Hunter Brown and the Consuming Fire

by Chris Miller

  Rob and I just looked at each other, neither of us able to decide who should explain the obvious hole in her logic. After pressing a few buttons and tapping the screen a few times, Trista finally tossed the phone aside with disgust. “Figures…no b-b-bars out here,” she said with a scowl.

  “Shhhh!” Rob hissed. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear w-what?” I strained to listen, but could only hear the wind whistling across the holes in our gondola’s roof.

  “I thought I heard crunching. Like s-s-something was moving around out there.”

  We all held our breath and tried to keep as still as our shaking bodies would allow. A minute passed—nothing stirred.

  Rob shook it off. “Sorry. Guess I’m j-j-just hearing things.”

  Crumph…Crumph…Crumph…Crumph…

  This time we all heard the sound. Something was out there.

  Trista excitedly jumped to her feet and screamed out, “HEY! OVER HERE…”

  I quickly pulled her down and covered her mouth with my hand, whispering harshly, “What are you thinking? We don’t know what that is! For all we know, you just invited some wild beast over for dinner!”

  She wriggled her head free of my hand and defiantly made a point of answering in a loud voice, “Or, I might have just found someone to save our skin!”

  Crumph. Crumph. Crumph. CRUMPH. CRUMPH…

  The muffled footsteps became much faster and louder. They were coming nearer; so close, in fact, that we could imagine the forceful weight behind them.

  Trista gulped. She didn’t look so sure of herself anymore, adding in a hushed voice this time, “Maybe a very large someone?”

  CRUMPH. CRUMPH...CRUMPH!

  Snow clumps shook loose from the inside of our handmade walls, crumbling onto our heads. This time, Rob didn’t flinch when a piece melted down his back. No one dared to move.

  A large, dark presence stomped across the roof of the gondola, blocking the light from the holes in the roof Rob had created with his sword during the Dispirit attack. The beastly creature sniffed forcefully through the holes, sending grunts and blasts of its warm breath down on us. It gave a hearty snort before withdrawing to let loose a deep, guttural howl.

  I pressed Trista down low as Rob fumbled for his sword to defend us from the threat. Before he could get a hand on it, more earth-shaking footsteps barreled up, followed by an unexpected booming voice, “Ha ha! First ta find ’em!”

  A second voice bellowed back from a distance, “Yah, sure ya would since ya done tied my snowshoes together, numb-brain!”

  “Oo! Now there’s a pretty face for a loser. Careful or it might freeze that way.”

  “Fine mum-talk comin’ from an ol’ ninny gabber like you. Quit yakin’ and dig ’em out.”

  No sooner were the words spoken then a massive, furry arm blasted through the snow wall behind Rob and yanked him, collar-first out into the stormy white. An equally hairy face appeared at the hole, thundering, “Welcome ta Galacia!”

  We were pulled from the gondola wreckage by the two burly men who had found us—brothers, as it turned out, by the names of Ven and Zven. Our “welcoming committee” piled us onto a sturdy sled where they sandwiched us between a dozen or so fur blankets to protect us from the elements. One of their shaggy snow beasts did the rest. Called “Scampas,” the mammoth, white-furred creatures looked to be a cross between an oversized razorback pig and a wolf. They had sharp teeth that jutted out ferociously like tusks, and a pair of pointy horns protruding atop their head. Not the kind of animals you would ever want to cross paths with in the wild, but under the careful training of our rescuers these two were actually quite friendly and incredibly useful.

  The sled moved quickly, pulling us to the safety of Ven and Zven’s remarkable home. It was fashioned entirely from snow and ice, nestled up against a mountainside where we now sat in relative comfort on ice blocks draped with animal pelts. We were settled around a warm fire, donning borrowed coats and eating a hot stew before we knew it.

  “So, don’t cha believe none of my brother about being first ta find you,” Ven added, waving a soup ladle at his brother. “’Twas really Godee, my Scampa, who nosed the lot of ya first.”

  “He was never part of the race,” Zven barked back. “I won, and you know it!”

