Ten Years Before The Assassination of Queen Hyacinth Vague and Prince Consort Damian Dumornth
Fire burned through the village, and blood ran down the streets like flooding rain. Shouts of confusion and pain left the night air tinged with acrid emotion. But Azella stood still amidst it all, surrounded by the broken gates of a temple she’d spent her entire life longing to worship at.
Tonight didn’t have to happen, of course. A lot of things didn’t have to happen. But it did. And they did. Now, here she was, alone amidst the bodies of so many slain would-be sisters.
Azella stepped on broken limbs and through piles of discarded bodies on her way into the temple.
Outside, the Knights of Cirdan continued their purge to rid the village of firespeakers. And it wasn’t because they viewed them as unholy abominations. It wasn’t about religion. It wasn’t about corruption or philosophical differences. No, this slaughter came down to a simple power grab, which Azella knew would happen but chose to ignore.
The screams were growing more distant now. The temple had been the first target for the knights in their quest to purge the village of their rivals.
She alone descended the great stairs that led to the worship pit and altar of the Flame Goddess.
More Flamestresses lay dead down here. The smell of carnage gave the air an acidic tang. Scorch marks covered the walls and floors. Burned, broken furniture littered most of the space between bodies that had their throats slit. Some had been stabbed from behind. Others wore broken jaws and noses where a mace had destroyed their faces.
“Sisters, I once thought I’d call you. And ‘sister’ I dared to dream you would one day call me. Alas,” Azella said, looking around the ruined temple.
It was difficult to imagine 100 firespeakers singing praises to their goddess and dancing amidst the heat of passion after seeing all this wreckage. All that remained of the faith now was the Everflame, burning brightly on the wooden altar.
Soot and ash filled most of the floor around the altar, a large wooden bowl containing the golden ball of Everflame. Though the 300-year-old altar was made of lumber and held a living remnant of the Flame Goddess, the structure itself never burned, a sign of the covenant she’d made with Lady Dynella centuries ago. Fire that brought warmth and life to the hearts of worshippers but never devoured their altar.
Colorful murals of women dancing in the light of the Flame Goddess once adorned the walls of this temple. Now most of the paint was covered in spent blood and sediment. The bodies of knights and firespeakers terribly twisted together were the only remaining witnesses to the Everflame.
The enormous golden orb in the front of the temple cast shadows over the dead, no longer dying, but fully departed souls. It was here Azella lowered her head in prayer.
“May the Holy Order of Flame welcome me as a new sister when all others have been reduced to bloodsoaked kindling.”
A raspy, tired voice taunted Azella from the temple wings.
“And why. . . would the Flame welcome you? Even in ruin, you are not welcome here. Even at our lowest point, you are not one of us,” a crone said, stepping forward into the light of the altar.
Azella turned to face her accuser.
The old woman’s ashy hair spilled around her bleeding face, a large and jagged cut having gored open her left cheek. Azella could see her molars amid the severed pink flesh. The crone’s once-red eyes had now faded in hue to salmon. She’d spent all her strength to defend her home from the invasion. Little remained of her embers.
It wasn’t enough, Azella knew. The Knights of Cirdan hired bandits from every nearby village they could find for this surprise attack. They had one goal, to wipe Flamestresses from the face of the nation. Lord Tirban was a ruthless savage. He’d been planning the attack for years, training every knight under his command for this day. The commander waited until every Flamestress had returned to their home village to celebrate First Spark at the beginning of the new year. That’s when he unleashed everything he had upon the sisters.
The death of this temple and its followers would be his gift to King Shivoln, all in the hopes that Lord Tirban would be made a commander in the king’s forces.
Azella remembered stumbling upon the letters between Lord Tirban and King Shivoln a week ago, the absolute shock that gripped her chest when she realized what was going to happen to her home and how easily it was for her to step aside and allow it.
“Mother Most High. You’re looking. . . tired.”
The crone’s outfit was all but shredded in several places, exposing deep cuts to her pale flesh, and several wounds cauterized shut. She kept one hand on the altar to steady herself.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she hissed.
