Flameseeker (Book 3)

by R. M. Prioleau

  “You’ve experienced Ignis’s peaceful side, too, Kaijin. You just didn’t realize it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Life cannot flourish without the five elements, and fire is one of them. Many species of plants rely on intense heat in order to be able to release their seeds.”

  “Like pinecones,” Kaijin stated. He’d learned his share of botany from Jarial, his former master who had also dabbled in alchemy.

  “Yes, exactly!” Ranaiah nodded. “Ignis provides us with so much. From candlelight to heat for cooking. He provides warmth during cold nights, and soothes us with steaming hot baths. These are just some of the many things that the Firelord provides. He is not always as destructive as you perceive him to be.”

  Kaijin considered her words. Wow, she is right. How could I have been so naïve? He blinked. “You make it sound so simple, and yet your meaning is so powerful. No wonder you are the high priestess here.”

  “And as the high priestess, I prefer to encourage the teachings of Ignis’s peaceful side. Life does not prosper with chaos alone.”

  “And what about Vargas?”

  Ranaiah turned to him, and her eyes narrowed. “Vargas has been obsessed with gaining power, driven on by some radical—I dare say blasphemous—pretense of the Firelord’s will.”

  “Could it really be Ignis’s will for what had happened in the chamber?” Kaijin asked. “That somehow He is using Vargas as a tool for a darker purpose?”

  “Perhaps.” She sighed and lowered her gaze. “I cannot question the will of the Firelord, though I have continuously prayed about it, hoping for answers. But He has already given me a task—to help you. I cannot stray from that path.”

  Kaijin fixed his eyes on the hearth, deep in thought. She’s been tasked to help me, and yet Vargas is trying to kill me. Why? It doesn’t make sense. Do I not belong to you, Ignis? Why are you using Vargas to destroy me?

  To Kaijin’s surprise, the fiery voice in his mind answered, “Your simple mortal mind is incapable of understanding the way of the Flames, Kaijin Sora.”

  “What do you mean?” Kaijin asked aloud. “Stop speaking in riddles!”

  He received no answer.

  He clenched his fists in anger, small white flames bursting from his hands.

  “Kaijin!” Ranaiah’s soft serene voice and gentle touch on his cheeks brought Kaijin out of his thoughts.

  The flames in his hands subsided. He found himself staring deep into her eyes. “S-sorry.”

  Her intent gaze didn’t waver from him. “I felt a brief divine presence in you just now. What did He tell you?”

  “That I will never understand.” Kaijin frowned. “I am to forever be His pawn, it seems. I wish this would all just stop. I want to live peacefully, like you.”

  “You speak such sweet irony, Kaijin.” Ranaiah’s expression hardened, and she pulled a folded parchment out from within the breast pocket of her robes and handed it to him. “I think you should read this.”

  Curious, Kaijin took the parchment and unfolded it, finding a letter written in elegant script.

  Vargas,

  The business in Ghaeldorund will soon be settled, and Masrah will return with the good news of our victory, with the blood of that Batsuyou scum as proof. Now I expect you to honor my request and return my sister to me in a timely manner, lest I send Masrah to deal with you and your new acquisition, as well.

  Ben-nyu shall soar, and the holy flames shall conquer.

  —Tachus

  Kaijin looked up from the letter and furrowed his brow. Ghaeldorund? That is where Master Jarial said he was going when last we met. “I’m not sure I understand the purpose of this letter.”

  “This is the handwriting of my brother, Tachus. I ordered a search of Vargas’s quarters, and one of the acolytes found the letter on his desk,” Ranaiah said. “It appears to have been written very recently. It seems Vargas has been conspiring something with my family for quite some time without my knowledge.”

  “Your family?” Kaijin regarded her, deeply concerned that her life could be in danger.

  Her face fell, and she turned back to the hearth. “It all makes sense now, why Vargas was acting so strangely, mistreating you so. It was all to make me bend. I will not deny that I’ve felt as though he’s been after my position for some time now, but I never expected him to conspire with my own family—the very ones whom I vowed to never return to.” She frowned bitterly.

  Thinking to comfort her, Kaijin wrapped his arms around her waist from behind her and listened to the soft crackles and pops from the hearth. “Will you tell me more about your family?”

