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

by C S Marks

  Hallagond was worried, as she appeared to be dead rather than asleep.

  Rogond smiled. “It’s the eyes, isn’t it? I’m quite accustomed to the tendency of Elves to keep their eyes open even when they are resting, but for most it takes some getting used to. She’s not truly at peace here in this place, and so her eyes remain open. I don’t blame her.”

  “So, is she still partly aware, then?” asked Hallagond. “When she gave me that elixir, I was dead to the world. Nothing would have roused me.”

  “Yes, she is still aware, and I would say nothing that I did not want her to hear. She took a smaller amount than you did, probably because she wants to be able to rouse herself quickly should need arise.”

  “But she can’t walk on those feet, surely...and she can’t pull her bow with blistered fingers,” said Hallagond.

  “Yet she can still ride, and she can wield a blade with her left hand. You are about to witness something miraculous, Hallagond. She will heal quickly so long as nothing else happens to take her spirit.” With those words, Rogond covered Gaelen with his cloak and left her to see to Fima, whose need was greater.

  Hallagond remained with Gaelen, his grey eyes moist, many emotions turning in his head. He whispered to her, for he knew she could hear him: “That was a most courageous act. You are the most true-hearted and valiant of friends. I once faced the same, but I failed my test...I’m not sure that even a fire-cloak would have made any difference. My brother is a fortunate man to have your heart, for a great heart it is. Rest well, little Avinasha. I will watch over you.” Gaelen closed her eyes, and he knew she had heard him.

  Estle and Nelwyn were examining the fire-cloak with wonder. Other than the bright finish having been dulled by a coating of black soot, it had taken no damage. “So, this is more than just a garish garment. I know it reflects the sun, but it actually turns fire and smoke,” said Estle, fingering the cool, bright folds of the curious fabric. “It must be rare indeed. I have never even heard of such a thing.”

  “Thank the stars it worked,” said Nelwyn. She then addressed Bint Raed, who sat nearby. “You knew this would be needed. We owe you a great debt, Master Weaver.”

  Bint Raed’s face was deadly serious. “Thank the stars, indeed. The cloak had never been tested. It took great faith for Gaelen to throw herself through a wall of flame on my word alone. I don’t like to think of what would have befallen if the cloak had failed.”

  Nelwyn smiled at her. “Gaelen knew better. She trusts you with her life, as have we all.”

  “Still, I might have tested it first,” said Bint Raed.

  “You forget who you are speaking of,” said Estle, laughing. “Gaelen seems often to act on faith...mostly in herself, I’m thinking.”

  “Yes,” replied Bint Raed. “It’s one of several ways in which you are alike.” To this, Estle would no longer argue.

  Fima did not come around until long after sunrise. He reeked of burning oil and soot, and immediately began coughing. The deep, liquid rattle in his chest was very distressing. When he finally spoke, he could barely manage a croaking whisper; the fiery-hot air and smoke had taken its toll.

  “How is it that I’m still here? I was helpless, and there was no aid anyone could give. My friends could not find me. How is it that I’m here?”

  Gaelen had found Fima unconscious; she could barely see him through the choking, foul-smelling blackness that engulfed him. She had lifted him with some difficulty, for he weighed more than she did. She had then wrapped the fire-cloak around both of them, keeping the hood across her face, and struggled back through the wall of fire. He had not been aware of his own rescue.

  Nelwyn told him the tale, placing the fire-cloak in his hands. He looked at it with wonder; as with Estle, he had not truly appreciated its properties. “So, this is what allowed Gaelen to come for me,” he said.

  “That, and a lot of faith,” said Bint Raed. “She did not know the cloak would work as well as it did. She must love you dearly, Fima Lore-master. Rest now, and take some water. Gaelen has vowed that you will reach the Citadel alive, and we must now make certain her effort has been well spent.”

  “Take me to her,” said Fima. “I would thank her for my life, and see that she is well.”

