Cleansing Fire

Steward Triman, resplendent in his robes of office, stood looking down at the throng of students and teachers that filled the great hall below. The flagstones seemed awash with multicoloured robes and sashes. The reds and whites of Initiates were occasionally broken by a dress or two in startling shades of blue or green. It was not unusual to see such a riot of colour in the Academy halls – novices were required to wear white and some Initiates chose to wear the traditional red robes. After sometimes ten years wearing white however, many Initiates felt that they needed to take their ascension as an excuse to express themselves – with obvious results.

Triman knew that in his old age, he seemed a fatherly figure, rather than one of grave authority and stalwart demeanour. Many people had assumed that, because of his looks, he would be soft, easily guided. He had proven those people wrong time and time again and yet there still seemed to be those that believed.

Joran was one of those. He and Triman had grown up together in a small coastal village near Itycia. When they’d been boys, Joran had been the dominant one and it seemed to be a source of perpetual surprise to him that Triman was in a position of power higher than himself.

Still, everyone had to learn the realities of life sometime or another. If only he didn’t need to keep having Joran disciplined, it was possible they would even still be friends. He sighed and, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from throttling him, turned to watch the man who was trying to maintain what he probably thought was a penitent pose. A shark with a mouthful of seal looked more penitent.

Nothing about Joran seemed even vaguely penitent to Triman. He stood, shoulders arched with a half smile on his face and downcast eyes. It was as if he had been caught stealing pies back in the village rather than the more serious offences which brought him here today. Triman walked towards him and when he was close enough, placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Arise, my son. It is time we talked. Have you seen Brother Fillian already?”

Joran started as if he hadn’t realised that Triman was nearby and then swallowed his smile when he realised he had not yet paid his visit to the Master of Ceremonies. That would be a painful and humiliating visit if Triman knew anything about the man. His own memories of being punished for offences as a young Initiate had almost faded but he remembered that much at least.

He sighed again. Failing to report on time for punishment was yet another offence to chalk up to Joran’s name. He never fell too far off the path to be cast from the Academy but sometimes the man skirted dangerously close to the edge.

“No, Steward, I have not. I felt I should talk to you first.”

“A lie, Joran, you know that is not true. Why do you persist in trying my patience?”

“Steward, I said no lie! This is a matter of greatest importance!”

“The Ministers should be the judge of that Joran, you know you cannot simply come and find me like this. There are proper channels for the way we must function.”

Why can you not understand that I can have no friends as Steward? There is too much at stake and too much difference between us.

Triman turned and walked a little way, looking out of one of the windows lining the hall. The sky was a brilliant royal blue and white fluffy clouds scudded across his vision. It was a day to be outside and walking among the hills with Vala, not dealing with the abominable paperwork that he knew would be waiting for him on his return to his office. Where were the cursed Darklings with the cure? The longer the barrier remains breached, the harder it would be to close the cursed thing.

Joran had risen and walked closer to him without permission. He reached out a hand as if to take hold of the Steward’s sleeve and Triman’s lips compressed to a thin line. His bodyguards moved a little closer to him and he waved them off with a peremptory gesture. This was no time for them to become over-zealous. If Joran were actually hurt by someone for simply being close to his master, he might become truly untenable.

“But Steward…”

Triman spun, his face reddening with anger. This had taken too much time already. He could see Initiates walking by and looking at them, wondering, no doubt, why he was taking so much time to talk to someone as downcast as Joran.

“No buts! This audience is at an end! You will report to Fillian immediately and tell him exactly what has happened this morning! I will check with him. After that, if you still feel that your matter is important enough, take it to the Ministers who will see that it is dealt with in the proper way!”

Fah, the man could make a stone angry! Triman knew that his mood was not entirely Joran’s fault – he would feel much better once Vala had taken the cure.

Waving to his bodyguards again, he flipped his cloak back over his shoulders and strode away down the corridor, Initiates moving out of his path as if he were a dangerous animal. Come to think of it, perhaps they thought he was with his flashing eyes and coterie of bodyguards pushing on ahead of him.

The day’s work was waiting for him and he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. Curse Joran! He had been in a relatively good mood until this little confrontation. Gods send he would get the cure soon. He wasn’t sure he could take much more of this stress.

Joran stood and watched his one time friend stride off into the distance. There was nothing for it, he had tried to give the man fair warning. He would have to take matters into this own hands. First Fillian, and then he would find the Well of Souls. He walked off in the opposite direction and stared at the flagstones as he passed. Was he perhaps in the wrong here? Was Triman finally well within his rights to expect better of him? It was possible – there had been times in their childhood when his friend had had an occasional stroke of brilliance and been right.

No, this was not one of those times. If he took the time to bring this to the attention of the Ministers, it could be months before they saw fit to tell Triman. Especially since he wasn’t exactly in their good graces at the moment.

Triman had made it clear that he wouldn’t entertain anything he felt was a dalliance from Joran so there was no reason to expect him to make an exception simply because Joran though it was important.

