He was a strange sort all right.
Red hair, fiery red, like the flames he toyed with.
Green eyes, sorcerer eyes, for green was a magic color.
He joined the gypsy camp, showing off his skill with flame, and Clopin hired him on the spot. Fire attracts crowds, and crowds bring the income. Besides, no gypsy ever turned another away, and this fellow certainly needed help. His body was painfully slim, like he hadn't eaten in days. Clopin filled a bowl of stew for him, and he wolfed it down without pause.
He said his name was Eal. He came from an orphanage in the east, within range of the great desert. He learned from a man there how to control flame. He claimed he came west to escape the strange shadows plaguing his land, stealing the hearts of many with their dark claws. While a number in the campfire circle laughed off the tale, more looked anxious. There had been rumors circling their route for nearly a year, of a dark force coming from the eastern lands. While this added yet another strain to the already difficult life of a gypsy, the sales of charms, talismans, and fortune readings were up, for even the townspeople were becoming anxious.
Still, whatever his background, he was a crowd pleaser. He loved the spotlight and did not disappoint. He conjured flames from nowhere and juggled them, threw them, swallowed them, never once burning himself. He performed on the steps of Notre Dame, teasing crowds with the promise of flames hotter than Hell itself, igniting the rage of one Minister Frollo, who realized too late the irony in his claim that he would burn the gypsy at the stake for his heresy. Eal laughed the threat off and disappeared in a burst of flame and smoke as the bellringer began his rounds, earning favor from the crowd who applauded his showmanship.
He performed in Paris for nearly two years as a crowd favorite until the shadows came. He recognized the strange monsters raising themselves up from the ground, making a beeline for the audience. He dropped his flames and shouted a warning – a woman screamed, and the crowd scattered, pushing and shoving each other out of the way, trying to escape the black devils. Eal conjured a burst of flames, fighting the darkness with fire, even as they clawed at his body. One of them reached its mark and he staggered backwards and clutched at his chest, still trying to keep the shadows at bay. He groaned in pain and fell to his knees as he was surged with Heartless, extinguishing the fire in his heart for good.
It was raining. Of course it was raining. Makes a bad situation worse, just in case you were trying to be optimistic. He wandered around the dark city, silently gathering up his memories as they came back to him. When he was found at last, he committed three things to memory permanently;
I know who I am.
I know what I was.
And I know what to blame.
I liked writing this one. The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a favorite of mine. But I think Number Nine is my best work so far for this series. So stay tuned!
Owning Nothing (metaphorically and literally speaking) - SilverInkblot