  “She is resting. This act took much of her strength,” said Nelwyn. “There will be plenty of time later.” She covered Fima with his own cloak and left him to rest. He was faring better than they had hoped, though he coughed up black soot for many days.

  Gaelen recovered quickly, and within a week her skin was almost fully renewed. Fima grumbled endlessly concerning the fact that he now owed her a life-debt, and he made her promise to release him from it should he ever pull her from flaming death. She gave him her solemn oath that she would release him should he save her from any form of death whatsoever, including that caused by excessive weariness from listening to dwarves grumbling endlessly about life-debts. “True friends do not owe life-debts, Fima,” she said. He stopped reminding her of it after that.

  Hallagond was very solicitous of Gaelen while she was healing, and she now had both brothers attending to her every need. The entire Company treated her with reverence, as though she had done something very heroic, and she accepted their attentions even though they made her uncomfortable, saying: “Any of you would have done the same.”

  They started across the plains of thirst, a journey that Bint Raed estimated would take another fortnight, telling them that when they reached the end of it there would be kinder lands, and only about a week’s travel to the mountains guarding the eastern approach to the Citadel. Thankfully, they still had plenty of water despite the loss of their two dromadin.

  The Company was encouraged, and all felt certain they would succeed in completing the journey, yet Fima’s breathing was now quite labored. Bint Raed was not faring well either; she was pale, and tired quickly. The long hours of riding across the hot, dry plains taxed both of them, and thus they needed to rest more often.

  During one of these periods of rest, Gaelen noticed Hallagond standing alone on the watch. She approached, offering to stand the watch with him, for there was a question she would ask. “Ask away,” he replied, “Though I think I’ve guessed your question. You want to know about the test that I faced, and failed.”

  “You have told me some of it already,” she replied, “but I believe the only way to be free of such a burden is to set it down. Will you not let me help you?”

  His face drew briefly into an expression of anguish before becoming a mask of stone. “If only it were as easy as that,” he said. “The sight of you emerging through that wall of fire brought everything back. I could not have done what you did to save your friend, though I had the choice once, and I turned from it. I didn’t even have the courage to come to terms with my own failure...I ran from it because I could not face it.”

  “Then face it now,” said Gaelen. There was no accusation in her voice, no judgment of him in her eyes. “You need tell no one save Rogond. I believe that was your promise to him?” She saw the look of surprise flash briefly across his face. “Rogond keeps nothing from me. Surely you know it by now.”

  “Summon him here,” said Hallagond, “and you shall hear of my shame. I’m weary of running.”

  Gaelen went immediately to find Rogond, lest Hallagond waver in his resolve. The three of them sat at the base of a ring of large stones, having set Galador to the watch.

  Hallagond began his tale, his voice and eyes cold and without expression. “There was once a young Ranger, who was strong, fleet-footed, and skilled in battle. He was also proud, and overconfident, and did not believe that any ill fortune would ever befall him. His friends, Rangers all, had made him their captain, and why not? He was the tallest, the cleverest, and the boldest among them. His plans did not fail. He began to believe that he was blessed, and that it was his destiny never to be defeated, but to bring grief to his enemies and praise to his own name. His pride grew with each victory.

  But
then, his acts turned to recklessness driven by overconfidence, and a few of his forays against the enemy didn’t end so well. This surely could not be through any fault of his, and he resolved to prove it to himself and everyone else by arranging an attack on a group of Anori bandits, who had been of a particularly troublesome nature in the lands he was set to defend.”

  Hallagond sighed, dropping all pretenses. “I thought nothing of it. I knew this man, this bandit captain, was a clever enemy, but I underestimated him. One of the other Rangers—my best friend at the time—tried to warn me. His name was Tomas, and he was one of the fiercest fighters I’ve ever known. We’d served together through countless forays, and I always admired him for his courage, though not often for wits. He warned me that the bandits had a reputation for trapping and killing anyone who came after them. He told me my plan was risky, and it could end badly if all did not go as intended. It was the first time he had ever questioned my authority.

