Fire Heart

by Dan Avera

  “I apologize,” Borbos said softly, his voice sad. “The sea be a dangerous place, yes, but under different circumstances it would have been beautiful.” He sighed. “They've turned my home into a battleground.”

  Soon they reached the base of the City. From afar it had seemed unreal—like a painting done by an artist with an overactive imagination. But up close, where the waves crashed and boomed against the dead coral and the towering spires stretched so high above Will that he could not see their tips, the City's size finally, truly struck him. With no land in sight and only an endless field of star-studded black to use for reference, the City seemed even grander. “Why is everything in the sea so big?” he wondered aloud.

  “There be more space to move around here, lad,” Borbos replied. “Not as many restrictions as there be on your dirt. A thing can grow here, truly grow forever without reaching even a half of its true potential.”

  Will gaped up at the City. “And this?” he asked, indicating the bleached, gnarled coral. “Is this always growing, too?”

  Borbos nodded, his head dipping humorously beneath the surface. “Aye. It has been growing since the first days of the first Titans, and it will grow until the end of time. Who knows? Someday it may even reach the shore.”

  They moved into a cavern in the City's side, a great round hole that, naturally, had the organic look of something that had been grown rather than cut. More of the ethereal sky-blue light emanated from beneath the choppy waters, dancing along the walls of the cavern and bathing everything in its glow, and the sound of the waves crashing outside echoed within the hollow until they were all that Will could hear. Borbos and the Sea Spirit, who had forged ahead of them, climbed up onto a small platform that sat just beneath the surface. The water drakes carried Will and Clare over to them. As Will stepped off of his mount and onto the coral, the drake raised its spined head out of the water and nuzzled his hand affectionately, staring at him with its golden eyes. He smiled and patted its scaly snout, and then it darted back down beneath the water and was gone.

  They made their way toward the back of the cavern, where a spiraling staircase—also grown from the coral—took them away from the deafening din. The light, however, stayed, emanating seemingly from nowhere even after they had left the hollow completely behind.

  Will found his attention drawn to the wall next to him, and he reached out tentatively to run his hand along its surface; it was rough and damp, but oddly warm. Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked up he saw with no small amount of surprise that there were, in fact, many tiny creatures living along the face of the coral. Crabs scuttled in and out of holes, and starfish moved slowly around on tiny tube feet. He saw brightly colored slugs, little shrimps that peered at him with dumb curiosity, mussels and barnacles that opened and closed like tiny mouths, and even—and this surprised Will to no end—a large eel that poked its head out of a small hole in the wall and surveyed the passers-by before retreating. How they were all able to survive out of water, he had no idea.

  The walls gradually became more and more covered the farther they went, and soon bits of kelp and weed added to the already vibrant mix of organisms. At one point Clare nudged Will's shoulder and pointed up at the ceiling high overhead—crawling along with exaggerated deliberation was another of the strange, bulbous creatures with too many legs.

  “An octopus,” Clare murmured, and then she giggled as Will, entranced by the strange animal, tripped on a step and stumbled before catching himself. He felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment, and then inwardly remarked on the foolishness of feeling such shame in the face of probable annihilation.

  Soon the staircase widened into an immense cavern. Pools of seawater appeared haphazardly along the floor, and the walls and ceiling were, like the staircase, covered in plants and animals. Off to the left there was a long, narrow break in the coral that afforded a view of the outside world, and it was there that Borbos led them. Far below, the sea was still calm. The moon sat nestled atop the horizon, its light reflected from the water in a long, broken pattern that shivered and churned with the slowly moving waves, and the strange stars hung peacefully in the sky. It was a beautiful scene.

  “This be one of the Bays,” Borbos said, his voice reverently quiet. “In normal times, a place where animals and men can come and contemplate beauty side by side.”

  “I'd like to see it again once this is over,” Will said, and the Titan gave him a sad smile.

  “See that, right there?” Clare said suddenly, her voice laced with forced calm, and she pointed at a many-armed constellation. “That's Gebberon.” Will recognized the signs of someone feverishly attempting to relieve stress by any means possible. He also noticed that her body was very close to his, and he felt his stomach flip at the sudden proximity.

