Briggs looked through the ventilation shaft into the glowing interior of the lime kiln and watched as dozens of tiny fire sprites darted through the flames.
“Oh Gods,” he sighed, pulling on a pair of heavy leather gloves. “Not again.”
Unaware of the young man’s curses, the fire sprites crawled around the bricks that lined the kiln’s exterior, largely ignoring the deep stacks of wood and limestone rubble that had been stacked in alternating layers. As Briggs finally pulled the heavy iron kiln door open, the small humanoid figures took flight, spiraling upwards through the smoke and flames as if chasing the sparks that escaped through the open top of the structure.
“Get back to work, you lazy little bastards!” yelled Briggs, his voice muffled by the thick leather mask over his eyes and mouth.
Unconcerned, the sprites continued to dance away into the afternoon sky, a firefly swarm that soon disappeared into the trees of forests around the kiln.
Oh damn, I’m really going to get it now, thought Briggs, looking at the half-burnt pile of wood and lime nodules in front of him. Quickly pulling off the thick gloves, the young man closed his eyes and channeled his frustration into the palm of his hands, his skin beginning to prickle as a small gout of flame erupted from his fingers and sprayed over the wood.
Briggs felt the energy drain quickly from arms and chest and after a few minutes he flopped back out of the kiln door, dropping to his knees and gasping for breath as he pulled off the heavy mask. The young man pulled back the thick layers of clothing and looked back into the heart of the kiln, noting dismally how little effect his efforts had wrought in the half-burned pile of limestone.
“Well there goes tomorrow’s delivery,” he sighed, pulling himself up and hauling the door closed with shaky hands. Throwing the gloves and mask into a small alcove set into the kiln wall, Briggs pulled out a small jar of ointment for the burns along his arms and touched the feet of a small statue to the Goddess Sethla, the small clay figurine almost lost in the jumble of items used to run the kilns.
“You’re still not understanding the flame,” said the Academy examiner, looming in the young man’s memories. “Until you can, there is no place for you. The Academy does not have the funds to provide a scholarship to every vagabond who thinks they’re a fire mage.”
Briggs blinked away the ash in his eyes and continued swearing, cursing the truant fire sprites, the Mage’s Academy and the gods who saw fit to give him the elemental power of flame – but not enough of it.
“Having trouble, Thomas?” came a calm voice from behind the young man, breaking through the litany of complaints.
Thomas Briggs hung his head and stared at his feet, the anger in his chest dwindling into to a sullen resentment.
“I’m sorry, Master Portland, but the sprites have flown away again,” he mumbled, risking a small peek at the man who had taken him in. Portland always struck Briggs as looking the way a fire mage was supposed to be; tall, lean, with a long white beard and hands that were callused from decades working with fire. The old man had no need for the heavy protective gear worn by his apprentice, and Briggs’ gaze despondently traced the faded edges of the once ornate Academy robe.
“So what do you think your mistake was?” asked Master Portland, walking past Briggs to re-open the kiln door and peer inside. The metal door was still glowing with heat and the young mage couldn’t help but wince as the old man effortlessly gripped the handle.
“I was working on controlling the sprites, Master, truly I was, but the little villains refuse every order I give them,” replied Thomas, glaring up at the rough limestone blocks of the kiln’s outer wall.
“Then stop trying to force them,” said the old Mage, placing a leathery hand on the half-burnt pile of wood and limestone nodules. As the sullen young man watched, the fuel began to char, tendrils of smoke moving in and out of the kiln openings as if the pile of wood was beginning to breathe.
“The reaction should continue overnight, but the grade of the product will be uneven,” mused Portland, closing the kiln door behind him. “You’ll have to haggle a little, but I think Bartley will still take 12 coppers per bag. Now Thomas, answer me: what were you doing wrong?”
Thomas tried not to look down at his feet again, but felt his eyes start to prickle as he stared up at the old man.
“Master, I don’t know,” he almost wailed. “The power’s there, it’s just – there’s never enough of it.”
The fire mage sighed, a deep crimson light flowing beneath his skin as if the fire was ready to burst forth.
“My boy, you keep thinking of power as something you store up only to fling away from you, as if it were some sort of arrow,” sighed Master Portland. “Listen to me, boy. You have the potential to be a decent sort of mage, perhaps even run your own kiln one day.”