  Trista bit her lip and tried to stifle a giggle behind her blanket. It was admittedly hard not to laugh at the ridiculous way the two grown men carried on.

  They had introduced themselves as the Thordin brothers. Going on appearances you would think they were identical twins. Both were taller and wider than most men. Both spoke in the same loud, powerful voice—often at the same time. And both had bushy, reddish beards crowned by the thickest mustaches I’d ever seen. These dustbroom-sized features made it so that whenever they talked, you could hardly see their mouths move. For all their similarities, their only apparent distinction was that Zven, the younger of the two, was a stated quarter inch taller than Ven—a fact that was loudly contested by the latter.

  “Ven, Zven,” Trista cordially interrupted their dispute, “I never thanked you for saving us. I owe you my life!”

  “Ah, the only one you be owing any life ta now, missy, would be the Author!” Ven replied, ladling some of the thick stew into a wooden mug.

  “True, true,” Zven nodded. “Were it not for him, we’d be livin’ out here in the ice for no good reason.”

  “And…what would the good reason be?” I asked, curious to know why anyone would actually choose to endure such a harsh climate.

  An authoritative male voice answered from behind me, “How about attending to the needs of a sickly, old friend like me?”

  Ven and Sven immediately stood to honor their other guest. Following their example, I stood as well and turned to face him.

  Making an entrance into the room from behind one of the animal hide door flaps was a blonde-haired man with a well-trimmed goatee. Though he was wearing fur now, and not the armor I had always known him to wear before, I immediately recognized him.

  “Petrov!” I blurted, forgetting any protocol and rushing over to hug him. The Commander of the Codebearer Resistance was somewhat surprised, but still graciously returned the embrace with one arm.

  “It does my heart good to see you again, Hunter. Knowing my message got through means more than I can say.”

  Petrov looked over at Rob and Trista who were still standing by the fire. “Come. You must introduce us.”

  “Oh! Right. These are my friends,” I began, “Trista, meet Commander Petrov.”

  Petrov nodded to her, “Trista, pleasure to meet you.”

  She smiled and did her best to curtsy, much to his amusement. “I take it this is your first time to Solandria,” he chuckled.

  Trista blushed, realizing her blunder, and remained uncommonly quiet.

  Turning to Rob, Petrov added, “But not yours, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Rob looked amazed and sputtered, “Yes sir. I mean, no… That is, I’ve been here a few times before, for training mostly, at Sanctuary when I was younger. I’m just surprised you would remember me!”

  “Oh! My apologies. I can’t say my memory is that good. I only noticed that you carry a Veritas; what was your name again?” Petrov extended his left hand.

  “Oh! Right. It’s Bob, er…I mean, Rob, sir.”

  As they shook hands, I caught a glimpse of Petrov’s right arm, which had been tucked beneath a thick cape until now. The bare arm was hanging limp in a loose sling; a good portion of the hand and forearm were grossly discolored and scabbed.

  “Your arm, what happened?” I exclaimed.

  “It’s a long story,” he replied, “and one that will be told soon enough.” He quickly pulled the cape back over the unsightly arm and then waved to the Thordins, announcing, “But first, we eat.”

  Ven and Zven heartily agr
eed to the idea and quickly portioned out stew. It was meaty, chewy and a bit burnt, but the flavor didn’t matter all that much—it was warm! The meal finished quickly, as any normal attempt to engage in conversation at this temperature would have meant the difference between eating a hot meal and getting stuck with a stew-sicle to lick. The brothers were the first to finish, knowing this fact all too well.

  “The meal was excellent as always, Thordins. Thank you,” Petrov said as he handed his empty mug to Zven for washing.

  “Now, before I tell you my story, I am eager to hear from you, Hunter.”

  His request had come mid-slurp for me. “Abowd whad?” I asked with a partially full mouth.

  “About the night you disappeared. About what happened down in Venator’s lair.”

  My expression, as I wiped a bit of stew from my mouth, must have been one of complete confusion. Up until now, I had always assumed that the accounts of my end would have been common knowledge to the Resistance, let alone its Commander.

