I’m On Fire – Lucky – 05/10/2022
Oct 11, 2022 14:44:36 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, stephena, and 1 more like this
Post by Lucky on Oct 11, 2022 14:44:36 GMT
Continues after The Ghost of Tom Joad (writeup in progress)
Part of the Cowboys and Elementals plotline
[Content Note: sex/smut, rough sex, drug use, grief]
Through fire and thunder, lies and loss
The Cavernous Seashank is a disgusting, filthy pit of an inn, and the clientele a disgusting, filthy rabble. A gentlecat coming to Port Ffirst would be advised never to board there. But I’ve certainly woken up in a Seashank bed on a few occasions, only to finish what I started, tiptoe from the room, wrestle my way past the vomit-stained drunks, vagabonds and cutpurses, and stagger back to my finer chambers at the Flourished Hook.
The proprietor Jed’s rudeness never ceases to entertain me, and today was no exception. If you order beer, he resents you. If you order whisky, he curses you. If you order grog, he mocks you. Heavens forbid you ask for wine. Either way, you get the same grimy cup and if you tip nicely, he might spit on it and wipe it out with a grey, yeasty bilgecloth.
I was here tonight because Calculus left a note for me this morning. Bandits were troubling a new settlement, Ger Errind, some 50 miles along the coast southeast of Port Ffirst. It sounded straightforward enough, but would mean several days of travel. I thought it best to send my apologies to Orianna, anticipating that I would not be back in time for her Draconic lesson. This saddened me: not only was she an exceptional student and the kindest, sweetest young woman, but I was growing deeply fond of her, and I would miss our time together. My dear squire Tamarkh would appreciate the few days off, though: I had been working them unsuccessfully through training manuals, and it would give me time to ponder how else I could make my teachings stick.
So: bandits. Usually a straightforward task. I looked forward to seeing who else would take this job…
Leonida, the beautiful, pale and serious Tiefling warrior, was sitting straight-backed at a table, professionally early and as impatient as ever to get started. We were soon joined by Nakia, the dour, devout young Tabaxi, whose tan and speckled coat spoke of the desert. I knew both would work with dedication, if not with jovial conversation.
I was pleased to also see Digs, the nervous and light-fingered Kobold, who showed remarkable talent as a tinkerer of sorts. With him came Prowler, the sleek, noble Tabaxi, an exceptional archer and as black and furtive as the new moon. Despite my heritage, I have rarely found it expedient to walk in silence, though I admire it greatly in those who do – cat folk, dragon folk or otherwise. Both of them were masterfully stealthy.
Equally stealthy, though only when she chose, Corrila skipped up to our table with impish aplomb. I chuckled privately. Hard as it was to tune into the Half-Elf’s slang and youthful exuberance, she was always a reliable source of good humour.
At three cats of six, we were a notable crew. A fact that seemed to entertain Jed excessively – upon which mirth he layered with gleeful disdain the observation that our employer had left for Ger Errind already, and we would have to make haste to catch her…
Before I set my filthy glass on the table, Leonida was out the door.
It took almost three days to hike to Ger Errind. The trip was uneventful, except for animated discussion of two strange phenomena: the appearance of several mysterious drifters, and the elemental magic emanating from our clients of late.
Derek. Mary. Arem. The drifters said they were revenants, though they were all handsome and intelligent folk, not mindless, savage denizens of the grave. They seemed to be working independently, yet some call of fate was drawing them together, and us with them. They were tough, capable, and secretive.
Prowler seemed tremendously bashful at the mention of Arem, who had drunk with them a week ago. The more Prowler blushed, the more I grinned. These drifters had more than the needs of the living: they had good taste.
The elemental magic was just as odd. After being in the presence of Ms Emzel Tozotro and then Ellarand the Genasi, I had felt strange residues of their energy under my skin. Prickling, gnawing away. I still felt the aftereffects of being near the Genasi (or Elemental – I was less hung up on his heritage and more upon what his magic had done to me). Their power was being sought by a group of people bearing a white moth tattoo… to what end, we could not say.
Like me, Leonida and Digs were feeling a burning heat in their skin from Ellarand. Corrila and Prowler reported the odd effects of a dry, buffeting force emanating painfully from their bodies, thanks to a client called Elluin Farbearos.
Whatever chemistry the air tasted of around Ellarand, that energy was buzzing in my bones. I could hear the same unease in the others while sleeping – their breathing was uneven.
We knew it would fade over time.
Not fast enough.
I whispered to the sea
Ger Errind was a small, peaceful fishing settlement of a few families, set into a pleasant cove. Our client, Achadin Greylake, was a tall Dwarven woman with purple hair. She described the bandit raids: they came at night. Maybe five, targeting random houses. They were usually stealthy, but had previously slain a couple of villagers. The village lacked the experience to tackle them.
