Flame of Life

by Josh Wilkins

“Eonah Talem Nevocal, it’s a pleasure to meet a man with such a reputation.” The noble man didn’t even stand as Eon walked into the room, a mess of wild red hair with a beard just as untamed. His hair was accented with braids bound by a few rune-marked clasps. The nobleman at the desk, based on the superior look in his eyes as he appraised Eon, didn’t genuinely feel that it was a pleasure to meet the rugged mercenary. In other times, a life burner like him would have been regarded with awe and respect; but now he was nothing more than a dangerous inconvenience. Or a tool — one that a nobleman like him was sure to be willing to use, but never regard meeting with pleasure. Then again, the disgusted look could be because Eon had just tracked wet mud all over the expensive rug of the man’s study. Eon smirked inwardly at the thought. Well, the rich bastard had the money to replace it anyway and wouldn’t say anything. Being dangerous had its benefits.

Eon regarded the man with a weary smile, “You don’t have the right to call me by that name and I don’t have the right to be called it anyhow.” he said. “It’s just Eon. Now, the only reason someone like you would stoop to consort with someone of my, let’s call it, questionable upbringing, is because you have some difficult business. What’s the job?”

The burly bodyguards standing on either side of the nobleman bristled at the tone in Eon’s voice. The one at the right took a few steps forward, and his hand moved to the thin club at his side. Eon always wondered how scum like these nobles inspired such loyalty. The seated man put up his hand to calm them. Eon just let out a small laugh. The guard’s face mottled with rage, as that didn’t seem to be the reaction he’d wanted. Still, despite his anger, the guard kept place, if barely. It was a shame. Still, Eon took note of the man’s reaction. There might be some fun to be had there.

“Lord Callem, I can’t let him speak to you in that way,” the guard said. “The filthy animal doesn’t deserve to even speak to you, let alone in that tone.”

“Calm down, Salem. He may be a dog, but dogs have their uses if directed properly. Better men just need to realize themselves as such, and ignore the yapping mutts.” Callem said in a cool voice.

Callem smiled and Eon felt years of hatred seething in his head, boiling in his blood. He felt it for a moment, but then all that emotion gave way to resignation. He was part of a lost and broken people; there was nothing he could do now. He was as broken as his people were, maybe more than most.

Eon didn’t let his hatred show. He strolled over to one of the plush velvet chairs in front of the desk, fell into it and popped his mud laden boots onto the dark wooden desk, scattering wet clods of dirt over the paperwork strewn there. He may have to live under men like Callem, but he didn’t have to be docile about it.

“Do you have a job for me or am I going to go spend my night at the pub? I can give you a guess which one I would rather be doing, and I have bit of a savings going now, so I don’t absolutely need the work. I leave it to you, your lordship.” He emphasized his last words with a mocking bow of his head, hands stretched out to each side.

The Lord frowned at the antics, but the guard, Salem, started toward Eon, who stood up in an instant, feet apart.

Callem’s voice stopped anything before it could happen. “Out! Salem, if I can’t do business with you here, then get out!” Salem stood for a moment, fists clenched and his veins popping, before stalking from the room. Callem took a deep breath and turned to Eon, throwing an envelope into his lap. “The man’s family has served mine for a number of years, but sometimes their zeal can be counterproductive. The job then — there is a rival of mine in town who has an item that might prove harmful to me in the future. Details are in the envelope. I need you to go in, and destroy the asset. You’ll receive the usual pay.”

Eon opened the envelope and examined the information inside for a moment. “You want me to break into the High Lord Asidious’s palace, and get to the east tower? That’s a tall order.”

“And that’s why I am hiring you. If my men had the expertise I wouldn’t waste my time or money. Your services are quite expensive, but I trust your skillset will get the task done.” Callem looked down at his desk in dismissal, brushing aside the dirt covering the paper he had been looking at when Eon had walked into the room.

“I’ll get it done your lordship” Eon said, standing and stalking to the door. “I always do.”

