Fire: Demons, Dragons & Djinns

by Rhonda Parrish

  Someone hailed him, snagging his attention—his friend, Alain, I learned later, and sent by her to keep an eye on him. Before Alain could draw him away, Jim insisted on going into the shop and buying the Star of David. Alain thought he was buying it for Pam, but I know he bought it because of me.

  They spent the afternoon at a café, drinking beer and whisky. I hovered over him, fretting when he suffered a bout of hiccoughs that came and went. By the time Alain walked him home, he was spitting blood.

  She was clear-headed enough to be beside herself, seeing the state he was in. “We should call a doctor, baby,” she kept saying, dabbing at his bloodied lips. “This isn’t good.” Jim waved her off. He needed to sit, he had overdone it at the café. As she steered him to the couch, Alain cautioned her to call if things got worse. Then he left.

  The leeches crowded in on them, sensing a feast. I struck them away, shrieking warnings like a banshee. They’d retreat for a few seconds, then hem us in, again. At their wet contact, I began to sizzle, their touch snuffing me bit by bit, but they also paid the price by turning into steam. Their stench filled the room in a foetid smog. Where others disappeared, more kept appearing. There were too many of them for me to defeat.

  Pam shook a powdery white line along the top of the coffee table. “This’ll make you feel better, baby,” she murmured. She spilled another and scraped it with a credit card.

  Jim glared. “I told you, I don’t like it in the apartment. I told you to quit using.”

  “Jimbo, I hate to see you like this! It’ll help you! Make you feel better. You can sleep a while—”

  Leave him alone! I shouted at her. You’ll kill him!

  “—and the spasms will stop.”

  “I said I don’t like it!”

  “You’ve never tried it, so how do you know?”

  “God, I feel like shit—”

  “This will help—”

  “Screw it! All right! Just to stop your bitching at me!”

  Jim, no! I screamed.

  He grabbed a rolled franc and snorted the smack, tossing it back like he might a shot of whisky. She joined him, and then snuggled beneath his arm, as if content she’d finally convinced him to do the right thing.

  You stupid skank! I shrieked at her. You bloody junkie!

  Of course neither of them heard me. Over the course of the night, she woke him several more times, and they snorted more lines together. The leeches were so thick about them, I had to retreat to the balcony. Jim was fading, his soul guttering like a candle going out. Heroin was a doorway for leeches, and they had come crashing through.

  My heart burned down to a hard, round coal. I felt faint, dizzy. I couldn’t catch a breath. I knew if I left him, he would fail.

  Another hour passed. I remained where I was, praying for a miracle. He’d collapsed. I willed him to rouse. Perhaps it was enough. He came to, vomiting whisky and blood. I don’t know how he found the strength, but he stumbled for the bathroom and collapsed beside the toilet. After a moment, he swiped at his face and poured himself a bath.

  In the bathroom, the leeches dangled from him, bloated gourds that clung to his body. Unaware of them, he shed his clothes and climbed into the tub. He lay there, his heart hammering and his pulse jumping in his neck. The slugs weighted him down like malevolent buoys. Suddenly, he scrabbled at the sides of the tub, heaving blood and fighting for air. He jerked once, then seemed to fade and sputter out.

  I dove for his chest, tossing leeches aside like so much offal. I had never possessed him in such a way, preferring to appear before him in his acid-fused dreams or taking the places of others so we might love.

  I chased him down a long, dark tunnel. It was a little brighter at the end, but not by much. He was already at the brink.

  “Jim, wait!”

  Hearing my voice, he paused. I drew up alongside him. We teetered on an edge.

  Before us stretched an infinite black space. There were no stars. At our feet, a silver pathway floated, a shining artery of light that pulsed and branched, dividing into smaller and smaller forks. Who knew what it was or where it led? Would it take us to other realms or leave us stranded nowhere?

  He looked at me, his eyes hooded, intense. He was no longer ill, but as I first knew him, whole, happy, perfect. He was ready to go, to leave the tunnel and never return. He stared into the vastness, as if confronting the greatest of mysteries. I think we saw our deaths there. “Would you die for me, Muse?” he whispered, his voice low.

