Hunter Brown and the Consuming Fire

by Chris Miller

  “Twelve,” Xaul replied coldly.

  “Yes, that seems about right,” the old troll replied. Turning slowly to face his guest, the forger lowered his hammer. His face was worn and pale. “Please have a seat,” he offered, motioning to the filthy chair. Xaul thought better of it and chose to remain standing.

  “I didn’t come to visit, Peralys,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “No, I don’t suppose you did—no one ever does, you know!” He sighed, wiping his sweaty brow with a soot-blackened rag that left a smudge on his already dirty face. “So then, what is it?”

  “This,” Xaul said proudly, removing the hilt of a sword from his belt. He held it out to Peralys, but the man didn’t move.

  “Bring it here,” the forger instructed, extending his outstretched palm and staring blankly at Xaul. Only then did Xaul notice the old troll’s eyes were clouded over—he was completely blind.

  Moving closer, Xaul pressed the hilt into the troll’s grip. The troll turned it over in his large wrinkled hands. Xaul watched as the troll’s fingers examined each feature. The markings were simple, yet defined. The grip of the hilt was smooth and rounded, the guard slanted slightly upward. In the center of the guard near the top of the grip was a symbol: three intersecting V’s—the Author’s mark. Peralys recognized it instantly.

  “A Veritas Sword? Where did you get this?”

  Not interested in being questioned, Xaul changed the subject. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is whether or not you can reforge it to my will.”

  “Reforging a Veritas Sword?” Peralys grinned. “Well now, that would be a challenge. I can’t say it has ever been done before.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Peralys,” Xaul growled, his tone telling of his lust for power.

  Closing his blind eyes, the old troll contemplated the task. “Even if I were able to successfully reforge this weapon, it would still be useless to you. A Veritas Sword has a will of its own, a hidden power that the Codebearers claim comes from…”

  “Yes, yes…the Code of Life, I know!” Xaul interrupted. “I don’t need you to lecture me on the misguided beliefs of the fools. What I need to know is if you can remove its allegiance—make it listen to me.”

  Peralys opened his blind eyes at last and grinned. “I am sure of it!” He hobbled across the room to the fire pit and held the sword out over the flames. The weapon gleamed to life in the heat of the fire, revealing a blade, which was invisible before. The softening shape of the sword’s hilt burned vibrant orange, the color of molten lava, and the forger moved the steaming weapon to the anvil.

  Picking up his blackened hammer, Peralys began to pound out a rhythm on the glowing hilt. The steady, pulsing beat seemed to switch notes from time to time, as if the hammer itself were singing a slow and melancholy tune. But there was something else hidden within the song of the hammer, something strangely dark and terribly powerful.

  Clang, clang, clang!

  Xaul watched with anticipation as the once golden sword began to change in appearance. The metal slowly darkened and twisted beneath the beat of Peralys’ hammer, until at last it was black and curved. After safely passing his hand over the hilt where the invisible blade should have been, he smiled and handed the newly forged sword to its new master.

  Xaul took the now altered hilt of the Veritas Sword and swung it hard at the table beside him. Nothing happened.

  Peralys laughed. “It is as I said, the sword has a will of its own. Perhaps with patience and training you will learn to… ”

  Whooosh!

  The blade of the sword flashed to life in Xaul’s hands as he severed the table in two. The shape of the blade was as dark as midnight, silhouetted only by a faint indigo hue that glowed around the space where the absent blade might be.

  Peralys was shocked. “Impressive…”

  “I’m a fast learner.”

  Peralys knew there was more to it than that but Xaul was not one to share. “Your passion for the Old Way burns in your heart, Xaul. Tell me, what do you hope to accomplish with the blade? It will not change what happened to your people.”

  Xaul tensed at the mention of the fate of his tribe. “No, but it can bring justice…and reclaim what was once foolishly lost. This sword can bring hope to my cause—a restoration promised long ago.”

  “The eternal flame,” Peralys said with a smile.“You seek to find the eternal flame?”

  Xaul shifted in place, uneasy with the troll’s knowledge of his people’s beliefs. “Who told you about the flame?”

  Peralys moved back toward the anvil and picked up his hammer once more. “You forget we were once allies. Our relationship wasn’t always this way, you know—we used to be friends.

  Xaul pondered Peralys’ remarks in silence. Nodding his head, the troll turned away with a sigh.

  “Yes, things are different now. I’m afraid your mission is impossible, Xaul; even the Shadow’s most skilled seekers could not find the flame. It is a lost cause.”

  “But I am not Shadow…I am Xin.”

  “Yes,” Peralys nodded, “and a proud race at that, the Xin. But you are the last of your kind—the age of the Xin is over. Enemies of the Shadow cannot hide forever. It is a wonder you have survived this long. Why don’t you join us? There is strength in numbers, Xaul.”

  “My business is my own,” Xaul said coldly, raising the darkened Veritas Sword once more. Peralys sensed Xaul’s intention but did nothing to stop him.

