Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

It seemed to be the right thing to do because there was no awkwardness.

  “They seemed to say you might have a few questions,” Soren said.

  “Who is ‘they’?” Marc replied.

  “The magic-ones who brought you here.”

  ***

  Soren described Marc’s appearance to them in detail, answering any questions the boy had.

  Marc didn’t know if he could believe it until Soren described the cat. Then Marc knew he wasn’t dreaming.

  “So they left me with you this morning and I slept the whole day?”

  “Yes,” Soren replied.

  Marc nodded.

  This was really happening. He was in a strange new world with two moons, where magic was real, people dressed in medieval period clothes and were also armed with swords. The thought made him think of his own sword, the grove, and the power that had enveloped him.

  “I was brought here by a friend I didn’t know I had, to escape enemies who threatened me,” he began.

  ***

  Marc told them of his journey and of the magic.

  “I can feel it, even now, emanating from the sword. Then, after the light faded, everything went black, and I awoke here, with you.”

  There was silence.

  Zildjin was the first to speak, “But you do not remember the other large creature, or anything?”

  “No,” Marc replied.

  “You speak of ancient legends from before the War of Power,” Soren said.

  Marc didn’t understand, and it must have shown on his face.

  “For those who still believe in the legends, it is not a thing to be taken lightly,” He continued, “It is best we keep these things to ourselves. Do not discuss any of it with anyone else.”

  Marc nodded.

  “Is that the sword? May I see it?” Soren asked.

  Marc withdrew the blade. Upon touching the hilt he felt a surge of power course through his arm and a subtle golden glow briefly surrounded the sword.

  They all moved in surprise at the magical aura.

  “It is truly a thing of magic,” Zildjin said.

  Soren nodded his head in agreement as he took the sword.

  “It seems to be in poor condition,” The man stated as he inspected the weapon, “This is how it was in the stone?”

  Marc nodded.

  Soren returned the blade, “Keep it well.”

  “I will.”

  He paused and his stomach grumbled.

  “I’m starving.”

  “Zildjin,” The man said, “give him something to eat. Truth be told, I am with hunger also.”

  “Will we not stop for the night?” Zildjin commented as he opened a nearby crate and rifled through its contents.

  Soren shook his head, “I think it is best we arrive at Kolima as soon as we can, even if that means pushing on through the night the next two days. Food for everyone then, actually,” He concluded.

  Zildjin soon passed out some dried meat, bread, and some sharply smelling berry-like fruit. Marc watched as the others crushed the fruit over the bread and ate it together with the meat. The taste was strange, but overall, not too bad. Zildjin gave Marc a canteen of water to finish the meal.

  Marc felt himself perspiring under the heat of his long sleeve shirt. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and felt slightly better.

  Finally, after everyone had eaten, Marc asked, “What is Koh-lee-mah?”

  Soren glanced over his shoulder from the driver’s seat of the wagon.

  “Ah yes, questions,” The man nodded, “Can you read?”

  “Yes,” Marc answered simply.

  “Sesuadra, you have something useful for this I assume?” Soren looked at the boy in the back.

  Sesuadra nodded in the affirmative.

  The boy turned to a box nearby him and opened it up. He spent a moment or two rummaging through the things inside the box. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for. He pulled out an oil lamp also at the back and made his way over. There was not much room in the already full cart, but Sesuadra picked a large box for a make-shift table, and laid out a large roll of canvas over the box, then placed the lamp on that and lit the wick to illuminate the canvas. He gestured his hand at the canvas, motioned for Marc to take a closer look, then sat down next to his display.

  It was a map.

  Marc stared at it but saw mostly a jumble of incomprehensible symbols.

  After a moment or two, however the symbols began to transform in his mind’s eye and he was able to understand them. The symbols appeared as words. The largest was written across the top of the canvas in bold and elegant large letters. LYRRIDIA it read. Marc was amazed at the attention to detail put into the making of the map. There was one large mass of land that took up most of the right portion of the canvas and a large body of water to the left. There were small cities, important landmarks, rivers, lakes, and territories marked off with names of places labeled neatly underneath each and in the same graceful calligraphy as the title of the map.

  The map had been sectioned off in large areas and was labeled, with names strange to Marc, in bold letters. Alborcium, Terragur, Itherin, Biarlin, and Wildlands were the largest.

  “What are these?” Marc asked.

  Sesuadra bowed his head and returned to the box again.

  He sorted through a few more things before returning with a book in his hand. LYRRIDIA: A HISTORY was embedded on the leather cover in large gold letters.

  Sesuadra opened the book to a spot, scanned a few pages, handed it over to Marc, then handed the light to him.

  “We are headed to Kolima, it is here on the map,” Zildjin offered, showing the place on the canvas.

  The two boys then returned to their spots and huddled back into their cloaks. Soren glanced back every now and then, but mostly focused on the road ahead.

