down. Tobias waited another ten or fifteen minutes, sipping at his tea, trying to stay calm and not think of Aiden as he watched the workers buzzing behind the counter or wiping up tables, bussing dishes, and cleaning up messes. It looked as though most of the guests were pretty good about bussing themselves, but there were a few—always, like anybody he guessed—who couldn’t or didn’t want to manage.

  Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He packed up his bottles carefully, putting them back into his bag, and headed towards the counter. One of the dishwashers, a big burly white guy with his blond hair in a net and an industrial apron on, paused and said, “May I help you?”

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Aiden. I saw him come back and I’m wondering if I could go through and say hello?”

  “Sure man, head on back. He’s probably in the break room.”

  Tobias squeezed between the dishwashers and another counter, past some long coffin freezers, and through another door into the back. Through there he faced a cement warren, with a washing machine and a dryer to the right, cubbies of what looked like donated clothes, and to the left, big racks filled with sacks of beans, rice, and onions. He could smell the papery onion smell and the yeasty, walnut-y scent of loaf after loaf of bread.

  There was another door towards the back, so he moved towards it,
hoping it was the break room. Sure enough, there was Aiden sitting in a chair, and Stingray bending over him. Aiden was toweling his head off and wiping his face. Stingray murmured something in a concerned tone.

  Tobias knocked on the frame. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hello before I left.”

  “Tobias.” Aiden looked startled. “I didn’t know you were coming in!”

  Tobias shrugged. “I didn’t really either. But what you said… Well, I called in and Stingray said I could come. But I’m surprised you’re even here, man.”

  Stingray snorted. “I’m surprised too. Someone was told to stay home and in bed. Someone instead went back out to kneel on the sidewalk in front of the police station in the pouring ice and rain. And someone is going to be sick and in the hospital very soon.”

  “Ease up, Stingray,” Aiden said. “Please. I told you why I had to go out there.”

  “And I told you why you shouldn’t. You talk to him,” she said to Tobias, and shoved her way past him, out of the room.

  Tobias entered, tentatively taking in the coffeepot, the day-old muffins and donuts, the chairs, a little bookcase, and a row of battered lockers. The room had definitely seen better days. The dining room was much nicer.

  “Can I sit down?”

  Aiden nodded.

  “It’s good to see you, but you really don’t look so great.”

  “I know.” Aiden paused. “What are you doing here?”

  “You told me to help heal the people, heal the poor. So I made up a bunch of formulas that I thought would work and here I am.”

  Aiden’s face split into a wide grin at that. “Really? You brought a little clinic here?”

  Tobias felt pleased, felt warmed inside. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

  “How’d it go? You gonna come back?”