Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  As he turned down another aisle he saw Zildjin behind the counter talking with Eleanor and Sesuadra was headed through the open doorway in the direction of the living quarters. Zildjin was wearing a fresh white shirt, leather jerkin, and brown loose breeches, his feet bare.

  He continued his wanderings.

  There were weapons on another aisle. Each item was carefully laid out on luxurious, silky cloth. Tags written on parchment said Ice Blade of Pelios, staff of the Daemon killer, and sword of Dragons Bane. Next to the weapons were shields with fancy symbols etched into their surface, gem encrusted helmets, and ornamented suits of armor, each with their respective titles. In one corner a whole section of wall was dedicated to animal heads mounted on pedestals, they were beastly things. Marc read the labels on some of them, Urgar Bear Head ten hundred quins, Telar Head, of the Darkspawn Forest, fifteen hundred quins and fifty koons.

  That must be the currency here, Marc thought as he read the price tags.

  Topar stared at him all the while. The large white creature was an imposing figure.

  Finally, after having toured the fantastical shop Marc returned to the counter.

  “He gave me this!” Zildjin was showing the small item Lanvar had given him on the road.

  “It is rather interesting,” Eleanor was fingering the little metal figurine, “These markings.”

  Just then Sesuadra appeared, his long dark brown hair was still wet. He was dressed similarly to Zildjin, but had his hands to his knuckles and up to his elbows wrapped with strips of cloth.

  “I believe it to be the markings of the Fae Ones,” Sesuadra commented about the coin.

  “That was quick,” The old woman commented.

  Sesuadra bowed his head, “Cold water makes for a swift bath,” he said.

  “You could have stoked the fire,” She gave a grandmotherly smile, a knowing smile. She knew Sesuadra well.

  Sesuadra shrugged as if to say it did not matter, cold or warm, now I am clean.

  “Now then, Marcus, to the wash, I will draw a fresh draught of hot water for it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Eleanor’s Gifts

  It was the strangest thing. A large metal tub filled with water that was warmed over a fire.

  Everything about the room was right from a history book of ancient times. He thought of the standing shower back home and the hot running water spilling from the showerhead and for a moment missed the familiarity of it.

  The water in the tub was scented with an aroma that was like chamomile and lemons. He stripped down, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. He placed the belt and his sheathed sword propped up by the tub. He then eased himself into the bath. It was hot, almost scalding, but he smelled horrible and wanted to clean the dirt from underneath his fingernails so he sucked it up and sank all the way in. There was a table nearby with a brush and soap. A towel was draped over a chair by the table.

  A knock came on the door, “Some clothes for you dear,” Eleanor said from the other side. Then she left.

  Using the items on the table he soaped down then rinsed and scrubbed until he felt clean. The hot water eventually grew lukewarm and his fingers and toes were wrinkled like raisins. He knew it was time to get out.

  He stepped out of the tub and toweled dry.

  He smelled fresh and clean. Wrapping the towel around him he crossed the room and opened the door. He took the clothes from the floor and shut the door again. He dressed in the shirt, which was an off-white parchment color, and brown leather breeches. His belt and sword went over the shirt and pants. He then headed downstairs.

  The two boys were sitting at the table as Eleanor was placing food down before them.

  “All clean now,” she said.

  Marc nodded.

  “Just in time for middag,” she gestured to the food and Marc deduced she meant the equivalent of what he knew as lunch.

  Marc sat across from Sesuadra and next to Zildjin.

  She laid an empty plate in front of Marc and then walked over to her place at the table. She did not sit down yet though. She lifted her head and looked up.

  “Times change as the wind blows, nevertheless may we always be free. So be it,” she finished and sat down.

  “So be it,” Sesuadra and Zildjin added.

  Marc didn’t know what to say.

  She then motioned for them to take what they wanted.

  Marc didn’t recognize anything before him. He watched first as Zildjin and Sesuadra took food and placed it on their plates. He followed their lead. As the wonderful smells from the food wafted into his nose he realized just how hungry he was.

