"I won't go into the why and how of it," said the storm god grouchily. "But you are in a crisis, one that you must learn to resolve tonight, and not allow to fester. To start... I know you've read of the Magic Gifts. I need you to use one now. The gift of Eyes will let you see in your waking mind what you know. For a god, it is an important power." He took his gnarled cane and poked me right in the center of the chest. "Deep inside you is what we call soul flame. It is the gift transferred to gods in the course of worship, and it is the mark of gods. You must learn to use the Eye to find the soul flame within yourself."

The Gifts, as I'd read about them, were the easiest to learn and activate of all the magical powers, and so I tried simply DOING what he asked me to do. Activating the ability, as it turns out, was easy; directing it was not. Instead of seeing anything within me, I was given a view of my own mind, with its swirling thoughts, memories, and pieces twisted together to form a cohesive whole. In a way, it was beautiful, and confusing, but also disgusting, because I could see clearly that my own mind and soul had been jammed unceremoniously into the mind of another formerly living creature.

"Focus," snapped the old man. "Soul flames. Start with the blue flames that you saw us conjuring."

So I looked within myself, and I saw it; a small half-dozen wisps, each less than a lit match, all of matching blue fire. I pursed my lips and nodded. "I see it."

"There are eight types of flame." The old man took my head in his hands. "Concentrate, and add to the image. Blue flame is given out of loyalty; it is that given to gods by choice. Silvered flame is given out of love, and belongs to no one else. Green flame is given out of hate, and cannot be given away. Golden flame is given from one god to another, the most precious of gifts. Blood flame is that which was stolen, and is a crime amongst gods. Black flames, which you saw, are the mark of necromancy, and must be destroyed."

"The last," he said gravely, "is ashen flame. It is the dying wishes of a soul in your care. It is extraordinarily powerful, but it comes with a steep cost: if you do not fulfill the dying wish, a revenant will rise, a ghast to take revenge on the gods who do not care for them. You know of what I speak."

As he listed the flames, the strange picture in my mind took on more shapes and colors. As it turns out, the individual blue wisps were all part of the same larger fire, but the rest of it was made of different colors. Some of it was a nasty looking green, reflecting (I thought) the people who had seen me as a filthy hobo in Alanna's church. A large piece was gold, which I could feel came from the two gods in the room with me; some pieces were shining silver, from various townspeople who had new respect for me, especially after today. But a large ugly chunk was ashen white, and frozen in place as though made from solid stone, and I didn't understand it at all.

"But..." I shook my head. "She didn't ask me anything. Only to let her die."

"In her words, she asked nothing. But her heart is unsettled." The storm god laid aside his staff. "Understand, I'm no good at this, but my daughter is tired, and I'll humor her after a day like this one. If worst comes to worst, force the flame to return to the woman. You will know how. But you should try... in your mind, take your hands and collect the ashen flame. Know the feel of it, the weight of it. Know the soul that has been gifted to you whole, and not in pieces."

I started to do exactly that, until I heard his last words. The concept of truly being given the dying woman's soul... I felt a strong urge to simply release her. But the moment I touched that soul, I knew better. If she were free, she would not be at rest. In her dying moments, she was restless, searching. She wasn't only trapped by irons, but by her own actions.

She had choked her daughter to death in her sleep, rather than have her see, hear, and know the awful things happening in that ship. She had kept up a pretense, talking to the corpse, rocking her, moving her limbs and acting as though the girl was still alive and moving. It was enough to fool the necromancer, but nobody else.

She saw it in their eyes.

The woman was obsessed with their eyes. They knew, she convinced herself. They knew I am a murderer, they think I am mad. But I cannot let my daughter become... cannot...

I shook my head and had to let go of the flame. It was a terrible burden to bear, but how was I to free her from it? What exactly was the ...core of the burden, the wish?

Touching the flame only dropped me back into those same awful memories, those long tortured days of knowing that everyone knew, of torturing herself. Over and over, no matter how I tried to approach the thought, this was the thing she could not escape.

Finally, as I touched it the fifth time, I approached with a certain callousness, a certain... acceptance. The shock had worn off, and I just treated her like any other victim.

"It's alright," I spoke to her in my mind. "I understand. Your daughter... would understand. There was no guarantee you, or she, would survive. She would not wish to have to go through what you did. And... she wouldn't want you to suffer this guilt."

The flames seemed to study me, as though waiting. After a moment, I thought I understood.

"I... forgive you."  And as I spoke, I realized that I meant it, in a very personal way.  I wasn't trying to lie to pacify her.  She had made one of many possible, terrible choices, and borne the burden.  "And I know that your daughter does as well." In that moment, I saw a pair of eyes--the daughter's, I thought, though I had never seen them intact. And I knew that she also forgave her mother. She held no resentment. "We do not resent you. We... your daughter, but also I. I love you for trying to save her, for killing yourself to protect her. It is a noble thing, however dirty and... impossibly painful it must have been."

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The ashen flames seemed to collapse in on themselves, first just a bit, and then finally, they lost their static, unchanging nature, becoming living fire like the rest. I knew, then, that these flames were pure, no longer trapped in that horrible moment. And so, focusing my mind on the daughter's pair of eyes, I released the woman's flame back into the world.

Maybe it would set me back as a god, but I didn't want to gain power by just... receiving a person's soul after an accident. Let her reincarnate, or whatever, and perhaps meet her daughter again, in another life, in another world. The poor woman deserves better.

When I opened my eyes, the old man was studying me, and he nodded. "You did alright," he said. "I would have kept the energy, but you are young. It's probably good karma to let her go." He chuckled as his staff flew back to his hand and he stood. "Go rest. Don't meddle with the fire, not even a little. It's more important than you can possibly imagine.

