Legacy: Book #3, the Fire Chronicles

by Susi Wright

  He stared trance-like at his pack, savouring the mountain breeze as it cooled the beads of sweat on his skin. Wiping his forehead and bald head with the back of his hairy hand, his breath gradually slowed and he considered his cargo.

  There had never been a thought of discarding the pack, burdensome as it was. It was precious. He opened the flap to check the contents, taking out a small skin pouch containing soured labis milk. His stomach grumbled. All is well. The assurance came as he continued to study his cargo. No, I could not have abandoned this, whatever the cost!

  He recalled the narrow escape from the Zorgs, as he watched his tiny baby son begin to stir from the herbal potion which had kept him quiet and still until now, saving both their lives. Two days ago, he had managed to avoid one hunting party by hiding quietly in thick scrub, but the Zorgs were everywhere. A second group had picked up his trail during the night, tracking him all one day and the next; he could never have made the climb with a wriggling babe on his back.

  Shaking himself from his memories, he smiled fondly into the groggy, blinking gaze. When he placed the pouch to the baby's lips to feed him the last milk for who-knew-how-long, he started to hum. He tried to remember the lullaby his wife used to sing, but stopped abruptly after a few notes, as his throat constricted. A silent tear slipped from each of his soulful black eyes. Only then, in the welcome stillness, did he allow a moment to mourn that loss.

  The peaks of the Impossible Mountains which towered all around him, echoed nothing but a silent tribute to the moment. And right now, they appeared not quite so impassable. Instead, they offered the hope of escape, perhaps even shelter.

  In that stupor of exhaustion, the young man sat cross-legged in the same spot for long minutes after feeding the baby. Content, with his belly full, the infant was sleeping again. All was quiet, for the first time in days.

  The sounds of the Zorgs gradually faded into the distance; noises came only occasionally now on the westerly wind. Perhaps they had given up. After all, he was a scrawny specimen, wiry and tough from his toil on the land, hardly worthwhile quarry for the trouble it was to climb after him. And my son, he shuddered at the thought, a mere mouthful! Besides, it was common knowledge that these monsters were not averse to eating their own dead! He was too frightened to peer over the edge. It would make him retch to see any more evidence of their gruesome habits. He could guess well enough, there would not be much left, except bones, of the one who had fallen.

  Suddenly, he remembered his own thirst and raised the milk pouch to his lips to drain the dregs. Two or three drops were all that remained to moisten his parched throat, but it was enough.

  Content with the barest refreshment, he struggled to his feet, realising how stiff and sore his leg had become since he had stopped. He put weight on it a few times, testing it. Satisfied that he could still walk, he scooped up his son, safely cocooned in the hessian bag, and strapped it firmly to his back once more. He would keep going. Night was falling and up here it would get very cold, very quickly. He had less than one hour to find a cave and light a fire for warmth and protection from marauding wild animals.

  Limping heavily, he set about picking a path through the enormous boulders of the canyon, away from the cliff edge. It was not easy. Each boulder was more than double his height, smooth and round. He clambered over them, very careful not to slip. His arms ached, but at least it was less daunting than this afternoon's climb. That had been the bravest thing he had ever done!

  Now, with his mind free of the fog of fear, he could tap into his perceptive sense. As he moved further in to the deep canyon, he received a fleeting mental glimpse: he and his son were in a cavern beside a fire. Was it a real premonition, not just hope, that he would find such a place? Such visions were infrequent and random for him, but if it happened again, he would know he was heading in the right direction.

  Another hour passed and the deep shadows of the canyon walls drew in, ominous and dark, as night fell. There had been no more glimpses and the man began to doubt his foresight, but the feeling in his gut was still good so he pressed on in the same direction, one weary step after another. He tried to ignore that his leg continued to throb mightily. If anything, it was even worse now. His tattered braies stuck to the wound and pulled painfully with every movement. Grimacing, he gritted his teeth against it. Only one thing was important – his son's safety.