  He had asked me this once before. I glanced down the tunnel behind us. There was a tiny pin-prick of light at the other end, my salvation if I decided to return. For him, the only option was to go on—into annihilation or whatever came next.

  He was my drug, my addiction. I loved him.

  Which meant I was no longer truly fae, because the fae don’t love. As much as I had made him into a superstar, he had also turned me into something else. Was I willing to grieve for him for an eternity, or go with him now? Would we travel the cosmos or disintegrate into dust? Suddenly, time was crucial and had meaning for me in a way it never had before.

  I took him by the hand. “Yes,” I said, knowing it was the only choice. “I would.”

  We regarded the mystery before us, black and shining. The promise of a new life or a spectacular destruction.

  There was no turning back.

  With one last breath, we took the final step.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: THE following songs by The Doors inspired me while writing “Light My Fire”. I suggest the reader listen to them during the story, or shortly thereafter:

  Hello, I Love You

  Moonlight Drive

  Light My Fire

  Love Me Two Times

  Soul Kitchen

  Riders on the Storm

  When the Music’s Over

  LA Woman

  The End

  Ring of Fire

  JB Riley

  PELE WAITED.

  Other than the small Demons who lived within the cinder peaks along its chain, the Aleutians were home to no fire dwellers. Meeting here was neutral territory; it removed the need for hosting duties and eased territorial concerns, but she had still determined to be the first to arrive. There was power in being last—of making the others wait upon her pleasure—but Pele decided instead to claim the gathering place as hers before anyone else could.

  But that meant she had to wait. Pele hated waiting.

  She was pacing in frustration when an amused voice behind her made her jump.

  “Trying to stay warm, Little Sister?”

  Pele whirled around to face the huge, gold-eyed beast who had spoken. Its desert-coloured coat stood out from the Arctic Waste around them.

  “Coyote.” Pele curled her lip and turned her back again. “You do not belong, either in this place or this meeting.” She felt power shiver past her, then a tall man dressed in caribou skin garments with dark hair and the same gold eyes walked past her and sat on a nearby rock.

  He shrugged. “I heard of the gathering, and was curious.”

  “And so you decide to mock me?”

  Coyote spread his hands. “That’s the curiosity, again.”

  “At how I might kill you for the insult?”

  “More likely as to whether you would rise to this one’s bait.” A third voice spoke, deep and full of gravel, fitting the squat, roughly human-shaped creature that moved slowly out from a nearby fissure. Steam rose from its shoulders and back in vast clouds, while glowing ribbon-like cracks of lava appeared and were re-absorbed across its naked form.

  “Cherufe,” Coyote inclined his head respectfully. “You have travelled far.”

  “Too far to listen to younglings while they bicker.” Cherufe stopped moving, its legs flowing and thickening to form twin pillars anchored to the cinder rubble of the ground.

  A shadow crossed the ground. Pele looked up to see a huge Frigate bird circling above them, spiralling downward with each slow pass.

  “Land o
n the Old One,” Coyote yelled up, pointing at Cherufe. “He’s feeling particularly mellow today.” The other’s ribbons of lava flared brightly in threat or warning, though Pele didn’t know if it was toward Coyote’s brashness or the bird that was setting down on the flat, frozen beach just below them.

  Another flare of power and a very tall, slender man stood where the bird had landed. His skin was dark copper, his intricately braided hair was darker still, and despite the bitter cold he wore only a red shuka wrapped around his hips and over his left shoulder, plus thick strings of beads at his wrists and bare ankles.

  “Greetings, Pele. Greetings, Cherufe.” When he turned to Coyote, his voice took on an edge. “As for you, Trickster . . .”

  “Wow, just looking at you makes me colder,” Coyote shivered theatrically, wrapping his arms around himself. “It must be nice to carry Kilimanjaro around inside of you, Kibo. Although I’m not sure it would be as nice if we were all meeting in the desert, now would it?”

  “Why are you here?” the other asked bluntly.

