The Flame Weaver

by Elicker, Tania

  Beside the dwindled fire, Kazen noticed a long, cloth bundle. He inched over and looked around apprehensively before opening it. Inside was a polished sword. The hilt was swirled with gold and silver and the rounded pommel was embedded with a single green gem. Along the blade there were intricate designs etched from hilt to tip.

  “Pick it up if you like,” Ilagon said from behind.

  Kazen jumped at the sound of Ilagon’s voice. He looked up at his uncle, then back down at the sword, hesitantly.

  “Go on, then. Pick it up,” Ilagon insisted.

  A cool rush of excitement flowed through Kazen as he reached over and picked up the sword. It was lighter than it looked and shined like new. Shorter and slimmer than Ilagon’s sword, its keen double edge still made it an imposing blade.

  “It has a history,” Ilagon said, unsheathing his own sword. “As do most good swords. Mine has been handed down for many generations of my family.” He sat down and motioned to the sword Kazen was holding. “That sword you hold there belonged to a dear friend and teacher. I do not know the story of it before that, but I do know that it is very old and has been wielded by many great wizards. Now it belongs to you.”

  Kazen’s eyes widened as he looked at the sword. “It’s mine? How wonderful!” He waved the sword around merrily.

  Ilagon stood and spoke sternly. “Be warned. What you hold is no sparkling bauble. You may yet find it to be as much a burden as a blessing.”

  His face puzzled, Kazen turned the sword over in his hands thoughtfully. “But with this I can defend myself. Anyone would think twice before attacking me as long as I held such a fine blade at my side.”

  Raising his eyebrow, Ilagon passed his sword from one hand to the other. “Is that what you think?” He circled around Kazen, slowly twirling his blade in an effortless exhibition. “Many men, even those serving the darker powers, might think twice about running through an unarmed boy.” He tapped Kazen’s sword with his own weapon. “But a man carrying a noble blade such as that would surely be fair game.”

  With a swift jerk of his sword, Ilagon easily disarmed Kazen before he had a chance to react. Kazen reached for his sword, now lying in the tall grass beside him, but was halted by the broad edge of Ilagon’s blade beneath his chin. “Tell me, Kazen, how do you plan on defending yourself when you cannot even hold on to your own sword?” Ilagon smiled brashly.

  Kazen felt his face flush. “I suppose you will teach me.”

  Ilagon snatched Kazen’s sword up and handed it back to him. “The lesson has already begun.” He chuckled as he walked to the small open field just beyond their camp.

  Kazen clutched his sword and followed quickly behind.

  “The first thing you must learn is how to keep your weapon in your hand.” Ilagon stopped in the middle of the dusty field. “It will do you little good lying at your feet.” Standing beside Kazen, Ilagon held out his own sword in demonstration. “You must think of your sword as an extension of your own arm. You must not clutch it too tightly, nor should you ever let it slip from your fingers. As your sword moves, so should your arm.”

  Kazen watched and imitated Ilagon’s movements as he swung his sword gracefully in the air. He practiced slicing and parrying imaginary foes for much of the morning. It was not long before the sword began to feel very comfortable in his hands. Surprising himself, Kazen found that he could often anticipate Ilagon’s moves and finish a stroke without ever being shown how.

  “Very well done!” Ilagon said. “You take to the sword as well as any fish to water! Unfortunately, the day presses on and we have far to go. Your lessons will have to wait until this evening.”

  Disappointed, Kazen grudgingly packed up their belongings and prepared for another long day of traveling.

  The sun blazed high in the sky that day. The occasional shade provided by the tight clusters of trees offered little relief. Devastation of the drought stretched on endlessly with no sign of real forest or thicket in any direction. There were no sounds of squirrels or deer shuffling in the underbrush, no calls of sparrow or nuthatch piercing through thick canopies above. The only sound of life was the squawk of a vagrant buzzard circling above, searching for any unfortunate creature that had lingered too long without water.

