by M. A. Torres
“Aye to that.” With a tip of his hat, the mysterious Jack stood and walked towards the tavern doors. The boys frowned with confusion.
Princess Hayla smirked. “Lord Whitefield is not the only one who can scheme in the shadows. Robert White is Lord Whitefield’s half brother. He’s older than Lord Whitefield and would be named lord if he was a full-fledged Whitefield. He has the blood, just not the name.”
“So... how can he help us?” asked Matthew.
“There are those who are loyal to Robert White. He inspires more than Lord Whitefield himself. Robert White commanded Lord Whitefield’s army during our civil war. Time and again, Lord Whitefield sent him on insurmountable missions, hoping he would die, and time and again, he returned, having accomplished his tasks. There are those who would follow him over Lord Whitefield—a man known to be cruel and selfish.”
“But Lord Whitefield holds all the power, right? He controls the Whitestaff army, so how can Robert White assist us?” asked Matthew.
Princess Hayla smiled. “The princess can legitimize a half-brother and make him a full-fledged Whitefield. All it would take is a royal decree.”
“Oh...”
Suddenly, Jack returned, a confused expression on his face. “Excuse me, did you pay a white-haired boy to tend your horses?”
The boys exchanged a glance.
“He’s stealing the horses!” hollered Matthew.
The boys jumped off their seats and rushed out of the tavern. Only one horse remained—Comet. The young, white-haired thief had just mounted him, before taking off down the side street.
“After him!” screamed Kevin.
“Someone stop that thief!” screamed Sven.
The boys rushed off in the thief’s direction with Matthew quickly taking the lead. They rounded the rack and sprinted down the road. To their dismay, the street was less crowded, so the thief had ample room to gallop away. Sven hollered at the villagers ahead, urging them to stop the horse, but no one dared; the thief had brought Comet to a fast and powerful sprint, the dust cloud growing behind him.
“RUN! RUN! RUN!” urged Sven, but there would be no catching a galloping horse on foot.
Before long, the thief was out of view—vanished into the darkness of the city alleyways. The boys gave up the chase mid-street, their hands resting on their knees, panting with fatigue.
“How could we be so stupid?!” said Matthew.
“We should have left a guard,” said Kevin. “We need to spread out and search the city. We have to find the horses.”
Matthew nodded as Jake caught up.
“Did you see where he went?” he asked.
“No. He’s gone! Man, this city is worse than Velvet Street,” fumed Matthew.
They returned to Princess Hayla minutes later, their heads hung in defeat. “I’ll have Captain Cris and the rest of our men search the city,” she told them. “Jack, can you help us?”
Jack nodded. “Yes. That little pest will not remain at large for long. I’ll have some of our men assist in the search.” Jack tipped his hat and rushed away.
Minutes later, they rendezvoused with Captain Cris and Bruce, son of James, in the city center.
“We will search every nook and cranny of this city until we find those horses,” said Captain Cris.
“Aye! We’ll get them horses back if it’s the last thing I do!” added Bruce, son of James.
“Please do. Those horses are very special to us,” said Kevin.
“Yes, Ser,” said Captain Cris. He huddled with his men and spoke some words, pointing to different side streets. Then they all started down the various roads, initiating the search.
“I’m so sorry this happened. I have the upmost confidence they’ll find our horses,” assured Princess Hayla.
“I hope so,” said Kevin.
The princess raised her gaze towards the sky. “The time for the performance draws near. Let us go meet with Viktor Embers.”
The boys nodded.
The streets were less congested the further west they progressed. The buildings rose taller and the homes were grandiose; their colors bright and their facades adorned with winter shrubbery. Crystalline trees lined both ends of the streets. The boys figured this area to be the affluent part of town.
They reached the Whitestaff Theater minutes later. It was a two-story building at the mid-point of Cobble Road. It was similar in stature and appearance to the buildings that flanked it. It would have been easy to miss if it weren’t for the large iron ‘Whitestaff Theater’ sign jutting above the entrance. A small group of people were lined up, waiting to go inside.
