Enflamed (Book 2)

by R. M. Prioleau

  Aidan stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Then donate it to orphanage. The children will eat good for long time.”

  The announcer gawked at him. “Ah ... o–okay then? I guess we will donate it to—”

  “’Old on there!” Nester tugged at the announcer’s tunic, and the man looked down. “I’m Aidan’s manager, y’know,” Nester continued. “I look after ’im an’ all that. Aidan obviously got bumped in th’ ’ead that last round, so ’is judgment’s a little off. I’ll just go ahead an’ ’andle th’ prize money for you, if you don’t mind.”

  The announcer shooed Nester away. “Off with you! The money will be donated to the orphanage as per the winner’s wishes, and that’s final!”

  The cheers had died down, and the crowd began to disperse.

  Rubbing his pained ribs, Aidan quickly made his way out of the plaza.

  “Aidan! ’Ow could you just up and reject a ’uge sum of money like that?!” Nester had caught up with Aidan walking alongside him, trying to keep up with his long-legged gait.

  Aidan kept silent.

  “Now we won’t ’ave enough money for our trip to Ghaeldorund!” Nester fingered some coins in one of his belt pouches. “Well, at least I managed to make a li’l ’ere an’ there. And I’m sure as ‘ells ain’t givin’ you a single soddin’ piece! Th’ kids are richer than us! Can you believe that?!”

  Aidan kept his eyes focused ahead as he made his way toward the nearest inn.

  “I’ve never seen a more stupid bloke than you, Aidan,” Nester continued. “’Ow could you ...”

  Aidan stopped listening. Gaston had unnerved him. That bitter taste never left his mouth, and those mixed scents of something bloody and pleasant were etched in his mind.

  VIII

  Kaijin couldn’t stop grinning as he perused booth after booth of books. For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace with himself. Flipping through an assortment of tomes pertaining to the gods—more particularly, Ignis, the Firelord—Kaijin noticed Zarya out of the corner of his eye. She simply stared at him while he read in silence.

  “How interesting,” she said at last.

  He stopped reading and looked up. “What?”

  Zarya smiled. “Someone like yourself being so avidly curious about the gods.” She lowered her voice. “Are you looking to become a Ignan cleric?”

  “No,” Kaijin replied. “I simply wish to further expand my knowledge about the god, whom I’ve grown to revere.” He returned the books to their stacks and then sighed. He turned away from the stall and walked away, his head lowered. He could remember Easthaven’s vast marketplace and the endless rows of vendors’ booths that had lined the streets. Kaijin could still feel the same enthusiasm he had felt as a boy, walking with his father amongst the throng of shoppers. He could smell the aged books from some of the booths, and he could hear his father’s scolding voice after Kaijin had wandered off alone to explore some of the bookstalls. Kaijin choked back tears the longer he dwelled on his past.

  “Kaijin?” he heard Zarya call out softly.

  Turning, Kaijin saw the priestess run to him, carrying two books. “You forgot these.”

  Kaijin blinked, realizing the books were the two he had been browsing through the longest. “You ... you bought these for me?”

  A hint of pink flushed her cheeks. “Well, you looked like you really wanted these in particular....”

  Kaijin swallowed a small lump in his throat. He slowly reached out and accepted the books from her. A warm, pleasant feeling, came over him, and he smiled. “Th—thank you....”

  Zarya beamed and nodded.

  After placing the books into his haversack, Kaijin continued his walk. Zarya joined him.

  “How did you come to know the Firelord?” she inquired.

  Kaijin took a deep breath, his smile remaining. “I first discovered Him from a book my former master once gave me when I was five.” He paused to reminisce. “But despite how long I’ve known Him, I feel as though there is still much more to learn—that I am still so new to His ways.”

  “Most Ignan followers travel the world, spreading the ways of the Firelord. Ignis believes in purity, strength, overcoming one’s enemy and not showing fear. And yet, there is an even deeper meaning.”

  “Deeper? What do you mean?” He’d studied the magical side to the Firelord, but not the clerical, and her words piqued his curiosity.

  “It is difficult for me to explain in a way that you would understand.”

  “I would like to try.”

  Zarya paused and rubbed her chin. “It is not something that can be explained in words, exactly, but rather felt. And that is something only possible for a cleric who is properly attuned to their god.”

