Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  That evening, Hallagond and Fima built a small fire, and the Company gathered for what would be the first of several disappointing talks with Bint Raed. “It has occurred to me that you truly do not know these lands, and you don’t understand what is in store. Gaelen and Rogond might have been poisoned by bad water had I not noticed them. I don’t wish to dishearten any of you, for you have met every challenge and none have faltered. But you must understand what lies ahead. These are bad lands. It will take at least a fortnight to gain the far side of the fire-mountains.” She looked around at the weary, resigned faces of her friends, and sighed.

  “The three chief perils yet to be faced are of earth, wind, and fire. The earth will trap you in three ways—in tar pits, in sand pits, or by hurling stones down upon you in the mountains. The wind may blow so wild and fierce that the sands will strip you of your flesh if you are caught unaware, and even without such ferocity it will raise the dust to choke you. The fire is perhaps the kindest ending; we need worry about it only when crossing the mountains. There are storms that happen there, often in dark of night, where lightning strikes will end your lives quickly. These storms bring wind, but no rain...and the lightning shakes the stone mountainsides such that great rocks may fall upon our heads.”

  Gaelen turned toward the distant hills. “I can hear thunder,” she said, “and I can see a flickering glow over the hills yonder.”

  “This will be more impressive as we draw closer,” said Bint Raed, “for those are not the fire-mountains. You will not see those until we have crossed that line of hills. Then you will see something! The fire-storms happen not every night, but from what I have read they are common enough that we are certain to be caught in at least one.”

  “How is it that you are so familiar with these lands?” asked Hallagond. “I mean…I know you must have traveled them once, but who in his right mind would frequent these places long enough to gain so much knowledge of them?”

  She smiled at him. “When I was young, I held a special interest in what was known of faraway lands, for I greatly desired to travel to them. I have always had a special fascination with maps. I read the old records of Tuathas, and of Eádros, the Realm of Light, but though such tales were captivating, they didn’t seem real. I knew they didn’t exist anymore, and I wanted to learn about real places. I was especially fascinated by such terrifying and formidable lands as the ones we must now traverse.

  I never wanted to come here, but I still wanted to know all about it. It has been the friend of Dûn Arian, for it has protected us from invasion over land throughout our history. As you have said, Hallagond, what enemy would frequent such a place? Yet there are those of the Citadel who would learn all they can no matter where they venture. Those brave souls did venture here, and made it their business to explore and record all they could. I loved reading of their adventures! Many did not return home, but, thankfully, their written journals were brought back.”

  “It sounds as though your people are afflicted with an unfortunate curiosity,” said Gaelen.

  “Well, that’s certainly something you would understand and know about,” said Galador. He turned to the others. “I could elaborate, but I will refrain for now.”

  “Let me bring your attention back to the moment,” said Bint Raed. “You must not eat or drink anything here, hunt any beast or bird, or disturb any living creature. Things here are unwholesome in general, with venomous bites and poisonous flesh. These are hard lands, and they make for short lives.”

  “Hmmm…a fortnight, you say?” Fima was downcast. He knew that his strength waned each day, and the prospect of a fortnight in such a place did not exactly fill him with optimism.

  “Do not be disheartened, my good dwarf,” said Gaelen, who probably loved Fima more than she did any living soul save Rogond and Nelwyn. “Your folk are the hardiest in all of Alterra. You will reach the library with enough strength to spare, and you will spend countless happy hours studying and learning there. I swear on my life that I shall do all in my power to aid you.”

  Fima smiled at this, but he could not resist toying with her. “Oh, no, Gaelen…please do not make such an oath. The last thing I would wish for is to owe you a life-debt! After all, look at what happened to Hallagond.”

  “I would prefer to not dwell upon such thoughts, if it’s the same to you,” said Hallagond, with gruffness in his voice that didn’t match the humor in his eyes.

