“So did ya hear?” Yari asked after they had ridden a short while in silence. He spoke without looking at Sarien, making it difficult to pick out the words from the loud rumblings of the cart.
“Hear what?” Sarien asked.
“About Kalstram, of course.”
Sarien’s breath caught. It was the name of the village where Sarien and the others were attacked. “I heard.”
“Strange that,” Yari said. “All empty and now this. He nodded to the wooden crate containing the remains of the creature.
“Yeah,” Sarien agreed. He sat in silence for a while before working up the courage to ask. “So, are you a pyromancer?”
That set Yari off laughing until he started choking. When he finally calmed down, he answered between bouts of giggles. “No, no, boy. I’m no mage. Not of any kind. They just sent me to fetch you. I do odd jobs for the tower.”
“Oh,” Sarien said, disappointed.
“But don’t go getting any ideas of running away now,” Yari said. “You won’t get far.”
“Why do you keep thinking I’m going to run away?”
Yari shrugged again. “Some run. Most of the ones we come to collect are younger. Just boys and girls who are scared and want to go back home. But I’m used to getting burned with a little fire, so I always catch them.”
“Is it always you who comes and collects the ones who manifest the power?”
“Not always. There are others. Whoever is available.” Yari had said to not ask too many questions, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.
“What is it like over there?” Sarien asked.
“Where?”
“The tower, of course. Is it really burning?”
Yari snorted. “Of course, it isn’t burning. The Burning Tower of the Firemagi is just a grand name for a place like any other. A little stuffier perhaps, and I suppose there are some flames here and there when they practice.”
Sarien tried to imagine it but couldn’t. “So, is it like a school?”
“There are students there, embers they’re called, but not many. It’s not that common what you’ve got.”
“Power?”
Yari chuckled. “Power is common enough. We all hold power over others. Some more, some less. I’m talking about the flame. Sometimes I wish I had that. Wouldn’t have to go around picking up runts then, now would I?” He snapped the reins, trying to get the horse to move a little faster, but it ignored him and kept up its unhurried pace as Yari continued, “a little strange how you’re so old. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a kid, but most of those I pick up are little boys and girls, no older than six or seven.”
“Worried you got the wrong man?”
“No,” Yari said. “You fit the description.”
“Don’t need me to show you the flame?”
Yari looked aghast. “Don’t you dare. Can’t have you setting fire to the cart now, can we? Best not do that until we arrive at the tower.”
A comfortable silence fell between them. Sarien leaned back to enjoy the fine day. Sunny and with a slight breeze to take the edge of heat off. He’d saved Ben and was now on the way to the tower where he’d find his father and some answers about his newfound power. They would be amazed that he could use fire to heal, of course. He’d never heard of anything like that, so it had to be a rare talent. He grinned. Things were looking up.
They rode through the first village without stopping, but Sarien still drew the eyes of its inhabitants. One young woman about his own age left a group of others to walk alongside the cart. She really was quite pretty with her shoulder-length auburn hair and doe eyes. “Hey, pretty boy, where are you coming from?”
He smiled down at her. “The Karm estate.”
“Ooh, fancy lad. Where are you going then?”
“The tower,” Sarien said.
The woman frowned. “What’s a boy like you going to do there? Work in the kitchens?”
Sarien concentrated and brought forth a tiny white flame in the middle of his left palm, small enough that only she could see. “I’m going to join them and be a pyromancer, of course.” He laughed at his own joke, but the girl staggered back as if slapped. She turned and hurried back to her friends without another word, casting frightened glances over her shoulder.
“Told you not to play with your fire,” Yari said from up at the front. “People don’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“There you go with too many questions. My job is to take you to the tower, let’s not make this complicated.”
The cart trundled along and they eventually made it to Kalstram. Yari didn’t say a word and Sarien did his best not to look at where Perti, Ola, and Hein were slain just a few days ago.
The houses gaped empty. Perhaps it would remain deserted until it crumbled into ruins. The sense of something pulling at him through the white flame was still there. East. The power inside him pulled in that direction with a steady beat while it churned like a torrent in high seas. It was clearer than ever.
“What’s east of here?” he asked, trying to calm himself.
Yari looked in that direction. “East, you ask?” He shrugged. “Nothing much. Grass and fields until you get to the main road between Fyrie and Kleotram. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Sarien said. “How much longer until we’re at the tower?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
They slept under the open sky and resumed their travels early the next morning. A few farmsteads passed in the distance, but not a single village or town. From what little Sarien knew, the population still hadn’t recovered to the numbers prior to the gods being slain by the heroes over two hundred years ago. Most villages were located along the main road east of Fyrie or north, closer to the border with Vatnbloet. As he gazed across the seemingly endless fields, Sarien hadn’t realized that the entire kingdom only held a few actual cities.
