by Garon Whited
“That they did,” I agreed.
“One of those is a big, domed thing—bigger than most. It looks like a church.”
“Well, there’s a nasty flashback to a major religious organization and their equivalent of the Vatican.”
“Is that bad?” she asked.
“Not as such. Worrisome, if it’s the Church of Light. I didn’t think they had anything to do with Zirafel, but I suppose, now that I think on it, they might have influenced Queen Flarima toward religious freedom. Sparky pretty much had the place to herself in a religious monopoly until the Queen made other religions legal.”
“So, if this Church of Light persuaded the Queen to go with a polytheistic stance instead of a monotheistic one, Sparky might have cursed the place because of that?”
“I know she cursed the place for the rejection of monotheism. Well, for the rejection of her monopoly, anyway. I’m not too sure of the details, that’s all. But back to this dome. What did you find inside?”
“Stone benches in a sort of stadium seating arrangement, along with a stage, an altar, stuff like that.”
“No giant statue with a big, polished thing hanging over it where the head should be?”
“Um. Not exactly.”
“Good.”
“The statue was a woman, holding her arms up, like so,” she demonstrated. Her hands went over her head, insides of her wrists touching, fingers spread wide. “She didn’t have anything in her hands.”
That sounded familiar—not from my memories, but from my leftovers. That sounded like the Temple of Fire.
Sparky. Of course. They didn’t have time to build a massive temple to the Church of Light between the date of the decree and the start of the curse.
“We’ve only got a couple of hours,” I noted. “Let’s eat quickly. I’d like to look at it before nightfall.”
“Why before nightfall?”
“Undead burn in the presence of holy light.”
“Ah. Suddenly, I’m not hungry.”
“I understand. Wait a second,” I added, as a thought struck me. “Did your feet give you any trouble?”
“Not a bit. Is that because it’s daytime and I have a pulse?”
“I don’t know. I’d guess that has something to do with it.”
“Then we should hurry. Let’s go.”
It looked familiar, but most of Zirafel looked familiar. This particular building design, or something much like it, I had personally seen before. If someone crossed the Astrodome with Notre Dame, this might be the result. It was a mammoth dome done in some sort of white stone. It might have been concrete; it had no seams, cracks, or joins. The dome was pierced in two places we could see—sets of double doors, each set facing east or west.
All around this stupendous dome was a paved court of the same stone. Once gleaming white, it was now dimmed by a layer of dirt. I could almost hear the shouting of hawkers, hucksters, and shills as they tried to sell offerings to the faithful.
Do we want to go in there, Boss? Firebrand asked. From the tone of thought, it didn’t like the idea.
“Yes.”
Are you sure?
“No.”
But we’re going in anyway?
“Yes.”
Are you crazy?
“Jury’s out.”
Mary chuckled. Firebrand shut up.
Bronze carried us to the western doors; one was ajar enough for a person to slip through. She nudged one with her forehead and they creaked a little, shifting. She pushed harder and the door groaned like a damned soul with a hangover. It gave grudgingly, grinding slowly out of her way. She stepped inside, hooves ringing more sharply, unmuffled on the pristine stone within.
The circular dome covered a circular amphitheater. At the top, well above the upraised hands of the statue, an oculus gave us a blue slice of sky and a slanting sun-ray. Half a dozen rings of benches circled the place, stair-stepping down toward a central stage. They stopped on a level with the stage, but the stairs continued down into an empty ring around it. The stage itself had stairs and ramps leading up from there. Doors in the outer face of the surrounding ring led under the seating.
At a guess, livestock and other sacrifices were brought in from somewhere below through those doors. Supplicants or priests could climb the stairs to the stage while handlers moved livestock up the ramp. Yes, that sounded right. Except on certain days when the clergy would enter through one or the other of the main doors and walk in a line down the steps, circle the stage, then climb its steps to take one of the Tests of Fire…
Ow. Headache. I really should do something about that.
In the center of the stage was a thirty-foot statue of Tamara.
Okay, no. It was the Mother of Flame, but even in profile the resemblance was definite. It made me wonder. I’ve heard, in goddish circles, Sparky “gets around.” Does she ever get around to a mortal plane and then get down? Would that explain the resemblance? Are all the fire-witches descendants from an avatar?
Possibly not the wisest train of thought while standing in her temple. I paid more attention to architecture.
A pair of altars graced the stage, one to the left of the statue, one to the right—one to the east, one to the west. The ramp led up at a shallow angle, circling along the side of the stage, to the eastern altar. From the looks of them, one was for burnt offerings—the one on her left, on the eastern side. Once you slaughter an animal on an altar and burn bits of it, you don’t really want to use that altar for anything else. Hence, the other altar on the western side.
As I watched, the hands of the statue started to glow. I felt Mary tense in front of me. I felt Bronze tense underneath me. I felt Firebrand tense beside me. We were all pretty tense. I felt a sudden urge to be past tense, as in previously here and presently gone.
Boss?
“I don’t know.”
Bronze shifted her feet and prepared to spring out the door. She didn’t, but she was ready for it. Mary cursed softly at her princess outfit and managed to dig out a gun.
