Chasing Earth and Flame

by Adonis Devereux

  The Senate filled with the anger of the assembled men, anger that Belamal would dare to curse before them all. Still, the general ignored them.

  “Skenjus refused, but Kindor was not to be dissuaded. He took Skenjus’s eldest son, intending to sacrifice him to the Master-Smith. This would have fouled the land, dedicating it to the dark god. But Skenjus was cunning, and he discovered Kindor’s plot. Skenjus rescued his son, and he slew Kindor. Without their leader, the Kindor tribe could not withstand Skenjus, but they could not forgive him. Instead of acceding to Skenjus’s will, Kindor’s tribe fled from him. They went south, but the Faror would not accept them.”

  Melenius smiled in his airs. His people were older than the republic, older than the enemy they now fought.

  “They continued south,” Belamal said, “and there they found empty cities. In the land where the Kindor now dwell they found abandoned cities. These cities were not built by the Kindor. Kelnapontum itself, their present-day capital, was not their construction. They took cities left by a civilization far greater than their own, and they befouled them. The Kindor worship the Master-Smith as Kindor himself had wished. Even now they do it. There are thousands of urns, full of ashes of sacrificed children—”

  “Children?” several senators cried out.

  “Children,” repeated Belamal. “They worship Veirakai, openly and as their Dark Father. They sacrifice children to feed him. When he is fattened on the blood of the children, he is strong and able to provide for his devoted followers. But he requires feeding.”

  Senators murmured to one another. One sitting near Melenius muttered to him about how horrible the whole situation was, how unfortunate Nirrion was to be involved in a war with such a disgraceful race.

  “They had always planned to return to Nirrion for revenge,” Belamal said, “and now they have. They are at our doorstep.”

  Melenius sat amazed. It was impossible that Belamal could have figured all this out on his own, not by bashing heads together in what passed for battlefield interrogation. No, he must have seen and heard things, and only with Nevia’s genius burning like a bright brand in his mind had Belamal pieced the puzzle together.

  “What is to be done, general?” Senator Tegin asked. Melenius saw Nevia’s fires dancing in the senator’s eyes. Her elements had infected the room. No one would oppose Belamal.

  “I am for Vieta. I will re-take the city, and then I will push on south, across the uncharted lands until I reach Kelnapontum by the sea. There, with death on my right and woe on my left, I will raze their city so that it might never be rebuilt. I will rid the face of Gilalion of their contemptible race forever.”

  The senators all cheered, praising Belamal and chanting his name alongside Jehiel’s and Alaxton’s. Melenius hung and shook his head, a human habit he had picked up from years of observation. He had argued for months to reinforce the southern legions fighting the Kindor, but senators with vested interests in keeping their legions in the west to guard against their rivals blocked any vote he had proposed. Belamal had swayed them with a simple speech, and in a few minutes, he’d managed to do what Melenius had taken months to fail at. No, not Belamal. Nevia. She had given him so much, so much that belonged to Melenius. She had shared her elements with Belamal, giving him a part of her that even Melenius had never tasted.

  When the din died down, Belamal directed his attention to Melenius. “Firin,” he called out.

  Melenius was surprised to hear Belamal speak to him in such familiar tones. He stood but said nothing, waiting for the inspired general to continue.

  “You shall travel with me to Vieta.”

  “Why?”

  “You are a Lorin. You have the power within you to heal the land. You are a master of the elements, are you not?”

  Melenius had no desire to travel alongside Nevia’s supposed husband for days. “I am no soldier.”

  “That does not matter. You shall go and make the attempt.”

  Melenius chafed under the order. Belamal was a general, nothing more. He did not have the authority to command any senator so. “You already have your own pet Lorin. Ask her.”

  “I intend to. You shall both go.”

  All eyes were on Melenius, and silence ruled the senate chamber. Melenius could refuse, but the way Belamal had enraptured the senators, to oppose the general would be to commit political suicide. Besides, Nevia would be there, and he longed to be near her, even if just to get a glimpse of her wintry-blue eyes.