  Tomorrow they would resume their grim journey, suppressing all curiosity. They would keep their eyes fixed on the course ahead, and yet would remain wary of everything around them. There would be no time spent in playfulness—all effort would be expended in putting as much distance behind them as possible.

  When they crossed the hills, they were treated to their first sight of the fire-mountains, and that night they witnessed the incredible spectacle of a distant fire-storm. It was as though the mountains knew of their approach, and would bid them a spectacular but sinister welcome.

  In the land between the hills and the mountains, everything seemed to change. The heat of the day was lessened, but the nights were truly cold, and they shivered around their small fires, each keeping company with his or her own. Rogond and Gaelen, Nelwyn and Galador, Hallagond and Estle, all shared their cloaks and the warmth of their bodies, as well as the love that grew in their hearts. Bint Raed and Fima were likewise united in their frailty, for neither had seen youth in many a year, and both were mortal. They told interesting tales, and their friendship grew. Fima learned much concerning the founding of the Citadel, and Bint Raed learned of the realm of Mountain-home, and of the Great Wars in the northlands.

  “Do they have good things to eat in the Silver City?” asked Fima wistfully on one especially cold evening, after he had finished his third meal that day of flatbread and dried meat. The water from some of the casks was beginning to taste stale, and though it would not harm them to drink it, it had lost some of its appeal.

  Bint Raed warmed to the question at once, and all in the Company were rapt at her descriptions of the bounty they would feast upon once they gained the Citadel. She described some of the treasures that could be gained from the deep waters, speaking of strange creatures filled with sweet meat, and deep green ocean plants that chewed like salty leather but made wonderful soup when boiled. She told also of great fishes that could swallow a man whole, and others that would tear hapless mariners to pieces if ill fortune took their vessels into the deeps.

  Galador had seen the vast waters long ago, and he had never forgotten them. He looked forward to standing once more upon stony shores and hearing the call of the sea in his ears. He had last looked upon it not long after the ruin of Eádros; he had traveled there from the Monadh-ailan, standing in awe upon the rocks, looking out over the waters that stretched before him without end.

  Bint Raed’s words tantalized them, but speaking of wonderful food and drink is not nearly as satisfying as actually eating and drinking it. The Company grew silent, bundled against the ever-rising wind for another long night.

  As they drew nearer to the mountains, the risk of high winds increased. When these blew across the lowlands they carried sand and choking clouds of dust, dismaying even the dromadin. They flattened their ears and folded their long legs beneath their bellies, refusing to rise from the sand and move on. The Company tried as best they could to keep the sand and dust from their eyes and nostrils. Breathing of it was ill-advised, and some, like Fima, had already suffered harmful effects. Everyone huddled together beside the dromadin, using them as shields, hoping that all their belongings would not blow away.

  According to Bint Raed, these winds could get much worse—no living thing could survive them in open lands. She had read the accounting of one brave party that had survived such a storm; apparently they witnessed the painful and unpleasant end of a comrade who didn’t make it to the shelter of rocks. His clothing and flesh were literally stripped from his bones by the screaming, wind-driven sand. This did nothing to encourage the
Company, and they began always to look for rocks that they might escape to.

  They approached the foothills of the Fire-mountains at last, asking Bint Raed whether the killing sands would follow beyond them. “I don’t know the answer to that,” was the solemn reply.

  A strange odor hung in the air; it was picked up first by Gaelen, who described it as being rather like pitch. “It is no doubt one of the many tar-pits that dot the lower elevations of these mountains,” said Bint Raed. “Do you recall the black smoke we noticed two days ago...how it still burns? It is the smoke seen when one of the tar pits is set afire by a lightning strike. Remember, no rain comes with these storms, and the tar is very easily struck alight. It will burn for a long time when that happens.”

  She smiled at her friends’ expressions of horror. “Whatever you do, don’t set your feet into anything black and sticky.”

