[RP Blitz] Beneath a Flame Eternal

After a grueling two-week journey across the kingdom of Blitzia, Idalia Caldera was no longer certain she wanted to return home. Idalia had been so determined at first—certain that everything would get better once she was simply home. Her assuredness had only wavered the longer she walked. With how many times she’d found herself utterly lost, there were times she thought she might not make it home even if she wanted to.

With a frustrated sigh, Idalia opened up her worn map one more time. It felt like she'd looked at it a thousand times by now, and still, it also felt like she was still lost. For all the things Vediatha taught her, map reading clearly was not one of them. Instead, she learned much more useful skills, like the perfect temperature to bake a batch of cookies, and how long chicken had to be cooked for.

If she looked really closely and tilted her head just right, it almost looked like the mountain marked on her map matched the one behind her. Idalia took that as a good sign---it meant Claymeadow was close. Idalia nearly ripped the map clear in half as she hastily rolled it up and shoved it in her satchel. If she was as close to Claymeadow as she thought she was, she wouldn't need it for much longer anyway.

Her feet hurt something terrible, and the entirely unnecessary new velvet shoes the Academy had supplied only worsened the pain. Perhaps Idalia simply had no eye for fashion, but pointed shoes were really inconvenient for walking long---very long---distances. It was almost enough to distract her from the yellowing grass beneath her feet. But not quite.

Even the few trees inhabiting the area wept from the chilly air, their vibrant leaves reduced to a rotten brown. Idalia was now certain she was lost, because this was not the Claymeadow she remembered. The forrest creatures seemed to have abandoned their habitat too, leaving the meadow eerily silent.

The only reason Idalia didn't turn right back around was because, there, just in the distance, she finally saw her home. It was so far away she almost missed it, but it was unmistakable. Idalia could never forget this place, no matter how long she was held away.

It was likely the fastest she'd travelled in her entire journey. Finally being able to see her destination put renewed vigor in her steps, and before she knew it, Idalia was back in the heart of Claymeadow after fifteen years of being held captive in a foreign country away from her family. Fifteen years of being so obviously different from everyone else, fifteen years of longing to return home, fifteen years of being alone.

And yet, Claymeadow now was just about as lonely as Vediatha. It was nothing like she remembered.

Idalia's memories of Claymeadow were filled with warmth and joy, of catching fireflies while a fire burned bright into the night. She remembered, distinctly, the vibrant atmosphere of the town, being surrounded by so much laughter, so much color.

The Claymeadow Idalia was met with now was devoid of all those hues. Through the windows of the homes, the candles remained unlit and abandoned. The typically flourishing fields were sparse, and even where the crops did grow, they were small and struggling to survive. Of the very few people that walked the streets, not one of them greeted Idalia. If they acknowledged her at all, it was with a look of disdain.

Idalia stopped dead in the middle of the street, her worst fears coming to fruition: what if her parents weren't here anymore? With how desolate Claymeadow was, there was a great chance her parents had fled with nearly everyone else. And worse, even if they were still here in Claymeadow, what if they didn't recognize Idalia? What if they didn't want her to come back?

But Idalia had traveled too far to turn back because of doubt. She still knew the way home by heart---exactly which paths to take, which home used to house the sweet old couple used to live, still filled with canldes, and which yards grew sunflowers late into Fianor. She knew the fire-orange color her parents painted their door years ago, and she couldn't help but smile down at the rugged "welcome" doormat that was there when she left.

Idalia hesitated at the door, hand half-curled into a fist, stuck in its indecisiveness. Idalia peeked through the window---the candles were lit. Only a small portion of her worries unfurled from her chest. She forced out a breath and smoothed back the stray pieces of hair in her face. Not that it would do much; Idalia certainly looked like she'd traveled across the world on foot.

Idalia knocked. Waited. Contemplated leaving and turning herself back in to The Academy. Decided that was the worst idea she'd ever had. The door opened.

"Hi," Idalia blurted out, so much air trapped in her chest. Her parents were there---both of them, faces slack with...something? Shock? Terror? "Um...I know it's---it's been a while, but I'm---"

"Idalia," her mother breathed out, her face twisting with emotion.

"Yes," Idalia agreed with relief. "I tried to send you guys letters, when I was first enrolled in The Academy, but I've been led to believe you never actually got them? Unless you did, and just---oh."

Idalia's rushed explanation was quickly cut off when her father stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. Idalia's arms hung awkwardly, and they stayed there even when her mother hugged her, too.

"We're so glad you're home," her father whispered.

Slowly, Idalia brought her hands up and hugged them back. She felt a welling in her throat, and she closed her eyes as she accepted the embrace. "I am, too."

While they stood in the doorway for an awkwardly long amount of time, Idalia managed to convince herself her parents needed that hug more than she did. In the end, though, it was her mother to pull away first. She didn't go far though, only enough to cradle Idalia's face in her hands, eyes watering as she smiled at her daughter.

"You've become such a beautiful woman," her mom praised.

Idalia laughed, if only for a lack of any better response.

