Teliko Mageia: Curse of the Frozen Flame

by A. J. Carbonell

  One of the bandits struck a torch to the straw house. No flowers had survived, and even the bare home lit ablaze. The baby still lay inside, screaming on the floor. The mother struggled, screaming atop her lungs, trying to get out of the effortless grasp of Hornhawl. “Shion! My son!”

  “Silence, slave!” Hornhawl shouted and struck Jeannah, who had not yet come into her magickal powers.

  Everyone died. The village was left to burn. Only the wails of the baby were heard throughout Sanhera. But the flames around Shion swirled around him, absorbing and releasing. “Amazing, this child gained magick by absorbing the flames around the house…”

  A beast mage with a wolf companion arrived, crunching through the still hot coals of the once beautiful village. “Gerris, try to search for the baby,” she ordered, warning her summon to be careful as they navigated the orange-hot night. Ash and sparks littered the night air, competing with the lustre of the stars now diminished by a veil of smoke. This must have been Artemia. The woman Jael spoke of. Shion must have been saved by this woman. Shion–somehow now Jael, the seer pondered–screamed all the louder and Artemia sprinted through the ruins and into the burning hovel.

  “My goodness! The baby lives despite the flames!” Artemia said, and grabbed Jael, jumped through the window.

  Rohan couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The queen would be shocked by this revelation if it were the truth. He decided to ask the queen permission to see her past as well, to verify. Still, his Ancient Eyes had never failed. It could not merely be a fantasy or dream of Jael; somehow, this was what really happened. He stayed long enough to watch Artemia fail to interpret the symbols on the necklace given to Jael, reading them as the boy’s moniker– Jael. A simple misunderstanding. He had his answer and chose to depart from the memory landscape as he watched Jael grow up in the arms of Artemia. This surely was Jael, he who sat beneath his fingers.

  His own eyes opened and he re-entered reality.

  Jael’s screams ceased. Rohan’s eyes faded to their ordinary blue. He sagged in fatigue, but then launched back up in excitement. “Sir Rohan. Have you seen through my past? Can you tell me what you saw? Where did I come from? Who are my parents?” he asked, gasping for breath in excitement.

  “First of all, yes, I managed to look into your past, and it is very interesting. Before I answer your questions, I would like to speak with the queen alone. If you don’t mind, can you please step outside the room for a while and wait for us to call you in?” Rohan stated.

  “All right. Certainly,” Jael replied, a huge smile on his face. He exited the room, and Rohan turned to the queen who’d sat quietly and patiently in wait, out of fateful curiosity. Perhaps it had been her destiny to be here, at his side.

  “My queen, if it is all right with you. I would like to look into your past as well,” Rohan said.

  “Does this have something to do with Jael’s past?”

  “Yes. You see. I saw you in Jael’s past. My queen, you are Jael’s mother,” Rohan said.

  “Impossible! My child died as a baby, years ago!” Queen Jeannah gasped, shaking in shocked at Rohan’s statement.

  “Your son’s name was Shion, is it not?” Rohan asked.

  “How did you know? I never mentioned my son’s name to anyone! Ever since Sanhera was destroyed,” the queen said.

  “Your son had a necklace, yes?” Rohan asked. “I cannot believe this.” She stared after Jael.

  “That is why I would like to look into your past. It is possible that my magick is confused because of your presence. Your aura is quite powerful. Perhaps your memories infused themselves into his when I cast it upon Jael,” Rohan stated. “I find it unlikely, but I would like to compare to be sure.”

  “Very well, you may look into my past,” she replied.

  “My queen, please ease your mind and stay strong,” Rohan said. She nodded, and sat quietly in wait once more, closing her pale blue eyes. Rohan put his hand to the queen’s forehead, supporting her head gently in his hands. “Ancient Eyes!” He once again closed his eyes until they turned white and the beam connected his thoughts to her memories; his consciousness was transported back to Sanhera once more.