***

Eon stepped out of one of the back doors to Callem’s palace, glad to be free of the lavish halls. The air had a slight chill to it. Not that Eon minded the cold much. He absent-mindedly juggled a small blue-white flame between the fingers of his right hand, much like a coin that some sly-fingered men would make dance between their fingers. Eon’s father and old teachers used to berate him for the habit; it was a waste of energy after all, and energy wasn’t to be wasted. Energy is life and life is a rare commodity, he could almost hear their booming voices ringing in his ears. But they weren’t around anymore, they hadn’t been for a long time. Besides, the habitual movement soothed him, and he had more than enough energy stored inside him. He’d become so adept at summoning the fire that he barely had to concentrate to maintain it anyway.

Eon began trudging home, with the thoughts of the job ahead him mingling with shadows of his past. He looked around at the city around him. Here, everything was vast. Villas with spacious front gardens were common in this part of town. The rich might feel comfortable here, and once he may have too, but now he just wanted to get back into the city proper with its cramped alleys and slums. The feeling down there was so much more alive and warm. Here it was just dead and cold: just like the coins that these men squabbled over.

Eon heard something whistle through the air. His reflexes reacted instantly — no need for thought. Eon dropped to a crouch and the heavy form of Salem stumbled forward, off balance from the heavy blow striking air when he surely meant to be the first and the last. Eon’s muscles twitched eagerly. He turned, driving his elbow into the large man’s stomach. In the same fluid movement Eon swept his leg under Salem’s calves. The Guard came crashing down to the ground. Before Salem could regain his breath, Eon’s knee was on his windpipe. He crushed down with slow, practiced inevitability. The man gurgled in pain and clawed at the knee. Salem’s hand beat against any part of Eon that it could reach. He might as well have been beating against granite. His legs thrashed and kicked, twisting and contorting like worms in the dirt. Eon felt a surge of satisfaction and power. This man was part of a disease, a culture of thought that had destroyed his people. They were afraid of what he could do, and so they treated him like a wild dog: mangy, dangerous, something to be put down. Never trusted, never accepted.

Eon brought his head down and looked into Salem’s eyes as the man choked. Eon had seen that look so many times. It started as a small spark of fear, and slowly broke into a fire that consumed all other emotion. Inside those eyes woke an animal that wanted nothing but to keep breathing.

“You came down here to kick me like the rest of you do? Kick me like a dog. Why? Because I didn’t treat your master, a man who has abused and enslaved people like me, with the respect you thought he deserved?” Eon could feel the cold edge creep like morning frost into his voice. That edge hadn’t been there years ago. It scared him sometimes, what he was becoming. It might have been better if he had died with the rest of his kind. “I may have to put up with swine like your master. I may have to dance for them to stay alive, but I’m not a trained pup. They are right about one thing: I’m dangerous.” With a twist of his knee he snapped the man’s neck. Salem’s body went limp and his head lolled lifeless.

Eon stood over looking down at the man. He suddenly felt so tired, so empty. The weight of being so utterly alone felt overwhelming for a long moment. For an instant, he wished to be the man he’d been years ago. That man would have been horrified of what he’d just done. He lifted his callused hands and held them before his face. In his mind, for a solitary moment, they were crimson with blood. He dropped his now trembling hands to his sides.

I’m sorry Father. This isn’t who you wanted me to be.

Eon turned, his quickened breath fogging a trail into the frosted sky as he walked away.

***

Eon looked over the plans to lord Asidious’s palace one last time and let out an exasperated sigh. He rolled the plans up and placed them to the side of the desk. The wood on the desk was worn and beaten. Cracks ran up and down the dried-out wood. Lord Asidious’s palace was more of a fortress than it was a palace. There were few ways in, all swarming with guards. As one of the most affluent lords in the city, Asidious had a battle-tried army in place of a house guard. Many of them war veterans or even from a more shadowed origin.

Callem was in over his head taking on this man. Cold, Calculating, shrewd, politically connected: all described Asidious perfectly. Eon was going to have to be careful about this one.

Asidious was dangerous, but then so was Eon. Having made all the plans he could, he got up and moved to a side door leading to an annex of his cramped home. The doorway was narrow and made of a strange marbled wood. Eon pulled off his tunic and trousers, revealing a muscular and battle-scarred body covered only by cloth shorts. More significant were the tattoos. They were intricate depictions of flame that covered his entire body. At his ankles, the tattoos began as a ring of ember and ash. As the marks moved up his leg, the embers were stoked into a pattern of twisting flames. Ravenous, the flames twisted around his arms and torso, bending in as if biting at each other. Each bend and turn added to the mesmerizing dance. The flames almost seemed alive as he opened the door and stepped into the small room, and within the tattoos, there were subtle runes woven into the pattern.

