Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  Particularly because fire had a way of rendering her paralyzed.

  Esven rubbed her arms, trying to bring heat back into them. Maritimus pushed his head in the still-open door, taking his time. He plopped himself down beside her feet, staring unceremoniously at his human companion.

  “I know, I know, don’t rush me,” Esven uttered to him, scrubbing her palms together before she held them out toward the hearth.

  In the hollow rectangle that housed only an iron cauldron, and what appeared to be the roots of a gnarled tree, Esven honed her focus. The roots, spindly little pieces connected to a larger vein, started to pulse with a dim, golden glow. Scarcely noticeable in the daylight, but more potent to the eyes in the shadows, the witch curled her fingers back into her palm when she felt the satisfying warmth of the solar energy fill the room.

  She especially liked the tree that shared its bounty with her. Esven did not give it a name—trees did not enjoy titles and aliases. But this particular tree did delight in digging its roots up into the interior of her home and nestling them in the fireplace’s opening.

  It took time to master the right incantation. Several weeks of cold nights had chilled her until she perfected the ability to harness a portion of the sun’s heat that the tree sucked in through its leaves each day. It was a faultless source of warmth. No flames. Nothing to pull those foul memories forward.

  Another ragged yowl from Maritimus caused Esven to glance down. “We have plenty of time,” she replied, stretching her hands out to warm them by the roots. “Elias is always a bit late following his service as it is.”

  Another meow, more aggressive this time.

  Esven’s eyes rolled before she looked down at the feline. “Do not sit there and pretend it’s about being respectful of his time.” She readjusted the red hooded cloak that sat on her shoulders, wrapping it tighter around her body. “I know full well you only care about the fish he brings you from the market.”

  Maritimus pivoted and darted out the door’s narrow opening. Esven shook her head, following after. Ensuring the door behind her had closed, she continued on after the cat, who maneuvered with precision through the unlined woodlands.

  The start of each new week brought a comfort with it. Elias’ company was a rare treat: the only human being the young witch could stand to be in the company of. Odd that he was a holy man, given the church’s opinion of enchanters.

  Esven did not know what karmic action she had performed to earn his companionship—it had to be a reward of sorts that he showed up at her place in the forest some five months ago.

  It was almost as if he knew just where to find her.

  She allowed herself to believe that her mother had sent him somehow, from the beyond the grave. A lifeline in the ocean that she struggled to swim in. It would be just Amadeia’s style—sending Esven the type of man who was supposed to revile her most: a priest. Yet, all Elias ever brought with him was a kind ear and compassion.

  His presence should have come as a shock—and it did, at the time. Esven knew the protection spell that she had placed around her property failed to touch the potency of her mother’s, but it should have been enough to keep Elias at bay.

  Perhaps it was the benevolence that he’d dedicated his life to. Perhaps he had earned his Lord’s favor through the kindness of his heart. Whatever it was that brought him to her, Esven did not question it. She couldn’t. She needed Elias.

  He was the only one who kept her anchored in compassion these days. The only one who kept her restlessness from becoming something it shouldn’t. Without the priest and his kind-hearted companionship, her desire to make something of herself, to carve her name into the land of Brigovia, could very well have taken on a darker tone.

  Esven spied his dark hood before she saw anything else. A contrast against the light neutral tones of the woodlands, Elias stuck out from everything else. The man was like a beacon in the shadows, though he covered himself in layers of black robes. A smile came to her face when she caught his eyes.

  “Elias,” Esven reached out a hand, shaking his before pulling him into a hug, “always good to see you well.”

  “And you,” the priest replied, pulling out of the embrace with a smile of his own.

  His appearance only encouraged Esven’s grin to grow. She always knew when he came fresh off of his religious service. The man’s eyes shined with an invasion of inspiration. Above all else, he loved his god, the Angel Lord. He loved his church. And, he loved his people.

