The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs)

by D. W. Hawkins

  “Lie still, now,” D’Jenn murmured, closing his eyes. He didn’t appear to need her to take off the bandages at all, and suddenly a warm feeling went through her skin and spread into the wound, warming her stomach and eventually her entire body. The feeling passed through her slowly, and D’Jenn’s face took on a satisfied expression. It was over in a few seconds, and D’Jenn took his hand from her side gingerly. Shawna rolled her tunic back over her midsection.

  “What did you do?” she queried, peering sideways at him in the firelight.

  “Healing powers with magic are often hit-or-miss, and can produce less than desirable results,” D’Jenn explained slowly, “but there are some things you can do. One of those things is to sort of set the healing in the right direction, and protect the body against further damage. That is what I did for you, Shawna. You still need to take it easy a bit, but you may feel some of your pain is gone and the stiffness isn’t as bad. It will itch like fire tomorrow, but drinking water will help with that. Also, you should change your bandages tomorrow night. It should speed the process along a bit. If you wish, Dormael or I could do this for you every night, until you are in top condition once again.”

  “Thank you, D’Jenn,” Shawna said, smiling pleasantly at him.

  “It’s of no moment, really,” he replied, and he was silent once again, watching Dormael teach Bethany her letters with a passing interest.

  ****

  The next morning dawned as bright as the first, and Dormael awoke once more to the ache in his injured shoulder. Rolling into a sitting position, he rose from his blankets and walked over to the fire, where D’Jenn was once again making a pot of sweetpenny tea. D’Jenn did not look up at Dormael as he came over to the fire, only indicated the spot next to him on the log as a silent invitation to sit. Dormael plopped down and let out a long sigh.

  “Damned shoulder,” he muttered, “I’m getting tired of walking around with my arm in this sling. By Eindor’s bloody Eye, I’m ready to have done with it!” Dormael reached over with his left hand and let the knots of his sling out, tossing the piece of cloth aside and rolling his sore shoulder rebelliously. D’Jenn raised an eyebrow at him, but Dormael grunted at his cousin irritably.

  “What? It is feeling better, at least a little. Enough so that I can move the damned thing and go about my daily business without feeling like a Gods damned cripple,” he challenged.

  “I didn’t say anything,” D’Jenn defended, “I’m just glad you’re not going to be crying about it every hour or so.” Dormael laughed and shook his head and D’Jenn pulled the pot from the fire.

  “Cheers,” Dormael toasted, and D’Jenn echoed as the wizards took long drinks of the hot tea.

  “So, you’ve taken quite a liking to the girl,” D’Jenn conversed, taking a warm swallow.

  “Well, she is pretty, but I don’t think I’ve taken any more a liking to her than to any other. Redheads are fun, mind, but a master swordswoman is a little intimidating, if attractive,” Dormael replied.

  “I meant Bethany, actually,” D’Jenn said, smirking at his coz, “you’re ever so predictable, Dormael.” Dormael laughed in reply and shook his head. “I was wondering,” D’Jenn pushed on, “what you plan to do with the youngling.” Dormael looked over to the small mound of hair and blankets that was lying between his and D’Jenn’s bedrolls. He appeared to be considering his answer to the question, and let out another long sigh.

  “I’m not entirely sure, D’Jenn. I believe my mother will take the girl in, but if she doesn’t wish to then…well, I don’t know what I’ll do with her. I can’t just leave her somewhere, in some orphanage or something. She doesn’t belong in a place like that.”

  “I agree, but are you ready for the responsibility? I mean, are you really prepared to take the girl in and care for her?”

  “I…I don’t know, and why are you blathering at me like an old midwife all of a sudden? I just…I just want to make sure that she has what she needs. I want to know that she’s in a good place. She deserves it after…well, you know. The little one has just grown on me, coz, as she has grown on you. I’ve seen you sneaking her sweets at night, you’re not as clever as you think,” Dormael accused slyly. D’Jenn grinned and dropped his line of questioning as Shawna rose from her blankets and stretched, a little more successfully this time. She smiled warmly at the two wizards sitting next to the fire, and came over to sit across from them.