  “I see,” the old troll said sadly, understanding his death was imminent. Before Xaul could strike him down, Peralys made one last request. “Tell me, if you are successful in finding the flame, whose sword will release it? To whom did it once belong?”

  Xaul paused for a moment and answered with a low angry tone.

  “His name was Caleb.”

  With a flash of indigo light Peralys fell to the ground, his hand still clutching his hammer—the very one that reforged the sword that killed him.

  Chapter 2

  One of Those Days

  Hunter, you lazy bum, for the last time get up!” my sister’s shrill voice called from outside my room. The flimsy wooden door that separated me from the hallway shook loudly as she pounded it to exaggerate her point.

  “Mmmmmph,” I groaned weakly, hoping to convince her I was awake. Surprisingly, it worked. The groan had just enough force in it to satisfy her demands and send her tromping down the hall to finish her own morning routine. It was the same drill every morning. She’d knock another three times before I actually had to be awake. Without opening my eyes, I rolled over for a few more precious minutes of sleep.

  Summer break had ended too soon for my liking—two weeks ago to be exact—and my body still wasn’t used to waking up so early.

  Unfortunately, now that Mom had found a new job that required her to catch a carpool at o-dark-thirty every morning, my sister, Emily, was put in charge of getting us out the door on time, a task she seemed to relish. She took particular pleasure in bossing me around lately. One thing was clear—the older she got, the less I liked her. We used to get along fairly well, but the last few years had really changed things. She was definitely the last person I wanted waking me up.

  For starters, she was one of those peppy morning people, highly energetic and incredibly annoying. She expected me to be the same, but we couldn’t have been more different. She hardly ever set her alarm, often bragging about how her “internal clock” woke her up every day on time without fail. I, on the other hand…well, let’s just say I was a ten-times-snooze-button kind of guy. It’s not that I’m lazy or anything, just more of a night owl.

  Emily absolutely excelled at school. It was her talent in life. So, while she effortlessly produced straight A’s out of thin air, I struggled to maintain passing grades. I was determined to do better this year, if only for the sake of saying I tried. Honestly, for the first
time in years I actually wanted to do well, but old habits die hard and I often found my mind drifting in class despite my best intentions.

  As a sophomore, I was still trying to find my own stride. Being a prankster last year had upped my cool factor significantly, but it also had gotten me into a lot of trouble with Cranton, the school bully, not to mention the principal. Over the summer I decided to try and find better ways to gain attention. So far, I was not making any progress.

  Blam, blam, blam!

  The pounding on my bedroom door began again.

  “You better not be asleep again,” Emily scolded from the hallway.

  “Okay, I’m up!” I groaned angrily, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I ran my fingers through my scraggly blond hair and let out a slow sigh.

  “I’m not your alarm clock you know,” Emily hollered back through the hollow door. I was too tired to respond.

  “Are you sure you’re up?” she asked.

  “Yes!” I moaned. “Leave me alone!”

  “Fine, get yourself to school then; I’m leaving! Just be sure to lock up before you go.”

  Glancing groggily at the alarm clock, I nearly fell out of my bed at what it read: 7:43! How could it be so late already? School started in a little over fifteen minutes and I was just getting up!

  Wham!

  The back door slammed as Emily left the house in a hurry. If I didn’t catch up, I was going to miss my ride and end up being terribly late. There was no time to delay.

  Quickly sniffing a pair of jeans from the floor, I threw them on and darted down the hall. With what little time I had, the shirt I’d slept in would have to do. Grabbing my backpack and stepping into my shoes, I launched myself through the back door, hoping to catch up with Emily before it was too late. I exited just in time to watch the taillights of her car disappear around the corner, taking my only hope of being on time with them.

  I threw my bag down in disgust. How could she let me sleep in like that?

  School wasn’t that far away, but fifteen minutes was more than pushing it. To make matters worse, my first class was biology—Mr. Tanner’s class. Tanner was anything but a pushover. He was an intensely drab person, passionate about rules and order—not the type of guy to cut me some slack for being a few minutes late.

  I had no time to waste. I quickly located my skateboard and rode off down the street, searching for every shortcut imaginable. There was little hope of arriving at school on time, but I had to try.

  The crisp morning reminded me that change was already in the air. Fall was coming. It was usually my favorite time of year, but not this year. There was already enough change in my life to go around.

  For starters, my own friends seemed a bit more distant lately. Stubbs had actually moved to a private school in another town, and Stretch, who used to be my closest friend, was finding other things to spend his time on. We still hung out on occasion, but it wasn’t the same as before. What’s worse is that even though we both had traveled through the Author’s Writ together, his decision to exit through the green door had erased his memory of Solandria entirely. He remembered nothing that had happened in our previous adventure, which meant I was the only one who seemed to believe in the magic of the book and the powerful Author who wrote it.

  Instead, Stretch had finally decided to start a chess club at Destiny High, which was a big step for him but took most of his free time and left little opportunity to hang out anymore.

  Beyond my friend trouble, there had been plenty of change on the home front as well. Mom had recently decided it would be better for us to sell the house and move into a small apartment nearer her work. So, in addition to losing my friends, I would soon be losing my home and my memories of having grown up here.

