The Flame of Destiny

That night, Samira lay awake for hours on her tiny bed of dried tree roots. The amulet burned on her skin like it was warning her of something, a sensation that was even stronger the next day. She felt watching eyes everywhere, even inside Fingo’s little smithy and was convinced the pale priests in their dark robes could see the amulet underneath her dress. But she had nowhere else to hide it, the room where the family slept was too small and she was never alone.

“Why don’t we hide it in the smithy,” she suggested, “you can keep it safe for me.”

“No need,” said Fingo soothingly, “these Dark Cult priests don’t have a clue about the amulet. And the Gulla have sand instead of brains. Honestly, there’s nothing to worry about.”

She saw how he stiffened when she suggested to hide it in the smithy and knew he wasn’t telling her everything. But she didn’t understand why. Sure, cultists sometimes visited the smithy, but he had kept it hidden there for years before giving it to her.

There was no time to think it through. The Gnome kept her very busy with work and told her stories and jokes when they rested. Still, Samira wasn’t reassured and went home feeling deeply troubled.

It was only a few days before the rites and her parents were very edgy. When she wanted to leave the house early the next day, she found that her father had locked the door. After hesitating a moment, she squirmed through the small kitchen window and dropped into the mushroom garden. I won’t abandon him now, she thought.

She walked on quickly, not even bothering to catch some spiders and woodlice to delight her friend. She felt the amulet burn on her skin. Somehow the road seemed longer than usual.

Her stomach turned upside down when she saw the little smithy. The door was ajar. Fingo would never leave it like that. Her heart pounded in her chest as she entered.

Suppressing a cry that clawed at her throat, she cast her gaze wildly about the chaos. All the cupboards had been thrown open. Fingo’s tools were scattered across the floor. The furniture was smashed. The heavy chain that bound Fingo to his forge was strewn on the floor. Amidst the wreckage, the old Gnome himself was conspicuously absent, his humming presence replaced by an eerie silence.

Her only friend had gone!

“Fingo,” she called. First softly then louder until she shouted at the top of her longs. Her voice rang muffled and hollow in the caves. There was no answer besides a spookily distorted echo.

“I shouldn’t have accepted the gift. It’s my fault,” she said. Tears ran down her cheeks as she kept looking for clues. Perhaps he just went out to fetch some water. But she found no trace of the old Gnome in the surrounding caves.

She sat down drained and miserable. “I will find him,” she swore stubbornly, “even if I have to go to the depths of the earth!”

Back home she couldn’t think of anything else. “But dad,” she begged, “you know the other blacksmiths, you can ask what happened to him. He’s my best friend.” She looked at him with her big sad eyes, “please.”

“All right,” replied Georgios reluctantly, “I’ll ask around tomorrow. But first you must promise me that you’ll prepare for the rites.”

Samira swallowed, she could see from her father’s face that this was not negotiable. “I will,” she said hesitantly, still dreading the idea, “I’ll get on it today. But please find Fingo, I’m afraid his life is in danger.”

She didn’t rest well that night. It was always difficult for her to sleep in the eternal twilight of the Underdeep, but this night was worse. The cruel ‘laws’ of the Dark Cult, the ones she would have to obey for the rest of her life if she took the rites, spooked through her head. ‘Everyone knows their place and owes complete obedience to Ahriman and his priests. Slave races remain submissive until freed by the fire of Ahriman.’ It was at odds with everything she had learned from Diokles.

She tossed and turned on the tiny bed which she shared with Jaro until he pushed her away. She feared for Fingo’s life and it was her fault. The Gnome had been happy in his own way for so many years, and now she had ruined it all, just as she had messed up things for her family. “But this time it’s not too late. I’ll do something about it,” she swore under her ragged blanket and clenched her small fists, “I’ll find him.”

The next day, she remained close to her own home. She feared that the brutes that had taken Fingo could come for her as well. The amulet would betray her, yet she wouldn’t betray Fingo and take it off.

