Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire

by Brendan Wright

  His smile grew even wider.

  Omatus will be mine.

  Atillus ducked, but not fast enough. The wooden practice sword smacked him in the side of the head, hard, and he fell roughly to the ground. His vision swam, and he tried standing but fell again. His trainer, an Omati mercenary called Amphidas, smiled and lowered the point of his wooden sword.

  "A man your size should be fast," he said. "You'll grow a lot more once you're a man proper, and most people think big means slow. If you get fast, you'll take your enemies down before they know what's happened."

  Atillus nodded. He didn't speak much while training. He took a little time to wait for his vision to stop spinning, and stood again. Amphidas had been training him for a few months, ever since he opened the book on Sithares. Of course, he didn't mention the Fire God to anyone, and Amphidas never asked why he wanted to fight so badly. He was the perfect teacher; willing to impart all of his considerable knowledge of combat to an eager student without any qualms about teaching a child to kill, and without prying into Atillus' personal life. The lessons were going very well. He'd already learned a lot and was getting the impression that Amphidas hadn't expected such a fast learner; he reacted to every move Atillus picked up with raised brows and emphatic nods. They trained for hours every day. Atillus went to bed bruised and beaten every night. His parents didn't notice. Neither did his brothers. A small part of him was annoyed that his family thought so little of him, but the isolation suited his plans perfectly.

  He gained size fast; he grew taller, of course, but also gained a lot of muscle due to his training. He was careful to wear loose clothing to cover his toughening body. His appetite went up by an incredible amount, and he started gorging himself at the Argyris family feasts; one more thing his oblivious family failed to notice. They were each wrapped up in their own stories, he thought, yet even so they made the time to acknowledge each other. All but him. Atillus was always the odd one out, not just in his family; in all of Omatus. But lately it felt as though he was being actively ignored, as though he'd done something awful. He decided to leave it be; if his family wanted to stay out of his way, he was more than happy to let them. For now.

  Amphidas launched a new attack, the wooden sword dipping and weaving around Atillus, striking him wherever it could. He saw an opening and thrust his own practice sword through Amphidas' too-wide swing, jabbing him in the left shoulder. The blow forced his opponent back and sideways, and Atillus used the chance to swing down into Amphidas' neck. If they'd been using real weapons, the strike would have killed his opponent almost instantly. But then again, if they'd been using real swords, Atillus would have died well before he had the chance to land that blow.

  Amphidas drove an open hand into Atillus' wrist so suddenly that before he felt the attack, his sword was in his teacher's hand. He dropped both swords to the ground and rubbed his neck where Atillus hit him.

  "Well done," he laughed, "that really hurt!"

  Atillus nodded silently again. He was pleased with his own improvement, but he never let victory turn him proud. He read that overestimating oneself was a quick way to die in battle.

  "You're a very serious child, Atillus. Most children are running around chasing animals and laughing at your age."

  "I know." Atillus spoke quietly. "But what would that achieve? I much prefer spending my time learning something useful."

  Amphidas shook his head and laughed. "I can't argue with your logic. But I think we're done for the day. And other than sparring, I'm not sure how much more I can teach you before you know more than I do!" He laughed again. Atillus frowned.

  "I need to know more," he said, "I am not finished learning." Amphidas gave his standard response of raising his brow and nodding enthusiastically.

  "I know some people who'd be able to help. I'll need to find them first, but I'm sure they'll agree to train you... for the right price."

  Atillus nodded dismissively. "You know my family; price is not an issue. Find them, and I'll pay you for the service."

  Amphidas smiled. He always smiled when the prospect of money showed itself. He was ambitious, hard working and highly skilled. Atillus thought Amphidas was perhaps quite wealthy himself; he was willing to do anything for gold, and he'd been hired by the Argyris family for many other jobs before this; it was how Atillus knew of him in the first place.

  "I'll find them as fast as I can, master Atillus. You'll be the most dangerous man in Pandeia in no time."

