In Memoriam

A tribute to Firenze Firefrost, who died so his friend could live.

A curled fist slammed into the boy's nose with an audible crack. He howled in pain and lashed out at his attacker, knocking him back, but the others were closing in. He knew it was futile to fight, but his honour refused to let him give in. The boy kicked one of the others in the stomach, roundhouse-style, bringing him to his knees. He disregarded the blood pouring out of his broken nose and turned to the remaining attacker. He looked weary and had a huge purpling bruise on his chin, but still closed in.

The boy knocked the other to the ground with one blow. As he leant into the punch, however, someone shoved him hard from behind, sending him painfully to the unrelenting concrete. He rolled onto his back, feeling blood pour from his lips down his chin. Above him, the first one towered, mouth curled into a cruel smile. Out of the corner of the boy's eye, he spotted the second rising unsteadily to his feet. The third was still flat out on the pavement, though. The first raised a boot meaningfully. The boy didn't try to get away – he knew he wouldn't make it in time. Instead he curled into himself to protect as much of himself as possible, and braced himself for the beating he knew he was about to receive.

The first one brought the boot hard into the boy's back. He gritted his teeth painfully, determined not to cry out. His assailant kicked him again in the back, and then used the tip of his heavy leather boots to roughly roll the boy over. Another kick landed in his chest, and the boy almost screamed in pain. His ribs felt like they were on fire, and he felt several snaps. The first attacker landed another kick in his stomach, and the boy, unable to stop himself, vomited all over the expensive boots of his attacker.

His eyes flared in rage and he grabbed the boy by the collar, dragging him upright and pinning him against the wall. He slammed a fist into his temple, then again, and again. The boy's eyes turned foggy and his body slackened, no longer fighting. The second one watched, sniggering, as the first landed a final blow, knocking the boy unconscious. He let go of his collar and the boy fell, landing heavily on the ground.

The first one bent to check the boy's pulse when he heard his friend's chuckling cut off suddenly with a strangled half-moan. He spun around to be confronted with the sight of a tall boy with white-blond hair, stepping over the limp unconscious body of his friend haughtily. The first one, not the brightest bulb, swung a punch at the newcomer experimentally. The boy caught his fist in one hand, easily stopping him. He stepped towards the first attacker and, in one fluid motion, slid behind him and twisted his arm painfully behind his back. The boy cried out in pain and the newcomer neatly hit him in the back of the head. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed.

The boy knelt beside the boy the others had been attacking, checking his health. His frown deepened and he gently woke the boy. Upon waking, he flailed violently, his eyes snapping open. He froze when he saw the gang who had attacked him sprawled across the pavement. Scrambling to his feet, he glanced around and spotted his saviour standing to one side.

"Who are you?" he snapped, wary of the stranger. "What's your name?" The boy raised his hands defensively.
"My name is Firenze. Calm down, there's no need for that." The boy lowered his fists reluctantly, seeing this stranger was no threat.
"I'm Mike," he replied. "Um... Thanks, I guess..." He trailed off awkwardly, not sure what to say.
"Don't mention it," said Firenze, smiling. Mike smiled back briefly, then winced at the pain in his chest. Worry crossed Firenze's face and he moved forward to help, but Mike pushed him away.

"They're broken. You need a doctor," said Firenze.
"I'm fine," muttered Mike.
"You are not fine, and you know you aren't fine," insisted Firenze. "You need those sorted out."
Mike sighed and tried to think of a better solution. None came to mind.
"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes, but secretly grateful. "So, where to?"
"The doctor," Firenze said firmly. "There's one a few streets down from here, we can – "

"No!" yelled Mike frantically. Firenze gave him a questioning look.
"That's Chad's dad," he said, nudging the ringleader's head with his boot in way of explanation. Firenze sighed.
"There aren't any close by. What should we do?"

"I vote we head to the nearest one, apart from... that one," Mike said cautiously. Firenze agreed and they made their way through the darkening streets. When they eventually reached the building, Mike looked ready to drop. He slid down the wall, clutching his side and wheezing painfully. Firenze pulled him up, half-leading and half-dragging him to the door. A note was stuck to it, which Firenze pulled off and read quickly.

"Gone for the weekend. Will be back on Mondas," Firenze read.
"Great. Now what do we do?" asked Mike, annoyed. Firenze turned to him, an apprehensive look on his face.
"We have two options," he told him. "Firstly, we can go to the next doctor along."
"I... I don't think I can," mumbled Mike, ashamed of his weakness. "What's the second option?"

"You need to trust me for this to work," Firenze said softly. Mike nodded. Firenze placed his fingertips on Mike's shoulders and closed his eyes, appearing to concentrate intensely.
White light poured from the tips of his long fingers, encircling Mike and seemingly ending gathered above his heart. A strange tingling sensation ensued, followed quickly by pain. However, it quickly subsided, leaving behind no trace of the pain of his broken ribs. Firenze gasped from exertion and fell back against the wall, panting. Mike examined his ribs carefully – no blood or bruising of any kind, and they all seemed to be in place.
"How did you do that?" he asked excitedly. "Was that magic? How do you do magic? Who taught you? Where can..." Mike broke off as he remembered what his mother had said about wizards.

"Dirty, thieving scoundrels, the lot of them," he remembered her lecturing him. "They only use their magic for personal gain and hurting others, us 'lesser people'. Ha! Why would you need magic if you can get a good honest job, like farming or mining? You stay away from those magicians, son, if you know what's good for you." And so on. And on. And again, on, jumping from topic to topic like a flea jumping from dog to dog.

"Keep your voice down," hissed Firenze. "You know what people think of... people like me." He looked dejected and forlorn.
"Sorry I made you show me," said Mike awkwardly. He had never been very good at apologies.
"It's ok. Just don't tell anyone," Firenze said, smiling a little. "And you'll have to deal with that nose on your own – I'm fresh out on the magic front." Mike remembered his nose and wiped away the blood, not really bothered about the broken nose.

"It's fine, I've dealt with it before," he replied. "As long as I get home soon, I can fix it up." Firenze nodded.
"Good luck getting home," he said ruefully, peering into the sky. "By the look of those clouds, it'll be raining soon – very soon. Might want to get back before then." Mike nodded and they said their goodbyes, then set off in different directions as the heavens opened and the rain started to pour.