  “The hunter,” Will recited, memory flooding back to him in a rush. “The man who fell in love with a goddess and brought her the pelt of the Bear of Life as proof of his devotion.”

  Clare looked at him and smiled, and even despite their current situation he felt his lips tug upward. She was very close to him. I should kiss her, he thought absently. Might be my last chance.

  “Will, lad,” Borbos' rough voice called from behind him, and he turned abruptly, the spell broken. He thought he heard Clare sigh softly, but it could just as well have been his imagination.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Borbos's face was a grim mask, and the expression served to catapult Will back into their impending doom. “We haven't much time, I'm afraid,” the Titan said, “but I figure now be as good a moment as any. Come—I'll try to teach you how to gain at least a little control over your soul.”

  Will's eyes widened in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “I—good idea. What do I do?”

  “Come with me for awhile,” Borbos replied, and he began to walk over to one of the pools of seawater.

  “Father,” the Sea Spirit said, and his voice sounded even more like bubbling, churning water than it had in Will's head, “I will be meditating if you require me.” His kelp body moved constantly, as though under the influence of a perpetual tide, and his yellow eyes shone dully from within the green depths of his face. Borbos nodded, and the Spirit suddenly collapsed in on himself, his strands slithering across the floor and up the walls to join with the life there until he was all but invisible among the growth.

  “So...” Clare said from where she still stood by the opening in the coral, “shall I just, ah, keep watch then? Or something?”

  Borbos beckoned her over. “No, no,” he said. “You should come and listen. May be that you can help young Willyem here.”

  He took them over to one of the shallow pools and sat at its edge, and motioned for them to join him. Will eyed the slick ground dubiously.

  “It's wet,” he said.

  Borbos cocked an eyebrow. “You've just come out of the sea, boy. And to be brutally honest, a wet arse be the least of your worries right now.” He indicated the ground again. “Sit.”

  “Oh, right,” Will mumbled, and he took his place next to Borbos, feeling rather stupid. “Hey, why aren't you soaked like us?”

  “I be the god of the seas, lad.” Borbos gave him a pitying look. “Be it that difficult to figure out?” He shook his head and leaned forward a little, his gaze falling on the pool before him and his eyes going strangely distant. A strand of hair drifted across his face, and he brushed it absently behind his ear. A moment later he began to speak.

  “All things be connected,” he said softly, and his voice had lost much of its familiar gruffness. “When the first Titans made the cosmos and everything that followed, they put a little of themselves into it. So, we be as much a part of the universe as your own heart be a part of you.”

  He reached down into the pool and slid his fingers beneath the surface. A little crab, its shell a mottled mix of red and white, clambered up into his palm without hesitation. He lifted it up close to his face, looked at it for a moment, and then held it ou
t to Will. “We draw our power from that connection. From everything around us, be it alive or dead or neither of the two. We gave a part of ourselves to this Realm when we birthed it—too much, some might say—and where once we were endless fonts of energy, now we be channels for that energy to flow through. The exception to the rule, though, be you, lad. You and Keth.”

  “Feothon told me,” Will murmured, and his gaze fell. “He said that where your powers came from creation, ours came from destruction.” But Serah said I didn't have to be a destructive person. And I'm changing that about myself...aren't I? For an instant the memory of the little Eastland girl—strangely absent, he realized, for some time now—flickered across his mind, and he feared she would come to taunt him once more. She did not, though, and after a moment he released a breath that he had not realized he'd been holding.

  “Aye,” Borbos said, still in that same soft voice. “But that does not mean you need to draw your energy from destruction—only that you be ruinous by nature.”

  “But Will isn't 'ruinous',” Clare interjected, her voice heated. “Look at all the things he's done.”