“Knew what, Mother?”
“That your father would attack us. You knew the entire time, you little volsunch!”
The slur spat from her tongue and stuck to Azella’s cheek like saliva. Even in her deadened state, she couldn’t keep from flinching. Cursed flesh. Wretched beginnings. A sick joke from the stars above.
Azella had heard that word hurled at her by the many firespeakers as they’d burned her to chase her off. She came to them seeking mercy and acceptance and only ever faced their scorching rejection. Those memories flashed through her mind as she ground her boots into the temple’s stone floor.
Gritting her teeth and feeling her pulse quicken, Azella turned to face the lead Flamestress, perhaps the last one by this point.
“And you knew my father beat me. Seems we’re both guilty of doing nothing in the face of heinous crimes, aren’t we?” Azella said.
The mother clenched her right fist. She seemed to be having trouble moving her left arm. It must have been the blood loss finally catching up to her.
“I. . .,” she started. “I never belittled you for your circumstances in life, child. But I couldn’t give you what you wanted from me.”
Azella stamped her foot into the ground and felt a storm surge through her. Cracks spread through the stone underneath her feet.
“You were the ONLY person who could have given me what I needed. You were the only person in the village strong enough to stand up to my father. You could have taken me into the Flame at any time! But you refused because having a girl who looked and sounded a little different join your ranks was just too difficult to overcome.”
The crone growled.
“It wasn’t that simple, Azella! You know it wasn’t. I never wanted war with your father. I was just trying to keep the peace. You know how this village has worked for centuries. Boys join the Knights of Cirdan, and girls who wish to face the fire give themselves to the Flame. I wouldn’t be the Mother Most High who upset that balance. I couldn’t change the natural order for you.”
With her neck popping as she cocked her skull to the side, Azella took note of the deafening silence that’d fallen outside the temple. The battle was over. The knights had won.
It’s a strange and eerie thing to hear screams retreat into quiet. You expect a ringing in your ears, but it never comes. And then everyone is left holding their breath, waiting for permission to make the next sound.
“Isn’t it ironic that your appeasement strategy led to your sisterhood’s annihilation? If you knew war would come one day, would you have protected me anyway?” When the crone declined to answer, Azella continued, “Well, Mother, fortunately for you, remaking the natural order was something I decided to do on my own.”
Azella stepped closer as more light fell upon her tattered brown cloak. She held up her hands, much smaller than they’d been a year ago when she started this transformation. Her teeth were sharper now, and her shoulders much more slim. Azella’s face was much rounder, fat having built up along her cheeks, adding an ironic softness to the sharp internal edge she’d crafted after years of abuse.
But it was her unnatural violet eyes and the coin-sized chunk of amethyst in Azella’s forehead that gave away the tell-tale sign of change, one that most of the continent’s population would abhor and consider cursed; which was funny because Azella felt great.
Sure, parts of her throat had inexplicably crystalized, and she’d spent three months with a perpetual fever and fried nerves. But her body had reshaped itself to the feminine form she’d craved for years. Azella would trade months of fever for a blessed bosom over and over again if she had to.
The crone somehow paled even further as Azella stepped closer and into better view. She staggered backward until she fell on her tailbone and flinched.
“What did you do, child? Is this — some illusion you’ve cobbled together? Because it changes nothing.”
“Wrong! It changes EVERYTHING,” Azella hissed. “At the age of 16, I looked upon my wretched flesh, the body that denied me everything my heart cried out for, and I judged it unworthy to remain. Imagine my surprise when after many prayers to the Flame, I found myself in the presence of a dead dragon, gifted with a whole lake of blood to drown myself in.”
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
The crone slowly shook her head.
“You lie, child. That would kill you. It’s killed so many fools who were dumb enough to try and gain a dragon’s strength for themselves.”
I clutched my fists and unleashed a wicked smile upon the Mother.
