Fire Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  Marcus didn’t understand. After all their time together, why wouldn’t Master Therapass have told him this? He knew the wizard had been connected to the Dark Circle a long time ago, but the two men were brothers? As if his hand had a mind of its own, it reached for a slice of pink- and orange-swirled cheese. But he pulled back at the last minute. How could he think of eating?

  “You said there’s a way to rescue Kyja, but Master Therapass would have told me if that were true.”

  “My brother has misled you about many thing, including the meaning of that mark on your arm.”

  Marcus found himself reaching for a slice of cheese again; his robe sleeve had pulled up, revealing part of the scar on his shoulder. He yanked it down. “What do you know about my scar?”

  The Master stabbed a sausage link with his fork, held it up to his nose, and inhaled. “First we eat. Then we talk.”

  “No,” Marcus said. “I’m not eating anything until you tell me how to save Kyja. Assuming you’re not lying about that and everything else.”

  The Master ladled steaming soup into his bowl. “I promise to tell you nothing but the truth. Whether you choose to believe me is up to you. But I’ve had a long day, and I’m not saying another word until I’ve eaten. You can sit and watch, or you can eat. It will be the first of several choices you must make soon.”

  Graehl forked a slice of meat onto Marcus’s plate and set one of the delicious-looking rolls next to it. “Eating will help you think straight.”

  Marcus stared at him, wanting to believe Graehl, but unable to forget his treachery. But Marcus was hungry, and if they wanted to poison him, there were easier ways to do it. Grudgingly, he cut into the meat. Soon his hunger won out over his distrust, and he found himself digging into everything he could reach until his belly felt like it would burst.

  At last he put his knife and fork aside. “Okay. We’ve eaten. Now tell me how to bring Kyja back.”

  The Master watched Marcus over the rim of his goblet then set it aside. Graehl, who had eaten very little, rested his hands on the table, his face unreadable.

  “First, I must ask you a question,” the wizard said. “I’m sure my brother explained that you are destined to save Farworld. But has he ever told you what you are to save it from?”

  “From you,” Marcus said at once.

  He expected the Master to be offended, but the man only smiled. “Exactly what I would have expected. But think about this: When the prophecy was made, neither he nor I was alive. The prophecy spoke of a divide to be closed. What divide could it possibly have been referring to? No Dark Circle existed at the time.”

  Marcus guessed he’d known that, but he’d never given it a lot of thought. “I’m sure the prophecy was talking about evil. And the Dark Circle is evil. You want to destroy Farworld.”

  The Master sat back in his chair. “Let’s say that that’s true. Say, that for some unfathomable reason, I want to destroy the very world I live in. What about Earth? Your friend is supposed to save it from what? Me again? I admit I’ve sent a few of my men there, but am I really such a great threat to destroy both worlds that a pair of saviors would be required to stop me?”

  Marcus chewed his lower lip. He didn’t know enough about Earth to understand what danger it might be in. But with all the technology there, it seemed unlikely that the Dark Circle could be that much of a threat to it. He turned to Graehl, but the man had no answer.

  “Give it some thought,” the Master said. “We’ll return to the subject later. My second question gets to the heart of the matter: How much do you want to save your friend?”

  A lump formed in Marcus’s throat, making it hard to speak. “More than anything.”

  Graehl coughed into his hand, and the Master glanced over at him. “My brother would tell you that she is beyond your reach,” the wizard said. “That is not the case.”

  He waved a hand, and the wall of smoke Marcus had entered through began to swirl and shift. As Marcus stared at the clouds, he began to see something behind them. A cave of some kind came into focus, with dark rock walls. Flames danced on the ceiling and floors. As the smoke cleared, he could discern figures that appeared to be made out of fire—a powerful creature with horns, a monster with the head of a serpent with the body of a horse, and a lizard with a thick book. They all seemed to be listening to someone.

  The scene shifted ever so slightly, revealing a girl in a long, white gown. As soon as Marcus saw her, his heart exploded. “Kyja!” he shouted, leaping out of his chair. His leg collapsed under him and he would have fallen if Graehl hadn’t grabbed him around the waist and held him back.

  It was her. She was really there. He would have known if the Master were pulling some kind of trick. She looked pale, but he thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Although he couldn’t hear her voice, she looked to be arguing with the fire creatures.

  “Let me go!” he cried, struggling to wriggle away. “I have to get to her.” His staff had fallen somewhere on the floor, but he didn’t care. He’d crawl to her if he had to.

  “You reach her,” Graehl said, fighting to hang on to him. “She’s not here. It’s only an image.”

  Marcus leaned back against the table, panting. “Why didn’t you show me before? Why didn’t Master Therapass?”

  “He didn’t because he can’t,” the Master said. “Or to put it better, he won’t.”

  Marcus turned to stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

  The wizard smiled, and for a brief second, Marcus saw a flash of red in the man’s eyes. “The reason that Farworld and Earth are in danger. It’s not because of a man, or a group, or your so-called ‘evil.’”

  Marcus didn’t care about the prophecy right now; all he cared about was rescuing Kyja.

