Secret Fire

Chapter the Eighth

Nia was surrounded by a thick, living darkness. Whispers full of malice and hate wove in and out of her mind. Then she felt the ground under her feet solidify. She stood there, peering into the impenetrable gloom. A clanking, jingling sound, like chains clinking on cement came from the gloom. The whispers ceased as it approached. Then a breeze lifted Nia's hair, and separated the gloom so that the figure making the clinking was visible. His head was bowed to her, and he wore a long, thick robe. It billowed and rippled, so that it looked like the fog its self, and Nia couldn't tell where cloak ended and fog began. His head though, drew all of her attention. It was completely white, and completely bald. His nose curved in a sinister hook. His ears were too small and seemed deformed. But it was tattoo along his right ear, and traced down his neck that Nia saw. It was veins. When he stood in front of her about three paces, he halted and raised his head. Nia choked back a scream as she realized that he had no eyes. Only emptiness where they should have been. He smiled at her choking, and where there had been no mouth, there suddenly appeared a thin slit, then teeth. They were long and thin like curved needles, his mouth opening far wider then should have been possible. His teeth were stained black, and dripped with the stuff. He reached out his hand to her, and it was pale, with grotesquely long fingers, who's tips seemed to be splattered in ink. "Welcome." He said, although it sounded as if many where speaking out of him, and all with deep, reverberating voices that somehow hissed at the same time. He reached out and moved her hair back, revealing her tattoo. "Child of our flesh. But how is it possible? We know all our children. We can sense them in our bones. Yet I do not feel you." "I am not one of you." Snarled Nia, a sudden surge of courage forcing her to speak. "But that mark... Surely not... a Spindle?" He said thoughtfully. Nia took a step towards him and grinned. "A Spindle." She confirmed. The Sphite withdrew, hissing in anger. "Then why are you not one of us? Surely you are not... not the light!" Nia raised her palm towards him. "I am." She said softly. The Sphite reeled back and howled, his hands raking his face. "Leave us! Let us be! We have done nothing! What do you want from us? We have many dead! We could give them back!" Nia faltered and seemed to diminish. "Dead?" She whispered creakingly. "Yes..." He hissed, pressing his advantage. "Many dead. Just ask us and we will return." "Do you have Cobalta?" She whispered, even more quietly then the last time. "No!" He screeched. "She escaped us! She is not with the dead! Oh no! she is with the filthy living! But your friend knew... oh yes he did. But he didn't tell you did he? How strange..." He said softly, needling her. "Tracer knew?" She gasped, her eyes confused. "He did. But he would not tell you for fear of losing you. He is demanding, and covets you. Did he not ask for you to live in the village he owns? That he can do anything in? Where can demand and receive?" The Sphite was circling her, tracing her neck with his claws. Nia stood, pale and sweating, freezing under his touch. "I don't believe you!" She screamed, spinning away from him. He laughed dryly, and as he did he faded into the deepening gloom. "Ask him... Ask and you shall receive..."

Nia stirred next to Tracer. She looked so peaceful while she slept. He could tell her dream demanded her full attention from the way she thrashed. She murmured in her sleep suddenly. Tracer wanted to lean in and listen but out of respect he refrained. He rolled to his knees and crawled to the tree where they kept provisions. It was bad enough that they were running low on water, and it being winter, the little rivers and streams would be frozen over, and even if they could break through the ice it would be too cold to drink. Or would it? Nia could just heat it up...Tracer shook his head. He was not going to think of Nia as some kind of performer. She wasn't going to use her gift. Not until it was a life-or-death decision. But if they continued to not run into any water, it would soon be life-or-death.

