Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire

by Brendan Wright

  There was a flash of light and a whooshing sound, and Atillus felt the heavy steel blade pass through his face. He felt the cold of it as it sliced his cheek, through the bone, and briefly tasted metal as it cut into his mouth. He felt it as it exited his face, and felt the brief gap it left behind. But there was no pain. And the flash of light continued, his face burning brightly where he'd been cut. It burned until it fused back together, and while it felt like minutes to Atillus, he knew it was only seconds to the warriors surrounding him.

  The warlord of the enemy tribe stared in horror, but the challenge was set. She couldn't back out.

  He stepped towards her. She bared her teeth and stood her ground, fighting the wild fear she must have felt, and in that moment Atillus felt a small stab of pity for her. Before this transformation, he would have doubted the outcome of a battle against her, with her strength and speed and mastery of the longsword; but now, her death was all but assured. And she was still ready to fight. Atillus raised his eyes to take in the enemy tribe, wanting to make an example of their leader.

  "Those who doubt the power of Sithares will burn with their leader. There is no other choice: Believe, or die."

  The woman swung her sword again, screaming in helpless rage, and this time he stepped around it easily. Before she could blink, he grabbed her face with one hand, ignoring his sword, and clamped down onto it with his new found strength. Fire rushed onto her skin, and within seconds she was engulfed. He let go of her head carelessly and she toppled to the ground, her corpse burning as brightly as a bonfire.

  The tribe opposite his own dropped their weapons almost simultaneously. They were staring at him as though he were Sithares itself. The fire guttered out suddenly, and the power and strength and speed rushed out of his body just as quickly. He managed to keep his feet, but it was all he could do to avoid stumbling to his knees in front of his new subjects. They barely noticed his weakness, however; they were still utterly awestruck by the deadly display of fire magic. That, coupled with tales from the few survivors of the ambush, would assure their loyalty. In the short term, at least.

  He retired back to his tent, letting Nomiki take over the joining of tribes. He put two warriors outside the entrance to his tent and fell asleep almost instantly.

  He awoke roughly two hours after nightfall. The warriors were celebrating the merging of two tribes, and were telling each other stories of Atillus' feats of fire magic over the campfires scattered throughout the great hall. He overheard part of a conversation and stayed in his tent as it went on.

  "Do you know his name?"

  "Nobody does."

  "Surely he has told someone. What about Nomiki?"

  "You can ask her if you feel brave enough. Even if she knew, she would never tell if He doesn't want her to."

  "Why is he so secretive about his own name? His past is on the other side of the desert, just the same as all those who joined Theara by choice instead of birth. He won't be judged or cast out for who he used to be; so why hide it?"

  Atillus cursed inwardly. He never meant to go without a name for so long, but he also had no idea what new name to choose. He would need to come up with something, and soon, or there would be too many questions. It was one thing to remain mysterious for a while and build up mystique, but it was quite another to remain nameless as the leader of the largest Thearan tribe in Omas. He thought of what he came to Theara to do, and hoped it would be over soon. He could focus on a name then.

  A cheer erupted from the warriors closest to his tent as he pushed past the hide flap, and spread quickly as the tribe saw him. He gestured to them all in greeting, and chose a nearby fire to sit and eat.

  Several of the warriors sitting around the fire with him were from the tribe living in Theara. He pointed to one of them.

  "Your name, warrior?" He asked.

  "Dionysios, my lord," he replied quickly. Atillus recognised his voice as the one who had asked about his name.

  "Do you know this city well?"

  "Yes, my lord. We have lived here for almost five years." Atillus nodded, but said nothing more. Slowly, conversation started up again among the warriors. Atillus sat for a while, simply listening to them talk. The stories of his own feats had suddenly stopped now that he was present, and they turned their talk to the city of Theara instead. They talked about the caves underneath the stone ground, the clean water which could be found there, and the uncountable secret rooms and passages throughout. They talked about the legends born here, and battles fought here in ancient times. When the Forge of Sithares was mentioned, the ancient forge where Sithares was said to have left a piece of himself so that the fire would burn forever, Atillus snapped to attention.

  "Do you know where it is?" He cut off a man who was speaking about Kyriakos, the famous blacksmith who'd been visited by Sithares at the forge, but he was done with legends for now. He was only interested in the forge itself.

  "Yes, my lord," the warrior replied, "many of us have been there. It is true, you know. The forge is still burning, as hot as if someone was still down there fanning the flames and throwing fresh wood in every day." Atillus' heart was hammering.

  "You will take me there as soon as dawn breaks." The warrior, unnerved by the sudden intense attention, only nodded silently. Atillus grinned, more to himself than to the warriors around the fire, but they returned uneasy smiles and glanced at each other. He knew it wasn't just some legend. He would get what he came for.

  Athanasius

  Light slowly trickled into existence. Consciousness gradually returned. Despite any real memory remaining elusive, he felt well rested and didn't seem injured. With a soft sigh, he opened his eyes. A blackened wreckage greeted him. He was lying in the middle of the ruins of a small cabin. Everything was horribly burned, the smell of ashes and smoke almost overpowering. He stood, feeling stiff and slow. Once standing, he could see over the half-crumbled walls of the cabin; He was in the burned down remains of a small village on a riverbank. Though the river looked familiar, the name eluded him.