She played indoors with her brother Jaro for a while. Yet, despite her fervent efforts, the games involving dolls she so passionately suggested failed to spark his interest. He didn’t even care for the stories she told with such enthusiasm. He was full of his new friends. For so long, other boys had mocked him, but as the rites came near, they began to draw him into their fold with sinister intent. Their idea of camaraderie involved disturbing pastimes like torturing defenseless animals and tormenting the children of slaves.

Later that day, she ventured out to fetch water from the dripping rock.. Even the short walk was terrifying, prompting her to hug the safety of the walls closely. On the way back, just as the cabin came into view, she heard loud jeers and giggles from some of the Cult children. Hiding behind a rock, she saw how a group of young boys walked to her house, brandishing their sharp sticks.

“Jaro, come with us,” they commanded. “We’re going to play fun games.” It didn’t sound like the kind of fun Samira would enjoy or even Jaro for that matter.

Her brother came out and took a look at the spears. “Cool, are we going on a hunt?”

They laughed viciously, “yes, a slave hunt.”

Samira watched in horror as Jaro ran after the black-clad children. When they were gone, she went inside. For the rest of the day, she was alone waiting impatiently for her father to come home.

“I’m sorry Samira,” said Georgios when he finally returned after a day of toil in a hot smithy, “I tried to find out about your friend but they didn’t tell me anything.”

“Can you try again tomorrow?”

“No!” Georgios barked. “Do you know what will happen to us if they find out we’re friends with a Gnome slave? I don’t want to hear about him anymore. It’s over! I upheld my promise and I expect you to uphold yours.”

It wasn’t over for Samira. That night she made a fateful decision. She would go out and find Fingo herself, even if it meant visiting all the scary places she had heard about.

She got up early and set out alone. She had a feeling that she would find him in the Cult city with it’s large buildings and armies of slaves. She had a bad premonition that he was in mortal danger and that she had to hurry.

Stealing some clothes from a washing line, she hid her still too tanned skin under a long black gown that made her look almost indistinguishable from the Cult children.

After an hour of wriggling through narrow, slimy tunnels and crawling up and down rocks, she squeezed herself through a cobweb filled tube and entered a place she could not have imagined in her wildest dreams. The vast cavern that stretched before her was wide as a valley in the mountains of her old life. The ceiling was so high that it couldn’t be seen but thousands of tiny lights, pale imitations of stars, shone down and evoked an eerie beauty.

Huge sharp rock formations descended from the cavern ceilings or rose from its floors. Some of these enormous stalagmites that sprang from the rock were higher than the watchtowers of Ligeia and the tallest ones had narrow stairways circling around them and were capped with fortifications. Iron platforms, attached to thick iron chains, hung below giant stalactites. Some were small lookout posts while others were large enough to fit an entire company of warriors that could shoot arrows or hurl projectiles at enemies below.

So that is what Fingo meant with their building skills thought Samira. She had no time to gape in amazement and walked on quickly.

The fortifications only grew more numerous as she went deeper into the cavern. They were connected with long, rickety suspension bridges that ran along the cave like massive dead vines. The messengers and guards that marched across looked like ants.

She couldn’t risk taking these suspended trails and had to navigate the rough terrain below. She climbed up and down steep rocks until her hands and knees bled. It became easier when she reached one of the main roads and she used her guise to blend in with the other people. It was no straight road but a narrow twisting path of narrow stairways, tunnels and rickety bridges which took another hour to traverse.

Finally, the road opened into an enormous space were all stalagmites had been smashed to dust and all holes filled somehow to create a vast, flat square. It was like the Agora of Ligeia but on a massive scale and at its center there was no shining marble hall but the sinister outline of the Dark City.

Following the throngs of people, she crossed the open space and entered through the main gate into the city. She dared not talk to anyone on the streets. She wasn’t even allowed to enter the city, if she got caught, the punishment would be brutal.

For an hour, she hid in a dark alley, while her heart was pounding in her chest. Only then, when no priests or cultists were in sight did she dare to approach an old Gnome. He was toiling in one of the many sweaty workshops that churned out iron weapons that were stacked in large piles. Why make so many weapons? she thought, they have no enemies left here.

