Fernan VIII: The Victor

The road home had been desolate, even agonizing, despite the shorter time it’d taken to travel through the pass.

Fernan had left the garron at The First Post, since it would be easier to walk the steep mountain path than guide an animal unfamiliar to it. Riding it across the relatively flat pass had been slow and trying enough, with the way the saddle bit into him. He had no idea how nobles paraded around on horses all day without their backside bleeding.

Not one but two sundials burned a hole in his saddle bag. Literally, before he’d padded them with strips of specially treated leather. That’s why they usually rest on stone rather than cloth, he supposed. But the extra insulation had been sufficient to shield them for the trip.

The short woman who had been seated next to the king at the duel had met him on his way out of town, some dozen harbor guards in formation behind her.

“Fernan?” she had called out, sending a jolt of fear down his spine as he’d tried to stop his garron. “I’m Annette Debray, here on behalf of Camille Leclaire.”

“Camille…” He’d finally stopped the creature by that point, fumbling his way off it and just barely managing to keep his footing. “Is she…?”

Lady Debray had shaken her head. “In the water like that, it’s impossible to be sure. But she ought to have returned by now. Especially with everything Lumière is trying to pull, and Lucien… I fear—” She’d choked, blinking rapidly as she composed herself. “You played your part as well as she could have asked.”

“I didn’t. Not really. She wanted me to help with a regency, after the duel. To make peace…“

She had removed a sundial from her bag, sparkling in the midday sun, and placed an enormous jingling sack atop it. “There’s no chance of that now. You accomplished everything you could, everything she asked for that was actually possible. I know this is what she would want.”

But I already have one. He’d taken it anyway. Refusing would have only made things worse.

“There’s six thousand florins in there too,” she’d added. “I heard that was part of the deal. I hope it’s alright that it’s coming from me. I couldn’t ask Emile right now. It’s too—” She sniffled. “We’re still hoping she’ll come back. Somehow. Three days is a long time, but…”

“It’s still worth holding onto hope.” Fernan had nodded. “Please take four hundred back, though. Lady Camille already gave me that much, as an advance.”

She’d smiled for an instant. “You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you? Keep it. And remember that Camille kept her word. Even in…” Her lip quivered.

“I will,” he’d promised softly.

The gnawing guilt and aimlessness had only grown on the trip home.

With only Mara skittering along beside him, easily outpacing the garron as they moved further into the mountains, every step was a reminder of his betrayal. He’d had to lie to her, his voice breaking, to say that the sundial was simply an additional gift. That the town charter tucked into his tunic was the real reason they had traveled there, despite how trivially he’d gotten Lord Lumière to give him one.

Jerome had said this sundial would let them move the village, let them continue mining coal without Gézarde invading the village. It would save them from annihilation, and save Fernan’s soul from eternal struggle and servitude, but it was no real solution.

“Your kind can lie even with truth,” Gézarde had said. “At the first opportunity, you grasp for whatever petty ambition consumes your fancy.”

Moving the village, protecting it with a sundial… It would do nothing to address the actual problem. The geckos needed their food just as the villagers needed their livelihood. All his efforts could do was renew the same conflict, merely freshened with new betrayal.

Whoever had poisoned Gézarde so deeply against people, Fernan would only be taking their place.

That had been easier to ignore in Guerron, when even acquiring the sundial had proved so unexpectedly difficult, caught between warring nobles and Florette’s recklessness. Simple enough to follow the path in front of him, without fixating on where it led. Now there was scarcely anything else to think about.

A woman was dead, and for what? What was even waiting for him, now that he had returned?

When he had first left Villechart, his vision had been so blurry and difficult that people had been only vague pillars of flame, giving away little more than their rough position.

Now it was easy to see them staring, easy to envision the looks of pity on their faces.

The crushing void of cold snow was entirely gone from the rooftops, the faint glow of each hearth illuminating the outline of every house. Many were vacant, he could see, their occupants probably at work in the mine, while others had a single person spinning cloth or preparing food.

Everyone already outside wordlessly rested their eyes on him, some flinching back.

I should have put the blindfold on again. After Guerron, he’d gotten so used to going without it that it hadn’t occurred to him. At least Mara had remembered to stay outside again. He hadn’t even had to ask, she was so used to being pushed away. Hopefully it felt like less of a slight when she had her home den to visit.