Large parts of my soldiering youth were spent bringing law to the lawless, so this did not seem an exceptional problem to me. But nobody wants to hear this old tomcat’s war stories. So I drank tea and listened to the youngsters discussing plans animatedly, bemused by the inventive list of ideas for building trenches, pit traps, net snares, alarms and ambushes. But in the end, as Leonida correctly observed, the layout of the village offered no practical defences – not without days of digging and construction. The sun was setting and we had to be ready tonight. So we ate, took up posts around the village, and hunkered down.
Corrila and I took first shift. As a soldier, I’ve spent more hours of my life waiting than I care to think about. “Hurry up and wait,” as the army motto goes. I paced about the town familiarising myself with the lay of the land. Aside from some village folk settling down late, it was uneventful.
Silence crept over the village.
Waiting is the part you have to get used to. You never do.
Our watch ended. We nudged Leonida and Nakia awake, and settled down to sleep.
I felt the taste of iron in my throat. I tossed and turned on my bedroll for a long time. It irritated me. The buzzing, burning energy still jangled under my skin…
Fire. Heat. Warmth. Uncomfortable but cloaking me in flame. Almost protective. Cracking earth. Blades cutting my skin. Thin and deep. Sharper than steel. It hurts. It hurts. It HURTS, but it gets at the itching. It scratches. The pain overwhelms the buzzing. The discomfort subsides. The heat soothes. It numbs the energy. It holds me close.
There is someone lying next to me. I turn to them. Do I know them? Their features are obscured by flame. The air ripples with heat. Their voice, it isn’t a voice. More a feeling…
~ ~ I could find him. ~ ~
I frown. “Who are you?”
~ ~ You’ve waited so long. ~ ~
My chest pounds. I tremble. They know. They KNOW. They know my heart. Is this a lie? How could this be?
But how can I refuse? WHY would I?
~ ~ Let me take you to him.~ ~
A lump forms in my throat. I blink hard.
But no: I cannot betray Zari’s secrets. What if it is a trick? I swore I’d protect him…
…but it is all I’ve ever wanted…
…why I came here…
…the warmth beckons, cradles, comforts…
…and he is my life…
He. Is. My. Life.
My heart is in my throat. I clench my trembling fists and speak to the figure.
“Take me. Take me to him now.”
Hours pass. Days. Years. Millenia. Time does not matter.
He stands before me. Same tall, athletic build. Same undefeatable beauty. His hair is not steely grey, but a flickering flame. His face is not clear, but it’s him, it’s HIM. He lifts his hands to me. I see the ring. The rippling heat obscures it, but I know it’s there. It’s him. I feel it. I KNOW it. My heart. My love. The man I vowed my life to. La Lumière Éternelle.
My husband Zari.
My jaw drops. I want to seize him. I need to hold him close. But my limbs go weak and I stand there, fighting back tears.
I’ve held this moment in my heart for so long. The relief floods into me. My chest aches.
“It’s you. Where have you been?”
~ ~ Waiting. ~ ~
His voice. His voice. His voice is all but the same ageless baritone. It makes me shiver. “This whole time?” My words crack with emotion. I can barely breathe.
~ ~ Looking for you. ~ ~
“But I’ve been searching for you! Can we go home?” My voice is but a kitten’s mewling compared to his. There is a deep, eternal purring from deep within. I feel safe beside him. My tears keep falling. Tears of relief. If he would just hold me a moment…
~ ~ Let’s rest a while. ~ ~
My breathing is heavy from sobbing. I wipe my face. I frown. Zari does not ignore Flame so quickly. “…our daughter is waiting. She misses you too. We should go to her…”
~ ~ Soon. ~ ~
I hesitate. I don’t understand. But I believe him. He is far, far older and wiser than I. Always has been. I trust him always. He’s always kept me safe. The flames are so safe. I am warm here…
~ ~ Five more minutes? ~ ~
I nod. It makes sense. What is five minutes when I have been here centuries? What is five minutes when time does not matter? And yes, I can see his face. Can’t I? I have a sense of it, at least. La Lumière Éternelle. I feel him all around me. His strength, his power, his majesty.
I am warm here. At peace. Safe.
I follow my heart. Always have. Always will.
I look up at him. I nod slowly.
“Alright…”
My breath was but another’s dream
Someone poked me in the ribs. Again. It was rude. Insistent.
Reality wrung me by the lapels and rattled me awake until I opened my eyes. I jumped with a start.
It was cold. It was dark. There was no Zari.
It was night in Ger Errind. Two of the villagefolk were squinting over me nervously. One was cautiously nudging me with a staff. “Uh… a hut’s on fire.” They pointed at a glow in the distance.
“Right, right,” I mumbled, and dragged myself to my feet. “Right.” My head was fuzzy and burning and the prickling surged back into my skin. I heard the clamour of pots banging, people shouting. Leonida and the others rushing in the direction of the fire.
One of the villagers peered closely. “Have you been crying in your sleep?”