  Melenius nodded, and the senators cheered again.

  ****

  Melenius lingered outside the Senate building and watched the adoring crowd of senators gather around Belamal as he descended the marble stairs toward the two columns of guards waiting for him. The morning shadows still cloaked most of the Forum, the night’s damp chill lingering in dark corners. No one was around; the market had not yet opened, and the general public was ignorant of Belamal’s sudden desire to charge out of the city and face any and all foes.

  Once the soldiers had marched away and the senators dispersed each to his own business, Melenius stood alone in the silent Forum, leaning against a massive pillar. This was one of his favorite places, a place of tall buildings constructed of marble, the earth’s bones. He had little time to waste, yet he could not move his feet. Belamal would be expecting to join his army in the encampment beyond the city walls, but Melenius’s lethargic earth made him sluggish. His melancholy at his separation from Nevia prevented him from caring about Vieta. The republic could fall into flame and ruin, and Melenius would not shed a tear.

  One foot in front of the other, and Melenius found himself passing the tall statue of Jehiel, its arms outstretched to the east, to welcome the sun’s rise. But the god of light shed no radiance into Melenius’s darkness. Instead, the statue mocked him, reminding him that the greatest servant of Jehiel in the city was Judal. Melenius could not help but feel that the god was somehow complicit in Judal’s shenanigans.

  Melenius ascended the many steps to the temple of Jehiel. Within its hallowed halls was the Hall of Records, and Melenius had to see for himself. He had to see Nevia’s signature on her wedding certificate to Belamal. He passed into the deep shadows of the temple’s interior, and there he beheld at the far end of the cavernous room a shining statue of Jehiel, smaller than the one outside but more glorious. Its burnished surface shone like the sun, for all around it were strategically-placed mirrors that caught the rays of the morning sun and reflected them upon the statue. This had the effect of making Jehiel, father sun-god, shine with his own light all the day long.

  Melenius wanted to smear the sewage of the Kuthevi over it and mar its beauty. Its light proclaimed Judal’s victory over him.

  A white-robed temple slave approached. “How may I serve you, Lord Firin?” The slave’s head was shaved, and Judal’s name was tattooed just above his ear.

  “I wish to see the wedding contract of Nevia Akara Judal to Arixus Kelar Belamal.”

  The slave bowed. “At once.”

  The document was a matter of public record, so Melenius had not doubted being able to see it, but this was Judal’s man, and he was certain his foe would learn of his interest in the contract. After all, nothing, it seemed, escaped Judal’s notice. One day Melenius would cut the strands of Judal’s web. One day he would clip those spider legs; this he vowed to himself as he waited for the slave to return.

  Melenius was directed to a small table where he could peruse the document at his leisure. The slave placed the scroll before him and then stood off a ways but did not leave line of sight of the contract. Melenius placed his fingers on the ribbon that tied the scroll shut, and his heart thundered. Nevia had rejected him, Garalach told him. But had she? She was a woman of deep and fiery emotions, but her anger cooled as quickly as it came. She might say something to Garalach in a fit of temper, but she would not calmly set her seal to something that she did not believe in.

  If Nevia no longer loved Melenius, he needed to know, so that he
might stop pining for her. He would need to stamp out all affection for her. If her name were there, he would be able to get over her in time.

  Melenius unrolled the scroll. ARIXUS KELAR BELAMAL. His eyes scanned over it. The seal of the office of Chief Priest of Nirrion, Judal’s seal. Melenius skimmed the rest of the contract, looking for Nevia’s signature. In the margins? At the bottom? Nothing.

  Nevia had not signed the contract. If she had truly turned her back on Melenius forever, she would have set her seal to the document.

  And then Melenius understood the real reason why there had not been a public wedding and celebration: Nevia must have refused to marry Belamal. Judal had had to sign the contract himself, which, as her father, he had the legal authority to do.

  Melenius dropped the scroll and sprinted from the temple. Hope rushed as quickly through his spirit as the joy of his airs. He flew down the steps of the temple, and his feet did not strike stone until he was standing flat on the thoroughfare of the Forum.