  He stretched and assessed his body to check for damage. He was unharmed. He thought that odd, and not just because he seemed to be the only thing in the area which avoided burning; he actually felt good. Strong and full of energy.

  A sudden flash burned his vision, though it seemed to be occurring in his mind as opposed to in front of his eyes. He groaned and dropped to his knees, and a memory pushed itself into his mind:

  There were blades flashing everywhere, the song of steel ringing loudly. Shouting and thudding footsteps, and the roaring of fire. Chaos. Death. A voice, deeper than the others, emerged from the cacophony.

  "Rally! Stand firm! No! This is not what was promised!"

  It faded, then there was lancing pain in his neck, in his stomach and back, everywhere. He looked down to see swords and spears piercing his body in half a dozen places. He tried to scream and couldn't. His vision turned red then blurred into orange, then there was fire -

  He screamed, falling to his knees and looking desperately down at his body where the weapons had torn into him. But he was unhurt. Was the vision a memory? Or just a nightmare? He couldn't possibly be alive if that really happened, let alone completely fine. He looked at the ashes and ruins of the small village again. There was no one else around him. Other than the rushing of the river, there was complete silence. He realised then what happened.

  I died, he thought, that was a memory. I died, and this is the afterlife. That explains why I don't know where I am. Or... or who I am.

  The thought was terrifying. He concentrated as hard as he could, casting his mind back, but there were no memories to draw from. Even his own name had disappeared. He glanced around him again, looking to the horizon in every direction. Nothing helped his memory. But when he turned to the north, he suddenly stopped. In the distance, a gigantic, jagged mountain pierced the sky.

  There. That's where I belong. The desert, the mountain. Home.

  The shape of it screamed in his mind,
and he started walking.

  He wandered in the desert for days before he came across the warriors. They recognised him, and all but one looked at him with disgust and hatred burning in their eyes. Only she didn't. The woman who seemed to be their leader. She looked at him with an expression of hope and yearning so vulnerable and naked he almost wept. But he didn't know her. She protected him from the other warriors, some so angry they drew their weapons and made towards him. She took his hand and led him away from the tribe. They sat together and spoke for a while.

  She was heartbroken that he didn't recognise her, and she was terrified that he was allied with someone called Kerberos. The name echoed strangely in his mind. He felt a chill run down his spine when she said it. Her name was Aella; his was Athanasius. Kerberos was the leader of the tribe they belonged to before the battle that killed him. The words washed over him, almost familiar, but not connected to anything in his mind. All he remembered was the desert, and the fire he endured while dead. He told her this, and tried to describe what death felt like. When he finished, she simply held him in silence. It was unspeakably comforting, and for a moment he felt a connection with her.

  Aella

  Aella returned to consciousness suddenly, gasping and wide eyed. She was laying on the grey sand, and although she felt utterly drained, she didn't have any physical damage. Her plan worked. She looked around her. Other than her fellow warriors, there was nothing around them at all. The mountains where the Alpheus began were visible in the distance, but she had flung them much further than she hoped.

  The rest of her tribe were either tending to the wounded or taking a brief rest on the sand. She realised they'd left their tents and most of their belongings at the camp-site; the meeting was called in the afternoon, and there was no time to pack anything away. She realised suddenly that the sun was high in the sky; it was around midday.

  "How long have I been unconscious?" she asked no one in particular. Natasa turned at her voice and walked over.

  "One night," she said softly, "and most of the morning." She was looking at Aella as though she might break at any moment. She frowned at the concern on Natasa's face.

  "I'm not hurt, Natasa. I just used far too much magic."

  But at that, Natasa's concern seemed to grow even deeper. "Aella..."

  Her heart stopped. Something terrible had happened. Natasa knelt down, putting her hand gently on Aella's shoulder. Her mind started racing. She looked around the tribe, thinking she knew what might have happened before Natasa said the words. She couldn't see Erasmus anywhere. She knew he wasn't a particularly strong fighter, and she was so focused on trying to end the battle she hadn't even thought about him.

  "Where is he?" she asked frantically. Natasa's eyes dropped from her own, staring at the sand.

  "I'm sorry, Aella." her voice was barely a whisper. "... but there's more." Aella could not believe it. What else? How much damage could Kerberos do to them in one afternoon? She was so terrified of the answer she almost didn't ask.

  "Who?"

  Natasa was silent for what felt like hours. Aella didn't have the strength to ask again. She merely sat in the sand, numb and panicking, until Natasa finally spoke.

  "Dakesh is gone, and... I'm so sorry, Aella. Helene is missing too."

  The new tribe was perhaps five or six hundred strong, but losing Erasmus, her mother and Dakesh in one blow made her feel completely alone. She had no idea what to do, but she knew she couldn't quite bring herself to push on to Theara just yet. Somehow it felt wrong without her mother. Heading back to the city of their ancestors was Helene's idea, after all.