  Marc settled down as comfortably as he could in his seat to read the book. He glanced at the map occasionally for reference. The book read:

  After the War of Power, in the wake of the devastation and destruction, the only hope everyone had for survival was to come together as one. Terragur, a very powerful and influential man rose up and united all under one banner, one hope, one King, and so The Noble Kingdom was founded. Terragur, the first King, ruled in an equal balance of justice and mercy, he was benevolent, yet strong, he had the leadership the people needed after so many cycles of war and so much destruction. The people named the kingdom after him, and it came to be known as Terragur, The Noble Kingdom. Only working together could everyone survive. After the cycles passed and the lands became full of life and prosperous again, others took his place and mercy was cast aside. Justice became corrupted and The Noble Kingdom turned into a cruel place to live. To this day their rule is harsh and yet they continue to refer to themselves as noble. Because of this, after many cycles of oppression a part of the people rebelled. Much war broke out once again, but the rebels, under the direction of Itherin Shadowhand, prevailed and separated, founding the Freelands which came to be known as Itherin in honor of his name. After a time, some of the Freelanders longed to return to a similar, more firm rule, in their cities, like Terragur they were once long ago a part of, but did not wish to return entirely to their unpleasant roots. They broke away from Itherin and moved into the Wildlands, boldly clearing space to build their new homes. They founded their own territories and claimed Independence from the Freelands. Biarlin was the principal advocate for the separation and they named the dominion after him.

  Terragur, The Noble Kingdom. Itherin, the Freelands, and Biarlin, the Independent Dominion. Everything East of these realms is subject to that of the wandering magiks. The further East, the more wild the magic, the more untamed the state of the wilderness. Farthest East lie the Black Peaks, an impassable wall of towering stone. Those brave adventurers daring enough to attempt to cross them have never returned.

  Marc struggled to keep his eyes open, but he was finally feeling tired, his mind was overloaded with too many new th
ings and it was shutting down. He needed to sleep and slowly found it in the rhythm of the moving wagon.

  Chapter Five

  Waking Dreams

  Marc opened his eyes and immediately knew he was dreaming.

  His surroundings were unreal and otherworldly.

  An empty gray expanse lay all around him. The horizon was distinguishable from the floor only because the ground was a dull metallic grey, and the sky was a bright and sparkly shimmering array of silver hues. With no apparent way to mark time he did not know how long he sat there, staring into the eternal void. He stood up and saw that he was still in the attire that he had been wearing in the waking world, his street clothes and the belt around his waist with the sword at his side. Upon standing up he saw a figure lying nearby him, he quickly realized it was Sesuadra. Marc quietly walked over to him.

  Should I wake him? He thought.

  He slowly reached his hand forward and was about to shake Sesuadra awake when a sound behind him made him stop and turn.

  There was a thudding sound, like someone falling to the floor, it came from far away and yet sounded like it was right behind Marc.

  He would wake Sesuadra in just a moment.

  As soon as he turned at the sound a thick mist materialized from nowhere. He could not see further than his own hand.

  “What is going on?” he asked aloud.

  He knew he was dreaming, and yet it felt real. The mist was slightly cold, and thick. Wet drops of condensation began forming on his exposed skin. He shivered from the chill. His voice sounded muffled in the heavy air.

  There was another bump, like a heavy object falling against a wood floor.

  “Sesuadra!” He said, “Sesuadra, are you there?”

  Marc turned and walked a short distance, trying to reach the spot where he had seen the young man asleep on the ground.

  “Sesuadra?” He called out.

  Another thump, this one metallic.

  “Hello? Is there somebody there? Sesuadra, is that you?”

  Faint whisperings whooshed past his ears and he whirled around.

  “Who’s there!?” He called.

  More whisperings. It sounded like a single voice echoing and swirling in the mist and yet it was all around him.

  “Show yourself!” he cried.

  As if in answer the mist began to subside and Marc found himself no longer on the silvery plane, but in a simple room with wooden walls and small curved beams in the ceiling. It was dark except for a few burning candles. A bed stuffed with straw and covered loosely by rumpled white cloth as a bed sheet filled one corner. A large heavy looking wooden dresser stood against the opposite wall next to a large window with its shutters closed. A small desk, table with ceramic bowls and cups atop it, and a chair were along the third wall. A simple canvas painting was hung next to a closed door on the fourth wall. Marc stood in the corner nearest the painting. And in the center of the room was a boy who looked a few years younger than Marc. The boy was slumped down on his knees, facing away from Marc. It took Marc only seconds to take in everything.

  After the initial surprise quickly disappeared Marc observed the young man more closely.

  “Hello?”

  The boy did not seem to hear Marc.

  The boy was dressed as if he was fully suited for battle. He wore thick dark gear, armor, leather boots, and a dark forest green traveling cloak. He had fairly long brown hair, parted down the middle and over his ears.

  The nearby flickering candlelight made his armor shine with a silver gleam, the breastplate, forearms and leg plates were covered with masterfully carved designs. Around the boy’s waist was a belt of dark brown leather and around it were pouches that appeared to be full. The boy was muttering something indistinct.

  “Hello?” Marc tried again.

  Marc took a tentative step towards the young man. Was this all just a dream? Everything looked and felt so real, even smelled real. A slight aroma filled the air, slightly metallic, probably from the young man’s armor. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else too.