  Eleanor was the first to talk.

  “Zildjin, have you been keeping up with your studies?”

  Zildjin squirmed under her gaze, “No ma’am.”

  “When I let you boys work with Soren I knew it would mean a busier schedule, more time outside, learning his trade, but I expected, and still expect you to keep up on your readings. Garrond, rest his soul, may have chosen the life of adventuring but he never stopped reading, or learning, and I expect you boys to follow his example, Zildjin, you especially.”

  Her words were sharp but her tone was kind and heartening.

  Her eyes met Marc’s gaze, “And Marcus, do you read?”

  “Yes, and write.”

  “Very good, then as a good friend you must encourage Zildjin.”

  Her gaze fell upon Sesuadra.

  “Sesuadra, you must be more encouraging too.”

  Sesuadra nodded silently.

  They were soon finished with the meal.

  Eleanor stood up and began clearing the table, Sesuadra and Zildjin stood up and helped as well. Marc followed their lead. Eleanor placed the leftover food on the kitchen counter, placing a cloth over it. The dirty dishes were placed in a large empty basin next to a pot of water.

  Once they were finished the old woman looked at them and said, “Now, stay here, I will return with your surprise. Marc dear, please forgive me, If I would have known you were coming I would have gotten you something as well.”

  “No worries, Ma’am,” Marc followed Zildjin and Sesuadra’s example of speech, “food and drink is more than enough for me.”

  “Nonsense, I will make something for you as well,” Eleanor said with a kind smile, “Now just give me a moment.”

  She left through one of the doors. They could hear her footsteps retreating.

  She returned quickly.

  Eleanor walked in with two large leather backpacks in her hand. Both packs had numerous pockets, buckles, leather straps and ties and looked to be made of the finest quality. A symbol was inscribed with gold on the front of the knapsack. It featured the silhouette of a dragon on a kite shield. The interior of the shield was divided into a checkered pattern of four panes, two a sharp cobalt blue, and the other two, black.

  She set both bags on the table in front of Zildjin and Sesuadra.

  “Eleanor, I do not know what to say,” Zildjin began, “Is this not the symbol of your husband’s—” He didn’t finish.

  “Indeed,” She smiled, “It is the symbol of his Guild.”

  “The Defiant Dragoons,” Zildjin said in a reverent awe.

  Sesuadra did not speak, but his admiration could be seen on his face.

  “There is more,” Eleanor continued.

  Zildjin and Sesuadra looked at her quizzically.

  The bags bulged, filled with something. Both boys were trying to get a feel for what was inside.

  “Before you open the bags let me just say I have been thinking with all your traveling you have been doing with Soren recently you should have some attire that is good for the road. I have placed your garments inside the bags. Go, go, try the clothes on now, I want to see how they fit.”

  “Yes ma’am,” They answered together.

  The two boys shouldered the bags and retreated into two different of the adjacent rooms. Marc sat silently, tipping the cup in his hands back and forth. There was a small last
bit of drink in it but he didn’t want to down it and then having nothing else to do with his hands.

  Fortunately the old woman broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “Your sword,” She gestured to the weapon at Marc’s side, “Soren spoke briefly of how you acquired it, may I see it?”

  He nodded and unsheathed the blade.

  A golden glow surrounded his hand and the weapon.

  The old woman had at first stretched forth her hand to take it but when it began to glow she withdrew her hand.

  “I dare not touch it,” She whispered.

  “Soren held it,” Marc said almost absent mindedly, his eyes on the blade.

  “Even so,” She responded, “I have had the opportunity to handle many a magical item in my line of work, my husband brought home more than a few ancient relics from his adventures. I can feel its magical aura from here without even needing to touch it. A strong enchantment, more powerful than any other I have seen.” Her voice dwindled to barely more than a whisper.

  She studied it with her eyes but kept her hands at her side.