  “You were right, D’Jenn,” Shawna commented, “it’s not as stiff, but it does itch like fire.”

  “You gave her a little healing magic?” Dormael asked, and D’Jenn nodded to him in answer.

  “Have some tea and then go down to the creek and fill your waterskins. Drink at least one full skin and refill it before we leave,” D’Jenn told her as he poured her a cup of tea. She took it gratefully and blew on it before taking a dainty sip. D’Jenn sat in silence afterwards, peering into his cup and stroking his long goatee in thought. Dormael wondered what could be troubling his cousin so much this morning, but knew him enough not to ask. D’Jenn would tell him when he was ready to discuss it. He enjoyed puzzling things out.

  His shoulder really was feeling better, at least somewhat. It was sore, but it would be sore for some time. He was always sore somewhere and that didn’t mean he had to keep walking around as if he didn’t even have an arm. He rolled his right shoulder once again, and the more he worked it, the more the soreness began to bleed out of it. He smiled, his mood brightening immediately.

  “Now it’s my turn to do a little scouting, coz,” Dormael declared abruptly, standing from his seat on the log. D’Jenn eyed him suspiciously, and raised an eyebrow at his shoulder.

  “Surely you’re not going to go flying, coz…not with your arm in that condition. It wouldn’t be the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” D’Jenn replied.

  “You should come with me for once. I don’t know how you can sit here on the ground when there’s so much sky above us; I could teach you to fly better, you know.”

  “Yes, yes…you’ve told me. Perhaps, eventually I will let you, but not this morning. I’d end up having to carry you back here,” D’Jenn replied sarcastically.

  “Suit yourself, coz. I’ll return in a few minutes,” Dormael said, turning to go.

  “If you fall out of the sky, coz, do try to fall nearby. I don’t want to walk too far just to tell you ‘I told you so’,” D’Jenn called after him.

  With a running start and a great leap, Dormael’s form faded quickly into that of a large, gray gyrfalcon. He beat his long, sleekly feathered wings rhythmically to gain altitude, and soon he was whisking over the treetops. He turned into the wind and flapped a little more to keep up his speed, and soon the wind was pushing him farther and farther into the sky, until he was more than four hundred links above the ground. Winding around in a great circle, he turned and flew to the south.

  The wind above the trees was stronger than that upon the ground, it blew in from the southwest, and it was more than enough to keep him aloft, coasting along the cool drifts. His wings were magnificent, almost four hands wide and pointed slightly at the tips, and they cut through the air like a razor. His eyes were sharp, and it was them that he was using now to scan the ground before him.

  He could pick out prey from miles away; he could see trees in sharp detail even from this height, but there was no sign of pursuit behind them. He searched even among the boughs of the trees below, but he saw no campsite, nor the remains of one. Puzzled, he pushed on to the south along the road.

  No matter how hard he searched, there was nothing. He had thought that D’Jenn had been right about the Red Swords, and if he was then they should be chasing them by now. The road was deserted, however; empty as a drained ale tankard. Eventually, the walls of Ferolan loomed in the distance, and still seeing nothing, Dormael wheeled back to the north and gained more altitude.

  He flew towards the campsite in a lazy sort of approach, turning this way and that to line up his landing on the
road near the campsite. He had been gone for around twenty minutes, and soon he saw the saddled horses and his companions making ready to leave. D’Jenn had given him more time that he perhaps should have, but D’Jenn never really doubted him too greatly. Coming in low and flaring his wings at the last instant to slow down, Dormael touched down softly on the packed dirt.

  In the space of around a second, it was not great talons that dug into the earth below him, but his own feet standing surely underneath him. Bethany made a sound of amazement and Shawna was stuck with an expression of doubting surprise on her face. D’Jenn strode over and handed Dormael a piece of the dried meat rations everyone was eating. Dormael nodded in thanks and took a bite before telling them what he had seen.

  “Nothing?” D’Jenn asked incredulously, “That’s more than a little unsettling. What could they be doing? What could they be planning? I thought that they would be hounding our steps by now, forcing us to greater speed.”