My face was a mess. I rubbed it briskly. Reality crashed over me in icy waves, and it hurt. Like someone took a knife and ran a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull. It had all been a dream. A lie. Zari was not here. Devastation whispered its name in my ears. I trembled like a kitten. Ready to crumple to the ground.
“Never mind about that,” I snapped, wrestling force and authority back into my voice.
I drew my sword. The only steel I had with me.
I jogged toward the fire.
We descended upon the burning hut, to sounds of violence and shouting inside. The others bore the same shock as me, also shedding the same magical sleep. Some of them had been woken up by another of the drifters. Tall, dark, mysterious. Soft brown eyes. Armed with an arcane gauntlet. And a deadly accent. A voice that could break a man’s heart.
But I was swept up a tornado of other emotions right now.
Flames crawled up a wall inside the hut. A Fire Genasi was screaming furiously, flipping furniture, tossing the place, searching. “Where the fuck is it? Give it to me!”
Achadin was cowering in the corner, hugging her knees in terror. Watching the Fire Genasi tear the place apart.
No, not a Fire Genasi. Their features are obscured by flame. The air ripples with heat. Another Elemental. The person who had created the dreams. Who promised me Zari. Who spoke to my heart and tricked me.
What a fool I’d been.
I gritted my teeth angrily. My chest pounded. I gripped my sword tighter. We charged the figure.
The fight was brief. Messy. Furious. When I hit them, I felt the discharging of my own elemental flames. Bursts of fire that could not affect a person of flame, but of course, they blasted back over me painfully.
It hurt. I burned. I just hit it harder.
We all did. Eventually the Elemental died in a shockwave of flame that threw me backwards and seared my fur.
The aftermath was just as chaotic. We suppressed the fire before it consumed the hut. Leonida seized Achadin and pinned her against a wall in fury. Nakia threatened to turn on the drifter because he was undead. Digs was mourning his ineffectual snare. Prowler had a thousand-yard stare. Corrila revelled in the way the Elemental had exploded. The whole time, I had Zari’s face floating in front of my eyes. No, not his face. Just an impression of him.
A cacophony of voices tolled around me, but none of them were him.
We flung all our knowledge and anger and grief and fear in the air and hoped it would land in a coherent pattern.
Achadin was distraught. She apologised for lying, and admitted the bandit story was a ruse. She showed us her family heirloom, a large, purple shard, beautiful and sharp like it could cut through reality, severing the static and the material and opening up a shifting space of infinite possibility. It vibrated with disturbing power. I felt unease just looking at it. Whether this thing was magic or something else, I dealt in certainties. Last thing I needed was any more possibilities tonight.
The Elemental had been seeking it. She was on the run. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d have to go into hiding. Ger Errind wasn’t safe for her.
The drifter’s name was Ahios. Pale, handsome, watchful. He regarded us with a casual air of bemusement, utterly unperturbed by Nakia’s constant belligerence. “Father John gave us a second chance,” he said, to questions about his undead nature. He would not elucidate further.
He frowned uncertainly at mentions of Lucinda Vazroque. Of the white moths. Of shards of power. Of the other Elementals. When we mentioned Derek, Mary and Arem, he tutted and momentarily lost his cool. “They are here too? That means something big is happening,” he said. He seemed vexed.
I asked him if he could stay with us, to help us find a place to hide Achadin. He shook his head. “I’m new here. Don’t know anywhere off the top of my head. You can work this out.”
So Corrila offered to take Achadin under her wing and keep her busy in Port Ffirst. Nothing seemed more unlikely and more amusing to me. But Achadin agreed to the prospect of touring the dive bars and illicit dockside gambling holes of Port Ffirst, and so the chips fell.
So help me if she ended up in the Cavernous Seashank. But Jed’s lack of warmth would scarcely be different to Leonida’s. Or Nakia’s. No, I figured at least Corrila would make it fun for her.
We seemed to have settled on a course of action. Ahios straightened up. “I should hit the trail,” he said.
“Us too,” I said. “Long walk home.” We nodded goodbye.
I watched him mount his powerful white horse, tip his hat, and set off into the night. Bathed in moonlight, the heavens watching over him like he’d been greeted to this land by a priestess of Selûne.
The three-day journey back to Port Ffirst was a strange, tense affair. Or perhaps it was more that I could not properly relax. I dreamt of scorching heat and dry dust, but underneath was a current of something unknown, of twilight and liminal space and mists, of a glittering, surreal reality.
I awoke to an inevitable buzzing under the skin.
I was hovering between hurt and anger. At myself, more than anything. Nothing had ever got me rattled like this. Not in a long, long time.
When we arrived back at Port Ffirst, it was late evening. I made my excuses and left the others promptly.
If I were in Daring Heights, I would have marched to the Feylight Garden Theatre. Tassel would likely be having post-performance drinks right now. I missed his warmth, and he often liked my impulsiveness.
Tonight, though, my nerves were shot. My mood wouldn’t settle. I felt feral. Anger was pumping in my veins. I was glad Tassel had never seen this part of me.