  Borbos smiled gently at her. “Calm yourself, lass. I meant it not as an insult.” He carefully set the crab back into the pool, where it scuttled away and hid beneath a strand of seaweed. “Now—your power be slightly different than ours, so it'll be difficult for me to teach you how to channel it.” He grinned. “But I will try my best. When we get the chance, though, you'd do well to talk to Serah; she knows more about the Fire Hearts than the rest of us. Even Feothon, I think.”

  Borbos closed his eyes then, and breathed in deeply. “When I use my power,” he said, “I draw it from the world around me. There be water in everything—even in the rocks and sand.”

  “Wait, us too?” Will asked.

  Borbos opened one eye and smiled. “Especially us. You'd be surprised. I once made a man pop like a bubble simply by expanding the water in his body.” Will gaped. “Well, more than once. Quite a few times, actually.” Borbos shut his eye again. “At any rate. Observe.” The water in the pool began to rise up before them, twisting and writhing like a dripping ball of snakes. And then, to Will's complete amazement, it took the shape of Borbos' face, moving its mouth in time with his as he spoke. “My energy comes from interacting with my element. In the sea, I be extremely powerful—perhaps the strongest of us, save you and Keth. You saw what I did to the tamyat, yes?”

  Will nodded before realizing that Borbos had his eyes closed. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could Borbos said, “Good.” The water face winked at Will, and he noticed that its eyes were open.

  “Can you see through the water?” Will asked.

  “Aye, just as Serah can see through the winds and Leyra can see through the timelines of the earth. I can see a little past the water into the air, too, but it be blurry and inconstant. You look rather humorous from this perspective.” The water face abruptly shimmered and melted, trickling slowly back into the shallow bowl until the pool was full once more.

  “Your power be different,” Borbos continued. “Fire be a thing that comes and goes randomly; it would not do to have to draw your power from such a fickle source.” He opened his eyes and prodded Will in the chest, right above his heart. “So your power comes from inside you, as it once did for the rest of us.”

  Will looked down at his chest, half-expecting to see a miniature Koutoum there. “So how do I use it?” he asked.

  “Close your eyes,” Borbos said, “and concentrate.”

  He did. There was silence for awhile, silence broken only by the steady drip of water and the intermittent sounds of tiny things moving across the coral. Blue light danced across his eyelids, soothing him. He found himself drifting off to sleep.

  Something thudded, deep in his chest, like a bellows forcibly expelling its lungful of air into a forge. Will's first reaction was to open his eyes and gasp for breath, but something deep down told him not to. So instead he concentrated on the strange feeling, probing with mental fingers down into the depths of his soul.

  Thud.

  He felt his heart beat faster, and the air seemed to heat up around him. It felt good.

  Thud.

  “Good,” said Borbos' voice, strangely tinny and distant. It was like a fly buzzing around Will's ear, one that wouldn't go away and he couldn't kill. It was interrupting his concentration, making it harder to focus on the feeling inside him. His brow furrowed, and he felt the heat intensify. “Will, I know you be mad at me right now, but you need to listen—calm yourself.” Will's annoyance grew into anger—why couldn't the old man just stop talking? He was enjoying himself. All he wanted was to be left alone.

  “Will.” Borbos again.

  Shut up!

  “Think of Clare.”

  The effect was instantaneous—the heat dissipated as though a bucket of water had been thrown over his head, and he felt his anger subside back into contentment. Inside him, the Other purred. Think of Clare.

  An image flashed through his mind—he was back in the forest, dancing, whirling in circles with Clare who was wearing a gown of rose petals. She was smiling at him, her hands around his neck, and he could feel his own mouth tug upward in a grin.

  Inwardly, Will felt a thrill of excitement as some small portion of his mind realized what he was doing. I'm controlling it, he thought. I'm actually controlling the power of Koutoum.

  “Now,” Borbos' voice said gently, and this time it was not unpleasant, “tell it what to do.”

  He laid his wrists on his knees with his palms facing up, and then with a mental push he willed the Titan's energy to move into his hands. He heard crackling, snapping, felt the heat of a fire—and opened his eyes.