He needed as much power as he could get for the job ahead and so Eon stepped into a new room to begin his preparations. The room resembled something like a giant circular oven. Runes shaped like fire, similar to the patterns within his tattoos, decorated the walls and floor; they weren’t necessary, but they followed the tradition of his scattered people. It was his way of treating his culture with the respect it deserved. He was alive, undeserving slime compared to the rest of his people. It was the least he could do. All along the outside of the room there was a blackened trough. Eon moved to these, lining them with wood and oil, moving carefully with practiced motions. A warmth streaked across his cheek as the first tear fell. He let his breath come in regular and long. This was one of the only times that he let his mind wander to thoughts of home without immediately pushing them away. He thought of home, family, and tradition. The aching for jagged mountain peaks, frigid air, and trembling earth beneath his feet almost overtook him for a moment. He let out a long, slow breath. His eyes felt swollen as he thought of what was forever lost. A tear dripped to the floor beside his naked toes.

Finally, all of the trough lined with fuel, he moved to the center of the room, grabbing a handful of kindling, a bow, and a stick. He built a pyre in the middle of the room. He began working methodically to start the fire. Of course, he could have lit it instantly with the flame already held in reserve, and he wasn’t opposed to doing so when he was in a rush, but there was a tradition of doing it all by hand. He felt more at peace when he was able to do it this way. It was a reminder that fire was a gift. Like life, fire didn’t come easily. “Fire is life, life is precious,” he muttered. Finally, smoke coiled from the tinder in front of him. He blew on it, carefully coaxing the shy embers to life. He cupped the embers in his hand; they didn’t burn him, and he placed them carefully at the end of the trough. The flames spread hungrily through the trough, steadily rising up. There was enough fuel there to keep the flame blazing for hours more. He moved to the center again and sat cross legged there, eyes closed. The tattoos on his body began to shift and move as if in tandem with the flames, joining in their frantic dance. The movement of the tattoos weren’t necessary for what he was doing, just a focus. The air in the room began to shimmer with heat, and the shifting light gave everything an unreal quality. He let himself get lost in it, and with each breath, he would breathe it in. It was as if he merged with the fire — he lost himself in it. He drew the heat into him. He took in the ravenous energy that the flames radiated and captured it. He took in as much of it as he could; he would need every bit. He could hold a lot, but eventually even he reached his limit, and with a thought, he extinguished the flame. The walls of the shrine were left white-hot as he rose. It was time to do something stupid.

***

Eon’s footfalls fell quick and soft. They carried him like the wind over the courtyard, and into the concealing shadows pooling beneath the east tower. A quick surveying glance around told him that no one was watching. He shifted his gaze up. At even intervals up, the tower’s narrow windows bled warm light into the cold night. Guards could be peeking out of any one of those. Going up inside would be a suicide mission. He could fight through a number of them he was sure, but the alarm would be raised instantly. In minutes he would be drowning in a sea of them. That was an experience he wasn’t looking to have.

Going up the stairs was out of the question. Well then, he thought, I’ll just have to go up the fun way.

Eon tugged on a rough pair of gloves. They fit his hands closely, giving him good flexibility, but the rough surface made them stick easily to the stone of the tower. He stoked the fire in him to a warm glow. The heat spread through his veins. He leapt twenty feet up, gripped the stone, and began to climb at a rapid pace. He stuck to the shadows of the tower. He was sure that anyone looking out the window would be blinded from the candlelight inside the building. He melted and became part of the night. Underneath him, in the courtyard, he saw soldier patrols move over the manicured lawn and between patches of garden and flowers. To a normal man most of this would have been obscured by the pitch dark, but with the fire stoked in his veins every part of his being eclipsed the ordinary. He felt the world around him as much as seeing it. The patterns of the wind, the movement of the light and life around all leapt out at him.