"And your hair!" her dad tugged lightly on the end of her braid. "Did you cut it even once in Vediatha?"

Idalia laughed again, because what else was there to say, other than an expression of joy? "I think I might have once."

"Come in! Come in! Our baby is home, we must celebrate!" Idalia's mother pulled her inside, swiftly pushing her into a chair at the round oak table.

Idalia watched her mother swiftly move about the small kitchen, setting a kettle of water on the already-lit fire. She opened the tea cupboard, and Idalia knew it was the tea cupboard, and Idalia also knew it was jasmine tea that her mother took out. It was always jasmine for Idalia. Always.

Her father took a seat, and Idalia's mom joined after starting the tea. Idalia stared. Her parents stared back.

"So. I didn't see many people in town. Did many families leave Claymeadow?" Idalia broke the silence with a tight question.

"Crops haven't been growing like they ought to these past few years," Idalia's father supplied. "It's just been so cold. Yeilds keep getting lower, livestock started dying off from the lack of food. And then we started getting Loyalists poking around here, and..." he shrugged. "It scared our people off. They needed stability."

Idalia absorbed this information with a frown. She'd seen some of the effects of the impending prophecy in Vediatha, but not on a level quite like this. Sure, the winters had been colder, but Vediatha certainly wasn't experiencing near famine.

"We want to know about you, Idalia. It's been..." Idalia's mother paused, her eyes wet once again. "It's been almost sixteen years, Idalia. We want to know all about you."

Her parents waited expectantly. Idalia shifted uncomfortably under the attention. "The Academy was okay. They taught a lot of Servoir and Loyalist beliefs, and, of course, how to use my magic. I'm glad to be home, though." She left it at that.

Idalia's mother reached for her hand across the table. "We're so glad you made it back to us. We didn't know if we would ever see you again. Every night you were gone, I prayed---I prayed that you would come home. And you did. It took some time, but you came home."

"You're not here with The Academy, are you?" Idalia's dad asked bluntly.

"Valek!" Idalia's mom exclaimed.

"Well, I'm just saying! we don't need more Loyalists sticking their noses where they don't belong."

"You do not need to interrogate your own daughter, for Edona's sake! Idalia, don't listen to your father, he's being ridiculous."

Idalia's lips turned up at the squabble. "I didn't come with the Loyalists. I came alone."

"Good. Good, that's good," Idalia's father nodded.

Her mother rolled her eyes as she stood to go take the tea off the fire.

Idalia looked down at the table, starting off slowly. "Actually, there's another reason I came here. Of course, because this is home, and I've wanted to come back since the day I left, but---"

Idalia reached in her satchel and took out the torn page she'd taken from a Vediathan textbook. It depicted an ancient civilization, Ignia, with buildings that looked strangely remnicient of the ruins located in Claymeadow. According to the textbook, Ignia had once resided where Claymeadow now stood. And Ignia, as Idalia had learned, was quite a magical place.

"I think there's more to those ruins than just...ruins. I think there might be something buried beneath them."

The Caldera family kept the herd nestled in Blood Canyon for two good reasons. First, should the fence break down, the mouth of the canyon was a choke point that'd slow the stampede. Second, the steep walls provided natural respite from the scorching Claymeadow sun. On the hottest days, each and every horse put themselves in danger of rockslides with how close they hugged the cool canyon walls, salt-sweat running over their coats, tails swatting at flies.

Funny thing was, Faris hadn't seen a hot day in a good long time. For the past while, Syllor or Fianor, it was most common to see the Blood Canyon herd huddled in the middle, haunches quivering - and this time not from flies - trying to soak up whatever meager sunlight they could.

Luck was out for the herd the afternoon Faris swung himself over the fence to grab the oldest nag. The cloud covering was weak but somehow the sun was weaker, painting a strange but familiar picture. Everything had a gray wash to it, murky, like looking through day-old trough water.

The nag was a skeletal bay, front teeth rotted clean down to their stumps. In better times, Faris would take special care of her and give her a chance at a few more years, but these days there was just too little millet to go around.

Faris didn't bother to bridle her. He looped the rope around her neck and clicked his tongue, and she followed as obediently as a lamb.

As they walked back toward the gate, Faris noticed a tall shape leaning against a post. With the hazy duskside sun in his eyes, he had to squint to make out the shape as a person.

"She's a beauty," the Ebony envoy said, betraying her hometown the moment she opened her mouth. Once Faris was close enough to see it, the insignia on the clasp of her cape betrayed her, too. She had an oval face with a pointed chin and tightly coiled black hair pulled back into a braid. "What's the going rate of a horse of her caliber?"

Faris muffled a laugh. "Who's asking?"

Under innocent premises, she and another envoy had been sticking their noses in community affairs ever since they arrived earlier this week. He'd managed to steer clear of them until now. This one was either desperate or bored to hike all the way down the canyon.

The woman smiled, green eyes sparkling. "Where are my manners? Helena Windsor." She extended a hand. "I was told I could find Mr. Caldera here. Is that you?"

Faris stuffed the end of the rope in his armpit so he could unstrap a glove and wipe a sweaty palm on his chaps. "Faris Caldera."