“Yari, do you know how many Eldians there are now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know if there has been an official census, but about half of the population of what we had before the war. A hundred thousand or so, maybe?”
A hundred thousand. Such a staggering number of people, so many dead that even two generations later, they still hadn’t repopulated. “Thanks,” Sarien said. He didn’t know much about the state of the kingdom, or the other four. Perhaps now Sarien would be able to see them. Loft was especially interesting to him. He wanted to see an aeromancer, one of the wind mages.
Just as Yari promised, the tower came into sight by the middle of the afternoon. It was constructed out of plain gray stone, not engulfed in fire as Sarien assumed. The stones weren’t even painted red. But the tower rose out of the earth and went on and on until it looked like the stones touched the sky. From where he stood, he could not see the end of it.
A village sprawled around it, full of bustling people and children playing in the streets. Sarien caught a glimpse of a man in a red robe hurrying along one of the streets, but quickly lost sight of him.
“This is it,” Yari said when they approached the closed gate.
The two guards stationed at the gate nodded to Yari but only the one on the left spoke. “You’re back?”
“Aye,” Yari answered.
“This is the new one then?”
“It is.”
The other guard opened the gate and waved them inside. “Go on.”
Sarien followed Yari’s lead and hopped off the wagon and headed inside the tower. Hot air blasted against Sarien as soon as he entered. It didn’t take long for the warmth to chase the chill from his bones as Yari led them to a side room.
“Warm in here,” Sarien said, opening his coat and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. He could feel the sweat begin to bead down his back.
Yari nodded. “Heat mages.”
They waited in silence for what felt like an hour before a boy appeared. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old with dark brown hair that reached his shoulders and mischievous eyes. He reminded Sarien of Ben as a child. The boy wore a short-sleeved shirt and pants, both light red in color. It looked cooler than the thick wool jacket and shirt Sarien wore.
“Who are you?” the boy asked, eyeing Sarien curiously.
“Sarien. What’s your name?”
“Hah! Sound like a girl’s name! And you kind of look like one too! I’m Tremalian, the Fourth of High Valley, House Reyna and Eldborn in the realm of Eldsprak.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Sarien tensed. “You’re a noble, then?” The boy had to be. Quite the mouthful, a name like that. Sarien was pretty sure most of that gibberish the boy spewed was nonsense, but there was no way for him to know for sure.
The boy gave him two thumbs up and a huge grin. “Nah, just messing with you. You can call me Tre!”
Sarien breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re to come with me. It’s time for your interview.”
“Interview?”
The boy nodded. “That’s right. We all do it when we first arrive. Don’t worry!” He looked at Yari. “Did you bring me anything tasty this time, old man?”
“I’m not that old,” Yari grumbled though with a smile. “Sorry, nothing this time.”
Tre’s eyes narrowed. “You better not make a habit of that!” He pointed at Sarien. “You come with me, and don’t be a laggard!”
The two of them hurried along a windowless corridor lined with lanterns. Sarien blinked and peered closer at one as they passed. The lanterns weren’t burning any material. Just a flame hovering above a rod of metal.
“What is this?” he asked Tre, who was already several paces down the corridor.
The boy ran back to inspect. “Oh, it’s practice. The embers take turns lighting the place. Helps with concentration and builds stamina, you know?”
Sarien shook his head in wonder. “No, I don’t know.”
“But you’re so old already.”
Sarien grimaced. “Right.” They started in on their hurried pace again. The corridors they passed were all the same. Narrow with low ceilings and no windows. Their footsteps echoed off the stone floors. It felt gloomy despite the lanterns. To Sarien’s surprise, they did not pass a single person.
When they made it to a set of curved stairs, taking them up to the second floor, Sarien finally understood. They were using the servant’s passageways, a way to travel unseen within the tower.
On the second floor, a larger corridor opened up. Tall windows covered the far wall, with several doors opposite them. A large rug spun from some fine material covered most of the floor, red with intricate patterns made to look like flames. The drapes on the windows matched the rug. This was what Sarien was expecting when he heard tales about The Burning Tower of Firemagi—ostentatious reminders of where you stood.
Tre grabbed his hand to pull him along. “Come on! The old people here don’t like to wait!” They scurried along another few sets of corridors until they made it to the end of one, where Tre stopped. “This is it. Just knock and wait for him to call you in.”
Sarien nodded. “Thank you, Tre.”
The boy grinned, then ran off, his footfalls muted on the thick carpet. Sarien shook his head with a smile before turning to face the large, ornate door before him. It was so thick that his knocks barely made a sound the first time, so he knocked again, harder.
“Enter,” a voice, barely audible, said from the other side. It required quite a bit of strength to push the double doors open.