Fernan shouldered past the looks as he approached Jerome’s house, the brazier atop it still glowing brightly, as was the sage inside.

“Fernan!” he called out heartily, throwing the door wide open. “It’s so good to see you! And returned so quickly. How did you make out?”

“I’ve got it.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “A spirit sundial, empowered by the Temple.”

Jerome grinned wildly. “That’s wonderful! To think I was worried about you. You made it back with moons to spare.”

“I wanted to get here as fast as I could, so we could get started moving.” So that I could figure something out to fix things, rather than bandage them.

“Very smart. Please, sit down.”

“Of course.” By the light of the fire in the hearth, the glow outlined the stuffed chair for him to slump into. “I know you must have been very worried about the village.”

“The village, I can handle.” He took the seat opposite Fernan. “But you were ensnared by an evil spirit. More than anything, it was you I feared for.”

“We should probably tell everyone, so they can start packing things up. If we dismantle the boards for the houses, we could take them on the coal wagons to the new spot. Oh, we need to find that first, of course.” A site with access to veins of coal again, with all of the same problems.

“Patience, Fernan. There’s no rush.” He stroked his beard. “In fact, now that we have a sundial, we may simply be able to stay here. I can set up wards around the village powered by it, and even show you how.”

“Really? It seems risky to even try.”

“Certainly!” His cheeks glowed red. “As another sage, I think it’s only right that you succeed me as village alderman, when my time comes. You can protect everyone from the geckos when I’m gone, and learn the craft as my apprentice until then.” His already-bright glow expanded beyond his body, an aura of deep green flame.

It was a path to follow, a way for things to get back to some semblance of normal. He could never go back to being a scout, but this could finally be an end to the strife and struggle. For Fernan, anyway. It would do nothing for everyone else.

Jerome patted him on the shoulder. “Not a bad idea, right? I thought of it right after you left. Once they’re ready, you can invite Gézarde in and watch as his minions crash helplessly against our defenses. He’s always been a vicious ass, but you’ll have honored the letter of your agreement. He won’t be able to claim your soul.”

Fernan went stiff, feeling the fire in his eyes diminish as the horrible truth began to fall into place.

“Ah… You’re concerned about what they’ll think, aren’t you?” He clasped his hands together. “It’ll be alright, Fernan. They’ll all get used to the eyes, especially once they see you’re the second best defense they have against the geckos. Just give it time.”

“Gézarde’s always been a vicious ass?” Fernan stared back at the alderman coldly.

“Well, there were rumors about a flame spirit of the geckos even before your run-in with him.” Jerome waved his hands in circles in the air. “Call it a figure of speech.”

“Why would we be able to stay, alderman? If Villechart already has wards powered by a sundial, but inviting Gézarde in would overpower them, what’s changed?”

He blinked. “Well, an old village relic and a powerful artifact from the Sun Temple itself are hardly going to be worth comparing to each other. It’s like night and day.”

“Show me, then. Let me see the old sundial, that’s been protecting us for decades.” Fernan stood up. “Right now.”

Jerome shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t, Fernan.”

“It was you!” A jet of flame flew from his mouth as he shouted. “You were the one who tricked Gézarde, who turned him against us. You’re the reason the geckos even want to fight us.”

A moment of silence hung in the air, Jerome’s aura still simmering green. “Sit down, Fernan.”

“No.”

The alderman leaned back in his chair. “You figured enough of it out that you ought to hear the full story. Sit down. You’ll see that there’s no cause to be so accusatory. Trust me.”

Clenching his fists, he sunk back into the chair. He had to at least try to hope, to give him a chance to explain things. Maybe there was some way…

Glowing brighter, Jerome nodded. “When I was a boy, the village of Enquin was the deepest anyone could settle in the mountains. We kept to ourselves, in years of plenty and years of scarcity. Mines would run dry, or flood, or cave-in, but there were always other spots to try. Even if they grew fewer with every year.

