Chapter 6: Dance with Fire
Kephra and Absalom ran out of the Black Pit Mines as fast as they could, carrying their wounded friend in their arms. They were all but brothers in war now, fighting alongside one another for the same goal: freedom.
And now they had achieved it.
They ran until the sun was beginning to set in the western sky and they finally slowed down. The area around the Black Pit Mines was actually very lush and full of life; full of pine, alders, spruces, firs and other trees that made their way in the colder reaches of the mountains. Streams full of the run off from melted snow off the peaks wove their way through the mountain sides, carving miniature canyons as they made their way down. The air was crisp with the bite of late autumn. The season was much later than Kephra had originally realized during his tenure in the Mines, where all sense of time was lost on him.
"We should stop here for the night," Absalom said to Kephra, Micah still in his arms. The raichu jeweler had fallen into what appeared to be a fitful sleep. "So we can clean Micah's wounds." They were in a small glade off the beaten path the Tao soldiers had used to make their way to and from the Mines. Three boulders took up the bulk of the space and a small creek bordered one side of the clearing, but at this point, the trio did not care.
Kephra nodded and gently placed Micah down, propping him against one of the boulders. The raichu's eyes fluttered weakly opened and he moaned slowly, one hand going unconsciously to the wound.
"We need to examine it," Absalom told Micah softly, moving his hand away. The charmeleon probed the gash and Micah hissed sharply in pain. The wound was ugly and deep, on the outside of his right leg, but thankfully, no bones appeared to be broken; however, the wound was filled with dirt and clotted blood and they needed to clean it to prevent festering of the wound, a common occurrence on the battlefield.
Absalom turned to Kephra. "Go find some moss off of one of the trees and then dip it in the creek. We can use it to help flush the wound out." The charmeleon had wandered over to the river, to wash the dirt out of his parched throat. Fire-breathing had taken more out of him than usual.
Kephra nodded wordlessly and went off into the woods, seeking moss.
When Kephra was out of earshot, Micah spoke up. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"
Absalom, who had been crouched at the creek drinking, sputtered out the water. "Of course not! The wound just looks ugly, the leg isn't broken and it can be thankfully patched up."
"But where are we going to get it patched up? We aren't anywhere near a temple or a village."
"I know some minor healing things," Absalom explained. "It's not extensive knowledge, but it is enough to keep you alive."
Absalom came over, water cupped in his hands. "We can start to do some cleaning, before Kephra returns." He poured some of water over the wound, washing away some of the water and dirt surrounding the opening. "This will also help me get a better look at it too." The wound was jagged, going up almost the entire length of Micah's leg.
"It's awfully ugly," Micah pointed out groggily.
Absalom bit his lip, wondering if he should say it. "Yes, it is." he admitted.
"I'm back with the moss," Kephra held up a wad of forest green moss. "I also found some kindling for a fire."
"Wouldn't that be dangerous?" Micah asked, concerned that soldiers from the road would see and recapture them.
Absalom mulled it over and then shook his head. "It would take a while to send soldiers here. Besides from what I could tell, no guard escaped the Mines alive. The only way they would be able to figure out what happen is if they send another convoy of slaves and soldiers, which could take a while considering that the Tao army is now becoming entangled in the Sky Kingdom's wilderness." Absalom took the moss from and Kephra and went over to the creek, dipping the moss into it. Once he declared it sufficient, he came back over and gently dabbed at Micah's open wound with the moss, cleaning it as best as he could. The raichu hissed and groaned as Absalom cleaned.
"Must it be so painful?" he asked between gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry," Absalom replied helplessly. "But it has to be done before it festers."
Kephra crouched and watched quietly, placing the wood he gathered into a small but tidy pile. He attempted to light it with a spark off his fingers, but it failed to to light the partially damp wood. He attempted it a few more times before he growled in frustration and reached for Absalom's tail and sticking the tail flame into the pile of kindling. The plan worked and the pile of kindling burst into flame, giving the charmeleon some light to work by.
"Hey!" Absalom protested. "That's attached you know."
"I know, but I couldn't get it to light up. I figured your tail would be the best option." Kephra explained.
Absalom yanked his tail out from Kephra's grip and continued to work at Micah's wound. "I wish I had something to tie the moss with." he muttered under his breath.
"Tie the moss with?" Micah asked, curious. "Why would you need to do that?"
"It would help absorb blood should it start bleeding again, plus it will serve as a bandage, keeping the fester out." Absalom handed Micah a piece of moss. "In the meantime, keep this pressed to your leg and we'll clean it out again later."