  There in his hands, cupped like two dancing, bright-orange flowers, were twin balls of flame. They weren't hurting him, they weren't raging out of control—finally, he was controlling them. He looked over at Clare with a grin. She smiled back at him, but there was a stricken look on her face; for a brief instant her expression made him falter—made him remember the events in Prado—and the fires flared and crackled angrily.

  But then he closed his hands and, exerting his will once again, extinguished the flames. The cavern seemed suddenly very cool, and he shivered.

  “Good,” said Borbos. “Very good.” Will noticed that there was sweat beading the Titan's brow. Had he really raised the temperature so much?

  “Is...is everybody alright?” Will asked tentatively. “I mean, you're sweating like a pig, and you,” he pointed at Clare, “look terrified. Did I light something on fire?”

  “Only your clothes,” said the Sea Spirit's voice, which came seemingly from everywhere at once. Will looked down and, sure enough, there were several tiny black scorch marks on the sleeves of his shirt. He sighed in exasperation.

  “Sorry,” Clare said in a small voice. “I didn't mean to break your concentration.”

  “Nonsense,” Borbos scoffed. “If the boy can't utilize his power without being completely undisturbed, he be useless to us.”

  Will gave Clare a reassuring smile, and she returned it. This time, it didn't look quite so strained. He decided not to mention the fact that he had used thoughts of her to regain control; there was no point in making her more uncomfortable than she already was.

  “With a little schooling from Serah, you'll be right as rain,” Borbos said as he got to his feet. “But until then, just focus on keeping your head straight.” He grinned and then walked over to the window, where he stared silently out into the waves.

  “I didn't mean to frighten you,” Will murmured to Clare as he stood and reached down to her. “I'm sorry.”

  “It's fine,” she said, taking his hand and lifting herself up. “Just...an aftershock, I guess.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Won't happen again.”

  He looked down at her hand, which he still held, and realized that it was her maimed one. He turned it over and traced his thumb lightly over the scar on her palm. “I'm goi
ng to find a way to fix this,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I promise.”

  She seemed about to respond, but at that moment a deep shudder ran through the floor, and the blue light flickered spasmodically.

  “It be here,” Borbos said from his position by the window. “The Great Devourer has finally arrived.”

  ~

  Far away, in the coastal city of Spaertos, a Fadoré was scrupulously sweeping the aisles of his temple. The tough twigs of his broom scratched noisily over the stone floors, and little flurries of dust trailed after him—the leftover offerings made by countless feet. The day was long over, and though there was always the possibility of an especially late sinner making an appearance, he fully expected the night to be uneventful.

  Well, uneventful except for her.

  He darted yet another quick glance in her direction, noting the way she sat almost lazily in the furthest pew, lounging like a cat. Her beauty was otherworldly, that much was for certain—with long, raven hair and a body so voluptuous it seemed to flow as she moved, she was perhaps the most stunning woman he had ever seen, and he had seen a great many of them. Troubled women were always looking for spiritual guidance, and he had been happy to show them the way, though perhaps not always in the ways they had intended.

  His gaze must have lingered too long, for she turned her head almost lazily in his direction and smiled coquettishly, shifting so that her ample breasts bulged over the top of her leather corset. He hastily averted his eyes and continued sweeping, his broom moving somewhat more quickly than before. He caught a faint, fleeting scent that was gone before his mind had the time to process it; had it been...lemons? The idea seemed out of place on such a woman.

  “Enjoying the view, Fadoré?” she purred, her voice like silk. He looked up, swallowing as he caught sight of her fine features and full lips. Her eyes were violet, a rare shade usually only seen around the so-called Freelands far to the southeast, and they seemed to flash in the lamplight.

  “A thousand pardons, my child,” the Fadoré stammered. “It is not very often we see folk such as yourself, especially around the temple.” He was close to her pew now, close enough to see every bit of her in perfect detail. Holy Gefan, son of the Old God, grant me the strength to resist temptation, he thought. A bead of sweat slithered slowly down his temple. Fadoré Galliston was sleeping in the little house only a short distance away; it would not do to have an esteemed colleague walk in on an act of...spiritual guidance.