Mr. Mortok's Hall of Curiosities

The Fire Blower

     He was the best of his trade, of that everyone was absolutely sure. To know him was to know the utmost of skill, to be in the presence of a man who was beyond majestic in his field. Thirty years he had given to the trade and in those years it was obvious that he had perfected it.

     There are some who swallow fire, there are those who blow fire, but truly ever was there only one Fire Blower. He learned at the feet of his father, the same way his father before him had learned the trade. Theirs was a proud family of performers that had performed with some of the most respected circuses, the most robust carnivals. Each learned and passed down their secrets to their son as tradition had demanded. Generations of trial and error had culminated in the most spectacular display of control and flame that the world had ever seen.

     Eventually there is a price, there is always a price and fate cannot be denied. The Fire Bower had no difficulty finding women who wished to share his bed. He had no difficulty seeking out companionship, and yet for the Fire Blower, there would be no children. There would be no son to pass his training onto, and time and tide wait for no man.

     For every other performer on the earth, it is enough to blow clouds of fire that impress and amaze. It is enough for them to experiment with different solutions and to use different routines. For the Fire Blower, such tricks were practically disdained, such showmanship was considered cheap and base. For the Fire Blower, his craft spoke for itself; his dedication and skill was all the showmanship he required.

     It was a performance night and the Fire Blower stepped into the middle of the crowd dressed in his traditional garments of white and red. No music blared, no lovely assistants hula hooped their own flaming rings. No jugglers threw their batons through his gouts of fire to commence fire juggling. No. These were for those who had not the skill and imagination of the Fire Blower. Carefully, he placed a series of tablets discreetly in his cheek, later he would crush them and it would help facilitate the speed of the changing colors in the flames. Reverently, he lifted the large flask of his mixture to his lips and took in a mouthful. He held it, savoring the chemical components, all of them natural, nothing synthetic here.

     The moment lingers, then passes. The Fire Blower sprays a gout of mixture onto his torch which produces a ball of orange flame that lights up the night. The crowd 'ooos' and 'aaaahhs' dutifully, but this is not anything they have not seen before. He waits, blowing small blasts to flame, and then bigger blasts, mimicking almost with disdain his fellow fire blowers, those who have stood in this spot and passed off their insufficient skills as talent.

     The crowd shifts, growing restless, and some appear ready to wander away from the gathered circle in search of other amusements. This is what the Fire Blower has been waiting for. This is what he needed, what he craved. Now that they have seen the displays of his peers stripped away of the glamourous devices, now he will show them a true show, one that only the Fire Blower is able to produce.

     Quickly, he crushes a pill in his back teeth and takes another mouthful from his flask and blows a mighty blast of flame. Again, orange and luminous, but wait! As it consumed itself, as it faded, did it turn green? The crowd focuses, those who were leaving stop in mid-step. Another blast and yes, a little greener this time. The Fire Blower finally gives them what they want and blows a ball of flames as emerald as a field of clover. The crowd cheers and the Fire Blower continues, small jets, large balls of flame, and not only green. The colors shift across the rainbow, sometimes at the onset of the birth of the flames, sometimes as the fire consumes itself, still others DURING the entire process. The Fire Blower blows the rainbow and he does not stop there. Contorting his body and his face, he blows and what is this? A ring of fire? He is blowing smoke rings but no smoke rings that this crowd has ever seen, great and small hoops of flame burst off the end of his torch.