There was only one place in Port Ffirst for me tonight.
And no-one came to me
The street had survived the invasion. The house was intact. I knocked on the door.
It opened, and I blinked at the glow of many candles and the ripple of bawdy music and the merry cacophony of drunken revelry.
The Orcish woman who opened the door gave me a salacious, feral smile and kissed my cheeks. “Darling. It’s been a while. Come on in.”
I stepped through the fine living room, accepting a drink and greeting several people I knew. All around me, there was dancing and flirting and the air was thick with seduction and a delicious narcotic smoke.
And there he was. Lounging by the fireplace, smoking a large pipe and nodding absently to the music, watching his guests with amusement. The Elf with the steely grey hair. It was not him. Merely a hint of him. Pretty, lithe, muscular, but lacking his gravitas, his magnificence. The voice was wrong. Silvery and joyful, not a weighty, golden baritone. But I was buzzing from the smoke and I was reeling from the sharp tang of whisky and my tail was curling with lust and I needed annihilation right now and I knew he would have it.
I kissed him hello and he patted the cushion for me to sit beside him and swung his legs across my lap as he offered me a draw on his pipe. “Well, well. I haven’t seen you in… long enough.” He quirked a grin. “Might I be getting lucky tonight… or wait… is that too cheap a line?”
My tail flicked savagely. “You can be as cheap as you like,” I rumbled. “Je te veux–”
He pressed a finger over my lips. “Elvish please,” he scolded. “Save the Draconic for someone altogether more… disposable.” I scowled at this. But he saw the lust in my eyes and his face lit with mischief. He snapped his fingers and conjured a bottle of wine into his hand and clasped my paw. “Come with me.”
He led me through the crowd and upstairs, past a half-naked Tiefling blissfully passed out on a divan, with a couple cavorting almost on top of him. We hurried past closed doors, and found his chamber at the end of the corridor. It was a beautiful, oak-panelled room with a four-poster bed and a large candelabrum aflame in front of a huge mirror. It smelled of amber and sandalwood and roses.
His grip tightened on my paw and he pulled me inside, slamming the door and pressing me up against it with the length of his body. His kisses were hungry, passionate, teasing. We shared a long swig of the bottle. I set it aside, breathing heavily.
“Hit me,” I gasped, pulling him roughly by the lapels.
He raised an eyebrow. Then he swung an open palm and smacked me across the face. My ears rang.
“Again,” I snarled, flexing my claws into the wood of the door behind me.
He backhanded me. Harder this time. I tasted blood and ran my tongue over my canines.
“Harder!” I yelled.
He closed his fist and punched me in the gut. I staggered, winded, and gasped for air, chuckling bitterly. Then I lunged at him and greedily pressed my lips against his and stole his breath for myself.
His fingers knotted sharply into the fur on the back of my neck and he pulled my head from his throat. “Now me,” he commanded.
I pulled my arm back and swung a hard, heavy paw into his cheek. I was far stronger than him, and I felt a concussive blast of elemental energy pulsing into him. He cried out. It rebounded back on me painfully. Fire burned within my limbs. A psychic shock reverberated in my head. I saw double. Double the possibilities. I reeled back as it knocked him sideways against the wall.
He bent over, gasping at me with a shocked expression.
Then he straightened up, wiping the corner of his mouth. He pouted at me defiantly. “Is that all you’ve got?” he sneered.
I shook my head clear. He watched me unsheathe my claws and his eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight.
I drew blood. He hurt me. And I hurt us both. Again and again. I released charges of heat and psychic energy upon him and upon myself. Twilight mists fogged over us, and reality blurred. I tore his shirt open and ran my paws over his body. He wrestled with my belt buckle, moaning with lust. Then kissed me roughly and gasped as I raked his back and his chest with abandon. Both of us crying out in pain. He pressed himself hard against me and we slammed against the wood-panelled wall, a feverish clatter of limbs against oak, and lips against flesh, tearing at each other’s clothes.
The next hour was furious and painful and bitter and overwhelming, and then, exhausted and bruised, we sank into a surreal space, drifting between realities, tender kisses and slow, gentle passion, that lasted the better part of the night.
Afterwards, before dawn, I lay on my side, watching his rapidly healing chest rise and fall in sleep. This Elf was beautiful, skilled, and game, with incredible stamina… but it was not him. It was not Zari.
I felt the plunging absence of that love come crashing in over me.
I turned away from him and eased myself onto my bruised ribs with a gasp. I could taste the undercurrent of fire and mind energies, the shift of possibilities still pulsing through me.
I would not sleep well.
I closed my eyes and stepped my way through the painful joy of that cursed dream. Again and again. I saw Zari’s obscured face, the impression of his eyes looking at me pleadingly. The resonance of his beautiful voice, the strength of his presence, the power of his love.
But it was not him. However that dream had been set upon me, I had been lying to myself. Like the idiot cat I had always been. And I had lingered in an eternity of waiting. Hoping. Like a damned fool.