  “It appears to be in such poor condition, but I believe that to be a farce. It hides a great power,” She finished.

  “It is clear you have come here with a grand purpose. As long as you embrace it and push ahead with full purpose of heart, you can and will accomplish what you were meant to do here, do not let anyone tell you different.”

  “I won’t,” He nodded.

  Never before had he experienced something like this. His grandparents had both passed on before he was old enough to understand that and the majority of the adults in his life had been less than exemplary examples of wisdom, understanding, and kindness. He had never really spoken with one who had treated him with so much respect. It felt good in a way that gave him the need to honor the advice she had given him.

  One of the doors opened and Zildjin came out.

  He was dressed in attire in hues of dark blues and midnight black. His feet were in long black boots with the extra material folded over to come up just to his knees. They laced up on the sides and had extra hardened leather plates around the back of the heels and two across the top of the foot with solid soles for long days of walking. His pants were a meld of hardened leather plates, sewn in pouches, and leather straps, all dark blue, held up with a large black leather belt. Over his chest he wore a black and dark blue tunic of similar features, sewn in pouches, and leather straps around the shoulders to secure it. On his hands he wore gloves with hardened leather on the back of the hand, the fingers were cut out for better gripping. His attire was finished with a black trench coat of sorts that came down to his calves. It had dark blue hardened leather plates attached to his shoulders and silver lined, dark blue cuffs. The symbol on the knapsack was also emblazoned on Zildjin’s new coat. A smaller similar symbol was on the back of his shirt.

  “Thank you very much ma’am. The coat is a little warm, but perfect length.”

  Eleanor admired her work, “Yes dear,” she said kindly, but knowingly, “but Abeo is right around the corner, and then comes Gelu. The Season of Cold may be nothing but a light breeze here in Kolima, but when I made the clothes I had to think of any place you might have to travel with Soren.”

  Sesuadra knocked on his door, “Would I be interrupting if I entered at this time?”

  “Of course not dear,” Eleanor replied, “You are too polite sometimes, come out, I would like to see you.”

  Sesuadra entered the room.

  He wore attire of the same fashion with the only major differences being a long blue cloak draped around his shoulders, a large blue sash around his middle instead of a belt, and long gauntlets that came up past his elbows. The same crest was on the front of his shirt, since it would have been covered if it had been inscribed on the back. “I made modification of your apparel from what I could learn of Kiohopi. I know that it is hot on the islands and no one would be found wearing a cloak that heavy, but I added it since Itherin has become your home.”

  “Ma’am, it is a perfect tribute to the manner of the cloth worn in my homeland. I am humbled by the expert of your craft, and the tribute to your late husband. Thank you.”

  “You boys are both welcome. Marcus, I will take your measurements soon enough.”

  “It’s really no problem—” Marc began.

  “Do not be ridiculous. I have run out of projects to do and have nothing to work on from here until The Gathering. I will hear no further objections.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” Marc replied.

  “Boys, change back into your other clothes, save these for travelling. When the time is right, I will have Topar officially anoint you into the Guild.”

  They nodded and went back to the rooms they had changed in, their excitement clear in their demeanor.

  Eleanor began taking Marc’s measurements and was finishing up when Zildjin and Sesuadra reappeared.

  “Now, you boys have had a long and extraordinary journey, it would be best to retire early so that you can be refreshed for the morrow.”

  “And our studies—?” Zildjin began, hopeful, but really already knowing the answer.

  “—will continue as usual. You will not have work at the docks with Soren until he returns, so that means more time training in the yard with Topar. I know The Gathering is almost two fortnight’s time from now, but there are already many parts of the city bubbling with excitement and entertainment and I know you boys are anxious to participate. Morning studies, afternoon sword training, and then you will be free for evenings. Now go on and get some sleep.”

  They nodded, Zildjin and Sesuadra both looked happy to hear that from Eleanor.

  Marc realized he was indeed tired.