“I was never much for mining, so my alderman had me learn my numbers, to help make sure the merchants weren’t cheating us. From there followed letters, and with it, history. Spirit lore became my obsession — heroic tales of sages battling for honor and glory, all in the name of their patron. The power beyond mere mortals, simply from making a deal with a spirit. It’s irresistible.”

Fernan narrowed his eyes, not bothering to challenge him yet. There could still be something that explained it.

The alderman continued. “An older boy — I think his name was Yves — thought we should try probing further, climbing higher to tap better veins. That all the warnings were mere scaremongering rumors. He returned to town three days later with a burn across his arm and a horrifying tale: geckos the size of a butter churn, breathing flames from their mouths. Even then, ignorant as I was, I knew enough to suspect their origin. But there was no way to be sure.

“I didn’t see one myself until I was seventeen. Deep in winter, a patch on the mountain stayed brown even as snow fell in enormous heaps around it. When I approached it, I could feel the warmth beckoning me further, even as the geckos closed ranks to block me. But I insisted on seeing the spirit, leader-to-leader, and they let me pass deeper into the lair.”

“You weren’t a leader then,” Fernan said, almost a whisper. “You were just a boy.”

Jerome shrugged. “Spirits must honor the deals they make, no matter the cost. It tends to make them honest, but we have no such prohibitions. I declared myself king of the humans and strode in to treat with the mighty Gézarde, who had probably never even met one before. Who was he to contradict me?

“Of course, we did make a deal that I would tell no lies once I had finished explaining myself, but, with the initial deception already established, it was easy enough to maintain the façade. I told him of the miners, and their need to expand, the inevitability of encroaching on gecko territory. All true. Then I offered him a deal.

“Unless invited, none of his children would enter the bounds of any village or mine I established, no matter how deep in the mountain. I would be granted a share of his power as his sage.”

“And in return, they get nothing.” Fernan’s eyes blazed brighter.

“In practice, yes. Technically, they extracted concessions from me in return.” Jerome’s jaw twisted back into a smile. “I would force everyone already under my authority to respect the mountains and their inhabitants, to pay a tribute of coal to Gézarde, and take only a limited amount each year. Some trifling figure we agreed on; I couldn’t tell you what.”

“Everyone already under your authority…”

“Precisely. No one. And the deal made no provisions for the future. Right now I’m still honoring my end of the bargain, while Gézarde has no choice but to honor his. It’s not my fault he was stupid about it.” He held out his hands to the fire to warm them. “So you see, Fernan? It’s nothing to be worried about. I wouldn’t tell the other villagers if I were you, but it’s hardly some great offense. Villechart wouldn’t exist without me. Most likely, neither would you.”

“Comforting.” Fernan swallowed, sparks of flame from his eyes flying in every direction as he thought. “And the sundial?”

Jerome shrugged. “Not essential to keeping the village safe while I’m alive, but it will be enough to protect you. Now you, too, can honor the deal you’ve made without debasing yourself for it. Invite him and his geckos in. Once we set up wards with the sundial, the invitation will be useless to them.” He clasped his fingers together. “The error might even thin their numbers a bit, make things safer for the next caravan.”

Fernan stared coldly, his mind still racing.

“I’m not the enemy, Fernan. If anything, you’ve more than proven yourself a worthy successor. With the sundial, protections around Villechart can even outlive me.”

“You still want me to follow you as alderman?”

Jerome nodded. “What’s changed? I would have probably told you of the deal eventually anyway. You were just smart enough to get it yourself.” He chuckled, holding out his hand. “Now come on. The sooner we set those wards up, the better.”

Make your own decisions, Florette had said. This wouldn’t be pleasant, but there was only one choice Fernan could justify making.

“Alright.” He grasped Jerome’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Let’s begin.”

The alderman’s glow brightened. “Excellent! Good boy.” He led them out of the house, waving at the villagers they passed, until they stood at the entrance to the town. “Do you have the sundial?”

“Yes.” He pulled it out of his bag, the nearly blinding light from it shining in all directions.

“You seem like you’re avoiding looking at it.” Jerome’s glow dimmed. “Is there any particular reason? It looks wholly standard to me.”

