Into the Fire

by Patrick Hester

  We have mourned as long, and far too often.

  “… strong, but it’s only a matter of time now.”

  The doctor was an ill messenger, bringing ill news.

  “There’s simply too much damage for us to fix.”

  Her face could be cut from stone. All healers do this—distance themselves from the pain. The mother collapsed. The eldest caught her, enveloped her in his arms. They cried together now, wailing, raging against the fates who’ve conspired to take both father and daughter on the same night.

  The youngest saw me clinging to the shadows, eyes locking for just a moment. Elves have magic of our own—never think we do not. How else do we remain hidden? Less effective on any who have already seen us, though.

  I stepped back and away, leaving the family to their grief, their sorrow. There’s nothing I can do for them. Yet.

  I cannot even allow the others to know I am here. There’s too much at stake, too many things gone wrong too fast. Always it happens this way. The world changes in an instant, washing away all that has stood still while I silently watched and waited. It falls to me to adapt or else be swept aside. For someone who has seen time take its toll on two separate worlds, such a thought is unacceptable. I endure; I do not get swept away. That is not my task in this life.

  Mine is to watch.

  To wait.

  Perhaps for her.

  Samantha Kane.

  After his initial misgivings, Jack had been so sure.

  With the family in the waiting room, I stepped up to the thin pane of glass separating me from her. She seemed so small. I searched her body with my eyes. Only the smallest bit of fire-red hair stuck out from the bandages wrapping her head. Tubes snaked out from nose, mouth, and arms. Bags of liquids slowly dripped nutrients and medication into her broken body. Machines made noises, their screens glowing with numbers and letters meaningless to me but obviously important to these healers—these doctors, as they prefer to be called.

  The sun had risen high into the sky, but she would not live to see it set unless something was done. Soon.

  The temperature dropped. My breath fogged the glass. The urge to roll my eyes was strong, and I fought it.

  Such a display of power was uncalled for. A waste of energy, and for what? A show? To make some sort of point lost to me? Did ego drive the Wizard to show off?

  The Wizard was small in stature, frail and sickly in appearance. Even as a child, he hadn’t measured up to the other children. They’d taunted and tortured him. Born an albino, his skin nearly translucent, he covered it with a glamour. Persecution as a child had followed him throughout his life, hardening him. Now he was like stone. He shuffled instead of walking, thanks to the things done to him by order of the Grand Inquisitor. Long ago, that. Few knew the story, or the madness and murders that followed. Few knew anything of real substance about him.

  I wish, at times, I could be one of the uninformed.

  Tap, tap, tap. The sound of his oaken staff on the polished floors had a bass to it. He walked hunched over, leaning on his staff for support, though I knew better than to believe everything I saw anymore. His staff and the limp were meant to give the impression of weakness and frailty. Tricks to put you at ease—exactly where he wanted you. If you feel for him, you won’t notice when he begins to manipulate you. The spider casting his web.

  A long black cloak dragged the floor behind him, clasped at his neck by a simple broach. Beneath it, his clothes were dark, matching the cloak and the large, wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his head. This made it impossible to meet his eyes or see his face. Long, pale, gnarled fingers twisted around the staff as he shuffled up beside me.

  He tapped the glass with his staff. “This is what you woke me up for?” The voice was raspy and low.

  “Forgive the intrusion, but I felt it necessary.”

  The ancient Wizard grunted in response.

  I said nothing more. Of all the Wizards I have known, mortal and otherwise, this one could be the most dangerous and unpredictable. He had studied with both of the original Immortal Wizards at one time or another, and through them had discovered the ancient ways, the ones the Council chose to forbid, to hide. This gave him power, extending his life well beyond that of a normal human. Then the Council forgot their magic, grew weaker with each generation. Even Jack—poor, innocent Jack—could only be a pale shadow of his ancestors and the power they possessed. This Wizard was nearly as strong as the Nine. Nearly.

  You could neither rush this Wizard nor compel him to do anything he did not already want to do.

  “Quite a mess,” the Wizard wheezed.

  “Jack is dead.”

  For a very long time, the Wizard said nothing. When he did speak, his voice had gone even lower. “Regrettable. He showed promise as a boy, but Dominic slapped it out of him. He should’ve thought for himself. Once he accepted his father’s house and title, his future became engraved in stone.”

  “She is his chosen successor.”

  “She has red hair.” It wasn’t a question, merely a statement.