  The Company shuddered; this warning was entirely unnecessary. Soon the black rivulets of tar were everywhere, and they made it more difficult to move forward, for even a narrow ribbon would mire the feet of man or beast.

  “How did this come to be here?” asked Rogond, who held some fascination for such things.

  “We do not know,” said Bint Raed. “This is the only place our people have encountered it. We do know that sometimes the tar flows up from beneath the ground, and there’s also black oil. Alas that is it far from the City, across the Plains of Thirst, or we would have made use of it.”

  “Alas, indeed,” said Rogond with a sigh. He had forgotten about the Plains of Thirst.

  They climbed ever higher, making for a low pass across the mountains. They gained it as the sun went down before them; soon they would begin the long, slow way back down into the flat plains beyond. “That did not seem so difficult,” said Nelwyn, with some pride. “In the north we have many sets of mountains, and we have crossed the tallest among them. They are much more formidable than these. Gaelen and I have made that crossing twice—once even in winter!”

  “Each place has its own perils,” replied Bint Raed. “See now, how the clouds gather to mock us? No water will they give, but they will soon spawn a fire-storm, and those are always more fierce near the mountaintops, which is where we are now. We must find shelter for the night.”

  That night would prove to be one of the longest since the journey began. It started with the building of the clouds above their heads, bringing a sense of foreboding. The ground felt strangely warm as they sheltered beneath a large overhang of rock. Bint Raed explained that to be in the open was to invite being struck by lightning, and now they all crowded together as they saw the first flash of fire snaking across the darkening sky. Sometimes it traveled among the clouds, and at such times it was beautiful, but when it struck the ground it shook the mountains.

  Rogond could feel Gaelen’s heart beating hard and fast. Neither she nor Nelwyn had ever liked lightning storms—a very sensible attitude in a forest-dweller. He tried to calm her, but she would not be comforted.

  When the storm struck with its full force, it was a cataclysm of noise and light that shook the mountain. A mighty bolt struck the cliff-face above the Company, breaking loose a huge chunk of rock and earth, sending it down upon them. Though it missed their sanctuary, the force split the very ground where they were sheltering. Part of the overhang broke loose and fell into a great rend that had suddenly appeared in the rock. Two of the dromadin fell with it. The Company struggled to keep hold of their beasts and keep track of their friends, calling frantically, trying to be heard over the roar of the wind and the crashing rocks and thunder-claps.

  Fissures opened in the mountainside, issuing forth steam followed by rivulets of black oil. These spread all around them as they tried to find one another and re-group. The Company now stood on opposite sides of a great gap in the rock—Gaelen, Hallagond, and Rogond on one side, Nelwyn, Galador, Estle, and Bint Raed on the other. Except for the two unfortunate dromadin, all the animals were accounted for.

  “Where’s Fima?” asked Gaelen, clutching Rogond’s arm.

  “I have not seen or heard him, though I have been searching,” was the reply. They began calling to Fima with no success.

  “I didn’t see him fall,” said Gaelen, fighting back tears of panic. “He may be trapped, or hurt so that he cannot answer. I don’t know what to do…what should we do?” She looked to Rogond and Hallagond, hoping for guidance, but they had none to give.

  “Just keep calling,” said Rogond at last. “He is bound to hear us.”

  “Yes, Gaelen, keep calling to him,” said Hallagond, who wanted very much to be of help. “The worst of the storm has passed, I think.”

  But just when Hallagond thought their lot was improving, he was proven wrong by a fire-bolt that struck the mountainside not a hundred feet from him. It nearly knocked him down, raised every hair on his body, and terrified the horses. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it ignited one of the streams of black oil, sending flames and odorous black smoke billowing into the air, fueled by the high winds.

  “We must get away from that raging fire at once,” yelled Hallagond. “If the wind shifts it will cut off our escape. We dare not stay here.”

  “But, we must find Fima! I will not leave without him,” cried Gaelen.