  “Indeed,” replied Dormael, chewing another bite of the tough meat, “But I flew all the way down to Ferolan, and there wasn’t a soul between us and the city; no one.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t miss anything?” D’Jenn asked, but it was only a half-hearted question.

  “Falcons have very sharp eyesight, coz,” Dormael replied.

  “Of course,” D’Jenn sighed, stroking his goatee, “Well, I guess there’s nothing for it but to ride on to this village ahead of us. Let’s get moving…I’m not willing to believe that we’re out of the woods just yet.”

  “I agree,” Dormael assented, and climbed onto Horse behind Bethany, who was still silent with amazement at the sight of the great gray falcon reassuming the familiar shape of the wizard. The party moved out into a canter, everyone feeling a little unsettled and wanting to put some more mileage behind them.

  The day was as bright and clear as the day before, though Dormael had seen storms from the west coming their way from the sea, if the wind was any indication. He thought that they would most likely be here late tonight or sometime tomorrow, unless the wind grew stronger. He didn’t relish the thought of riding wet and cold, but he pushed the minute worry to the back of his mind and concentrated on riding.

  Eventually they all dismounted and led the horses at a slow jog, but Shawna’s side began to hurt too badly to continue that, so they walked those periods instead. It was like that through most of the day, cantering on the horses, and then walking beside them. It was a hard pace to keep, but the wizards were used to it and Shawna was in good shape. Bethany simply sat upon Horse the entire time, enjoying the ride and the crisp autumn day.

  As the day wore on the forest around them grew thicker, and the land began to take on the form of rolling hills. Dormael had seen on his flight that the ocean, though not more than a few miles to the west, laid more than two hundred links below them, crashing into the cliffs that formed the coast.

  Most of the coast of Cambrell was treacherous this way, looming cliffs that rose above the sea as if a giant axe had chopped a piece of land off, and the sea had rushed up to the wound. Ferolan had lain in a valley along the coast, and it was one of the few places where there was a suitable spot to build a port. The other notable spot was Borders, where they were headed now.

  Borders was built upon the inner edge of a natural harbor, and it would have been more prosperous than even Ferolan if it weren’t for the maelstrom fields that blocked the entrance to it. There were sailors who braved them, but most merchants sent their business farther south to Ferolan. It was simply a better business decision than to risk losing an entire ship to a maelstrom.

  The companions rode mostly in silence that day, not wanting to break the spell of peace that had somehow been woven around them. As dusk settled over the land, D’Jenn led the party off to the western side of the road into the forest. They walked through the trees for around ten minutes when D’Jenn called a halt. Dormael nodded in approval of what he saw.

  It was a campsite, but not just any campsite. It appeared that someone long ago had begun in an effort to improve the place, which was sheltered from the road by a low hill and from the rest of the forest by an unnatural thicket of large oak trees. The limbs of the trees almost intertwined, casting a deep and pleasant shadow over the site and creating a makeshift shelter from the western wind. The trees were high and ancient, and stood almost like sentinels of this place. Dormael bowed to them, satisfying a strange impulse that came upon him as he gazed at them.

  There was a fire pit dug deep into the ground, bereft of wood and filled with autumn leaves, and an iron grill lay upon a ring of rocks that were stacked neatly and undisturbed around the pit. Around the rock wall were five larger stones, worn smooth on top, and just the right height for sitting. Beside the great, ancient trees was a cabin, or the remains of one, the roof long ago fallen in, with just an open portal where the door must have been. Gold and brown leaves covered the ground like a thick carpet. The place had a quiet beauty to it, and it filled Dormael with a solemn sense of peace.

  “This is amazing,” Shawna sighed, “how did you know of this place?”

  “I came upon it on my way south. The villagers warned me that these woods were haunted, and of course I had to come investigate. Remember our conversation yesterday, Shawna?” The young woman nodded, still gazing around at the cozy thicket, and D’Jenn continued, “I believe that there was once a Blessed that lived here…a wizard who escaped persecution from his neighbors by living in the woods alone. I’m sure he or she probably took certain steps to make sure that they were safe, and over time the story turned into the one that the villagers told me: that the woods were haunted and full of evil spirits. I cannot be sure of course, but…there is a certain feeling to this place, is there not? Usually when a wizard dies he leaves sort of a…trace…upon the land. I think that is what we are all feeling right now.”