  Atillus stood in the centre of the tiny hidden room in the back of the Library of Omatus, flames coursing over his body. He chose this room to practise wielding Fire Magic, as it seemed to be unburnable. Even the ancient books were never harmed by fire. He improved his ability to summon flames at a moment's notice, wrapping himself almost instantly in a cloak of powerful flame. It was difficult to maintain for any length of time, but his stamina was improving. He found that while covered in fire, he was stronger, faster and far more lethal. It was intoxicating.

  He experimented with other ways of using Fire Magic, and tried to use everything he learned from the ancient Thearan Encyclopaedia. He spent any time when he wasn't training in combat down in this room, practising Magic.

  He found he could create specific shapes out of fire if he focused for long enough, though it was excruciatingly difficult. He started with a simple globe, small enough to rest in his palm. From there he created a rough, barely distinguishable Fire-Hawk. It melted into nothing but flame after a few seconds of perching in his hands. A few weeks later, he got it to spread its wings before it burst into shapeless fire again, but its shape was much more defined.

  After some experimentation he could increase the temperature of objects around him. He brought large books in from the proper library and lay them on the floor, resting his hands on them and feeling them heat up under his fingers. He burned a lot of books accidentally, but they were all books he'd already read. No one else in the city would care, or even notice.

  He practised a lot in the months Amphidas was away, travelling to find him suitable teachers. He knew Amphidas would return; he was being paid far too much to find a better offer elsewhere. And as eager as Atillus was to continue learning to fight, there were other skills to practice. It wasn't just fire magic, either. He studied politics and warfare avidly. And history, and the Gods of old Pandeia. He practised any skill that might help him become powerful and deadly. He even found a book on the methods of non-magical sorcery used by the Royal entertainers hired to astonish guests at his family's feasts. The tricks were simple, but he'd seen them performed and knew they were convincing; and he was sure that sort of skill would prove useful.

  By the time Amphidas returned, he could create a convincing Fire-Hawk which flew straight and fast as an arrow at a target he drew on the wall. It exploded on impact, and he was sure it would have caused a lot of damage if his practice room wasn't immune to fire. He was yet to figure out how to make it change direction, but he made a huge amount of progress all the same. He also practiced with keeping the cloak of fire burning; it was exhausting and he always needed rest immediately after, but he could keep the flames burning for much longer now. His power grew every day.

  Aella

  A year passed since their tribe was merged with Kerberos', and other than the huge number of warriors in their camp, surprisingly little was different. The only other change was the mandatory worship of Sithares. They prayed each day, and listened to Kerberos as he taught the tribe more about the God of Fire. They were taught a prayer shortly after they joined his tribe. The second she finished reciting it along with all the others of her old tribe, she felt a rush and a flare of energy, and she burst into flame. From that moment on she felt an even greater connection to the Fire Blades her mother gave her; and an even greater need to keep them secret. If Kerberos found out she was wielding ancient magic swords, he would kill her and take them for himself, she was certain of it. She'd wrapped the hilts in old lion hide so they looked like more standard swor
ds; and although the magic in them made them perpetually sharp, she made a point of running a whetstone over them by campfires so others would see. It had been her idea, and her mother beamed at her cunning.

  The hide wrap was ugly and made her hands ache a little. She wished she didn't have to conceal the swords; the way the hilts felt in her hands without the old wraps was amazing. But she made do, and she could still fight with the hilts covered.

  Her and Athan were sparring. Lately they actually sparred instead of playing around as they did only a year ago; although Athan still announced which hero he would be at the beginning of the match, and stared at her until she told him she was Roxane. It still made her giggle.

  She ducked underneath Athan's sword easily, though she made sure to keep a frown on her face and pretend it was difficult. He was sweating and breathing heavily, trying desperately to land a blow. They sparred all the time, as they spent all their time together anyway and Aella had no one else of a similar age who would train with her. Athan was three years her senior, but even at fifteen he was no match for her. Truth be told, she would have much preferred to spar with the adults of their tribe, but her mother told her that her skill should be hidden as much as possible from them.

