Fire Sower

by Callie Kanno

  Idris frowned. “I have never heard that before.”

  No, I suppose the truth would be too boring to remember. Iona’s voice was scornful.

  “Was that before or after he helped to found Calaris?”

  Calaris?

  Idris’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes, Calaris. You know. This kingdom where we are living. Legends say that Marlais helped King Lyndham to found this kingdom.”

  There was a heavy pause.

  Oh. Lyndham’s land. It was not called Calaris when I was last with Marlais.

  Another pause followed, and Idris felt whispers of emotion that were not his own.

  Marlais and his companions defended this land long before it was a unified kingdom. The founding of… Calaris… was the last thing that I ever did with my master.

  “What happened?” Idris asked softly.

  Are there no stories to answer that question for you?

  Idris readily excused her waspish tone. It was clearly an unhappy topic for her.

  “There are plenty of stories about how Marlais died, but none of them seem to agree with each other. None of them mention that you were not with him when it happened.”

  I was left in the care of Lyndham while Marlais went to visit my Life Flame. I have been waiting for him ever since.

  “Did you not assume that Marlais was not coming back?” Idris asked hesitantly. “It has been centuries since he died.”

  Time is meaningless to me. I would only notice if time depleted my power or eroded my parts. I assume that is why humans are so aware of it.

  Idris pondered this for a few moments. He wondered what it would be like to be so unaware of the passage of time—to be young and strong forever. He remembered watching his grandpa grow feeble with age, and he had shuddered at the thought of that happening to him.

  Another thought passed through his mind unexpectedly.

  “Why did Marlais have to leave you in the care of King Lyndham? Why could he not take you with him?”

  Another pause followed, but this time it seemed to be laced with reluctance.

  Once a weapon of power is forged, it is dangerous for it to be reunited with its Life Flame. The result is… unpredictable.

  “What do you mean? What is a Life Flame?”

  It is clear that you do not have the necessary knowledge to wield a weapon such as myself, farmer, Iona snapped. You should put me back where you found me.

  This time, her superior tone stirred up a flash of resentment in Idris.

  “You want to go back to the Treasury?” he asked sarcastically.

  What Treasury?

  Idris explained to her about the custom of the Treasury in Calaris and how he had come to find her. When he was finished there was a long pause, and Idris wondered if Iona had decided to ignore him again.

  I wonder why Lyndham did not come and tell me himself. He must have known that Marlais died.

  The young man’s brow furrowed. “Would he have been able to speak to you? I mean, if Marlais was your master…”

  I can communicate with anyone who has the ability to wield a weapon of power, even if they are not my master. It is not a common practice, but it is not unheard of. And under the circumstances, I would have thought that Lyndham would want me to know.

  “Wait,” Idris said slowly. “Do you mean that King Lyndham had a magical weapon of his own?”

  Yes.

  “I never knew that.”

  Idris knew that he was not the most educated person, but he had paid attention to the lessons he had received. He could not recall a single mention of King Lyndham bearing a magical weapon, and he was fairly certain that a king would not have hidden such a thing from his subjects. Magical items were rare, and people who had the ability to use such items were even more rare. Most people would boast of having that ability rather than keep it to themselves.

  I imagine that there is a great deal that you do not know about the world you presume to join.

  Idris felt his temper flare again.

  “I did not ask for any of this,” he said in a heated tone.

  So you claim.

  “Do you think I am lying?” he demanded.

  I think that any young boy dreams of becoming a great warrior, and that a farmer boy would grasp at any opportunity to step up out of the mud.

  Idris’s grip on the partisan grew rigid. He had to fight back the urge to fling it across the room.

  “I am not ashamed to be a farmer,” Idris grated, struggling to keep his voice under control. “It is honorable work and essential to the wellbeing of the kingdom.”

  Then why did you not choose to stay? Iona retorted.

  Idris found himself sputtering in response. “Because I wanted… because my mother… I… I thought I was meant for something else.”

  Very eloquent, she said drily.

  “You cannot act as though I am the only one to blame,” he declared, shaking the glittering weapon. “I was drawn to that room in the Treasury, and since you are the one with the magic I think it is reasonable to say that you are responsible for that.”

  Once again you prove how little you know about weapons of power.

  “Well, if I am behind in what I am supposed to know,” shouted Idris, “it is because you refuse to teach me.”

  Why is it my duty to teach you? Iona asked in a scathing tone. Marlais learned all that he could about weapons of power before he approached a Forger, and he was already an accomplished warrior before he laid a hand on me. He knew he could not enter such a partnership with nothing to offer, but you seem oblivious to that fact.

  Idris could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I am not Marlais Dragonspear.”

  I am painfully aware of that fact, farmer.

  Idris was unable to control his temper any longer. He didn’t want to. He was tired of being humiliated by everyone around him, and he wasn’t going to let some talking spear do it, too.

  “You know, maybe I will take you back to the Treasury,” he said as he got to his feet. “Perhaps in another few centuries you will get a master who is worthy to replace your beloved Marlais Dragonspear.”

