Amara

She felt suddenly that she was as naked as she had been when her father had her imprisoned in the dark of their cellar.

But she had nothing, now. The furnace of her heart was empty. She could feel rage, acknowledge the desire to tear through the faceless veil of the Gnoll Elder, but do nothing.

So, knowing her predicament, she decided to try something else.

She sat down and crossed her legs like the rest of them – a movement utterly without grace – but one which seemed to make an impression on the silent assembly. They made the slightest movement of their heads as though acknowledging her respect.

“Very good,” the old Gnoll croaked. “You have learned to control your anger.”

Amara stared at the blank crimson veil. “How do you know what I’ve learned?”

The faceless creature answered: “We see through the eyes of our people, who have opened their hearts and minds to our spirit. We have seen the exploits of Kimon, Lokar, and Mendax since they began their journey.”

Amara bowed her head.

“Then you must think I’m an idiot.”

“This remains to be seen,” the Gnoll replied. “Can a child that lacks understanding of their own artifice truly be considered a fool? The fact you managed to find your way here is, under the circumstances, admirable. The question is: shall you be our salvation, or our destruction?”

Amara shook her wild hair. “I don’t understand.”

The assembly uttered a collective murmur as the Elder One replied:

“An honest admission,” she said. “In itself this is an indicator of our good judgement in placing our hopes in you. After all, it was we who first conceived of the Prophecy of the Lightborn.”

Flashes of the images contained in the walls of Bhahsera started to rush around Amara’s head – those depictions of dog-men fighting shadowed servants amidst a battlefield of blighted sand, while a palace of gold loomed over them all.

“Kimon told me you need me,” Amara said with a growing sense of unease. “He said I needed to save you from the evil in this place.”

The response of the Gnoll was cool, but direct: “And what evil have you seen here, Amara? You have battled the denizens of Bhashera, but you know that they are naught more than creatures born of the Everloft. They would never have harmed you had you not entered their domain.”

Amara felt the hot flush of sweat dribbling from her forehead.

“So why,” the Gnoll continued. “Why did you kill them?”

She bit her lip. “Because I need to become stronger.”

Another hushed murmuring from the others surrounding her.

‘An honest answer,” the Elder replied after considering her words. “One that has also been delivered honestly. And yet,” she added gravely. “It is still a lie.”

Before she flew to deny the accusation, the Elder’s head rose and two deep dark opals glared from her under the embroidered veil:

“You killed them because your mother told you to.”

She froze up. How this creature knew not only how to silence her mother’s voice, but also that it was her mother she was hearing in her mind, chilled her dry bones.

“Mom has never steered me wrong,” she stated when it was clear the withered old Gnoll wasn’t going to say more.

“We think you believe this,” she replied. “As a child should believe its mother. Yet children must grow, mustn’t they? Even a pup must pluck itself from its mother’s teat and hunt for itself if it wishes to truly live.”

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Amara felt herself shake. “What do you mean?”

The Gnoll fixed her again with her paralyzing gaze as the eyes of the other crimson-coated females communed with their silent chants.

“This is why I talk to you, child,” the Gnoll said. “You listen to the words of your mother, and yet you know her words are not infallible. You sought to save our children in Bhashera, and your heart hurt to see Kimon burn.”

She felt herself sink all over again into the dirt. Kimon’s smiling face flashed before her.

“I tried to save him. I didn’t want him to die.”

“Another truth,” the Gnoll murmured. “You surprise us. We saw how you resisted the urge to think of our people as mere weapons to be used for your own benefit. We wish to speak to you now, and ask you: if you do desire the power to set your surface world alight, commit yourself to the protection of our children.”

Amara knit her brows in confusion, but slowly she was beginning to understand.

“You think I want to kill them?”

The Gnoll smiled beneath her veil. “If you could, would you not attempt to strike me down here and now?”

The question hung in the chamber like a sword dangling above Amara’s skull. The assembly grew silent, and it now felt like this single question was the whole purpose she’d been summoned here.

And what was her answer? She didn’t have mom to help her this time. All she had was her instincts – the desire to end all that stood in her path. But when she looked at the hyena-men, women, and children out there in the sandy courtyard, she did not feel hate. If there was any anger she felt in her heart, it was at the fact that they sought to worship her.

So, she thought with a shuddered sigh. That has to be my answer…

“No,” she said, and the force with which she began the response actually surprised her. “All those people looked at me outside like I’m supposed to be a hero. But all I’ve ever done is kill. I don’t know what the right thing is to do. All I know is the world up there hates people like me who have the Glance and we’re blamed for all the problems of the world because Amarata says so. Because the Argents say so. They say we’re the evil ones. But the only evil people I’ve ever met have been people who hate the Glance, not people who use it.”