Her skin was soft and uncalloused, but the grip was strong. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Faris. My family has owned Claymeadow horses since before I was born. Perhaps they even bought one from you."

Faris shrugged and pulled the glove back on. It wasn't unlikely.

"My companion needs a new mount. Would this one do?" Helena gestured to the bay with one hand and loosened the drawstring on her coin purse with the other.

In any other circumstance, Faris would laugh, but instead he narrowed his eyes. What game was she playing at here? She was a good actor, cocking her head in a friendly way, eyes all round and curious, but there had to be a crack somewhere, something that hinted at what angle she was coming from. The niceties were always a mask for something more sinister.

There it was: a tightening of the lips. She was irritated with how long he was taking to answer.

Good. He'd take longer.

"Well, you'd never find a more agreeable creature," Faris said, scratching under the bay's chin. She leaned into the scritches, stretching out her neck. "What would he use her for?"

Kidnapping children, a bitter voice in his head answered.

More than fifteen years had passed, but that day was as fresh in his heart as an angry red wound. An Ebony spy had hidden his identity under a straw hat and colorful patchwork cloak, content to linger near a ceremonial fire as though he belonged there. Little Idalia, believing herself among neighbors rather then wolves, coaxed the sparks to dance like fireflies, prompting bubbling praise from her friends. By sunrise, she was gone.

At least this one had the decency to wear the Ebony insignia on her chest. She may be hiding her intentions, but she wasn't trying to hide what she was.

Helena's flattened lips spread into a warm smile. "The journey here from Port Radix was hard on our horses. One of them saw a mountain lion and bolted, twisting his ankle. We need a reliable replacement to get us back home."

"Reliable? Say no more." Faris patted the mare's bony shoulders. "This girl won't spook, won't kick, and sure as Sylon won't bite." He left out the fact that she wasn't physically capable of such things.

"I trust your judgement," Helena said, shifting her weight to the other leg.

"You can trust her family tree, too. This mare's grandsire was one of the best stallions I ever broke. He had the heart of a dog and the courage of a dragon. And don't get me started on his oldest foal--"

As Faris drawled on and on about the mare's false lineage, he took delicious pleasure in knowing he was keeping Helena from her duties. With Blitzia on the brink of what many were calling the Prophetic War, King Rhys wouldn't be spending his resources on a diplomatic mission to Claymeadow without having good reason to.

"I'm sold," Helena interjected, just as Faris was about to launch into a story about the mare's twin sister. The envoy showed remarkable patience, but even she had her limits. She fished out a small handful of coins. "How much?"

Faris hesitated. Truth be told, he hadn't expected her to bite. She said her family owned horses, so she of all people would see that the old nag was nothing more than a pile of bones. Stringing him along as a potential customer was one thing, but actually paying up was another.

Then it struck him. Helena would know that buying an old horse wouldn't cost much, and that cost was a small price to pay for whatever intel she was trying to uncover. An exchange of pleasantries and a modest pile of coins, and suddenly she wasn't an outsider anymore, poking her nose where it didn't belong. Folks talked easier to customers, especially ones that just helped put food on their table.

Faris had no intention to sell her this horse or any other, for that matter. Best not to let her feel like he owed her anything. Besides, he'd promised someone else the nag.

Faris groaned, throwing in a theatrical face palm for good measure. "Fian blind me. I forgot."

"What is it?"

"The horse. I already sold her to the butcher."

Helena's olive complextion paled a notch. In spite of herself it seemed she'd grown fond of the old pile of bones. "I hope you mean the butcher needed a new mount?"

A huff of air escaped Faris' nose. He unlatched the gate and led the mare outside the paddock. He tipped his hat at the envoy as they walked past. "We're having horse stew at The Hearth tomorrow night - care to join us?"

Helena gasped.

Faris and the nag continued on their way up and out of Blood Canyon, and, blessedly, the envoy didn't follow.

It was a sad fate for any horse, but feeding the people of Claymeadow was becoming an increasingly trying thing. As Claymeadow had grown colder, hunger was the main reason so many had trickled out through Port Radix to the cities. Even the council was fractured, leaving old-timers like Faris to pick up the pieces and lead the remaining tribe however they could.

It was comforting to know that Etta, the butcher, would give the old horse an honorable sendoff into Nyrmaon, cremating whatever she didn't use and returning the ashes to Faris. Come Fianor, in the Solkiln tradition, Faris would use those ashes to sculpt something in honor of all the horses that served him and his people. He thought a water jug would be nice.

When they reached Etta's, Faris dropped the lead and said a little prayer for the horse, kissing her on the nose. Then he ducked inside.

"Faris!" Etta exclaimed. Her face was flushed with excitement. "What're you doing here?"

Faris jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I brought you the horse we talked about--"

"You didn't hear, did you? Your niece! She's back!"

His throat went dry. "...Idalia?"

The butcher nodded enthusiastically, curly hair bouncing. "She's at your brother's. Hold on, let me get you your coin, and then you can--"

Faris was gone without another word.