Tears filled my eyes.
Five years. It was five years already. He had been gone so long. All I wanted in that moment was to be home again. With him in my arms.
I had never felt so alone.
Continues in Through the Fire and Flames
Part of the Cowboys and Elementals plotline
[Content Note: sex/smut, rough sex, drug use, grief]
Through fire and thunder, lies and loss
The Cavernous Seashank is a disgusting, filthy pit of an inn, and the clientele a disgusting, filthy rabble. A gentlecat coming to Port Ffirst would be advised never to board there. But I’ve certainly woken up in a Seashank bed on a few occasions, only to finish what I started, tiptoe from the room, wrestle my way past the vomit-stained drunks, vagabonds and cutpurses, and stagger back to my finer chambers at the Flourished Hook.
The proprietor Jed’s rudeness never ceases to entertain me, and today was no exception. If you order beer, he resents you. If you order whisky, he curses you. If you order grog, he mocks you. Heavens forbid you ask for wine. Either way, you get the same grimy cup and if you tip nicely, he might spit on it and wipe it out with a grey, yeasty bilgecloth.
I was here tonight because Calculus left a note for me this morning. Bandits were troubling a new settlement, Ger Errind, some 50 miles along the coast southeast of Port Ffirst. It sounded straightforward enough, but would mean several days of travel. I thought it best to send my apologies to Orianna, anticipating that I would not be back in time for her Draconic lesson. This saddened me: not only was she an exceptional student and the kindest, sweetest young woman, but I was growing deeply fond of her, and I would miss our time together. My dear squire Tamarkh would appreciate the few days off, though: I had been working them unsuccessfully through training manuals, and it would give me time to ponder how else I could make my teachings stick.
So: bandits. Usually a straightforward task. I looked forward to seeing who else would take this job…
Leonida, the beautiful, pale and serious Tiefling warrior, was sitting straight-backed at a table, professionally early and as impatient as ever to get started. We were soon joined by Nakia, the dour, devout young Tabaxi, whose tan and speckled coat spoke of the desert. I knew both would work with dedication, if not with jovial conversation.
I was pleased to also see Digs, the nervous and light-fingered Kobold, who showed remarkable talent as a tinkerer of sorts. With him came Prowler, the sleek, noble Tabaxi, an exceptional archer and as black and furtive as the new moon. Despite my heritage, I have rarely found it expedient to walk in silence, though I admire it greatly in those who do – cat folk, dragon folk or otherwise. Both of them were masterfully stealthy.
Equally stealthy, though only when she chose, Corrila skipped up to our table with impish aplomb. I chuckled privately. Hard as it was to tune into the Half-Elf’s slang and youthful exuberance, she was always a reliable source of good humour.
At three cats of six, we were a notable crew. A fact that seemed to entertain Jed excessively – upon which mirth he layered with gleeful disdain the observation that our employer had left for Ger Errind already, and we would have to make haste to catch her…
Before I set my filthy glass on the table, Leonida was out the door.
* * *
Derek. Mary. Arem. The drifters said they were revenants, though they were all handsome and intelligent folk, not mindless, savage denizens of the grave. They seemed to be working independently, yet some call of fate was drawing them together, and us with them. They were tough, capable, and secretive.
Prowler seemed tremendously bashful at the mention of Arem, who had drunk with them a week ago. The more Prowler blushed, the more I grinned. These drifters had more than the needs of the living: they had good taste.
The elemental magic was just as odd. After being in the presence of Ms Emzel Tozotro and then Ellarand the Genasi, I had felt strange residues of their energy under my skin. Prickling, gnawing away. I still felt the aftereffects of being near the Genasi (or Elemental – I was less hung up on his heritage and more upon what his magic had done to me). Their power was being sought by a group of people bearing a white moth tattoo… to what end, we could not say.
Like me, Leonida and Digs were feeling a burning heat in their skin from Ellarand. Corrila and Prowler reported the odd effects of a dry, buffeting force emanating painfully from their bodies, thanks to a client called Elluin Farbearos.
Whatever chemistry the air tasted of around Ellarand, that energy was buzzing in my bones. I could hear the same unease in the others while sleeping – their breathing was uneven.
We knew it would fade over time.
Not fast enough.
I whispered to the sea
Ger Errind was a small, peaceful fishing settlement of a few families, set into a pleasant cove. Our client, Achadin Greylake, was a tall Dwarven woman with purple hair. She described the bandit raids: they came at night. Maybe five, targeting random houses. They were usually stealthy, but had previously slain a couple of villagers. The village lacked the experience to tackle them.
Large parts of my soldiering youth were spent bringing law to the lawless, so this did not seem an exceptional problem to me. But nobody wants to hear this old tomcat’s war stories. So I drank tea and listened to the youngsters discussing plans animatedly, bemused by the inventive list of ideas for building trenches, pit traps, net snares, alarms and ambushes. But in the end, as Leonida correctly observed, the layout of the village offered no practical defences – not without days of digging and construction. The sun was setting and we had to be ready tonight. So we ate, took up posts around the village, and hunkered down.
