Chapter 11

The Calling

Night had descended quickly on our camp. After Petrov had been returned to his room, the Thordin brothers showed us to theirs, which Trista, Rob and I would be dividing between us. The room had been built up a few feet higher than the main hall, with steps leading up.

Trista got Ven’s bed and I insisted Rob take Zven’s, which left me with the space of floor between them. It was more than comfortable enough after the Thordins spread a few layers of animal pelts out for me.

Despite the comfort of my bedding, it took considerable effort to fall asleep. I was far too excited to be back in Solandria once more. When at last I did sleep, I found it even more difficult to stay asleep. No sooner would I doze off then some noise would wake me. Most often it turned out to be one of the Thordins rustling about to throw another log on the fire, or worse, “sawing” logs with their obnoxiously loud snores. Eventually, the noise died down. Even the moaning wind outside our shelter seemed to end. All was quiet.

Determined to return to sleep, I rolled over and pulled the fur coverings tighter around my chin. Gradually, my breathing slowed and I began to drift off.

“Hunter.” A low whisper called into the silence.

I bolted upright, eyes darting between Rob and the bedroom doorway; both were still.

“Rob, did you say something?” I asked. No answer. Just slow breathing. I nudged his mound of blankets just to make sure he was still asleep. His breathing skipped a beat, but quickly returned to its rhythmic flow. Unless Rob talked in his sleep, it had not been him.

Wrapping the blankets around my shoulders, I strained to hear the voice again. Nothing came.

Just as I started to lie back down, the whisper repeated its call, “Hunter.”

Now fully awake, I was more aware of the voice’s tone this time. It was quiet, but not strained; calm and steady, but expectant; urgent, but not demanding.

I threw aside my covers and stepped out into the main hall, wrapping my coat tightly to keep out the cold. The fire was glowing softly now. Against one wall, I could see Ven (or was it Zven?) propped up with a blanket drawn around him. The other brother was conked out on the floor. Neither of them stirred when I walked into the room. They were both sound asleep.

I paused, waiting to hear if the voice would speak again.

“Hunter.”

This time I could tell it had come from Petrov’s room. Stepping over one slumbering Thordin, I walked over to the hide-covered door and pulled it back a bit, peeking in.

Just like in our room, there was a short hallway, but this one had a few steps leading down. A flickering light danced off the icy surfaces of the room below. He must be awake, I thought.

Not wanting to wake anyone, I whispered into the room, “Hello? Petrov?”

No reply.

Slipping inside, I descended the stairs and approached the raised slab of ice that served as Petrov’s bed. He was reclined on a pile of fur blankets, his injured arm exposed to the cold air and ice. I spotted his wound and shuddered at the sight of it.

Still keeping to a whisper, I inquired again, “Commander, did you…?”

“Hunter,” the ethereal voice called from behind me. The reflected light seemed to swell at the sound of the voice.

Turning around I noticed for the first time that the light was not coming from a lantern or torch as I had expected, but rather from an open flame that rested atop a pedestal made of ice. Somehow, this small flame was not melting the ice or consuming any substance, for that matter. It just was, of its own power.

Carry me.

The utterance clearly emerged from the Flame this time, each syllable emphasized by the pulsing of the firelight. Unsure of how to react to the phenomenon, I stood pondering the sight. Am I supposed to talk back to it? I wondered.

Carry me.

The message was repeated calmly, perhaps with a bit more force. It was both soothing and unsettling at the same time.

I cautiously stepped closer and extended a hand to feel for the Flame’s heat. Responding in kind, the Flame leaned in towards me till it touched my fingers. The touch was warm, not hot, much like an inviting summer breeze. My hand passed through the fire unscathed, and I watched in wonder as the Flame pooled into my palm, leaving its pedestal behind.

As it reformed its shape in my hand, the gentle Flame spoke again.

Carry me.

“Carry you where?” I asked this time, my voice trembling.

Torpor.

Completely transfixed by the fiery messenger, I was unaware that anyone else had joined me until a hand touched my shoulder.

“I see you found the Flame.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as I whirled around to face Petrov, now standing behind me.

