The Flame of Destiny

Flames shot up, nearly six feet high into a swirling wall of fire that encircled Samira and trapped her against a rock wall. The flames were so close that she could feel the heat on her face. The abrasive ropes that bound her tightly to iron rings fastened to the rock wall were so hot that drops of liquid resin fell to the floor.

But the flames didn’t scare her. The glow felt strangely pleasant and warm, reminding her of hot summer days and visits to the secret cave with its ever-burning fire. Whatever happens to me, she thought, I’m glad to be able to leave this miserable place. What is left to live for?

When she had been caught in the temple she resisted with all her might. She still had a strong desire to live. They had almost killed her there and then.

The crowd shouted frantically. “Kill, kill!” Even the cult dignitaries which sat on specially carved benches near the stage were furious about the intrusion and stared at her in cold anger.

The priest was ecstatic. He had the chance to sacrifice a pure-bone to his evil god Ahriman. All the while, poor Fingo was tied to the black altar and she couldn’t do anything to help him.

Then someone stood up from among the dignitaries. He was a large warrior dressed in black armor with a golden lining, clearly a figure of great authority. “She’s the daughter of the new pure bone blacksmith,” he stated, “they’ve just arrived and don’t know our customs. Let’s give her one more chance to convert.”

“This intruder has violated all our sacred laws,” objected the High Priest, “her sacrifice isn’t even enough to appease Ahriman for her crimes. It is the bare minimum we can do to soothe his wrath.”

The black warrior glared back at him. “You forget your place!” he bellowed, his booming voice making the High Priest cringe.

“My authority comes from Ahriman,” he said in defense, “you will upset him if she’s not properly sacrificed.”

“My authority derives from Yashnargh,” replied the warrior, “Ahriman’s greatest servant. You’re welcome to take it up with him when he returns from the north.”

Reluctantly, the priest lowered the black knife. Even the high priest didn’t dare to oppose this powerful noble, this dark champion of the Cultist army, confidante of the infamous Yashnargh.

Samira sighed a breath of relief. How fortunate that her father was such a skilled blacksmith and had kept up the pure-bone charade. Surely he would see to his daughter’s release as well as that of Fingo, a fellow craftsman.

They took her to a small cell. After hours of waiting, the tall priest reappeared with Georgios. Her father, pale and trembling by the side of the powerful priest, didn’t say a word. She smiled at him, but he barely reacted. She looked into his sad, desperate eyes and felt all hope drain away.

The Priest was even angrier than before, as if he blamed her for the humiliation by Yashnargh’s champion. He raged about how she had committed a dreadful crime by intruding upon the most secret of secret ceremonies and how she had lashed out like a brutal savage with her knife at the peaceful Cultists. “You have deeply offended and greatly confused Ahriman. Our black lord only requires the impure blood of slaves and criminals.”

She was a child, not even initiated into the cult, which in the twisted logic of the Dark Cult, made her crimes all the worse. He looked at her with his piercing gaze. His face was pale as snow yet his eyes glowed like flaming embers. He kept repeating his accusations and words she did not understand at all … sacrilege, blasphemy, depravity, sin, and blood sacrifice. The conclusion was clear though: punishment for such a crime was painful death… without exception.

Her world collapsed. Would she never seen the sun again? What about her family and poor Fingo!

But the Priest was affable, he said so himself, and very flexible in the interpretation of the sacred laws. For her, and only for her, they were willing to postpone the inevitable fatal punishment for some time, perhaps even a very long time.

That gave her some hope. She clung to his words. She felt gratitude for his pity. Perhaps he wasn’t so evil after all.

Of course, there were conditions, harsh conditions. She had to undergo the rites and become a full member of the Cult. After that, she would be in the service of the priests for the rest of her life, bound to obey their every command. One digression and the punishment would be reinstated.

Georgios begged her daughter to accept the offer.

Samira was horrified by the fate they had in store for her, it seemed death was preferable to life not worth living. She cried and begged, she argued and pleaded, only managing to annoy the priest and frustrate her father. She realized there was no choice. I would do anything to get out of this cell, she figured. It’s my only chance to help Fingo and see mom and brother, and just maybe one day see the sun again. In a hoarse whisper she said, “yes.”

The Priest smiled and for a brief moment, his face seemed less cruel. He cheerfully explained the rules that she would adhere to for the rest of her life.