“Well, maybe that’s where they went wrong. I didn’t want the dragon’s strength. I wanted her essence. And every day for the past year, I drank from her corpse until my body changed into the form you see standing before you.”
Still shaking her head, the Mother stammered for words until she found some.
“Changing your flesh into that of an abomination won’t help you. It’ll never be enough. I’m sorry you were born with the flesh of a boy, but our rules have been clear since Lady Dynella first struck her covenant with the Flame. No men would ever be permitted to share the goddess’s power.”
Despite holding everything back, despite deadening herself for the slaughter to come with wysenberries, some tears still managed to leak through.
“I never wanted your power, Mother. I only wanted your acceptance and your community. Every time my father put a blade in my hand and cut me down in front of the knights, I dreamed of dancing in your temple with my sisters by my side. Some days, it was the only thing that got me through my time at the Cirdan Academy.”
Not far from the temple, Azella heard the march of approaching soldiers. Their armored footsteps echoed through the town square.
Steeling herself, Azella walked toward the altar’s center where she found a wooden ladle suspended on two brass nails.
“I’d warn you of an excruciating death for what you’re about to do, but that’ll be a mercy killing for a volsunch like you.”
Picking up the ladle and slowly dipping it into the golden fire, Azella watched the wood remain entirely unharmed. Pulling out a scoop of golden flame, she saw the fire transition into a steaming state of partial liquid. It still waved like a candle, and unbelievable heat radiated from the ladle’s end, but Azella held it to her lips all the same, as she’d dreamed of doing since she was a child.
Just before downing the Everflame, Azella shot the Mother one final look and last parting words between them.
“I want you to watch, Mother Most High, as you see me accepted and filled with the light and warmth of the Flame Goddess. I want you to realize that you broke Her Fourth Commandment every time you turned me away from your door, and every time you allowed your sisters to mock me. By the name of Her Holy Order, you must not turn away a pleading girl in need. Her light exists to brighten the world for women across the continent. You failed Her. You failed me. Now watch as I claim the mantle of my womanhood and cast off your many years of rejection.”
The crone spat.
“Curse the Flame and die.”
Ignoring her final wish, Azella tipped the ladle upward and drank deeply of the fire that’d been denied her.
Her throat burned, her skin dried, and the very liquid in her eyes sizzled like fried pork in a skillet. Smoke rose from her flesh as she clutched the ladle tighter. But she refused to stop drinking until every last drop was consumed.
Shaking hands and evaporating sweat kept the ladle in place until Azella’s throat bobbed one last time, taking in all the Everflame she’d pulled from the altar.
She doubled over as her body screamed in betrayal. This was 20 — no 50 times worse than her fever after drinking dragon’s blood.
Everflame coursed through her in a furious vengeance, finding altered flesh wherever it turned. And as the crone grinned with one final perceived triumph, her vision blurring as the last grains of sand fell through her hourglass, Azella refused to scream in pain.
Instead, she drew her ever-tightening throat under what little control she had left and began a prayer she’d memorized in her youth. Even if she couldn’t worship at the temple with the other sisters, even if she couldn’t drink from the altar, even if she couldn’t praise the Flame aloud with a voice she hated to hear with each word, she COULD steal a holy book from a Flamestress who let her guard down. And she COULD memorize every word of the sacred texts.
She recalled those words to her memory as the Everflame continued to scorch through her. And where the Mother expected her to have fallen over as a crisp husk now, Azella instead remained standing. Her dragon blood seemed to absorb enough heat to keep the girl momentarily upright.
Smoke billowed from Azella’s skin as she growled.
With her rapidly shredding self-restraint, Azella tightly clasped her hands and folded her fingers.