  Elias was a peculiar priest, in that he was ordained far younger than most, but his attendants did not gaze at him with judgment. He had the wisdom of lifetimes, packed into a youthful body and mind. The people knew it, too. They fed off of it.

  “So,” Elias started, gesturing to the same place on the ground where they met at the start of each new week, “have you had any… troubles, lately?”

  Before Esven could open her mouth to reply, Maritimus voiced his protest. The cat pushed his body into Elias’ leg, brushing up against him with small, irritated mews.

  “Oh, Master Maritimus,” Elias smirked, peering down at the feline with amusement, “please accept my apology. How could I have forgotten you?”

  The cat wore his disbelief on his face. He sat, the tip of his tail twitching up as his eyes fixated on the priest’s leather satchel.

  A light chuckle left Elias’ throat as he flipped open the satchel’s flap and reached inside. “Fresh from the market this morning,” he informed, holding the small, yellow-bellied fish between his fingers. “I’ve started to enjoy the strange looks the fishing merchants give me, now that I’ve been buying one lonely little perch each week. I’m sure they must wonder what I do with it.”

  Esven smirked, wondering herself. It would be strange, to watch a well-known vegetarian purchase a single fish every Sunday. Elias could harm no animal, not even to eat it.

  Though Elias knelt down and held the fish out, Maritimus made no move to grab it. He only stared at the offering with unamused eyes.

  “I see.” Elias released a faux sigh, stretching out to set the donation down. “Is it the smell of my fingers that offends you so?”

  As soon as the morsel touched the ground, Maritimus approached it. He lowered his head, sniffing, as if assessing the quality of the meat. Arriving at a slow approval, the cat seized the fish in his jaws before he turned, darting away from the pair to enjoy his meal in silence.

  “Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Esven said, lowering herself to the ground into a sitting position. “He’s been like that since I’ve known him.”

  Elias chuckled, finding a spot near Esven on the ground. He pressed his back against the large tree planted behind him, content to have a place to brace his spine. “I’ll try not to take it to heart.” He lowered his hood and craned his neck to look at her. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  Esven winced. She coerced a friendly smirk out of herself and shrugged a shoulder. “Things have been… better.”

  The priest’s expression remained unchanged as he dissected her statement. “Right,” he said. A wry grin was slow to steal over his face. “Well, I want you to know that I forgive you, for lying to a priest.”

  He knew. Of course he did. Not only was Esven unskilled in the art of lies, but Elias was not so much her priest as he was a friend. A good one at that, too. The man had the uncanny ability to keep her head clear. Many dark thoughts had conjured after her mother’s death, and they were all aimed at mankind. It wasn’t what her mother would have wanted. She adored those people. She loved them until the smoke choked the last gulp of oxygen from her lungs.

  Amadeia died loving people. Esven was left living to hate them, try as she might not to.

  It was unwise to fill one’s heart with such loathing. Amadeia’s words echoed in her head every day: Ever mind the rule of three. What ye put out comes back to thee.

  Esven did not want hatred to come back to her threefold. The revulsion she harbored for humanity was
terrifying enough as it was. To amplify it in any way would be absolutely nightmarish.

  It was with great fortune that Elias knew how to deescalate that loathing. Esven’s smile adopted a more genuine appearance. “I apologize, Elias…” She rested the back of her head against the tree’s trunk and closed her eyes. “Some days… are just better than others.”

  “Truer words have never been uttered,” Elias replied, as if her statement resounded within him in some way, too. He cast his gaze out to the fields. “Eventually, time heals everything, Esven. And what time doesn’t heal, the Angel Lord will.”

  A polite smile was all she offered him. For how much she adored Elias, their spiritual beliefs did not align. To Esven, karmic debt was something the whole of the universe assessed. An individual’s fate was in his or her own hands, where reward and punishment came as a result of one’s own actions. She put little weight in the omnipotent deity that the people of Brigovia prayed to—that Elias preached about—though she valued him and his beliefs enough not to try and convert him. He offered her the same respect.

