Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  Be'Var picked up his quill again. A master of the Conflagration had to look busy, after all. “Come in, Caymus.” When the boy entered, Be'Var indicated a wooden chair in the corner of the room and Caymus sat down, though he was at least two sizes too large for that particular piece of furniture. Be'Var quickly finished off the note and, quickly opening a conduit, scorched his personal mark into the parchment. Had he been alone, he'd have scolded himself for that: who, besides Milo, was actually going to see this piece of paper and care whether it carried his mark or not?

  He then looked up at his pupil, who was still sitting, patiently. He looked like some great warrior king, sitting so quietly and intently with his torso bandaged up. “How are you feeling, boy?” he said.

  “Good,” said Caymus. “Tired though, which seems a bit strange, considering.”

  Be'Var nodded. “You've been asleep for three days, but it's all been so that your body could recover from what you did to those insects. Normally doesn't happen, but you pushed yourself awfully hard that night. Now that the recovery sleep's over, you'll be able to get the real stuff. Your other injuries?”

  “They hurt to move, but that's all.”

  “They will for a few more days. That girl over-did it with the bandaging, actually. One of the benefits of the kind of deep unconsciousness you've been experiencing is that the body gets a chance to really patch itself up.” He didn't mention the fact that, of the three other times he'd seen masters lapse into such intense unconsciousness, one sleeper had never woken again.

  Be'Var put down the quill, then folded his arms in front of him and leaned on his elbows. “It was quite a thing you did, the other night.”

  Caymus flinched slightly at the memory, as if embarrassed to talk about it. “I...I guess so. I don't really know what happened. I tried to pull with the rest of you, but it wasn't working.” His voice trailed off and he ended by shrugging his shoulders.

  “I know, Caymus. I was there. I saw what you did. It confirmed something I'd first thought earlier in the day when you tried to suffocate us all.” Be'Var noticed Caymus was unconsciously leaning forward in his seat; he had the young man's full attention. “You, boy, are a shaper.”

  Caymus furrowed his brow. “A what?”

  “It's a rare sort of thing. I've only met one other shaper in my years, and he was a master when I first became a disciple at this temple a long time ago. He didn't pull energy from the Conflagration like everyone else. Instead, he shaped the conduit itself, formed it according to his will. His control over actual heat wasn't up to par with the rest of us, but he could make fire dance, float, fly. I once even saw him take the flames of a campfire and shape them into a galloping horse.”

  As he explained, he could see understanding taking place in Caymus's expression. He nodded quietly and seemed to comprehend. “So,” he said, “that explains why I have to keep finding different ways of doing things. What you do by pulling, I'm having to translate into shaping?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And that's what you expected I'd do up on the roof that night?”

  “Yes.” Bright boy. Be'Var wondered if he'd make the other important connection by himself.

  “So, I amplified what everyone else was already doing, adding a lot of extra heat to the creatures, which is what finally got them burning.” Caymus’s eyes were moving back and forth, examining the ideas he was being presented with. He then looked up at Be’Var. “It sounds like it could be a very powerful kind of talent.”

  “It is. The master I knew wasn't the sort of man you would cross.”

  “But,” said Caymus with a sigh, “he's dead by now, and since there have been no other shapers here since then, there's nobody that can give me instruction on how to use this Aspect.”

  Bright boy, indeed. “You see the problem you have.”

  “I see,” Caymus said, sitting back in his chair and looking defeated. “So, what are you telling me, Master? You're not going to make me leave, are you?”

  “No, of course not,” Be'Var replied. “I'm telling you this: The upside is that you have a rare and powerful gift; the downside is that you're going to have to learn to use this gift, for the most part, on your own. The various Aspects all share the Conflagration, of course, but they work differently, take different sorts of people with different ways of thinking and acting to use them. Everything I could teach you about the Aspect of shaping, you already know. Once you enter the Third Circle, you're going to be largely under your own initiative.” Be'Var paused briefly, considering something for the first time. “You do still plan to face your trial?”

  “Yes,” said Caymus. No hesitation. Good. Be'Var allowed himself a twitch of a smile.

  “Right. You'll be doing that in the morning, then. No sense putting it off.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Once you're marked, you and I will try to figure out some way to structure your studies. I don't know anything about shaping, but I know how quickly a Third Circle should be learning. We'll see about your progress and adjust as necessary. That sound fair to you?”

  “Yes, Master.” His student's expression was a mixture of confusion and curiosity, but at least his voice was strong. Be'Var had confidence that Caymus would pass his trial, much more confidence, in fact, than he'd had for the last two students he'd sent into the Conduit. Felwig. Gorrik. Those names would haunt him for the rest of his days. He'd lost students before, of course—not everybody was ready for the trial to enter the Third Circle—but never before had he allowed testing for any so woefully under-prepared. He'd known, in his heart, that they weren't ready, but in his haste to replace the lost masters as quickly as possible, he'd given in to panic and need, and allowed them to try anyway. He'd allowed them to try, and the Conduit had taken them. Never would he make that mistake again. Never would he allow himself to be anything less than absolutely certain a disciple was ready before taking that test.