“Something with my vision,” Fernan muttered, sweat dripping down his nose. “The spirit energy glows like a beacon, even through the bag. Now that’s out of the extra insulation and padding, I could probably see it from a mile away.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He placed his hand on it. “We ought to work quickly then. It might draw geckos near.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Fernan channeled energy through his hands, the same kind of concussive flames he’d used to jump out of the riot, and pushed.

The blast flung Jerome back through the air, landing a little ways down the path.

As he stepped forward, Fernan felt an emptiness inside of him, the source of his power already diminished. Too much, too quickly. How had Camille and Lumière dueled for so long like that?

“Can’t we talk about this, Fernan?” Jerome grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, dirt from the trail clinging to his clothes. “I just want what’s best for you. What’s best for Villechart. Can’t you understand that?”

The flame in Fernan’s eyes grew brighter as he stepped over the fallen sundial. “You tricked them and stole their food. Lied and cheated your way into their home.”

“And they tried to kill us all! Perhaps I’m not innocent, but it seems obvious to me who is more deserving of your scorn. Think of your mother, and everyone in Villechart. They need me, Fernan. One day they’ll need you.”

“You put all of them in danger by settling here and provoking the geckos to attack us.” He glanced back over his shoulder towards the village, but no one seemed to have noticed anything.

Jerome stepped closer. “I didn’t make them do anything. I showed other people in Enquin my new power and explained that I could protect them higher in the mountains. And protect them I have.”

“Not everyone,” Fernan snarled. “The blood of every person the geckos have killed is on your hands just as much as theirs.”

“You can’t save everyone. Don’t be naive, boy. I built this place and kept it safe.”

“From a problem you caused!”

Alderman Jerome sighed, clasping his hands together. “Step out of the way. We’ll talk about this back in my house.”

“No.”

His glow shifted to pale blue. “You are still only a child. I forgive you for not understanding. But this behavior is unacceptable. You need to be disciplined.” As he finished speaking, an explosion of flame knocked Fernan onto his face, his back still warm.

By the time he rose, Jerome was standing above him. “Are you finished with your tantrum, then?”

“I’ll tell everyone,” Fernan spat out, feeling the blood run down his face. “They’ll know what you did.”

“They won’t care. Without me none of this would even exist.” He snapped his fingers, conjuring a circle of pure white fire around Fernan rising ten feet into the air. The same color as Lumière’s beams, though flickering like fire, and hot. “Can we put an end to this, please?”

Fernan grasped at his side, fumbling for the bag still hanging from his shoulder.

Jerome set it afire, causing Fernan to jump away before he was burned. “You didn’t honestly think an inexperienced blind boy could beat me? I’ve been a flame sage longer than you’ve been alive. Cease with these delusions of yours so we can start planning for your future.” He stepped back out of the circle. “Fernan, it’s an excellent path for your life. The envy of anyone here. Why can’t that be enough for you?”

“Because it’s not right.”

From behind Jerome, a narrow, concentrated blast of green flame flew past his head. Before the alderman could turn around, a second blasted him to the ground.

Mara breathed another green burst at the ground in front of him, the dozen geckos behind her joining in, until Jerome was encircled by fire.

Fernan used the last of his power to swirl it into a vortex around the alderman, pushing back against his attempts to blow the fire outwards. Even drained, the sphere around him maintained its shape, only growing larger as the geckos continued to blast.

Another dozen crawled out of the ground behind Mara’s first set of companions, adding their flames to the prison in turn. Then another.

I didn’t realize they could direct it so precisely. But even as the thought entered his mind, the sight of the flames revealed what was actually happening. The ball of air surrounded by fire only existed because Jerome was pushing back against them.

They were trying to kill him.

Wait! he almost shouted, the words stuck in his throat.

Without human sacrifice to power his energy, the alderman couldn’t possibly hold out for long. His aura rippled within the sphere as he took a deep breath, the same ripple Lumière had shown when drawing on his life.

How much time was he losing, holding the crushing flames at bay? Weeks? Decades?

Wheezing heavily, Jerome dropped to the ground, unmoving. Only then, after Fernan shouted and waved his arms, did the geckos stop their assault.

Only then could Fernan take a minute to breathe, and see all of the villagers peering through the smoldering remains of the village gate in wide-eyed horror. Their aura’s were nearly invisible, dimmed with petrified fear. And it wasn’t directed at the geckos.