  Kazen spent much of the afternoon squirming and fidgeting against the steel blade newly sheathed between his shoulders. He sighed heavily, longing for just a sight of a leafy willow or grassy knoll. The hot sun and bleak surroundings soon set him into a sour mood. His throat was dreadfully parched, but he dared not drink too heavily from his water skin, for the nearest town or watering hole was still days away.

  Dusk came finally, and with it a welcome breeze. They settled in just off the path behind a fallen dogwood tree. After a quick supper, Kazen crawled eagerly under his blanket, tired and irritable.

  “There is still another hour of sunlight left.” Ilagon stretched after the long day’s ride. “You still have time to practice with your sword before nightfall.”

  Groaning under his blanket, Kazen answered sharply. “I am exhausted! I’ll do it in the morning!”

  Ilagon glowered at the boy. “That you will,” he said with a clenched jaw. “And it will all be fresh in your mind after all the practicing you will be doing tonight. Now, get up!”

  Kazen clamored out from beneath his blanket after Ilagon delivered a swift kick to his rear end. Stumbling to his feet, he scoffed indignantly as he snatched his sword from his blanket side.

  Towering before the young man, Ilagon’s voice boomed. “This is no game! How quickly you have forgotten the seriousness of why we are here. Your impudence can no longer be afforded. It is time for you to leave your childishness behind.”

  His head steaming, Kazen answered curtly. “I will practice.”

  “And you will do so until I call for you,” Ilagon snapped back.

  Kazen stomped his way back to the road and began pitching his sword fiercely about. He tried to stay angry with Ilagon, but the truth was he had been the one at fault. He had forgotten why they were out here. It all just seemed so ridiculous at times. A champion should feel like a champion, brave and strong, two qualities Kazen thought himself quite lacking in. But Ilagon was depending on him and he had already let him down.

  Swinging his sword in frustration, Kazen continued to hack at the air with all his might. Grunting and snorting, he slashed wildly for hours, well after the sun slipped from the sky. His muscles burned and ached, and in the dark of night he could barely make out his hands in front of his face. Now and then he would glance over at the diminishing fire where Ilagon sat, not moving for hours, his back to Kazen. Wiping the sweat from his cheek, he could only hope that Ilagon would forgive him soon.

  As he raised his throbbing arms to take another swipe, Kazen suddenly felt a cold breath on the back of his neck, and a sinister whisper in his ear. Leaping away with a stunted yelp, he instinctively swung his sword, but struck nothing. His eyes darted around madly, unable to pierce the black veil of darkness.

  The faint flicker of their dying campfire seemed miles away, perhaps too far to run for. Kazen jumped and swung again at the sound of a harsh snicker just to his side. Spinning around anxiously, sounds of padded footsteps seemed to be coming from every direction. Perhaps it was just the sound of dry leaves blowing in the breeze, he thought. The darkness seemed to have a way of distorting every sound. Not certain now what it was he was hearing, Kazen backed himself against a tree and strained to see through the darkness.

  Shadows seemed to be scuttling from tree to tree, ducking behind bushes and dancing all around him. Another ghostly whisper from behind sent him tumbling to the ground in a fright. He quickly fumbled to his feet and clutched his sword tightly. Struggling to calm his pounding heart, he imagined at any moment he would see a pair of grizzly hands belonging to some unnatural beast reaching through the darkness to grab him.

  He stood frozen for a long while, waiting for the next eerie whisper or icy touch, feeling he could choke on
his fear at any moment. Then, from out of the darkness, something took hold of his shoulder. His heart leapt to his throat. He spun and lashed his weapon forward in a fierce attack. The strident ring of steel striking steel cut through the dark night as Kazen’s blade stopped just short of its mark.

  “I think that is enough training for tonight,” Ilagon said.

  Ilagon lowered his sword, which had caught Kazen’s blade just inches from his face, and placed it to rest again over his shoulder. Without another word he walked back to the camp.

  Still trembling, Kazen peeked cautiously over his shoulder. The darkness seemed quiet again. Shadows rested innocently on the tree trunks and gravelly road. Not a sound could be heard over his own labored breathing. The land appeared comfortably lifeless once more.

  “I must be losing my mind,” Kazen whispered as he walked back to camp and settled down to an uneasy night’s sleep.