Finally, Eon found himself under the tallest window. He slid over the sill, and fell to a crouch in the stone hallway. A cursory scan told him he was alone. Every few feet were heavy beeswax candles resting in brass fixtures. By their light he stood, brushed dust from the front of his tunic, and assessed his situation. There were a few doorways on the left of the hallway but dust under them and stray cobwebs told him those hadn’t been used in ages. Unguarded, at the end of the hall was the door to the tower room he knew the asset to be held in. Looks like he’d come in between a shift in the patrols. He hadn’t thought this would be so easy. He felt a smug smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He was always happy when payday came this smoothly.

Eon strode toward the chamber door then heard it begin to creak open. Out of the main chamber came a group of guards. Their eyes widened in alarm, and the foremost one shouted loudly. The voice reverberated off the stone and echoed down the stairwell. Eon knew his luck wasn’t good enough for no one else to have heard it. Another guard grabbed a small crossbow from his side and sent the bolt loose. It hissed through the air, ready to bite into Eon. He threw himself to the side. The bolt skidded cracked against the stone behind him, and Eon swept his arm in a circle around his head. The flame in every candle snuffed out at his command. barely dodging the bolt sliding to a stop on the floor.

Eon took a deep breath; smoke trailed from the wicks of the candles. He supposed the time to be subtle was long past now.

With a roar he leapt to his feet and ignited. It wasn’t just his body that burned. The heat reached to his very core, his soul. He merged with the flame and it felt like he was the fire. The flames wanted to move, to dance. So, he let them. He extended a hand and sent a wave of fire towards the men blocking his way, but he didn’t expend enough energy to make it hot. He just wanted them distracted for a few moments. He ducked low below their eyes and moved in close. By the time the flames had dissipated, he was among them, the air shimmering with heat. His arm swept out, a white-hot dagger in his hand catching one man across the throat. The dagger cut through the leather armor as if it hadn’t been there. Simultaneously, Eon kicked out at the man to his left, the energy of the fire burning in him making his kick stronger than any man’s, and tossed the guard backwards to crunch against the stone wall. He turned to the one man still in front of him and with a grunt of effort superheated the air and pushed it into the man’s face. The guard jolted back, falling to his back and choking, fingers scrabbling at this blistering skin. Eon stepped forward, dulling the fire in him, and brought his short sword down in a deadly arc to finish the man off.

Now there was no one between Eon and the door to the tower’s main chamber. He moved quickly to the door, ears listening for the warning steps of reinforcements behind him, and kicked in the door. It caved easily under his increased strength, the wood around the bolt splintering with a series of cracks. Eon grabbed one of the spheres from his pocket, lighting it as he threw it into the room. It settled in the middle of the chamber inside, and began spewing acrid smoke into the air. Eon, oblivious of the smoke, plunged in, eyes squinted to almost closed. The few guards in the room were coughing, and Eon dispatched them with a few swings of the short blade in his hand. The job was almost done. All he had to do now was destroy the asset he was sent to take care of, and get out. Another paycheck to keep him living his miserable life, but he was looking forward to the money. Eon swept the room, searching for what the guards had been protecting. It would have helped if that filthy noble, Callem, had told him what the asset was. That’s when Eon saw some movement from the corner of the room. Something he had missed. He whirled around and dropped to a crouch.

There in the corner, head tucked down and sputtering, was a small boy, no more than ten or twelve years old. Eon felt his breath catch in surprise. What in ash and flame is a kid doing in here?

The boy noticed he had been spotted and stood up defiantly. The smoke had begun to clear from the room. There were only few trailing wisps left. Eon straightened up and took a step forward, palms raised in front of him. Best to put the boy at ease, then knock him out. All he needed was the asset, not a kid’s blood on his conscience. He noted that the boy had fiery red hair and paused for an instant. That wasn’t very common anymore. It had been, but now only a few people who’d mixed with the blood of his people had enough left for the red hair. A little of his people’s blood typically meant nothing more than fiery locks, though.

Eon took a step forward as the boy said, “They told me you’d come to kill me.” The boy’s voice was shaking but his eyes were determined. “Well, I’m not going to die that easy.” He stood up and, with noticeable effort, his hand exploded into fire. The flame was weak, and the boy looked like he was about to pass out from the effort. Eon was so numb with surprise that he barely had the sense of mind to dodge the stream of fire that leapt from the boys fingertips. He rolled and came back up on his feet. So many words and emotions jumbled Eon’s mind that all he could do for a several seconds was gape at the boy. He was seeing him in a new light now. I’m not the only one anymore.