“It’s not where I want to spend my life,” replied Thomas, looking sadly at the old man. “I wanted to go to the Academy like you did, to have adventures out in the wilderness, hunt treasures, fight demons-”
“No. You don’t,” replied Master Portland, his voice to a quiet intensity. “Forget about those dreams, Thomas. I can tell you from personal experience that it’s nothing but bad food, greedy sellswords and endless cold nights.”
“You did beat the Demons though,” insisted Thomas, growing angry at how childish his voice sounded in his own ears.
“No, boy,” whispered the fire mage, his old face darkening. “Don’t believe what the minstrels tell you. Nobody won when we marched against the Warlock of the Forbidden Cliffs. I watched an entire army torn limb from limb by the creatures under the Warlock’s command. We didn’t win. Some of us merely survived until he grew bored of slaughtering us.”
Thomas looked up at the old Mage in shock.
“The Academy examiners,” he whispered. “They never said…”
“No, they wouldn’t,” replied Master Portman flatly. “The humiliation is too painful for their pride to bear.”
The old man shook his head sadly and put his hands on the young mage’s shoulders.
“This kiln is a real future,” he said kindly. “The Demon War decimated the continent’s economy, its roads and buildings. Right now we don’t need grand adventurers, or high-end magesmiths to craft enchanted swords and armor. Right now we need bricks and tiles, lime and charcoal, and young men like you who can run the kilns. Do you understand?”
Thomas blinked hard and nodded.
“That still doesn’t mean I’m any good at it though,” he murmured.
Master Portland stood back and looked towards the forest, the crimson light moving beneath his skin as his old eyes scanned the tree line.
“Go and get some rest, boy,” he answered. “Recharge your powers. Tonight, you’re going into the forest to fetch them back.”
Later that night Thomas Briggs watched the moon rise over the ragged edge of Portland’s kilns, illuminating the jumble of wood stacks, loading platforms and bagging sheds that made up his master’s enterprise. The young fire mage was wrapped up against the growing chill in the air, leaning up against the kiln door and watching as a small flame popped and flickered in the palm of his hand.
Story of my life, isn’t it? Thomas mused, feeling the tiny surge of power drain from his arms as the diminutive fireball wavered, spluttered out and was replaced by another. However, as he flexed his stiff hands to try again, he noticed a small movement around the edge of the kiln – a minuscule flicker of light that was all the more noticeable for the darkness that surrounded it.
“There you are,” whispered the apprentice kiln mage, watching as the fire sprite crawled along the limestone wall and flitted over to his hand. Trying to hold the flame steady, Thomas held up his hand and examined the tiny creature. The sprite was no bigger than a mayfly, a homunculus made of sparks that alternated between crawling across Briggs’ skin and flying through Briggs’ conjured flames using dragonfly-like wings.
The apprentice fire mage closed his eyes and felt the sprite’s power, a small ball of glowing energy that darted in an out of the conjured flame looking for the fuel source. Slowly, carefully, Thomas let the flame die down, holding his hand still as the fire sprite chittered angrily and crouched over the young man’s palm, its hands and feet tiny pinpricks against his skin.
Obviously annoyed, the sprite leapt up into the air and buzzed around Thomas’ head before shooting back into the darkness of the tree line. The young man grit his teeth and followed, scrambling over fallen logs and careening through spider webs as he tried to keep the speck of light in view.
Not the adventure I was hoping for, thought Thomas ruefully as he pushed through the bushes and headed deeper into the woods. But I guess it’ll have to do.
However as the apprentice fire mage forged into the heart of the forest, be became aware of other sparks of light, dancing through the trees as they flew overhead. Thomas rubbed his tired eyes and blinked in amazement, stopping to gaze upwards at the steady flow of fire sprites that swirled through the branches and into the darkness. Following the sparkling, spluttering path, the young realized that the sprites had noticed him too; as he crept closer a swarm of the tiny incandescent figures whirled around him, chittering as they landed on his shoulder and back.
“Steady on!” protested Briggs, feeling the first twist of fear as the tried to wave away the bright creatures. For. Few seconds all he could make out was the chaotic lights and buzzing, and he smelt his clothes begin to smolder.
“Enough!” he snapped, shooting out a double gout of flame from outstretched hands as he shook himself free of the chittering creatures.
The sprites buzzed away from the young man, however as Thomas felt he power drain from him more of the flickering homunculi broke off and began to swarm around him, not threatening, but pressing with an insistence that he follow.
“All right – all right! I’m coming, stop pushing me!” snapped Thomas, trying to shake an errant fire sprite from the leathery folds of his work clothes.