“Recite the nine verses of loyalty to Ahriman three times a day?”

“I can do that,” she said, although the verses repelled her.

“Refrain from praying to the false gods?”

“Of course.” She wasn’t so attached to any god that she would risk her life for him.

“Abstain from singing, playing music, and dancing except for the glory of Ahriman?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said reluctantly because she loved dancing more than anything. They can’t be watching me all the time she hoped.

The list went on. She would live, but all pleasure and freedom were taken away from her. Samira accepted it all, if this is my destiny, if this is what my father wants me to do, then I’ll do it.

“You will serve the dark priests day and night with complete obedience and selflessness. Your life belongs to them.”

Her father cringed but didn’t say a word, his eyes staring at a place between his feet.

“I will,” she managed to utter while trying hard to avoid thinking about what horrors they would demand from her.

“That completes the oath,” said the priest.

Samira sighed in relief and Georgios looked up for the first time, some of the life returned to his tired face.

“There is just one other condition,” the priest continued with a vicious sneer, “consider it a first easy test to see if you have been sincere in your sudden conversion. If you succeed, you can live for as long as you keep to the rules.”

Georgios frowned and shook his head weakly. “What condition,” he stammered, “we agreed differently.”

“How can I trust her?” snarled the priest. “She might be saying these words just to stay alive. We don’t want her to revert to her evil ways at the first temptation now do we?”

“No your grace,” muttered Georgios, “you’re right.”

“I told you that we have other ways to convert her,” continued the priest, smacking his lips, “more cruel and painful perhaps but very effective. You didn’t want us to use them on your precious girl. You wanted her pretty face and her keen mind to remain intact. The idea that she would be tamed like an animal abhorred you. Well, that means the test is a necessity.”

Georgios nodded. “Please continue, tell us what is this test.”

Samira had a very bad premonition and felt the amulet burn on her skin. But she there was no way back, besides how could it get any worse? All she could think of was that she wanted to live. She wanted to save her family from embarrassment and her father to love her again. Most of all, she wanted to rescue Fingo. “I’ll do anything,” she spoke softly.

The Priest pulled out a black knife from under his robe and dangled it in front of her.

Her heart froze when she heard about the test. “Take this knife and kill the infidel slave creature you call Fingo and bring me his heart.”

Samira froze. This was a point she couldn’t cross, the one thing she couldn’t do. “No, no! I won’t do it,” she shouted desperately,” I can’t do that.”

Georgios fell to his knees, “Please Sami, I beg you, just do this. There’s no other way.”

“No, dad, I can’t do that. He’s my friend,” she answered stubbornly. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Come on, just get over it. You can’t save him and you’ll make plenty of new friends. You just have to go through with this. You’ll forget him before the week is over.”

Georgios begged and pleaded as well as he could, but it didn’t dissuade her. His lack of respect for Fingo only turned her more resolute. He screamed and shouted at her but Samira simply shook her head while her tears kept flowing.

The high priest looked at them with amusement as her father became increasingly angry and rude. His grin widened at every insult.

“If this is your decision, then you’re no longer my daughter!” barked Georgios and got up, “I have tolerated your insolence long enough.”

“Father, please don’t leave me,” sobbed Samira.

The priest stood up and softly placed his cold, bony hand on her cheek. “It is your destiny, my child,” he said not bothering to hide his joy, “tomorrow you’ll die and your soul will forever be the slave of Ahriman in Tartarus. What you could not deliver in life will be your fate in death.”

The men left the cell, one proud and cheerful, the other trembling and broken.

[Picture Samira Captured]

Samira was shivering alone in a corner of her tiny cell in he cell. Weak and shaking, she cried for hours until she had no more tears to shed. Half asleep, her breathing calmed, but her body was still shivering. Every time she almost fell asleep, she saw the diabolical white face of the priest. Or she saw her father, sometimes pale and broken, at other times foaming with anger.

“Samira, I’m so sorry,” said a soft voice in the dark.

“Spark, is that you?” it was the last thing she had expected.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come earlier, but it was hard to get here without being seen,” said the little Peri.

“Oh, Spark, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’ll stay with you for as long as I can.”

With Spark at her side, Samira felt a little less miserable. The little faery hummed a lullaby in her ear and she even managed to get a few hours of sleep on the hard but warm cell floor.