  There was hope that Nevia would still love him and forgive him for his failure.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What brings you to this house?” asked Nevia. She was dressed for travel, in a long gown of deep blue. She had ordered several such gowns in the hours since Belamal had departed to round up his soldiers. All about them slaves bustled, packing, but the Lorin spoke in the tongue known only to their own kind, being as private as if utterly alone.

  “I came to your home to see you before you were so swiftly taken from it.” Garalach came to stand closer to Nevia. “I confess, I had not thought that Lord Belamal would take you with him. When I heard that the soldiers were to go to Vieta, I knew that your husband would be going. I wished to be here to comfort you.”

  “My husband is indeed going,” said Nevia, and her elements iced over. “But you could not have known that when you heard of the departure of the soldiers.”

  “Lady Nevia—”

  “I am Lady Firin.”

  “But Melenius does not think so.” Garalach reached out and took Nevia’s hands in his. “I am sorry.”

  Nevia’s fires consumed the rest of her elements for an instant, and her breath fled from her. “Yes, he does.”

  “I am sorry.” Garalach pressed her hands against his heart. “I must confess that I learned this in a way that – Forgive me. Last night, when your wedding to Belamal was made known, I went to Melenius’s home. I went for your sake, Lady Nevia Akara, to comfort him. To know that you had another lover would be painful to such a proud Faror as Melenius is.”

  It jarred on Nevia that Garalach spoke so familiarly of Melenius. “My husband would not reject me. I am more to him than all the rest of Nirrion.”

  “I went there to comfort him, my Lady, and he – forgive me – seduced me to his bed.”

  All the turmoil of Nevia’s elements ceased at once. Whatever Garalach might say, that was untrue. “Never.”

  “Lady, I beg you to believe me. Melenius is not worth your devotion. Truly, he coupled with me last night.”

  Nevia smiled in her airs. “That may well be. But seduce you? If Melenius wanted you, he would simply take you.”

  Garalach pressed her hands again, and Nevia, suddenly realizing that he still kept her hands in his, jerked away as he spoke. “I am no slave, my Lady. Melenius could not merely have ‘taken’ me unless I agreed.”

  Nevia buried the disbelief in her airs beneath her earth. Garalach? Resist Melenius? It would be impossible. But she spoke with the double-tongue she had learned from Judal. “You have been friends with my husband for many years. In all those years he did not take you. Had he wanted you, he would long ago have had you. There is no resisting his desires, and you cannot deny his masculinity or his beauty.” She fixed Garalach’s brown eyes with her own frosty ones. “So tell me what happened.”

  “I told you.” Garalach dropped his gaze. “When I went to him, thinking only to comfort him because he was your husband, he spoke soft words of affection to me. I succumbed. But, believe me, Lady, I would not have given in to his pleas had I not been convinced that he did not consider himself married to you. And he has proved that very thing by sleeping with me, a real person, a Lorin.”

  Nevia felt the pain of that thrust, but she kept her elements serene. “Soft words? Pleas? I know my Melenius. What did you say to him to get him to fuck you?”

  “I have already told you, Lady.”

  “I will learn the truth of the matter from my husband then, when I meet him in Vieta.”

  “He does not consider you worth the trouble of coming after. Not now, not after Belamal has had you.” Garalach snatched her hand back and pressed it to his lips. “But I do, my Lady, glorious Nevia.”

  Shock held Nevia motionless.

  “My Lady, I have loved you ever since I first became your tutor. It was torture to me to keep silent, but I did so because I loved you too much to be apart from you, even when being near you was unendurable tantalization. But I waited, knowing that one day you would be married off to some nobleman, and then we could be free to love each other.” He released her hand to reach into a pouch at his side and held out to her a small, velvet-covered object. “I have worked on this for five years that it might be perfected when I could speak to you of love.”