"Must we?" Micah grumbled, holding the moss to his leg.
The trio sat around the fire, each absorbed in their own thoughts. They were free yes, but they were woefully unequipped for survival, armed with Absalom's sword and a knife that Micah had pilfered off a corpse, and carrying a wounded comrade. It was a grim situation, but it was far, far better than working as slaves in the Mines.
Kephra decided to speak, the sounds of silence too much for him at the moment. If he was quiet, he could hear the sounds and cries of battles, the moans of the dying and wounded, the clash of metal upon metal. He begged for sound, lest he would hear that in his head. "What are you going to do now, Absalom?"
The charmeleon was quiet. "I don't know," he said finally. "I can't go home exactly. It's so far away." He fiddled with one of the errant pieces of kindling. "I helped arrange the rebellion and your escape. I'm a traitor to the Tao Army now. Nothing more than a Sky sympathizer," he added mournfully. "And you?"
"I'm not sure either." Kephra admitted. "I never expected to ever escape Black Pit Mines. I toyed with the idea when I was first enslaved, but as time wore on, I gave up on ever being free. Now that I am though," he paused. "I don't what to make of myself.
"All I know though is that I'm going to get my home back, the home of my father and his father before him. I'm getting it back, even if it means joining the Sky army, or whatever is left of it, and fight the Taos, no offense to you," he added hastily for Absalom.
Absalom shook his head. "I'm no Tao, not anymore. I killed fellow soldiers. I guess that means I'm a Sky rebel as well." Absalom added derisively.
Kephra snorted and studied the flames intensely, watching their dance upon the kindling. He watched the blue cores, the centers of the fiery dancers, flicker in and out, alive for only a moment before being wiped out of existence. Stories have been told of fire pokemon being able to read the flames, to tell of portents past and future, tearing away the veil of mysticism and revealing the profound truths of the universe. It was a rare ability to have such a thing, hence, the stories.
"Kephra?" Absalom called out. The blaziken looked up, the heat of the flames comforting on his person on this cold autumn night. "I. . .I didn't offend you, did I?"
Kephra shook his head. "No, I never really did consider you a Tao in the first place. You neither, Micah."
"Well good," Micah snorted. "Because I was never a Tao in the first place, remember?"
The comment brought a smile to their faces, the tugging motion at the corner of his mouth feeling out of place on Kephra. He imagined his lips and face cracking at the gesture. "I can take the first watch," Kephra said.
"Then I'll take the second watch," Absalom added, lying down in the dirt, tail tucked in around him.
"And me?" Micah asked.
"Rest," Kephra told him. Micah muttered something under his breath about "being babied", but closed his eyes nonetheless, rapidly falling asleep.
Kephra remained awake, watching the ever moving fires. His mother, Selene, had told him the tale of the "fire-readers", those who could seek the fortunes of those around them in the fires. She told him of a arcanine in her home village who had the ability. She told him how he would fall in a trance while staring at the heart of the flames. The arcanine would stare into the heart for hours on end, only to come out of it confused, prophecies on his lips. She had seen him do this once, shortly before she had met his father.
"Fire-readers have a very special gift," she had told him one cold winter night, Kephra sitting on her lap as she told him tales of mighty warriors and legends, the pair sitting at the cheerily burning hearth fire. "But they must use it wisely and carefully, for not all wish to hear of their futures, nor of their past."
"But why not mama?" Kephra had asked, a torchic then.
"Because," she had fumbled for an answer, a reason. "Because not all wish for their secrets and desires to be exposed."
"Could I be a fire-reader mama?"
Selene, in her infinite wisdom, had smiled at her youngest son, a curious one, and a caring and sensitive one. "If the All-Father desires for you to be a fire-reader, then a fire-reader you shall be."
Kephra sighed, the memory fading from his mind. His mother had truly cared for him, his father on the other hand, only cared if he had a place. Akhum was the heir, Ezra the priest. Kara was to marry another and be the queen of her household.
Kephra, well, Kephra was the extra, the accidental son. Ahkom had desired for him to be a soldier in the Sky Kingdom, to carve out a career like he had. Kephra had been too sensitive for war and combat, and the rather strict lifestyle of a priest didn't appeal to him either, thus, leaving him in flux, much to his father's disapproval. "How ironic now," Kephra mused to himself, looking down at his hands, imagining the blood dripping from them. Turned out he wasn't that sensitive to war. "Take a look at me now father!" he imagined himself calling to the skies, now black with the covering of night, the thousands upon thousands of stars twinkling in reply. "I am the warrior you finally wanted!"
