Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  Just when she thought she could climb no farther, Elias stopped at a decrepit, wooden door. Twisting the handle, he stepped aside, allowing Esven to enter the room first.

  She had to squeeze past him to ease herself inside, but with the staircase behind her, the room offered far more space to breath. To move. It was a simple study. Four corners filled with a humble bed, a bookshelf, several corpses of burnt out candles, and various pots and pans. “Is this your home?” Esven asked, spinning to take in the sight of Elias as he closed the door behind him.

  The priest nodded as he found a chair in the far corner of the room. A quick sweep of his hand wiped the cobwebs from the corners, as he pulled it over toward her. “It is.”

  Esven stared down at the chair, acknowledging the kindness of his offer with a smile. “Thank you,” she said, as she lowered herself into it.

  Elias glanced around the room, finding no other suitable furniture to sit on. With little other choice, he grabbed a bucket, and turned it upside down so that it could serve as a chair. He sat, a concerned expression infecting his face. “How is your…” Friend? Acquaintance? He did not know how to refer to the demon whose company she kept. “How is his…” Elias’ voice faded away as he gestured toward his chest.

  A gentle look from Esven excused the priest’s concerns. “I think he’ll be all right,” she uttered, bunching up the material of her skirt as it hung over her thighs. “Did… did you know that you could do that to demons?”

  Discomfort stiffened his bones. Elias cleared his throat. “I did not know that he was a demon when I touched him.”

  The corner of Esven’s lip tightened. “That’s not what I asked.”

  Sharp. Elias expected no different. He bent his spine back to call a deep breath into his lungs. “Yes,” he said, exhaling slowly to delay declaring the inevitable. “It’s… an ability that the Angel Lord bestows upon all priests.”

  She let the reality of his statement settle over her. Several days ago, Esven had only the scattered knowledge about the Angel and Demon Lords that she had learned from her mother. She knew bits and pieces… and that the people of Brigovia had a strong preference for one over the other.

  Fate and karma had been her religion the whole of her life. Now, she found herself thrust deep into the forefront of humanity’s chosen religion. She was desperate to know more. “What other abilities do you possess?” she asked.

  Elias sighed. He never thought he’d have to have this conversation. His responses were fraught with delays. Hesitations. He couldn’t lie to her. It wasn’t in him. He had hoped, however, when the task of protecting Esven Greenbriar was passed down to him, that he could linger in ambiguity long enough to never have to explain.

  It seemed that was not meant to be.

  “None that aren’t imbued in me through my god,” he finally answered, weaving his fingers together as they rested in his lap.

  His response caused Esven to frown. “It seems wrong that the church would punish enchanters, while men who speak for the Angel Lord have been gifted with similar abilities.”

  Elias surprised her by nodding in agreement. “Not unlike everything in this world, Esven, even the church is flawed.” His tone carried weight with it. The priest turned his gaze to the ceiling, trying to rediscover a livelier manner. “I’d like to see a day when it isn’t. One day, I believe I might, if I keep working at it.” He turned his eyes back toward her, espousing a look of disquiet. “But I am more concerned with you as of late, than the church. Gallivanting with demons? Leaving your home? Please, do not mistake my incredulity for disappointment—I’m very happy to see you—but I had tried to convince you to come to Pinesguard for months. What changed?”

  It was Esven’s turn to draw back in reluctance. She knew how foolish her reasons would sound. She knew it the moment they carried her out of the safety of her home, into the world of a fire demon she barely knew. “He said he had information about my mother,” she admitted, unable to look Elias in the eyes. “About what her life was like before I came along.” Her fingers wrapped tighter in the fabric of her skirt. “Elias, my entire life, all I heard about was the great Amadeia Greenbriar, but I have no conceivable clue who that woman was, or what she did to earn that title.” She forced her focus off of the floor, and found the priest’s gaze. “I need to know. I could pick up where she left off. I could honor her legacy, and… perhaps, give my own life some purpose at the same time.”