“You’re the asset? You shouldn’t even exist!” The boy ignored him and, straining, threw another stream of fire. The boy stumbled, skin growing pallid. Eon side-stepped the fire, and moved in, elbow knocking the boy across the chin. The boy’s eyes glossed over and he fell unconscious to the floor. Eon stood, trying to process what was happening. The asset was a boy, and not just a boy, but a Life Burner like him. It didn’t matter where the boy came from, this was a relic of the past, like him. This boy was one of Eon’s people, and Eon had to get him out.

Footsteps and shouts echoed from the hallway outside.

“Aww hell’s breath,” grumbled Eon.

With hardly any effort, Eon scooped the boy up and threw him up onto his shoulder. He threw a ball of fire, sending molten chunks of the tower wall out into the night, and in an instant, was crouching on the hole sill looking out over the slumbering city. He judged the distance to the ground and at the same time checked inwardly at the amount of energy he had left. It was further down than he had thought. But he had a fair amount of energy, and this wouldn’t drain too much. He took a deep breath and dove through the window. A storm of flame, he shot into the night, cresting the outer wall like a comet landing heavily on the ground. Eon shook his head in exasperation. He’d lit a signal fire for anyone after them, but it couldn’t be helped.

Hefting the boy to cradle him in his arms, Eon lightly slapped the boy on the cheek. “Wake up!”

The boy shook awake with a jolt. His skin was gaining some of its color back, but he obviously hadn’t the stamina or training for what he’d done earlier. “Kid, what were you doing up there?” The boy shook and instinctively struck out at Eon. It didn’t take much effort for the trained warrior grab stave off the feeble attack. “Boy! Look where you are. If I wanted you dead I’d have dropped you out of the tower, not carried you out.”

After a moment the red-haired child calmed down. “They took me from my home when they heard what I can do. They said — ” he took a shaking breath, “ — said I couldn’t leave.”

Eon nodded his head in understanding. Soldiers were pouring out of the gate not far behind them now. They were almost to the line of trees that marked the edge of Lord Asidious’s estate, but the men would catch them soon enough.

“Can you run?” Eon asked the boy, while still looking over his shoulder.

“Yes.” The boy nodded firmly.

Eon deposited the lad on his feet as they reached the tree-line. Pulling a necklace from around his neck, Eon pushed it into the lad’s hand. “Then do it! You keep this safe and I’ll slow them down a bit. No matter what, don’t stop running.”

The boy hesitated, then nodded. Running for a moment the boy turned back and asked, “What is your name, sir?”

Eon smiled briefly. “Call me Eonah.” The boy sprinted out of sight into the trees. The crowd of soldiers were nearly on Eon now. He turned to face them and assessed his options. The boy wouldn’t be that quick, and the crowd of soldiers were far too many for Eon to take on as he’d done with the soldiers in the tower. This space was too open, and he was too outnumbered. Eon could distract them, sure, but that wouldn’t be much help. Asidious had the resources to reclaim the boy by hiring someone else like Eon, or perhaps even more dangerous.

Eon resigned himself. He already knew what he had to do. He gathered all the remaining energy in himself, all that he had stored up, then reached deeper. Eon grabbed the energy of life that flickered in him. Closing his eyes, he thought of home. Those memories of years ago burst through the wall in his mind. He remembered leaving his bleeding father behind without a second thought. Eon, the coward he was, had simply run. He remembered the moment, safely away, when he’d turned and payed his father the honor he’d deserved by whispering, “All that burns will turn to ash. May you find peace on your way home.”

Eon’s mind flashed back to the present moment and with a roar, he hurled everything he was at the approaching host. Calmly facing death, he hoped the boy could do better with his life than Eon had done with his own.

***

With a start, Kane turned from his flight into the woods, and watched the immense explosion of flame that soared above the trees behind him. His small hands shook and his head still swam a little from his exertion in the tower earlier, but as the flames rose into the night he finally let hope spark to life in his chest. He might make it home after all.

“Thank you Eonah.” He knelt to the ground. In his hand he clutched the warm obsidian totem that Eon had given him before.

Solemn, he pulled it to his heart, then bowed his head and recited a small prayer his mother had taught him, “All that burns will turn to ash. May you find peace on your way home.”