Inside was a study with bookcases lining the walls, each of them overflowing with books, tomes, and stacks of parchment. The air was dry, and noticeably cooler than the heated corridors. The same patterned rug from the corridor covered the floor and similar windows lined the opposite wall from the main doors letting in streams of sunlight.
Behind an enormous desk that spanned nearly the entirety of the room sat a man dressed just like Sarien had imagined a pyromancer might. The man wore red robes with yellow and orange symbols stitched onto the fabric. The robes hung open, revealing a plain white shirt beneath. His face was lined with deep wrinkles around the eyes and his head was completely bald. The man’s face was covered by an impressive white beard.
“Sit down,” he said, his voice deep and melodious.
Sarien hurried over to and sat in a chair on the other side of the desk, causing a cloud of dust to rise from his body. There hadn’t been any opportunities to wash himself after the journey to the tower.
“So, you are Sarien,” the old man said, looking up from the piece of parchment he was writing on.
“Yes,” Sarien said.
The old man nodded. “A strange name for a boy in Eldsprak. Never heard it before. Is that your full name? Just Sarien?” The expression on his face and the tone of his voice were flat.
“Sarien Wald, my father is Talc Wald. What’s your name?”
“You are here to answer questions, not ask them,” the old man said. “But I’ll allow it this once. My name is Bjorn Elden, and I’m in charge of you embers. You may refer to me as Director Elden, or Director of Embers.” He thought for moment. “Just Director is fine too.”
“Director,” Sarien said deferentially. “Have you spoken with my father?”
“Your father?”
“Talc Wald. I believe he’s here in the tower.”
The director shook his head. “To my knowledge, no such man has been here.” Sarien frowned but didn’t press further. Either the old man didn’t know, or he wouldn’t speak of it. This search might be trickier than he’d thought. Sarien would have to ask around on his own.
“Now,” the director said. “You will be entered into our books as an ember. You’re much older than most of those we find, not that there are many these days.”
“There are fewer eldborn now than before?”
Bjorn narrowed his eyes. “I have heard worrying reports of your inborn spark. It is important that we firemagi do not deceive those who are beneath us. Fear and distrust of pyromancers are already rampart in Eldsprak, not to speak of our neighboring kingdoms.”
“Why?”
“Silence now, ember. Did you deceive those around you with the use of your inborn spark?”
“My spark?”
“Your flame. Your power. The burning that rages inside you!”
Sarien shook his head. “I’m not sure how, but I healed my friends at the Karm estate. Closed their wounds up.”
Director Elden slammed his fist against the tables, making a stack of books topple over and Sarien jump in his seat. “Enough! No more lies. There is no healing with fire. Healing can only be done by those weak-minded followers of Ocea, with their water and pious refusal to accept their god’s demise.” He opened his fist and pointed the palm toward the ceiling. A flame as tall as him burst into being from nothing. “We are eldborn! Fire is in our blood! We!” He made the fire pulse in turn with his words. “Are!” It grew taller and taller, hotter and hotter. “Not! Healers!”
Sarien clenched his eyes against the bright light of the old man’s flame and shielded his face with his arms against the heat.
“Now,” the director of embers said, extinguishing the fire with a snap of his fingers. “Did you heal using fire?”
Sarien opened his eyes and let his arms fall to the chair’s armrests. Sweat trickled down his face and along his chest, making the shirt stick to him. “No?”
Bjorn gave him a hard look, and Sarien added a little more conviction to his answer.
“No,” Sarien repeated.
Director Elden sat back down in his chair with a sigh. “Good. Now that we’ve dealt with that. No more lying, understood?”
“No more lying,” Sarien agreed. This was not the reception he had expected. He hadn’t ever heard of someone healing with fire before either, not that he knew much of things like that, but shouldn’t they welcome such a discovery? Not simply deny that it occurred? There were even witnesses!
Sarien flattened his lips tightly and kept the thoughts to himself. This was obviously not the place nor the time for them.
“Now show me your flame. You know that much, don’t you? Or are you a heat mage?” The neutral expression on the old man’s face had turned sour.
“Yes,” Sarien said, holding up his palm. He closed his eyes and searched inside himself, calling on the power that resided in the left side of his body. The white flame.
As he opened his eyes, it manifested just above his hand. It flickered and danced as a flame should, but it neither emitted warmth nor had the right color. Not red, or orange, or even yellow. It was white.
From the bewildered look on the director’s face, the man didn’t understand what he saw either. He stood and walked around the desk, never letting his gaze waver from Sarien’s outstretched hand. When he got close enough to touch it, he reached out and held his hand over it.
“No warmth,” he muttered to himself. “White.”
He then took a step back, slowly shaking his head. “White flames are supposed to be the hottest. Never heard of something like this before.” He returned to his desk, and after a moment, waved a dismissive hand at Sarien’s flame. “You can let it go.”