Corrila and I took first shift. As a soldier, I’ve spent more hours of my life waiting than I care to think about. “Hurry up and wait,” as the army motto goes. I paced about the town familiarising myself with the lay of the land. Aside from some village folk settling down late, it was uneventful.
Silence crept over the village.
Waiting is the part you have to get used to. You never do.
Our watch ended. We nudged Leonida and Nakia awake, and settled down to sleep.
I felt the taste of iron in my throat. I tossed and turned on my bedroll for a long time. It irritated me. The buzzing, burning energy still jangled under my skin…
Fire. Heat. Warmth. Uncomfortable but cloaking me in flame. Almost protective. Cracking earth. Blades cutting my skin. Thin and deep. Sharper than steel. It hurts. It hurts. It HURTS, but it gets at the itching. It scratches. The pain overwhelms the buzzing. The discomfort subsides. The heat soothes. It numbs the energy. It holds me close.
There is someone lying next to me. I turn to them. Do I know them? Their features are obscured by flame. The air ripples with heat. Their voice, it isn’t a voice. More a feeling…
~ ~ I could find him. ~ ~
I frown. “Who are you?”
~ ~ You’ve waited so long. ~ ~
My chest pounds. I tremble. They know. They KNOW. They know my heart. Is this a lie? How could this be?
But how can I refuse? WHY would I?
~ ~ Let me take you to him.~ ~
A lump forms in my throat. I blink hard.
But no: I cannot betray Zari’s secrets. What if it is a trick? I swore I’d protect him…
…but it is all I’ve ever wanted…
…why I came here…
…the warmth beckons, cradles, comforts…
…and he is my life…
He. Is. My. Life.
My heart is in my throat. I clench my trembling fists and speak to the figure.
“Take me. Take me to him now.”
* * *
Hours pass. Days. Years. Millenia. Time does not matter.
He stands before me. Same tall, athletic build. Same undefeatable beauty. His hair is not steely grey, but a flickering flame. His face is not clear, but it’s him, it’s HIM. He lifts his hands to me. I see the ring. The rippling heat obscures it, but I know it’s there. It’s him. I feel it. I KNOW it. My heart. My love. The man I vowed my life to. La Lumière Éternelle.
My husband Zari.
My jaw drops. I want to seize him. I need to hold him close. But my limbs go weak and I stand there, fighting back tears.
I’ve held this moment in my heart for so long. The relief floods into me. My chest aches.
“It’s you. Where have you been?”
~ ~ Waiting. ~ ~
His voice. His voice. His voice is all but the same ageless baritone. It makes me shiver. “This whole time?” My words crack with emotion. I can barely breathe.
~ ~ Looking for you. ~ ~
“But I’ve been searching for you! Can we go home?” My voice is but a kitten’s mewling compared to his. There is a deep, eternal purring from deep within. I feel safe beside him. My tears keep falling. Tears of relief. If he would just hold me a moment…
~ ~ Let’s rest a while. ~ ~
My breathing is heavy from sobbing. I wipe my face. I frown. Zari does not ignore Flame so quickly. “…our daughter is waiting. She misses you too. We should go to her…”
~ ~ Soon. ~ ~
I hesitate. I don’t understand. But I believe him. He is far, far older and wiser than I. Always has been. I trust him always. He’s always kept me safe. The flames are so safe. I am warm here…
~ ~ Five more minutes? ~ ~
I nod. It makes sense. What is five minutes when I have been here centuries? What is five minutes when time does not matter? And yes, I can see his face. Can’t I? I have a sense of it, at least. La Lumière Éternelle. I feel him all around me. His strength, his power, his majesty.
I am warm here. At peace. Safe.
I follow my heart. Always have. Always will.
I look up at him. I nod slowly.
“Alright…”
My breath was but another’s dream
Someone poked me in the ribs. Again. It was rude. Insistent.
Reality wrung me by the lapels and rattled me awake until I opened my eyes. I jumped with a start.
It was cold. It was dark. There was no Zari.
It was night in Ger Errind. Two of the villagefolk were squinting over me nervously. One was cautiously nudging me with a staff. “Uh… a hut’s on fire.” They pointed at a glow in the distance.
“Right, right,” I mumbled, and dragged myself to my feet. “Right.” My head was fuzzy and burning and the prickling surged back into my skin. I heard the clamour of pots banging, people shouting. Leonida and the others rushing in the direction of the fire.
One of the villagers peered closely. “Have you been crying in your sleep?”
My face was a mess. I rubbed it briskly. Reality crashed over me in icy waves, and it hurt. Like someone took a knife and ran a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull. It had all been a dream. A lie. Zari was not here. Devastation whispered its name in my ears. I trembled like a kitten. Ready to crumple to the ground.
“Never mind about that,” I snapped, wrestling force and authority back into my voice.
