Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Read online

  "You did pretty well. Next time maybe try not to get hit by the stones."

  There was no concern on his face. She punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could, and he watched without dodging. He didn't even flinch; she might as well have laid her hand on him gently. She rained punches on him, snarling and trying not to laugh as he tried to pretend she wasn't hitting him.

  "So would you like to keep-" she slapped his face - "trying the exercise, or would-" she punched his stomach – "oof, you like to rest for-" she hit him in the face again, this time with a fist – "a little while?"

  She couldn't help herself; his deadpan expression as he tried to ignore her punches was too much. She burst out laughing. He laughed too, and they climbed out of the net together. She tripped, grabbed his arm for support, and dragged him back onto the net with her. They both scrambled at the same time to get up, tripping over each other and only succeeding in becoming more tangled. They both laughed even harder. Zanela was still giggling as they climbed the tree trunk and stepped onto the wide black platform.

  "I think some rest is a good idea," she said through giggles, "I've had enough training for the day."

  She was limping, and she knew her ankle wouldn't take any more. Dakesh was training her to take the Shenzai, the warrior's tests next year. At fourteen, she was still a Kuulshen; a young one. A warrior-to-be. Their parents trained her too, but they were far less fun. It was fairly common for training sessions with them to end in tears. She knew they were helping her become strong, but it didn't help her enjoy the training at all.

  Besides, she was far less passionate about becoming a great warrior than Dakesh seemed to be. Her favourite thing was simply wandering the forest. The beauty of the trees and the animals never failed to astonish her. Being surrounded by so much life and energy made her feel... right. Home. Comfortable. She couldn't find a better word, but those were close.

  She had no interest in fighting. She understood the need to be properly trained, and understood the importance of the three tenets and the oath. The one part of the Shenza warrior culture she did enjoy was the Zuunshai. The blade dance soothed her and made her feel more deeply connected to the forest. But Dakesh made training fun. He still pushed her hard, but he could always make her laugh, even when she twisted her ankle.

  They walked back to the city, over metre-wide branches and black metal pathways suspended between the trees. Dakesh walked slowly beside her, never losing patience despite her limp. They didn't talk, but it was a comfortable silence. When they reached the city, they split up. Dakesh headed towards the living quarters. Zanela made her way to the kitchens.

  The kitchens were her favourite place in the city itself. Tall, wide windows let the smoke and steam out and afforded an amazing view of the canopy. Set into the floor of the kitchens, huge tubs of salt water clung to the tree trunk. Hundreds of fish swam in the tubs, alive and fresh and ready to be cooked. Growing from trenches lining the windows and walls were dozens of different herbs and even more types of vegetables.

  In the centre of the room, two massive benches each held an oven with a metal cooking plate on top. They contained ancient magic which Zanela would never understand; a simple gesture from one of the cooks and they grew hot enough to cook in minutes with no fire. Nashan, one of the cooks she liked, was already working at one of the ovens. She sat at one of the low tables close to the ovens. The heat was intense, but worth it for Nashan’s company. He was always friendly to her.

  Several cooked fish were already sitting on the side of the cooking plate. They smelled delicious, and Nashan gestured to them when he saw her staring.

  "Eat, Zanela! You just get back from training with your brother?"

  She nodded, taking a huge bite from one of the fish. She stood, snatched a sprig of her favourite herb from the window, and sprinkled it onto the meat. Nashan laughed and shook his head.

  "I should get you in here as a cook," he grumbled, "since you clearly know better than I do."

  She didn't bother answering. She was halfway through the fish. Nashan always said things like that when she added flavours of her own to his cooking. But she knew he was joking. She pretended to have trouble chewing on the soft white meat.

  "Yeah I do. I wouldn't have overcooked it so badly!"

  She closed her eyes and screwed her face up into feigned disgust. A live fish smacked her in the face, spraying her with water. She gasped and opened her eyes, trying to catch the fish and instead falling onto her back. It snapped in random movements on the floor, gills pumping wildly. She struggled to get hold of it while Nashan laughed, and finally succeeded in dumping it back into one of the salt water tubs.