  But there was more. Something told her to wait. She couldn't help but feel like Helene, Erasmus and Dakesh weren't dead; maybe if they just waited a little while longer, the three of them would appear. She knew it was merely wishful thinking, but it was so powerful that she couldn’t ignore it.

  Something Kerberos said returned to her mind: We are waiting for the warriors who were killed in the attack on Mara. I believe they will come back...

  She had absolutely no reason to trust him any more, but... what if he was right? What if instead of making them invulnerable, the protection Sithares granted them was bringing them back from the dead? She had to hope it was true; she couldn’t face losing the three of them. Almost a dozen more warriors were missing from their tribe. She couldn't bring herself to say out loud what she was hoping, but when she told the tribe to wait a while and set up a camp with what little they had, nobody argued. It was likely the others who were missing loved ones remembered Kerberos' words too.

  So they stayed where they were, in the desert, waiting for dead warriors to find them.

  Two days went by. The Thearans slept on the sand, under the stars. They had no tents, and not much of anything else. Morale was low and the tribe was starting to argue amongst themselves. Aella became desperate; another split, another battle, would destroy them completely. They needed to stick together. She kept reminding the warriors that although Kerberos was distorting the Thearan way of life, he brought Sithares to them, and the God of Fire would provide for those who worshipped. She made them pray together, and hunt together, and build massive bonfires in the sand. It didn't work at first, but eventually they became more enthusiastic, chanting around the bonfires and sparring. It felt almost like the Fire Festival, and her heart became slightly less heavy.

  Two more days later, Athanasius walked into their camp.

  Dakesh

  "NO!"

  The blade sliced his throat so fast he didn't feel it at all, cutting off his scream. Elana walked away, sheathing her Kaizuun as she went. She didn't look back. Her movements were almost careless. Rage exploded in his chest. Dakesh burst into flame, his throat healing before so much as a handful of blood was spilled. He stood, still burning, and as Elana turned towards the sudden light, he grabbed the hilt of her Kaizuun and kicked her viciously in the chest. The blade came free of its sheath as she flew backwards into the hard grey dirt. Disarmed, she was nowhere near as powerful.

  Her eyes were wide. She scrambled backwards, tried to gain her feet. He took a step toward her, and black throwing blades appeared, slicing through the air. He ducked underneath one, but another buried itself in his shoulder. It disappeared a second later in a puff of black smoke. Dakesh snarled and leaped at her, landing with his feet on either side of her torso. As he landed, he used the momentum to bring his fist down into her face. Her head snapped back into the ground, and she lay still. When he was certain she was unconscious, he let the fire go out.

  Dakesh bound her hands behind her back and her knees together while she was out. He moved quickly; she didn't remain unconscious long. She woke slowly, dazed. She blinked for a few moments and stared at the warriors watching her. Her eyes fell on Dakesh, and her fury returned.

  "You monster!" she screamed. "You took that blade and defiled it. How dare you dishonour Kailen? He was your best friend!"

  He defiled the blade first with his unworthy blood. He dishonoured you by forging a blade meant for your hands.

  There were tears in her eyes. There were tears in his own. He looked at the Kaizuun in its sheath on his belt. If only he could make her understand; he was meant to wield this blade! It was his destiny, he knew it. Sithares, the God of Fire itself, told him so. He just needed her to see.

  She will never see your perspective. She was sent here to capture or kill you. She has sided with the elders of the Shenza.

  "Elana, please," he said desperately, "you don't understand. Join us, join our tribe, and I can show you all that's happened. I can show you why this blade belongs with me."

  She will never join us. She will fight until she dies. Her choices are to kill you or die by your hand, and she will not kill you now; her resolve has weakened even as her fury grows. Give her what she wants.

  She recoiled as if he'd thrown Kailen's destroyed corpse at her feet.

  "Join you? You abandoned the Shenza, the forests... You turned your back on the
three tenets... You turned your back on me, and now you want me to betray my people too?"

  Her people will burn regardless of her actions. Their time is almost up. As is hers. Kill her.

  Dakesh could no longer look her in the eye as she spoke. His gaze dropped to the ground.

  "The Duulshen were right about you." Her voice turned cold. "You were never good enough for that blade. You never deserved to wield your own, let alone the blade of one who did deserve it."

  KILL HER!

  Dakesh screamed. The world turned white. All that existed was Dakesh, standing alone in endless white; and Elana, bound and kneeling at his feet. Her face was a pale skull, her violet eyes replaced by bottomless pits of black hatred. She tore free of the bindings holding her down, and stood. Her sword was suddenly in her hand, and a mindless rage twisted her features. She lunged at him, and a wave of fire leaped from his hands to meet her. She screamed but kept coming. Dakesh poured more magic into the fire, screaming even louder as he watched Elana burn. Her black sleeveless tunic disappeared. Her skin melted. Her eyes popped, sizzling in the heat. She dropped to her knees, screaming and somehow still reaching for him. He put one more burst of magic into the flames, and as she died, a part of him broke.