  Elias watched her in the muted illumination of the trembling candlelight. His fingers twitched. He almost reached out. Almost touched her. Loyalty stopped him, anchoring his hands to one another, so that each of his tightening fingers would remind him of how dangerous it was to tread into that territory. “You are her legacy,” he whispered. “Everything she did was to protect you.”

  A surge of longing filled her. To speak of her mother—it was an act so cathartic, it nearly made her heart burst. Esven steeled her nerves and scooted forward in her chair. “Elias… I know you have more knowledge about her than you’ve let on.” She slid her hand across the table, stopping just short of his. “I need to know exactly how much.”

  He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t think he’d have to. Countless people boasted that knowledge and truth were the way to an individual’s salvation. Elias believed that. But in this case, the truth terrified him. He did not wish for Esven to become the Amadeia Greenbriar of Brigovia’s past.

  He wouldn’t wish that path for anyone.

  But if it was the truth that she sought… and a fire demon lie in wait to whisper it into her ear…

  Elias shook his head. It was better to hear it from a friend. From someone who loved her. “I know a fair amount,” he admitted.

  The gates were open. Esven felt her lungs fill. “Is that how you found me in the woods? How you penetrated my protection spell?”

  Elias nodded. “It is.”

  The rise of excitement. The raw, bubbling anticipation. Esven could barely hold herself still in her seat. She placed a hand on Elias’ knee, leaning forward. Her eyes were wild, wide with eagerness. It was as close to touching Amadeia’s history as she had ever been. “Please… tell me everything.”

  Elias felt his pulse quicken at her touch. He recited a mantra in his head to keep calm. “It is a long story…”

  “I have time.”

  Moments passed. The candlelight caught floating particles of dust as Elias scanned the room. A long story, indeed. “Then we will need some wine,” he mumbled, rising from his bucket to traipse toward a small cabinet.

  His hands reached for each glass languidly. A measured removal of the cork. A slow tilt of the dust-covered bottle. Anything to create more time between this moment and the next. When he ran out of opportunities to drag his feet, Elias sighed, grabbing both glasses as he turned to face her. “Where do I start?” he asked, holding the red liquid out as he sat back down.

  Esven hands trembled as she accepted his offer. She took a quick sip in the hopes that it would settle her nerves. Before all of it had slid down her throat, she found herself replying, “At the beginning. Please.”

  “The beginning…” Elias’ eyes glazed over as he looked beyond her, his memory falling somewhere far away. He lifted his glass and took a small drink before he lowered it, resting his arm on his leg. “It all started with the Twin Gods. That would be the very beginning.”

  Esven blinked. She did not know the timeline extended so far back. Moreover, it was strange that her mother’s history involved any comingling with the Twin Gods. Amadeia only referenced Them briefly. Readjusting her position in the chair, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m listening.”

  Gripping his wine, Elias stared down into the crimson liquid, swirling it in the glass. “When the Twin Gods came to be, They were desperate to find Their own identities, apart from one another. As such, Brigovia split into two worlds: the Netherworld, commanded by the Demon Lord, Marumon, and the Celestialworld, controlled by His brother, the Angel Lord. Th
ey formed Their own nations, eager to form the perfect beings.” Elias held out one hand. “Marumon created the demons.” He held out the other. “And His Brother created the angels.”

  “The only problem was neither knew how to create the perfect being. Each Brother poured the best of Himself into His creations, without realizing that Their sibling held the other half of the perfect formula. Marumon’s demons were clever. Thinkers. Doers. No matter the consequences. They thought with their heads, and not their hearts. The Angel Lord’s creations were dreamers. Believers. Perfectionists. They thought with their hearts, and not their heads.”

  Enveloped, Esven found herself leaning forward. She watched as Elias wet his throat with more wine and carried on.

  “Proud of Their creations,” he continued, “each Brother was eager to show the world they had made to the other, believing Their own to be the best. To compare the two, Marumon spent one day in the Celestialworld, while the Angel Lord descended to the Netherworld. Marumon witnessed the blessings brought by empathy, by heartfelt gestures, and assisting your loved ones. The Angel Lord observed the worth of critical thinking, of acting intelligently to benefit oneself.” Elias’ eyes closed as he bowed his head. “It is said that that was the moment They both realized their creations, the angels and demons, were not perfect.”