The awakening was rough. A piece of stale bread was thrown in her cell and a guard snarled, “eat!”

“What a waste of food,” he continued, “you’ll be dead in a few hours.”

They dragged her out of the cell and took her to the vast temple amphitheater that was filled to the brim with Ahriman worshipers. Black robed priests bound her hands and feet with ropes that they attached to iron rings that were hammered into the rock. They poured a smelly liquid in a semicircle around her. The high priest touched the liquid with his torch and flames shot up. Surrounded by a wall of fire, there was no hope to escape even if she could somehow release her bonds.

Spark was nowhere to be seen. What could a little faery do against such malice? Yet she was glad that she had come to say farewell, at least someone still cared for her when everyone else had given up.

I’m betrayed by my family. Taken to this miserable darkness. Abandoned by my mentor. My only friend Fingo is about to die. She thought of what the priest had said of her soul that would serve Ahriman forever. Could it be true? Diokles had taught her that the fire of her soul could not be tamed, even in death. But then there were a great many things that he had told that turned out to be rather useless given that her life was about to be ended.

“Let it pass quickly,” she whispered, “there’s nothing left to live for. Let the flames scorch my body so that my soul is freed from this misery and can be taken back into the Original Fire.”

But the flames around her didn’t get any closer and they weren’t hot enough to kill her. What are they up to? Did they come up with something worse than being burned alive?

Beyond the flames, she vaguely saw the hundreds of pale faces of the worshippers, silent spectators of the sacrifice. She wondered if they forced Georgios to watch the horrifying ceremony to prove his loyalty to the Cult. What about Ophelia, could her mother bear to see her like this?

She shuddered when she heard a rattling noise. Three great shadows broke free from the darkness above her. In the soft light of the flames, the contours of cages gradually appeared. They hung by heavy iron chains and slowly descended.

When the cages were a few feet off the ground, she could see inside. Hundreds of large black and gray rats with sharp teeth ran feverishly back and forth, maddened by the fire and a terrible hunger.

As soon as the cages hit the ground within the ring of fire, the doors fell open with a loud clang. Hundreds of hungry ferocious rats rushed out. Their instinct told them to get away from the fire and there was only one place they could go.

The rats crawled on her legs and Samira couldn’t suppress a shriek. But her thoughts also went to the hungry rodents. She had tried to free them earlier and now, in a cruel twist of fate, they both were punished for it, as if to emphasize the futility of trying to escape their shared doom.

Samira didn’t give in to the inevitability of a shard fate, the rats still had their legs free to get away. “Don’t be afraid little ones,” she said, “the fire isn’t wide, you can jump through and escape.”

Just then the priests poured more of the sticky liquid on the fire and the flames rose higher. The heat became scorching. Streams of sweat ran down her cheeks and she found it harder to breathe. The rats frantically clustered close to the wall where Samira was trapped. They climbed all over her. “Please don’t bite,” she pleaded as their sharp claws scratched her bare arms. “Please,” she begged, sobbing softly. A few rats remained on the floor. Among them a large gray rat.

“Don’t be afraid of the fire,” she called again and again. It had no effect, the rats couldn’t understand her, but what else could she do with hands and feet tied? In the Agoge they told the kids the story of a boy who had hidden a fox under his shirt. The little fox wanted to escape and gnawed through the boy’s body until the poor lad died. What about hundreds of wild rats? How soon will they bite me to death?

“You can escape,” she pleaded, “go now little ones. You can leave me to die by the fire.”

But the rats didn’t dare to leave. They crawled frantically over Samira in the small space behind the fire. The hotter the flames, the more feverishly they crawled back and forth. A rat got caught in her hair. She wanted to scream, but she didn’t risk opening her mouth and accidentally get a rat into it.

Just when she couldn’t take it anymore, the flames started to flicker and waned. The heat subsided a little.

“Pour more oil,” she heard someone calling in the background.

“Go now!” Samira hissed. “Quick! This is your chance.”

The large gray rat slowly approached the flames. It sniffed at the acrid smoke.

“Come on you can do it!”

The rat turned and looked at Samira with its big brown eyes. Other rats also climbed down and gathered at the edge of the waning flames.

The big gray rat was the first to take the plunge. It took a few steps back then rushed forward and jumped. The others could hear its jubilant screeches from the other side.