I don't think it was my imagination when I say that the trauma I had felt after watching the woman's death had eased off my shoulders. It was still an awful thing to have to bear, but it was no longer... it wasn't quite the same as feeling the weight of her soul and knowing that she had died, troubled and alone. I had saved her, I thought, and asked for nothing in return.

Good karma? I quietly hoped there was such a thing as I settled into my small bed, and almost immediately fell asleep.

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The next day was busy for the entire town. For me, it started with a conversation with Mel, the mayor, a somewhat older woman whose principle interest in me was whether or not I was qualified to take over the job as port master.

She had a pair of glasses on a strap around her neck, but chose not to wear them. It could have been a looks thing; she was an attractive woman, if in a subdued way. She was the kind of beautiful blond woman, now graying a bit, who you could expect to find in a port town, and the few times I'd seen her before, it had always been with a smile on her face. Now, after all that, the weight of the town was on her, and she seemed uninterested in anything but business.

"I apologize, madam Mayor," was all I could say, "but I know nothing of the job. Manne was having me look over papers, to check the numbers on them, but he barely touched on the rules. I don't think he was intending for me to apprentice under him, certainly not soon. I've seen him bring a ship or two into port--" and that was stretching the truth a little, since he went up on deck and talked quietly with the captains, "--but I'm no more ready to take over the position than Lucile or Nency."

Mel could only rub the bridge of her nose and mutter what was probably vague slander towards Manne's parents under her breath. "Fine," she said. "But if you'll take the job, I need you to at least man his office, and make sure I'm notified whenever a ship is coming in. If you WANT the job, I am sure that Lucile can help--she can send away for the right papers and books from the capitol. They take her letters seriously." The major stood and looked me up and down, still looking somewhat grim. "The shipwright is going to be harassing you a lot about the wrecked ship. Try to minimize how often you pass them on to me. I just want it gone, and I don't want them to charge me a lot for it. We've already agreed..." she paused, then gestured for pen and paper, which I passed over. A few moments later I had a rough set of figures on the ship. "Of course they'll look for opportunities to charge more. If you must, send them to me. Otherwise, just tell them to get back to work. That wrecked ship is going to scare away ships until it's gone."

The figures were a bit upsetting. It was, first of all, a lot of money--close to eight hundred gold just to disassemble and dispose of the wreck. Second, according to the brief that she wrote up, the shipwrights gave the town no credit for anything they might salvage from the ship, a fact that Mel confirmed when asked. Third... it didn't occur to me until I saw it on paper, but I knew, from my still-undeveloped godly senses, that much of the wreckage was still tainted with the remnants of that black, necromantic soulfire.

"Have you discussed the wreckage with the Temple of Alanna?" I hoped that was as good a start as any to the discussion.

Mel looked confused, and perhaps unimpressed. "Alanna herself was here just yesterday. What would her temple have anything to do with it? You think they want payment for leaving the wreck here? I give them credit for the good that they did, but the wreck itself..."

"No, no." Of course she wouldn't understand. Soulfire was something only gods sensed... right? Maybe mages could, too. I had to gamble on that angle. "I still... I have a small bit of magely talent, Mel, and that wreckage gives me the absolute creeps. Alanna said something about Necromancy... I would feel more comfortable if maybe Lucile could at least assure us that there is nothing awful left over, no stray dark magic?"

Mel sniffed disdainfully, then closed her eyes and looked down, but after a moment, gave a kind of rolling shake of her head that I interpreted as giving in. "Oh, alright. The temple is a large player in this town, especially after that. I'll have her come out and take a look at the wreckage. But after that, I want you to make sure the shipwrights stay on-task."

Of course it wasn't that easy.

Lucile--Alanna--looked a litle haggard when the Mayor brought her down to look at the wreckage, but she immediately shooed the workers away and told them not to touch it for another two days. That had Mel up in arms, but Lucile didn't back down, and in the end Mel just walked away cursing the town's bad luck.

I strayed a bit close, wondering if there were any godly secrets to be learned from Alanna's cleansing of the site, but she shooed me away. Me being a vagrant only loosely tied to the church, and with even less authority over the beach, I suppose I was stretching my luck when I hoped I'd get to watch. So I watched the horizon, and corrected the same fisherman's bad math when he sold his next catch to the fish monger, and wondered quietly exactly what the young... well, young-looking, probably not actually young, goddess was up to.

By dusk she stumbled out, looking even more tired than before, and we walked back to the temple together. I was not quite dumb enough to strike up a conversation about godly topics on the way there, although I was tempted several times, instead asking mundane-sounding questions like if there was anything I could do for her or the temple.

Which, naturally, got me in the uncomfortable position of cooking dinner that night. I was never all that good at cooking, but I kept the food simple and there were no complaints. And, truly, the Temple's food was never exactly fancy, but it was usually better rounded than my attempt.

Alanna explained quietly as we ate--in the basement, far from prying ears--that cleaning up necromantic Soulfire was only possible using other Soulfire, which of course she couldn't do while maintaining her facade as a mere priestess. Instead, there was a ritual sigil that was used to collect it and send it to a very particular place: an ancient ruin on an otherwise deserted island where elder gods would congregate. It was no heresy or offense to them, just a simple trade: the elder gods would banish the black flame, and the god or goddess who sent it along would offer gold flame as a replacement.

I couldn't help asking for more information about the flames, but Alanna gave me a look that told me I had already asked too much. I asked if there was a book, but of course not; godly matters were rarely written down, and that was one of the secrets that the gods dared not pass on except in quiet oral tradition. So I just looked thoughtful and nodded and said well, another time then, and Alanna went off to sleep.