Sarien did. The old man breathed in deep and then sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
Disappointment weighed heavily down on Sarien. “So, it’s not just that I haven’t trained?”
“Training makes a pyromancer’s flame hotter, stronger, and larger, of course, but an untrained ember should still be able to produce flames comparable to a conventional fire.”
“I’m broken,” Sarien said, blinking rapidly, his eyes burning. “Is that why I only have the power on one side of my body? I can feel the other side there, but it’s dormant in some way. Can’t access it at all.”
“I’m not well versed in these matters, so I couldn’t tell you,” The director said. “But do not concern yourself. I’m sure we can put the heat back in your blood. In addition to your usual classes, you will go to our director of research. It should not be a problem for her to deal with your abnormalities.”
Joy soared in Sarien’s chest. They could fix it. Of course they could, his fears had been for nothing!
“You may go.” With that dismissal, the old man settled back to writing on the parchment before him.
Sarien got to his feet and exited the room without another word.
In the corridor, Tre waited for him. “Looks like I’m supposed to be your guide for now.”
“My guide?”
“Show you around. Stuff like that. We embers have to stick together, right?”
“Sure,” Sarien agreed with a smile.
The two of them started walking back the way they had come. “So, how did it go with the old man?”
Sarien thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Sounds about right.”
“He said they can fix me.”
“Fix what?”
Sarien concentrated and brought forth his white flame. “Look.”
“Don’t do that,” Tre said, looking nervously around in the corridor.
Sarien extinguished his flame. “Why not?”
“We’re not allowed on our own. Embers only use our spark when told to, and always with some oldie watching over us.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who follows rules,” Sarien said.
That made Tre cackle and then look around again. The hallway was empty. He put his hands together, palms up, and fire shot up in an impressive pillar that towered over Sarien. The heat was overpowering, causing Sarien to step back.
“Look at that! I’m strong!”
Tre let the pillar of flame die off and then patted Sarien on the back. “I’m sure your tiny flame will grow bigger, eventually. Not as large as mine, of course. We can’t all be geniuses. And you’ll learn how to deal with the heat and stuff once you get started here. Hungry?”
“Starving.”
Tre steered them down another set of corridors and then up a level. There were other people walking around now, both young and old, men and women. Most barely glanced in their direction. No one greeted him.
“We have to get you to the old weird Madge, but there’s time for you to eat something first. The mess hall is probably empty now since lunch was served like an hour ago, but there are always leftovers.”
“Madge?”
“The director of research and whatnot. This place has more directors than I have fingers and toes. It’s hard to keep track of them all. That’ll never be me. I’m going out on adventures! Not going to sit around with books all day until I’m old and gray!”
Sarien couldn’t help but smile. “Me too!”
Tre’s face brightened. “Perhaps I’ll take you when I go. You can be my student! Just make sure you get your fire at least a little warm first, deal?”
“Oh. You’re going soon?”
“As soon as they let me!” Tre said, grabbing a door handle. “This is the mess hall. Remember how we walked to get here?”
Sarien shook his head. “Not at all.”
Tre opened the door and shook his head. “You’re hopeless, girl-face.”
The mess hall was indeed empty. A spacious room filled with tables and benches in neat rows. The ceiling was far above and shaped in the form of a dome. Along one wall was a long table stacked with plates of food. As Sarien approached, the air grew warmer. By the table itself, it was almost uncomfortable.
“Heat embers,” Tre said, without Sarien having to ask. “You know, like the torches?”
“So, there are eldborn who can’t make fire?”
“Sure. They only make heat. Boring, right?”
“And they don’t have to see the place where they make it warm or where they light fires? When they practice, I mean.” They grabbed a plate each and sat by a table far from the plates, where the heat wasn’t so bad.
“No. You can sort of remember a place and then use your spark there without seeing it. It’s kind of hard to describe. They’ll teach you.”
Sarien munched on a potato before speaking again. The gnawing sensation of hunger had been ever present since he healed Ben and Trillian. “Sounds like a neat trick, remembering places. So, these heat mages, they only make places warm?”
Tre answered with his mouth full of food. “Yes. But they can be pretty nasty if they want to. Ever seen a man cooked inside his armor?”
Sarien shuddered. “No.”
“Me neither, but I can’t imagine it’s very nice. Heat mages can make it really warm. Like, really warm.”
How did Sarien not know these things? He was born in Eldsprak after all, the kingdom of firemagi. Was the estate really that remote?
“Are there any other kinds?”
“Of what?” Tre asked.
“Well, fire mages!”
“Nah.”
“No?”
Tre grinned. “Nope. That’s it. Pyromancers and heat mages.” He held up two fingers. “Not that hard to remember.”