  "If your talent was known to all, it would only invite constant challenge," her mother said, "and that could only end one of two ways: You'll either kill everyone who challenges you, and eventually become the leader of our tribe. Or you'll be killed. And at your age, both of those are as bad as the other."

  So she sparred with her parents in secret, and she sparred with her best friend Athanasius, pretending she was evenly matched to him. She only used one sword against him, although she could use two swords at the same time just as well. It was just another one of her secret talents, and she was getting used to keeping secrets. It upset her to keep things from Athan, but she knew that he wouldn't understand. He was already too quick to judge himself harshly, and if he found out that she could beat him without trying, she didn't think he’d cope.

  Aella aimed a lunge at Athan's shoulder, but slowed herself down and aimed for the shoulder most protected; all he had to do was twist slightly and sweep his blade to the side and he could block her attack. He tried to dodge instead, mimicking her duck underneath his earlier blow, but he wasn't quite fast enough to get out of the way. She raised the tip of her sword as quickly as she could, and instead of stabbing him full in the shoulder, she sliced the edge of his arm in a shallow cut. He gasped as his arm opened, and stepped away from her. She lowered her sword and stood, waiting for him, her concern for him stopping her natural instinct to push the attack in her opponent's moment of weakness. Athan looked at her, and for a moment he looked angry, and almost suspicious. But then he suddenly laughed and shook his head.

  "I get the feeling you're a much better fighter than I am, Roxane," he laughed; but there was a hint of that suspicion still lingering in his eyes as he said it. She smiled back, hoping that she didn't look too guilty.

  "There's one way to test that, Bion," she replied, trying to make it sound light hearted. Today he was the leader of the first tribe to leave Theara and wander into the desert; Bion the Nomad. She, of course, was Roxane; she never chose any other hero in the years they'd been playing this game.

  He laughed again, and raised his sword to her. They fought for a while longer, Aella trying harder to let him win. By the end of their sparring, they were both sweating and exhausted, and he landed a few cuts on her arms and legs to match the cuts she'd given him. He looked satisfied, and Aella was happy that she'd convinced him they were evenly matched.

  They wandered back to camp; most warriors sparred within the proximity of the camp and usually even around the campfire or near their own tents. But Aella and Athan both preferred to be away from the other Thearans most of the time, and sparring alone allowed them to talk freely and enjoy each other's company without fear of interruption. Athanasius went back to his tent, and Aella went to her own. Helene, her mother, was sitting inside the tent as she entered; as she wasn't yet a woman grown, her tent was always set up right next to her parent's and they commonly shared the space between them. She sat next to her mother and they embraced warmly.

  "Are you well, little warrior?" her mother asked. "You have far more cuts than usual!"

  Aella giggled "Of course, mother," she said, "I was just trying to hide my talent like you taught me." Her mother gave her a sad smile at that. She put her hand on Aella's cheek and sighed gently.

  "Let us pray, then," she said. They knelt next to each other and recited a prayer taught by Kerberos. It was more like meditation than praying to Aella, and as she focused her mind on the image of cleansing fire, it was not God she felt connected to, but magic itself. As always happened with the prayer, her cuts and bruises blazed with sudden pain and discomfort. It grew in intensity until it was all she could feel, and then suddenly disappeared. Once it was gone it was as though it never happened.

  The prayer could be used to heal almost any wound, and could even replace a full night's sleep to make the warrior feel refreshed and rested. Aella mastered it quickly, as she did most things. She sighed as the healing finished, and opened her eyes to see her mother giving her a sad smile again.

  "You're so talented, Aella. It's such a shame you must hide it." Aella didn't know how to react. Her mother looked close to tears and was speaking so softly that even in the silence of their tent, she needed to lean closer to hear.