Tracer's face was covered in blood and sweat, his clothes being shredded by the prickly, reaching fingers of the low pine branches. As a nice change from the cold and dreary, the weather decided to rain on them instead. Nia walked dismally behind Tracer. Her shoulders were stooped and she looked defeated. Her arms could be seen through her loose, torn clothing. No food could be found, not even a deer-path. They had survived on berries and roots that either Tracer or Nia knew, all others they avoided like the plague. The clouds hung low in the sky, making everything seem grey and dull. The rain pattered, contented to simply annoy for now. The thunder was low and long, as if threatening. They were walking through a woods Tracer had never seen or heard of before, at least not in these parts. The tree's all seemed to be some kind of pine, and yet were orange/red in color. Tracer had heard whispers from travelers of these woods, mostly just rumor and fear-laced gossip. There were stories of the woods murmuring with anger for unpaid for sins of humans who had come before, Tracer had heard these tales of course but had thought nothing of them. But something bothered him all the same, it wasn't the low murmur that seemed to surround them. It was that all of the stories had been from southerners. No south-man had ever come this far north before, and Tracer had been in this place before. There had been no forest then, and it looked as if it had been here for ages and ages. Tracer now began to jog in his worry. Nia began to jog also, to weary to ask questions. Tracer picked up the pace, he thought he could see through the forest to the other side, but as they ran he realized that they were getting no closer to what he thought must be the end of the forest. Tracer was so caught up in looking around him and at the horizon that he nearly ran into the little old woman hunched over and gathering sticks. "aye!" She screeched as she was bumped to the side. Tracer braked so fast the Nia nearly broke her nose running into his back. The old woman put her hands akimbo and snarled at them. "Now look what you've done you little wretch! Just gone and made me drop all me fire wands!" Tracer stooped and hurriedly picked up the bundle, handing to the irate woman. "I'm so sorry mam'. Please I wasn't looking where I was going and missed you." "Why you little horror! You didn't miss me! Looks like you hit me! Or maybe I'm just a blind old biddy that doesn't know any better!" "No, no of course not." Said Tracer, flustered by the old woman's brisk manner. But something about it struck a deep cord in Nia's heart. This old woman was just like Cobalta in her manners, in other words she didn't have any manners. The old woman snapped her head up, as if she could feel Nia's eyes watching her longingly. The old woman snarled again. "Come back to finish the job eh? I knew I sensed a darkness clinging to the air. Your foul stench turns out to be. Well here I am! But I hope for your sake your stronger then ye were afore, for I'll give ye no mercy this bout." Nia's mouth fell open at the woman's harsh words. But Tracer cried out suddenly, "It's you!" "A course it's me little tracker! So you're with her now eh?" Tracer glanced at Nia. "Nia, I'd like you to meet Naborg. She was Mayva's teacher before she ran her out of the village." "Well I wouldn't like to meet, so you- wait..." Naborg cocked her head at Nia. "You're not Mayva? Well then how..." Naborg went silent, looking intently at the hard ground. "Come one then." She said finally, and turning around they made their way to a large oak tree, with scarlet leaves. Naborg went to a low patch of brush and disappeared behind it. Nia, walking to where she had vanished saw that the brush hid a low opening to shallow stairs that led into the earth. "Well come along!" Cried the indignant Naborg from deep within the earth. Nia glanced at Tracer. As usual, he read her mind and went in first. After hesitating at the entrance Nia went in also. It was damp and musty down there, and Nia could only imagine the spiders that were crawling on the walls. It wasn't the unidentified heaps lying in the corners, or the filtered, dusty light that crept in through tunnels unseen; it was the smell that hit them hardest. It was damp, and old, like rotting wood shoved up your nose. And yet there was a strange, acrid smell that trickled more than wafted. Nia shivered as she felt a cold breath trace her cheek, like a worm winding around her face. Naborg paused, and one of the heaps on the floor moved next to her, and whispered in her ear. Nia was more exhausted then she had been admitting to herself or Tracer. Not only that, but she hadn't been eating all of her rations. She hadn't been really hungry however, and she knew why. The tattoo on her neck was growing, eating at her. She couldn't feel things anymore. Like cold, and pain. She also was able to pass through certain objects, such as little shrub-trees and she had trouble from not slipping through her pack-straps. She had said nothing, something holding her tongue whenever she tried to speak of it. Suddenly Nia felt dead. She was falling. Again. Tracer pounced, but too late. Nia slammed into the floor. Naborg snarled in annoyance. She practically dragged Tracer away to her little room at the back of the passage. It was dim, but cozy, with straw mats