Calling On Fire (Book 1) (27 page)

“Anyways, he was all by himself, so the city guards were concerned about him wandering around outside the city, but he would run away when they tried to get close. I was a bit of a loner back then, so they tracked me down and sent me out to find him. Long story short, I found him, and we became fast friends. He was all alone—no friends, no family, just the creations of the past animator to make sure he had food, shelter, and clothes.”

“I’ve seen his stone creatures. They look like people, but they’re not really,” Kessa said with a scowl.

“Exactly,” Esset agreed. “Once Toman got past his fear of others, he was pretty starved for human contact. Eventually, my family just kind of adopted him. He and I spent virtually every waking moment together. We played together every day, and we went to school together. I had extra studies and he practiced animating, so there were—are—times when we follow our own pursuits, but you’d be hard pressed to find blood brothers closer than we are. From the day we met on, we learned to love peace.”

Kessa nodded there, prompting Esset to continue.

His face grew thoughtful and a little distant. “But peace... It’s a funny thing. Those raised with peace are spoiled, and they want adventure. At least, that was how it was with me. My father is a summoner, and I knew that one day I’d be a summoner too. I love to read, and I read far too many old stories about heroes and whatnot. As I grew older, I got a little wiser, and while that longing for adventure never really went away, it was tempered with logic and reason.”

“What kind of stories?” Kessa tilted her head to the side.

“Oh. Right, I suppose we would have different old stories, wouldn’t we? Remind me and I’ll tell you some later.”

Kessa nodded eagerly.

Esset continued. “Well, regardless of stories, with the power that I ended up being able to wield, I felt that I had a responsibility to use it to help people. Even though there was peace where I grew up, I knew there was a great deal of suffering elsewhere. Being best friend and brother to Toman especially drove that point home. All that and Toman himself are the reasons why I live this life now.” Esset paused there, although his hands kept moving methodically, the needle dipping above and below the fabric in a pattern that Kessa watched with hypnotized fascination.

“But that’s only half the story. There’s Toman’s half too,” Esset eventually said. He tied off the thread, having finished mending the tear. Once he was done, he looked at Kessa appraisingly. At first she looked back curiously, but then she looked away and started to squirm slightly under his scrutiny.

“I’m never sure if I should talk about Toman’s history to anyone. He certainly doesn’t like talking about it, but he doesn’t seem to mind people knowing.” He finally looked away from her and started sewing the next tear. “Before meeting me, Toman’s life was...well, pretty horrible. He was born Toman Iiren. His parents were weavers—good ones, from what I heard. They lived in a pretty small village in the mountains and did fairly well for themselves. Then, when Toman was seven, a mage named Moloch came. Who knows why he chose that particular village, but he did. Moloch is what we call a blood-path mage—he gets the bulk of his magical power from pain, suffering, the spilling of blood, and death. He went to Toman’s village and destroyed everything. Almost every single person died that day, including Toman’s parents.”

Kessa was staring at Esset, eyes wide and watery with sympathy.

Esset wasn’t looking at her anymore, however. He appeared intent upon his sewing; the shirt was almost mended. “There was an animator before Toman,” he continued. “His name was Eldan Atrix. He had been fighting Moloch for a long time, and he arrived in the blood mage’s wake. He helped the few survivors of the attack and ended up taking in Toman. That’s why Toman’s last name is now Atrix-Iiren. He was a father to Toman for three years.

“Then...well, Moloch is very powerful, and he’s clever, and he’s vicious. One day he caught up with Animator Eldan. Animator Eldan managed to make it back to a safe place and returned to Toman, but he died of his wounds. Toman inherited the gloves and the ability to animate with them. He fled...and after that, I met him. I think after losing a mother and two fathers, he couldn’t stand the thought of having parents to lose again. My family adopted him in spirit, but never in name. That’s why, even now, he’s not technically my brother, not even by adoption. But…that’s never mattered. Spirit is what matters.

“I can only imagine how he could have turned out if we’d never met. I know I would be different. In fact, I would probably be dead. But Toman... I think he would definitely be dead. Together, we might stand a chance of hunting Moloch down and defeating him. Separately...I don’t think we’d stand a chance, not either of us.”

