Inner Flame

Another for ICW, spring 2015; 1,281 words. Inspired by a fluorite specimen given by my eccentric, former Earth Science Honors teacher in high school. Tidbit: fluorite has a pearly luster.

My little lion sits and watches the world go by, his heart blazing, wanting to move, to act, but his body fails to respond; he settles his gaze and resigns to guard, protect, encourage with an air of pride.  He perches upon my bookcase, a piece of fluorite that happened to break in the right way so as to look like a sitting lion, the pearlescent internal lattice shining through the gem in a way that makes me think that he lived in a time that fables tell of.  He might have been a king that ruled with grace and honor, my mind imagining him from medieval England.  He might have been a man with deep emerald eyes that aged him beyond his years from life’s experiences, wavy, shoulder-length brown hair, and scruff along his jaw, chin, and lip framed his finely-featured face and that, despite his past, seemed ready for anything.  He protected his kingdom with everything he had, helping the citizens and land flourish.  He lived in a time and place that held magic and he fain welcomed it, having some of his own and knowing its limits. 

One day, whilst entertaining a celebration for the village in the castle, the king smelled the stench of burning flesh, the odor that carried images of war casualties and loss despite the victory.  The candles dimmed and the sky shifted, becoming a sea of blood, the clouds seeming to enjoy their bath.  The gathering hushed and huddled together, their fear tingeing the air.  The king stood up and, hand on his sword, waited for what might come, his body a spring, senses scrutinizing the room.  The disease came, without a breath to stir the air to announce its arrival.  Shadows that played and danced along the walls slithered and sank to the floor, leaving their posts and starting to swirl in the center of the room, their tendrils meandering at first and then gaining speed.  The townsfolk crowded along the walls, holding their breaths to ward off the devil.  A figure rose up from the shadow pool, cloak flickering this way and that, moving with a wind that seemed to choke the life from the colors in the room.  Its feet touched down with the first sound in a lifetime: the patter of its toes making contact, then the click of a lock from the heels of its boots.  The king waited for the figure to speak, hand on his sword and ready to fight right then and there if it meant saving his people.

“Hello…brother,” the figure said, raising his head and letting his hood fall back, a gasp from the audience heard.  His skin was one step away from ash with eyes that sunk in a league, wisps of hair clinging to his skull and lips drawn up in a smirk, his cloak emphasizing his emaciation.  The king, shocked at the sight of his brother, kept his composure though his mind buzzed through images of their childhood: how they both had fun and made mischief in the way boys do, but his brother disappeared without a trace during the night of the king’s thirteenth year.  Everyone thought he wandered off, got lost, and died…no one thought that a necromancer took him for an apprenticeship.  “Yes…you always were the strong and silent type, weren’t you?” he mused, reveling in the fact he had control, “but you did have that flaw of yours, that pesky pride, and I had to clean up your messes you got in trouble, isn’t that right?  You could do no wrong and I was cast out, having to find my own way,” he spat.

The king spoke, “You chose your fate, and I chose mine.  My pride failed me at times, but I returned to my path, and have prospered because of it.  What business do you have here?”

His brother smiled and began to grow, lengthening and transforming into a great black and red snake that filled the room, coiling in on himself and hissing his words, amused at the question, “Why, I’m here to kill you of course!”  He chuckled and waved his head in the air striking at the king.  The king dodged at the last moment and rolled to the side, tossing his sword, knowing it wouldn’t work against the armor-like scales.  He yelled for everyone to get out while he distracted his brother, transforming himself into a large golden lion, muscles rolling under his silky, steely hide.  He knew he had to defeat his brother if the kingdom was going to have peace.  They attacked and defended, neither one gaining the advantage.  Then, his brother tripped the king and bit him, the king roaring in pain.  Though it hurt, it pushed the king to fight harder and after ripping along a length of his brother’s stomach, he locked his jaws around his head, refusing to let go until he knew his brother died, the blood in his mouth tasting of mold and decay, making him want to gag but not daring to.  A moment later, he let go, his brother’s body returning to that of a boy’s, eyes thanking the king for slaying the evil that was inside, and then he dissolved into dust.  The sky changed to a crisp, clear night with shimmering stars, and the candles in the hall wept for both the loss of the brother and for the king’s injuries.  He collapsed and lay gasping for breath, the strength to change back gone.

An ear twitched in the direction of the door, and a small form entered.  He hadn’t seen her before, but knew she held great magic.  He asked if everyone was safe, and although she didn’t utter a word, he felt she exuded a yes.  He let out a rattling sigh in relief, his insides burning with a fire that licked his wounds with white-hot daggers.  The woman came and knelt beside him, gently resting her hands on his cheek and neck.

“You are dying, noble king.  And this is no way to live,” she said, her honey voice echoed in his mind.  The king blinked in acknowledgment, knowing this was the end.  “At least, not in this form,” she continued.  He opened an eye in question, wondering what she meant.  She sent images of him transforming into a stone, one that held a flame with edges and corners that tore through space and time.  She showed him the duality of this existence, the life and the death, assuring him the survival of his legacy in his offspring and tales.  She offered a place betwixt life and death, a place that allowed him to help others but remain inanimate.  The king absorbed this knowledge and gave his last breath to her to mold into this imagined gem, his eyes taking on flecks of violet and then dimming until they saw nothing, his fire going out.  The woman took his breath in her hands, cradling it.  She smiled to herself, and she closed her eyes and hands, breathing into them and then concentrating her energy on forming the crystal.  A white glow radiated from inside, making her bones and veins stand out for a moment.  The glow turned to wisps and floated out of the window, her hands opening to reveal a crystal and a radiance that emanated the king’s gratitude.  The woman smiled, bid him farewell, and sent him with luck on his way around the world and through the earth into his life.

By the time he reached me, he was cracked into pieces, but choosing this piece to help guide, encourage, and protect me felt right.  He spoke to me, and I listened.

Reviews

[Thedemonkingawakes]

I like this. It is a little confusing at the beginning, but once you get past that, it is an interesting piece. I like the description of the king's transformation at the end. Also, the contrast between the king and his brother, and the implication that they were once not so different, is interesting.

[S]

Thank you so much! I'm aware that it isn't completely developed and that the beginning is indeed harder to understand, but I'm glad that you like it overall! Thank you again for taking the time to read and review my work!

[Dawn Dreamer]

I love this piece. I love it a lot! It's beautiful and almost brought tears to my eyes as I read it.

[S]

Goodness, thank you very much!! I'm so glad that it could brings that much emotion to you!