for sleeping at the edges, a fire in the middle and herbs hanging about, giving off healing scents. She then went and snatched up Nia, she wasn't heavy, being so thin and starved. She was wearing only rags, her outfit from Cobalta unrecognizable. Naborg held Nia carefully, handling her mostly-bare body with care, shocking for one so hard and cold. She set Nia gently down on the palate opposite Tracer's, getting as far away as possible. Nia woke then, and said nothing, only looked at Naborg with fire in her eyes. She had come alive once more. "Tracer." She said, in a somehow weak and yet heated voice. "He's across the fire. And unless he's your sweet-heart, he should stay across the fire." Nia flushed crimson and glanced at Tracer to make sure he was asleep. "I may have some things that will fit you. I'll go see. Though don't count on anything, they'll hang off you like clothes on a hanger." Naborg snapped. Nia lay on her back and let Naborg rub in some sweet-smelling, pale green stuff on her frost-burns. Naborg spun her hand for Nia to flip over. Nia hesitated, then shook her head. Naborg glared at her. "Flip over you silly child. I haven't all the time in the world, and even if I did I still wouldn't stand for such nonsense." Nia still wouldn't, fear making her eyes large and haunting. "Well what's wrong with you? Got warts or some kind of catching rash? I won't laugh. Much." Finally, slowly, Nia flipped over. Naborg caught her breath and whispered hissing words to herself for some time. Nia felt cold and clammy. The Godolphin had said nothing of the mark snaking down her back all the way to her thigh. Naborg collected herself, snarling at Nia, "Where did you get this?" Nia told her the whole story, even the part about it growing. "Yes I see. It's happened before. Thankfully I have something that will shrink it." Naborg scuttled about the cave, muttering to herself and sniffing at herbs that hung from the ceiling. "Ah, here it is. A little Death Cap shall set it straight." Nia sat up straight. "What? Death Cap? That's one of the most poisonous mushrooms ever!" "Oh hogwash! Scarlet Choker is the most poisonous, and it's not like I want you to eat it, you just need to rub it into your shoulder blades and it will eat away at the mark. So quit your crying and let me do my job." Nia leaned back, shoulders still tense as Naborg rubbed in the poisonous mushroom into Nia's back. "Goodness child! Relax already!" She cried in annoyance. "I can nay get it to work properly with you so tensed up and ready to spring." Nia mumbled an apology and focused on relaxing every tense muscle in her back, she failed. Naborg gave an exasperated sigh. "When you breath out imagine your falling into the ground. Trust me, it works." She huffed. Nia closed her eyes, put her head on her arms and imagined it. Nia was asleep before her head even touched her arms. When Nia awoke the fire was simply faintly smoking ashes. The air in the cave was stuffy but warm, with the scent of herbs drifting about. Nia clutched at the sheets that covered her, conserving all of the warmth she could. She looked about and saw a neatly folded pile of clothes next to her bed. Naborg and Tracer were nowhere to be seen. Nia leapt out of bed and dressed in a flurry, scared one of them might come back at any moment. The outfit consisted of black leggings with an orange long-sleeved top and ankle-high leather lace-up boots. Nia then snatched up a dark-brown, hooded shawl. Naborg bustled in as Nia's head slipped out of the shawl. She threw Nia a comb as she passed on her way to the fire. Tracer walked in right behind her, but didn't even grin at Nia, much less look at her. Nia suddenly felt hurt. Then shoved her emotions aside, and turning her nose up at Tracer, began to comb her hair. Naborg prepared a little porridge for them and after filling their rumbling stomachs she took out her bone-needles and began to knit. "Well now. Tracer you had better be on your way, but Nia now, what will you do?" She said as her constant clacking filled the air. Nia traced lines into the dirt and thought. "What are my options?" She asked. "Stay with me, or go with Tracer, or go on your own to Cobalta's house." Said Naborg, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Nia shook her head. "I couldn't go back to Cobalta's. And I don't think I'm ready to go with Tracer." Tracer leapt to his feet. "What do you mean?" He cried in distress. "Why Nia? You could start-over in my village!" "That's just it Tracer," Said Nia sadly, "I don't know if I can start-over. I may have come too far, fallen too low to start-over. I have to many scars, to many memories that need to be sorted." Tracer rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Oh please Nia. Don't turn this into a pity party. You're not the only one who's suffered. You won't be the last either. Get over yourself already." Nia stood up slowly, shaking with anger at Tracer's words. "You don't think I've suffered? You don't think I hurt more than I can stand? You think that I'm just pitying myself for no reason other than I like the way it makes me feel? Well let me tell you something Trace. You've lost almost everyone close to you. And today, you just lost someone else." With that Nia turned on her heel and marched out of the cave. Tracer stood stunned in place. Naborg was sitting there, cross legged