What The Hand, Dare Seize The Fire?

    Ember stood on her hind legs, reaching for that last delectable summer leaf on the branch overhead. Autumn was setting in and the leaves would soon be dropping, dry and brittle and tasteless. This one was still green and flavorful, and she intended to savor it. Having to work for it made it that much sweeter.

    “If you stretch far enough maybe you’ll get taller,” said Icarus playfully. To demonstrate, he unfurled his lanky frame in an effortless rear and easily clipped off a leaf above her head. He crunched away at his succulent leaf, just out of her reach. She gave him a shove, and both fell back to all fours.

    In response he headbutted her, catching his fledgling rack on her own novice antler. Ember disentangled herself from him, but not before giving him another shove for his audacity. He shot her a charming smile and she could feel herself blush under her dark coat. She was comforted by the fact that the blush wouldn’t show under her red coat, but discomforted by the fact that he was able to make her blush at all.

    Icarus was a tall and lithe buck the same age as herself. His deep bay coat mesmerized her in a way her rational mind knew was superficial and yet she couldn’t stop trailing his every move with her eyes. Even more alluring, he treated her with a combination of respect and playful flirting that she’d never encountered before. Most stags saw her as bulky and unfeminine between her stub tail, short graceless legs and course antler but not Icarus.

    Her mother had warned her, of course, about sweet talking stags. They’re all compliments and honey until you’re carrying their get, her mother would say. The second you ask for their support they’re off like a shot. You want stability and honor in a stag, Ember. You could do a lot worse than being the junior member of some general’s harem. At least you know they’ll stand by you.

    At only five years, Icarus was hardly a general. Ember didn’t care- she didn’t want to be second seat to some persnickety old doe whose only contribution to society was dropping five fawns without complaining too loudly.

    She was almost sad that she hadn’t felt the call of the rut this year.  Not that she wanted a fawn of her own- there was no time for that, not while she was trying to keep up with her training- but she felt left behind her yearmates. Most of the does she’d grown up with were finding fine upstanding stags to woo and a few were perhaps encouraging some excessive competition. Not that Ember wanted to toy with the stags like that… but still. She was halfway afraid Icarus would lose interest in her and go chase some more fecund creature. For now Icarus was just a friend, but she hoped someday it could turn into something more and she wasn’t pleased that someday would have to wait.

    For now they tussled in the grass, Icarus’ wavy locks flowing everywhere as he and Ember locked antlers again. His own rack was not formidable- it was his first year with it as well- but it was nothing to be ashamed of. Leveraging his height against her he angled his head downward and began bearing down with his weight.

    It took some wiggling, but Ember managed to wrangle her way out from under him. “Goodness, Icarus, when did you get so tall?”

Icarus gave her a measured look. “I’m not that tall. You’re just saying that because I’m taller than you.”

    “No,” she insisted. “You’re taller than any of our year-mates. I’ve seen soldiers shorter than you. I know your mother is tall and willowy, but you’ve surpassed her and I don’t think you’re done growing!”

    Icarus took a step back and looked over his shoulder. Satisfied that no one else was within earshot, he leaned in closer.

    “Fine, you got me, but you can’t tell anyone,” he told her in a hushed, urgent tone. “Ma only told me last year, but she says my father was a Blackwood.”

    Ember stood there, not sure what to say. Crap. How would a normal fawnling react to a revelation like that? This wasn’t a situation that had ever come up before so she hadn’t had a chance to watch someone else to see how they dealt with it which was her normal strategy for figuring out how to behave like a normal fawnling.

    “Oh,” she said.

    That didn’t seem to be the reaction Icarus was looking for. He bowed his head and looked a little ashamed. “Look, I’m the same guy you already knew. Nothing’s changed, right? You didn’t think I was evil before, nothing has to be different now.”

    Oh, he was worried that she’d think he was some evil Blackwood. “I’m sure Blackwoods are just evil because they’re brainwashed,” said Ember, trying to respond with some sort of reason. “You haven’t been indoctrinated with their weird religion, there’s no reason you’d be evil like them just because your Da was one. He didn’t brainwash you, did he?”

    Icarus shook his head emphatically. “No! I never met him. Ma says he kidnapped her and held her in Blackwood for a season but she was able to slip away before I was born. I always thought my Da was a Silverthorne wanderer before Ma told me the truth.”

    Ember supposed that made sense. She’d never asked about Icarus’ father before.  She liked his mother; a good strong doe and a formidable firebringer.

    “Wait,” said Ember. “You have fire magic, right? I thought crossbreeds didn’t have magic?”

    “Some don’t,” he said. “I’m one of the lucky ones.”

    “I’ve heard it isn’t as strong, though,” Ember pressed. “Do you know how strong your magic is? If you really try?”

    Icarus shrugged. “I dunno. I haven’t really pushed it that far. You really think my magic is weaker? You’ve seen me practice before. I’m not bad.”

    Ember shrugged back. “But how do we know unless we try? Let’s compare. You versus a pure Silverthorne.”

    Ember still wasn’t sure if she’d handled that situation appropriately but now they’d moved on from family secrets to magic, a subject she was much more comfortable with. The two meandered towards the edge of the grasslands where trees were scarce and they could only do so much damage. Plenty of scorch marks littered the ground from young practitioners who’d practiced here before.

    “We’ll start off with easy objectives and get harder,” Ember directed. Perhaps it was just his discomfort with having revealed his vulnerability, but Icarus didn’t seem to be in the mood to challenge orders. Perhaps he just wanted her to see that he was still her friend and that he wasn’t a threat.

