The Flame That Never Dies

Chapter 10, Brant-

"Welcome to Rimeshire," the physician said as he and Brant reformed in a snowy valley. "I'm sure you've visited on occasion, but Kesler here tells me you've never stayed the night."

The strawberry-blond man standing a few feet away smiled sadly. "Do you think it's cold enough that you can stay a few nights until the gnomes finish building your new house?"

Brant flinched at the reminder. Grady and Edaline were so distraught it was Alden, Della, and Councillor Oralie who'd made the arrangements for the new home. Then the physician had whisked him away to Rimeshire, as if Brant was too weak to handle staying at Pleasant Peaks any longer.

You aaaaaaaaaaare weak.

Sooooooooo weak without fiiiiiiiiiiire.

"You're welcome any time," Juline added, her voice croaky and eyes red-rimmed. "Please, come in... I—"

"Jul," said Kesler softly. "Maybe you should go inside. I'll show Brant to his room."

Juline nodded and rushed off.

The physician—Elwin, Brant had heard Alden call him—turned to Brant. "Is it cold enough for you?"

Cold?

All Brant felt was the heat.

Crowding, sparking, blazing.

But here he could push it back. Here he could ignore it, if only for a little while.

So he said, "Yes."

"Good." Kesler patted Brant on the back and guided him toward the mansion of ice. "I'll be back to talk to you, Elwin, when I'm done."

"Of course."

Brant felt distant as they walked through the house. Part of him registered ice sculptures and frosty plants, but another part—the dominant part—only heard the screams.

They hadn't left him since the fire.

The fire...

"BRANT!" Jolie screamed from behind the wall of Everblaze. "Help me!"

He lifted his hands, trembling as he forced the fire to listen. Part, he thought. Part...

For a moment he thought it would work. But then he lost connection, lost control. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move the fire. It was too big. Too wild.

He'd started it.

It was his fault.

"Help me!" Jolie screamed.

He shook his head, ragged gasps shaking his chest, tears falling down his face.

Because he couldn't. All he could do was watch.

And listen as the screams stopped.

Brant snapped out of the flashback with a choked yelp. He was leaning against the wall, palm against the ice. The cold... helped. It helped. If he focused on it he could push the heat back.

The fire...

"Brant, I think you should rest," Kesler said, grabbing Brant's shoulders and pushing him the rest of the way into his room.

It was plain—only a bed, desk, and chair—but it was cold.

Brant could handle the cold.

As soon as Kesler let him go he collapsed to the floor, crawling to the corner where he was hidden behind the bed. "Leave," he rasped.

"Brant, maybe—"

"LEAVE!"

Kesler nodded and shut the door, letting him be alone.

Alooooooone, the heat whispered. You're always alooooooooone.

Brant grabbed his hair in clenched fists, whimpering as he rocked back and forth.

"You're the spark... the kindling... the flame that never dies," he whispered to her. Always to her. "The beauty and... the wonder of the ever-burning... skies... I'm sorry, Jolie. Jolie, I'm so, so sorry..."

Unable to say any more, he buried his head in his hands and wept for all he had lost.