  Nevia took the velvet pouch and pulled from it a clear globe of some sort of fragile glass. Inside she saw tiny puffs of air, outlined by the most delicate ash. It was beautiful, so beautiful that Nevia nearly pressed it to her lips out of appreciation of the airs inside it. But she did not. Though lovely, it was not perfect. The tracings of ash ought to have been water. Then it would have been right; then it would have imaged Melenius.

  “You see, my Lady? With this gift I declare my love for you. Is there no love – or hope of love – in your heart for me?”

  Nevia marveled that Garalach could ever have thought she might love him. She stared at the globe, so close to what she needed, but yet so incomplete. “You are mad. Love me? And keep silence while seeing me daily?” She recalled how Melenius had spoken of his difficulty in waiting for her to mature, and his only recourse had been to avoid seeing her. Had they spent time together, his love would have burst forth, and he would have taken her there and then. Yet Garalach expected her to believe that he had loved her in silence for five years?

  “I love you enough to have you under any circumstances whatever, Nevia.”

  “Do not call me ‘Nevia’.”

  “If you will give yourself to me, I will do whatever you ask.” Garalach closed the distance between them, but Nevia ducked away, out of the reach of his arms. “That you are Belamal’s does not matter to me; I love you more than this. I love you enough to share you, even with Melenius.”

  “Share me with Melenius?” Nevia could not believe her ears.

  “Yes, I would be willing to share your bed, even if he did. Even as he did.”

  The thought of Garalach in Melenius’s arms stabbed Nevia afresh with jealousy, but she spoke only of herself. “Do not think that I would fuck you, ever, at all.”

  “I do not want you to ‘fuck’ me. I want to make love to you. I am willing to wait, my Lady, to wait and support you. I will wait until you are ready. When you see the value of my love, it will be waiting for you.”

  “It does not matter to you that I am another man’s wife?” Nevia could not grasp Garalach’s absolute lack of possessiveness. Being as he was, a commoner, she did not expect any proper pride in him, but not to care that the one he professed to love belonged to another – and that other a Lorin? That was not any sort of love that Nevia knew.

  “My Lady, you must understand. You cannot fight His Radiance your father. He is himself the law of Nirrion, and he has bestowed you on Belamal. I am willing to be your lover. I would be proud and honored to do so. But Melenius, he would not.”

  “I have no wish to be Melenius’s illicit lover. I am his wife.”

  “The greatest reason I had for giving in to his seduction was, realiz
ing that he did not consider you his wife, I did not want you to pine for him. I did not want you to go on thinking of him. If he could sleep with me, then surely you see he does not consider you his?”

  “You are telling me that you somehow got my husband to fuck you – for my sake?” Nevia’s fires burned so brightly within her that the floor upon which she stood frosted over, and she threw the globe against the nearest wall. It shattered, and Nevia felt the caress of the fleeing airs that had been trapped within it.

  Garalach reached out for Nevia, and his waters were turbulent. “I do not care if you crush my gift; only do not crush my heart!”

  Nevia stepped away from him, disgust churning in her. What was she supposed to do with him? Dress him in a gown and make him her cosmetics slave?

  “Wife?” Belamal burst through the door then, shining in Nevia’s flames, and he swept her up into his arms. “The sight of you burns in my soul.” Only then did Belamal seem to take note of Garalach. “Oh. Go now, for my wife and I are for Vieta.”

  As the slaves escorted Garalach out of the peristyle and toward the door, Garalach’s elements were full of a struggling hope and a warring despair. Nevia believed that he loved her, in his own pathetic way, but she did not care. Belamal spoke words of adoration in her ears, but she scarcely heard him. In her thoughts, she saw Melenius taking Garalach, topping him, filling Garalach with the white-hot seed she remembered and longed for. The thought of Melenius’s massive cock spitting Garalach as it had her – she wanted to strike Garalach from the earth. Garalach was real, a Lorin, and Melenius had taken him. For the first time since her infancy, tears welled up in Nevia’s earth. But she did not permit them to flow. Melenius loved her; of that she was certain. In Vieta she would learn how Garalach had drawn her husband into his bed, and then all would be well.