I drew my sword. The only steel I had with me.
I jogged toward the fire.
* * *
We descended upon the burning hut, to sounds of violence and shouting inside. The others bore the same shock as me, also shedding the same magical sleep. Some of them had been woken up by another of the drifters. Tall, dark, mysterious. Soft brown eyes. Armed with an arcane gauntlet. And a deadly accent. A voice that could break a man’s heart.
But I was swept up a tornado of other emotions right now.
Flames crawled up a wall inside the hut. A Fire Genasi was screaming furiously, flipping furniture, tossing the place, searching. “Where the fuck is it? Give it to me!”
Achadin was cowering in the corner, hugging her knees in terror. Watching the Fire Genasi tear the place apart.
No, not a Fire Genasi. Their features are obscured by flame. The air ripples with heat. Another Elemental. The person who had created the dreams. Who promised me Zari. Who spoke to my heart and tricked me.
What a fool I’d been.
I gritted my teeth angrily. My chest pounded. I gripped my sword tighter. We charged the figure.
The fight was brief. Messy. Furious. When I hit them, I felt the discharging of my own elemental flames. Bursts of fire that could not affect a person of flame, but of course, they blasted back over me painfully.
It hurt. I burned. I just hit it harder.
We all did. Eventually the Elemental died in a shockwave of flame that threw me backwards and seared my fur.
The aftermath was just as chaotic. We suppressed the fire before it consumed the hut. Leonida seized Achadin and pinned her against a wall in fury. Nakia threatened to turn on the drifter because he was undead. Digs was mourning his ineffectual snare. Prowler had a thousand-yard stare. Corrila revelled in the way the Elemental had exploded. The whole time, I had Zari’s face floating in front of my eyes. No, not his face. Just an impression of him.
A cacophony of voices tolled around me, but none of them were him.
We flung all our knowledge and anger and grief and fear in the air and hoped it would land in a coherent pattern.
Achadin was distraught. She apologised for lying, and admitted the bandit story was a ruse. She showed us her family heirloom, a large, purple shard, beautiful and sharp like it could cut through reality, severing the static and the material and opening up a shifting space of infinite possibility. It vibrated with disturbing power. I felt unease just looking at it. Whether this thing was magic or something else, I dealt in certainties. Last thing I needed was any more possibilities tonight.
The Elemental had been seeking it. She was on the run. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d have to go into hiding. Ger Errind wasn’t safe for her.
The drifter’s name was Ahios. Pale, handsome, watchful. He regarded us with a casual air of bemusement, utterly unperturbed by Nakia’s constant belligerence. “Father John gave us a second chance,” he said, to questions about his undead nature. He would not elucidate further.
He frowned uncertainly at mentions of Lucinda Vazroque. Of the white moths. Of shards of power. Of the other Elementals. When we mentioned Derek, Mary and Arem, he tutted and momentarily lost his cool. “They are here too? That means something big is happening,” he said. He seemed vexed.
I asked him if he could stay with us, to help us find a place to hide Achadin. He shook his head. “I’m new here. Don’t know anywhere off the top of my head. You can work this out.”
So Corrila offered to take Achadin under her wing and keep her busy in Port Ffirst. Nothing seemed more unlikely and more amusing to me. But Achadin agreed to the prospect of touring the dive bars and illicit dockside gambling holes of Port Ffirst, and so the chips fell.
So help me if she ended up in the Cavernous Seashank. But Jed’s lack of warmth would scarcely be different to Leonida’s. Or Nakia’s. No, I figured at least Corrila would make it fun for her.
We seemed to have settled on a course of action. Ahios straightened up. “I should hit the trail,” he said.
“Us too,” I said. “Long walk home.” We nodded goodbye.
I watched him mount his powerful white horse, tip his hat, and set off into the night. Bathed in moonlight, the heavens watching over him like he’d been greeted to this land by a priestess of Selûne.
* * *
The three-day journey back to Port Ffirst was a strange, tense affair. Or perhaps it was more that I could not properly relax. I dreamt of scorching heat and dry dust, but underneath was a current of something unknown, of twilight and liminal space and mists, of a glittering, surreal reality.
I awoke to an inevitable buzzing under the skin.
I was hovering between hurt and anger. At myself, more than anything. Nothing had ever got me rattled like this. Not in a long, long time.
When we arrived back at Port Ffirst, it was late evening. I made my excuses and left the others promptly.
If I were in Daring Heights, I would have marched to the Feylight Garden Theatre. Tassel would likely be having post-performance drinks right now. I missed his warmth, and he often liked my impulsiveness.
Tonight, though, my nerves were shot. My mood wouldn’t settle. I felt feral. Anger was pumping in my veins. I was glad Tassel had never seen this part of me.
There was only one place in Port Ffirst for me tonight.
And no-one came to me
The street had survived the invasion. The house was intact. I knocked on the door.
It opened, and I blinked at the glow of many candles and the ripple of bawdy music and the merry cacophony of drunken revelry.