  Caymus was ready. Though he was no longer going to be the youngest disciple ever to enter the Third Circle, he was certainly the most talented Be'Var had ever encountered, and a shaper to boot. He would make a fine master of the Conflagration, someday.

  That was, if “some day” ever came. Be'Var wondered about that, and it brought him to the other subject he'd wanted to talk to his student about.

  “There's one other thing, Caymus,” he said. “When we were turning those bugs to ash, did you notice how they felt?”

  “I did,” said Caymus, whose eyes suddenly seemed to shift to something distant. “They seemed sticky, somehow, like they were coated in something oily. It's like I kept slipping off them when I tried to grab hold, and they didn't want to burn.” His eyes focused on Be'Var again. “It felt...wrong.”

  A good word for it. “It was wrong, Caymus. It was very wrong.” Be'Var leaned back in his chair. He corked his ink pot, then picked it up, turning it around in his hands as he spoke. “Do you enjoy history, boy?”

  Caymus waggled his head, noncommittally “I suppose,” he said. “I like to listen to it, listen to the stories, but I sometimes find I don't remember much of it later.”

  “Well, listen now,” Be'Var said, “because this bit of history used to be saved for when a person became a full master.” He sighed. “Things are different now, I suppose,” he said, and he put the ink pot down. “What elements exist, Caymus?”

  “Fire, water, earth, and air,” Caymus replied. “There are a few small cults that say life is some kind of element, but nobody really takes them seriously.”

  “Because they're fools,” said Be'Var. “Do you know why we have those elements?”

  Caymus looked perplexed. “Because they're what the world is made of?”

  “True. But why is the world made of them?”

  “Master?”

  “Why, Caymus, is the world constructed, in its entirety, of differing mixtures of those four elements?”

  “Because they're the basic building blocks of the world. They're the smallest pieces, the found
ations of nature.”

  Be'Var smiled. He hadn't quite gotten his point across yet. “But why, Caymus? Why those four? Why isn't 'grass' an element, or 'cloud', or something you've never even heard of before?”

  “I...” Caymus was struggling with this. “I don't think I understand.”

  Be'Var waved a hand. “It's alright, Caymus. Few people would.” He looked seriously at his student. “A long time ago, before the great cities were built, before humans ruled the land, before most even kept histories, there were many elements, not just the four you and I know. How many exactly, I don't know, and depending on which master you talk to, or which tome you consult, you'll get a number from a dozen to hundreds. Nobody knows what they all were, what they looked like, what they were called, but you can be sure that you and I wouldn't recognize the world as it looked back then.”

  Be'Var paused a moment, allowing the idea to sink in. Caymus seemed untroubled by the information, but then it would probably take awhile for the full force of such a momentous concept to sink in. “What changed?” he asked.

  “War,” Be'Var replied. “War among the elements. A war for supremacy, where the penalty for losing was to be cast out of our world forever.”

  “Cast out?”

  “Yes.” Be'Var measured his words carefully, trying to make Caymus understand. “Imagine if the four elements of today went through the same thing,” he said. “Imagine, let's say, that air, water, and earth allied themselves against fire and won out against it.” Caymus nodded and Be'Var continued. “The conduits would be cut. There would be no link between the Conflagration and our world. Fire would cease to exist. There would be no flame, no heat, only cold. Men would not know anger, would not know passion. There would be no such thing as a torch, a campfire, a volcano or even the warmth of the sun. Can you imagine that?”

  Caymus shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Not really,” he said, eventually. “The more I think about it, the more I realize that it's something I can't even comprehend. I wouldn't even recognize it as the world. I wouldn't even be me.”

  Be'Var was surprised. He'd been expecting Caymus to say yes, of course he could imagine it, and then to have to tell him all the reasons why that was a foolish thing to think. But the boy was smart. He seemed to be getting the idea right away.

  “So,” Caymus continued, “you're saying that these other elements were cut off, and that, when that happened, the world changed from something completely unrecognizable into what it is today?”

  “Yes,” said Be'Var. “That's the basic idea.”

  “How did we win?”

  The question was one Be'Var had asked, himself, when he'd first learned of the elemental war. “I don't know,” he said. “From what I can tell, nobody does. There are two tomes on the subject in the masters' library, both copied from originals that have long since turned to dust. Neither of them says much about the actual battles or gives specifics as to tactics or logistics. Mostly, they speak about the conduits and how the realms of the elements and our world are connected. It's where a good deal of our knowledge of the Conflagration comes from. History is written by the victors, Caymus, and the victors in this war didn't care much to write down the hows and wherefores of the vanquished. Indeed, they seemed happy to try to forget about them completely, other than to mention that they were destroyed in the first place.”

  Caymus wasn't looking at Be'Var. His face was a mask of concentration as he puzzled his way through what he was being told. Be'Var let him take his time and busied himself with shuffling through some papers on his desk, keeping his hands occupied until Caymus asked his next question.

  “If this is information that only masters know about, why are you telling me now?” Be'Var could see from Caymus's expression that he had likely already pieced together the answer.

