Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  Laura felt something change, perceived it like Marc had.

  Another strike, this time quicker and harder than ever before.

  The Sword of the Phoenix flew into the air.

  Marc stepped back, tripping over a clump of grass and some stones.

  Drake spun, katana in hand, as if to deliver the final killing blow.

  And suddenly the katana was gone and Drake fell, out of balance.

  The katana appeared out of nowhere, nearby, spinning until it sunk fairly deep into the trunk of tree stopping with a thud.

  Laura had stood up from sharpening her knife and had one hand on her temple and the other outstretched.

  She had thrown the katana with her power.

  Drake picked himself up.

  Everyone but Marc, Laura, and Drake were clapping.

  “Sorry,” Drake told Marc, putting out a hand to help the other up. “Got a little carried away.”

  Marc took it and stood.

  Drake seemed quite young again, naïve and above suspicion.

  “No worries,” Marc said, brushing himself off.

  Laura came over, “keep it calmer next time you two.”

  Drake nodded, “Yes. Sorry, I do not know what came over me.”

  He went over to retrieve both of his weapons, heading over to the one on the ground first.

  Laura helped brush Marc off.

  “Thanks,” Marc said, “For that.”

  He gestured to the katana embedded into the tree trunk.

  “I am sure your new armor would have withstood the attack, but I just wanted to be safe,” Laura replied.

  Marc nodded in agreement.

  Zildjin came over and wrapped his arms around Laura and Marc’s neck in a friendly manner, “Hey you two lovebirds! Very impressive fight, Marc. No fair though Laura. I am never getting in a swordfight with you, not if you just make my sword disappear out of my hand!”

  The others came over to join in the conversation.

  Laura smiled, “If I got in a swordfight with you Zildjin, I would just make you walk an unseen path, not your sword.”

  They all laughed together.

  Drake came over with his two katanas.

  “Obedience is the mother of success and is wedded to safety,” Drake said as he sheathed his swords, “I am sorry I pushed the fight to where it escalated to such degrees. I did not obey my own rules of teaching. I will be more cautious in the future.”

  “All is well,” Laura said, “As long as I am here to put a stop to things,” She winked.

  And the group laughed. Drake even let out a small smile.

  ***

  After almost two fortnights they finally reached a road that would take them straight to Fallhaven.

  “We are almost there,” Cydas stated, “Almost home.”

  Marc had forgotten that Cydas was from Fallhaven.

  “It will be good to see it again, no?” Marc asked the man.

  Cydas nodded.

  They continued forward.

  ***

  Fallhaven was a sight of serene beauty.

  Marc felt calmed and comforted the moment he saw the little outpost come into view.

  It was late in the day, but the sun pierced the clouds, lighting the village perfectly. There were only about a dozen or so buildings that made up the village. The nearby river, which was labeled Lerthan on the map, coursed nearby the outpost. A number of streams broke off from the river, curving away from their source, zigzagging across the area that the village occupied, even running in-between some of the buildings, and down several short levels, like steps, forming a myriad of beautiful small waterfalls, until they curved back into the river. The river then tumbled again down a number of levels, this time much wider and slightly taller than the ones by the village, until the water cascaded down a large waterfall to the massive Naeshdar Lake below. A number of wooden sort of interconnected bridges spanned a large portion of the village, where the stream ran underneath. The gentle and steady flow and trickle of water sounded throughout the area, lending to the sense of calm. A balkar stood next to a tree on a sort of island surrounded by the flowing streams, content to stay there, chewing on grass. Birds flitted between nearby trees, chirping their happy songs. The buildings were constructed of wood and stone, the larger buildings with dark tiled roofs and chimneys and the other smaller with thick thatched roofs. A number of watermills were built next to the river, slowly turning in time with the flowing water. The tallest building, three stories tall, was north east, at the far end of the village from the group’s approach.

  “There,” Cydas said, pointing to the largest building.

  “There, what?” Marc asked.

  “You will see,” the man’s face was one of happiness and relief.

  Cydas led the group up some stairs onto the wooden interconnected bridges. They were well built and held the combined weight of the steeds and their owners.

  Several villagers turned from their various tasks to watch at the arriving newcomers.

  Many greeted Cydas and he returned their casual greetings.

  “You are well known,” Marc commented.

  “It is a small place, everyone knows everyone here,” Cydas replied.

  Marc nodded.

  Finally they arrived at the three story building.

  There was a stable area nearby and a woman sweeping rushes into small neat piles. Cydas guided the group there and stopped. The woman appeared older, dressed in a simple but sturdy dress with a single purple sash tied around her waist. Her hair and eyes were a dark brown, but her skin was light.

  “Cydas Ardusk! You have been a long time gone from here! All is well?” The woman said with a smile.

  “All is well Goodmother,” he replied, dismounting from his aldom, “All is well.”

  “And Goodness you have brought quite a few friends with you.”

  “Yes,” Cydas smiled, “They are here to converse with the stars and understand the passings of the cycles and the meaning of all things.”

  “Oh,” the woman replied.

  She put a hand to her chest and seemed to falter.

  Cydas stepped forward and steadied her.