Kevin and the others joined in. The villagers before them wore the largest and most elaborate headpieces any of them had seen.
“Sven, what’s the deal with the enormous hats?” whispered Matthew.
“The people of the north flaunt their status by the size of their headgear. The larger the hat, the wealthier they are,” explained Sven.
“They’re hideous,” said Matthew, scowling.
Seconds later, the double doors opened, and the people spilled in. Just past the doors stood a man dressed in a black velvet coat and purple pants. He held a wicker basket, collecting the peoples’ tickets as they passed. Princess Hayla held up a gold coin between her thumb and index finger.
“This is for me and the four who follow,” she said.
The man bowed. Then, she pulled another gold coin from her pocket. “This one is for you if you help us find audience with Viktor Embers.”
“Viktor does not like to be bothered before his show. But you can meet with him afterward, if you’d like.”
“I would like,” she responded.
“Very well. I shall wait for you here after the show.”
They started inside, but as Kevin entered, the man blocked his path.
“No weapons in the theater.”
Kevin had Flameclaw inside his duffle bag, strapped to his back. “How do you know there’s a weapon in here?” he asked.
“We know. Please, I’ll take it to our holding area. It’s heavily guarded. You can retrieve it after the show.”
Kevin removed the strap from his shoulder and handed him the bag.
“Thank you; you may proceed.”
Kevin entered, but then the man held out his hand to impede Jake’s progress.
“I’ll be needing your weapon too.”
Jake removed his bag from his shoulder and gave it over. Then he was allowed to proceed.
They entered the theater lobby; a large room with red, textured walls. A luxurious chandelier hung from the ceiling, its numerous candles doing an adequate job of lighting the room. Pristine purple sofas with lilac velvet pillows lined the perimeter. Pretty and scantily dressed women cruised the lobby, mingling with the guests and serving drinks.
Just beyond another set of double doors, the room opened to the main theater. It was a vast hall with a domed roof, meticulously detailed with wooden carvings of intricate design. The boys stared up in awe, wondering how this enormous chamber could dwell inside a building so mundane. The domed roof was so high that Kevin wondered how he failed to notice it as they stood in line.
The group walked to the front row and took their seats in the right aisle. The chairs were of red velvet, soft and padded on the backrest. Kevin took his seat between Princess Hayla and Matthew, who was to his left. The seats behind them filled with the Whitestaff high society—women dressed in furs, holding their enormous hats, their necks and wrists embellished with jewels of every size and color.
He looked at Princess Hayla, and that’s when he noticed her eyes. They sparkled a greenish-gold and purple—as though glitter were embedded in her iris. He couldn’t break his stare, his eyes glued on the beautiful and captivating sight. A tear ran down her left cheek, breaking his trance and setting his eyes free.
Princess Hayla noticed. “Never seen someone’s eyes sparkle before?”
“Hm, no. I’m sorry if I stared.”
“I
t happens to us after a certain age. A true Maelstrom’s eyes will sparkle under certain conditions. Mine light up in the moonlight or whenever I shed tears.”
Kevin gazed upon her eyes once again. She wiped the tears, and the sparkle faded.
“My father used to bring my mother and me to this theater when I was young. We used to make the trip twice a year. This is the first time I’ve been here on my own. First time I’ve returned since the war began.”
“Your mother? Is she still... alive?”
She let out a melancholic smile and shook her head.
“Welcome,” thundered a voice from the stage, startling them both. It was another man dressed in a black velvet coat and purple pants. His hair was golden and flared like flames in every direction. His eyes glowed red and his smile was wide and mischievous. “I’m delighted to see we have a full house tonight!”
The audience applauded, and some cheered.
With a wave of his hands, the flames from the wall-mounted candles flickered off. The room was dark, except for a faint red glow emanating from the stage.