Kessa had been listening, a bit horrified, a bit sad, and a bit some other garbled mix of emotions. With the last bit, however, she was truly horrified. “But revenge is wrong! You can’t seek revenge!” she objected.

“But that’s the thing... Toman isn’t hunting Moloch for revenge,” Esset explained. “Or at least, that’s not his main reason, or a major reason. We’re hunting him because so far, no one has been able to stop him. All the things he does... He needs to be stopped, so Toman and I have to try. Ever since we left home, we’ve been fighting, doing what we can to make this world safer and better. And...we’ve been fighting to become stronger. We found Sergeant Warthog, the woman Nassata went to in order to find help, so that she could help us find Moloch. As soon as we can, we’ll stop him. It has to be done, or else many, many more people will suffer and then die. You can’t imagine the amount of pain and suffering that Moloch can inflict upon people. If we can stop him, then we have to. We can’t just let him keep on doing what he’s doing.”

By the end of his dialogue, Esset had locked eyes with Kessa, and she found herself intimidated by the intensity of his gaze. She shrank back, and gave a tiny nod.

Suddenly Esset’s intensity vanished, and he smiled wryly. “Sorry,” he apologized.

Kessa unwound a bit, straightening her posture.

“Well, at least now you know why we are like we are.”

“I... I think I understand it a little bit. Your beliefs are very different from ours,” Kessa said timidly.

“Sort of,” Esset countered. “In many ways, they’re similar. We both strive for peace, and hold many of the same values, just to different degrees.”

“I guess,” Kessa agreed, not engaging in the debate.

“Why don’t you tell me some of your old stories?” Kessa suggested then.

“Hm. Well, many of them are lengthy. They’re all written down, you see. Or they’re written as poetry. So I can’t tell you the full stories, but I can tell you
about
them, if you want,” Esset suggested. Kessa still nodded eagerly.

“Well, a lot of the stories are pretty fanciful. Lots of knights and princes fighting dragons and rescuing princesses,” Esset explained.

“Prince and princess… Those are the children of rulers, yes?”

“Yes.” Now that Esset thought about it, he was a little surprised Kessa knew even that much. Maybe they did have a couple of human old tales. Or maybe they were educated in human government.

“Most of the tales feature people of high social status—princes and princesses, knights and noblemen, people like that. A few are about adventurers or poor folk, but they’re outnumbered.” Esset seemed to be musing aloud, so Kessa poked him with one finger.

“Yes, but can you tell me one?” she asked. Esset laughed.

“Sure. Uh… how about the tale of Sir Terrus?” he asked. “It was always one of my favorites.” Kessa shrugged and nodded at the same time, eliciting another chuckle from Esset. Then he closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly how it went.

“Long ago and far away, there lived a knight named Sir Terrus. He had fought many battles for his king, against both monsters and men, and he was esteemed across the country. His armor shone brightly in the sun, he wore a great, two-handed sword across his back, and he rode a stallion as white as snow.”

“What’s a stallion?” Kessa asked.

“A male, ungelded horse,” Esset replied.

“What’s ‘ungelded?’” Kessa asked.

“Uh…it’s not important. It was a white horse. Very impressive.” Esset figured that could turn into a complicated, awkward conversation quickly, given that the Nadra didn’t keep livestock.

“Okay.”

Esset breathed a sigh of relief and continued. “Well, one day, they got news that the princess of the neighboring kingdom had been kidnapped by an evil mage, a practitioner of dark magic. Sir Terrus couldn’t stand the thought of the princess being this mage’s prisoner, and the kingdom was an ally, so he immediately volunteered to rescue the princess. Everyone begged him not to go, because the mage was so powerful and Sir Terrus was much beloved, but he would not be dissuaded. Finally the king granted him leave, and Sir Terrus set out to go.” Esset paused to pin down the details of the next part in his head before continuing.

Kessa had a slightly perplexed expression on her face, but she didn’t say anything.

“As he was about to exit the gates of the city, however, the king’s mage stopped him. The old man came up to him and pressed two objects into his hands: a key enchanted to open any lock and a piece of chalk.

‘Please, take these things, and keep them with you,’ the mage begged him.

‘Thank you for this key,’ Sir Terrus said, recognizing the item. ‘But why do I need this piece of chalk?’

“It’s a key of a different kind,” the mage said, but Sir Terrus didn’t understand.

