by Amanda Young
“He is our brother,” Pielere set his glass down.
“And Veritan was our father. Maerishka is our half sister,” he rebutted. “Before we go trusting him, we need to know he hasn’t been corrupted beyond redemption, as they were.
“How do you propose we do that? I can only say if he tells the truth. I can’t predict the future.” She gathered the glasses and returned them to their tray.
Eirae’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I need to question him,” he answered. The other two shared a look. He wasn’t known for his kindness in gathering information, but he was good at drawing out the darkness in a man’s heart. If someone was guilty of a crime, a few minutes alone with Eirae were usually enough to bring out a confession. He knew how to get the job done. “If he’s with the guard, he will have killed. We need to ascertain his feelings about that. If he is corrupted on that issue, all others are moot.”
“He did come all this way for our uncle. That is not something our father would have done.” Pielere gave a hopeful look.
“And what of Uncle Frex?” asked Mirerien. “He has lived in Suriax with Kern all this time.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about Frex.” Eirae patted his sister on the shoulder. “He had no love for our father or Venerith. He was a close friend of grandfather’s after all.”
“Father, Father!” Two small boys ran in, jumping on Pielere’s lap.
“Hey, what are you two doing up?” He tousled their hair.
“We heard there is a new guest in the palace,” the older boy answered. “Is it true?”
The three Alerian lords looked at each other. Eirae shrugged. “There’s no keeping secrets in a palace.” Squatting down in front of the children, he looked at them warmly. “We do have a guest.”
“Can we meet him?” the younger boy asked.
“Probably, but not tonight.”
“Awww,” they complained.
“You heard your uncle.” Pielere slid them to their feet and stood. “It’s time to go back to sleep. Come on, I’ll go with you.”
“I think we could all use some sleep,” Mirerien agreed. They had many things to discuss, but for once, it could wait until the morning.
* * *
Thomas could not wait for morning. After hours of avoiding guards, he was exhausted. They made it back to the house, but now he could not sleep. He still needed to talk to Kern, finalize plans for tomorrow and keep watch in case the guards came back. He twisted the ring around his finger and waited for Kern to reply. A few minutes later, he heard Kern’s voice whisper softly in his head. “What is the plan?” he asked back.
“I made contact,” Kern answered. “There will be someone waiting for you once you cross the gate, but they can’t send him over into Suriax without alerting the queen to your presence and causing some potential political complications. Of course, if things change and you are in eminent danger, let me know and they will send their man across the border.”
“Understood.”
“I should probably explain what is going on.”
“No need. You uncle already filled us in.”
There was an audible sigh on Kern’s end. “I never meant for either of you to get caught up in all this.”
“It’s alright. I didn’t really want to stay in Suriax forever, anyway.”
“I’m so sorry. I never thought you both would have to leave Suriax, too. I just wanted to get my uncle to safety.
“Things happen for a reason.” Thomas heard a board creak by the kitchen. “Got to go.” He twisted the ring to end the conversation and went to check out the sound. He found Marcy standing on the back porch, staring at the night sky. She wore a long cotton gown. Her hair was down for the first time since they met. Long golden locks fell down her back, well past her waist. As he watched, she pulled a brush through her hair. He turned to leave.
“I missed the sunset,” she said without turning. “I thought I’d make it out here in time to see the sun set over Suriax one last time, but I failed to compensate for the trees around here. My apartment and the tavern have a more open view of the skyline.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” She turned to face him, her hair falling gracefully around her. “I don’t feel the same fondness for Suriax that you showed when you described your home. What I feel is more akin to nostalgia. Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll miss it all that much. I just wonder how well I would actually fit in anywhere else. I may not care all that much for Suriax, but it is a large part of who I am. Living here has shaped my opinions and personality. I’ve tried to put myself in your position, to see killing as you do, but I’m a recorder. For over a hundred years, death has been little more to me than a few facts on a scroll; name, age and why did you kill him? I had forgotten that isn’t how it is viewed everywhere else. How am I supposed to be a part of that outside world that would shun and mistrust me should they learn of my origins?” She turned around, her hair whipping around in her haste. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t have the answer to my questions. I’ll be inside in a bit. I’d like to have some time alone to think first. Goodnight.”
Feeling a bit helpless, Thomas mumbled a “Goodnight,” and went inside.
* * *
The streets were overflowing with people, performers and vendors. Confetti filled the air. Acrobats jumped and swung from trees. There were fire eaters, very popular in Suriax, given that Venerith was a god of law and fire. It was said his fire burned through the sentimentality of laws that became distracted with notions of right and wrong. His laws were pure, true laws. Those who did not follow his teachings called this school of thought perverse, but it was the basis for all Suriaxian society, and they believed in him completely.