  "You are the most powerful Fire Mage your father and I have ever seen," she said, and her eyes took on a fierce pride that cut through the sadness. "And still so young! Your potential power could even outshine the legends of Old Theara; Remember the heroes I've told you about?"

  Aella nodded enthusiastically. She loved the stories her mother told; the heroes were almost always women, and it made her happy to imagine herself as the hero of a new story. Most of the legends the warriors told each other around camp fires were about men, but Aella didn't care about those. Her heroes were the ones who made her feel like she could be a hero too.

  There was Hypatia, the first Queen of ancient Theara, who had her husband executed for trying to undermine her and take over the throne. She ruled all her life, and was well loved by the people of Theara. She was a great warrior too, and was always at the head of her army, leading the charge herself against the Omati and ancient Ermoori and any other opponents brave enough to face the Thearans in battle.

  There was Xanthe, daughter of Zoe and Bion, the leaders of the first tribe of Thearans to venture out into the desert. Xanthe was the first to be touched by Sithares. It was said that before Sithares blessed her, she was pale and had darker hair and pale brown or yellow eyes, same as most of the ancient Thearans. But afterwards, her skin darkened, her hair grew pure white and her eyes bright gold. She was outcast as an abomination for years due to her drastic change in appearance. But she wandered the desert completely alone and once she returned to her tribe, she showed them the powers Sithares granted her, and they worshipped the Fire God. The entire tribe were similarly blessed with Fire Magic, and were all made to look like Xanthe too. After that they embraced their new look and called themselves pure-blood Thearans. Aella's parents had told her several times that their family line traced directly back to Xanthe. When they first told her, she got so excited she raced around the entire tribe, telling every warrior who would listen.

  Then there was her personal favourite, Roxane. Roxane was the most powerful Fire Mage in history. Legend said she could summon a live Phenix at will, and destroy hundreds of warriors in seconds with massive waves of unquenchable flame. When the settled Thearans of Omatus decided to destroy the nomadic tribes, it was Roxane who single-handedly walked out to meet their army on the battlefield. Against thousands, she left but one survivor; to rush back to Omatus and tell them of the power of the pure blood Thearans. Ever since, the Omati feared and avoided the Thearan tribes, even going so far as to stop calling themselves the 'Thearans of Omatus'; they b
ecame simply the Omati. It was one of the greatest Thearan victories in history.

  Aella loved that story; her mother always told it with such passion. It was Roxane's bravery that inspired Aella to train as hard as she did. She couldn't imagine being brave enough to face an entire army on her own, but despite that she still wanted to change the world like Roxane did.

  Her mother was giving her an amused look, and Aella giggled as she realised she’d been staring blankly at her face for several minutes, caught up in the fantasy of her heroes. Helene laughed too, and pushed Aella over playfully. Her mother's smile faded, though only slightly, and she pulled her daughter gently back to a seated position on the tent floor. She pulled her into a hug and held her there, burying her face in Aella's hair.

  "You will be so powerful, little one," she said softly, "but please be careful." Aella tried to nod, lost for words, but only ended up rocking both of them slightly back and forth. Helene held her even tighter then, and Aella suddenly felt panic spread through her. She realised her parents were genuinely terrified that something awful would happen to her. She knew there were risks, otherwise they wouldn't have said anything in the first place, but in the urgency of her mother's embrace, the danger suddenly felt very real. Her eyes stung with tears and she felt her breath become ragged. Her mother pulled back a little and saw her crying.

  "What if-" She sniffled and wiped her nose, "- What if I'm not brave enough?" Helene looked honestly baffled for a moment, and then stifled a sudden laugh. Aella was furious. Her mother was the one who'd made her cry, and now she was laughing at her tears! Her mother noticed her outrage and stopped laughing; her brow creased with concern instead.

  "What makes you say that, little warrior?" she asked, the humour gone from her voice now.