“BLESSED IS THE FLAME. I CALL FORTH ITS HOLY LIGHT TO SANCTIFY AND CONSUME MY TAINTED FLESH. BLESSED ARE THOSE DEVOURED BY THE FIRE OF THE HOLY GODDESS. IN A DARK AND SHATTERED REALM, HER LIGHT HOLDS TRUE. MY LIPS SING THE PRAISE OF THE GODDESS WHOSE NAME IS HIDDEN TO THE TONGUES OF FOOLS AND BARBARIANS. BUT I, A CURSED MORTAL IN HER 17TH YEAR, CALL FORTH THE GODDESS AZALYN TO MAKE ME HER DAUGHTER. PURIFY MY WRETCHED FORM WITH YOUR FIERY REBIRTH, OH GODDESS.”
Azella’s throat screamed inside, blood and sweat running down her inner cheeks and out of her eye sockets and ears.
The crone spat again.
“Your prayer falls on deaf ears. You are rejected,” she hissed.
And that’s when they both heard an infinitely more powerful voice call out from the Everflame. The altar quaked with Her resonance.
“WHO CALLS TO ME IN THE DARKEST HOUR OF MY TEMPLE?”
The mother’s jaw dropped several inches, her mouth agape.
“I do!” Azella yelled. “Your Holy Flame, I summoned you with my prayer.”
A large pure white eye within the Everflame opened wide and stared at Azella with all the fury of a goddess.
“AND WHO ARE YOU TO CALL ME? WHO ARE YOU TO DRINK MY EVERFLAME?”
Azella bowed her head as far as she could, clenched in the burning throes of scorched agony. A mix of blood and sweat dripped to the floor.
With one shaking hand, Azella dipped three fingers along the stone floor and scooped up as much soot as she could. Swiping it across her forehead and forming a thick mess upon her tortured flesh, Azella took short raspy breaths.
“I am an unholy wretch bowing humbly in your presence, oh Flame. I darken my head and throw myself upon your light’s mercy. My name is Azella.”
“AZELLA. . . WHAT?” the goddess’ voice boomed.
The crone shook in fear, having only experienced minor doses of the Flame’s power in comparison.
“I forsook my family name as I forsook my flesh. I asked for neither. I keep neither. If you so see fit, Bright Goddess, you may remake and rename me.”
The Everflame eye narrowed.
“SUBMIT TO MY GAZE THAT I MAY KNOW YOUR STORY,” the goddess commanded.
Azella bowed to her knees, a chimney’s worth of smoke leaking from her burning skin. Blood now ran from her tongue as well as her eyes and ears. She rattled in agony as the dragon blood she’d consumed for a year did all that it could to keep her alive for the goddess’ inquiry.
Scenes of Azella’s life played before the Everflame like moving paintings. A small boy born in a fury that claimed his mother. An enraged father who used every ounce of his strength to beat the child into a shape he choose with each passing year. Knights. Swords. Shields. Exercises of frustration and tears. A tortured life at the academy. Secret nights of prayers to the Flame. A closet shrine to fire that never burned for Azella. Many, many rejections from the Flamestresses, the home a child so desperately wanted. But they would not take her as a sister. They would not take her as a pet. They would not even take her as a prisoner. Any and all outcomes she would have accepted over her current life. A dragon’s corpse that crashed into a ravine. A despate teen, consuming blood from it day after day, reshaping herself via pain into the burning feminine figure that kneeled before the Flame.
Outside the temple, the sound of marching boots and clanging armor grew yet closer, plowing through and over the bodies of dead firespeakers.
“TELL ME THIS, AZELLA THE ABANDONED. DO I SEE TRUE IN YOUR MIND? YOU COULD HAVE PREVENTED ALL THIS DEATH TODAY? YET YOU STOOD BY AND DID NOTHING?”
With more blood and sweat dripping to the soot-covered floor, Azella could only knod her head for a moment while working up any last shreds of strength she had to answer the goddess.
“Yes, Holy Flame. As your firespeakers broke your code by turning a blind eye to my suffering, I turned a blind eye to their wholesale slaughter by my father. I hide no truth from you.”
The veins in Azella’s body all felt like coils of molten steel inside a blacksmith’s stall. She grunted as her blood boiled, and the very saliva on her tongue started to sizzle.
“KNOWING THIS, YOU CAME HERE TODAY SEEKING MY BLESSING. WHY?”