  She paused, her soft body tensing in his arms. Kaijin loosened his arms around her waist a bit, and she slowly relaxed. “I am too ashamed of them and everything they stand for to say anything worthwhile.”

  Kaijin paled. What I wouldn’t give to see my own family again—no matter how much they shunned me. He embraced Ranaiah’s waist again, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Are they truly that despicable?”

  “Indeed.” She sighed. “You are persistent in wanting to know my past, and I feel as though I can tell you. I have not told anyone else here about this.”

  “I ... I ...” Kaijin swallowed. “I am so honored that you trust me like this. I swear on my life that I will not reveal your secret to anyone.”

  Ranaiah smiled weakly. “Thank you, Kaijin. I do not want to cause panic throughout the Pyre, should anyone else find out.” Her smile abruptly fell. “My family, the Beshara, is very powerful in the northern regions of Ankhram. They’re notorious for their obsession with control and domination. They have always sought certain positions of power throughout the world. My brother, Tachus, is a cleric of great power, fueled by the flames and guidance of the Firelord.”

  Kaijin digested the information and frowned. “So you ran away from all this?”

  “Yes. I did not—and still do not—approve of what my family are doing. More so now. Masrah is my cousin. I thought he was such a dear, sweet boy when I last saw him, but to find out that he would involve himself in this conspiracy is appalling. This business with my family has been haunting me ever since I ran away years ago. So when you say that you would like to be like me and ‘live a peaceful life,’ I can’t help but smile, almost laugh. There is never a time when I’m not fighting for peace within myself. But I fight with the hope that one day it will happen, and Ignis will reward my faithful efforts.”

  Kaijin opened his mouth to ask in what ways Ignis favored her but stopped himself. He didn’t truly know her relationship with the Firelord, and he didn’t want to pretend he did. Instead, he gently caressed her midsection with his fingers. You will achieve peace someday. Together, we will make it so.

  Ranaiah exhaled, and then placed her hand over his. She leaned back against him, and her eyes closed. “At times I feel as though Ignis is testing my limits, testing how far I will go before I break—go insane. I vowed to never be like my family.”

  “You’re nothing like your family, Ranaiah,” Kaijin assured her. “You are a sweet, strong, and beautiful woman who has helped me realize my purpose, understand my power, and teach me things about the Firelord that I would’ve otherwise never known. I owe you my life for all that you’ve done for me.” He turned her around to make her face him directly. “Ranaiah, let me help you now.”

  Her face was so close to his that he could feel the heat emanating from it. Her thick lashes fluttered downward a moment. “Kaijin,” she whispered. “This is my duty. I cannot allow you to get caught up in my problems. I must handle this myself.”

  Kaijin shook his head. “No. This has obviously been hurting you for some time. Give me a chance to help you. It is the very least I can do for your protecting me from Vargas. No one is going to hurt you anymore, Ranaiah. I will make sure of that.”

  Ranaiah’s eyes lifted. Sadness and concern filled them. “What do you intend to do?”

  “Well, for starters, I will find a way to get Varg
as back from the Realm of Fire, return him here so that he may atone for his crimes against you as well as the Pyre.” He gently stroked the side of her cheek. He watched her, remembering how content she looked when she had first started the hearth. “You, of all people, deserve nothing but the highest respect.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, but it lasted for only a brief moment. “Tachus will soon begin to wonder what has happened, once he realizes there is no reply letter from Vargas.”

  “Then perhaps I should go to Ankhram and speak to your brother before that happens. Perhaps he will be more apt to hear me out, since I’m also a follower of Ignis—and a Firebrand.”

  “What? No! That’s ludicrous! There’s no telling what he may do to you!”

  “I will do whatever it takes to help you find peace.”

  “Don’t do anything rash, Kaijin. While I do not approve of Tachus’s actions, he is still my brother, and I do love him. I just wish that he was not so ... misguided.”

  Kaijin nodded. “I understand. I want this to be done as diplomatic as possible.”

  She stared at him, hope flashing in her eyes.

  Kaijin felt his heart flutter. He saw that look in her eyes amid the sadness. She trusts me. She believes in me. I will not fail her.