  Kaijin frowned, his gaze idly following the passersby. He headed away from the large crowds and found an empty bench near one of the taverns that overlooked the entire festival from afar. He sat and sighed.

  Zarya sat beside him. “Kaijin? Is something wrong?”

  He looked at her, her soft, angelic voice soothing his nerves. He felt a brief pang in his head and looked to the sky just in time to see Miele happily fluttering overhead, visiting the rooftops. He turned back to Zarya and lowered his voice enough for only her ears. “My former master once said my magic was somehow ... tainted by a divine power.” I think that was his way of saying I am cursed.

  One of Zarya’s thin, white eyebrows rose. “Your magic? Tainted?”

  Kaijin nodded. “I don’t know what that means, but that is why I am here. I wish to learn more about myself.”

  “A mage whose powers are influenced by a god—now that’s an interesting concept.” She chuckled softly. “Perhaps it may not be so farfetched, but I’m quite sure that it’s rarely seen and experienced. It could very well be a blessing from your god—or a curse.”

  “I do hope for the former rather than the latter.” Kaijin smiled weakly. “Sometimes I hear things—voices. It’s like the Firelord speaks to me.”

  “What does the Firelord say?” Zarya tilted her head to the side, curious.

  “He says many things.” Kaijin shifted uncomfortably. “Such as—” He suddenly stopped as he spied an aged man who had been standing by watching the festival turn and began walking in their direction. Bright yellow robes showed beneath his light chain shirt. A symbol of a flame was emblazoned on the tabard, matching the designs woven along the bottom hem of his robe. As he drew closer, Kaijin noticed burns and scorch marks on his hands. A cleric of Ignis.

  The cleric passed them, heading toward the tavern beside them.

  “Kaijin.” Zarya nudged him. “He looks like—”

  “Yes... he is,” Kaijin said absently, following the stranger with his gaze.

  The stranger opened the door and then paused. He turned his head sharply their way, his ebony ponytail whipping behind him.

  Kaijin met the man’s gaze, and swallowed nervously. I ... I can’t believe it. This has to be a dream. His gaze fell back to the symbol on the tabard.

  The stranger’s eyes narrowed at Kaijin. His hand slowly fell away from the door handle, and he approached them.

  Kaijin gasped. Oh gods, now what do I do? “Zarya, he’s coming this way,” he whispered. “What should I say?”

  Zarya smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Kaijin.”

  The stranger stood before them, assessing them both but focusing on Kaijin. “Greetings, Brother.”

  “Ah—” Kaijin was lost for words.

  “Greetings, sir,” Zarya broke in. Kaijin was relieved that she decided to speak in his stead. “We couldn’t help but admire your ... attire. May I assume you are of the Ignan clergy?”

  The stranger’s thick, black eyebrows rose. “Indeed, m’lady. I am a servant of the Firelord. Are you looking for guidance?”

  An actual cleric of the Firelord! Kaijin stared at the man in awe. His tanned face was rough and weathered, as though he had traveled much. Kaijin humbly bowed his head.

  Zarya shook
her head, then spoke in a soft, polite tone, “I am not, sir, with all due respect to the Firelord. My name is Zarya. I am an apprentice of the Celestran clergy and on a journey of my own. This is my friend, Kaijin. Like you, he is also a ... a servant of the Flame.”

  The stranger nodded politely to the priestess and then stroked his trim, grey-streaked beard. His attention returned to Kaijin.

  Kaijin exhaled, finally mustering the courage to speak. “I ... I seek guidance, sir. I wish to learn more about myself, my abilities—and my god. I’m ... not a cleric, however....”

  The stranger dismissively waved his hand. “One does not need to be a cleric to learn about Him. Have you ever heard of the Pyre?”

  Kaijin quirked his brow. “No, sir, I have not.”

  Zarya looked thoughtful. “The Pyre.... Is that not a formal name for the Ignan aurorium?”

  “Nay, m’lady.” The stranger turned to Kaijin. “Far to the southeast, there is a place high in the mountains known as the Pyre. It is one of the few holy landmarks in the world dedicated to the Firelord.”

  Kaijin brightened. A place dedicated to the Firelord? A place where there are others like me? “Oh, thank you, for the information, sir!” He glanced at Zarya. “That is where I’m going to head next.”