The hands of the statue turned red, then shifted up the spectrum to yellow, yellow-white, and finally a blinding white. A whoomp noise echoed through the cavernous room as fire erupted between her upraised hands, expanding in a yellowish ball. Part of it shot upward through the oculus while the rest of it rolled like a mushroom cloud. The cloud dissipated and vented up and out. The fire between her hands settled down to a ball of white fire about the size of a basketball—in scale with a thirty-foot statue, that is. It might have been as small as a meter or so in diameter. The white light illuminated the entire temple with an unwavering clarity.
We waited. Nothing further happened. The flame was soundless and smokeless. The silence was profound.
“Well?” Mary asked, softly. “An automatic spell whenever more than one person comes in?”
“Maybe,” I answered, doubtfully. I eyed the blazing sphere with suspicion. It burned without guile, ulterior motive, or visible fuel. “Let’s leave it alone for now and see if it goes out.”
“Okay.”
Bronze walked toward the door, ready at any instant to outrun a streaking ball of flame. It continued to disappoint, however. We made it outside and out of the line of fire without incident.
I dismounted and peeked around the edge of the door. Still burning. I reported my findings.
“I’m going to stop using the word ‘normal’,” Mary vowed. “Is that unusual?”
“I’d say so. I’m not seeing a spell, either. Firebrand?”
It’s not magical fire, Boss.
“I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not mundane flame, either.”
Wow. It’s like you’ve seen this before!
“Sarcasm. From a sword. Why am I not shocked?”
I’m good with fire, not lightning?
“Hold it,” Mary broke in. “If it’s not magical and not mundane, what is it?”
Divine fire, Firebrand replied. Last time, it was a pillar of the stuff while his daughter
was throwing a tantrum about being knifed in the back of the neck. Boss, I will laugh at any normal fire you want. I will bend any magical flame you name to my will. But that stuff isn’t really fire; it’s a manifestation of a goddess and that’s not my area!
“Noted,” I noted.
“It’s talking about the assassination?” Mary asked, then directed her questions at Firebrand. “The one where he tied her soul into a fire elemental thing?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I think this manifestation in the temple is Sparky’s way of saying she sees me.”
“I hate to keep repeating the question, but it seems worthwhile,” Mary announced. “Is this a bad thing? No, wait; I asked the wrong question. How bad a thing is this, having a sun-goddess paying close attention to us blood-drinking night-monsters?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You keep saying that. I thought you were an expert on this place?”
“All the experts on Sparky and Zirafel have been dead for a thousand years. I’m just the best we’ve got.”
“Huh. Well, I guess that’s fair. Hey! Here’s a thought. My curiosity is satisfied. How about we shut the door and pretend we were never here?”
“Sold.” I hauled on the door; it shuddered and groaned as I dragged it shut.
As we rode away, I glanced back. Light still streamed through the cracks between and under the doors.
I gave up on the care and maintenance of the horses. Rather than keep them until their feed ran out, I turned them loose. There wasn’t much forage in the city, but outside the boundaries of the original curse, things hadn’t dried up and died. Farmland and rolling hills had turned into light forest and grassland. It was still cold, but they stood a better chance on their own out there.
Mary decided to keep one, at least until the feed and forage runs out. She doesn’t suffer from the same weight problem I do, so the best of the flesh-and-blood horses became hers. I admit, riding double on Bronze isn’t ideal. I’m hoping we don’t have to run anywhere at unreasonable speeds.
Once we led them out of the city—Bronze told them to follow and they did; horses never argue with her—we sent them on their way. With our errand done, we dragged wood together on the old Way of Armies. The east-west road out of Zirafel was still in good shape. Surprisingly good, in fact. It was perfectly acceptable for carts and wagons, but the suspension on most automobiles would complain a bit. It was never meant to be asphalt-smooth—just flat. For the most part it still was. Not bad for a thousand years without maintenance.
“You’re going to do this during the day?” Mary asked, dragging a pair of big, old branches to the pile.
“Why not? All I’m doing is calling my daughter.”
“Who is a priestess of the fire goddess. And a sun goddess, right?”
“Good point. You think doing it at night would be better?”
Mary thought about that one.
“At night, we fry in sunlight… but the goddess would, logically, either be asleep or have less power over us. We’re in a world where the sun actually does go to bed at night, right?”
“You’re thinking like a wizard. Good. I think you’re right; it does seem to get really dark right after sunset. You’d think some light would still shine up from below the Edge. I freely admit I don’t actually know how it works. We can check, tonight, if you like, and then call Amber.”
“I like that plan better.”
“Okay. Let’s get a good pile of wood together, though.”
“Mind if I ride back into town to change? This flowing stuff is pretty, but I’ve recently realized I need something more practical than pretty.”
She rode back to the Palace to change. Bronze and I stacked wood—she dragged it over, I broke it into reasonable lengths and piled it for easy use. It helped that the looters had brought along an axe, but I didn’t really need it. Anything too big for me to break over my knee—that is, anything larger than a small tree—Bronze took a couple of carefully-placed bites out of. Turning limbs and deadwood into firewood went quickly. By the time the afternoon started into evening, we had a woodpile to last through the winter.