  “I know I say it every week,” Elias said, breaking the silence, “but you don’t have to stay out here. You’re always welcome at my church.”

  A quick, cynical laugh followed his offer. “If they ever found out you were housing me…”

  Elias lifted his hands. “I do not allow the creation of pain in my church, Esven.” He found her gaze and a confident grin pulled one end of his lips up. “Only exoneration from it. You will never come to any harm there, so long as I am its keeper.”

  “You wouldn’t be its keeper long,” Esven interjected, matching his smirk, “if the Brotherhood caught me there.”

  The edges of Elias’ enthusiasm faded. “They… mean well.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “They truly do believe they operate in the Angel Lord’s favor, but…” The priest paused, returning his eyes to hers as he swept away any concerns. “Why don’t you let me worry about De’Savaria and the Brotherhood, all right?”

  The gesture was compassionate. Elias offered no other kind. Esven nodded, reaching out to give his knee a gentle pat. “It’s nice to know the offer is there, my friend.”

  His body tensed at her touch. The impure thoughts he worked tirelessly to suppress surfaced. Elias faltered for a microscopic moment in time before he finished taking the breath that had gotten caught in his throat. “Good,” he uttered, nodding as he pushed himself to stand. “Well… if you’re not suffering any existential crises that could use my help… I really should be going. I am sorry this visit was as short as it was.” Pulling his hood back up over his head, he offered a dim smile. He needed to create distance. To save himself from his own affliction. “Same time next week?”

  With wide eyes, Esven rested her hand on the tree, using it to help her stand. “Oh? So soon?” Tilting her head, she forced a nod, her hand pulling in to rest against her collar bone. “All right. Yes, of course.” She coerced a smile. “Same time next week, then.”

  Elias lost himself for an instant, but jerked his head down to his satchel. “I almost forgot—” He removed a wrapped parcel and handed it to her. “Smoked herring. I thought you might like it. The gentleman from the fishery gave it to me, free of charge.” Elias rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose he must think my single, unseasoned piece of perch needed company.”

  A fluid laugh leapt out of Esven’s mouth as she accepted the gift. “Thank you, Elias. I’ll enjoy it this evening. I only wish that I had something to offer you in exchange.”

  He stood tall, beaming. “Your companionship is more than enough, Esven. I look forward to the next time we meet.” After offering a final bow, Elias spun on his heels, returning back on the path toward Pinesguard.

  He had memorized the walk. It was second nature now. The twenty minutes of traveling time was a welcomed bout of peacefulness between their meeting point and the gates of Pinesguard. He wished Esven would accompany him back one day, into the safety of town, but he understood her apprehension. It would take a lot longer than six months for her to forgive the atrocity that befell her mother within those walls.

  Passing under the wooden pillars that created the small town’s main entrance, Elias traipsed through the narrow, unpaved streets. The weight of the earth’s mud crusted to his footwear until he reached the cobblestone in Pinesguard’s center.

  He uttered kind prayers beneath his breath when he wandered passed the beggars and the lepers. They huddled beneath the tarps that were drawn over rotting wooden beams, finding shelter where they could. Elias’ heart ached for those people. To know that their open sores had to rest in the contents of chamber pots that were emptied outside with little care, destroyed a small part of him.

  He did not understand the Angel Lord’s plan when it came to the sick and the dying. Though he did not comprehend it, he came to accept that everything happened for a reason. The mind of his all-knowing god surely touched more wisdom than he ever would in his earthly life.

  Those who recognized him offered friendly waves. Somewhat of a luminary in the small market town, Elias was quick to issue complimentary waves back to those who sought his attention. Priests in all of Brigovia were hailed for their sacrifice to the Angel Lord, and the people were content to praise them for it.

  The church rose beyond the market. Elias spied the pointed towers in the distance. His church boasted the greatest height of all the buildings in Pinesguard: a beacon for lost souls in search of benevolence, or a place to absolve their sins.