  Rohan determined the story to truly begin one bright and sunny day in Sanhera, full of celebration and joy. Jeannah sat soberly in the corner, the light and life in her eyes he’d witnessed when she looked upon her son diminished. Instead, she drew geometric shapes in the dirt with a stick. Beyond, a flag declaring the 121st birthday of Elder Sanvalor was raised up, and a man hurried over, dragging her up to her bare feet. “Jeannah! Help your aunt with roasting the beef. You are of age, you need to learn how to cook,” her uncle said.

  “Yes, uncle, I will do my best,” Jeannah replied, and she began to sadly walk towards the small house.

  “Ever since your parents died, you have this… gloomy aura. It’s already been three years, Jeannah. You need to get over it,” the man said.

  “I will try, uncle,” Jeannah replied.

  “Hmph. This young woman needs to have a source of joy,” he murmured.

  The young Jeannah helped with the preparations for the rest of the day, and long into the evening as well. Finally, nightfall came, and a hefty bonfire was lit in the centre of the village. The men came together to help set a massive round table about the bonfire, the fire crackling as a warming centrepiece. All the food was prepared, a barrel was rolled out and tapped, and the time for feasting began. Musicians stopped their revelry and came in; children stopped weaving flower garlands together. One of the elders of the family gestured for the gathering to begin. “Everyone, gather around, and listen to what grandfather has to say.”

  “Thank you, Karim, I want to thank you all for staying within our clan. Thank you for preserving our clan and following the footsteps of our ancestors. Please, let us continue our ways and not be corrupted by the outside world. Let the feast begin!” Sanvalor declared, and it began with gusto.

  Games were played, some clan members had performances, variety shows and music on the simple wooden stage. One thing was true that night: everyone was having fun, and if they were not, someone quickly came around with a bottle of wine and topped their glass to ensure the good times continued. Already some were tipsy, but no angry words were shouted–these drunks only sang and danced loudly, enjoying the festivities.

  Not quite everyone was part of the party; the village guard, a lone man who preferred less drinking and more sitting in silence for his brand of fun came hurrying into the fray. “Elder! There is a young man at the gate; he is severely wounded!” the village guard shouted.

  “What are you waiting for? Bring him in for treatment immediately!” Sanvalor said. And so, the lone traveller was brought into one of the village homes; Sanvalor gestured for Jeannah to come along and the celebration drew to an uneasy halt. Jeannah entered the dark room and lit a couple of candles. The elder interviewed the traveller, surveyed his injuries. He had little to say besides incoherent mumbles, only managing to beg for help from the two who stood over him. Satisfied the man was no danger to the clan, the elder left, the party resumed shortly after. Jeannah sat down beside the weak man, gently stripping his ratted clothes away from the slashes still seeping with blood. Where he wasn’t filthy and bloody, bruises battered his flesh, and his consciousness ebbed and flowed. She put a reassuring hand to his temple to check for fever.

  “Hello, my name is Jeannah. Please rest for now while I treat your injuries,” Jeannah said, and the traveller immediately fell unconscious once more. She did what she could, then snuck back out to the feast.

  It took two days before he awakened. Morning came, and the traveller opened his eyes to warm sun shining down upon him, cocooned in a pillowy soft bed of down feather cushions. She had scarcely left his side over those long two days, cleaning wounds and using a cloth to moisten his dry and cracked lips. “Oh, you’re awake. I’m glad you are now conscious. How do you feel?” Jeannah asked.

  “I feel better, thank you,�
� the traveller replied.

  “What is your name?” Jeannah asked.

  “My name is Arcthrel,” the traveller answered.

  “So, what happened to you?” she asked.

  “Well, I am a mage, you see–a fire mage, actually. I have been roaming across Bristal hunting for something precious. I am an adventurer and a treasure hunter. I ran across a notorious bandit hideout. They spotted me and tried to kill me so I wouldn’t reveal information about their hideout. Fortunately, I escaped, but I sustained these injuries in the process. Don’t worry. The hideout is pretty far from here,” Arcthrel told her.

  “Your condition verifies this report. The wounds you sustained were bleeding for a day or two before you arrived,” Jeannah replied. “You’re fortunate infection didn’t set in.”

  “Thank you for treating me. I thought I was going to die out there. It’s a good thing I saw your huge bonfire,” Arcthrel said, and he took her hand and kissed it. “Your clan’s fire alerted me, your healing touch restored me. I owe you my life.”