  Up just after daybreak, Kazen immediately set out to practice his lessons. The morning was uncomfortably warm already. It was the making of another dreary day of wandering. He was determined, though, not to lose focus. There were far more important things to concentrate on than dry throats and sore muscles. And, he wanted to make a point of showing Ilagon his newfound dedication.

  It was not long before Ilagon called him for breakfast. He hurried back to camp and was delighted to see a tin cup of hot tea waiting for him. He was certain that Ilagon would not have given him hot tea with sugar if he were still angry. Nonetheless, he felt he needed to apologize for his behavior.

  “I’m sorry, Ilagon,” he confessed sincerely. “I acted selfishly yesterday. It will not happen again, I promise.”

  “I apologize as well.” Ilagon smiled. “I should not have been so harsh with you. Let us put it behind us now.”

  Greatly relieved, Kazen hastily guzzled down his tea. Though he had intended to wolf down a quick breakfast and have the horses ready for an early start, he instead found himself watching Ilagon with newfound interest. He wondered if he would ever hold himself with the same certainty and stillness that seemed to come so naturally to Ilagon. From the stroke of his sword to the way he arranged the kindling for the fire, his every move was fluid and deliberate. But mostly it was his steady, regal gaze that Kazen most admired.

  “All right then!” Ilagon called, already having the horses half packed. “The sun rises without us!”

  The morning was predictably uneventful, and the scenery seemed to fade into an even bleaker state. The sporadic scatterings of trees that had once been known as the northern forest slowly dissipated until the region seemed more a dusty desert than a rolling countryside. The harsh sun beat down without pity or compunction while vagrant clouds hovered wearily off in the distance.

  Keeping to a quick pace, the pair passed the time with idle conversation. Mostly Ilagon talked about his growing up in Fierra Dell. Kazen had a hard time imagining such a place. Fields of purple and yellow flowers that stretched on as far as the eye could see. Giant red trees, so tall they touched the clouds, and thundering waterfalls that emptied into crystal-blue pools. Ilagon admitted it was all so long ago it seemed a dream even to him now.

  “What I can’t imagine is how ten brothers and sisters manage to live in the same house without killing each other.” Kazen laughed.

  Ilagon’s smile faded slightly. “Well, I cannot say I remember much of those days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had to leave my family when I was very young,” he answered softly, his gaze falling to the ground. “On my sixth birthday, in fact, so that I could apprentice at Graffis with the finest wizards.”

  Kazen’s jaw gaped open. “You mean your family didn’t come with you?”

  “No.” Ilagon shook his head. “You see, my father died of sudden illness not long after I was born. As the sole surviving wizard of my bloodline, it became urgent that I master the craft of wizardry and grow strong, so that the line might still go on. In such cases, it is important for a young wizard to leave his old life behind, parents, brothers, sisters, even his family name, so that he can focus all of his attention on mastering his skill.”

  “How awful,” Kazen groaned. “You must have felt so alone.”

  “Not at all.” Ilagon shrugged, his casual smile unable to completely mask the sadness in his face. “My master, Greytok, was firm but very kind. He was like a father to me.”

  “But whatever happened to your family? Don’t you ever wonder what became of them?”

  Ilagon exhaled slowly and stared thoughtfully into the distance. “I do wonder, from time to time. I suppose one day I might even try to find them.”

  “Maybe they’re already trying to find you,” Kazen replied, patting Ilagon once on the back.

  Ilagon smiled genuinely at that. “Maybe they are.”

  Recognizing Ilagon’s discomfort with the whole subject, Kazen began steering the conversation in a lighter direction, quizzing his uncle about his apprenticeship. He was a bit surprised at the amount of mischief Ilagon had often managed to get himself into, and he listened with delight as Ilagon told, with great enthusiasm, the tales of some of his more memorable follies and misadventures.

