by Nikolas Rex
Marc figured they passed a lot of the residents back on the road, carrying lumber up.
The other thing that caught their attention, though, was a group of people working on the framework of a large building, larger than any of the others there within the town. It was being constructed near the center, next to the second largest edifice. A tall wooden outline of a statue was positioned in front of the building. A skilled stonemason was working a giant piece of marble next to the unfinished statue. Half of a face was carved out of the stone.
At first Marc didn’t realize why his mind was particularly focused on the statue, and then it dawned on him.
“The statue,” He said excitedly, “I know who it is!”
“What?” Zildjin asked.
Sesuadra rode Syril a bit closer in curiosity to hear what Marc had to say.
“It’s the boy who was in my first vision, the one all covered in blood.”
“Interesting,” Zildjin noted.
The group finally stopped at the small town center.
A man stood, overlooking the work being done. He was dressed in clothes of a richer color and finer make than anyone else present, clearly separating him out as the man the wagon leader had described as Mayor Hartshor. Marc dismounted nearby the man and he turned at the sound.
“Ah! Travelers! Welcome! We have been expecting you!”
“Huh?” Marc looked confused, “We just got here, how—?”
“Word travels fast here my friend. We have not had many people stopping by here for a time, but now that the vorstai have been killed, and the town safe, we have been preparing for adventurers, and you are the first! We must spread the word, the bounty has been claimed, Terga is back open for business! Make yourself at home, we have a few Inn’s here that should be to your liking. Do not mind the construction, we have not been able to keep up after so many attacks, but now, we can rebuild without interruption.”
Marc was dying to get a word in, but the man spoke so quickly and so much it was clear he loved the sound of his own voice.
“The statue there,” Marc finally got in, “Who is it of?”
“Drake of course! The Hero of our town!”
Someone appeared from underneath the entrance of the unfinished building.
Marc and the group turned their attention at the newcomer.
Marc immediately recognized the young man.
“I heard my name, Mayor,” He said.
Marc noticed also a young woman, not much older than the boy, appearing from around the corner of the unfinished building. No one else seemed to notice the girl.
“Ah, Drake, the man himself,” The Mayor said, acknowledging the boy’s appearance, “come forward, greet our newest visitors, the first to appear here after so long!”
This is Drake? Marc thought, he is the one from my vision, able to kill such large creatures by himself?
The young man approached Marc and the others. He was dressed in a white shirt, green tunic, brown loose fitting breeches, dark knee length boots, and brown leather gloves. He looked different from the vision Marc had of him, without his armor, and not covered in blood, but it was definitely the same kid. He seemed younger without the swords in his hands and armor on, fourteen or fifteen years old.
The young woman approached the spot where Drake had been standing.
“Mel,” The Mayor said, “What are you doing here? I thought you were studying at the Manor with your mother?”
The girl named Mel shook her head.
“He is the ageless one!” Cydas said.
He, Marc thought, the ageless one?
Before Drake came too close to Marc and the others his gaze fell upon Marc and he stopped.
“Drake?” The Mayor asked. The girl turned her attention from the Mayor to Drake.
The boy didn’t move. He seemed to be trembling.
“Drake?” Mel said, her voice concerned, “Are you alright?”
Marc felt the sword at his side begin to grow warm, and suddenly golden light emanated from the blade. Then it surrounded Marc as well, casting everyone around him in the glow.
The Mayor and Mel stepped back in surprise. The carpenters on the building stopped what they were doing, some even dropped their tools.
“It’s him,” Marc confirmed to the others, “The one from my vision.”
The boy said nothing, but continued to look upon Marc, transfixed.
Marc moved as if to dismount but paused, unsure of what to do.
Drake remained silent, but his body began to shake more.
The young man’s hands slowly rose, they were trembling as well. He distorted the expression on his face in sudden immense pain. He grabbed his head and fell to his knees. He opened his mouth and screamed. He tilted his head back, mouth still open, still screaming, still gripping his head tightly. A nearly invisible wave shot forth, the boy at its center. It rushed over everyone around him, pushing them back slightly. The Mayor and Mel stumbled back slightly.
Marc jumped down from Redmor and ran forward at the same time Mel rushed towards the young man.
They reached Drake almost at the same instance.
Drake’s scream ended but he continued to tremble and he swayed backwards.
Mel put her arms behind the boy’s shoulders and back, catching him and cradling him in her arms.
The boy looked up at Marc.
“Help me,” he whimpered, “you are the only one who can help me.”
And then he closed his eyes.
Marc stood, the boy remained in Mel’s arms.
“Wh—o, Who are you?” The Mayor looked down at Marc in astonishment and the magical aura surrounding him.
“My name is Marc, I am the Wielder of the Flame.”
The Mayor was silent at Marc’s announcement.
“We have to lay him in his bed,” Mel said finally, breaking the silence.
Marc nodded in agreement but the Mayor was still stunned at everything.
“Mayor?” Marc tried again having heard the boy address him as such.
“huh?” The Mayor replied, “Yes, of course, to the manor.”