  “Well, whoever he was, he certainly knew where to make his home. This spot is one in a million,” Dormael approved.

  “Indeed he did, coz, indeed he did,” D’Jenn replied solemnly.

  ****

  That night they all enjoyed a meal of roasted vegetables and cheese. The fire glowed warmly and they made friendly conversation, feeling safe and at peace in this place with the giant oaks watching silently over them. Dormael taught Bethany more letters, and soon the two wizards were smoking their pipes, Dormael puffing on his simple unadorned pipe and D’Jenn smoking from his intricately carved dragon pipe. Shawna gazed contentedly into the fire, and Bethany was snoozing in her blankets, wrapped up to her hairline.

  “I guess the mistletoe hunt has been completely forgotten,” Shawna remarked, smiling at the small girl rolled in her blankets.

  “It appears so, doesn’t it?” Dormael laughed lightly, “I think she was worried more about the presents anyway. I remember when I was a child. The only important things in the world were pranks, presents, and staying as dirty as I possibly could.”

  “I remember that,” D’Jenn laughed suddenly, “I also remember you and I hanging the Clan Leader’s son from his door handle by the smallclothes. Your father was laughing so hard that he couldn’t lash us for it.”

  “Yes, but he certainly told my mother he did,” Dormael larked. Shawna smiled at the two wizards giggling at their childhood memories, but appeared to be wrestling with something. Dormael saw her expression, and still laughing asked her what was wrong.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she replied with a wry expression, “I just don’t know very much about your land or your people.”

  “That, my dear is easily remedied,” Dormael assured her, “I can explain some of the basics to you now. Alright, where to start…”

  “Well, I do know that there are seven kingdoms there, it’s where the name comes from,” Shawna offered as a starting point. Dormael looked over at D’Jenn with an expression that said they had heard that before.

  “That is a common misconception, Shawna. Let me try and explain,” Dormael began, taking another long pul
l from his unadorned pipe and sending long tendrils of smoke into the air from his nostrils as he spoke, “There aren’t kingdoms in the Sevenlands. We don’t have kings or emperors. First of all, there are seven different tribes of Sevenlanders. That, my dear, is where the name comes from.

  “Each tribe has a certain amount of land under its control, but it isn’t a kingdom. There is Orris, Farra-Jerra, Runeme, Duadan, Tept, Tasha-Mal, and our own tribe, Soirus-Gamerit. Each tribe has a leader, called a Kansil. The Kansils of the tribes sit on the Council of Seven, which is the main ruling body of our homeland. Kansils serve for life, unless they are pulled down by their Clan Leaders, but I will explain that in a moment.

  “Now, the Council does have a chairman, or Tal-Kansil. He is not in charge of the other Kansils, but his vote counts as two votes, and he also commands the armies of the Sevenlands, the other Kansils acting as his subordinates in times of war. The post of Tal-Kansil changes every three years to another Kansil in order; thus is power constantly shifted.

  “Alright, now in every tribe there are clans. Many clans, around nine in each tribe, though this varies from tribe to tribe. These clans all are led by Clan Leaders. Clan Leaders choose the Kansil of their tribe from among their own ranks, and only they may depose a Kansil. One Kansil may not depose another, nor may the Council of Seven relieve a Kansil of his post. Clan Leaders also serve for life, unless they are pulled down in turn by their own subordinates.

  “Every clan is made up of families, around nine in each clan just as before. Each family chooses a Patron, or Matron in some cases, to speak for them during Clan Summits. It doesn’t have to be the oldest, or even the wisest member of a family. It is whomever the family chooses. Clan Leaders are chosen from the ranks of the Patrons, and only the Patrons may pull down a Clan Leader.

  “So, you see, there are clear lines of authority from the smallest member of a family all the way to the Tal-Kansil, and everyone is represented in some fashion by the government. It has been thus for a thousand years, and we have never had a problem with it,” Dormael finished with a wink.