  The witch couldn’t help but notice the anguish in his face when he told the tale. She nearly reached out to offer him some measure of comfort, but when he lifted his head and opened his eyes once more, she stopped herself.

  “Moved by what They saw in their own realms as well as Their Brother’s, the Twin Gods decided to create the perfect being. They took the triumphs of the demons and the feats of the angels and combined them together to make humans. Mankind.” Elias gestured outward. “They placed them in the middle of both worlds. The surface. They gave them everything they needed to thrive.” He turned his focus toward her, a faint sadness hiding inside his face. “We were supposed to be the bridge that brought both Brothers back together again. We were supposed to be… but…”

  Esven’s brows came together as she tilted her head. “What happened?” she asked, her voice soft.

  Elias sighed. “After their earthly lives on Brigovia’s surface world came to an end, men and women’s souls were supposed to go back to one of the two Creators. The Twin Gods had spoken with one another and came to an arrangement. Those who thought with their heads in their earthly life, would to go to the Celestialworld, where they could learn to think with their hearts in the afterlife, and become even more balanced beings. Those who thought with their hearts were supposed to start their afterlives in the Netherworld, where they could learn to think with their heads.” Elias’ words trailed off, fading away as he shook his head. “But the Angel Lord took pity on those who lived loving, unselfish lives. Those who hurt themselves to help others. Those who needed to learn to be a little selfish, to spare themselves the pain that accompanied martyrdom. It is said that He secretly took them to the Celestialworld after their deaths, where they learned nothing but more of what they already knew.”

  Esven hadn’t even realized she’d finished her wine; she was too engrossed in Elias’ story to pay much attention to how much she’d drank. “What happened with the others?”

  Licking his drying lips, Elias set his glass down on the floor beside him. “The Angel Lord knew he had to send some humans to the Netherworld, lest Marumon caught on to his trickery. The Demon Lord ended up with the selfish. Those who had failed to earn the Angel Lord’s pity. In those souls that were supposed to be Brigovia’s most loving, all Marumon saw was selfishness and greed. It was then that He determined Their experiment had failed.” Lifting a hand, the priest rubbed his temples. “Marumon wanted to eradicate them. Us. We were meant to be perfect beings, but we were fundamentally flawed. He saw us killing ourselves, killing each other. He saw it in every soul sent to the Netherworld that the Angel Lord rejected. Having never seen a redeemable spirit enter His realm, Marumon summoned the Angel Lord, to announce His plans to destroy humanity; but the Angel Lord refused. He loved us too much to allow that to happen…” Elias glanced at Esven, and shrugged a lone shoulder. “The Angel Lord sealed Marumon and his demons in the Netherworld for our safety. Unable to punish His Twin without suffering the same fate, the Angel Lord is bound to the Celestialworld, as well, with only those who earn a human’s blessing being allowed to enter the surface world. And us…” He spread his arms out. “Here we remain. Stuck between two warring gods. Warring Brothers.” He swept his hand over one half of his face, letting it collapse back into his lap. “We were supposed to close the Brothers’ divide… but we’ve only made it wider.” Elias’ gaze locked onto the witch, intensity emanating from his face. “Esven… if you open that gate… many lives are at stake. Perhaps even the whole of Brigovia.”

  Quiet seconds passed as Esven sat back in her chair. She rubbed her hands together, hoping it would detract from the growing tightness in her chest. He told it with such conviction, as if the weight of it crushed down on him every day. Esven pitied her friend in that moment, but a burning question remained inside her. “That’s a terribly tragic turn of events, Elias. I am sorry that, as a priest, you must carry that burden with you each sunrise, but…” Her face fell. A pang of guilt crept up in her throat as she uttered, “what does that all have to do with my mother?”