  Zarya blinked. “Wait, Kaijin. What about the orb?”

  “Orb?” With sharp curiosity, the stranger’s gaze bounced from Kaijin to Zarya.

  “Ah ...” Kaijin glanced around cautiously, but he saw no eavesdroppers. He reached into his haversack and cradled the orb in his hand, but he hesitated to reveal it to the stranger. Kaijin eyed him warily, then looked at Zarya.

  The priestess closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared blankly at the stranger. Her eyes glowed a moment before returning to their normal sapphire hue. She turned to Kaijin and nodded once. “It’s all right, Kaijin. He means no ill intent.”

  Kaijin regarded the priestess with newfound curiosity. How does she know that?

  The stranger frowned at her. “I am a servant of the Flame, m’lady. I would not dare bring harm to a fellow brother. While your cautiousness is understandable, casting a detection spell on me was unnecessary.”

  Zarya bowed her head. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no offense.”

  “Brother Kaijin.” The priest turned to him. “What is it you have there?”

  Grasping the orb, Kaijin took a deep breath and slowly pulled it out of the haversack.

  The priest gazed upon the artifact. The magical flames within swirled and flickered in a beautiful display. He gasped, his eyes widening in amazement. “By the gods! Where did you find that?”

  “The druids’ ruins in Houndstooth Marsh,” Kaijin replied. “Do you know what it is, sir?”

  The priest stared into the orb with intense scrutiny. He whispered reverently, “His beautiful flames are contained within.” He extended his hand but stopped before his fingertips touched it. He yanked his hand back and winced. “You hold the essence ... the essence of ...”

  The priest’s stare had gone blank, as if hypnotized. Kaijin promptly returned the orb to his bag and secured it. “It’s been doing that to me, too.”

  As soon as the orb was concealed, the priest snapped out of his trance. He rubbed his eyes and refocused on Kaijin. “Ah ... Y—young man, that artifact should be taken to the Pyre immediately. The grand cleric there would know exactly what it is and what must be done with it. Make haste. The power you hold must not fall into the wrong hands.”

  Kaijin gulped and regarded Zarya.

  She stared back at Kaijin, saying nothing.

  “I would gladly accompany you on your journey,” the priest continued. “However, I have duties of my own. Head southeast toward the mountains. You will soon spot plumes of smoke in the sky arising from the offerings to the eternal flames in the sacred brazier. Let the smoke guide you to the Pyre.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Kaijin beamed.

  The priest nodded once, then turned away. “Safe travels, Brother Kaijin, and to you, as well, m’lady Zarya. May His holy flames burn strong in you both.”

  Kaijin bowed his head graciously, accepting the blessing. After the priest disappeared into the tavern, Kaijin turned to Zarya, his smile remaining.

  IX

  “Four! ’Undred! Gold!” Is he as daft as he is big?

  Silver-lined tapestries, exotic rugs, and other extravagant décor embellished the interior of the Prancing Dragon Inn, which overflowed with patrons that made the place boisterous and merry. The air was thick with the smell of ale and steamed meat. Dozens of serving wenches hustled to and from the kitchen and bar, carrying trays of food and tankards sloshing with drinks.

  Scowling bitterly, Nester sat across from Aidan and watched him wolf down a meal fit for seven people. On the table sat two tureens filled with thick, meaty stew; a large serving platter of smoked pork trimmed with mixed vegetables; a voluminous tankard brimming with mead; and two unused dishes. “’Ow can you think about eatin’ at a time like this?” Nester whined.

  Aidan took a long sip of mead, casting Nester a blank look over the brim of his tankard.

  “We could’ve been rich, Aidan!” Nester wailed.

  Sighing, Aidan lowered his drink and looked at the tankard’s contents. “Aidan wishes they had almond milk here. This drink has strange taste.”

  Nester rolled his eyes. “It’s called ‘mead’, Aidan. Don’t tell me you’ve never drunk mead before.”

  Aidan shook his head. “Aidan has always loved almond milk since he was little boy.”

  Nester closed his eyes and carefully banged his forehead on the table, exasperated. “’Oy! Well you ain’t a li’l boy anymore, Aidan!” He looked up at him. “Speakin’ of li’l boys ... we could’ve ’ad th’ world, if you ’adn’t ’ave given it all away to a bunch of soddin’ kids! Kids, Aidan! Do you realize what you’ve done? A bunch of kids ain’t gonna change th’ world—we are!”