  The wizard seemed to read his mind. “You say you want to save your friend. But are you willing to do what it takes? That’s the real threat to our worlds—people unwilling to do what is required. To take what they want.”

  “I don’t understand,” Marcus said. “I’ll pay whatever price you want. I’ll give my life if I have to.”

  Graehl’s hands tightened on his waist.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” The Master smiled, and this time, the red flash was clear.

  Marcus stared at the wizard’s face, which no longer looked quite as much like Master Therapass’s. His heart froze as the Master’s words sunk in.

  To take what they want.

  The vile blackness that had been trying to force its way into him wasn’t blocking his magic. No, it was magic of a different kind. The only kind of magic in use here.

  His hands and feet felt numb as he shook his head. “Not dark magic.” He stared into Graehl’s eyes. “There has to be another way. I can’t.”

  Graehl looked away.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the Master said. “I thought you cared about her. But if you don’t save her this very minute, it will be too late.” He pointed a long, white finger toward the smoke wall.

  Marcus turned to see Kyja throw up her hands. She looked from one of the fire creatures to the other, dropped her head, and walked toward a swirling vortex of flames.

  15: The One

  The fiery lizard began to slither back down the tunnel, but the girl who now thought of herself as Turnip chased after him.

  “Wait!”

  The lizard paused. “Do you need something? I’m quite busy.”

  “Busy with what?” Turnip asked.

  The elemental seemed taken aback by her question. He flicked his tail and shifted the heavy volume he was holding from one arm to the other. “I don’t understand.”

  Turnip gave an exasperated sigh and brushed her hair out of her face. “From what I’ve seen so far, no one here appears to be doing anything worthwhile. What are you busy doing?”

  The lizard turned to the other fire elementals as though wanting some kind of explanation. The minotaur shrugged his massive shoulders. “Don’t blame me, Prud-e
ntes. Chaos was the one who first talked to the human.”

  Chaos kicked a hoof. “At least she was interesting to talk with.”

  Turnip cocked an eyebrow at the lizard. “You’re not busy at all. You want to get rid of me.”

  Prudentes held out his book with a huff. “As it happens, I do want to get rid of you. I have a great deal of studying to do. And you’re keeping me from it.”

  “What kind of studying?” Turnip edged closer to the book, trying to see if she could make out any words on the cover. “Do you have other books? Can I read them? Are there any that explain what Fire Keep is and why I’m here?”

  Magma slammed his mace to the ground, fracturing the rock at his feet, and roared. “I told you that already. You’re here because you were murdered and your magic was stolen.”

  Chaos gave a sly smile. “He’s got a temper, if you didn’t notice.”

  Turnip stamped her foot on the ground, although the effect wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the minotaur’s mace. “That’s how I got here. Not why. You’re here because you’re fire elementals. From what I can tell, all you do is fight, argue, and complain. I can understand perfectly why you’re trapped here. No one would want you around them anyway. But who sent me here and why? What am I supposed to do?”

  All three Pyrinths looked genuinely confused and she felt as if she were dealing with a bunch of three-year-olds. She pointed to the book Prudentes was holding. “Can I read that?”

  “Absolutely not.” He clutched the book to his chest. “It’s written in Fire. You couldn’t read it if you tried.”

  Of course it was written in fire. Why did everything here have to be so frustrating? “Then will you tell me what it says?”

  “It’s instructions, mostly. About fire magic. How it can be used, what it can do, how to grant access or deny it. Being a fire elemental is a great responsibility.”

  “So you do have magic,” Turnip said. Now this was interesting.

  “We don’t have it,” Chaos said. “If we did, we wouldn’t be stuck here. We grant it to those who request it. Or we deny their requests.” He grinned as if that was his favorite part of being a Pyrinth.

  His claim made sense, in a strange sort of way. Fire elementals were the guardians of fire magic. They could choose who used it and for what reason. But they couldn’t use it themselves. Is that the way all magic worked? Were water elementals blocked from using water magic? She was almost certain they weren’t, but how could she know that when she’d never met one?

  Had she?

  She tried to remember what she knew about elementals, but the only thing should could come up with was a poem that, oddly enough, she could still recall:

  See the Lords of Water—

  Behind the waves they leap

  See the Lords of Land—

  Beneath the ground they sleep

  See the Lords of Air—

  Above the clouds they creep

  See the Lords of Fire—

  Around the flames they reap

  Water, Land, Air, Fire.

  Together the balance of Farworld they keep.

  Why did she feel as if she should know more than that? And why did knowing seem so important? Every time she tried to focus on the thought, something blocked her the same way her mind was blocked whenever she tried remembering anything about her past. Could elementals have something to do with why she was murdered? Is that why those memories were out of reach?

  “Let’s go,” Magma said. “This is a waste of time.” He and Prudentes walked down the passage.

  Chaos patted her back as he went by and whispered, “Find me if you decide to return more memories to the humans. Trust me, it’s the only entertainment you’ll get around here.”

