The Land Set Aflame

Chapter 9: The Blacksmith's Furnace

The night air was cool and crisp, filled with a thin haze and the odor of smoke from the wildfires as Callyndia crossed the cobblestone street to the blacksmith's shop.

She pressed her ear to the door. Two voices, both male. One of them sounded like Leofric Banin's voice, that telltale scholarly drone. The other was deeper, but unfamiliar. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but whatever it was, it sounded serious.

Just as she raised her hand to knock, she heard a third voice join the conversation, and she paused to listen. It was a soft, feminine voice. Too soft for Callyndia to pick out any words.

She had a sneaking suspicion she knew whose voice it was, though.

She listened a moment longer, waiting for a pause in the conversation that might make it seem a little less rude to knock. But eventually, when no such pause seemed forthcoming, she just knocked gently on the door three times.

The voices stopped suddenly, and she could detect a brief air of surprise and worry wafting out the window towards her. There was a sound of urgent whispers, and a bit of rustling about, and then the peephole opened and a pair of eyes looked out.

"Who is it?" asked the unfamiliar, deep voice.

"Callyndia Sablesong," she replied, "Is Mr. Banin in there?"

The eyes frowned a bit, then pulled away from the door. "Do you know a 'Calinda Sabresong' or something?" he asked, his voice muffled by the door between them.

"Ah, Lady Sablesong!" Leofric's voice responded. He sounded relieved. Maybe? "Yes, I know her. She's the one who charmed that rogue elemental. Let her in!"

The peephole latched shut, then the door unbolted and swung partially open. Warmth flowed out from the building, and Callyndia stepped inside, politely curtsying to the man behind the door.

His name was Drogan Hallis, she remembered. He was a lean, strongly-built man with mussed hair and a standalone mustache, dressed in the standard fare of the commonfolk. His eyes were directed downward in deference to the noblewoman.

"You don't have to look down," she said to him, gently touching his shoulder in appreciation for his show of respect, "I'm friends with Leofric."

"Lady Sablesong," Leofric said, "Delightful to see you! What brings a lady out this late at night?"

"You can call me by my first name, you know," she said.

The blacksmith chuckled. "Leofric doesn't call anyone by their first name," he said, "Unless they don't have a surname. It's kind of his thing."

"It's one of the few things I remember my mother teaching me," Leofric said, looking down in apparent embarrassment, "She was a courtier in Talgard, so that's how she was expected to speak. I kind of like it, so I've kept it up."

"That's sweet!" Callyndia said with a smile.

"So, what brings you here tonight, Lady Sablesong?" Leofric repeated.

"I wasn't sleeping well," she said, "I saw the lights in the window, and was just curious why you were still awake so far past the midnight watch."

"Is it past the watch?" Leofric asked, looking out the window as if he expected to see the position of the sun in the night sky, "Oh, Mr. Hallis and I are working on some projects together, and we usually use the watch hours. I hadn't realized it was so late."

Callyndia smiled. "I see," she said, "But I thought I heard a woman's voice just a moment ago. Did Mrs. Hallis retreat to bed or something?"

"Yes," Drogan said hastily, "The Missus is right shy in the nighttime. Bad things can happen to a woman who answers the door at night, you know?"

Drogan was a clumsy liar, but Callyndia doubted Leofric would have done any better. She was already spreading invisible tendrils of fairy magic out into the room, searching it surreptitiously for clues. "Yes, a woman can't be too careful," she agreed.

"Except for you, My Lady," Drogan said, sounding a little nervous, "I should say it's not a good idea for a woman to be out without protection this late at night. You know the goblins are out and about this time."

"Oh, goblins are harmless," she said dismissively, "I've never had trouble with them before."

"Maybe not in the court cities," Drogan warned, "But they're a mite ornerier out here in the Hills."

One of the threads of fairy magic touched something near the furnace, and the fire seemed to respond. "I appreciate your concern," she said, as she walked casually towards the furnace, "But I'm not entirely helpless: I should be fine."

"That is true, I suspect," Leofric chimed in, "She has fairy magic to protect her."

"You've fairy magic about you?" Drogan asked in surprise.

"I do," she said, smiling back over her shoulder at him and playing her fingers across the shutter on the furnace. She opened the shutter casually and held out her hands to warm them over the fire. As she did, she extended the thread of her fairy magic inside.

"Careful, Miss," the blacksmith said, "That fire's quite hot!"

She smiled knowingly at him. "I'll be okay," she said, "I'm just sending out a little invitation, is all."

"Beg your pardon?" Drogan asked.

Callyndia ignored him. "You can come out, dear," she said softly into the fire as her magic touched and charmed the flames inside, "I'm not going to hurt you. We may have a lot in common, you and I."

"Okay," came a soft, uncertain voice from inside the flames. The voice had a light, feminine quality to it, almost exactly how Callyndia had imagined it would sound.

Moments later, a bit of flame rose out of the furnace and resolved into a lovely woman's face, with hair of flames floating around it, an elegant torso beneath it, and a long, billowing dancer's gown at the bottom.

Callyndia looked back at the two men as she withdrew her fairy magic and gently closed the shutter behind Kithana. Drogan's eyes were wide, and his face was tense with anxiety. Leofric's lips were pursed and he nodded solemnly, as if he had fully expected this to happen.

"I can't wait to hear this story," Callyndia said.

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Thanks for reading chapter 9! I hope this new development wasn't totally obvious to you readers. The idea of a creature (or person) made out of fire is so fascinating to me. It's completely nonsensical, but I'm just completely taken by the idea anyway.

As a writer, I've always found it challenging to express and describe magic from the perspective of the practitioner. Callyndia's magic is an innate part of her, so she sees it as a natural thing, not unlike reaching out an arm or putting one foot in front of the other. If someone asked her to explain how it works, she might struggle with it: I imagine it would be like trying to explain to a foreigner why we say things the way we do in English.