  Aidan casually stirred the stew with a large wooden serving spoon. “Children do not need to starve. They are the future.” Aidan offered a portion to him.

  Nester blinked. “Listen to yourself! What’s wrong with you?!” He paused, looked at the spoonful of stew, and promptly shook his head. “Soddin’ ’ells! For th’ fifth time already, I told you I can’t eat another bite. What’re you tryin’ to do? Make me explode? I think I ate myself deeper into depression realizin’ ’ow much gold we lost today.”

  Aidan smiled. “Money is not everything, you know. We have food. We have shelter. We have good health. Is that not enough?” He stuck the spoon back into the stew then pulled the tureen in front of himself.

  “Arrgh! You’re impossible, Aidan! There’s no gettin’ through that thick, scaly ’ead o’yours!” Nester slumped down with his elbows on the table, and grumbled curses under his breath. He focused on what was going on in the rest of the inn.

  * * *

  The inn’s front door swung open, and Kaijin and Zarya entered. They wove their way through the throngs of boisterous patrons.

  “Most people in town recommend visiting this place during the festival,” Zarya said to Kaijin over the noise. “I’ve heard they have good wine here, too.”

  He spotted Aidan sitting near the rear of the inn and pointed. “Hey, look, over there.”

  “Looks like they had the right idea.” Zarya smiled. “Come on. Let’s go sit with them.”

  Nester looked toward them as they made their way to the table. He quickly got up from his chair and ran to meet them. “Kaijin! Zarya! Am I glad to see you two! Please talk some sense into Aidan, ’ere! I think ’e’s really lost it this time!” He grabbed Zarya’s hand and tugged her over to the table.

  Zarya followed Nester and stopped before Aidan, who, seemingly oblivious to their presence, was finishing off some stew from one of the tureens and then began working on the other. She yanked her hand away and regarded Nester curiously. “What are you going on about now, Nester? What did Aidan do?”

  Nester r
emained standing and gestured for her and Kaijin to sit. “Oh, it started out great, aye! Aidan was challenged to a friendly li’l competition. First prize started at three ’undred gold! Aidan did great, ’e did. Gave ’is first opponent a good wallop in th’ noggin, and wham! Sent th’ poor sod flyin’ an’ landin’ flat on ’is face!” Nester punched exaggeratingly at an invisible opponent. “Then, ’e went an’ crippled ’is second opponent with a kick in th’ leg. Crack! Poor sod ’ad to get carried out.” He kicked, and his foot impacted the bottom of the table. “Ouch!”

  Aidan nearly choked on his mead. He glowered and slammed the tankard on the table.

  Nester cringed, holding his foot as he hopped up and down. “I think I broke my big toe, I did!” he cried.

  “You’ll live.” Zarya sternly eyed the brownie.

  Nester cast the priestess a pleading look, but she seemed unfazed. He sighed in defeat and slowly let go of his foot. Afterwards, he stood on both feet, then hopped up and down and grinned. “’Ey! It’s not broken no more! You ’ealed it! Thanks, beautiful!”

  Zarya rolled her eyes.

  “So, Nester,” Kaijin said. “Why are you upset with Aidan? From your story, it sounds like he won the competition. Isn’t that a good thing?”

  Nester stared at Kaijin, wide-eyed. “Why am I upset? Why am I so soddin’ upset? It’s cause this big oaf gave all that money away—to a bunch of soddin’ kids! We ended up winnin’ four ’undred gold after th’ competition was all over, an’ Aidan decides to give it away to some soddin’ orphanage!”

  Kaijin blinked. What?

  Aidan resumed slurping his stew, not appearing to pay the brownie any mind.

  “So, let me get this straight, Nester.” Zarya narrowed her eyes. “You are upset at Aidan for doing charitable work?”

  Nester shook his head. “It wasn’t ‘charitable work’, beautiful. It was foolish! We could’ve used that money for our travels, y’know. Ghaeldorund is an expensive city to survive in.” He pointed a thumb at Aidan. “Now, thanks to this bloke, we won’t be gettin’ very far.”