The humble blacksmith hadn’t seen Fingo. “You shouldn’t be here,” he grumbled. The stonemason Gnomes she met later hadn’t seen him either. “Try the slave market,” said one when she insisted, “but don’t get your hopes up. “He could be at the arsenal,” suggested a young slave. Older Gnomes fell in a sad silence when she asked about her friend and nodded towards the center of the city.

Hiding in the shadows, scrambling over walls and slipping through cracks, she searched every building they mentioned. She went to the slave market where wretched souls, humans, gnomes and other creatures, were on display staring expressionlessly into the distance. Fingo was not among them. She searched all the smithies and armories. She entered every shop and market. She searched the bathhouses and inns. Nowhere did she see any sign of poor Fingo.

Finally, after a very long day, there was only one building left. She had hoped to avoid it but if she wanted to save Fingo, she had to go.

A huge circular structure dominated the heart of the dark city. It didn’t reflect any light and it was like a black shadow at the heart of the Dark City, it seemed as if it belonged to a different world, a world of utter darkness fashioned after Ahriman’s ghastly visions.

[Picture: temple of Ahriman]

She crept quietly towards the great temple. Each step took her more effort than the last. It was as if she was restrained by invisible cobwebs.

The Dark City was forbidden to outcasts like her, and you could expect a firm beating if caught inside without permission. A couple of missing teeth or fingers would serve as a reminder not to trespass again. But the Temple of Ahriman was of a different order. Samira trembled, remembering how on hearing the name, her father turned pale as a ghost. Fingo shivered on his scrawny legs when she asked about it. Slaves and infidels entered the temple in chains to never come out. They would be subjected to unspeakable horrors to honor their cruel god.

A fate so ghastly that it was doubtful that even their everlasting soul would survive the ordeal. Some claimed the souls of Ahriman’s victims would be forever trapped in gems and serve for all eternity as one of the millions of pale lights illuminating the cave. Others assured her that Ahriman would dissolve their immortal essence into black dust, dissipating it into nothingness. A fate echoing that of the entire world if the Evil Spirit had his way… That would be her fate if she were caught. And yet she shuffled forward.

Near the temple, she heard a noise and threw herself against the rock wall where she hid in the shadows. Cultists were approaching but didn’t seem to come for her. Dozens of black-clad city dwellers walked towards the temple entrance right past the girl. Their expressionless gaze fixated dead ahead.

She waited in the shadows, trembling, shaking, hardly daring to breathe. Her mother had assured her these were ordinary people but their stern, pale faces with large colorless eyes seemed to penetrate the shadows and look directly into her soul. Luckily for Samira, her slender figure was too deeply hidden in the shadows even for their penetrating eyes and they ignored the shivering girl.

When the stream had passed, she waited a few minutes then got up and took a few halting steps towards the entrance. Then she froze. The gate she had to pass was shaped like the mouth of a huge serpent whose terrible burning eyes seemed to follow her every move.

“Don’t be afraid,” she told herself and touched the amulet with her hand, “it isn’t real. You have to be brave for Fingo.” She crept closer until she was startled by a loud noise. A rattling sound came from above. The snake’s fangs were closing down on her. Did it’s magical eyes see her and attack? No, it wasn’t alive, it couldn’t be. Samira kept her cool and realized that it wasn’t really a giant snake but a gate that was closing fast!

Gathering all her courage she sprinted forward and dove under the gate, through the mouth of the serpent gate, almost tumbling down a long wide stairway that descended into darkness. She crept down further into the temple, the air growing warmer and more oppressive with each step. The Temple had looked immense from the outside, dominating the center of the Dark City, but if most of it was underneath street level, she shuddered, she could only imagine what a massive structure she was entering.

There was a wide, long hall at the end of the stairs. A dim light shone through cracks in the ceiling. But when she took a closer look, she almost fainted. These are no cracks, she thought, these are eyes! The ceiling was decorated with skulls and a dim reddish light emanated from their eye sockets.