  She clung to Cydas, looking up at Marc and the others.

  “Is it true then?” She asked.

  “Yes,” Cydas replied, “It is the Wielder of the Flame, and the others whom I sought, Advocates of the Flame.” Cydas pointed Marc out specifically and then the others.

  “So as ye have said, may it come to pass, the doors are open and ye may enter through the way.” She said in almost a whisper, her hand pointing to the doors of the nearby building.

  Cydas embraced her, “Thank you Goodmother.”

  “Of course,” She replied, “You can leave your animals here, I will stable them for you.”

  Cydas nodded, “Thanks again.”

  “Come then,” She motioned for them to dismount and proceed to the doors, “I shall not delay you any further.”

  Marc and the others dismounted.

  “Thank you,” Marc bowed his head.

  She shook her head, “Do not bow to me Blessed One, You bow to no one.”

  Marc nodded, holding back a shrug and sigh of exasperation and keeping himself composed.

  Cydas walked to the building and the others followed.

  “Converse with the stars?” Marc asked.

  Cydas nodded.

  “The Oracle,” He said.

  Then he opened the door.

  “Is here.”

  Everyone heard it but did not have time to respond as Cydas ushered into the room and shut the door behind them.

  Inside Marc found himself walking into a large tall entry room with a high ceiling. Stone columns were halfway embedded into the walls leading up to stone beams that interconnected with wooden beams. The room was straight at the beginning, leading towards a circular center, and then ending straight again. At the far end of the room a small set of stone steps led up to a sort of elevated platform with a t
all and wide set of windows. The windows overlooked a beautiful scene of the river, with forest and mountains in the distance. Sunlight streamed in the window, making the stone tiled floor shine beautifully. Elegant carvings and designs were etched into the floor of the room. A circle of tiles was separate from the rest of the room, depicting an elegantly and carefully crafted tree with many branches and leaves. Near the top of the tree the leaves began turning into stars.

  Two doors were on opposite sides of the room facing each other. A set of stairs were also set into the walls opposite each other leading to upper levels of the building. A balcony on the right hand side was visible, overlooking the main room. Shelves lines one of the walls, filled with books and tomes. A set of chairs surrounded a round table near the far side of the room. Two sets of armor stood opposite each other at the base of the slightly elevated dais at the back, guardians of steel.

  An older man sat at the table, a book open in front of him. He turned as the doors opened.

  “Who enters?” The man asked, lifting himself somewhat arduously from his seat.

  “It is I, Goodfather.”

  “Cydas! Me’lad!” the old man said, quickly recognizing the voice and then the face, “All is well?”

  “All is well!”

  The old man approached them, embracing Cydas when he reached them.

  He was dressed in simple long dark tunic with large purple sash, sturdy long sleeve shirt, sturdy pants, and a pair of knee length leather boots.

  “You have been gone too long I think!”

  Cydas smiled, “Goodmother said the same,”

  “Of course, of course.”

  He had an amiable grandfatherly nature to him.

  Cydas repeated to the man what he had said to the woman.

  The man bowed his head low in understanding, taking in the others’ presence.

  Marc stepped forward.

  Cydas introduced him, “Marcus Hughes, Wielder of the Flame.”

  The old man got down on one knee and bowed low, “Wielder, it is an honor.”

  Marc looked left, then right, and finally said, hesitantly, “Thank you. You may stand.”

  The old man stood.

  “This is Laura, The Unseen Pathwalker.”

  Laura gave a low courtesy.

  “This is Puck, Ancestor of Rynar, the legendary blacksmith and inheritor of his ability.”

  The old man took Puck’s forearm in a firm grip.

  “This is Drake, the Ageless One. And this is Zildjin and Sesuadra, both close friends of Marcus and exceptionally skilled in their own right.”

  “The Oracle is here then?” Drake finally asked what everyone was thinking. He was more forthright than usual.

  The old man nodded, “Yes,” he said, “But you cannot speak to her like this. You have traveled far and must rest.”

  “We can rest later,” Drake said.

  The old man shook his head, “It is taxing on both your mind and your body to converse with the Oracle, you must first rest, and put your mind at ease.

  “But we have come so far,” Zildjin also added.

  “He is right,” Cydas said, “You must rest first, you will all speak with the Oracle, first thing tomorrow.”

  Chapter Forty Four

  Zania

  Marc both did and did not want to rest.

  His body was tired from so much travel, his legs, even as used to the strolling gait of Redmor as they were, were sore, not the fresh kind of sore, but a sort of deep slight aching sore that won’t go away.

  The old man led them through one of the doors to a long hall connected to several other rooms, some doored off, others completely open.

  As they walked down the hall Marc realized that Cydas had not followed them.

  Puck seemed to notice as well because he asked, “Where is Cydas?”

  The old man glanced behind him to confirm that Cydas was no longer there.

  “Must be he has gone to see Sylandria.”

  “Who is Sylandria?” Laura asked.

  “The Oracle.” The old man answered.

  “What?” Zildjin said in surprise

  “How is it that we are too tired from traveling to see the Oracle and Cydas, who took the same trip with us, is not?”