  As Marc came closer the whispers grew louder and more distinct.

  Cannot — Once more — happening. The boy muttered.

  “My name is Marc,” Marc tried once more, “I don’t know how I got here, or what I am supposed to be doing,”

  The boy seemed oblivious to Marc.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Marc stood now just behind the boy. He could hear what the young man was saying now, repeatedly, over and over.

  Not again, not again, not again.

  “Hello!?”

  Marc put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and pulled the boy to face him.

  “NOT AGAIN!” The boy screamed.

  He was covered in blood.

  “Ahhh!” Marc cried and stepped back.

  There was a flash of light and the sound like all the air in the world was being slowly inhaled, followed by a deep boom, then silence.

  ***

  Marc was suddenly pulled back to the silver and gray realm, standing above Sesuadra, or he would have been, except Sesuadra now stood next to him.

  Sesuadra nodded and said, simply, “Marcus.”

  Then everything shifted and darkened.

  Sesuadra disappeared.

  The light in the strange silvery world began to fade. Marc heard someone calling his name. He began to move his upper body back and forth involuntarily and his name echoed over and over, growing stronger.

  Marcus.

  Marcus.

  Marcus!

  ***

  Marc awoke to the early gray of morning. At first he felt strange. Where is my bed? Where am I? But he quickly remembered everything that had happened. He was on the ground, lying on some rumpled blankets.

  Zildjin was shaking him awake.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” Marc said.

  Zildjin stepped back.

  Marc sat up and looked around. The forest was gone, replaced by hills and thick grassy plains. It looked as if they had pulled off the road and made a small camp.

  “I don’t remember getting out of the wagon, how did I—?” He began.

  “You are one heavy lump of balkar waste,” Zildjin said with a grin, “We practically had to unload you from the wagon like a sack of tartors. You were in such a deep sleep again.”

  “I was reading that book. I guess I must have dozed off.”

  “And you would not be woken after such,” Zildjin grinned again.

  The boy stretched out a hand and Marc took it to stand.

  Soren came over, overhearing their conversation.

  “It must have been the magic you received in the grove, that powerful of an enchantment would drain anyone of their strength.”

  Marc nodded.

  “Well, you are on your feet now, time to pack up.”

  Soren and Sesuadra were almost done cleaning their portion of the camp. The two pack animals were munching on grass nearby. Sesuadra was making sure everything was tight on the wagon.

  “I think we can make it to Kolima by tomorrow morning if we push on through the night again,” Soren said, seeing Marc awake, “Zildjin and Sesuadra, help me ready the balkars.”

  ***

  After they had all relieved themselves they were soon packed and on the road again. Zildjin had opened up a crate and passed around food, some more hard bread and some type of strange fruit Marc had never seen before. It looked like an apple, but it was purple and not very juicy. It’s sweetness, however, complimented the bread nicely.

  Near the end of the meal Zildjin was the one to break the silence.

  “So, Marc, dreamed last night?”

  “Yeah, I—” he began, then realized he had not told anyone about the dream yet. “Wait, how did you know?”

  “Sesuadra told me just before I came over to wake you.”

  “Oh.” Marc nodded, it made sense, Sesuadra had been in the dream after all. He decided to voice the thought aloud, he turned to Sesuadra. “Then
that means you really were there last night Sesuadra, in the dream, I mean.”

  The boy nodded a silent ‘yes,’ in response.

  “That also must mean that the other guy in my dream, that must’ve all been happening, for real.”

  One of Zildjin’s eyebrows rose, “There was someone else, besides Ses, in your dream?”

  “Yeah, there was.”

  ***

  Marc proceeded to tell them everything that happened in the dream. Of the silvery world, of Sesuadra’s presence there, of the sudden mist, and of the young man covered in blood.

  “And then there was a bright light and I was torn back to the silvery place and that was when Sesuadra saw me and spoke my name, then I awoke.”

  Sesuadra confirmed the story with a silent nod of his head.

  “Incredible.” Zildjin awed.

  Soren had listened in and spoke up, “I do not believe much in dreams but even I am bright enough to know there is powerful magic in the air indeed when two walk the same dream and after awakening both remember well enough to tell the tale.”

  “Are you familiar with Runestones?” Sesuadra asked.

  To hear the boy’s voice, and the strange question caught Marc off guard.

  He paused, thinking for a moment.

  “Nope,” Marc finally replied.

  Sesuadra shook his head dismissively.

  Marc wondered what he meant, but this whole new world held so many things he did not understand, that he decided he could do with one less thing to worry about learning just then and did not inquire further.

  Someone coming up the road caught everyone’s attention and thoughts of the conversation were lost.

  “The road will be getting busier now,” Soren noted to no one in particular, “This close to the capitol.”

  A large fancy wagon appeared in the distance behind them. It was pulled by four of the creatures called balkars, followed by several smaller carts. There were also several figures riding atop strange two-legged creatures on each side of the wagons.

  As the wagon train behind them drew closer, a single rider broke off from the group and rode forward to their cart.