Fire

The Tales of The Seekers is a collection of short stories set in The Seekers universe. Feel free to comment so I can improve them. If you want to learn more, please do read my published books in the same universe: The Seekers: Soul-Ties, Kirin, and Perrin Peters. And if you don’t want to buy my books but still want to support me, I’m on Patreon. And if you prefer one-time payments, you can Buy Me A Pizza or a Coffee.

The day was coming to an end. The house was almost empty. Mom was upstairs, fixing some fishing rods. I sat before the fire. Its crackling sounds reminded me that I was not alone. The dancing shadows on the walls brought mystery to this cold evening.

My toys lay right in front of me. Bought by my dear grandmother, old were they, yet sturdy still. A small equi made of light wood. A wide-horned Igni rider armed with a spear. And an enemy holding a sword, but just today. On the odd-numbered days, the enemy was instead a friend and sometimes a parent.

Today’s feast was the goal of the evil wooden figure. Sabiri tied her equi to a stake and entered our home made out of shell. The guests were there already. The enemy sneaked below the windows, gathering dirt and old bones to throw into the room. But before her evil hand could strike, Feero shut the window. Abashed, appalled, and shamed, the enemy retreated into the dead of night. I sat Sabiri down, and Feero gave her half of a nutshell, a rock-hard tiny piece of old bread, and an assortment of fish bones.

“Hmm, smells delicious!” Sabiri said and started munching.

I figured she would like her soup a little hotter and took the half of a nutshell to warm it above the fire. But as my head rose and as my eyes met the dancing flames, I felt the whole world changing.

So unfamiliar was the sight, yet so the same. Hot, dancing air ribbons seemed strange. Their red and yellow glow seemed foreign, yet familiar. The sound of rising flames pierced the air like music from another world. So beautiful it was and mesmerizing that I could not proceed to think it could have been composed or played even by the truest masters. The scent that reached my nostrils was nothing like I’d ever tasted. The sight was captivating. And the sound was unlike anything I could imagine.

What kind of magic was this? Why did the flame become so riveting all of a sudden? The logs were still the same, and so was the fireplace. Could I’ve been dreaming?

My claw did its job, allowing me to watch a drop of red, red blood appearing on my green skin. The pain and the metallic smell have proven beyond doubt that I was well awake. Yet what was with the yellow flame reflected in the red spec of blood?

My sight was magnetized towards it once again. I lay down motionless for long, long minutes. My toys were all abandoned; my focus elsewhere. My eyes saw glimpses of unknown figures, movements, stillness. The fire seemed to hold inside itself the whole new world!

Unable to resist, unwilling to wait even a second longer, I stood up, went to the kitchen, and brought back a frying pan. With trembling fingers, I reached out and pulled a small, thin piece of burning wood. Holding it above the pan so nothing could reach and burn our floor, I stared at it. Its tiny flames still had this strange magic over me. The blackened tree was changing color from black to gray, from gray to red, from red to yellow. My face was so close to it that my fast breath was strong enough to reignite the ember, to put new life into the wood the same way the fire put more life into me.

The fire had its smell, though faint, but could it have a taste? Excited, I rolled out my long tongue and licked the flame. And my amazement was complete, for I could taste it! A longing, old and spicy, mixed with an aftertaste of strength. Nothing could have prepared me for this. It felt like it was always on my lips; the flame just reignited it and made me well aware. The second I began to seek its name, the taste gave it to me. It never left my memory, yet the Lands successfully obscured it with its worries, duties, pains, and pleasures — the taste of the breasts of my dear mother.

Amazed, I licked the flame once more. I put this half-burned piece of wood into my mouth and sucked the coals. The hissing sound of boiling saliva reached my ears. To my surprise, the ashes weren’t bitter but of the same sweet taste. I spat the wood onto the frying pan, and longing struck me, for the flames were dead.

“Bringing the pan was good thinking. I taught you well.”

The sudden voice frightened me enough to drop it. Ringing steel was like a sentence for my lark. I turned towards the voice, yet what I saw surprised me once more in this short while. My mom was sitting on the stairs and smiling. There was so sign of anger in her burning, orange eyes.

Relieved, I made sure the coals didn’t leave the pan, then asked, “How long have you been sitting there?”

“A quiet child means something’s up.”

I snorted, then some more, and then I laughed. My mom’s laughter echoed. When the laughter stopped, we just stared at one another, content to be together in one room, delighted to have shared this moment.

And then I asked, “Mom. Why was today’s fire was so special? Magical? It called to me. I could not resist to smell it. Taste it. It is so weird! So great!”

Her gentle smile and smirk refused to leave my mind for a few days.

“It means you are growing up. Each Igni had this very moment. Sadly, the flames are never as mysterious and sweet as they were the first time. This law is followed by everything in life. So savor it, Iskrila. Save this evening in your memory and never let it go.”

“But… Why are we so drawn to fire? Why is it so special?”

“Who else but the Igni are the fire people? Who if not the Demon Lord lives at the lake of lava? Who if not us bathe in boiling water? I see nothing strange about our connection. As long as we take care not to burn the house, okay?”

I nodded with a smile. The coal was tossed back into the fireplace. The toys were shoved into the chest. And I ran upstairs to spend some time with Mom. She read a book to me, but no words reached me. Her very presence was all I could perceive. It warmed me, and her voice wrapped my essence in gentle happiness. I stared at her, but in my mind, I thanked the fire. I thanked its taste, its warmth, and its appearance, for it reminded me of her. What else could I ever dream of?

The End

Anton Anderson, 2021—2025

If you want to know more about the Igni, the “fire people,” see how they live, what they believe in, and follow the stories of a few of them, you should read my fantasy novels The Seekers: Soul Ties, and The Seekers: Kirin.