  She slumped back down at the table. Nashan howled with laughter. She was a sight to behold; covered in seawater, her black hair tangled and bits of cooked fish and chopped herbs sticking to her tunic. Her ankle ached from struggling to catch the fish, and the water left her cold despite the heat of the ovens. Nashan finally stopped laughing as he noticed Zanela hadn't joined in. He raised his hands as if in surrender.

  "Okay, sorry little one. Maybe throwing a fish was a bit too much."

  She sighed theatrically, and stared at him with the angriest expression she could summon. Nashan burst into laughter again, shaking his head. Zanela shouted in wordless exasperation and left the kitchens. Nashan's laughter followed her out into the afternoon. As soon as she was out of the room, she started laughing.

  Zanela climbed up the swirling metal frame which clung to the giant tree trunk as fast as she could. This time, stones were pelting the wood and metal of the tree, clanging and thudding in her ears. One of them hit her thigh hard enough to bruise. She grunted but kept climbing. Today she trained with her father. He didn't hold back; the stones rained down on her like hail in a thunderstorm. Her lungs burned, her hands cramped. She felt every spot her father hit her.

  She jumped onto a nearby branch, only just making the landing as a small stone hit her hand. It cut the skin at her knuckles but she kept climbing. She glanced around for somewhere else to move, ducking under a stone aimed at her face. A branch jutted from the trunk about seven feet above where she stood, on a slight angle. She took a few quick steps backwards, out to where the branch she stood on became less sturdy. She crouched low as more stones flew, then bolted at the tree trunk. She had one chance; her father didn't allow safety nets when they trained.

  She leaped, planted her right foot on the trunk, and pushed off with all her strength. She reached, missed, and for a moment of terror she started falling. A small branch, barely more than a twig, hung from the bottom of the branch she aimed for. She snatched it, halted her fall, and swung her other hand up to get a grip on the branch proper. Just as her hand clamped down on a thick knot, the twig snapped. She almost fell but managed to keep her grip, the cut on her knuckle throbbing as her fingers turned white from the pressure.

  Digging her other hand into the branch higher up, she swung herself over to the top and lay where she landed. She was temporarily out of her father's sight, and took the opportunity to rest. Her heart pounded. Her lungs roared. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Soft padding sounds rose from the forest floor; her father was climbing the tree. He was almost silent, but moved too fast to cloak all sound. She whispered a curse to herself and rolled to her feet.

  The faint sounds of her father climbing reached her ears from seemingly every direction. She had no idea where to go. This was a new test; she was determined to pass. He was tricking her, masking his location and giving her false bait. He was a Kaizeluun. This sort of thing came easy to him. She stopped for a precious few seconds, thinking. The sounds grew louder, but she focused on shutting them out. He was below her, and climbing. Her normal response should be to climb to avoid him. But she watched him climb and fight and move every day; the giant trees of Shanaken were no obstacle to the Kaizeluun. If he wanted to be where she was, he could do it in seconds. Even if he wanted to be above her -

  She dropped to the bran
ch, grabbed for the knot she used before, and rolled off without checking her grip. A thud reverberated through her hand as her father landed on the branch from above. She hung from the knot in the branch, still swinging from her roll. She kicked her feet and used the momentum to swing into a jump off the branch. The fall angled her towards the tree trunk, but there were no branches she could reach. She collided with the trunk, sliding down its rough surface and scrabbling for purchase.

  Finally, the twisting black metal grips appeared, and her fall was stopped as she grabbed them with both hands. The sudden stop jarred her shoulders, and she almost lost grip. She pulled herself into a stable position, her feet resting on the metal frame. Glancing up, she couldn't see her father anywhere.