  Every minute felt like an hour; exhaustion threatened to get the better of him. He was too tired to think, let alone see visions. The babe was stirring and he had not even been able to find a spring to quench their thirst. Water could at least fill his son's belly until he could find them both something to eat.

  Finally, his strength gave out. He slumped down in a level space between two huge boulders and closed his eyes, defeated.

  A moment later, the baby's sharp cry roused him, reminding him that cave or not, he should try to light a fire or they would both freeze to death in the night. The temperature had already dropped sharply and his hands shook as he searched his pockets for flint. Casting around the immediate area, he saw no tinder. Not a scrap. He sighed heavily, blowing into his hands to warm them. His eyes drifted hopelessly.

  Dimly, in the shadows ahead of him, he saw a crevice in the rock wall, just wide enough to crawl inside. He unstrapped his backpack so he could squeeze in and pulled his fussing parcel after him; drawing the precious bundle tightly into the circle of his arms, he hoped his own body would provide enough warmth for both of them to survive the night. Completely drained, he was past worrying if his son's cries would draw the attention of anyone or anything. Nor did he care enough to react to the abominable pain in his leg. In fact, he was certain that at this moment, he could sleep through the end of the world!

  He fell instantly into an exhausted sleep.

  Only a moment later, it seemed, something made him open his eyes and it was not his son's cries. Someone was leaning over him. In the pitch darkness with his mind groggy, he could not make out his visitor's features, but sensed the presence was not dangerous. As the fog of sleep cleared, he became certain that the company was friendly. The gentle hand on his arm gave ample assurance, pulling him to his feet and further into the crevice. Hurriedly, he grabbed up his priceless bundle which, miraculously, still slept.

  The space began to open out, just over head height, to a short tunnel. At the end of it, firelight flickered. In the dim glow, he could just make out his companion, a Morvian youth, a little shorter than himself. The hand on his arm gave him the same picture he had seen earlier in his vision.

  The tunnel opened into a cave; in its centre was a roaring log fire and to one side against a large boulder was a stack of blankets and a full water-skin. Surprising what one notices when desperate, mused the man, feeling very hungry, thirsty and feverishly cold, then a little nauseous, in confusing waves. His gaze returned quickly to the camp-fire. Over the flames roasted three fat lizards suspended on wire. The aroma was heavenly. Yes, I am definitely hungry! Meeting his young companion's dark gaze, he expressed deep gratitude in the usual way, without a single word.

  Then a movement from the back of the cave drew his attention, as two more figures stepped out of the shadows into the firelight, also Morvian, a young girl and an old man. Their eloquent obsidian eyes held nothing but a warm welcome, although he had never met these people before.

  Surprisingly, they showed no suspicion of a stranger, nor resentment of another mouth to feed. With so much deprivation and suffering in his homeland, he would have understood such reactions. This was a vast land with its population widely dispersed. The last few years had been difficult. With the barbarian invasion, every Morvian was in equally grave danger. If they did not help each other . . . who would? The mother tongue was the same everywhere . . . when they had a use for it.

  He limped forward a step or two then stopped, swaying with fatigue. Cradling his pack into the crook of one hairy arm, he stretched the other out in a simple open-handed gesture of friendship, as he soaked
up the warmth of the fire and the promise of rest. Through the fog of exhaustion, came his late-wife's wise and often repeated words, 'Dear husband, one can never be too tired for manners . . .', and for her he made the necessary effort of speech.

  “Good evening, dear countrymen. I am Arin, a simple farmer from Fane . . . now homeless, as you also appear to be.” His wide mouth twisted wryly with painful memories, before he opened the flap of his satchel, uncovering the little face. The babe was fully awake now and sounded hungry again. I wonder if they have any milk, thought Arin absently. “And this is my son, Bilu.” With that, he smiled from ear to ear, as was the way of Morvians – when they had something to smile about. And, if he had not been so damn cold and tired to the bone, he would have abandoned his garments to engage in the customary jig-for-joy around the camp-fire!