What’s going on? He wondered nervously while he followed the fiery stream winding through the trees. As Thomas stumbled along the path illuminated by the sprites he noted that the land was beginning to change; small streams had exposed the limestone outcrops of the region, as if the land itself was withering away to expose the white bones beneath. The apprentice fire mage felt the ground begin to drop away and clumsily made his way down into a deep ravine, noting the way the sprites were swarming in every cave and hollow of the rock face.
When the young man finally reached the bottom he followed the main swarm into one of the largest tunnel openings, ducking a little as he slowly made his way past the threadlike stalactites glistening around his head. Thomas was surprised that he felt very little fear; the flickering shadows, the swirling sprites and bare white walls gave his descent a strange, dreamlike quality. While Briggs climbed slowly down into larger and larger caverns his tired mind began to wander, presenting vignettes of his life.
“You’ve got the gift!” crowed his mother adoringly, but in the young man’s memory the expression of pride melted into to one of shock and then bitterness as the Academy examiners moved onto the next town, taking their scholarship with them. With each turn into a new cavern or tunnel the young fire mage was reminded of his shame, travelling from town to town looking for someone who might teach him but finding only meager farms, ruined castles and endless lines in front of trade halls.
Almost out of habit Thomas raised his hand and sent small bursts of flame popping from his upturned palm. While not grand, his talent was enough to fetch a few coppers here and there as he stood in market squares and performed. As the young man looked deeply into the shadows stretching out through the stalagmites, he remembered with a flash the first time he had locked eyes with Master Portland, the tall, threadbare mage staring at him with interest as others threw a copper in Briggs’ bowl and moved on.
“So you want to be a fire mage, then?” asked the old man calmly as he bought Thomas a drink.
“Can you teach me?” asked Briggs hopefully.
“Well, I can give you some work for a start.”
The apprentice fire mage was so lost in thought that it wasn’t until he almost stumbled off the edge of a deep lip that he realized how deep he had come.
“What is this place?” Thomas whispered, staring up in wonder as the sparking and spluttering fire sprites darted around the rock formations hanging from the roof above. Unlike the other caverns of the cave system, this space was warm and dry, and even the light of hundreds of sprites was not enough to illuminate the bottom of the drop-off in front of him. However as the young man crept carefully to the edge of the enormous space, the fire sprites suddenly pulsed, the swarm crackling and sputtering as they flew down from the cathedral-like roof and plunged into the darkness below.
Thomas closed his eyes and backed away from the sudden fiery glow, however his magical senses were screaming.
Something deep in the cavern was waking up.
“Goddess Sethla save me!” Thomas gasped, turning to run but tripping over his own heavy leather boots. As the young fire mage tried to scramble backwards on all fours, he slowly turned and looked back fearfully as he heard claws scrape across the lip of the cavern drop-off behind him.
Rising from the darkness was a vaguely humanoid figure, wreathed in flame, with three clawed fingers on each hand and a triple set of dragonfly wings sprouting from its back that crackled like lighting as it flew.
A fire elemental, Briggs realized, raising a leathery glove across his face toward off the heat radiating off the creature. As Thomas’ eyes began to adjust, he noted the deep purple sigils splayed across the elemental’s chest, dark and cold as if somehow carved into the living flame.
“Those are Master Portland’s sigils, aren’t they?” called Thomas, crawling onto his knees as he tried to examine the glowing figure before him. “He bound you to this place – why?”
The fire elemental raised its rows of wings menacingly and Briggs scrambled to back away, however the cloud of sparkling fire sprites chittered like a chorus of beehives, swarming down and into the larger elemental’s chest.
Thomas blinked in astonishment, expecting the tiny creatures to be consumed, but instead the sprites billowed out of the elemental’s back, their flickering and spluttering replaced by a warm, constant glow.
“Fire sprites are ephemeral creatures,” remarked Master Portland in Briggs’ memories, the lean old man holding out a long finger on which a tiny sprite landed and began to crawl about.
“What does that mean, master?” asked the apprentice mage.
“It means they are naturally unstable, and their lifespan is generally less than a single day,” replied the threadbare figure, snapping his fingers as the sprite chittered and flew back into the smoke of the low circular tile kilns. “They don’t have any real intelligence, as we would consider it, but they are capable of instinctive drives such as self-preservation.”
“I see now,” said Thomas in wonder, looking again at the purple sigil glowing in the elemental’s chest. “You’re helping them – restoring them, aren’t you? That’s why Master Portland bound you to this place!”