and knitting like nothing had happened. "You two make quite the pair ye do." She chuckled finally. Tracer sunk to the floor and held his head in his hands. "I just want life to go back to the way it was. I guess I thought that Nia with her powers could fix it somehow. Make my dad come back, make life less complicated." He murmured. "Maybe you made it more complicated then it needed to be Tracer. Maybe chasing after them, and deserting your duties made life something unbearable for you. Maybe it's time to go home. Alone." Tracer stared at the floor for a long time, his hot tears splashing into the dry dirt. "Maybe you're right." He finally said. Tracer stood up, a new light and purpose in his eyes. "Thank you Naborg." He said, turning at the entrance to the tunnel. "Bah. You would have figured it out eventually. I just helped things along. Now go before you make me really riled." Naborg fired back, not pausing in her knitting. Tracer grinned before stepping out into the tunnel. Something groped at his ankle. Tracer muffled a shriek, and jerked his leg away. The heap that had grabbed at him chuckled, somehow gurgling and searing at the same time, like boiling water speaking. "Going back yessir? Well watch for yer people yessir." Tracer, horrified, managed somehow to speak. "What do you mean?" The silhouette gurgled. "Much has happened. The dice has been cast. As well as many souls from their stronghold. Watch where you step. Something might break." The voice was whispering by the time it finished. Tracer knew not to disturb it further. As he walked out Tracer hefted his pack from the entrance on of the cave. It was biting cold, with the sharp scent of fall edging the air. The tips of the trees were stained golden from the rising sun. Part of him wanted to say goodbye to Nia, but the other part loathed the thought of it. Thankfully, Nia didn't seem to be around. And neither where the trees. Tracer caught his breath. All of the red pines had vanished. In their stead where broken clusters of oaks, all turning red and drooping their leaves. Tracer had been gone to long from his village, he longed for the open air, and the knowledge of people around him who cared. Tracer could hear the rush of the river Of before he heard it. Where it met the River Black, it was narrow enough to cross, He remembered that form when he had played with the children, often daring each other to cross and get flowers from the other side as trophies. At the middle, it was only nine feet deep, and Tracer was a good swimmer, even with his pack on. Tracer paused at the edge of the water. His thoughts heavier than even his pack. Would they even want him back? He had left them, leaderless. He was a coward and a traitor. Tracer shoved onward. He would beg to be let back in. No matter how awful the punishment, it would be worth it. He needed his people, no matter how much they now hated him. When reaching the river, he swam to the other side without wetting the crown of his head. When he came dripping out onto the other side, Tracer took in a deep breath. He was home. "Halt!" Came the cry from the trees. Tracer stopped mid-stride and nearly fell over. "I have you sighted! Make one false move and your Screech meat!" Came the voice. Tracer noticed it was shrill, and shook. He squinted between the birch trunks, but they were so thick on this side of the river, it was hard to see any farther then six feet ahead. "Mowry? Is that you?" Tracer said, on a hunch. There was a gasp, then a small, squeaky voice. "Tracer?" A small little frame leapt from the branches of a birch. "It is you! We all thought you were a goner! Man, your taller than me at last!" Mowry chattered. Her hair was wild and tangled, feathers and colored strands waving about her small, fierce little face. Her eyes sparkled a wild green, contrasting her dark brown hair. She had always been shorter then Tracer. In fact, she had been one of the smallest in their entire village, so the jab to his height was lighthearted. "What are you doing all the way out here Mowry?" Tracer asked, a grin nearly splitting his face in half. Mowry's smile however faded into a grave look. Far more grave then her short life should have allowed. "Silt will want to see you." She whispered, her head hanging low. "Well of course she will." Said Tracer, his voice happy, but strained with worry. "Why wouldn't she?" "A lot has happened Tracer. I think you should follow me." Mowry turned on Tracer's half-asked question. Tracer, confused, tired and just plain done, scuttled after her as best he could. Mowry wound her way through trees and boulders from the Ebony Mountain. Tracer kept his eyes on Mowry's back. She was thin and long limbed, her moves always graceful and controlled. She led him to a low ledge on the mountain, and with only a little scrambling reached the top. It was a large ledge, large enough to hold five little huts that looked recently built. Silt was there, tending to the sick, or feeding a small child. She looked ten years older, and her back was bent. But otherwise she looked fine. Her hair was hanging limply in a braid, and her simple golden dress was torn and dirty. She straightened from tending to a sick mother and child. Her eyes still held that determined glint, then they fell on Tracer. Silt lurched forward, a cry breaking from her lips. Tracer rushed towards her, and