A second rat followed the example, then a third.

“Go, go,” shouted Samira. Despite her predicament, she felt elated and cheered them on. “Yes! You can do it.”

One by one the rats jumped and crossed the flames.

The priests and worshippers in the hall didn’t know what happened to them. Hundreds of large, frightened rats streamed into the temple. They crawled over the benches and under the robes of the priests. The large gray one jumped on a table then onto a priest’s shoulder biting in his cheek.

“They’ve gone mad!” someone cried. Worshippers fled from the rodents. They fell over the stairs and bumped into each other while the rats scurried in every direction. A cultist tripped over his robe and Samira could hear his muffled screams as he was trampled by the people behind him. This only increased the panic. They ran for the exit where they smashed into the soldiers that guarded the door. These tried to stop the human tide but were almost crushed and then shoved aside. Even the black champion’s commands, couldn’t prevent the crowd from leaving in terror. Meanwhile, the High Priest was cowering behind the altar, feverishly stammering prayers to his evil god.

A few moments later it was all over. The fire had died down and the rats had escaped through cracks and holes. Broken candles, fallen chairs and abandoned cloaks littered the floor. The wounded had been carried off and the last of the Cultists indignantly scurried towards the exit, leaving only the priests and a few guards.

“Please stay lord,” pleaded the High Priest to the champion, “we’ll go ahead with the sacrifice in a moment.” He grabbed the warrior by his gold-rimmed cloak.

“Let me pass,” replied the man, “I’ve seen enough of your fumbling for one morning. I’ve better things to do.”

The priest drooped his shoulders in defeat and humiliation. “Don’t tell Yashnargh,” he pleaded but the lord didn’t reply and didn’t even slow down when the Priest grabbed his cloak, he simply yanked it out of his hands causing the priest to stumble.

Two guards nearby sniggered.

Like a hawk, the priest turned his gaze to face them. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped viciously. “You’ll stay here and guard that slave girl, don’t let her out your sight.”

Then he barked at the other priests, “stop dawdling and get to work! No more messing around, she’ll burn in molten stone this evening.”

“Your grace,” said the young priest, “the pressure hasn’t risen sufficiently, we should wait for a day.”

“I don’t care,” snarled the High Priest. “There should be enough lava to kill her. If it takes a bit longer, and she squirms in agony, that is a rightful punishment for her insolence. Just in case, collect the wood from the broken benches, soak them in oil and put them at her feet. At least you’ll make yourself useful. She’ll burn tonight, I’m telling you! Ahriman will have his sacrifice.”

After these words he stamped out of the hall, closing the massive double doors behind him with a loud bang.

Samira was alone with the guards. She stood for hours on end and her legs grew tired and hurt terribly. The ropes cut deep into her wrists and ankles. She felt pain, hunger and thirst. But no matter how much she pleaded, the guards wouldn’t part with even a drop of water. All they were willing to give her in their generosity, they snarled, was a bloody beating. Maybe I should have died after all, she thought grimly.

“Don’t despair, we’ll get you out of here,” whispered a high-pitched voice behind her, “but don’t look.”

“Spark?” Samira could barely suppress her joy.

“Shhhhh,” hissed the fairy, “look in front of you, and pretend I’m not here.”

“Can you free me?” she asked. A moment later, Samira felt a small animal with sharp claws crawl up her legs. Without delay, the rodent began gnawing at the ropes around her wrists. Other rats freed her ankles.

“Prepare to run as fast as you can,” whispered Spark, “on my signal, head to the altar.”

“The altar? Why?”

The two guards were a little further away. They played knucklebones and knocked back large cups of a strong spirit made from fermented woodlice and crushed ant eggs. They were engrossed in their game hardly noticed the girl for most of the time.

“Damn, I lost again,” shouted the larger of the two. He looked around in frustration, the chair creaked under his weight. “Why do we always have to work? Why can’t those priests clean up their own mess?”

“At least they could grant us some fun and let us torture that little slave girl,” said the small, stocky guard, “it’s a waste to just burn her.”

“Come on,” said the large man, “she’s only a child.”

“That’s why it will be fun,” said the other one with a smirk, “nothing sounds better than their helpless screams. I’ll show you.” To Samira’s horror, he got up and waddled towards her, unsheathing a rusty blade.