  Anyone would be an improvement over you, she said spitefully.

  Idris went on. “And in the meantime, you can sit in a hidden room, gathering dust and doing no good to anybody. You can tell yourself that you are fulfilling your purpose by having a higher standard of master while other magical weapons are being used to fight evil and create a better world. Their accomplishments probably mean less since their masters are not as amazing and lofty as the Great Marlais.”

  Iona’s anger swept over Idris like a palpable wave of heat.

  Do you dare reprimand me like a child?

  “You are a child,” he spat back. “You are more childish than my youngest sister. Marlais is not coming back, and you do not honor him by refusing to fulfill the purpose for which you were made.”

  Her wrath was growing into a violent storm that swirled around Idris.

  Do you think yourself capable of mastering my power? she challenged in a voice that seemed barely able to contain her rage.

  All of Idris’s former doubts about his own worthiness gave way to his furious reply. “You would be surprised what we lowly farmers are capable of.”

  Then by all means, try.

  Iona’s threatening tone wasn’t lost on Idris, and he realized too late that the angry heat he was feeling from the partisan was physically warming the room.

  The polearm took on a golden glow that was tinged with red, and the blade began to shimmer with power.

  Idris had the presence of mind to marvel that his hand wasn’t burning, but soon the overpowering wave of energy that coursed through his mind made it impossible to think of anything else. He heard a voice yelling, and barely had the sense to recognize the voice as his own.

  The glow of the partisan grew brighter and brighter until the light was blinding. Idris raised his free hand to shield his eyes. He tried to let go of Iona, but he wa
s unable to open the hand wrapped around her.

  A wave of energy pulsed outward from the partisan, taking on the appearance of a firestorm. Idris’s bed was immediately consumed by flames and turned to a heap of ash in less than a minute. The stone wall behind it was scorched and pitted, and the rug on the floor was only a charred remnant.

  Idris looked around his room, stunned. The trunk with his belongings was blackened but not seriously damaged, and everything else was surprisingly untouched. Idris himself had felt the heat of the torrent, but a quick check revealed that he was not so much as singed.

  The silence of the room was deafening.

  Idris was so shocked he could not move. He was amazed that his legs did not collapse beneath his own weight. His head was ringing from the surge of energy that had just passed through it, and his vision was filled with spots from the intense light.

  All of these things faded into the background as a single thought chilled his heart.

  What kind of monster had he unleashed?

  Chapter Thirteen: Sealing

  Idris did not look forward to asking for a replacement bed, nor was he looking forward to giving the necessary explanation that would follow. He even considered simply sleeping on the ground until he could come up with some sort of excuse, but he soon discovered that he couldn’t hide what had happened.

  He stepped out into the hall of the Royal Guards’ quarters, reluctantly taking his partisan with him. He wanted some distance from the weapon, but he wouldn’t be able to return to his room without it. Idris found that a thick haze of smoke had permeated from his room, making it obvious that something was amiss.

  He waited miserably for the return of Demas or Farah, trying to think of what to say.

  He didn’t have to wait for long.

  The entrance door crashed open and Idris saw the four highest ranking Royal Guards rushing in. Captain Cowen led the group, his fierce eyes flashing. In his hand he held an ornate bo staff, and for a moment Idris thought that the captain would attack. Instead, his rumbling voice burst forth like a clap of thunder.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  Idris was speechless. How had they known?

  Cowen answered the question without it being asked. “Do you think we would leave these quarters unmonitored?”

  “I… I did not mean to…” he stammered.

  The captain cut him off before he could finish. “Open the door to your room,” he ordered.

  Idris obeyed without hesitation. He pushed open the door and then stepped back miserably as his superiors filed into his scorched room. Drusi and Jerin walked past without sparing him a glance, but Roth gave him a troubled look that turned Idris’s heart cold. All three of them were gripping the handles of their weapons as if they were expecting danger at any moment.

  A period of silence followed as the four Royal Guards examined Idris’s room. Each second was torture to the waiting young man, and he felt sweat beading on his forehead.

  Finally, the silence was broken.

  From the hallway, Idris could hear the low murmur of voices as the guards conferred with one another. He could not distinguish the words, but he could tell by their tones that he was in serious trouble. He waited anxiously for their verdict on what was to be done.

  Idris had no idea how they would treat him. Would he be sent away in disgrace? Would he be arrested for damaging the king’s property? Would he be executed as a dangerous criminal? None of these possibilities seemed unlikely to Idris at that moment.

  After what felt like an eternity, Cowan and the others walked out of the room. The captain gave Idris a sharp glance and barked a single word.

  “Come.”

  He then swept out of the Royal Guards’ quarters with his subordinates following right behind him. Idris stumbled to catch up, lengthening his stride to keep pace with Captain Cowen.

  The young man stared down at the partisan that he still held in his hand, the buckles of the holder clinking as they dragged on the ground.

  The deceptively beautiful weapon had brought him nothing but misfortune since it had officially become his. Idris clenched his jaw and fought down the emotions that were welling up in his throat. He desperately wished he had never laid eyes on Iona.