  “Same as I told the lovely lady over there—I heard about the gathering, and was curious.” Ignoring a basso grunt of irritation from Cherufe, Coyote skipped in a circle. “Tell me, are your meetings as interesting as ours?”

  “One Trickster is bad enough,” Pele responded, ignoring the kiss Coyote blew in her direction. “I wish to hear nothing about a collection of them.”

  “Nor I,” the voice carried from past the beach. An intricately carved wooden boat was almost to shore. A small blond woman in furs stood at its prow, one hand grasping the long neck of the snarling wolfhound that made up the figurehead. As the boat ground ashore she leapt nimbly over the side and waded through the shallows to join the others. “We have bound our Trickster under the Earth in iron chains, Coyote. You can join him if you wish.”

  “Hekla!” Coyote bowed, sweeping off an imaginary hat and grinning. “You are as charming and lovely as ever.” She looked at him with pupil-less jet black eyes but did not respond. “Wow, tough crowd. Well, at least you’re dressed for the weather.”

  “Why are you here?” Pele snapped.

  “Simple: I heard about the gathering and—” The ground shook suddenly and steam exploded from fissures that opened in the earth as the other four glared at him.

  “Whoa! Easy there, volcano gods.” Coyote picked himself up from where he had tumbled when the ground started shaking. “Don’t be angry at me, it’s not my fault. You haven’t asked the right questions.”

  Pele held on to the edges of her temper and spoke through gritted teeth. “What are the right questions?”

  “Quickly,” rumbled Cherufe when Coyote hesitated.

  “You’re telling me to do something quickly?” Coyote asked, then crouched as the ground started to move again. “Okay, okay. The right question is who did I hear about the gathering from?” He straightened and looked at them expectantly.

  The other beings just stared at him.

  Coyote sighed. “Can’t get a straight line to save my life, can I? All right so if you ask me ‘O Coyote, Wise and Handsome, from whom did you hear about this gathering of Fire Dwellers?’” He paused briefly, then shrugged and continued, “I would respond ‘That is an excellent question. I heard of it from the Lord of the Rising Sun. He told me.’”

  “But—” Kibo shook his head. “Why?”

  “Because we have need of him.” Pele felt the voice more than heard it, so deep was the sound. The dragon had arrived.

  HE APPEARED SLOWLY out of the Western sky, bright red skin under pearlescent scales chased with tiny bits of green flame. His eyes were burnished copper, his lion-like mane was bright gold and his mouth lit deep orange by the fire that burned within him. Where his claws dug into the frozen ground it steamed and hissed, and he took up most of the small beach. Then in the blink of an eye and a rush of power that made Pele’s red-feathered cape rustle as it passed, the dragon was gone and a small man with a long white beard and dressed in red ceremonial robes stood on the beach.

  “Fuji-san.” The others made gestures of respect. Even Pele—who recognized no being as above her—bowed her head in deference to the great dragon, who nodded to each of them in return.

  “A grave time of war is coming, guardians.” Though he spoke softly, the dragon’s voice echoed like passing thunder. “My people shall face a terrible fire, one that—once lit—shall burn evermore in the minds of men greedy for destruction. I come to petition our council: let us change this future. If it is agreed, this Young Trickster will serve as our vessel.”

  Coyote had wandered off to dance along the edge of the surf. Kibo gestured toward him. “That one? Really?”

  The dragon chuckled. “Coyote is far more serious than he may appear. He also moves freely among the world of men, which not all of us can easily do.” He gestured toward Cherufe, who grunted and spoke.

  “We are bound to our fires. Already I feel the pull of my mountain.” Cherufe looked down the beach, where Coyote was running in and out laughing as the waves crashed in. “Coyote is bound to nothing, especially not common sense.”

  Pele was also aware of the distance she had travelled from her home. It was an itch on her skin that she knew would soon become need, its pull irresistible. She resented Coyote in his freedom, and this shortened her already-strained temper. She swirled her cape around her and strode forward, chin up. “What is this grave time you speak of, Ancient One? And why should we trouble ourselves? We are above the wars of Man.”