  Safe, at least for now, in this hidden cave with others of his kind, warm shelter, food and water, he thanked the Stars and all that might be Holy. Somehow though, he did not quite catch the names of his new friends when they spoke, because he had pitched forward, collapsing unconscious on the cave floor. Luckily, the girl had enough foresight to catch the baby, Bilu, as Arin fell.

  Chapter 7 : BROTHERS-AT-ARMS

  During the long day's march, Ji rode in the centre of the column.

  Ensconced among his peers, he easily avoided the immediate company of his uncle. Despite convincing himself over recent months that he didn't care who knew about his feelings for Espira, he recalled being very nervous in Luminor's presence in the Capital.

  Strangely, he had a feeling Essie was protecting him then, and probably had been doing so for a long time. But that protection had gone now. Since he rode out of the Capital, he felt a loss, somehow . . . exposed.

  He was on edge about many things. This was his first quest; so much was unknown about the lands beyond. Despite the assurance that Lord Luminor's shield enveloped the entire company, he guessed that in the heat of battle this could change. He considered all his brothers-at-arms. Human, Morvian and Gaian. Survival might ultimately depend on pure wits and skill with a sword. It could mean the same for any of them, even the empowered warriors. He would not take Gaian protection for granted. Even that had limits. He had heard the stories.

  Growing up in a family with mystical talents, Ji had learned much about Gaian powers . . . and something of edicts. As a mere human, naturally he had not been endowed with such magic. However, he now sensed much more than physical separation from Espira. He felt a lack, deep in his soul. It was more than the edict: now that Essie's warm, pervading influence was gone, he realised what he missed.

  When the company camped for the night, in an attempt to avoid discovery, he chose to join a large group of human soldiers. Among them were several with whom he had become friends during the ride. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. Recalling some helpful advice he had heard in a tavern not long ago, he kept to the centre of this company where the many and varied emotions surrounding him would act as cover. Lord Luminor had far more important things to focus on than one human's personal feelings.

  Soon, all anyone would be thinking about would be staying alive, watching each other's backs and rescuing some Morvian brothers!

  Later, when they camped for the night and snoring gradually took the place of quiet conversation in the human ranks, Ji settled down in his bedroll, confident his wishful dreams this night would mingle with countless others. Many of the young men were away from their wives, lovers or families, on a quest for the first time in their lives. Everyone would be missing someone, every night from now on. As soon as his head went down, he fell asleep, shamelessly dreaming of a beautiful, golden-haired princess with a magical rainbow in her eyes.

  On the other side of the Baramese camp, the Gaian warriors gathered for quiet reflection after the meal. Luminor and his lead warriors formed a small group around a camp-fire. Midnight passed unnoticed; so did the following hours of darkness, well-guarded by the night watch. Every warrior eventually found a couple of hours sleep. They would rise an hour before first light. So much relied on the preservation of their energies, mental and physical, to protect and serve their brothers-at-arms through the coming weeks and ultimately ensure the success of the quest.

  Luminor was the last to find rest under his cloak and he needed it as much as the next man, perhaps more so, with the responsibility he held. He felt positive about the days ahead. Thanks to the Elite healing talents of Sister Serafina, and Fralii's loving ministrations, he had once more recovered. The long scar across the base of his ribs was barely visible now, undeniably the best it had looked in a long time. No-one knew why it still flared up periodically. At this moment, however, there was hardly a twinge of discomfort. His physical and mental strength had peaked with the noble purpose of this quest.

  This was the legacy entrusted to him from the Ancient Realm, through his father and forefathers: to keep the balance of Nature in Existence, to destroy evil and restore good. To protect and serve All Living, no matter race or creed, and to spread the word of brotherhood.