With a questioning look, he eyed my hand holding the Flame and asked, “Or did it find you?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t really even know why I came in here,” I apologized. “I’ll put it back.”

“No!” he ordered, taking hold of my arm. “No, that’s not necessary.” His voice took on an unexpected urgency, “I think I may know why you came. Stay there. There is something you need to read.” He walked over to his bedside and lifted a large book off the floor with his good hand. It was his copy of the Author’s Writ. I helped steady his hand as he set the heavy volume on the vacant pedestal. Taking out his key, he unlocked it and laid it open. Then speaking to the book itself, he petitioned, “Tell us of the Consuming Fire.”

The once lifeless pages sprang into action, rising and falling until at last the requested one was reached. Slowly, the blank surface transformed, drawing its designated passage into focus.

“Read it aloud,” Petrov instructed me, pointing to the words that had appeared.

The Consuming Fire

Before the sun rises, darkness must reign;

For seventy times, light’s presence will wane;

But no shadow or power can hold back the light

when a new dawn of fire bursts forth from the night.

An eternal flame of consuming power

Will come to the faithful in their most desperate hour.

It starts with a spark—on the first will descend

To empower the chosen to stand ‘til the end.

So I, the Author, have written.

A wounded pillar the Fire will take;

A sleeping strength the Fire will wake;

A heart of stone from Fire gains sight;

A precious seed through Fire finds life;

A faithful captive the Fire unchains;

An ember of hope the Fire will claim;

The seventh of seven only Fire can name.

When the seven are marked the Fire will fall,

Not only for seven but on all who are called.

So I, the Author, have written.

When I had finished reading, I looked up at Petrov, expecting him to explain what I’d just read and how it related to the miraculous Flame still cupped in my hand. The Commander only returned my expectant look as he excitedly asked, “Did you feel anything just now as you read the passage?”

Had I felt anything? I wondered. I felt inspired, somewhat hopeful of things to come, but mostly I felt confused. “I’m not sure what you are asking,” I replied.

“No?” Petrov’s expression dimmed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing, forgive me…. It’s just that the passage has posed a mystery to me ever since I discovered it some weeks ago. I thought perhaps I was beginning to understand its meaning more clearly. It seems I was wrong.”

He carefully took the Flame from me and held it in his own palm. The moment it left my hand I felt a sudden loss—as if part of me was taken with it. Clearly, this was no ordinary flame. There was power here—real power. Something I didn’t want to part with.

“Where did the Flame come from?” I asked, as I gazed into the living light.

Petrov nodded toward the ancient book. “From the Author’s Writ. I was studying the prophecies still left unfulfilled when I came across the very passage we just read.”

“So, this little Flame…it’s the fire that is promised?” I asked in wonder.

“Yes and no. I believe this is only the beginning of the Flame, a spark of what’s to come. The seven must still be found. As the prophecy says, ‘When the seven are marked the Fire will fall.’ There is still more to come.”

As he repeated the phrase from the passage, the fire seemed to brighten a bit, pulsing in beat with each word he said.

“So, after the Flame marks these seven things, then the fire will…”

“Not things, people,” Petrov interrupted, “of whom I believe I am the first of the seven.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of this,” Petrov answered, pulling down the neckline of his cloak to reveal his left shoulder. There, just below his collarbone was a symbol of a three-tongued flame, emblazoned in a golden light. The light pulsed with life on his skin.

“Marked!” I exclaimed. “You were marked by the Flame?”

He chuckled, “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“Well, no… it’s just that… I mean, how?”

“As I read the passage aloud, as has been my habit in study, the Flame rose up from the words and I immediately felt a burning in here,” he clenched his hand over his heart. “When the mark appeared, it left little doubt that I was now one of the seven.”

“Then who are the others?”

Petrov only shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not know that. In fact, I didn’t even know exactly how I fit into the passage until I was attacked by the Xin warrior. What I did not tell you earlier was that I had been on my way to carry the news of this prophecy to the other captains and consult with them when the ambush came. The only way I escaped—by the power of the Flame—was when I was somehow spirited away to Galacia. I cannot explain how, as it happened so quickly. My assassin’s blade had only a second to graze me before I was miraculously engulfed in light and delivered here.”