    “There’s a little ember here, still burning. We’ll each use it to light our own fires.”

    They gathered some dry twigs for kindling and set small mounds on either side of the cooling embers. Ember and Icarus both half-closed their eyes in concentration, and soon both piles of kindling were burning nicely.

    “Nice work,” she told him. “Next, fire from nothing.”

    For this, they made two more piles of kindling, this time away from the previous fire. Both half closed their eyes in concentration and again, both piles of kindling were aflame within a few moments.

    Ember looked at Icarus, who was now panting and sweating slightly. Ember herself felt fine- refreshed even. Was that the effect of his mixed blood, or because she’d practiced more than he had?

    “You want to stop?” she asked.  If she’d been able to read body language she would have known that he didn’t; his honor as a Silverthorne was at stake.

    “Nah, I’m fine,” he said. “What next?”

    If she’d understood how courtship worked, she might have realized that she wanted to impress him. There was no other reason to keep going, not when he was clearly struggling and she had nothing to prove to anyone.

    “Make a fire and hold it in the air,” she said. “No fuel. Hold it steady as long as you can.”

    Ember stood ramrod-straight as she prepared the spell. It was pushing the limits of her abilities, but she’d done it before. There was a ticking sensation as sweat rolled down her face but a tentative little flame began to grow in front of her nose. She stared into it, succumbing to the blindness as it grew in size and intensity.

    She was too absorbed in her own fireball to see what was happening with Icarus. She heard his cry and glanced over; he had created his own small fireball but lost control of it as his hind legs buckled and he crashed backwards to the ground.

    His fall was broken by the pile of dry debris they’d been using as kindling. Icarus began to turn and writhe and Ember saw that his ball of flame, gone now, had managed to turn the dry bed into a quickly spreading fire.

    “Icarus!” she shouted, “Get out of there!”

    He was struggling, his long legs and proud rack tangled in the branches. Ember rushed forward to help him, shoving the flammable material out of the way and trying to free him.

    It wasn’t long before he was able to break free, but the time had taken its toll. One haunch, once a beautiful mahogany bay was now a seared and bloody red, raw and weeping. Icarus was unable to comprehend anything but the pain. Ember tried to calm him, to tell him they’d find a healer but if he could hear her he gave no sign of it. Fleeing the entangling flame that now only existed in his mind, he made a run for the hills and the safety of home.

    Ember didn’t see it until too late. Icarus’s tail which had been smoldering in the tinder pile was now ablaze as he broke into a gallop. She barreled after him but his fear left him deaf and uncomprehending.

    His speed prevented the worst of it, but eventually his tail touched the dry grass and a spark went up, then another. Ember ran after him, alternately trying to call out to him to call him down and to trample the sparks he left in his wake. Her own panic was rising as she realized she couldn’t stop him and she was losing ground.

    Icarus began to slow; perhaps exhaustion was setting in. Ember began to hope she might catch him in time, before his tail caught and spread a flame through the whole wide, dry plains.

    Icarus fell.

    Ember screamed his name again, fear rending her voice choked and tight. She topped the rise where she’d seen him go down, and found it already in flame.

    She dropped to the ground and began rolling frantically, trying to choke out the fire. It was too late. Between the fuel of the dry grass and the air of the open sky, the flame had grown beyond the point where it could be stamped out or tamed. Perhaps a more capable firebringer could corral it into some less vital area where it could be left to die out safely. That was beyond her abilities, though. For all her pride at her own magic, she was hardly more than a fawn.

    Her skin crackled with the warmth as the fire engulfed them. Icarus didn’t move. Ember rubbed her face over his chest trying to find a pulse or a breath. Nothing. The burns now covered his skin and she realized he must not have the protection of the Silverthorne blood. She’d brought him out here and pushed him past his limits. She was responsible for his death.

    The reality of the situation and the scalding smoke in her throat both forced her back, away from the body. Soon Icarus would be nothing but ash. The tentative dreams she’d had of some future with the tall stag went up in smoke with his remains.

    Ember coughed, choking, stumbling, and tried to make her way back to the herd. If no one had raised the alarm yet she had to let them know there was a wildfire on the plains. No one else needed to die that day.

    Perhaps it was the heat of the air, but she felt an anger welling up inside her and hot tears raced down her cheeks. Was this some sort of punishment from the gods? Punishing her for consorting with a half-breed? Punishing him for daring use the sacred Silverthorne gift when his blood was tainted?

    Ember wasn’t much for signs or omens, but the wall of fire that climbed the slope behind her seemed clear enough. The gods were unhappy.

    Some fawnlings had seen the trail of smoke and come running, doing what they could to deprive the fire of the fuel it needed to move forward. Ember fell to her knees as she reached them, exhausted and having difficulty drawing breath. She watched them fight for their home land; working together as an army, fending off the enemy. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride.

    This is what Silverthorne was meant to be, she thought. The gods want us to be strong and united. We can’t let in the enemy. We can’t introduce weakness. Her last thoughts before she lost consciousness were of Icarus and how he’d hidden his enemy heritage from her- from the herd- and how such traitors must not be allowed to undermine the herd any longer.

Wordcount: 2257

What The Hand, Dare Seize The Fire?

+1 magic - art - What The Hand, Dare Seize The Fire?
+3 magic - lit - 2000+ words - What The Hand, Dare Seize The Fire?