  “Oh, don’t mention it! My clan welcomes everyone here,” Jeannah replied, a pink blush on her face. The adventurer was utterly handsome, his chin sharp and defined with a scraggly overgrowth of new whisker when shaved away, revealed a chiselled man with intoxicating brown eyes and tasteful scars from past adventures. His body too was powerful, muscles developed in that sort of way that comes of doing challenging physical tasks, not crafted by a man trying to appear handsome. Over two nights of moaning, sweating sleep, she had already acquainted herself with much of his body in trying to clean him. Now he was alert and awake, and instead of viewing him as meat to be repaired, the woman deep within her could only see an amazing man. She trailed around after him, doting and fussing and justifying it as a fear his injuries were not properly mended. Whenever she could, her silvery blue eyes wandered over his shape and when he turned and made eye contact, she inevitably reddened and glanced away.

  Her beauty was unmatched in Sanhera. Without heavy depression detracting from her smile, Arcthrel too felt the twinges of infatuation. Soon their glances turned into gazes, lost in each other’s eyes, ignoring the surrounding beauty.

  Days passed by and Arcthrel grew fully invigorated. The elder offered to accept him as part of the clan but he was a wanderer at heart and chose otherwise. His journey would continue, finding artefacts around the world. Then the elder organized the clan for a farewell gathering. Together they wished him the best, then departed to their own tasks.

  But Jeannah lingered with him into the night. That last night he would spend in Sanhera, and together they walked in the meadows. Together they lay in the middle of a flowery field awash with the scent of lilies and wildflowers, gazing at the stars and intermittently, each other. Soon again they were lost in the stars in each other’s eyes, and they talked but the words didn’t matter. For a while, as the moon rose in the night, they walked along the rolling hills.

  Then Jeannah tripped, tumbling down the hill. He grabbed for her and was pulled off balance. They rolled down the hill together, laughing so hard they cried. At the end of the slope, he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top, holding her. “I… I… I’m sorry, Arcthrel.” She shyly blushed.

  Without hesitation, he kissed her deeply on the lips. She was shocked and stunned but did not resist, feeling these new passions ignite within. He continued to kiss her, and she began to kiss back, returning his affections with a new burning heat within. Ignited with natural magick, their passion led to craving the deepest of connections. Under the stars they continued to kiss, exploring each other’s bodies with gentle, then desperate hands, and made love where they lay. They were ignited with the passion they felt for each other, the deep connection.

  The next morning came and Arcthrel bade one last farewell to everyone in Sanhera. “I promise, I will come back for you. No matter what happens. I will find you. Whatever the circumstance, we will be together again,” he promised.

  “I will wait for you, Arcthrel,” Jeannah replied. He left her in Sanhera, not knowing their love bore a child.

  Nine months passed, and she gave birth to an energetic baby boy. She named him Shion.

  “Jeannah’s gloom had been erased ever since Arcthrel came by. I am thrilled.” Jeannah’s uncle mused.

  “Yes, Arcthrel left her with a joyful son. She needed this blessing. I am certain Jeannah’s parents are smiling down on her right now,” Jeannah’s aunt replied. And it seemed all would be well, the new member of the clan welcomed with festivities and song. Jeannah’s aunt crafted a necklace for the boy with his name, gifting it to Jeannah to give to her son.

  But only a few months later and the Tiger Paw incident razed the village, slaughtering every clan member, capturing only Jeannah. After they tired of assaulting their slave, and not wishing to tarnish her selling point–her beautiful body, that beautiful face– she was sold by the Tiger Paw to a local merchant in Belthasar. Jeannah served as the sales lady at a small trading store, reimbursed by the small mercy of food given daily by her master. She slept on a pile of burlap sacks in the back of the shop. When the business began to flounder, he decided to sell her on. Jeannah’s next master was a circus manager. Because of her beauty, her master made use of it for his own benefit. She was forced to be a lion tamer, wearing nothing more than a sparkly, skimpy suit. It attracted a lot of people, especially men. Times were hard, and the circus master sneered about her weight, refusing to feed her, smacking and abusing her on any parts of her body hidden by the teeny suit. Beneath the small shorts, her back and bottom were covered in painful welts, and some days she ate nothing more than a crust of dried out bread and the same water given to the lions. Any meat she scrounged up was the scraps deemed unworthy of feeding to the “real attractions”, the mighty beasts, according to the slave master. He taunted and tormented her, threatening to feed her to the lions, to really get his money’s worth. Finally, his business was utterly bankrupt, and instead of making good on his violent threats, she was simply sold once again.