Once again, she grabbed the amulet and somehow it gave her the courage to go on. She looked away from the skulls and into the dark corridor.

The massive double door at the end, wide enough for six horses to ride through side by side, was slowly closing. She couldn’t reach it in time. Instead, she slipped quickly through one of the smaller side doors just as the double door closed with a loud thud.

The chamber she had just entered was much darker than the corridor and her eyes took some time to adjust. She scanned around and breathed a sigh of relief. There were no Cultists in here. But what was that sound?

It was a large place, full of strange objects. Black cloaks hung on rusty nails. The shelves were full of scrolls with mysterious verses, musical instruments of a kind she had never seen, and small vials with strange colored liquids. On a table, she found a large keychain. Stacked along the walls, there were dozens of cages densely packed with rats, bats, and mice. The little rodents jumped nervously up and down when she passed. They had bloody snouts and their coats had patches where the hairs had been ripped out.

“Poor little things.” She couldn’t stand their suffering and without hesitation, she went to work with the keys on the chain. “Come on, little ones get out,” she said each time she opened another cage. The rats didn’t linger long and darted out of their prisons as soon as the door opened. They disappeared into dark holes and tiny cracks.

Some needed a bit of prodding. One particularly large rat sat upright and looked at her with his dark brown eyes, “go, little one, go back to your family,” whispered Samira. The rat stared at her curiously for a while, then jumped out of the cage and disappeared under a pile of rubble.

Then she approached the largest cage. It was rounded and elegant like a birdcage, and indeed, inside of it, a small creature fluttered up and down but it didn’t quite look like a bird and she had never seen birds in the Underdeep before.

“Are you a bat,” she whispered but felt foolish speaking to an animal.

To her surprise, a high-pitched voice replied indignantly. “Of course not. I’m a Peri, can’t you see with your eyes?”

Samira approached the cage and pushed her face against the bars. The creature hovering inside was not a bat or a bird but a tiny girl, not much larger than her own hand. She wore a short green chiton that hung to her knees and left her shoulders and arms bare. She had two thin silvery wings that matched her silver-blond hair and flapped continuously.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never seen a faery before,” replied Samira somewhat taken aback.

“I’m a Peri, didn’t you hear?” shouted the creature, her voice not louder than a whisper. “Now don’t just stand there get me out of here! They’re going to kill me. Do something.”

“Of course,” said Samira and she put one of the remaining keys in the lock. It didn’t fit and neither did any of the other keys.

She tried to bend the bars but in her haste, she bumped into the cage and it clattered on the floor.

“Watch out, do you want to get me killed!” cried the tiny voice.

“I’m sorry,” said Samira, “I’m trying to help.”

“Even for a human girl, you’re clumsy,” complained the miserable Peri.

Samira found a long dagger in a cupboard. The blade was of a strange matte black metal that she had never seen, even as a blacksmith’s daughter.

The Peri recoiled and shook with fear. “Put that weapon away,” she hissed and flew was far away from the knife as she could.

“Let me just try,” Samira said, ignoring the frightened shrieks of the Peri who sat huddled in a corner. With great effort she managed to bend the bars of the cage with the sturdy blade and released the little creature.

“What’s your name,” Samira asked, still holding the knife.

“Put the knife away first,” the Peri answered, putting her hands over her eyes.

Samira smiled at the funny creature and tucked the knife under her sash.

[Picture Spark]

“My name is Spark,” shrieked the Peri. “I’m very grateful to you. I will be forever in your debt and will protect you with my life and bla bla bla. But now, we need to get out of here as soon as possible or my service to you will be over before it has started.”

“We can’t leave yet,” said Samira, “I’m looking for my friend, Fingo, he’s a Gnome.”

Spark eyes widened, then she started sobbing.

“What is it?” asked Samira.

“Oh, it’s so sad....” She glanced towards the black door at the far end, “it’s soooo tragic and sad.”

“What are you talking about? Do you know him? Have you seen him?”

“He was here earlier,” cried the Peri, “but you’re too late. They have taken him away!”