  Her face tilted forward ever so slightly. A flame ignited deep within him that yearned to burn for her. He smiled and tentatively leaned forward until his lips brushed against hers. The gentle sweetness of her lips stoked his inner flames, and without a second thought, Kaijin indulged in a deep, loving kiss.

  IX

  Morning came almost as soon as Jarial had shut his eyes, and he realized he’d overslept by almost an hour. After packing his scant belongings into his satchel, Jarial, accompanied by Sable, settled his account for his inn room and left for what he expected would be the last time. The crowds filled the streets, slowly drifting in the general direction of the Citadel.

  Mages from all backgrounds and skill levels had arrived in groups, and it left Jarial feeling bitter about what he was missing. Gods, this year looks like it will be huge. He hastened along the wide street, toward the aurorium to fetch Omari. He couldn’t stop gazing back at the crowd. I wish I was there now....

  Young children ran up to some of the mages, doubtlessly pestering them with questions, while the older youths admired the masters from afar. Jarial sighed. He remembered when he had been one of those children, asking similar questions, and likewise, the answers he’d given to some of those same questions when he was asked in his turn.

  “What in th’ soddin’ ’ells is goin’ on around ’ere? Looks like a party!” The excited voice broke Jarial from his thoughts.

  He turned to a stranger, who sat atop a stack of crates, his scrawny legs dangling. At first, Jarial thought it was a little boy, but then he spotted the pointed ears and realized the ‘boy’ was actually a brownie.

  The brownie squinted ahead, not seeming to notice Jarial. He looked miffed. “An’ if it is a party, ’ow come I wasn’t invited?”

  Jarial looked down his nose at him. Brownies were notorious for having sticky fingers, but unlike most people, he wasn’t threatened by them. He was confident enough in his skills to ward off any thief or pickpocket. He smirked at the brownie’s curiosity. “It’s not exactly the kind of ‘party’ you’d be interested in. It’s a meeting of the minds.”

  The brownie’s attention snapped to him, his ebony topknot swishing to one side. He regarded Jarial with playful brown eyes. Light battle scars marred his young ruddy, sideburned face, and a single prominent scar extended across the bridge of his nose. “Aye? Like a fiddlin’ party?”

  Jarial arched his eyebrow. It took him a moment to comprehend the dialect. Ah. ‘Fiddlers’ are mages. “Yes, something like that. You wouldn’t understand.”

  The brownie huffed and gave his leather jerkin a firm tug. “Is that so? Well, I ’appen to know a few fiddlers, myself! You on your way there, too? Can I come?” The brownie sat up straighter on the edge of the crate stack and gave a broad, gap-toothed smile.

  “I don’t even know you, nor do you know me. Besides, the event is for mages only.” Jarial eyed him sharply and concentrated a moment, seeking any traces of an arcane aura about him. “Which you don’t seem to be.”

  “Th’ name’s Nester.” The brownie thumbed himself in the chest. “Also known as ‘Nimble’ Nester Two-Blades, an’ more recently, ‘Nester th’ Explorer.’ A Dragon gave me that title, y’know. An’ I do, too, know ’ow to do tricks. I can make a gold piece disappear, I can!”

  Jarial snorted, slightly amused. “I’m sure you can.”

  “Wanna see?”

  “No. Now excuse me. I have business to tend to.” Jarial spun on his heel and was about to leave when he heard the crates behind him rattle, and Sable let out a terrified hiss.

  “Woah!” Nester cried out.

  Jarial spun around in time to see Nester tumble to the ground as a burly half-Dragon effortlessly picked up the stack of crates. Sweat dripped from the giant’s short brown hair, tipped with silver, and glistened from his broad bare chest and brawny arms, also silver-hued. Barefoot and wearing only a pair of dark blue silken trousers and a tattered, grey silk sash, the half-Dragon stood taller than a normal-sized man, overshadowing the diminutive Nester in an almost comedic way.

  Now there’s something I don’t see every day. Jarial goggled at the giant. Half-Dragons were an uncommon sight in Aransiya, where very few cities and towns accepted them, due to gossip, misunderstandings, and—perhaps the most obvious—their physical appearance. But since Ghaeldorund was a magocratic city, such exotic creatures were generally tolerated and sometimes even welcomed.

  “Oy, Aidan! At least warn me when you’re gonna take my seat right out from under me!” Returning to his feet, Nester barely reached Jarial’s midsection.