“It still got enough of you, though.” I looked down at the festering wound on his arm.

“So it did, but on the bright side, it did make it painfully clear which of the seven I had been called as.” He tapped the open page on the description of the first sign.

A wounded pillar the Fire will take.

There was no doubt about it, Petrov had been wounded and taken away by the Flame. Couple this with the fact that he had been marked and it was easy to figure out that he was the first of the seven.

My mind raced ahead as I read down through the other six signs. “The other signs, could they be referring to the other Resistance leaders? There are seven captains in the Council,” I noted.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Petrov agreed. “It was one I wanted to explore. But, so far I have not been allowed to leave this hideout.”

“Because of your arm?” I asked.

“In part, yes,” he nodded and then lifted the Flame to our eyelevel. “More importantly, this is what has prevented me from leaving.”

“The Flame?”

He noted my dubious expression and explained, “I have tried to carry it outside my room on several occasions. But every time it returns here. As if it’s waiting for something…or someone. Who or what, I cannot say. That’s where I’ve been stumped with my understanding of this prophecy.”

“You say you tried to carry it?” I asked, suddenly recalling the whispered command.

“Yes,” the surprised Commander answered, eyeing me curiously once again. “Why do you ask?”

As I relayed tonight’s extraordinary events, about the voice calling my name and drawing me to the Flame, Petrov’s eyes widened. “It spoke to you, didn’t it?”

I nodded.

“What did it say?”

“It asked me to carry it…to Torpor.”

The light of the Flame reformed itself into a long slender shape, which left my palm, raising itself high overhead, encircling us in its blaze. Before I knew what was happening the Flame swooped down and sped toward me, disappearing into the medallion I wore around my neck.

Petrov was awestruck at the sight, breathing a word of thanks to the Author.

I lifted the medallion from my chest to examine it. At the touch of my hand, a sparkle of light flashed across the surface of the Author’s mark, assuring me the Flame was safe inside. Then the voice whispered to me once more.

Keep me. Carry me. Follow me.

Placing a firm hand on my shoulder, Petrov stood beside me.

“It seems you have been chosen again.”

“Chosen for what?”

“To carry the Flame where I am not meant to go!”

I swallowed hard at the thought of being chosen again. In a funny way, I had been longing for an adventure for months, but now that it was staring me in the face, I felt a bit wary—not because I didn’t want to go, but because the memories of how badly my last efforts had turned out reminded me how likely I was to fail. After all, it was my fault the Resistance base in Sanctuary had been compromised; my fault Aviad had gone missing.

“Still doubting are you?” Petrov questioned, reading my thoughts perfectly. “If I remember correctly it was a moment not unlike this one that launched your last quest. You doubted the Author’s choice then as well, did you not?”

“It’s not the Author I doubt,” I clarified. “It’s me.”

“It is okay to doubt your own strength, so long as you realize the Author’s choice in the matter is perfect. You were chosen for a reason. Don’t let fear of the Shadow steal your joy in this moment, Hunter. You have a great task in front of you.”

His words inspired me, and right then I determined this was my chance to set things right. I had been given a second chance to prove to the Author that I was worthy to be a Codebearer.

“Yes, sir, you’re right of course. It is an honor I will proudly bear.”

“Good,” Petrov stated. “You will carry the spark in search of the remaining six, but you must not let anyone know where it is hidden unless it reveals itself. This may be the last hope of survival for the Resistance. The Flame must not fall into the wrong hands.” He looked down at his own wounded arm and back at me. “Understand?”

I nodded and tucked the medallion back into my shirt.

Petrov smiled proudly.

“The Author is with you, my boy; he holds all things together. If you follow the Flame it will never lead you astray.”

“I know,” I answered, “I’m ready.”

Taking me by the shoulder, Petrov lowered his brows, looked me dead in the eye and said, “It seems your next mission in Solandria has just begun.”