  Entering the densest part of the market, Elias brushed past the bodies of those who clamored to the area. It was at the height of its busy period. The area was not just a place for tradesmen, peddlers, and merchants. Not just a place for revenue to flow in and pad the finances needed for the town’s defenses. The market was also a gathering place for social endeavors. A place that exchanged information and gossip, as much as baked goods and ales.

  Because of this, Elias did not pay close attention to the conversations that were swapped between the people. But when the word ‘Amadeia’ hit his ears, it was enough to stop him in his tracks. The priest turned and cast a sharp look over his shoulder, scanning for the source of who had uttered the late-witch’s name.

  “You must be from out of town,” one of the residents said to the tall, bearded man in the animal hide vest. “Not much talk of that witch anymore. Fell off of men’s tongues shortly after the Brotherhood dragged her out of the woods, and burned her alive. They didn’t find her too far from here, actually.” The resident shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Madness, isn’t it? To know that evil of that magnitude lurked so close, and none of us knew it?”

  Oh, the precious irony. The fire demon nodded as he suppressed his grin, his chin cupped in his hand. “Evil can squeeze into the tightest of crevices, my friend.” He mentally collected the information that the man had given him and stored it away in his mind.

  The woods.

  Not far from here.

  If he could find the burn site of Amadeia’s homestead, he very well might locate additional clues that could lead him to her progeny.

  Balvonak cleared his throat. “I never tire of hearing a good tale about justice being done. Tell me,” he said, pointing a finger at the man, “were there any other souls found in the company of that godless heathen?”

  The peasant crinkled his nose, trying to pull the memories forward. It was clear he had fallen into the trap that was Balvonak’s charismatic personality. “Just one,” he admitted. “The Brotherhood saved a girl who was under the witch’s spell.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nobody knows what happened to her, though. She vanished shortly after Amadeia was burned.”

  Elias steeled his jaw. He fixated on the stranger: an unfamiliar man. Certainly from out of town. It was imperative that he investigate further. When someone entered town seeking knowledge of Amadeia, discerning whether they were friend or foe to the Greenbriar name was vital.
When they also questioned whether or not there were others present when the witch was ripped from her home… that made it all the more pressing that he discover the intentions this stranger had.

  Hiding his hands in the draping sleeves of his robe, calm feet carried the priest beyond the other townsfolk. He weaved in and out of their bodies, smooth in his movements, until he came to a stand in front of the newcomer. “Such curiosity,” he observed, tempering his voice. “Have you always held such a fascination with public execution, or is it Pinesguard’s history in general which excites you?”

  “Ah, Father Deverell.” The Pinesguard resident delighted at his appearance, his expression showcasing his excitement. “Always good to see you.”

  “And you,” Elias replied, giving the man a gracious nod before he returned his focus to the newcomer.

  Balvonak stiffened. It was hard to share the peasant’s enthusiasm for holy men, when they remained one of his biggest threats. Willfully relaxing his rigid muscles, the fire demon attempted a swift recovery. “It’s… less of an enthusiasm about public execution as it is about the peace of mind that follows one,” he explained, wiping away the sudden coldness that struck him to the core. Balvonak summoned an amiable grin. “One less sinner in the great land of Brigovia, am I right, Father?”

  Elias held his eyes, but did not move. “There are no sinners here, stranger.” He inclined his chin. “Only those who have temporarily lost their way. I must say… while it is not the popular opinion, I believe the Angel Lord prefers we guide others to righteousness, rather than burn out their depravities.”

  The peasant laughed. He swatted Balvonak’s arm with the back of his hand. “That’s why we love Father Deverell,” he said, thumbing toward the priest. “He sees the good in everyone, even the scum of Brigovia.” Chuckling, the man wiped tears of amusement from his eyes. “Back from your holy walk a little early, aren’t you, Father?”