caught as she stumbled. "Tracer." She whispered, laughing and crying at the same time. "You came back." Tracer was tearing up, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "Yes Silt, I'm back. To stay." Silt rose from her knees, her eyes sparkling. "You must tell us the tale Tracer. It will take our minds off of our miseries. If only for a short time." "Why are you here? What miseries? What happened?" Asked Tracer, his mind suddenly jumbled. "Your tale first Tracer. You owe us that much at least." Said Mowry, who had been silent until now. "No." Silt interjected. "First, he needs a wash. And clean clothes. And a meal. Then we may trade stories." Tracer nearly melted at the thought of a wash, with real soap and towels. Silt shoved a rather damp towel into his hands, with a bar of rough soap. But to Tracer, it was all he needed. Mowry scavenged about until she found somewhat clean, though patched and worn, clothes. While Tracer was at the river, Mowry and Silt sent off the hunters for some meat. Then roused the womenfolk into making a blazing fire and boiling water. Life began to slowly trickle back into the dismal camp. They cleaned the huts, swept out chair and rugs to sit on around the blaze, and suddenly someone laughed. Then there was a constant murmur. Soon everyone was either smiling or laughing, or just chattering to a friend. It was as if Tracer had restored their youth once more. When the men came back with a large deer they were amazed and delighted at the change. They were soon pitching in with the cleaning and patching. When Tracer returned, he wasn't sure that this was the same plateau. The bustle and warmth the flowed from this gathering was a jolting contrast to how he had found it. The elderly and sick were sitting about, engaging in conversation as well as they could. Everyone smiled and waved to each other. Tracer stood on the edge of the group, an outsider to his own people. Mowry was there suddenly, transformed from the little fireball Tracer had known to a slender, graceful young woman. Her hair had been combed to hide her colored streaks. The feathers in it hung neatly and orderly, bringing out her dark eyes. She had something dark on her eyes, making them brighter somehow. Her dress was long and a flattering sky-blue. Tracer caught his breath. "Wow mow." He said, laughing. She wrinkled her nose at the old nick-name. "It's itchy." She sniffed, and promptly began twirling her hair with her finger. "And it restricts movement. I don't know how I'm ever going to race with this thing on. Although it at least fits me Trace." She jabbed, pointing out Tracers far to large shirt. "Ha ha." He muttered. As Mowry began to walk off, Tracer grabbed her arm, holding her back. "Mow, is the village... is it upset with me?" He choked, turning crimson. Mowry looked grave. "We were Trace. But we forgave you awhile back. So now, on behalf of the entire village, I would like to give this!" She cried, springing towards him, and delivering a sharp punch to his shoulder. Although Mowry was small, the jab sent Tracer stumbling. She shrieked in laughter, then darted off, as Tracer gathered himself, feeling like a fool. He made his way slowly up the slope. He refused to look at the villagers on his way up, he could feel they're scorching eyes, the silence that slowly crept in. When Tracer reached the top, not a soul so much as whispered. He could hear them shuffling, then even that ceased. Tracer thought he might explode if this silence lasted for one more agonizing moment. Silt was the one who broke the silence, her voice cold and commanding. "Tracer, raise your head. Look your betrayed people in the eyes. It's the least you can do." Tracer did as he was told, and saw nothing but anger and disappointment mirrored in every face. They stood like a living wall, with a path leading to Silt at the opposite end. She stood in her faded yellow dress, thread-bare and torn. She stood erect, proud and unyielding. "Come forward, betrayer of your people." Tracer wanted to run and hide. He wanted to curl up into a ball and just wither into nothing. He wanted to go back and fix his mistakes. But he couldn't. So he walked forward. When he stood right before Silt, he knelt, tears stinging his eyes. The smell of cooking meat suddenly filled his nostrils. His stomach growled angrily, reminding him he hadn't eaten since yesterday when he had left Naborg's. Silt's eyes became slits. "You shall be punished for your betrayal. Your punishment is as follows; You shall not touch food nor drink until the sun touches this place tomorrow." Tracer nearly fainted at these words. He opened his mouth, but Silt cut him off. "Nor shall you speak to any of your people. They shall not speak to you also, and you shall be as air to them. Tomorrow, the assembly shall decide your further fate. Should you rise from this place, touch food or water, or be found conversing with any person, you shall be banished without further thought." Silt stopped speaking abruptly, and turned to the fires behind the people. Instantly, as if on cue, they all began to chatter, bustle about and completely ignore Tracer. Tracer curled up into a pitiful ball, careful not to leave his place. He whimpered a bit, then afraid he might actually be heard, was silent. He tightened his grip on his body, released his grip on his mind, and so began his night.