The Head Gnoll considered this with a curt nod.

“You words ring with truth, Amara. Your truth. We thank you for it. But is this truly what you believe? Would a child who believes this have brought an Argent right to our doorstep?”

Amara clutched at the folds of her robe. “I don’t think she’s like the others.”

No answer. Maybe a raised eyebrow. Curiosity, perhaps. She’d have to say more to know.

“She helped us,” she explained. “She says she doesn’t want to kill me.”

“And you trust her?” the Gnoll asked. “Perhaps she simply wished to be guided to the den of her enemies.”

Amara considered this, thinking why it hadn’t been a thought that had entered her mind already.

She is dangerous, mom had said. Yet, more than anything, the girl had evoked her curiosity.

Why?

“If she turns out to be just another Argent,” she finally said. “Then I’ll take her down.”

The old Gnoll seemed to muse on this statement, conferring silently with her sisters.

“Surprise after surprise,” she said after another period of eerie silence. “Even for we who weave the threads of fate, the final tapestry often takes on its own form.”

She trailed off as Amara looked on, trying to understand this strange sense of power that seemed to emanate from the aged being.

“A flame is free energy,” she said, addressing Amara directly again, curving a bony hand around the candles that sat before her. Amara watched with fascination as the little wicks of fire bent to the will of the Gnoll’s hands, and the realization struck her: this is another pyromancer.

“Pyromancy,” the old Gnoll continued. “It is the art of opening the Door to the plane of pure, infinite flame – the realm of unhindered energy. This Door is one that cannot be unlocked by simply anyone. Usually, it comes upon those who have experienced the greatest suffering in their early lives. Its Glance is the Glance of suffering. Of hatred. Fire flames and destroys, consumes and purifies, and then leaves nothing but impotent ash in its wake. But when one peers further through the Door of Fire, one sees more than simply emotion waiting to be exploited.”

Amara stared at her manipulating every little candlelight in the chamber – even those now flaring with beautiful life before her silent Sisters, casting dancing shadows across the walls of the drab chamber.

“Do you know of the Doors, child?”

She shook her head. “Kimon told me the Glance comes from the Doors of percussion?”

“The Doors of Perception,” the old Gnoll said through her dancing firelights. “We Glancers are nothing more than conduits for energy, Amara. We channel the wild, free energies of the world beyond this one and allow them to travel through our bodies and affect this material reality. But there is more that we can do than simply use this energy to harm others. We can take it into ourselves, and through harnessing it, learn to project our very desires onto the world before us.”

Amara watched the candlelights blaze with life again, and now they began to solifidy into the forms of fiery Gnolls dancing across the room, swaying, laughing and leaping with glee. They swirled around her like tiny marionettes, and she could feel the raw power contained within their forms – that which had once been nothing more than a thin finger of flame now extended and moulded into something by nothing more than the Elder’s imagination.

“This is the power of Pyromancy, Amara,” the Elder said. “It is the art of wonder. The channeling of self-expression. And it is the Glance of freedom.”

The lights abruptly went out.

“We desire freedom, Amara,” she old Gnoll said, her voice booming in a chilling echo of authority. “We see you, child – one who has only begun to realize her powers. We see you come to us not with anger, but with a mind open even to accepting one of your enemies. We see these things, and we believe you are ready to know more of the mysterious of the Doors.”

Amara leaned forward expectantly. The light show had obliterated everything else. Right now, she thought not about mother, about the Argents, or about those Gnolls and their cheering downstairs.

All she could see were those wondrous lights dancing free before her eyes.

And she knew it, then: this was why she was here.

“Can you teach me?” she asked.

The old Gnoll smiled.

“Yes, Amara,” she said. “We will show you how to open your heart to peer deeper into the Door of Flame. But only if you give us your solemn vow to protect our people, and help us vanquish our true enemy.”

“The Blackbird,” Amara said.

Now, the Sisters could not help but hiss. “Yes,” the Elder one replied. “He must die.”

“I thought you said that Pyromancy was for more than just killing?”

She didn’t even know why she asked this question. Her mind was made up. It had been ever since she’d fought alongside the Gnolls in Bhashera, since she’d bore witness to the destruction of their homes and the rape of their land. She didn’t know who this Blackbird was. But truthfully? She didn’t care. She knew what her answer would be.

“Child,” the Gnoll replied with a spirited grin. “You know that freedom comes with a price.”