“My name is Viktor Embers, and I will be your guide this evening! I will introduce you to the world of the living flame. A world of splendid wonder—both beautiful in its magnificent visuals, and perilous in its scorching essence!”
OOOOoooooh! The audience voiced their excitement.
“To access this world, we must become one with the flame, one with its spirit, one with its soul. To enter this world, we must become the blaze itself...”
Viktor’s hands began to burn. Flames rose from his palms like hand-held torches and crawled slowly up his arms until they were engulfed in fiery sleeves. Viktor walked to the front of the stage and faced the audience.
“Who will join me tonight? Who will brave the path of the flame with me?”
“I will!” It was a man to the boys’ left. He stood, his hand raised in the air.
Viktor approached the edge of the stage. He raised his burning arms in the man’s direction and closed his eyes. “I give you the power of the flame.”
Suddenly, the man’s elevated hand burst aflame—first his palm, then the fire spread up his arm and to his shoulder. The flames creeped across his back. He did not cry in pain; instead, he stood with a look of marvel on his face. The fire spread to the opposite arm, then down his back and into his legs. The flames stretched over his head until they engulfed him in a fiery suit—leaving only his face exposed.
‘OOOOH, AHHHH!’
The audience awed in disbelief. Jake and Matthew stared with mouths gaping. Kevin wiped his glasses and returned them to his face, eyes wide.
“Now come ye brave soul! Join me upon this stage so others can marvel at your transformation,” said Viktor.
The burning man walked to the side steps and ascended onto the stage, his torso and limbs engulfed in flames. He stood next to Viktor, who looked on with his red eyes and wide grin.
The audience applauded.
Viktor looked at the crowd and raised his arms once more. “Let us be joined by the others!”
More audience members stood, and suddenly, they too birthed the fiery suit. The surrounding crowd leaned away to avoid the fire. The ones aflame exited their rows and approached the stage, the fire crackling and popping along the way. A man sitting close by reached out and immediately retracted, waving his hand to ease the burn.
The walking flames joined Viktor and the first volunteer upon the stage. They were all engulfed—even their faces. Everyone except Viktor, whose fiery suit covered all but his face. He raised his arms into the air and smiled proudly.
“The flame is light. The flame is warmth. The flame is life.” Then, he lowered his arms and the flames on his companions began to fade. His hands reached the floor and the others were extinguished. They gaped at themselves in awe, not a hair upon their heads was harmed, and their clothes remained in pristine condition.
‘OOOOH, AHHHH!’
The audience applauded. Kevin and his group joined in.
The people on stage bowed, then walked off stage. The boys exchanged a dumbfounded glance.
Viktor remained and addressed the audience once again. “The flame is perilous, but it is also essential. For the flame is the lifeblood of all in existence.”
A fiery ball appeared above the stage like a miniature sun—hovering in the air—its rays emanating heat.
“The flame’s heat is the blood of life...”
Then, a small twig sprouted from the stage floor. It grew before their eyes, thickening at its base and sprouting branches and green leaves. Before long, it was a full-sized tree—some leaves green and others clear as crystal.
‘WOW!’ the crowd looked on astonished.
“But, without the flame...”
The hovering sun shrank—smaller and smaller until only a bright speck remained.
“There is no life, no existence, no consciousness.”
The tree withered before all until nothing remained but a dry and twisted trunk.
‘Ooooh, ah.’
Kevin and Jake looked at each other with wide eyes.
The volunteers from moments ago returned to the stage. They stood behind Viktor, side by side.
“The flame is life, but it is also death!” Viktor raised both hands and a wall of fire rose across the stage behind him, engulfing the volunteers. They cried out in pain, flailing their limbs, some collapsing and crawling as their bodies charred. One stumbled onto the withered tree, and it too caught aflame. One by one, the volunteers fell to their knees, their skin melting off their faces and limbs. Others rolled on the stage, trying to extinguish themselves but the fire continued to consume them. Before long, the cries waned, and the volunteers ceased to move. All that remained were their charred bodies, smoking like a put-out hearth.