  Seeing my bewilderment, Petrov explained further, “You must understand, Hunter, we have had very little information to go on. The only survivor to have seen anything of what happened in there was Captain Faldyn. The last thing he reported seeing, as he stormed Venator’s secret chamber, was the great serpent, Sceleris, being released from the Bloodstone you held. Faldyn fell unconscious soon after… and no one ever saw you or Venator again.”

  Across the firelight, I saw Rob and Trista exchange wide-eyed glances. Even the lumbering Thordins paused from their dinner cleanup. I could feel every eye trained on me, waiting to hear my explanation.

  “Then I guess it’s time I share the truth about who I was.”

  I went on to explain how Aviad had shown me the Bloodstone Prophecy, how he revealed that I was the chosen one that would bring an end to the curse. Never had I imagined what I was to discover when I finally faced the Shadow lord in battle. The truth was that I was Venator and Venator was me.

  “Aw now!” Zven brashly interrupted at this point. “You’re jus’ pullin’ our beards.”

  Ven gave his brother’s beard a sharp tug and chided, “No, I am! Now mind yar manners, blubbermouth. Give the boy a chance to finish explainin’ himself.”

  Petrov ignored the interruption, pressing me further, “If this connection existed between you and Venator, then how did you defeat him without…”

  “Dying?” I finished the thought for him then shook my head. “At first, I thought I could—especially once I realized the stone’s power for myself. It was more powerful than I had ever imagined. You see, Venator wasn’t the only one carrying a piece of the Bloodstone. I had the other half hidden inside me all along—it was my heart. A heart of stone.”

  Trista gasped and there was a loud thump as Rob fell off his seat, having inched too close to the edge as each detail unfolded. Petrov, however, didn’t flinch but continued staring deeply into the fire as I finished telling how the end came about.

  I told how the idea of Aviad intentionally omitting the truth about my identity and my hidden power upset me, of how I let that thought poison my mind. How could I trust that he had my best interests at heart? How would he and the Codebearers be any different than the Shadow? After all, I had reasoned, they both wanted a power that was rightfully mine to give or keep. So I determined if I could hide Venator’s half of the cursed stone to keep the two from ever joining, then I could prevent both the Shadow and the Codebearers from ever controlling me and avoid the promised curse the Author had prophesied.

  “But I was wrong to think I could somehow outwit the Author,” I concluded. “As soon as my hand touched the other half, the Bloodstone’s power took over, fusing itself to me and releasing Sceleris. I completely lost control.”

  Trista piped in, “But how did you make it out alive?”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t.”

  Ven leaned over to Zven and muttered, “I’m with ya now. He’s definitely pullin’ our beards.”

  Rob interjected, “Um, not to sound stupid, but if you died then why are you here now?”

  Why was I here? I had not tired of asking myself that question. Not that I fully knew the answer, but each time I considered it I was reminded of the sacrifice that was made on my behalf.

  “The Author saved me. Aviad came.” I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled the moment when he invaded time and space and met me in my most desperate time of need.

  “Aviad?” Petrov murmured. “Tell me more. What did he do?” he asked excitedly.

  “He gave me a choice to keep the Bloodstone halves and face the curse’s end myself or…” I felt my throat tighten a bit and tried to swallow the rising emotion back down. “…or to give him the stone pieces—including my heart—and let him take the curse for me.”

  The whole room fell silent but for the crackling fire, as everyone considered the weight of that testimony.

  “Then it’s over!” Petrov suddenly proclaimed with amazement. “The Bloodstone Prophecy’s curse is ended!”

  “Aviad finished it himself?” Ven wondered solemnly. “That’d account for him being missin’, now wouldn’t it?”

  “And for how aggressive the Shadow have been o’er the past three years since,” Zven added. “Without the Bloodstone’s power, they’d be grabbin’ at all they could take before it all came crashing down ’round them.”

  “Hold it,” I replied, trying to reconcile what I’d just heard. “Did you just say years? But I’ve only been gone for three months.”