He gestured towards the nearby building, the second largest within the town.
“And our aldoms, they have need of a place to rest and eat.”
“Of course, follow me.”
“I cannot lift him alone,” Mel said.
Marc leaned down to help.
***
Mayor Hartshor was mostly silent as he led them to the large building next to the one being constructed.
He spoke only when needed. He called over some of the workers to stop what they were doing and help. He directed a few of them to take the aldom’s and the balkar to the stable. Zildjin, Sesuadra, Laura, and Cydas all dismounted and handed off their steeds. Cydas retrieved the pack containing important things from the Oracle first, as well as some other personal things. Marc saw this but did not feel he needed to keep anything safe, as he already had the Sword of the Phoenix and the map at his side.
The Mayor led them inside the building next to the unfinished one. It was a large two story structure, simple in design but furnished with subtle fancy wood and stonework to set it apart from the other buildings in the town. Marc followed, Drake between him and the girl’s arms. The boy was relatively light, but was beginning to feel heavy and Marc wanted to set him down soon, the girl had spoken of a bed. Laura followed closely behind Marc. She seemed a little put off by something. Is she jealous that I’m close to another girl? Marc dismissed the thought as he took in the Manor. The elegantly carved double doors opened into a grand foyer. Great stone pillars led up to finely crafted wooden beams that spanned the length of the ceiling. Several doors aligned the walls at even intervals. Two curving staircases on each side of the room led up to balconies of the second floor. Near the end of the room was a sort of pedestal with a large chair on it. An extremely long table stood before the chair and several less elegant chairs surrounded it. Ceramic vases filled with greenery and decorative
empty pots arrayed the dark wood table top.
At the end of the room at the far side of the table sat a woman. A young child of about ten years of age was talking with her when the Mayor opened the doors.
The child looked over at the group of newcomers and immediately pointed at them, as if to say to the woman see, there they are, they are the ones I was talking of.
The woman stood as the group came forward.
“Mel, I was wondering where you had gone off too, and what is this? Our young hero has fallen unconscious once again?”
“Yes,” Mel replied, “We are taking him to his room.”
“And,” the woman glanced at the others, “We have more guests, as Belik has just informed me.”
The boy nodded and smiled.
“Come,” The woman said, gesturing to Marc, Mel, and Drake, “The rest of you may stay here.”
Laura made as if to follow Marc but decided against it.
The woman walked to one of the doors and opened it. Mel moved and Marc moved with her, shifting Drake’s weight to a comfortable position to fit through the door. Marc glanced behind him and caught Laura’s eye. He tried to give her a reassuring look.
The hallway was long, with several other doors leading to other rooms, but finally they reached the end of the hall and the woman opened the last door on the left. It was a simply furnished yet tastefully decorated room.
They laid Drake on the bed at the far corner of the room from the door and stepped back.
“I will fetch him some water,” The woman said.
She disappeared down the hall, leaving Marc alone in the room with Drake and Mel.
There was an awkward silence.
I wish Laura had come with. Marc thought.
Then the girl did something Marc was not expecting at all.
She fell to her knees, bowing her head close to the ground. Her long hair fell against his boots.
“I am not worthy of thy presence,” She whispered, “Forgive me.”
What the—? Marc thought, What is going on? What is she doing?
“Stop,” Marc said, bewildered, “Don’t do that,”
Mel remained on her knees, “I cannot,” she shook her head, which was still bowed low, “I am not worthy to stand in the same room with the Exalted’s Blessed One.”
Blessed One?
“Please, stand,” He said, embarrassed.
Marc heard the woman’s footsteps returning down the hall.
“Please stand up,” He whispered desperately.
Mel remained motionless in her prone position.
The woman turned the corner into the room, a tray and pitcher of water in her arms.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said, quickly taking in the scene.
“Mother,” Mel replied, keeping her head bowed, “He is the Wielder of the Flame.”
The woman’s mouth opened in surprise, then she closed it, “Mel, do not be silly, how can—”
“Mother, please,” Mel glanced up, then back down, “What reason do I have to speak falsely?”
The woman looked at Marc.
“Pardon, sir,” She said, her voice quieting, “is it true?”
Marc was again glad he did not blush.
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to lie, but he was also embarrassed. He finally resigned to speak simply and truthfully.
“I am,” he admitted.
“Exalted forgive me, my faith is weak,” She said, “Do you have the sword, truly?”
Marc shifted to better display the sword at his side. He placed his hand around the hilt of the weapon. He immediately felt the connection and warmth, and gently summoned its power. A golden glow rose from the blade and from him.
Mel’s mother opened her mouth in utter awe, taking a step back and letting go of the tray.
Marc reached out quickly, missing the tray, but catching the ceramic pitcher of water with one hand. The wood tray clattered noisily to the floor.
Mel’s mother fell to her knees as well, bowing her head low.
“Please,” Marc said, “stand.” He gestured for them to pick themselves up.
It was at that moment that Drake awoke, from the sound of the tray hitting the ground.