Mary and I died that night and cleaned up the aftermath. She decided to wear her basic hunting outfit for the evening. I stuck to my armored underwear and a layer of local clothes. That is, I wore my armored underwear; I didn’t find myself stuck to it, or it sticking to me… nevermind. In the clothing Mary looted, a fair amount was about my size. I went with a new pair of pants and a shirt, but kept the hiking boots from the farm. I also snagged a cloak; you never know when a blanket will come in handy.
We hurried out to the Edge as quickly as we could after sunset. The transformation period was materially shorter here than on Earth, and learning about the peculiarities of sunrise and sunset struck us both as a good idea. Bronze rang through the streets like a firebreathing engine and skidded to a stop near the Edge in a cloud of blue-green sparks. Mary and I dismounted and peered over the Edge.
There was no sign of the sun. At this time of year, it should cross the southern sky, angle down and toward us as it set, and drop below the Edge at a point several hundred miles due south of us. In the time we took to reach the Edge and look over, it should still have been visible as it continued down and under.
Assuming.
And, since that would be too simple, logical, and sensible, the damn thing disappeared.
“Can I ask my usual question?” Mary asked, lying on the Edge and looking over with me.
“I don’t know if that’s how it usually goes,” I admitted. “I don’t even know if it went out, turned inside-out, or was eaten by a giant snake. Now that I see it—or don’t see it—I get the feeling this is what’s supposed to happen. I have an impression of the sun going on a journey through some metaphysical realm to restore its power before it emerges for a new day.”
“So, once it goes down, it goes away?”
“It seems so.”
“At least this explains why sunsets and sunrises are so short.”
“It does. It also adds to my belief that this universe is a massively screwed-up place!” I squeezed my temples with one hand while the echoes faded. “I like to think I’m a scientist,” I muttered. “All I really am is a teacher out of his depth. Even so, I try to accept the idea anything is possible—not probable, but possible. When you find something that doesn’t match your theory on how the world works, you figure out why and expand the theory, or you scrap the theory and make a new one that accounts for the new phenomenon.”
“I know. I learned about the scientific method in school.”
“Therefore, I have to accept there is something going on that doesn’t fit with my accepted understanding. Maybe there’s some sort of dimensional fold or wormhole the sun drops into, traverses, and emerges from on the eastern side of the world. I can see that, sort of. It could work, depending on the spatial geometry of this space. And it would be acceptable as an explanation.
“What offends me so deeply is it might be a twice-daily miracle—for no better reason than the gods think it’s the way things ought to work!”
Mary moved behind me and rubbed my shoulders. I tried to relax and partly succeeded.
“This world,” I fumed, bitterly, “couldn’t exist, much less function, without enormous quantities of magic. There’s a huge pile of things that happen because ‘it’s magic!’ and there’s no other explanation. It’s all magic this, magic that, and more magic to make it all come out right. I am deeply, deeply offended by this.”
“I’ll take your word for it, wizard.”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I’m hilarious,” she assured me. “I’ll understand if you can’t tell right now.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. I sighed a couple of times. It helped, at least a little. “Let’s go call my daughter.”
Out on the road, Bronze started a fire and Firebrand encouraged it to catch. With a good-sized campfire going, I stacked more wood on it in anticipa
tion of a rapid burn. Last time, I scratched symbols in the ground and placed plastic ones around the fire. This time, things should be easier. Not only was I in a high-magic environment, I was in the same world—no need to reach across the interdimensional void. I scratched, with fingertalons, Amber’s name on some small logs, put communications symbols around those markings, and added the wood to the flames.
As I focused on the flames, calling out to Amber, the flames responded. Immediately, they shifted into a yellow-white color and danced higher, thicker. Flecks of blue fire danced at head-height while the rest of the flames took on a more womanly shape.
“Father!” crackled from the flames.
“Amber!” I replied. “Good to see you again.”
“You’re here?”
“Well, close enough. Outside Zirafel. How are things on your side of the Circle Sea?”
“Circle Sea?”
“Western Ocean, then. It’s really one body of water running along the western side of the Middle Lands and curves along the southern coast, all the way across and back up again. Of course, the northern reaches are frozen over, so they’re not commonly regarded as—nevermind. Geography. My point is, how are you?”
“Still burning. Are you safe?”
“As safe as I ever am,” I admitted. “I thought I’d call and chat for a bit. The fire doesn’t seem to be burning as quickly as it did the last time.”
“The last time we were talking across the void.”
“Roaming charges. Got it. But we should manage for quite a while, here. Oh! Have I introduced you to Mary?”
“I think not.”
“Mary, this is Amber, my daughter.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” Mary offered, a memorized phrase in Rethven.
“And I, you. I look forward to meeting you in the flesh.”
Mary glanced at me and I translated.
“Amber,” I added, “Mary doesn’t speak Rethven—Rethvenese?—very well. She’s learning it.”