  “No, Hunter. Ven’s count is right,” Petrov said. “You’ve been missing for just shy of three years here in Solandria.”

  I tried to make some sense of it, asking, “So, is it a month in the Veil is a year in Solandria?”

  Ven cleared his throat and tried to explain, “That’d be simple enough, but…no. It’s long been known that our times are not bound together in any partic’lar way. A year in Solandria can be a blink in the Veil…”

  Zven butted in, “And a sneeze here could cover a lifetime fer ya Veil-folk.”

  Trista found the concept frightening, “You mean, I could be stuck here forever?”

  “That’s right, missy,” Ven replied, then shrugged his shoulders.

  Trista looked like she was about to faint again.

  “Oh ho! Had you going there now, didn’t we?” Zven finally said. “You don’t have ta worry none about being lost here forever…why that’s just nonsense. Never happened before.”

  Trista sighed and caught her breath for a moment. “Good.”

  “Ya, the longest anyone’s been gone from the Veil was good ol’ Eli and that was only fer like a thousand years or so…”

  Trista didn’t look impressed.

  “Don’t mind them,” Petrov interrupted. “They’re just having a bit of fun with you, I’m afraid. The Author always returns you where you most need to be. Your friends won’t even notice you’ve been gone, right, Hunter?”

  I nodded, reminding Trista I had been here before.

  Taking charge of the conversation again, Petrov turned to me. “You had asked me earlier what happened to my arm. I believe now would be the appropriate time to share what has been happening here for these past three years. There is much to tell.”

  I listened intently as Petrov described how the Resistance completely routed the Shadow from the Shard of Inire, where Venator had ruled. The defeat of Venator, though riddled with mystery, had been a triumph for our small army. But the victory had not come without great price. Many good Codebearers had given their lives in that epic battle. As Petrov named some of the warriors who had fallen that day, I conjured up their faces, finally stopping on Hope—her head cradled in my hands as she died. I could feel it all over again; the pain of that loss still weighed heavy on me.

  “It was my sword that killed her,” I announced suddenly. Petrov stopped talking and w
aited for me to continue. “It was an accident. We were fighting Venator and…” I couldn’t find words for the rest, looking away. “I just thought you should know that.”

  I didn’t dare look at her, but I could tell that Trista was tearing up. She was certain to have put two and two together now to understand more fully why the medallion had been so special to me. As for the others, I had no way of knowing what they were thinking of me right now.

  When he finally did speak again, Petrov remained remarkably calm. “Don’t blame yourself, Hunter. The Author has a purpose in all things. Those who trust in him have only to wait—he will make all things known in time.”

  As it turned out, Hope had played a key role in what happened next for the Resistance. Petrov described how, after the doctors had identified the wound as one inflicted by a Veritas Sword, rumors and speculation began to fly about whose sword it had been and why. Though a few rumors involved me, the more popular ones implicated Faldyn in one way or another. The fact that he already had been at odds with the Council on other issues certainly had not helped quell the growing tension between them.

  “What’s more,” Petrov explained, “when Faldyn first brought Hope to us she was still alive, though barely. Faldyn claimed he had already revived her once by using a concoction stolen from the Shadow and tried to persuade us to let him attempt more such treatments. While his intention was to help, this clearly went against the Code of Life, which teaches that the wounds of a Veritas Sword can only be healed by the Author. Faldyn was publicly rebuked for his part and only grew more bitter over time.”

  “Hope remained comatose and unresponsive for two months while cared for at one of our outposts on Inire. During that time, I took it upon myself to find a more suitable long-term caretaker on my home shard of Obduront and arranged for her transport.”

  “Is that where she is now?” I asked, eager to see her again, no matter her condition. “Could I visit her?”

  Petrov’s pained expression betrayed his answer before he even spoke a word. “No, Hunter. The ship never reached Obduront…. It was found later. All signs pointed toward a Shadow raiding party. One of the survivors claimed he saw Faldyn among the enemy. I’m sorry…”