‘Just keep it with you,’ the mage begged.

‘Very well,’ Sir Terrus agreed.”

Esset paused to take a breath and Kessa interrupted. “How is a piece of chalk a key?” she asked.

“Hush, and listen to the story,” Esset said, and she quieted, waiting for him to continue.

“So Sir Terrus rode forth. Now, his is a pretty long story. The mage sends lots of monsters for him to fight along the way, but he beats them all and arrives at the evil mage’s tower at the top of a tall, jagged mountain.”

Esset missed Kessa’s slightly amused expression as he skipped past that part of the story.

“Just as Sir Terrus arrived, he heard a terrifying roar echo between the mountains. His stallion pranced in place, raring for a fight, but there was no foe to be seen. So Sir Terrus tied his horse outside and approached the door to the tower on foot.

“‘Mage, I challenge you!’ Sir Terrus yelled at the tower, but no response came, so the knight tried opening the door. Now, obviously, the door was locked, but the enchanted key that the king’s mage had given Sir Terrus opened the door easily, and he went inside.

“Twice more, Sir Terrus used the enchanted key to ascend through the tower until he reached the very top. The top level was one large room beneath the conical ceiling, and that was where the princess was being held. She was kept in a large cage with iron bars. Sir Terrus hurried across the room to free her, but in doing so, he crossed a series of lines on the floor.

“Sir Terrus tried to reach the princess, but he hit an invisible barrier before he could reach her. That was when he realized he’d entered a mage trap. Drawn on the floor were a series of complex lines in a full circle around Sir Terrus. Arcane symbols illuminated whenever he tried to cross the lines. First Sir Terrus tried each direction, then he attacked the barrier with his sword, but to no avail.

“Now Sir Terrus pulled out the piece of chalk. This was what the mage had meant about a ‘key of a different kind.’ These lines were magic, drawn to hold him in. Thanks to the king’s mage, Sir Terrus had the means to change those lines. But how?”

Esset paused there for dramatic effect, so caught up in his story that he still didn’t notice that Kessa wasn’t as enthralled as he was.

“Now, being a knight also means being a servant of Bright Hyrishal, so Sir Terrus drew on the greatest power he knew. Kneeling next to the lines, he drew the sun of Bright Hyrishal. The fires of Bright Hyrishal warm and nurture all of creation, but those same fires can also burn away sin and scorch evildoers. They can also fight dark magic in the hands of the faithful, as Sir Terrus found. The sun he drew sent a flash of fire outwards and burned the dark sigils from the ground, freeing Sir Terrus.

“Sir Terrus immediately rushed over to the princess’s cage, but before he could reach it, half the roof was torn away, revealing the sky and a terrible monster!”

This time Esset saw Kessa’s amused expression at his melodramatic telling, and he faltered for a moment, giving her a perplexed look. Only when she coaxed him with a “go on,” did he continue. She schooled her expression a little after that.

“The evil mage had transformed himself into a dragon.” Esset’s delivery had fallen flat. “A great battle ensued, but Sir Terrus prevailed and killed the evil mage. He rescued the princess and they lived happily ever after.” He was red-faced by the end of his telling.

“You don’t tell stories often, do you?” Kessa asked, and Esset could still see the amusement in her eyes.

“I usually just read them,” Esset confessed. “And never with an audience.”

“Well it was an…interesting tale. Very different from ours,” Kessa replied.

“What are yours like?” Esset asked. “I haven’t had a chance to see any Nadran literature.”

“Ours are… Well, they are tales of finding or creating peace from strife, mostly, like Shaper Vorriss who led us to Salithsa, or about teaching life lessons, like the turtle who taught the bat patience. I don’t think I know any well enough to tell, but there are rarely battles in them.” Kessa didn’t wait for Esset to respond.

“You said there are lots of stories you’ve read. What are some of the others like?” Kessa asked. Esset noticed she wasn’t asking him to tell the stories themselves, just about them.

“Well, there are a series of stories about the seven knights of Agrimon. They fought monsters and rescued princesses too. They’re all about deeds of heroism and knightly virtues. Each of the seven stands for a virtue: courage, justice, mercy, generosity, faith, nobility, and hope.”

Esset was so busy thinking of other stories that he missed Kessa’s unconvinced expression.