“Because I know I’m worthy. Worthy of womanhood. Worthy of sisterhood. Worthy of the sacred feminine. But what I want more than anything is to be worthy of your Flame, my goddess. Please, burn away my impurities and grant me your blessing,” Azella choked out. The inside of her throat now felt like razors were chipping away at her tenderized flesh.
The Mother Most High slowly stood, bracing herself on the altar.
“Holy Flame, I beseech thee to scorch this imposter! I draw my final breaths because of this foolish child! My sisters are all dead by —” she started before the goddess’ eye snapped to her.
“BE SILENT, MOTHER MOST HIGH. YOU FAILED ME WHEN YOU FAILED THIS CHILD AGAIN AND AGAIN. I CAST THEE OUT INTO THE DARKNESS FOR YOUR FINAL BREATHS.”
The crone’s entire body gasped in shock and disbelief as the last of her strength finally started to give way.
With her blazing white eye fixed on Azella, the Flame spoke again.
“PRAY TO ME ONCE MORE, CHILD.”
Burning the last her endurance, Azella shakily rose to her feet and folded her fingers together a second time. She closed her eyes as the blood and soot dripping over them became a thick paste.
“I ADORE THEE, FLAME. MAY THE FIRE BURN FOREVER. MAY THE LIGHT SHINE WITHOUT END. MAY MY FLESH BE CONSUMED BY YOUR EVERFLAME. I PRAY FOR YOUR FLAME TO COVER THE SIX NATIONS, THE HILLS, THE TREES, THE SEAS, THE CANYONS, THE DESERTS, AND THE HEARTS, YES THE HEARTS MOST OF ALL. BURN BRIGHT. BURN HOT. BURN FIERCE, OH SACRED AZALYN!” Azella yelled, not with her voice, but with her spirit.
As her flesh began to glow with golden fire, Azella was lifted into the air before the blazing white eye. Everything within Azella burned anew, sparking the lifelong change she’d sought every day with every breath.
“VERY WELL, CHILD. FIRST, I NAME THEE AZELLA SPARKSEAR. SECOND, I NAME THEE FLAMESTRESS. THIRD, I NAME THEE DRAGONTURNED. AND I SET YOUR HEART ABLAZE.”
Radiant light bathed every inch of Azella as her amethyst glowed bright with the light of 100 stars.
“I curse your name!” the crone spat at Azella one final time before falling back with a defiant wheeze. Her head hit the stone floor and rolled to the side. As her eyes closed, the crone’s irises changed to a milky gray, fading once and for all.
As several Knights of Cirdan entered the temple, blades drawn, they shielded their eyes in full view of the Everflame. They stood frozen in the blinding light, grimacing and stepping backward toward the stairs.
“HEAR ME WELL, AZELLA. I GRANT YOU MY LIGHT. I GRANT YOU THE TITLE OF FLAMESTRESS. BUT THIS DOES NOT CHANGE THE FACT THAT ALL THE WORSHIPPERS OF MY HOUSE HERE LIE DEAD, IN PART, BECAUSE OF YOU. YOU’VE RECEIVED MY BLESSING. NOW RECEIVE MY CURSE. YOU WILL NOT BE WELCOME IN ANY OTHER TEMPLE THAT BEARS MY NAME. AND YOU WILL NOT WALK WITH ANY OTHER SISTERS OF MY FIRE.”
With her feet on the ground again, the dragonturned bowed deeply in the light of the Everflame, accepting the gift and the curse.
“Consume my treacherous flesh, oh Flame. Denounce this temple my actions have desecrated. And burn as many of these ever-cursed knights as have dared to enter your home.”
The eye slowly closed as a loud voice bellowed from the Everflame.
“BE ONE WITH MY FIRE.”
And that was the last thing Azella Sparksear heard before the Everflame exploded outward in a massive inferno, taking the bodies of her would-be sisters, one rejected Mother Most High, and several arrogant Knights of Cirdan.