As he walked along, he winced at the thought of yet another visit to Fillian. The man was always quite cutting in both his remarks and his punishment. It was not unknown for an Initiate to be too tender to sit after even a brief visit. Compounding his earlier offences by not arriving on time and talking as he had to Triman was not going to make this a brief visit. Perhaps Susa would be kind enough to rub a salve on his aching body this time. She had also seemed to turn against him a little of late though. Admittedly, that could have more to do with his canoodling with Jess than anything about his offences against the Steward.

He sighed as he arrived at the door he was looking for. This was not going to be pleasant. Summoning all his courage, he rapped on the door as hard as he could manage. Fillian was getting on in years and it never hurt to make sure you were head. If he had to come out and fetch you it was almost guaranteed that he would be in a bad mood.

“Come!” The voice that came from inside was surprisingly strident, given that its owner was almost ninety years old and had certainly not had much exercise in the last few years. Fillian was short, slightly plump and had a kindly face that belied his position. Of course, this was just one of the side jobs he had been assigned when it was discovered that there were simply too few officials left in the Academy to not have one person do many things.

He glanced up and a frown flickered across his face.

“You again, Joran? What have you done now? Mmm. I seem to recall that you should have been here a mite earlier. I presume I am to punish you for that as well? Sit down and tell me what you’ve done and we’ll get this over with. I am far too busy with my other duties to sit dithering with you for very long.”

Joran winced and sat down in the chair. That Fillian was already in a bad mood wasn’t a good sign.

As soon as Triman walked into his office, he knew something was not right. Someone was in here. He was about to call for the guards outside before he recognised the feel of the intruder. Oily and slightly dirty feeling, there was a Darkling somewhere in the rooms.

He flicked a hand irritably at the lamps and they flared to life, bathing the dark space in a dancing light. Seeing nothing in this room, he stalked further into the suite, coming to his study. Inside, everything was completely dark. The curtains hadn’t been opened yet today so there was no source of light. He flicked his hand out at the fireplace and was startled when nothing happened.

“My kind doesn’t like the light, your Excellency,” the voice he had expected and feared rasped across his awareness. The creature laughed and he saw that it was sitting on his desk, the green of its eyes shining out at you.

He strode past as if he didn’t care, navigating all the obstacles he knew were there and sitting in the large chair behind the desk. He’d been in this office long enough to know where everything was. If the Darkling thought it would get him to show fear, it was mistaken.

“I’ve kept my side of the bargain. The Barrier is open. Where is the cure?” he demanded roughly. His voice was steady, steady and strong.

Another laugh and the creature must have swivelled its head all the way around to face him for the green eyes glowed out at him again.

“Patience human, I have brought it. A guaranteed cure for your beautiful wife. But first, my master has a message for you.”

The eyes grew huge and round, twice the size they had been and their colour changed to a sultry red.

Another voice came from the darkness now; a stronger, more confident voice, with none of the rasp that had been there. This was not a Darkling that spoke.

“I thank you for your work at the Barrier. I know it must have cost you quite some effort. I thought when you returned you looked a little more drawn than usual.”

So you’re in the Academy. Interesting. That will make it easier to hunt you down when the time comes, he thought smugly. He just managed to keep his elation off his face but it was a close run thing.

“In case you wondered, the size is perfect. I really only need a tiny hole. I’ve taken the liberty of shoring up your work with my own though. I would hate for all your hard work to go to nothing, for the hole to collapse in a few days time. Wouldn’t that be terrible?”

The creature laughed again, a disturbingly human sound and Triman couldn’t help but shudder a little. He’d been so sure it would be easy to close the hole, after.

“I’m a man of my word so I’ll leave you with the cure. My best wishes go with you of course. Thank you again, we would not have been able do this without you.”

At that, the creature’s eyes changed to green again, locking on his, pinning him to the chair. They suddenly seemed to fill his whole world, deep and beguiling.

“The cure is on your desk, your Excellency. Use it wisely.”

Chuckling again in its normal rasping voice, the Darkling gathered all the shadow to itself and melted into them. The room became immediately brighter with its departure, the fireplace now burning merrily.

Where it had been sitting there was now a small earthenware jar, unmarked and so inconspicuous that he would have missed it anywhere else. When he picked it up, he heard the liquid sloshing around inside. It’s time to give Vala her cure.

Perhaps after she was well she would talk to him again.

He was so excited about the little jar in his pocket that he couldn’t remember how he had managed to get to his bedroom suite. The guards outside the doors saluted and informed him that there had been no visitors since he himself had left.

He gave them strict instructions to let there be no interruptions under any circumstances and once he’d secured their oaths on it, he let himself in quietly.

His breath caught as he saw her lying in the bed, sheets crumpled around her twisted form. He could clearly see the outline of the bones in her arms and legs, the skin stretched tight like the head of a drum. She had wasted away so much since the last time he’d seen her. Only a day or two had passed since she’d set fire to the door in her rage and it seemed like a lifetime.

He approached her as quietly as he possibly could, not wanting to wake her. The last thing either of them needed now was a confrontation. He wasn’t sure she had the strength left to do anything but he wasn’t going to risk her health when he was so close to fixing everything.