The Orcish woman who opened the door gave me a salacious, feral smile and kissed my cheeks. “Darling. It’s been a while. Come on in.”
I stepped through the fine living room, accepting a drink and greeting several people I knew. All around me, there was dancing and flirting and the air was thick with seduction and a delicious narcotic smoke.
And there he was. Lounging by the fireplace, smoking a large pipe and nodding absently to the music, watching his guests with amusement. The Elf with the steely grey hair. It was not him. Merely a hint of him. Pretty, lithe, muscular, but lacking his gravitas, his magnificence. The voice was wrong. Silvery and joyful, not a weighty, golden baritone. But I was buzzing from the smoke and I was reeling from the sharp tang of whisky and my tail was curling with lust and I needed annihilation right now and I knew he would have it.
I kissed him hello and he patted the cushion for me to sit beside him and swung his legs across my lap as he offered me a draw on his pipe. “Well, well. I haven’t seen you in… long enough.” He quirked a grin. “Might I be getting lucky tonight… or wait… is that too cheap a line?”
My tail flicked savagely. “You can be as cheap as you like,” I rumbled. “Je te veux–”
He pressed a finger over my lips. “Elvish please,” he scolded. “Save the Draconic for someone altogether more… disposable.” I scowled at this. But he saw the lust in my eyes and his face lit with mischief. He snapped his fingers and conjured a bottle of wine into his hand and clasped my paw. “Come with me.”
He led me through the crowd and upstairs, past a half-naked Tiefling blissfully passed out on a divan, with a couple cavorting almost on top of him. We hurried past closed doors, and found his chamber at the end of the corridor. It was a beautiful, oak-panelled room with a four-poster bed and a large candelabrum aflame in front of a huge mirror. It smelled of amber and sandalwood and roses.
His grip tightened on my paw and he pulled me inside, slamming the door and pressing me up against it with the length of his body. His kisses were hungry, passionate, teasing. We shared a long swig of the bottle. I set it aside, breathing heavily.
“Hit me,” I gasped, pulling him roughly by the lapels.
He raised an eyebrow. Then he swung an open palm and smacked me across the face. My ears rang.
“Again,” I snarled, flexing my claws into the wood of the door behind me.
He backhanded me. Harder this time. I tasted blood and ran my tongue over my canines.
“Harder!” I yelled.
He closed his fist and punched me in the gut. I staggered, winded, and gasped for air, chuckling bitterly. Then I lunged at him and greedily pressed my lips against his and stole his breath for myself.
His fingers knotted sharply into the fur on the back of my neck and he pulled my head from his throat. “Now me,” he commanded.
I pulled my arm back and swung a hard, heavy paw into his cheek. I was far stronger than him, and I felt a concussive blast of elemental energy pulsing into him. He cried out. It rebounded back on me painfully. Fire burned within my limbs. A psychic shock reverberated in my head. I saw double. Double the possibilities. I reeled back as it knocked him sideways against the wall.
He bent over, gasping at me with a shocked expression.
Then he straightened up, wiping the corner of his mouth. He pouted at me defiantly. “Is that all you’ve got?” he sneered.
I shook my head clear. He watched me unsheathe my claws and his eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight.
I drew blood. He hurt me. And I hurt us both. Again and again. I released charges of heat and psychic energy upon him and upon myself. Twilight mists fogged over us, and reality blurred. I tore his shirt open and ran my paws over his body. He wrestled with my belt buckle, moaning with lust. Then kissed me roughly and gasped as I raked his back and his chest with abandon. Both of us crying out in pain. He pressed himself hard against me and we slammed against the wood-panelled wall, a feverish clatter of limbs against oak, and lips against flesh, tearing at each other’s clothes.
The next hour was furious and painful and bitter and overwhelming, and then, exhausted and bruised, we sank into a surreal space, drifting between realities, tender kisses and slow, gentle passion, that lasted the better part of the night.
Afterwards, before dawn, I lay on my side, watching his rapidly healing chest rise and fall in sleep. This Elf was beautiful, skilled, and game, with incredible stamina… but it was not him. It was not Zari.
I felt the plunging absence of that love come crashing in over me.
I turned away from him and eased myself onto my bruised ribs with a gasp. I could taste the undercurrent of fire and mind energies, the shift of possibilities still pulsing through me.
I would not sleep well.
I closed my eyes and stepped my way through the painful joy of that cursed dream. Again and again. I saw Zari’s obscured face, the impression of his eyes looking at me pleadingly. The resonance of his beautiful voice, the strength of his presence, the power of his love.
But it was not him. However that dream had been set upon me, I had been lying to myself. Like the idiot cat I had always been. And I had lingered in an eternity of waiting. Hoping. Like a damned fool.
Tears filled my eyes.
Five years. It was five years already. He had been gone so long. All I wanted in that moment was to be home again. With him in my arms.
I had never felt so alone.
Continues in Through the Fire and Flames