  Captain Cowen led the group across the military compound and back toward the Water Palace. Various Nobles walked among the water features, talking idly and enjoying the summer weather. Idris wondered how anyone could feel relaxed at a time like this. Couldn’t they sense that everything was going wrong?

  The Royal Guards ignored everyone they passed. Idris had learned since his arrival that, although regular members of the king’s army were required to nod respectfully to Nobility, the members of the Royal Guard were above such formalities.

  As Idris followed his superiors up the palace steps, he was blind to the beauty of the king’s residence, which had made such an impression on him before. Cowan led them to the room where Idris had been asked to discover Iona’s name. The map tapestries on the walls—once so fascinating to Idris—were nothing more than faded colors in the background. The large table and the empty chairs seemed ominous.

  Roth and Jerin took a place on either side of the entrance, as if barring any chance of escape. Drusi stood slightly behind Idris, and Cowen stood facing him.

  “Your lack of control has become a danger to others, Idris,” growled the captain.

  Idris stumbled over his words in an effort to explain. “It was not my doing, Captain Cowen. Iona was angry. She did that all on her own.”

  Cowen raised a square finger and jabbed it in Idris’s direction. “That is exactly the problem. You may not be able to use your weapon yet, but you should be able to stop it from causing harm. You are not the master of your weapon, and that makes you a danger.”

  Idris didn’t know what to say. He knew that the captain was right, and he had no defense for what had happened.

  “What are you going to do with me?” he asked miserably.

  Cowen’s dark eyes were fixed on Idris’s face with an intense expression that wasn’t easy to identify. He seemed to be weighing the options.

  “What is it you want, Idris?” he suddenly asked.

  The young man wasn’t prepared for the question, and he had no ready answer.

  “What?”

  The captain made an impatient gesture. “What is it you want? Do you want to be a member of the Royal Guard? Do you want to dedicate your life to serving the king? Or do you want to go home to the simple life of a farmer?”

  Idris wasn’t certain of the answer.

  Cowen went on. “The idea of being a member of the Royal Guard is appealing, but now you have experienced the reality of it. Not many are given a second chance to leave with honor. I am giving you that option.”

  Idris’s immediate reaction was to accept that he just wasn’t meant to be a soldier and go back home to his family. Hadn’t he been thinking that for the last several days? He knew how to be a farmer. He was sure he would be good at it. It would be the easier path, and he would be surrounded by the people and tasks that he had always known.

  It would be the easier path.

  That thought gave him pause. Is that what his parents had taught him to do—take the easier path?

  No, they had taught him the value of hard work. They had taught him to challenge himself and to work for his goals.

  Iona and Cowen were giving him a convenient excuse to go and hide in the life he had always known. It was a good life, and he would be happy, but part of him would always wonder what could have been.

  In that moment, all of Idris’s doubt and self-pity fell away. He squared his shoulders and looked his captain directly in the eye.

  “I want to be a Royal Guard.”

  Idris was surprised by the conviction with which he spoke, but the words felt right as soon as he said them.

  Cowen gave a single satisfied nod. “I believe you have made the right choice, Idris. I see much potential in you, if you are willing
to refine it. The hardest paths in life often are the ones most worth taking, and those who can overcome their fear will always find a way to succeed.”

  The captain adjusted his grip on his bo staff and extended it to stand before him. Idris stared at the magnificent weapon and saw that it was shaped like a feathered serpent. The entire staff was plated in gold, with tiny pearls and diamonds accenting the engravings all long the shaft. The carved serpent head was hypnotically beautiful, with sapphires for eyes and glittering diamonds for fangs.

  “Fenris and I have been together for forty-seven years,” said Cowen. “He is my friend and ally, but I am still his master. We have learned much from each other—the most important lesson being to trust each other as if our lives depended on it.”

  The surface of the staff looked as though it was beginning to move, undulating like a living snake. A golden glow spread downward from the head of the staff, growing brighter and brighter.

  “Such a trust can only grow over time,” the captain continued, “but it is essential to develop it as soon as possible. Without it, you will never be able to wield your weapon.”

  The air began to crackle, and tiny bolts of lightning flickered outward from the staff. Idris flinched away, but Drusi was suddenly there holding his shoulders in an iron grip which kept him from stepping back.

  “If you cannot forge a bond on your own, one must be forged on your behalf.”

  Cowen’s voice grew louder and more powerful, ringing in Idris’s ears.

  “Iona, firstborn of Calaris and Soul Speaker, you have rejected the worthy heir of Marlais Dragonspear. For this you are stripped of your agency and are bound to the life of Idris, son of Cadell. This I do with the authority of Ramat the Just, and by his mighty power.”

  A forked bolt of lightning shot out of the bo staff and struck Idris and Iona at the same time. Idris felt the electricity surge through his body. Every muscle became rigid. His bones felt that they were on the verge of shattering.

  He felt the ear-splitting scream tear from his throat. It echoed from every corner of the room, but his was not the only voice. A scream that he knew to be Iona’s tangled with his.