  “Because one of the vanquished elements seems to have found its way back into our world,” he said. “I don't know which one it is or how it manifests, but whatever it is, those giant insects were made of it, in large part, and it seems to be resistant to what we do.”

  “Which is why it took all of us to burn them,” said Caymus.

  “Correct.”

  “…and the Conduit.”

  “Yes.”

  Caymus sat for a long time, gazing at nothing. Be'Var tried to imagine what was going through his mind. From what that air priest had said, the boy was one of the very few that had actually come face to face with one of those things and lived to remember it. Coming to terms with the fact that the single scariest thing you'd ever seen in your life was actually more dangerous and alien than your wildest imagination had guessed was something he was willing to give his student time to do. He himself had only seen the creatures from a distance, only encountered them through the Conduit as he'd pulled fiery death into their bodies, and even he was a bit shaken by them. Surviving one trying to tear you to pieces…that must take some time to get one's mind around.

  Finally, the boy nodded. “What do we do?”

  Be'Var smiled. Caymus wasn't the loudest or most riotous of his students. Despite his size, he was calm and even-tempered most of the time, but his manner constantly revealed a kind of courage that few people would ever know, the kind that fully and completely considered and understood the dangers, then ignored them and simply determined what needed to be done. “Well,” he replied, “I'm going to be letting as many people as I can know what we're up against here.” He indicated the papers in front of him. “For as long as I've been around, this has been a largely academic concern, but now that it seems we're under attack again, I can't see any reason to keep it a secret. It could be that this attack was the only one we'll see and the whole thing's over already, but if it's not, people need to know what they're up against. You,” he pointed at Caymus, “take your test in the morning, earn your mark, and start learning about this Aspect of yours. If the happenings of the other night are any indication, we're going to need your talents before this is over.”

  “I will, Master,” Caymus said, simply.

  “Good,” said Be'Var. “Now, get out of my chambers. I have work to do.” He waved Caymus out and picked up his quill. “Your trial begins at second bell tomorrow. Be ready.”

  After Caymus had closed the door behind him, Be'Var put the quill down again and rested his head on his hands. In the morning, he'd have another Third Circle disciple to train, and this one gifted with a talent for shaping. After that, he'd have to start thinking about how many of his remaining students actually stood a chance at becoming full masters and how many would best be sent home or assigned to do some other work so as not to draw on the resources of the Temple unnecessarily. He hated to do it, but if there was truly a possibility of war on the horizon, then he and the other masters would need to seriously consider how best to utilize the abilities of the Conflagrationists.

  He only hoped they weren't already too late.

  CHAPTER 4

  Caymus felt ill.

  He stood quietly in the sanctuary, staring at the stark entryway. The new door, still only half-built, sat on a workbench a few feet away from the large arch it was meant to occupy. The portcullis, too, was being repaired, and several bars rested against an anvil just outside, presumably where Be'Var and a few other masters who were experienced at shaping metal had been working. He allowed himself to be glad that the door had held the creatures back for as long as it had as he turned and gazed around the room.

  The sanctuary itself was enormous. As was the case with many of the rooms in the Temple, it was circular, its walls creating a giant, stone cylinder which stretched upwards, high enough to reach the Conduit, which met the building at its roof, several stories up. The floor of the room was where the masters gave sermons and other speeches. A dais sat in the center, with benches arranged in widening circles around it. At the northern edge of the floor began a stairway, which spiraled up, three times, around the chamber, then disappeared into a passageway in the ceiling before coming out on the roof. That passageway had ta
ken a great deal of abuse when the creatures had attacked; they had tried hard to push through, to get to the still-living people gathered beyond. Stonemasons would need to be brought in to make repairs at some point, though it didn't seem like the structure was in any danger of collapse.

  As the stairs wound their way upward, they passed through three rings painted on the walls, each about a foot wide and colored, from bottom to top, orange, red, and white, representing the three circles of discipleship one would pass through in order to become a master of the Order of the Conflagration. That end-goal, represented by the Conduit itself, was visible through a translucent glass ceiling, which both allowed a person in the sanctuary to see the Conduit at all times and also allowed the light from the raging inferno to illuminate the room below.

  As he stared, Caymus thought of his own journey along that path, and of the many times he'd stood in this place before. Entering the First Circle had been easy. The Trial of Faith was a simple declaration of your allegiance to the Conflagration and of your willingness to add your talents and abilities to those of the Order. He'd taken his trial the same day as Rill. Indeed, that was the day the two had met, sitting at the doors of the Temple, waiting to be assessed. Caymus's mother had already left for home and Rill had offered him some of his breakfast. The two had become fast friends.

  First Circle disciples spent their time learning about the history of the Order, of how the Temple had been built as a fortified palace for a nobleman, Porindus Veccion, who had wished to keep the majesty of the Conduit all to himself, of how he had befriended Merek Del'Ran, perhaps the greatest master who had ever lived, and had become his first disciple. Porindus's life was one of study and toil after his conversion, but though he had loved the Conflagration with all his heart, he had never shown the talent needed to become a master. His greatest contribution had been to turn his home into a place of learning for others who wished to know the ways of the fire element; he had willed the palace to those masters and disciples who had lived there at the time.