  This was destiny bringing some good fortune to Jeannah, a broken woman who never smiled, and could not remember what it was like to smile. The woman who purchased her was Angelica, a kind-hearted maid in service to Queen Zilithia. It was rumoured the two had been close friends when Angelica served in Krimmirr and in acknowledgement of her loyal service, the queen had given her a position to coordinate all housekeeping in one of the secondary palaces. She was paid as a housekeeping coordinator, very busy, and expected quality workmanship from her maids. Yet her ego was tiny, and when Jeannah worked hard without complaint, she treated Jeannah well–treating her as equal, clothing her in clean new dresses.

  When Angelica was summoned up from the palace, she managed to visit the queen in Krimmirr and brought Jeannah along, introducing her maid to the queen. The queen was mesmerised by Jeannah’s beauty, lost in her long silver hair and crystalline eyes and asked for her service as a maid. Angelica did not refuse, and Jeannah did not either, a smile breaking free from her soul. The queen was delighted, and had Jeannah transferred to the servant’s quarters in Krimmirr.

  This was the best it had been since Jeannah had first been captured; the queen’s housing provided two meals a day with named meat. Breakfast was often porridge and fruit, and not the pickings from the bottoms of the barrel, but simple uncut offerings of red and orange and green fruits, tart and sweet. It was busy, and hard work at times, but Jeannah never complained and served quietly and politely. The queen took a special liking to her, seeming to enjoy watching her at work. She wondered if the queen found her attractive, but never dared to ask. Still, they became as close as Jeannah thought it was possible to become with such an important person, and she was trusted to serve the queen directly. It was a year later, one evening when Jeannah brought in the dinner tray, their relationship dynamic truly began to shift. “Queen Zilithia, the dinner is served,” Jeannah said.

  “Please, Jeannah, how many times do I need to tell you that you don’
t need to address me by my title in private? Zilithia will do fine, you know,” Queen Zilithia replied.

  “Yes, your Highness,” Jeannah said.

  The queen giggled and said, “You never listen to me Jeannah. Hihihi.” She poked at Jeannah until she cracked and chuckled, the two laughing alongside each other. Trusting the queen at her word, Jeannah accepted this offer of fewer barriers between them, and eventually became the queen’s closest servant, a true friend.

  At this time, a war broke out in Bristal. War was not uncommon, but often skirmishes, unfocused and not long lasting at all. A group of dark mages terrorised the kingdom. King Auron, the king of Bristal and husband of the queen, faced the group of dark mages. This would serve as the turning point, Rohan knew, as he’d been present through these surges–though not present in Jeannah’s mind, he knew the king managed to defeat the mages, but at cost. A curse was cast on the king by one of the most powerful mages in the group. A curse called Soul Cord. It acted as a life link between two persons. When one dies, it would take only a couple of days before the linked person too passed. Unfortunately, the mage who cast Soul Cord spells died in the battle. Krimmirr had won the war but would eventually lose their king.

  The time grew short, and the healers informed the king he had two days left at the most. “My king, it is wise to appoint an acting king in your stead,” Reighild said.

  “I trust my wife’s capability to lead the kingdom. I will entrust Bristal to her only,” King Auron replied.

  “But my king, I am not a war strategist such as you!” Queen Zilithia exclaimed.

  “I appoint Reighild to be the war strategist when I pass away,” King Auron stated.

  “It is my honour to be appointed as such, my king,” Reighild replied.

  “My love, you need to choose someone fit to be king after I pass,” King Auron stated, and he was with the queen the night before his fateful day. The two lay together in bed in each other’s arms, holding tight in hopes it would never pass.