The other shook his head and poured another cup of the drink. For a moment he thought he would call his friend back, but then he turned his chair to better enjoy the spectacle. Ahriman wouldn’t care if they had a taste of her suffering first.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his massive bottom. He leapt into the air. The chair fell back and the jar of spirit shattered on the floor. A rat scurried away.

The other guard turned and looked at him in surprise. “You’re drunk or what,” he waffled.

“Damn, rat! Dirty pest,” cried the large guard, “I’ll smash you to pulp!”

“Now!” shouted Spark, “quick, follow me.”

Samira ran as fast as she could, but her legs were stiff and tired from her ordeal and she tripped every few steps.

“Come on!” shouted Spark, “faster.

Spark pointed at a large panel in the floor behind the altar. For the first time in a long while, Samira felt a simmer of hope. “A trapdoor!” She tried to open it but it was too heavy, she could barely lift it an inch. “I need something to lift it with,” she said.

“Try that candlestick,” replied Spark.

Samira took the long black iron candlestick and used it as a lever.

The guards had given up finding the rat. When they turned back, they realized the prisoner had gone. Their angry shouts echoed in the cavernous hall. “Come back,” they shouted when they saw her, “we’ll beat you so hard if you don’t stop.”

Samira couldn’t imagine that they’d show her any mercy if she turned back so their shouts only made her push harder on the lever. But still the trapdoor didn’t budge.

“Hurry,” chirped Spark, “they’re coming.”

With a last effort, Samira managed to lift the trapdoor just high enough and block it with a small chair. She climbed through and pulled out the chair from the other end. The hatch closed with a loud clang.

“Now where do we go?” asked Samira in a pitch-black corridor.

“Follow me,” said Spark and plunged into the darkness. With her faery hands she conjured just enough light for them to see the outline of the walls and Samira followed as quickly as she could.

They were barely ten steps away when they heard the trapdoor creak open. There was a lot of cursing and shouting as the guards climbed through.

“This way,” Spark called out and disappeared into a crack in the wall. Samira looked at the hole, it was barely big enough for her head. Hot, sulfuric air rose from it. She poked her head through. She didn’t mind the heat, but the stench was disgusting. And she couldn’t see anything beyond a few yards of steep descent.

The guards were closing in. “Go now!” screamed Spark.

Samira pinched her nose with one hand and dove inside.

A strong hand grabbed her ankle before it disappeared down the chasm. She kicked at it but the hand didn’t let go. A second hand grabbed her dress and started pulling her back. She desperately fought back and tried to hold on to the wall. But she only managed to hurt herself on the sharp rocks.

“Let go of me!” she shouted and hit at the pale hand with a loose rock. She heard a scream and one hand let go. She kicked and screamed like a wild cat until her dress tore and she managed to get away.

“Come on, go after her wretched worm,” shouted an angry bass voice. “Catch that girl.”

“Why don’t you get in yourself,” replied the high mean voice, “I don’t want to get fried in the fire.”

“I don’t fit into the hole, stupid. If you don’t go now, I will throw you in, piece by piece!”

While the voices argued, Samira crawled on as quickly as she could. The smooth corridor was just the right size for her and the practice she had gained on her lone journeys in the Underdeep came in handy. If it wasn’t for the sulfuric stench or the mortal danger which urged her on, she could have enjoyed it.

“Damn, the girl’s getting away!” she heard the deep voice shout.

This pushed her to crawl even faster. At every crossing she chose the narrowest and steepest tunnels to make it harder for her pursuers. She scratched her arms and legs on the sharp rocks and her dress was in tatters. Worse than the pain was the thought of leaving her family and poor Fingo. The tears, the sweat, the mud, the dirt, the blood. It all blended into a dirty layer of misery. She looked more like a Gulla than a girl.

“Come on,” yelled Spark, “just hold on, we’ve almost lost them.”

“Where are we going?” asked Samira, “it’s getting awfully hot here.”

“Uh...” Spark said, “I don’t really know. I’ve never been here before. But anything is better than the temple,” she added firmly.

The tunnel became hotter but there was no turning back anymore, there were no side-tunnels or exits. Tired and thirsty, Samira dragged herself ever deeper.

