Meliu

by L. James Rice

  The Wolverine said, “My friend Ilpen says he ain’t seen no girl, he ain’t seen none.”

  Ilpen spit, the buckboard rocking as his weight shifted. “Nothin’.”

  The inquisitor’s horse turned to face the wagon straight on. “That a fact.”

  The Wolverine said, “It is now he done said it.”

  Little Sister whistled and giggled. “See there how easy that was? All settled.”

  A queer silence fell: nothing creaked or groaned, and not even the animals twitched. I didn’t know what came next, a storm or warm breeze.

  The inquisitor’s legs squeezed his horse and moved him from the road. “I look forward to shopping your wares in Istinjoln.”

  Several horses departed, and as men chuckled to celebrate the passing tension, the Wolverine said, “You’re a helluva tinker but a damned poor liar.”

  “What, you got an interest in some poor girl too?”

  The Wolverine guffawed. “You think I give two pisses about some defiled lass?”

  The latch rattled and the lid lifted to reveal Ilpen’s grin. “Come on out, girl.”

  I crawled from the dark surrounded by a dozen Wardens bearing expressions ranging from disinterest to nervous. The Wolverine grinned through a thick black beard, a barrel-chested man in his forties covered in mail and a bear-skin cloak. “What’re ya girl, four, five? Pretty li’l thing. So what’d ya do, heal your ma’s cyst or some such?”

  I shrugged, wishing for something so kind. “Uh-huh,” I said, but my eyes burrowed holes in the ground. I was a worse liar than the tinker.

  “Be honest, girl. I ain’t killed no priest ‘cause they can pray, I ain’t gonna hurt a child for nothin’.”

  “Fire,” I blurted, and hid my face in Ilpen’s side, peeping at his reaction.

  The Wolverine straightened his back and his brow arched. “When you’re sixteen look me up, child, we could use you in the mountains come the winters.”

  Men laughed, but I looked to Little Sister. She was a slender gal with a round face and crooked nose, but pretty in her way. She smiled and winked at me before addressing the Wolverine. “We’d best ride with ‘em back to the Fost.”

  The Wolverine nodded. “Hear that boys? Little Sister already runs this outfit.”

  After the humor passed the Wardens spread out, six to the fore and six behind. I glanced to Ilpen, he hadn’t a word for me yet, and I had no idea what the man thought of me now. “Thank you.”

  He grunted. “You shoulda told me.”

  I didn’t doubt he was right. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t time.”

  “There were time, don’t be tryin’ to hornswoggle me again, you hear?” Silence stretched for what felt an hour, more, before he spoke again. “Ain’t no way I can take you on as my own, you know. Inquisitors don’t give up so easy. Fire, you say.” All I could do was nod or shrug as he talked. “They’ll hunt you down and kill you, they claim to find all them defiled by the vanquished gods. Hard to hide, I’m supposin’.”

  “Papa always said you can’t hide fire in the dark.” Defiled? I didn’t believe it when the inquisitor spoke them words, I didn’t believe it now. I’d heard the phrase in stories told by my folks. The vanquished gods, defeated in the God Wars, cursing mortals with unholy feral magic. “I ain’t defiled, the fire’s my friend, that’s all.”

  He snorted and we rode without words, the song of hooves and wheels, creaking boards and saddles, our accompaniment. Until Ilpen hollered to the Wolverine. “We need to cut straight away to Istinjoln.”

  The broad-shouldered man turned in the saddle. “The monastery? You looking for a reward or somethin’?”

  “Whoa, hells no.” Ilpen turned to me with a smile. “The best place to hide fire is in fire.”

  I didn’t like the notion of riding to Istinjoln Monastery any more than being outcast from my home in the first place. Less in fact, but Ilpen was dead convinced it’d keep me safe.

  Six Wardens, including Little Sister, her real name was Puxele, rode escort north to Ervinhin, a village nestled in the foothills of ice-covered mountains. Here I hugged Ilpen and his donkeys goodbye as they continued on to Istinjoln. I wouldn’t see him again for a year and a half, and every year after during the festival of the Eve of Snows.

  After a month in Ervinhin, where everybody came to know me as an orphan, a local man called Serik escorted me to Istinjoln. The monastery was an ancient fortress, with towers higher than I’d dreamt, and a great portcullis to keep invaders and riffraff such as me out. My guide introduced me as his orphaned cousin, the gates opened, and minutes later a priest in black robes greeted me, his hood lined in red silk. He was a man in his fifties with a gentle smile filled with yellowed teeth.

  “You’re from the tinker’s village?”

  I knew then I’d met the man intended. “Yes.”

  “Good! Follow me, dear.”

  His hands slipped into the bells of his robes and he took me to a small building. A woman in a monk’s brown robes opened the door as we approached. The room was bare, lit by a single lantern. He turned to me, his face grave. “My name is Dareun.” He looked me over, and I quivered, ashamed. “Are you certain you seek the priesthood?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t, truth be told. “I could try to be a holy.”

  Bushy brows over gray eyes showed his mirth. “Your first lesson is that the followers of the Pantheon of Sol are called adherents, not holies.”

  I nodded with an embarrassed grimace. It was a silly word, I’d much rather have been called a holy.

  He bowed his head, his lips moving in prayer with a mutter I didn’t understand. He reached out and a ball of fire appeared in his palm. I felt its warmth in my spirit, not just on my skin, and smiled at him for the first time.

  “Go ahead, Eliles. You’re safe.”

  My little friend brushed my hand before igniting, circled the priest’s fire before dancing in and out of its flickers.

  “Fascinating.” Not a hint of fear wrinkled his cheeks. My flame went dark and disappeared, and his prayer followed suit. “Before I decide, I must hear your story.”

  I looked into Dareun’s solemn eyes through my tears and recounted my tale as I have for you, but in the words of a child. Instead of cursing me to one hell or another, he smiled. “You’ve the green eyes of my sister”—peculiar, seeing as my eyes are blue, but I didn’t think to argue—“which softens a man’s heart. I’ve watched a hundred children or more marched through these gates by inquisitors to be cleansed of their sins with not a one ever leaving, and each left a pain in my heart. Your father was correct, it’s impossible to hide fire in the dark, and Ilpen too showed simple wisdom, fire may be hidden in fire.”

  He stood and clutched his hands behind his back, gazing on me from high. “But fire in fire may burn doubly hot, killing us both. Are you prepared to bear the heat?”

  My first memory was of fire and heat, the tickle of its playful licks on the back of my hand. And what choice did a little girl have? “Yes. Are you?”

  He chortled and mussed my hair, and I loved him from that moment. Neither of us could’ve imagined the prophetic in his words, but I suspect neither of us would’ve chosen a different path.