  Looking away, Elias reached back down to retrieve his wine. He finished the glass before he leaned forward, grabbing Esven’s empty vessel as well. “When the Twin Gods were banished to Their respective realms,” he started, rising to his feet to refill the hollow glasses, “the church sought the assistance of Brigovia’s magic users, hoping that they would infiltrate the Netherworld and destroy Marumon once and for all. The wizards, the warlocks, the mages, and sorceresses… all the warlords of magical ability.” He gently gripped the bottle, filling each goblet back up. “They all refused to aid the side of the Angel Lord, as each of Brigovia’s enchanters were all products of Marumon in one way or another. All shared a touch of demon blood in their veins, half-breeds from when the Netherworld’s inhabitants were allowed to roam the surface.” He returned to her side, handing her the glass. “When it was discovered that Amadeia was Brigovia’s only full-blooded human enchanter—the only one who ever undertook the hardship that was mastering magic without the help of godly blood in her veins—the church put a lot of stake in her assistance.” He sank back down on his bucket, taking a small sip of the wine before he found Esven’s eyes. “She refused.”

  “Refused?” Esven bit at her lip as she raised the glass to drink from it, leaving it hovering there in the midst of her confusion. “Of course she did—why would they even ask? My mother was a peaceful woman.”

  Despite his heavy aura, Elias formed a small smile. “She was. Amadeia loved humans. Her brothers and sisters, those who shared her blood. But… as much as I don’t want to admit it, your ‘friend’ outside was right. She loved the demons, too, and would do no harm to them.” His smile fell away, as did his eye contact. “For her refusal, the church declared war on all enchanters, hoping to eradicate them before they had the chance to aid the demon army, should it ever make it to the surface world. I’m afraid that is why you lived a lonelier life than most…”

  Esven’s gaze darted across the floor. She tried to piece the things that Elias said together—along with the realization that Balvonak’s confession about her mother comingling with demons was true. She found herself shaking her head. “She would never help the church in that way. They should have known that. Do no harm, that’s all she ever told me.” Raising her chin, she turned to her friend. “I thought the church aligned with the Angel Lord. I thought compassion and empathy was their creed. Why would the church try to turn her into a weapon?”

  Discomfort rose in the priest. It showed in every muscle as he stiffened, and spun away. “The Amadeia who was a mother… she knew the power of life. How precious it was.” Elias sat unnaturally still in that mo
ment, clutching his wine. “The Amadeia before you, Esven… the Amadeia who did not know the value of love… she was… very different from the woman you knew as your mother.”

  How could that be? Esven clasped her hand to her chest as she shifted in her chair. “What do you mean by that?”

  Elias pressed his thumb into his lips, his eyes closing. Yes. He’d show her. Both were already in too deep. “Come,” he instructed, rising to his feet. “I’ve something to show you.”

  She sprung to her feet as well, unable to settle her jostling nerves. Esven crossed the floor, trailing behind him, until he stopped at a wall. She watched as Elias felt around for a knot in the woodwork and pulled, revealing a thin hideaway just behind the single plank.

  Dust flew from the opening as he reached in, pulling a leather bound book out from the darkness. The priest swept his hand over its cover, wiping away the debris that had settled over the top from its time spent hidden away. His movements slowed as his fingertips trailed down the spine. It had been some time since he last saw the journal. His time with Father Asher had been short, but he respected the man for all the worth he saw in him.

  “I think,” Elias said, “that you’ll find this answers many of the questions you’ll have about who your mother used to be.”

  As he handed it to her, Esven slid it delicately into her palm. It felt so fragile. Sliding open to a random page, she breathed in the scent of old paper and ink. It was all handwritten, penned in a legible hand. Unique, in that a majority of Brigovia’s inhabitants were unable to read or write. At the bottom of each entry, she read the name: William Asher. She didn’t recognize it. “I’m sorry, Elias, but… who is this?” she asked, turning her eyes away from the book long enough to find her friend.

  The priest put on a dim smile. “My mentor,” he explained, leaning over to point to the signature at the bottom of the page she had landed on. “Amadeia’s lover.” He paused. “Your…”

  “Father?” Esven felt her heart stop. Elias did not need to verify her inquiry. He already did, wordlessly, in the expression that he wore on his face.