  Turnip watched them go. She could ask the Pyrinths questions all day, but she had the feeling that it wouldn’t get her any closer to the answers she was seeking. She would look for them on her own. Although she couldn’t remember anything about her past, she was almost sure she was the kind of person who wasn’t afraid to figure things out for herself.

  Only . . . what if there were no answers? Or what if the answer was that she was stuck here for no reason, with nothing to do, and no way out, forever? Is that what had driven the rest of these people crazy?

  The first thing she had to do was make up for the mistakes she’d already made. Pulling her gown up to her knees so she could run faster, she hurried back to the woman with the slit throat. Turnip knelt in front of her, being sure to stay well away from the blue retinentia, and leaned close.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  The woman gave no indication she saw Turnip at all. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was so far gone that she had no recognition of anything outside of her own pain.

  Turnip stood. What was the point of trying to help? She’d be better off finding someone who could at least talk back.

  But she couldn’t walk away, either. This was a real person with real feelings. The fire elementals might not see that, but she did. Even if the woman had stopped communicating, wasn’t it possible that somewhere inside, she could still understand what was happening? After all, she had definitely reacted to the return of her memories.

  She knelt again and gently took one of the woman’s hands in hers. Staring into the woman’s eyes, she tried to imagine what it must have been like to be murdered by the man she loved. If there was one thing that made humans special, it was their ability to feel compassion—to try to understand another person’s feelings although they might not have experienced the exact same feelings themselves.

  “I’m sorry for . . . what happened to you,” she hesitantly began. “And I want you to know that you didn’t deserve it.”

  The woman continued to rock and moan.

  Turnip tried again. “I don’t know if you can hear me, and I know I’m not very old. But I want you to know that no matter what he did to you, no matter what he might have said, you are a good person. He might have taken your magic, but . . .” Suddenly words came into her head as if someone else was saying them. “The real power of magic lies within you—it’s in who you are, what you do, and most importantly of all, what you may become.”

  Did she feel the woman squeeze her hand?

  Turnip squeezed back. “I care about you, and if you need anything, I’m here for you.”

  She wasn’t sure if the woman had heard her, but she thought that the moans were a little less troubled. And surprisingly, Turnip felt better too, as if she’d found at least a small part of her purpose for being here.

  The next task wasn’t nearly as easy. For a while, she thought it wouldn’t be possible at all. She searched through one cavern after another, often finding herself at a dead end where she had to turn around and start over. She’d nearly given up hope when she came across a sliver of rock twice as long as her pointer finger and so narrow that it looked like it would snap under the least bit of pressure. She thought it might be the tip of a stalactite that had fallen and shattered sometime in the past.

  Turning the stone in her hands, she smiled and thought of a way she could use it. Carefully, she took the hem of her gown and tore a length of fabric from it. Then she tied one end of the fabric to the tip of the rock sliver. Adjusting the cloth with her fingers so it curved out at the top like the bloom of a rose, she wound it carefully around the stone until there was barely enough to tuck under the bottom of the fabric—holding it all in place.

  She studied the finished work, looking from one side of it to the other. It wasn’t perfect, but under the circumstance, it was the best she could do. As she was admiring her work, something clattered behind her. She spun around, but nothing was there.

  “Hello?” she called.

  No one answered.

  Was Chaos up to more of his tricks? Hiding her creation within the fold of her robes, she moved silently to the entrance of the cavern. A few rocks were scattered on the passage floor, but they could have fallen on their own or
been there for who knew how long. It didn’t matter. What she was about to do wasn’t something the fire elemental would be interested in anyway.

  It took her a few tries to locate the right passages, but eventually she found her way to the stone platform she’d awakened on. From there it was a short trip to the bearded man.

  He was still sitting on the floor, laughing at the blue ball. Was it possible that his retinentia contained happy memories? No, the Pyrinths had been clear on that. Suddenly shy and uncertain, she took what she’d made from her robe.

  For a moment, he continued to watch the ball. Then his eyes drifted from the retinentia to what she was holding. His mouth opened.

  “It’s not exactly what you asked for,” she said. “But I thought . . .”

  “Flower,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming.

  She smiled. “I was hoping it would look like one.”

  His eyes went from the stone-and-cloth flower to her.

  She held it out to him. “It’s for you.”

  With a gentleness bordering on reverence, he held out his open palms, and she lowered the stone into them.

  “Flower,” he whispered, holding it up to his face. He sniffed at the cloth blossom, and she felt a pang of sadness, afraid he’d be disappointed there was no scent of flowers. Instead, he broke into a huge grin. He sniffed again and sighed with contentment.

  Maybe in his mind, the flower smelled like something from his lost garden. She hoped so.

  A clattering sound came from behind her, and she spun around in time to see a flash of fire disappearing from the doorway.

  Chaos. She leaped to her feet and ran from the room. If he was planning on causing this poor man any harm, she’d take his dagger and . . . well she’d do something with it that he wouldn’t like.

  Outside, she saw the fire elemental disappearing around a bend in the tunnel. “Stop!” she shouted, racing as fast as she could. She turned the corner and found the Pyrinth glaring at her.