  Through all the changes, Hope’s medallion, Dad’s broken watch and the Author’s Writ were the three items I treasured the most. They were all that remained from my previous adventure and my only hope of one day returning to Solandria. Sadly, the book no longer seemed to possess the magic it once held. I read passages from it every day, but try as I might I had not been able to see beyond the words as I had before.

  In my mind it all seemed so real, but the topic of a parallel realm was a subject not easily discussed at home or with my friends. To put it bluntly, they all thought I was crazy. Then again, who wouldn’t if you told them you had been to another realm that co-existed with our own where you fought off a dark enemy and were saved by an old man who claimed to be the son of the Author.

  Riding down the final hill, I had a sudden feeling that I was being watched. I might have shaken it off except for the fact that it wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way. The feeling came and went a lot lately. Once before, as I was walking home from school, I thought I spotted a flash of black following me from a distance but I never was able to figure out what it was. This time I glanced over my shoulder, but as expected, nobody was there.

  I arrived at school as the annoying buzzer, generally referred to as the hall bell, sounded loudly—class was starting. Without hesitation, I chucked my skateboard carelessly into the bushes by the front steps and raced down the hallway in hopes of making it to my home room before Mr. Tanner marked me late. To the amazement of everyone in the classroom and myself, I barged through the door just as Mr. Tanner announced my name in dutiful monotone.

  “Brown, Hunter?”

  “Here!” I gasped, catching my breath in the doorway.

  Mr. Tanner turned his head only slightly in my direction and frowned. His beady eyes looked tiny behind his horn-rimmed glasses—covered in part by the reflection of the fluorescent lights in his thick lenses. His silver hair was slicked back perfectly and a number two pencil was set over one ear. As always, he wore his signature black tie, which featured a DNA double helix in its design. A simple black sweater vest covered his pinstriped, short sleeve dress shirt. The outfit was practically his uniform, and I often wondered if he had any other choices in his wardrobe at all.

  “Well, Mr. Brown, I’m glad to see you decided to join us,” he observed as he checked my name off of his attendance chart with a hint of displeasure in his mechanical motions. “And just in time too, how…spontaneous of you.” With that he glanced a second time at his watch and shook it rapidly as if wishing it were a few minutes slow. He clearly felt robbed of the pleasure of marking me tardy.

  “Sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” I replied, gasping for breath and expecting that would be the end of it. But he wasn’t quite finished.

  “While you are technically on time, Mr. Brown, I would rather prefer that you adapt your routine so as NOT to test my patience by showing up at the last possible moment,” he scolded.

  “Yes sir,” I answered as I began to make my way toward the back of the classroom.

  “In fact, let this be a reminder to us all; the here and now is all we have. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

  Precisely as he finished, my foot caught the leg of a desk chair and I tumbled to the floor. The classroom erupted in a scattered round of chuckles. Mr. Tanner tried desperately to regain their attention and to continue the roll call. I took my seat at the back of the room and tried to blend in. Stretch sat in front as usual. He looked back and raised an eyebrow as if to ask what happened. I shrugged him off.

  When at last the roll was complete, Mr. Tanner set his clipboard down, cleared his throat and began his lesson for the day. As he spoke, he paced back and forth in front of his neatly organized desk, with his hands tucked snuggly behind his back.

  “Throughout history the outcome of world events has been decided in part by secret messages. Because of secrets that were kept, and those that were not, wars have been won, dictators have been overthrown and the future of our world has been determined. From the hieroglyphics of ancient times to our modern alphabet, codes have been used to communicate. Of course, whenever there is a secret code there is also th
e desire to solve it…to crack the code, and learn its secrets.”

  He picked up a copy of our textbook, Biology and You, and held it over his head.

  “Now, you are probably wondering why we’re talking about history in a biology class. Actually, you might be surprised to learn that secret messages are as much a part of biology as they are a part of history—only more so. In fact, scientists have discovered a secret code hidden deep within our very cells. We call it…the Code of Life.”

  My ears perked at the mention of the Code of Life. After all, the Code of Life was something I had been taught about in Solandria by Sam and the others. According to the Author’s Writ, the Code of Life was the manuscript of all life, written by the Author himself. I suddenly found new interest in what Mr. Tanner was saying.

  “The Code of Life, or DNA as we call it, is the data sequence that exists in every living thing known to man. Over time, it has evolved into a highly complex code, nearly seven billion characters long, which establishes everything from the number of hairs on your head to the specific genetic traits passed from one generation to another. And the most amazing part of all is that this code, this supercomputer of data inside of you, all happened by pure…unadulterated…chance.”

  He paused for dramatic effect, though his voice lacked the charisma to give such a pause much impact. He then launched into a lengthy discussion about how amazing it was that the genetic code was responsible for so many varied forms of life. Most everyone in class slumped back in their chairs, ignoring his teaching and trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep at the start of the day.

  Throughout his discussion, I couldn’t help but think about what I had learned about the Code of Life not so very long ago. A voice from the past echoed in my mind.