  “She does,” I said after a moment.

  Knowing why this is significant and actually giving the words form and substance were two very different things. Such a conversation would put me on dangerous ground.

  “I’ve watched her for a long time,” the Wizard said. “Headstrong, reckless. There was a better way to handle this thing tonight, but she reacted emotionally. That’s always dangerous.”

  “I think your emotions are what drive you. They define you. We feel emotions, but it is very different for us. With humans,” I said, “you do great things, but you also do terrible things. Sometimes you do both, and it is always your emotions that drive you.”

  “I am aware, elf.” He sighed. “I suppose you want me to intervene here.”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  “Why?”

  I considered how to answer this. A lie or the truth? “Jack believed she is the one I have been waiting for.”

  The Wizard grunted. “And what do you believe?”

  “I’m not sure. Yet.”

  Silence fell.

  How to explain a prophecy told to me as a boy? Just a story at the time. Something told to amuse and entertain. Then, piece by piece, it started to come true. My sister betrayed us all. My mother disowned me. I was separated from my world and people, doomed to wander alone for centuries.

  And a woman not of his race or his world, to return it all to him. A woman who would not know who or what she is or will become. A woman who would burn the world down and rebuild it again.

  “Someone will have to train her,” said the Wizard. “She can’t be running around the way she’s been. She needs discipline.”

  “You could train her,” I offered, knowing it for a mistake as soon as the words passed my lips.

  The ancient Wizard shook his head. “Absolutely not. Never again. I will train no Wizard.”

  “Was it so bad? Joshua—”

  “Joshua left!” he spat. “Joshua betrayed us all, and for what? Brotherly love? Bah! I will not have his name spoken in my presence. Before you bring up Ethan as well, I will say only that when I figure out how to kill him, I will. Until such time, he can rot in his Council prison with his brother until the end of time. I will never train another Wizard.”

  “Of course. I apologize. I should not have suggested it,” I said. “Then who is left? Whom can I trust? The Old One will not do it. He remains separate from the human world. More so than any other.”

  “That may be changing. What happened here was not the only incident this night, though you were led to believe it isolated. Nevertheless, training her is your problem,” said the Wizard. Turning, he began shuffling away.

  “Then you will help her?” I asked after him.

  “I already have,” called the Wizard over his shoulder. “Don’t expect miracles, though. Healing is tricky, which is why they banned the knowledge. Plus, you must be careful, or else these doctors will not accep
t it. If she were to rise from her bed tonight, they wouldn’t know what to do. Probably burn her at the stake. Humans are narrow-minded alarmists. I’ve begun the process, though. Rest assured. In time, if she chooses, she will get out of bed, and then you will have to find someone to train her proper. Or I’ll return.”

  He stopped, turned, and locked his white eyes on my own. “And you don’t want me to return under those circumstances, elf.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I would,” I said. “I’m in your debt, Uncle,” I called as the Wizard began walking away again.

  “Yes. You are. I will collect one day.” He paused. “You are not family. Don’t ever call me Uncle.”

  The hallway peeled away, just as Sam had done earlier. Beyond the doorway, a windswept desert stretched, the oppressive heat washing over me. The Wizard stepped through, and the door closed with a snap.

  I turned back to Samantha, waiting for some indication that she would be all right. Of course she would. The Dark Uncle might be many things, but not a liar.

  “Thank you, Morticai,” I whispered.

  The End

  About the Author

  Patrick Hester is an author, blogger, 2013 and 2014 Hugo Award Winner, podcast producer, and all-around Functional Nerd. He writes Science Fiction and Fantasy available in several anthologies and ebooks. Samantha Kane: Into the Fire is just his latest novel.

  He is @atfmb on Twitter and Facebook, where he talks about all things writing, gaming, music and nerd-life that amuse him. He produces the multi-Parsec Nominated Functional Nerds podcast, produced and hosted the Hugo Award winning SFSignal.com podcast for nearly seven years, and produced “I Should Be Writing,” the podcast for wannabe fiction writers created/hosted by 2013 Campbell Award Winner Mur Lafferty, for several years.

  He maintains a twice-monthly column for the Kirkus Reviews blog, writes for his own sites atfmb.com and FunctionalNerds.com as well as for the Pikes Peak Writers blog and various other websites and blogs.

  He is a Scrivener guru and teaches several classes to writers throughout the year.

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