  “Nor will I,” Rogond shouted, and the two of them resumed their frantic calls to their friend, who would now have to answer over the sound of wind, thunder, and fire, if he were able.

  “There he is!” cried Gaelen, pointing straight into the wall of flames. “I saw him on the other side of the fire. He is lying at the base of the rock, and he’s not moving. No, wait…I think he is moving after all. How could we not have seen him earlier?” Now that she knew where to look, it seemed as plain as day.

  Fima had been roused by the heat and smoke, both of which threatened to take him in a few minutes. He had nowhere to run to, and they heard him cry in terror as the flames drew nearer. This cry was drowned by a fit of coughing as the black smoke nearly engulfed him. His friends did not know how to aid him, and they cried out in frustration, for he would surely be lost.

  Gaelen broke free of Rogond’s grasp and ran to Finan, who quieted as he felt her touch. She grabbed the fire-cloak from her pack, praying that it would do as Bint Raed had promised. Before Rogond could stop her she wrapped herself in it, pulled the hood down over her face, and ran toward the flames. She drew back for a moment—this would take all the faith and courage she could muster. She gathered herself and sprang into the fire, calling the name of Farahin Ri-Elathan in a loud and terrible voice.

  The next few minutes lasted nearly a lifetime for Rogond. There was no sign of Gaelen or Fima, and he heard no cries. The wind rose higher and the flames rose with it. None could survive that inferno, and Rogond stood helpless, screaming the name of his beloved as his brother looked into the fire, his face a mask of horror as though lost in a black memory.

  If Rogond never received any gift in his life again he would be content, for the sight of Gaelen struggling back through the flames with Fima in her arms was a greater blessing than he could ever have hoped for. He cried out with relief and ran to her aid. Both she and Fima were in a bad way; they had nearly been overcome by the heat and smoke, but they were most definitely alive.

  “Her boots are on fire!” cried Hallagond, who set himself to the task of putting out the smoldering leather of Gaelen’s old, worn favorite boots. They were covered with black oil, and he could not extinguish them—she would not be able to salvage them this time. Hallagond removed them as quickly as he could, but her feet and legs had already blistered. “We must get away from here,” he yelled at Rogond, who nodded in agreement. They bore their friends to relative safety, with the horses and dromadin following.

  As if it could sense that all in the Company had learned their lesson about underestimating the Fire-mountains, the storm abated. Soon, it had gone.

  The Company worked their way around the barriers separating them, and they were soon reunited. Fima was s
till unconscious. Nelwyn wept as she tried to clean the black ash and soot from his face. His beautiful white beard had been badly singed, with large sections of it frizzled away. His breath rattled in his chest and whistled in his throat, as though he could barely draw air. He showed no evidence of burns other than reddening of his face and hands, for dwarves are quite fire-tolerant.

  Gaelen, on the other hand, was not resistant to fire. Although the cloak had served her well, there was still the matter of her swollen, blistered feet and legs. She cried as Rogond tended them, biting down hard on the collar of her leather jerkin. It had been difficult to secure the fire-cloak around both herself and Fima, but she had managed as best she could. Still, her right hand had been exposed to the flames, and had been badly burned. It was hard for her to bear the pain of it.

  “Where is that wonderful ointment?” asked Galador, recalling the good it had done for Hallagond’s wound.

  “There’s not much left,” said Rogond. “We dare not use it, for it burns when applied, and I don’t think she would withstand the pain. These wounds are too extensive.”

  “What about that dark elixir she carries? Perhaps a drop or two of that wouldn’t hurt,” said Hallagond. “It certainly took my pain away, and gave me a long, restful sleep filled with pleasant dreams. It might aid her.”

  Rogond drew forth the small silver flask from the pack at Gaelen’s belt. “Gaelen, Hallagond is right. You should have a small sip of this, so that you can rest. We are taking good care of Fima.” He held the flask to her lips, and she took a very small sip of the dark fluid. The pain left her eyes almost at once, and she sagged down onto the sand.