It went on for so long they lost all track of time until at last, the corridor started to slope upwards and the air became a little cooler. It was still very hot when they emerged into a cave the size of a small room with a puddle of water in a corner.

“I think we’re safe now,” Samira whispered. Her face was so wet from transpiration that it seemed as if she had walked in the rain. “I don’t hear them anymore.”

Spark flew round and twisted excitedly through the air. She spun in circles so that her little dress flared up. “I told you we could do it,” she squeaked jubilantly. She raised her little fist in the air. “Dark Cult, you don’t scare us! We beat you every time.”

Samira laughed through her tears, “oh Spark, you’re so funny.”

The little Peri made a sad face. “I was serious, I really wasn’t scared.”

“Let’s have a drink,” said Samira and shuffled to the pool.

“Watch out, don’t drink, it smells funny!” Spark shouted, “do as I do.” She threw her tiny head back and opened her mouth. She hovered in the air under a protruding rock where an occasional drop of water fell down. The first droplet fell straight into her open mouth. To the tiny Peri it was like a large cup full of water and she struggled to swallow everything at once. Then a big drop fell and her little head was completely submerged. She sneezed and sputtered and shook from left to right. Her long hair hung down like a wet cloth.

Samira giggled.

“Now it’s your turn,” said Spark.

Samira tilted her head back and opened her mouth. A big fat droplet fell on her nose. Shocked by the cold, she involuntarily gave a little scream. It was Spark’s turn to laugh.

“Take this, little rascal,” Samira said, splashing some of the cold water out of the puddle. Spark screamed and flew away. Soon they were running around in the puddle laughing and splashing.

After a while, Samira sat down and Spark landed next to her. “That was fun,” said Samira.

“Yes,” the fairy agreed, “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten how to laugh.”

Samira sighed and her smile faded. Her thoughts went back to her family and her predicament. “Oh Spark,” she said, fighting back her tears. “What should I do? They’ll kill me if I go back. I’ll never see mom and dad again and little Jaro…”

The tears streamed down her cheeks, “and poor Fingo, what will happen to him. Oh, what have I done?”

“You can’t help it,” said Spark, “and you shouldn’t blame yourself. You’re just a little girl.”

“But where can I go?” she asked through tears, “and you?” where do you want to go? You should go home to your people.”

“Hmm. We’re not going back, not to that awful place, that’s for sure,” Spark said fiercely, “never in a million years! And don’t you worry about me. I’m staying with you. One day I’ll go home, but first I’ll help you as you have helped me. We’re in this together.”

“Really,” said the girl, wiping her tears away, “you’ve already helped me so much. Would you stay with me?”

“Of course. I owe you my life and it would be a great honor to be at your side.”

“But I’m just a little girl.”

“What is on the outside doesn’t matter,” said Spark, “it’s what’s inside that I care about. And you have something inside you that is very special, you have a most generous and warm heart. And perhaps something even rarer, almost as precious, I can feel it. But now tell me, Samira with the heart of fire. Where is your home? Where you can go?”

“I... I don’t know,” stammered the girl, “I’ve always been with my mum and dad in Ligeia. But they’re like strangers to me now.”

“Was there nobody else?”

For a long time Samira remained silent, lost in thought and sadness. “I.. I could try to find Diokles in Ligeia. He is my old teacher, he was always so kind to me.”

“You see,” said Spark, “that sounds like a great plan. I’ll help you to go to Ligeia. Come now, let me dry your tears.”

Samira thought of the Archon with the scar and the mean guards. “But they sent me away from Ligeia,” she said in tears. “They banished me to the Underdeep! How will I be welcomed? I was supposed to remain here to keep the peace between our cities.”

“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure it out. That Diokles seems like a nice chap, I’m sure he’ll help. But first, let’s get some sleep. We’ll find the way to the surface tomorrow.”

Samira wanted to sleep, the events of the past hours had exhausted her but a horrible thought crept into her mind. “No Spark!” she shouted in a sudden panic, “we can’t rest and we can’t leave. We have to go back! Back to the temple.”

“Back?” Spark buzzed around like an angry wasp, “have you gone completely mad? Didn’t I just say we wouldn’t go back in a million years and now you want to return after a few minutes?”

“Please,” begged Samira. “Remember poor Fingo, he’s my friend. We have to go back and save him!”

Spark sighed but she knew the girl well enough already not to argue.