  “Cydas does not seek to converse with the Oracle the same way you will tomorrow,” The old man explained calmly, “Sylandria,” he continued, “Was once his One Love.”

  Before anyone could speak further they entered a large kitchen and dining room.

  A woman was making bread in the kitchen on an open counter facing the dining area.

  “Zania,” The old man said, “We have guests.”

  The woman looked up from her work. She could’ve been in her late thirties but looked younger. She had long brown almost reddish hair, a fair countenance, green eyes and freckles on her face. She was wearing a dark green colored dress with a white apron on. Flour covered her apron and her arms up to her elbows.

  She smiled as Marc and the others came in.

  “Welcome,” She said kindly.

  “Zania, these are they that Cydas has sought.”

  The woman put down the dough she was kneading and quickly wiped her dirty hands on her apron.

  “Pardon me Blessed Ones. Please forgive me, my hands—my hands are messy.”

  Marc stepped forward, “All is well, Zania.” He put a hand up to calm her worries.

  He noticed Zania tilt her head as he spoke, to take in the new voice. Then he realized her eyes only appeared green because the dark green dress she wore brought out that color in her pupils, but in fact her eyes were a dull grey.

  “Goodfather, is Cydas with them?”

  Next Marc realized that she was blind and felt stupid with his hand up. He let it drop quickly, embarrassed.

  “He has gone to see Sylandria,” the old man answered.

  Zania nodded with a smile, “He has been away from her for long this time.”

  “Sorry,” Laura interrupted, “Who is Sylandria?”

  Zania tilted her head again at the new voice.

  “And who is this?” Zania asked, “M’lady, if I may be so bold to ask.” She finished, apologetically.

  Laura began to turn red.

  “Just Laura is fine,” She said.

  “Goodfather, could you bring me the water and washbasin, I desire to meet the Wielder of the Flame and his companions.”

  “Of course dear,” the old man replied.

  They watched as Zania washed herself clean and removed her apron.

  The old man then helped her step out of the kitchen and into the adjacent room where everyone stood.

  “This,” The old man said, positioning Zania in front of Marc, “Is Marcus Hughes, Wielder of the Flame.”

  Zania lifted her hands slowly. They were trembling. Small tears began to form in her eyes. “Pardon me, M’lord.”

  Marc opened his mouth, almost in protest to the title, then shut it again, “All is well,” he said gently.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  She slowly reached out her hands until they touched his face. She proceeded to softly feel his countenance. “Goodfather, he is young.”

  “Aye,” The old man said, “But he is strong Zania.”

  Zania nodded, taking the old man’s word for it.

  “M’lord,” she told Marc, “You have a handsome face, one of Courage and Determination.”

  “Thank you,” he said, not knowing what else to add.

  “And Laura,” she said, “Where is Laura?”

  The old man positioned Laura in front of her, “This is Laura, The Unseen Pathwalker.”

  “M’lady indeed,” Zania said, “Not simply Laura.”

  “You have a kind face,” she said of Laura, “one of Loyalty and Selflessness.”

  The old man went on to position her in front of all of the party, one at a time. And one at a time she placed her hands on their faces and told them what she saw in her own way.

  “This is Puck, de
scendant of Rynar, he is a Shifter, and possessor of the same magic that wrought the Phoenix Blade.” The old man said.

  “I have grey eyes too,” Puck said.

  “Is that so?” Zania said. She smiled and wiped her tears away, “You have been injured recently,” She spoke when she touched Puck’s cheek.

  “It is nothing but a flesh wound,” He shook his head slightly, but not away from her hands.

  Zania smiled, “In your face I see Foolishness,”

  Puck scrunched up his face in a sort of childish and grumpy way and Zania felt the facial expression with her hands.

  Zania continued to smile, “and Bravery.”

  Puck smiled.

  She moved on to Zildjin.

  “I am Zildjin, Jidan of Kolima.”

  “He is one of my closest friends,” Marc added.

  Zania nodded. “Zidljin, you are lucky to have your face, you too are handsome.”

  Zildjin blushed.

  “I see Endurance and Generosity as well.”

  Zildjin nodded as she finished.

  Then she moved to Sesuadra.

  “I am Sesuadra, Jidan of Kolima.”

  “Brothers?” Zania asked.

  “Brothers at heart,” Sesuadra admitted.

  “Raised by the same woman,” Zildjin added.

  “Sesuadra. You have a Noble face, one of Patience and vast Knowledge.”

  Sesuadra shrugged, then nodded, accepting the assessment.

  She finally moved to Drake.

  “This is Drake, the ageless one.” The old man said.

  She moved to place her hands at a level where she thought Drake would be in height. When her hands met air she lowered them.

  She drew back briefly after touching Drake’s face, and then put them back on him.

  “You are young,” she said, “Quite young.”

  “My appearance belies my true age,” Drake said.

  Zania nodded, her hands confirming his words, “Indeed. In your face I see great agony, and a great willpower.”

  When she finished with all of them she stepped back and said, “Thank you.”

  “Zania, if you wish, you can feed our guests, I will go and draw water for the baths.”

  The old man retreated down the hall.

  “If you are hungry, there is plenty to eat.”