“Look, he’s awake, you have to get up,” Marc said.
He released the power and the golden light dispersed.
Mel and her mother stood slowly.
Mel’s mother held out a hand and Marc handed her the pitcher of water. Mel bent over for a moment and retrieved the fallen tray, handing it to her mother. Mel’s mother placed the tray and pitcher on a small nearby table.
Drake sat up from the bed.
“So it is true,” He said, “You are the Wielder of the Flame?”
Marc nodded with mixed emotions, sort of wishing he could lie, but on the other hand desiring only to speak the truth. He did not know how to react to such attention. A part of him did not mind it, but another part just wished to disappear into obscurity, to revel in solitude.
“Yes,” he said again, “I am.”
“Then you must be able to help me.”
“I don’t know how, but I can try.”
Drake fell silent.
“I will let the others know,” Mel’s mother gave a short bow and left.
“If you feel up to it we should return to the main room,” Marc said, “Our friend Cydas may have some answers for you.”
“He should remain here to rest,” Mel found her voice.
“No,” Drake said, “I feel fine.”
He stood up quickly to reinforce his words.
Mel gave a small shrug, trying to indicate that she did not care either way, but Marc sensed she actually did mind and worried for the young man.
“We could get everyone in here, it would be a little crowded though,” Marc suggested.
Mel’s face brightened at the prospect.
“No,” Drake quickly said, “Really, I feel completely better. Let us return.”
He strode forward towards the door.
Marc nodded and they entered the hallway, walking back to the foyer. Mel followed behind, slightly sulkily.
“The vision I had of you,” Drake said as they walked, “It was real?”
Marc nodded.
Drake hung his head slightly, “You must have many questions to ask of me,” he said.
“I’m sure we will have plenty of time to talk,” Marc reassured him.
When they returned to the main room they found the group sitting before a large meal. Servers, both men and women, were placing trays of meat, fruits, and vegetables on the table. Marc realized just how hungry he was. Outside it sounded as if the rest of the town had returned from hauling timber as the noise level increased on the building being constructed nearby and people were moving about through the nearby plain dirt streets, walking and talking.
“Ah,” The Mayor, who was sitting at the head of the table, stood as they came in, “Talywen spoke of your quick recovery. Come, sit, middag is served.”
Marc came over and sat at the table next to Laura.
She smiled at him as he took his seat. He returned her smile.
Aside from Marc, Laura, Zidljin, Sesuadra, Cydas, Drake, Mel, her mother Talywen, and the Mayor, about ten or so other people sat at the table. Marc realized they must all have held important roles in the town to be seated there with them and that it was a great honor to be invited to sit at that table to eat with them.
The food was delicious and occupied everyone’s mouths so no one really spoke during the meal.
They finally ate their fill and their plates began to empty. The servers returned to take away the now clear platters and dishes.
“Well,” The Mayor said, standing. He raised a glass as he did so, “never in my life did I think I would live to see a day such as this. Our town has endured such great challenges these past few cycles. The terror of the Vorstai nearly destroyed us, but we held on, invoking the Exalted for someone, anyone, to save us. And not only did t
he Exalted send such a hero, the young but unimaginably skilled Drake, but they have chosen to grace us with the presence of the most revered of beings, the legend returned, the next chosen, the Wielder of the Flame.” The Mayor turned to Marc and gave a deep bow. Those at the table followed suit, bowing their head low.
Marc stood, not thinking, and said, “Don’t,” he motioned with his hand, “You don’t have to do that.”
Cydas, who was sitting near Marc gestured for him to sit down, a stern look on his face. Cydas leaned over and whispered to Marc, “I know you are from a different place and not accustomed to our ways, but you risk insulting them by not allowing them to revere you.”
Marc sighed and sat down.
The Mayor ended his bow and said, “We thank you, sir Marcus, for your visit, and we welcome you and your friends with open arms. You and any of your friends are free to all of the town’s resources at no cost of yourselves, I will make an official announcement to the town later today.”
Marc stood up again, “No,”
Cydas gestured once more for Marc to contain himself.
Marc ignored him and continued, “Mayor Har—”
“Hartshor,” Mel said.
“Mayor Hartshor,” Marc nodded, thanking Mel for the name reminder, “I would like to say something.”
The Mayor nodded, “Everyone, please listen, The Wielder of the Flame wishes to speak.”
“Thank you,” Marc said, “Ladies and Gentleman, Mayor, we are grateful for the food, and for your hospitality, and I am grateful for your, how do I put it, your praise. But I need you to know something about myself. I understand the importance of my position, and I honor it with all seriousness, but I am different than any other Wielder of the Flame before me. I come from a very far away place, I am not from Lyrridia.”
Some of the people seated at the table whispered and Marc thought he heard It is true, he is one of the Exalted come down.
Marc wanted to say that he wasn’t an Exalted, but he dismissed the thought, thinking he might be doing something already radically different from the others who had wielded the sword before him.
“We will pay for anything we require,” He said.
He saw the look on the people’s faces, sad because of his words.