  When he tried to turn the others against the plan, I…I grew angry. I was supposed to be in command, and I couldn’t tolerate a supposed friend undermining me. I drove him out of the group, warning him to not show his face among us again. In my anger, I called him a traitor and a coward. Yet he followed behind, hoping to be forgiven, for he was still my friend.”

  The words came harder for Hallagond now as he struggled to control the grief in his voice. “The bandits were fierce fighters, and their chieftain was very clever—as it turned out he was cleverer than I was. My plan was a spectacular failure, exactly as Tomas had warned. My men…my men were trapped against a stone cliff by a wall of fire, as their enemies had intended. All except me.”

  Hallagond’s voice went very quiet, so that Rogond could barely hear him. “Do you know what it’s like to burn to death? I think I do.” A tear blazed a trail through the dust on his face, his jaw muscles working. “The fire burned so hot that I could not aid them. All I could do was stare at them as my strength, my will, drained out of me. I heard a sound behind me and turned to behold my friend, Tomas, the one I had named a coward, rushing up from behind. A great, wooly bear of a man, Tomas. We both stared in horror, hearing the screams of our comrades, seeing the anguish in their faces as the flames took them. There is no other sound like it.

  I just stood there, helpless—I could not believe what was happening before my eyes. But Tomas, the one I named a coward…he didn’t just stand there. He cried a terrible cry, wrapped himself in his woolen cloak, and leaped in to try to save at least one. Alas, my last sight of him was as a flaming torch; his cloak had not protected him for more than a few seconds. All the while, the Anori were laughing at us…laughing!”

  Hallagond shuddered, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, like a child. “They all died,” he said, his face expressionless. “Every one of them. I heard the laughter of my enemies as my friends screamed in their agony, and I could do nothing. I knew that I could not save them. To pull them from the flames would have prolonged their lives by a few hours of agonizing torment at most.” He looked up at Rogond. “Nelwyn said that being mired in that foul pool we passed near the Mountains of Dread would be a terrible death, but I know of a worse one.”

  Gaelen and Rogond remained silent, for they sensed that Hallagond had not finished. After a moment he spoke again, his voice choked with the shame welling up within him. “I wanted in that moment to die with them. It would have been fitting...after all, I was their captain. I should have been the first to suffer, and the last to find release, for it was my pride that placed them in harm’s way. My friend, the one I named ‘coward,’ died trying to make a difference to them, but I…I just stood there. Even when I knew they would all die, I could not cast myself into the flames to join them.”

  He looked at Rogond as though pleading for his life. “I wanted to, but I could not. Do you believe me?”

  Rogond was torn between shock and horror. He did not answer at first.

  “My brother, I ask you once more, do you believe me?”

  Slowly, the shock faded from Rogond’s face to be replaced with deep sorrow. “Yes, my brother,” he said gently. “I believe you. And you cannot hold yourself to blame for failing to take your own life in such a terrible way. Your friend must have thought he could aid the others and escape—alas that he could not. You knew the truth of it. Pulling them from that hell would not have helped them.”

  Hallagond spoke in a small, quiet voice. “I have lived for so long with the weight of these deaths,” he said. “I could not bear the pain, and so I ran from it, drowned it with drink, dulled it with weed…yet it remains. I still hear their screams, still hear the laughter. It will always remain, and I will never be free of it.” He began to weep, his head in his hands.

  Rogond wanted to embrace his brother, to comfort him and tell him that all would be well, but he did not. Hallagond needed to grieve openly; the poisoned thorn must be withdrawn. Rogond just sat quietly by, waiting.

  Finally Hallagond grew weary, and he stopped weeping. He looked into his brother’s eyes. “Will you now shun me, as I have shunned myself? I know that would be my desire if I were you.”

  “I will never shun you,” said Rogond. “It is my great joy to have found you, and it is my great desire to return you to the northlands. I will never shun you.”

  “I cannot return,” said Hallagond. “The northlands are my home no longer, for I’m not the man I was, and never will be again.”

  “No,” said Gaelen, speaking for the first and only time. “You are a much better man now.”