  Kazen soon realized that a small part of him was jealous of Ilagon’s adventurous days spent at Graffis. It sounded like such a brilliant place, he found himself wondering how different a person he might be now if he had been raised there and been trained properly in the ways of wizardry. But all he could remember of Graffis was a few scattered memories, and those were vague at best. He wished he had some real link to those days, something to show, even if it was only a fleeting moment in his life that he had once belonged to a greater culture. Then, a sudden thought occurred to him as he ran his thumb over the palm of his hand. He realized perhaps he did have something from his days at Graffis.

  “Ilagon, this mark on my hand. Does it have something to do with my stay at Graffis? Did I get it while I was there?”

  Scratching his rough chin, Ilagon shook his head. “No.”

  “It is more than just a mark, though, is it not?” Kazen pried. “It’s a curse.”

  Ilagon stopped his horse and looked at Kazen with a raised brow. “Of sorts, yes.”

  “Do you know who put it there?”

  His eyes unwavering, Ilagon nodded. “I did.”

  Kazen’s jaw dropped and he stared unblinking as Ilagon began to ride off again without a word. “Wait!” he yelled, hurrying to catch up to Ilagon. “You put a curse on me? What has it done to me? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “It was done for your own protection,” Ilagon answered matter-of-factly. “And I would hardly consider it a curse, anyway.”

  “Well, what would you consider it?”

  Ilagon halted his horse once again, eyeing Kazen thoughtfully. “When we first escaped from Graffis, we were lost. I knew I had to hide you, keep you safe. But where can you hide a child who has untamed magic at his whim? Far more dangerous than the fire itself was the magic behind it. Demons and other black-hearted creatures are drawn to all kinds of magic, like moths to a flame. It would only have been a matter of time before we were discovered.

  “So, not long after we settled in Napis Fare, I did what I had once taken an oath to never do. I used dark magic. I fed you a potion that would blind you to your past, and I branded your hand with a spell that would suppress your ability to use magic. It was a difficult choice to make. But, if I had to do it again, I would do the same.”

  Kazen stared blankly down at the mark on his palm. “How can I be a wizard if I cannot use magic?”

  “It is a weak spell.” Ilagon waved his hand. “And it has lost potency over the years. Your fires should be proof enough of that. Once you learn to control your magic, the brand will be inconsequential.”

  Kazen glared down at his scarred hand as Ilagon, once again, forged ahead without another word. Though he supposed he understood why his uncle had done what he had, he felt a bit cross over the whole thing. His mood bitter,
he chose to trail well behind Ilagon for the rest of the afternoon, brooding in silence.

  They did not stop again until the day drew to an end. And, as evening slowly closed around them, even the horses seemed eager to stop for the night. Kazen’s mood lightened after a quick supper, and he and Ilagon continued their sword training by the light of their campfire.

  They exchanged blows for over an hour, until only a red glow from the last rays of sunlight remained. It became obvious to Ilagon that Kazen was more than just naturally talented with a blade. In fact, Ilagon had a hard time getting any strokes past Kazen at all. The boy was a master swordsman without ever having held a sword in his hand before three days ago. There could still be hope yet for Kazen to rise to his full potential.

  “All right, then, I think that will do for tonight,” Ilagon finally said, trying hard to conceal his winded breath.

  Kazen was disappointed that the sparring session had come to an end. Though his arms ached and his eyes strained to see in the failing light, he found practicing with Ilagon quite exhilarating. The hilt of the sword felt cool and comforting in his palm as he twirled the blade around with unexpected ease.

  “A fine sword,” Kazen said quietly as he settled under his blanket. “A fine sword, indeed.” With a lightened heart he fell quickly to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  They spent the next week in much the same fashion, traveling from early morning until the sun set. Kazen practiced his sword with intense dedication every chance he could.

  Continuing on the northern path, they came across several groups of travelers heading in the opposite direction. Most stopped long enough to exchange news and bid heartfelt good journeys. One particular group of traveling performers, who had already set their camp just on the side of the road, was kind enough to offer them another week’s supply of water. This would come in particularly handy, as it would save them two days travel out of the way to the nearest settlement. And, though Ilagon and Kazen were both doubtful, the performers were adamant that they had filled their water skins at an endless oasis, less than three days north of where they were. Looking around at the scorched land and barren trees, the leader of the band laughed and said he could hardly blame their skepticism.