Tiptoeing closer to her, he gently moved her head upward on the cushion until it was facing him. Her mouth flopped open and he shuddered a little, just once. That her chest still rose and fell was the only sign that she was still alive.

He took the stopper out of the little earthenware jug and, being careful not to spill anything, brought it close to his nose so he could smell it. A putrid, rotting odour wafted out, almost causing him to cough and splutter. He forced his protesting body into order again and very carefully held the lip of the jug against her lip. Other than a small twitch there was no sign that she smelled the cure or even knew he was there.

He steeled himself and, a tiny amount at a time, started to pour the thick, grey contents of the jug into her mouth. At first it seemed as if she wouldn’t swallow, that her body wouldn’t allow this invasion of its self but at last her throat convulsed and the liquid began to slide down her throat.

Once the jug was completely empty, he put the stopper back in, closed her mouth gently and went to sit in the chair. He would wait until she moved, until there was a definite sign of improvement and then he would go out and find a way to seal the hole he’d made.

The seconds turned to minutes, the minutes to hours and Triman dozed in the chair, unable to keep his eyes open. Every time he woke from his dreams and looked at Vala, she seemed a little healthier to his tired eyes. Was there more colour in her cheeks? He was sure she had even fleshed out a little since last he looked; sure there was a little more life in her pale face.

When he woke the third time, he was certain that something had changed. Her breathing seemed easier, more certain and she had regained some of her usual colour. Even as he was drifting off again with a smile on his face this time, her eyes fluttered, fighting against the sleep that had held her for so long.

Immediately, he was charged with energy, awake as if he’d had a full night’s rest. He rushed to her side, clasping her now warm hand in his own and gazed down at her. The fluttering increased in speed, her mouth moving as if she was trying to say something. He leaned closer, straining to hear the ghost of a whisper that passed her lips.

“T…tri. Triman,” she whispered, her voice cracking from disuse.

This time his smile was radiant, full of the pleasure of hearing her calling his name.

“Yes my love, I’m here. Vala, I’m here, right here.”

Her eyes finally opened and looked into his. Had he really never noticed how blue her eyes were? A dark, royal blue; more spectacular than any sky over the Academy had ever been. He laughed in relief and laid his head on her chest. She stroked his hair, her hands still a little shaky.

“You see? Persidies has heard your prayer, husband,” she said as she moved to sit up, “Do you not regret your curses now? I feel almost perfect again. I believe the Healers will call this a miracle, no matter what you may try to tell them.”

He was too content at that moment to argue, let her believe that the gods had done their work. If she stayed healthy as she was, perhaps they had had a hand in it after all.

He was just falling asleep on her chest when her hand stopped in its journey across his head. He felt her shift and heard a clink as she picked something up from the table. Oh gods, the jar. Let it not be the jar.

“Triman, what is this? Phaw! And why does it smell so foul? Is this one of the potions the Healers made? It doesn’t seem like something they’d give a sick person. It’s terrible!”

He pushed himself up off the bed, looking her in the eyes, trying to gauge her resolve. He could see the inquisitive light he loved so well burning brightly. She wouldn’t rest until she knew who had brewed the potion. She would hound him and anyone she came into contact with until she found out exactly what went into it and why it had worked so well when all else had failed.

He took hold of her hands, sighed and began to tell her his story. From beginning to end this time. He told her about the Darklings, the Barrier and the cure. He even told her about Joran and how frustrated he had been. When he was finished, he held her hands, waiting for the onslaught he knew would come. For many minutes, she just sat in the bed, her now cold hands clutching his. He tried to look at her but she turned her head sharply away from him, closing her eyes.

“Love, you’ll see that this was the right thing to do. I’ll get the barrier fixed, we’ll find this Darkling’s master and everything will be fine. I promise.”

At last, she turned her head towards him and he was startled to see that she was calm. There was no anger in her eyes, no sign of ignited power held in check. All there was was her, Vala. He was so relieved to see her seemingly still happy that he didn’t notice the lamps in the room spring up in their sconces.

She was whispering something, he couldn’t quite make it out; it was just on the edge of hearing. He leaned closer to her, so close that he was almost touching her lips. Her head had dropped down onto her chest, her hair in disarray.

“You had no right, Triman. Not this, it’s too high a price,” even now, her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear.

He leaned back and regarded her carefully, holding her hands up in his.

“But you’re alive. You’re here and well and that’s what’s important. These other things are just nuisances that we can deal with. Together.”

She looked up at him again and this time her eyes seemed to bore holes in him, tugging directly at his heart. He could see a tiny flame dancing in each eye, flashing with her heartbeat.

“This is not living. How can I live if I live with death inside me? Gods Triman, you know what the Darklings use for potions! That’s the smell, haven’t you realised? There’s a part of someone inside me now, rotting away with who knows what dark power of theirs. How long until it starts to take over? How long until it starts eating away inside me?”

He reached out for her face, tried to cup her chin like he used to but she brushed his hands away.

“Get out, Triman. Get out and don’t come back. I don’t know who you are anymore. I need time to think.”

He stumbled from the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood against the door, his head resting on the rough wood again. This time there was no crying, no rage. Only silence came from inside the room.

Oh gods, what have I done?