  She moved as quickly as she could, climbing down to the forest floor. She heard nothing behind her as she was yanked off the tree. There was nothing physically pulling her, and as she fell, sheer terror seized her. The forest floor smashed into her, the air knocked out of her lungs. Bright black spots erupted in her vision, and pain flared through her entire body. Groaning, she tried to roll onto all fours. She barely raised herself an inch off the ground before collapsing again.

  A hand like the jaws of a Zuzuk clamped around her neck and lifted her from the ground. The grip didn't choke her, but it wasn't gentle, either. Her father's deep red eyes filled her vision. There was no anger, but plenty of disappointment.

  "You need to feel the forest around you. Listen to it. I wasn't hiding at all, the trees were screaming with my every step."

  She didn't have the strength to struggle, or to argue with him. He stared, close enough that their noses almost touched. Then, growing tired of the lesson, he dropped her back to the ground.

  "You and Dakesh are the same," he said distantly, "such disappointments. If only I fathered a child like the girl Dakesh is smitten by. She is a true warrior."

  He walked away without another word. Zanela lay on the forest floor, aching and dizzy, until she felt strong enough to stand again. The sun was set by then. She made her way home in the darkness.

  Aella

  Aella twirled around her mother, a wooden sword in each hand, blocking every strike she threw at her. She was ten years old, and took to combat training like an Omasi Fire-Hawk takes to flying. She was already better than her parents, though they’d never admit it. They danced in the desert, wooden blades clacking, until both were out of breath and sweating profusely. Aella’s mother motioned for her to stop, and her uncanny sense of discipline stopped her instantly. They stood in the grey sand together for a moment, regaining their breath. Aella’s mother, Helene, smiled at her.

  “I have something for you, little warrior”, she said.

  Aella’s eyes shone. “Is it a real sword?” She asked.

  Helene laughed, walking over to a leather bag she carried with them when they left camp for training.

  “Actually, no,” she laughed, and Aella's face fell.

  Helene turned and knelt at the bag for a moment, rummaging for something. She stood again, turning and smiling broadly.

  “It’s two swords!”

  Aella squealed and ran to her mother, dropping her wooden swords and reaching for the real ones. Her mother held them back, eyes wide to get her attention.

  "These are very dangerous, Aella," she said gravely.

  "I know how to use a sword, mother!" Aella replied. Helene shook her head and knelt down so she could talk to her daughter closely.

  "These are no ordinary swords. They are very rare, and they contain Fire Magic within them," she said as she unsheathed the short swords, turning them in the sunlight so Aella could see.

  "The magic was dormant until shortly before you were born. Before that, they'd just been regular swords passed down in our family. Something happened to awaken Fire Magic in the world once again."

  Aella noticed the way they hummed slightly, as though they couldn't restrain the magic they held. Her eyes as wide as they could get, she watched as her mother focused on the blades. They grew bright and the humming grew louder, then they suddenly burst into flame. Aella's mother stepped back a few paces from her. The flames spread quickly, flowing down the hilts, onto Helene's hands, down her arms and over the rest of her body.

  Aella gasped, but her mother seemed fine. She laughed at the shock on her daughter's face, and went into a series of swordfighting moves so fast that Aella could barely keep track. She twisted this way and that, twirling and leaping, slicing the air with fire. The whistling of the blades and the roar of the fire mixed together to make a beautiful music. Aella was completely lost to the magic. She'd never seen anything as amazing as what her mother was showing her now. This was beyond her skill level; even Aella could tell she was performing techniques faster than she was physically able to. Faster than anyone was physically able to.

  Helene stopped moving after a few moments, and the flame went out with a whooshing sound. Aella watched as her mother's head drooped and her hands fell, grip loose with the swords pointing towards the ground. She rushed to her mother and took the swords out of her hands. Helene sat heavily, almost falling to the sand, and looked at Aella with a tired smile.

  "They can make you invincible for a short time. You'll be stronger, faster, and you'll burn anything you touch." She was watching her closely, Aella realised. This was an adult discussion, and her mother was trusting her to handle it. She tried not to get too excited, tried to be calm and adult-like as she went on about the swords.