  ***

  He lay down on a makeshift bed of straw and blankets in one of the rooms upstairs with Sesuadra.

  The other boy had already lain down to sleep on a bed against one of the walls. The room was simply furnished with polished wood floors, wood wardrobe, a bed and a table with a single chair. A painting of Kolima decorated one wall and simple but appealing designs had been painted across the top of each wall. Sesuadra had shuttered the windows to block the sunlight. It was warm in the room and Sesuadra had removed his shirt, but not the cloth around his arms up to his elbows.

  “What did Zildjin mean about Eleanor’s husband? Something about Dragons, and the symbol?” Marc asked quietly.

  “Dragoons,” Sesuadra corrected, “In ancient legend it was thought that one could absorb the spirit of a dragon by defeating it in combat, thus gaining its magical abilities, among them immortality. Although this eventually was proved false, a Dragoon came to be known as an exceptionally skilled warrior and hunter, like unto a dragon. The Defiant Dragoons was a small guild Eleanor’s husband, Garrond founded, the Dragon was their symbol. Topar was a part of it too. Almost all of the magical items in the shop were found by Garrond and his Guild. It was disbanded when Garrond died. That is why both Zildjin and I were surprised to see his crest on our gifts from Eleanor. She has avoided speaking of Garrond’s Guild during many cycles.”

  “Dragons,” Marc said, “I’ve always wanted to see one.”

  “Dragons were once intelligent beings,” Sesuadra continued, “They were greater and wiser, even than the elves. Dragons today are a shadow of their ancestors, more wyrms than draconic beings, more bestial, territorial, hunters than anything.”

  Dragons. Elves. Magic. Marc’s head was beginning to hurt again trying to wrap his head around everything.

  “Where I’m from, Dragons aren’t—” he paused. He was going to say aren’t real, but decided to go with, “Dragons aren’t alive anymore. They are just myths, legends.”

  Sesuadra nodded, understanding, “It is the path Dragons seem to be heading on here. Sleep well.”

  Sesuadra closed his eyes.

  Marc noticed Sesuadra had kept his sword close to him and Marc followed suit, keeping his rusty blade near him.

  He let his eyes close with his fing
ers wrapped around the sheath.

  “Yeah,” Marc finally whispered, “night.”

  And he dreamed.

  Chapter Ten

  Laura

  “You are here again.”

  Marc turned at the voice, it was Sesuadra, “Yes,” he answered.

  They stood once more in the silvery realm.

  “I wonder, if it will be every night that we come here,” the other said.

  “Yeah,” Marc replied, “There are a lot of things I’ve wondered about ever since I got here,” he admitted.

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Why isn’t Zildjin here?” Marc said, meaning, there in the dream world, with them.

  Before Sesuadra could answer there was a sound.

  It was a bird chirping, behind Marc. It had come as if right over his shoulder.

  He swiveled to find out what it was.

  And he was surrounded by the mist again.

  He quickly rotated back to facing Sesuadra in hopes that his friend was still there.

  “Sesuadra? Have you gone again? Sesuadra?”

  No answer.

  The mist began to fade.

  Marc found himself at the edge of a forest clearing. He stood by a tree. He could sense that he was invisible, as he had been in the previous instances.

  He looked around the clearing and his eyes fell upon a young woman kneeling in the grass by the roots of a large tree, humming softly to herself. She looked to be about his age. In her lap was a small object made up of twigs, leaves and grass. She was weaving long pieces of grass to tie it together. It was difficult to make out exactly but it appeared to be a little doll.

  The girl was dressed in robes of light fabric, black and green with gold embroidery and lining. On the center of her chest was a fantastically designed green and gold leaf. Matching thin black gloves were tucked into her belt. Around her shoulders and covering the back of her neck was a sort of cut off cloak shawl, opened in the front, held together by loose leather cords. She had smooth, silky auburn hair pulled back from her face in tight braids, a few loose bangs hung down over her cheeks.