  “Don’t you have something else better to do, Nester?” the half-Dragon asked. He hefted the crates toward the entrance to a building—which Jarial realized was the local orphanage.

  When the creature’s back was turned, he noticed another anomaly: two prominent nubs protruded from his muscular back, which was heavily scarred, with skin flaking in some spots.

  Hmm. And he’s growing wings, as well, it seems.

  “I’m tryin’ to make some coin to survive in this soddin’ place,” Nester said to the giant. “It’s only been a li’l over a week since we came ’ere, an’ I’m already gettin’ low on funds! It’s so soddin’ expensive ’ere, it is! We need to leave!”

  Aidan snorted. “You should find some honest work, like Aidan did.”

  Nester waved his hand dismissively. “Nay, th’ kids are more than capable of ’elpin themselves. You’re spoilin’ them too much, bringin’ them all this food an’ supplies an’ whatnot almost every day.”

  “Aidan must make sure no child suffers.”

  “Th’ old lady pays you more than what you probably actually spend. Why not share some of that gold with your best mate, aye?”

  Aidan didn’t reply. He reached the stoop, and the door to the orphanage swung open. An elderly woman poked her head out and smiled warmly at Aidan. “The goddess bless you, Aidan, for your wonderful generosity,” she said, holding the door open as he made his way inside. “I wish you wouldn’t keep straining yourself like this.”

  He grunted. “It is Aidan’s pleasure. Aidan wants to make sure all the children are happy.”

  The woman shut the door behind them, muffling their voices beyond.

  Jarial felt Sable nudge his calf, which he took as his cue to leave. He travelled through the streets, avoiding the crowds and morning bustle of the city by detouring down alleys and vacant side streets. He’d been away from Ghaeldorund for so long, but he had never forgotten the various shortcuts and secrets that the city held. Sable followed in his footsteps, keeping low to the ground.

  He emerged not far from the Celestran aurorium, where people walked past from the street, some heading inside. The aurorium w
as one of the city’s most prominent landmarks. The building’s exterior was made of pure white stone, with windowpanes trimmed in glistening gold. Banners emblazoned with the Celestran holy symbol hung from windows and over the twin gold-trimmed entrance doors.

  With Omari nowhere in sight, Jarial decided to take a moment to pay his respects before setting out on his journey.

  “‘Ey! Where are you goin’ in sucha ’urry?” Nester’s strident voice called from behind him.

  Jarial cringed. After swearing under his breath, he asked, “What do you want? Why are you following me?”

  Nester crossed his arms. “You never finished tellin’ me about th’ secret fiddlers’ party goin’ on!”

  “It’s not a secret. If you are so curious about the symposium, then why don’t you go see it, yourself?”

  “Aye, I would, but you said it’s for fiddlers only.”

  “Since when did that ever stop a brownie?”

  Nester laughed. “Well, nay, it don’t. But I’ve travelled with two fiddlers recently an’ ’ave seen—an’ felt—what they can do. I gotta newfound respect for ’em, I do! So as easy as I can probably sneak in, I’d be toast if all those fiddlers there got mad at me. So that’s why I thought you might be able to vouch for me an’—”

  “Forget it.” Jarial shooed Nester away and opened the door to the aurorium. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Stepping inside the Celestran aurorium for the first time in many long years gave Jarial an awkward feeling. Though not a religious man, Jarial often paid his respects to the goddess Celestra. Lately, however, more than ever, he felt an urge to seek out the innermost parts of his faith, to assure himself that his plans would succeed.

  The interior was as immaculate as the exterior. A series of artistic portraits depicting the goddess in Her nude form, basking amongst fields of honeysuckle, covered the high ceiling and spiraled up to the central skylight. Gold-tassled burgundy curtains draped every stained-glass window, keeping the harsh sunlight at bay. The snow-white carpet appeared amazingly well kept and spotless despite the frequent traffic, and it was so plush that Jarial felt as though he were wading through its dense pile. The controlled sunlight and the banks of candles and candelabrum that dotted small alcoves along the walls and throughout the main sanctuary provided a dim but warm light, which gave the chamber a welcoming atmosphere and discouraged visitors from leaving quickly.