  “Not this one,” Fuji-san replied. “Watch, witness, then decide.” He swept his arm and fog rolled up out of nowhere; on that fog images appeared. They watched.

  WHEN THE IMAGES finally ended the fog dissipated on the ocean breeze as they stood, stunned and silent. Cherufe spoke first. “I understand now why you chose this place. The battles of Attu will be . . .” he rumbled to a stop and shook his head.

  Hekla was ashen, glowing red tears running down her face as she swayed slightly on her feet. Kibo stood with his legs braced apart, head bowed. Fuji-san took a deep breath, then spoke. “The war will cause terror and suffering across the world. But the fire which will rain down on my people must not be allowed its release. On behalf of the world, I ask: let Coyote once more steal fire to save the human race. Not to bring warmth and safety, but to prevent this dread burning.” He looked around him.

  “Aye,” rumbled Cherufe.

  “Aye,” whispered Hekla.

  Pele took a step forward, hands balling into fists. “Your people will attack me? Me?” There was a surprised yip from the surf line as the waves rose to twice their size and roared up the beach. “They pay the price for their error!”

  “Yes, but it is too terrible—this fire beyond even our imagining.” The dragon spread his hands. “Please, Pele. Surely you can see the need.”

  “Need?” Pele laughed without humour. “Where is the need when your people rain fire from the skies into the loveliest of my harbours? Why not have Coyote stop that?”

  “It is too much—there are too many pieces for the Trickster to control. But this ‘atomic bomb’ . . .” The Dragon rolled the words around as if tasting them. “Coyote need only change one of numerous small events to steal its fire.”

  “Bah!” Pele waved her hands. “What of Hekla’s people? They shall burn each other! Why not have Coyote steal that fire, so those accursed ovens never light? And where is Gorynych? The Guardian of the Steppes should be here. His people shall face horrors too, in this war you have shown us.”

  “The Slavic Dragon still mourns the death of his mate at Tunguska,” Kibo murmured. “And Pele, you speak with passion, but Fuji-san is correct. This fire is beyond our control, beyond even our understanding. It must not come to pass. I say ‘aye’.”

  Pele sneered and lifted her chin. “And I say no. Your people pay the price for their folly, Fuji-san. It is no more than justice.”

  The Lord of the Rising Sun bowed his head and closed his eyes. Then he shimmered
into his dragon form and with a great leap launched himself into the sky. Cherufe simply sank into the ground as with a puff of steam the fissure in which he had arrived closed up again. Still weeping, Hekla pushed her boat into the surf and jumped aboard without a backward glance.

  Kibo and Pele faced each other on the beach, neither speaking, for some time.

  “Well?” Pele finally challenged.

  “You do the world a grave harm, in your anger and caprice.” Kibo stared down the beach where Coyote sat upon a large piece of driftwood, skipping stones into the surf. “But all creatures must be true to their nature. You, me, even Coyote.”

  Pele snorted. “I don’t think he could have done it, anyway.”

  Kibo raised an eyebrow. “I think you underestimate him,” he said, and climbed onto a rocky outcropping before shimmering into his winged form. The Frigate bird stretched its wings wide and balanced there for a moment until a wind gust pulled it aloft. It flapped a few times as it rose, then circled in farewell before heading South. Pele watched it fly.

  “Ah, alone at last.”

  Pele jumped, startled, and spun around again. “If you sneak up on me one more time I will burn you!”

  “Sorry.” Once again a coyote the size of a timber wolf stood on the beach behind her. “Will you travel safely home, Little Sister?”

  Pele nodded. “I shall go underground and run the waves of lava with my Papa Holua sled. Soon I will be within my islands.”

  “And will you be okay, Sister?”

  She glanced at him sideways. “What do you mean?”

  “Untold deaths will be laid at your feet.”

  Pele shrugged. “Fuji-san was incorrect. You cannot steal this fire, Coyote. You do not lack the cunning, but humans must be true to their nature. Just like the flames, they carry destruction within them, and that cannot be changed. If not this great atomic firestorm then some other, or another, or another still until they finally change their nature or destroy themselves.”