The Fire Eater: Dustfinger's Origin Story

🔥 Dead 🔥

The vault was dark and cramped, too small to be a proper jail. The silver prince rarely tried offenders under the law, other than to stamp their death warrant with his black wax seal. In a way, they were lucky the Adderhead decided to make them face a false form of justice. It bought them more time.

Not too long after Dustfinger had arrived, the guards returned with Brick. He fell to the ground when they dropped him, and Dustfinger would have moved to help him if he hadn't been rooted to the spot like a frightened deer. The guards had clumsily bandaged up the fire-raiser's head and cleaned off the blood, but his eye was still swollen, and his burns were dark red. Brick sat in the deepest part of the room, staring. Hours later, he still hadn't moved or uttered a word.

At least the guards had removed their shackles. Dustfinger tried to sleep, but his mind was racing. He couldn't rest. He stood and kicked the blanket in the corner, scattering the bowl across the floor. A hot fear pressed itself deep into his chest. Each breath he took was tainted with it.

He might die here.

His thoughts turned to Maalik. How would his friend react when he didn't return to the abandoned church? Would he leave Argenta without him? He might try to convince Capricorn to rescue him, but if he refused, going alone would be a death sentence. Dustfinger hoped that Maalik would follow his bold dreams and become a leader for the motley folk. He was destined for greater things, with or without Dustfinger.

Dustfinger sat back against the wall, his hands shaking. He shut his eyes until the lightheadedness left him and coughed to clear his smoky lungs. His eyes wandered to the crack under the door. A thin stream of light wafted through. Small particles of dust danced in the light, tossed on the air like the dance of the fairies. He watched them fall as his eyes grew heavy. Exhausted, he eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

The stillness woke him. Cold prickled at his arms and ran down his skin in frigid goosebumps. His eyes met the hard, stone bricks. The light was dim, the dust swallowed up in shadows. It was quiet. The silence seemed to pierce the air. Moments passed. He listened intensely, waiting, terrified to turn around. But he had to look.

His eyes moved to the corner. Brick lay on his side with his back to Dustfinger. His blood-caked hair stuck together in dark clumps against his neck. He couldn't see his face. Dustfinger stared at the fire-raiser's chest, watching for the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The boy was motionless.

Dustfinger shivered, then lay back down, turning away from the corner. His eyes stung, and he squeezed them shut. He fought the clench in his stomach, breathing hard through his nose. Tangy bitterness tainted the back of his throat. He shook his head. Don't think about it. The wood floor beneath him smelled of dust and decay. Don't think.

Hours passed. Dustfinger was still curled up on the floor when the door opened. He kept his eyes shut tight. Several voices fell over him. Footsteps shuffled through the room. Dustfinger couldn't listen. He couldn't look.

"Dead," A man whispered, his voice low.

The word sent needles down Dustfinger's spine. The guards grunted, and the floorboards creaked beneath their feet. The footsteps receded gradually, heavy and slow. A thump. The door shut again, and the key turned in the lock.

Dustfinger was alone. Brick was gone. The body was gone. Dustfinger wiped the heat from his eyes and filled his lungs with the still air. He looked to the corner. The hollow space left a gap in Dustfinger's stomach. He gagged, bending forward as his stomach lurched. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten anything, or his prison would have become a whole lot smellier. He struggled to calm himself, taking deep breaths until the spin in his stomach settled to a dull ache.