  The Alliance was evidence of that. Who could have known, it would take him even beyond the Known World! In his hands and heart, he held latent restorative power. His driving force was the Fire of Love. It had restored him, too, more than once. As before, the Supreme Power of the Fires coursed through his veins, all the way to his fingertips. Yes . . . I am more than capable of another victory over evil!

  Briefly, a tiny worm of uncertainty tried to crawl into the corner of his mind, For how long?, before an answering surge of mental energy rose to kill it.

  *

  Luminor's decree was clear. Espira and Ardientor were to continue their lessons during his absence.

  “Acquiescence and respect are essential . . . as is humility. There are to be no questions, no rebellion. And no teasing your mother!” He finished with an affectionate smile, but his eyes were stern. There was no threat of punishment. He simply assured them of the many virtues to be learned here. “Woven in to the fabric of Existence, is an endless need for change. There will always be one quest or another, for those who are brave and willing. But a successful questador, with the weight of the Alliance to bear on his shoulders, needs a very high level of training. Accomplishment of skills in the ancient arts and combat are one thing, acquiring virtues to match, quite another. That is what makes a true warrior!” Good progress in all these things would ensure their right to participate in the next mission. And on his return, he would surely put them to the test.

  To that end, daily training exercises and long periods of meditation were insisted upon, keeping them both well occupied. Elite supervision prevailed for most of the daylight hours, sometimes well after dark. In this way, their volatile youthful energy was safely spent and they slept deeply each night.

  Fralii kept a maternal eye on them, despite constantly feeling challenged by their abilities. She continued with the weekly consultations that had become part of family life. It nourished respect and communication. Patiently, she listened to the occasional whine about the boredom of repetition, doing her best to stimulate their intellect with conversation. On rare days when they had leisure time, she indulged their need for fun with games on samblar-back, or complicated challenges that took them all around the city looking for clues.

  As the matriarch, their grandmother, Aleana, did not let them out of her mind-sense for a moment, having long suspected these two grandchildren possessed powers which far surpassed hers, or those of anyone else in the Capital. Nevertheless she was proud of them all.

  Luminor's presence had always provided a balance, both in the administration of the Alliance and in his family. His political position had changed considerably, but he had kept the sacredness.

  The ancient legacy, passed through Thunis, lived on. Dear Thunis! Aleana sensed her late husband's pride from deep within the Eternal Realm. Now, their younger son, Altor, once again served capably in Luminor's stead as governor for the people, and during Luminor's absen
ce, she was confident that the powerful edict would hold over the distance and maintain balance in her gifted grandchildren.

  *

  And so it was that the first few weeks passed quite smoothly. Even Ardientor was the epitome of obedience, until one morning in the quiet woodland glade where the siblings usually practised.

  He was in an aggressive mood again, even before they began to spar.

  These combat exercises with sword only, no air-cloaks or other tricks, were to develop strength and agility in the pure physical skills. Since becoming proficient in the handling of their blades, they had been allowed to come here independently for the last three years. It was a refreshing change to be free of the constant supervision. They were well-matched and both enjoyed the physical and mental challenge.

  This morning's combat started like any other, Ardientor, intense as he quite often was.

  In the first bout, Espira came out the victor, but not easily. Her ability to predict her brother's moves was severely hampered by the edict. Nonetheless, supremely agile and superior at evasion even without an air-cloak, she was a strong opponent. The second time, she had matched every sword stroke and avoided every thrust.

  Pinned to the ground with Espira's blade at his throat, Ardientor was exasperated, angrier than he had ever been! Today, his father's edict frustrated him beyond reason, added to his simmering resentment that Espira was better at everything. However, despite being three years younger, he was now a head taller and physically stronger than his sister.

  With a sudden surge of energy, he threw her off, refusing defeat by leaping to his feet to continue fighting as if the world was about to end. With desperate skill, he wielded his blade, single-minded, determined to win. His strength surged. To Ardientor, it was no longer swordplay. It was a real battle. His advance was relentless. Both hands on his sword, he slashed again and again, driving her back with his strength and force of will.