The crowds were particularly thick near the stadium. Everyone was excited about the opening of the Tournament of Fire. Younger, rookie competitors bragged about previous victories. Veteran contestants, especially previous finalists, were surrounded by fans. People screamed just to be heard. In the distance, a band played, adding to the cacophony of sounds. You couldn’t actually make out what they were playing until they played a trio of notes everyone from Suriax recognized. As one the crowd began singing the Suriaxian anthem, “The Blue Flame of Purity.” Blue fire was nearly the hottest fire there was. It was also the color of Venerith’s flame, for only the hottest fire could burn to the truth. They sang of being reborn in the blue flame, set free from the morality of others’ laws. They thanked Venerith for their blessings and prayed for Suriax to remain strong and true. When the song ended there was a reverent moment of silence, deafening after the loudness that preceded it. Someone cheered and the crowd followed.
Horns blared from the top of the stadium tree, announcing the start of the tournament. Contestants buzzed with excitement, leading their respective entourages inside. Banners flew through the air. The inside of the stadium tree was even more heavily decorated than the rest of the festival. Performers danced and did acrobatic flips along rafter like tree branches running through the main stadium room. The walls swirled around in an impossible design, curving to allow seating, both common and special reserved balconies. The sky was visible through a canopy of limbs and leaves, moonlight casting a magical glow on the room and everyone in it. The competitors took to the floor, beginning their warm ups and demonstrations of their skill, while the audience filed in and took their seats. Roaming food vendors sold Vaxtamil ale and various snacks. The horns blared again, signaling the start of the exhibition fights. The previous tournament’s winner and runner up took to the stage. The audience cheered. Ten years earlier, Zanden, A rookie contestant in his first tournament, blew everyone away by making it to the final round. In the end, he was defeated by the previous champion, Sardon Barief. Their match went on for three days with only brief breaks for food to carry them through. Their rematch was one of the most highly anticipated of the tournament. Even though this was technically just an exhibition fight, everyone knew it was so much more than that. As a th
ree time champion, Sardon could not participate in the full tournament this year. After three wins, contestants were forced to retire from competing to allow other competitors to rise to the top. In rare cases a former retired champ was asked to return for a special match up, but that was only ever against another three time champion. This was Zanden’s last shot for the foreseeable future to fight Sardon and prove who was superior. Both men had much to lose and gain through victory.
Without preamble, they began to fight. For several long minutes the only sounds to be heard in the stadium were grunts at well placed punches, feet slapping against the ground, fists hitting flesh and the even sounds of their breathing. Even the vendors fell silent. Everyone sat in anticipation of who would draw first blood.
Maerishka heard a knock at the door of her balcony and motioned for her attendants to answer it. They looked at each other uncertainly, neither wanting to miss a moment of this fight. At the second knock, a young female attendant lost the battle of wills and begrudgingly answered the door, admitting King Alvexton. Maerishka bowed slightly and gestured for him to join her.
“Your Highness, you look lov …. ly.” Alvexton’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the flame markings going up the right of Maerishka’s neck and face. Purposefully, she handed him her marked hand. To his credit, he took it, placing a kiss directly on one of the flame marks.
“Your Highness,” she returned in kind, speaking softly to avoid distracting people from the fight. “I’m pleased you could make it tonight.”
“I missed you at the celebrations the past two days.”
Maerishka smiled apologetically. The first day after her pact was made, she could barely move from the pain. Once that subsided, she felt stronger, more energetic, but she still did not know what to do about her markings. What, if anything should she reveal to her subjects? Should she hide them from her visitors? Royals and lords were notoriously easy to spook when other leaders gained a substantial amount of power. Blessing from a god would definitely fall into that category. She did not want to scare any of her trade partners away or provoke a fearful attack. And if anyone found out why she made her bargain, it could mean the end of her reign. She needed to handle this situation carefully to avoid unwanted consequences. Finally, she opted to wear them proudly. Should anyone have the guts to question her about them, she would say they were a blessing from Venerith. That was all anyone needed to know. If she was too afraid to show the markings she did not deserve to have them. “Are you familiar at all with the Tournament of Fire?” she asked.
“I’ve heard of it of course, but I’ve never had the pleasure to witness it. Is it true it only comes around once a decade?”
“That is correct, however, we do hold many other competitions and smaller tournaments regularly. They are usually only for locals. The Tournament of Fire invites people from all over the continent to participate. Winning is a very high honor.”
The crowd cheered and Maerishka turned her attention back to the match. Zanden was performing very well. She would need to keep her eye on him.
* * *
“Just sit tight. We will be on the way, soon.” The merchant dropped the blanket covering the produce on his wagon, leaving Thomas, Marcy and Frex in darkness. The wagon was specially designed for transporting restricted items. It had a false bottom with a hidden compartment roughly six feet long by five feet wide. It was only deep enough to allow a person to lie flat and to fit all three of them, Marcy had to lie halfway on top of Thomas, not that either of them really minded. There were narrow slits cut for air holes spread throughout, though most were covered by the produce and blanket. A couple along the sides allowed them sporadic views of people walking by.