  "They don't work for long. It's a miracle they work at all, in truth. The magic put in them when they were forged must have been unbelievably powerful. So you can't rely on this to win a fight, but if you time it right, it could be the difference between life and death."

  Her mother looked at her, searching her eyes. She must have seen something great, because she smiled gently then. Her gaze wandered down to the blades in her daughter’s hands, and she frowned. Before Aella could ask her what was wrong, she shook her head slightly and kept talking:

  "You can activate the magic whenever you want, but you need to be careful. No one outside of this family knows about these swords, and your father and I want to keep them secret. That's not the only reason you need to be careful, though. Using this magic will take most of your energy, and if you don't stop in time the magic could even kill you. You should only use it when there's no other choice. But you should practice every now and then, when you're sure you're alone."

  Helene was still breathing heavily, and Aella was a little frightened at how much energy the swords took from her. She looked at them, humming slightly in her hands, and realised they fit her hands perfectly. They were balanced and weighted as if for a child, but still heavy enough to wield with force. She took a few practice swings, and marvelled at how perfect they were. Even without using the magic within them, she would be able to fight well with these swords.

  "Thank you, mother," she whispered. She never took her eyes off the swords.

  Aella sprinted past tents with a bundle of leather in her small arms, breathless and excited. She received odd and curious looks from all the warriors who knew her; she was always very quiet and composed. It was unusual for a ten year old to be so withdrawn, especially in Thearan culture, but for Aella, it was the opposite. At the moment she was far too excited to be calmly walking through the camp as she normally would. She had to show her best friend, Athanasius, her new gift. She rushed toward his tent, and all but dived through the entrance when she arrived, cannoning into him with more force than she meant to.

  Athan let out an annoyed "oof!" and shoved her off him.

  "What are you doing, you idiot?" He said, frowning. He didn't have much of a sense of humour. Neither did Aella, but she was in a good mood.

  "I have something to show you!" She all but squealed it, still out of breath. That got Athan's attention, and he glanced at the package Aella was holding. She placed it gently on the floor of the tent, and unwrapped it as quickly as she could while being careful. When t
he Fire Blades were revealed, Athan's face lit up, his eyes so wide they seemed to take up half his face.

  Aella picked the blades up and showed them to Athan the way her mother showed her before, turning them slowly so the sunlight streaming in from the open top of the tent danced on the metal. Even when the magic wasn't active, the blades looked like they were made of pure fire when touched by sunlight.

  Athan barely moved, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth hanging open. Aella laughed, and that broke the spell; Athan blinked and laughed too.

  "They look like magic," Athan whispered. "Where did you get them?"

  "My parents," Aella replied. "And they are magic."

  Athan narrowed his eyes at her, half frowning and half smirking. "No they're not!"

  "They are, I swear!"

  Athan shook his head, and they both laughed. He didn't believe her then, no matter how much she argued; But she knew she would show him eventually.

  "Besides," Athan said, "you'll need to practice before you can use them. Let's spar!"

  They left his tent, and Aella left her swords in the leather wrap on the floor. Athan grabbed two wooden training swords on his way out; every child in their tribe owned training swords, even those lucky enough to have real swords. They ran out together to a spot a little away from the camp, but still within earshot; at their age, if their parents called for them, they had to return quickly. They faced each other, and as always, Athan wanted to make a game of it. He always pretended they were heroes from Ancient Theara, the warriors their parents talked about around camp fires before bed.

  "I will be Aniketos, slayer of Oromus!" he said seriously. Although older and taller than Aella, she found it so cute when he tried to be intimidating.

  "I will be Roxane, the most powerful fire mage in history!" She replied, pretending to throw a fireball at him. He jumped to the side, watching the pretend fireball as it passed him by. They fought, but as always with Athan, it was for fun and not improvement. She didn't mind.