  It took the Company nearly three weeks to cross the plains of thirst, because of the need to rest Fima and Bint Raed. Gaelen had wrapped Fima in the fire-cloak because it turned the heat, but also because it would shield him from the dust and allow him to breathe more easily. He was very ill now; he would not eat, and had to be coaxed even to drink water, for the mere act of swallowing would send him into a violent fit of coughing that was truly alarming.When it abated, he was so exhausted that he would not move for hours. He lay shrouded in the brilliant fabric; the soot had blown away in the wind, and the cloak shimmered brightly again. It seemed to be almost a living thing. You think I will tolerate that foul blackness? I am a fire-cloak! My light remains undiminished.

  The cold nights taxed Fima, for the fire-cloak did nothing to warm the air. At such times Gaelen would sing to him, wrapping his woolen cloak around him, while Estle boiled a small quantity of water into which she had placed dry sage-leaves that she had collected earlier. Their vapors aided Fima, who was instructed to hang his head over the basin while breathing as deeply as he could manage.

  Eventually he became so weak that he could no longer ride, so they fashioned a litter and bore him on it. He was not aware of his surroundings, and was too ill to comment on them, but they all knew that his own helplessness grieved him.

  Bint Raed had not fared much better. She had lost a great deal of weight, and now could ride only a short while without tiring. Hallagond, Estle, and Rogond seemed hale enough, yet Gaelen noticed that they appreciated the extra rest. The Elves, of course, were tireless, but even they looked travel-worn.

  Because their pace had slowed, they used water quite sparingly, and they debated the notion of killing several of the dromadin, who were no longer needed to carry the dwindling provisions. Gaelen and Nelwyn objected to this notion, contending that the dromadin had served faithfully and well, and they were part of the Company.

  “Finan does not mind short rations, and neither do I.” She and Nelwyn had become attached to the dromadin, who would now be sacrificed only as a last resort.

  Their journey was uneventful, except for the remains of a caravan that had attempted the crossing and failed. The dried, sand-blown carcasses of several dromadin were found lying together, still wearing their fine harness, and still carrying goods upon what was left of their backs. Bint Raed sorrowed when they came at last upon the bodies of men struggling toward the west, having finally collapsed from heat and thirst.

/>   “They were lost,” she said quietly. “They did not mean to come this way. They probably became bewildered in a sandstorm, and could not find their bearings again.”

  “What a pity that they came so far, only to fail now, when they were so close,” said Hallagond. He had been moved especially by the sight of two dried collections of flesh and bone that had once been living beings. One was shrouded in black cloth, and it held the other, much smaller, in its arms. “Rest, mother, and sing to your child, for you will never thirst again,” he said.

  The wind shifted at mid-day so that it was out of the east, and Gaelen tested it, her body tense. The worry in her face attracted the attention of Nelwyn at once. “The wind is speaking to you, isn’t it? What does it tell?”

  “It tells that the Scourge is moving ever-westward, though they are not near to us. We must do all that we may to make better time.”

  Gaelen called the Company together, and told them of what she had learned.

  “How far away do you suppose they are?” asked Estle with a small note of alarm in her voice. Except for Gaelen, only she had seen the dreaded army with her own eyes.

  “They are a very great distance from here—we have been moving much more swiftly than they have. Such a large army takes a long time to get anywhere. We’re nimble, and they are not. That great stench will carry a long, long way. What I can’t figure out is how they are managing to get such a large force across this waste. Their course has crossed even more desert than we have, and they could not possibly carry enough water.”

  “Are you certain it is the Scourge?” asked Hallagond.

  Gaelen frowned at him. “Are you taller than a dwarf? Of course I’m certain! There is some foulness about that army that I have never encountered before. I don’t know its origin, but it’s vile, and I don’t expect to find it anywhere else.” She turned and began to make ready to move on. “We dare not linger,” she said. “None of us can afford to go on our own feet. One of us must bear Fima with him on a horse. It will do us no good to arrive at the Citadel if we don’t have time to prepare for battle.”