The audience mumbled with confusion, horror, and uncertainty.
“Do not fear—death by fire will return them from whence they came—from whence we all came; from the earth!”
With a swing of his hand, the charred bodies broke apart. They disintegrated before everybody’s eyes—blowing away into the air in a mix of ash and dust.
The audience gasped.
“But enough with formalities, for you are here to witness the beauty of the flame, and the beauty of the flame you will witness!”
The spectacle continued for another hour. Viktor Embers presented a show filled with amazing visuals of fire—visuals that moved on their own and hung in the air above the stunned audience. Flames appeared along the side walls, from the overhead dome ceiling, and from the ground before the stage. Fire took the shape of animals—animals that moved and behaved like their real-life counterparts, and moved about in a purposeful manner.
The boys looked on, none daring to blink for risk of missing the spectacle. Kevin remained uneasy about the volunteers that had burned before his eyes, but assumed it had been part of the production.
The show concluded with a standing ovation. Viktor Embers stood mid-stage, waving and bowing to the crowd. Then, he raised his hands, and the wall of flames rose behind him. Then the flames sunk, revealing the volunteers standing side by side, alive and well. They too waved at the audience and bowed before them, to Kevin’s relief.
“What a show!” hollered Jake. “What a show!”
PRINCESS HAYLA PACED about the lobby, awaiting their audience with Viktor. A minute later, she sighed and turned to the boys. “My friends, I’m going to check on our men and see if they have found our horses. Sven, remain with them. We’ll meet back at the town square in an hourglass time,” she said.
“My Lady, let me join you,” offered Sven.
“No, Sven. You have knowledge of this city and its people, unlike them. They will benefit from your presence more than I. I’ll meet with you back at the inn.”
Sven nodded as the princess walked off. The man wearing black velvet stood by the exit door, bidding farewell to the outgoing audience. After the lobby cleared, he turned to Kevin’s group.
“Follow me,” he said. He led them back into the theater and down the side aisle. They followed him onto the stage, then towards the rear where they reached a large wooden door. Inside was a room with different theater props and costumes, similar to the trap room underneath the Wakefield Falls High School stage. A wooden table and chairs stood at mid room. One chair was made of iron, with leather straps attached to its arm rests and front legs.
“Please, take a seat. Viktor will be with you shortly.” With that, the black velvet man left through another door.
“Viktor must be him. Viktor must be Brealin,” concluded Matthew with a whisper.
“I agree. Only the god of fire would have those capabilities,” said Kevin.
“I think so too! Viktor Embers is probably his alias,” said Jake.
“Do you think he can help us find our horses?” asked Matthew.
“Hope so,” said Kevin.
Just then, the door opened, and Viktor Embers entered, followed by the black velvet man and two of the audience volunteers. They were bald, tall and well-built men. They wore the outfits they had upon the stage—outfits of silk and velvet, to match the clothing worn by their high-society audience. One was light-skinned, and the other dark-skinned. They stood behind Viktor like bodyguards—their thick muscular arms crossed before their chests.
“Hello, boys. I hope you enjoyed the show,” said Viktor. His eyes no longer glowed red, but his hair still stood like wildfire—flowing in every direction.
“Yes, sir, we did,” said Kevin as the others nodded.
“Viktor is just fine. No need to call me Ser, as I am no knight. I’m just a magician, trying to make a living in this world. So, how may I be of service?”
“Viktor, we were sent here by a knight named Jey. He said you could help us find and speak with Brealin, the fallen god of fire,” said Kevin.
Viktor nodded. “Brealin?”
“Yes, sir... I mean, yes, Viktor.”
Kevin awaited Viktor’s response, but Viktor remained in silent thought.
Kevin gulped and took a deep breath. “Are you... him? Are you Brealin?”