They waited in silence for what felt like hours. Just when Marcy was about to fall asleep from boredom, the wagon would jar them by roughly rolling over the uneven, graveled road. Hinges and tools clanged loudly in their ears. Whenever that happened, Thomas would tighten his arms around her, bracing them both against the movement. Instinctively, she would reach an arm out to do the same for Frex. For his age, he handled the rough journey well, without complaint. After a few stops and starts, the wagon settled into an even pace. She was about to fall back to sleep when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Thomas motioned silently to the air slot by his head and grinned. Scooting up a few inches, Marcy squinted to look through the narrow opening. Purple and pink covered the sky. It was sunset. Looking back at Thomas, their faces barely an inch apart, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She looked back out at the sunset until all the colors faded into darkness. Then she sighed and laid her head on Thomas’ chest, letting herself sleep at last.
* * *
Maerishka wiped the sweat from her brow, grabbing a fan to cool off. The stadium wasn’t usually so warm, especially not at night. The roof was open to the sky, allowing in a breeze. She saw the flags wave, but the wind did not have any effect on her. Looking around, she noticed no one else seemed bothered by the temperature. They were all focused on the exhibition match still raging between Zanden and Sardon. It was then she realized it was not coming from outside. The heat was coming from inside her. Struggling to retain her composure she moved to stand, knocking over a glass of water in the process. Alvexton and the guards looked at her questionably. “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit too much excitement for the night. There is still so much to do tomorrow to prepare for the final royal gala. But I’ve had a lovely time with you, tonight.”
“Of course, I understand completely” Alvexton replied. “I as well have enjoyed your company. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” Bowing, he took his leave.
Maerishka dismissed her guards and retreated to her private chamber adjoining the balcony. Opulent, even by royal standards, it held many marvels. The stadium was built with strong magic out of three hundred foot wide tree. The walls and doors were all part of the tree that were manipulated to curve around and grow in such a way to create hollow spaces for rooms. Most were simple, yet still awe inspiring. Her room was a step above all that. The wood of the tree curved to create her furniture. The tables, chairs and bed were all part of the tree. Moss and leaves formed cushions and the mattress. A moss carpet covered the floor, and leaves fanned out around a small sky light. Flowers decorated the room, adding their fragrance and beauty to complete the scene.
But she didn’t notice any of that, now. The burning was a raging inferno, worse than anything she imagined, even after her encounter with the statue. Through her pain, she sensed a presence behind her. A man, no not a man, but Venerith himself stepped out of the shadows. Staggering in height, his horns brushed against the fifteen foot ceiling. Seeing his statue did nothing to prepare her for seeing him in person. Thick horns curled from behind his head around above his eyes. Two long horns protruded from his chin, surrounded by three shorter ones on either side. Together, they formed a sharp bone beard. In fact, all the hair on his face was formed from bone. His eyebrows were a series of small spikes and a row of short horns ran along the center of his head. Venerith’s skin was a glossy black. It was so black, if one looked at it too long, you could imagine other colors lost within the darkness. He wore a blue leather tunic with white accents forming flames across the surface. A strap holding scrolls as one may carry knives crossed over his chest and around his back. Large clawed hands carried a larger scroll and a weapon that resembled a scepter. It was actually a large mace with a shaft the length of a staff. The top held an ornate globe of swirling colors lost in a black field of darkness. The setting for the globe was three curved blades. Blue flames ran up the length of the otherwise black shaft. It was as beautiful as it was dangerous. Where he walked, smoke appeared, leaving scorch marks on the floor. A faint aura of fire surrounded him without obscuring his appearance or burning the scrolls. His eyes were bright blue glowing orbs of light. It was impossible to tell where he looked, though she could feel the focus of his attention completely on her. He was beautiful and terrifying in his intensity.
She wondered
, as she writhed in agony, what she did to displease him. Why was he punishing her like this? Maybe he changed his mind and was canceling their agreement. Maybe he did not think her worthy of his blessings. Finally, unable and afraid to vocalize all her questions and fears, she spoke the only word she could think to speak. “Why?”
He grinned and squatted down beside her. “Power doesn’t come without a price.” He touched her chin and she went blind from the pain. When her vision returned, she almost wished it hadn’t. Flames surrounded her entire body. Heat infused her eyeballs, the hairs on her head, even her toe nails burned. It was as if her body was made of fire and not skin and blood and muscle. The fire was her strength. Her blood was molten heat. Her skin was just the visible edge of the flame. The flames ebbed and flowed with her breaths. She was fire. Slowly, the flames pulled back into her skin, the heat simmering beneath the surface. Whether the heat subsided or her tolerance of it was increased, she did not know, but the pain lessened, as well. Finally, she felt the pain ease away entirely. Feeling stronger than ever before, she held out her hands and called the flames to her. They came at once. This time, she did not burn. They grew and dissipated at her command. Excitement filled her. This was power unlike any she dared hope for. Surely no one could ever challenge her, now. She was invincible.
A scream sounded outside. She ignored it, but it was followed by others. Standing, she went to the balcony. In the stands and the floor of the stadium, people doubled over in pain. One by one, they were surrounded by flames. Her eyes teared, her body shook in fury. This wasn’t fair. She was the one who made the bargain. She and she alone was the one who should have received Venerith’s blessing.
Venerith walked up behind her and put a clawed hand casually on her shoulder. “Now, now, you didn’t think you were special, did you?” He chuckled and faded back into the shadows.