When the young man spoke the bright figure turned, twisting through the air to focus on Briggs. As the fear overtook him, the young man gasped and waved the elemental away, a bright gout of flame bursting from his hand.
However as Thomas felt the power drain from him the fire elemental halted, crackling menacingly as it hovered over the apprentice mage. The elemental cocked its flaming head to one side.
“No, wait-“ started the young man urgently but was cut off as the fire elemental grabbed the young man’s chest with a fiery claw.
The pure power hit Thomas like a sledgehammer.
Briggs floated in a ball of pain, vaguely aware that his leather garments were beginning to char and fall away. The young man opened his mouth to scream but all the air had been sucked from his lungs. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus, feeling the waves of bright energy pouring into his chest. Thomas acted on instinct, the flames pouring off every inch of his skin, but the fire elemental’s wings thundered as it as poured the power into the young man as quickly as Briggs could release it.
Thomas tried to scream again, for Master Portland, anyone, to help him, but the elemental growled and sent another surge of power into the young man’s body. Desperate to escape the pain, Thomas’ mind turned inwards, searching for a calm inner space where some kind of thought could be formed. However the apprentice fire mage found himself awash in a flow of power, struggling to hold on as the elemental’s energy flowed around his mind and out of his body.
The young felt the remains of his mind begin to fray and tear, he became aware of the fire sprites, the tiny balls of flickering energy darting in and out of the incandescent sun of the fire elemental looming above him. Each sprite was like a tiny comet, connecting with the larger elemental, passing energy back and forth in a furious dance until a new equilibrium was reached. The edges of Briggs’ senses began to darken, but as the remains of his consciousness began to fade he used the last few scraps of control to shift the direction of the flames pouring off his body; not pushing out into the darkness, but back into the creature burning above him.
As the energy cascading off the young fire mage’s body flowed back into the fire elemental, Thomas felt a cycle begin to form between them, a constant vortex of power with Briggs’ mind balanced in the center.
Deep in the limestone cave, a fire elemental crouched over the body of a young man while the flames engulfing him began to recede. As Briggs’ skin began to glow with a deep, shifting crimson light, the fire mage slowly opened his eyes.
Master Portland was sitting by a neat row of tile kilns, the low, beehive shapes glowing as the old man perched on a rough wooden chair and watched the flames. It was early morning and the sun was already peeking through the clouds of smoke billowing from the holes cut into the top of the beehive structures. For a minute, the only sound was the crackle of the flames and the birdsong in the forest nearby, but the old fire mage turned his head as a soft chittering floated through the smoke.
The lean figure smiled and looked up to see Briggs emerge from the smoke, utterly naked, but wearing a calm expression despite the buzzing fire sprites crawling across his bare figure.
“So what have you learnt about the flame?” asked Master Portland, cocking his head and raising a bushy eyebrow.
The young man grinned, the crimson lights still flowing beneath his skin.
“That it was never about how much flame I could produce,” Thomas finally answered. “It was just – how do I even find the words? All of it, everything – it’s just energy. Flowing back and forth, transforming and changing everything it touches.”
Master Portland nodded slowly, stood up, dusted himself off and reached into a stack of clay roof tiles drying in the morning sun.
“Show me,” the old man said, handing Thomas the thick rectangle.
Briggs nodded and took the roof tile, closing his eyes as the lights shifting beneath his skin formed into a new pattern. The piece of clay in the young man’s hands began to glow, white hot underneath Thomas’ fingers but spreading out to an even glow as the clay slowly hardened.
“Not bad,” said Master Portland, taking back the roof tile and turning it over in his hands. “Shame I didn’t glaze it first though.”
The old man held Briggs in a piercing stare.
“So are you going to try your luck with another Academy scholarship?” he asked carefully.
Thomas shrugged, scratching his head and looking out at the motley of different kilns spread across Master Portland’s yards.
“Well, I still have to get that lime to Bartley, and there’s another load of charcoal still on the job list,” he replied. “I haven’t finished repairing the second brick kiln-”
“We’ll have to get onto that,” cut in Master Portland. “The Merchant’s Guild has put in an order for another thousand bricks.”
“Really? So they’re building that mill after all?” said Briggs in surprise. “Perhaps we should get into milling machinery.”
“I’m not sure there’s the demand to expand into blacksmithing just yet.”
“Give it time. Anyway, about that that brick kilns, I had an idea…”
Thomas shifted his shoulders the fire sprites buzzed and took off from the young man’s back, buzzing away into the flames of the kilns as the two mages continued to plan.
Leave a Reply