“Over there?” asked Samira and walked over to the large door at the other end of the room. She heard a low humming noise beyond it. It sounded menacing but also intriguing.

“Stop!” shrieked Spark, “don’t go in there. They’ll see you.”

Samira couldn’t stop. Was it the love for Fingo or the mysterious chanting beyond? At the very least she had to take a quick peek, they wouldn’t notice.

“Don’t,” cried the Peri again. “I’m supposed to protect you. It’s a debt of honor that I intend to fulfill. But it doesn’t work if you act all suicidal!”

Samira didn’t heed the advice. She touched the handle of the door and slowly pushed it open, as quietly as she could.

A warm wind blew through her hair as she peered into the vast cavern beyond. Benches were carved in a semicircle that descended like stairs. It reminded her of the amphitheater of Ligeia. Hundreds of men and women in dark robes sang in low voices. Their heads and bodies moving in rhythmic unison. If this was a dance, it was nothing like the ones Samira had ever seen. The mass of people moved like the mindless tentacles of a giant creature and they all gazed at a stage in the center.

There, beneath a massive statue of a red horned demon was an altar carved out of the cavern’s black rock. Beside it stood a tall and wiry priest, appearing almost like a demon himself with his pale and grotesquely painted face. His body was shaking and his long black and red cloak swirled in the air. In his hand, he held a knife with a black blade which he moved up and down.

Tied to the altar with thick ropes was a small and helpless creature.

The singing grew louder. The priest swirled more violently. The worshippers shook wildly, losing their rhythm and unison in a whirling pool of black cloth and white flesh. The wretched creature on the altar squirmed helplessly, trying to get loose.

As the poor thing turned its head towards Samira, she looked straight into its terrified eyes.

“Fingo!” shrieked Samira, “Noooo!”

The crowd stopped shaking.

The singing halted.

Dozens of heads turned towards her. Scores of furious pale eyes stared at the small figure standing in the doorway. Totally surprised by the intrusion on the most sacred ceremony in the innermost sanctum of the temple, there was no reaction at first. There was complete silence and time seemed frozen like the moment after a lightning flash before the roar of thunder.

But it did not last. Thunder always comes.

“Get the infidel, and bring her to me!!” bellowed the priest and his call was followed by a thunderous roar from the crowd. The Cultists screamed and ran towards her. She was quickly surrounded by dozens of tall, pale men in dark robes that grabbed at her cloak, her hair and arms. She struggled and fought. She lashed wildly with the razor-sharp black knife.

The men screamed when they felt the sharp sting of the razor sharp weapon, and their robes stained with red blood that glowed eerily in the unnatural light.

But there were too many. From all sides, hands grabbed her. They yanked the knife from her hands. They took her robe, exposing her copper tan and amber hair that were as alien in this cavern as the sun itself.

They dragged her onto the stage and she was thrown helplessly on the ground before the altar. As she looked up the tall priest was standing over her, an evil grin on his face and the long black knife in his hand.

“What shall we do with the infidel?” asked the priest loudly to the crowd as he grabbed the helpless girl by the throat with his long bony fingers. Samira closed her eyes and tried to look away. Away from those horrible, flaming eyes and his evil smirk.

“Kill, kill!” shouted the angry mob. “She belongs to Ahriman!”

“Look at me!” snarled the priest as he twisted Samira’s face towards him.

Samira didn’t want to, she was too afraid. But his strong bony fingers pushed deep into her temples. The pain was excruciating yet she couldn’t scream. All she could do was close her eyes and turn her head as the Priest demanded.

“Kill, kill!” the mob kept shouting.

“Open your eyes,” ordered the Priest and twisted his sharp nails, unleashing more unbearable pain.

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked into the twisted face of the Priest.

The man gasped when he saw the depth of her defiance in these dark blue eyes. “A pure-bone,” he said in surprised delight, “fresh from the surface.”

As she almost fainted in excruciating agony, he investigated her with interest. “What a splendid sacrifice for Ahriman,” he grinned. “It will be a beautiful day after all.”

The onlookers cheered and stamped their feet.