He wanted to cry now, emotions from two years bubbling up. But he ignored it; there would be time for mourning later. He reached around the fire and pulled out the knife from the earth, where Absalom had sunk it. He stood up, stretching his long legs and wandering into the woods. Absalom, ever the engineer turned soldier, would disapprove of Kephra leaving the site Kephra however, had some personal business to deal with.
The stars provided little light for him to see by, so the blaziken concentrated on his left wrist, the flames coming to life. The woods this time of night were dark and foreboding, dark shadows, the grounds around their thick, gnarly trunks occasionally lit up by the night sky, showing. Yet, despite this, the woods were full of life, evident by the sounds and noise around him. The fires on his wrist flared to life and Kephra concentrated once more so that they died down to nothing more than a glow. He held his hand up, using it as a torch to light his way. He was looking for something, something important.
Every now and then, he would examine a branch, then discard it. None of these would do; they were much too soft. But then, he stumbled over a large branch and he crashed to the ground, cursing said branch and its ancestors, imagining horrific things to inflict on them. He got off his hands and knees and brought his wrist close, examining the object that had caused his fall. He almost burst out laughing when he saw it. The branch was long, straight and sturdy, about six feet long and two inches across in diameter. Kephra reached for it, tugging on it to remove the extraneous branches and leaves that had fallen on it. The branch looked old, which was perfect, for the blaziken had no time to season the wood. He plucked it off the ground and headed back the way he came, smiling for the second time that day about his good fortune.
He knelt back by the fire of their campsite and began to work. Using the knife, he hacked off the twigs and smaller branches that extended out from the main branch. He worked slowly, getting the knife as close as he could to prevent little knobs from appearing on the shaft. The work was soothing and relaxing, cutting away at the excess branches, smoothing it down as best as he could. If he had a professional set of tools, he would have found some grit, to further smooth down the shaft. He hefted the branch, satisfied with the progress. It would serve for the time being.
He then began to whittle away at the top of the staff, shavings coming off and dropping off into the flames, which devoured the pieces like they had been offerings to primordial gods. The blaziken continued to work, until he had a tapering point about seven inches long. To keep the wood from splitting at the worst time, he held the end over a flame, in a process called fire hardening. The tip was close enough to feel the effects, but not close enough to catch alight. Then, he buried the tip into the earth underneath the fire, further hardening it. The entire process brought back numerous memories to the surface, some good, some painful. When he had been a boy, a combusken, a friend of his father's, a sceptile, had come to visit their estate. The sceptile had been a famous fisherman in the Island Nation of Obliverae, a common practice among the people there. His father's friend had decided to teach a young Kephra the art of spear fishing. Of course, the sceptile had different ideas than most spear fishermen.
"Now Kephra," the sceptile had told him, the pair sitting on the riverbank of a nearby swiftly flowing stream. "Many fishermen use harpoons for their trade, staffs of metal and bone, but not I. I think the use of metal alters the taste of the fish. So, I use wooden spears."
"You do?" Kephra had asked. "How do you make them?"
The sceptile had chuckled. "I'll show you."
Kephra pulled the improvised spear from the fire, testing the point of the weapon. It was sharp, pricking his fingertip when he tested it. A single droplet of blood dripped down his fingertip, landing in the fire.
And then he saw it.
Visions, dancing in the heart of the campfire. He was taken aback, thinking it was merely an exhaustion induced hallucination, but he leaned in closer, to get a better picture. There were images of a hill, three figures attempting to climb it, ferocious figures after them. Then, of a coliseum, towering over shorter buildings withstanding the test of time. He saw inside the coliseum, of a lone figure with th silhouette of a blaziken raising a spear to the sky, then dropping it to the earth below. Lastly, of a ghostly figure enshrouded in a white and gray robe, the cowl obscuring its save save for its haunting gold eyes that seemed to pierce right through Kephra, into his soul, even though the blaziken knew it was merely a trick of the flames.
"Seek me, and I will give you all that you wish for," the figure told him, turning its face to gaze upon Kephra with its golden eyes. The stranger in the fire held up one hand, revealing a clawed hand. "And I will bring justice to the land once again." the ghostly stranger vanished, taking the other visions with it. Kephra blinked, utterly amazed at the events that had just transpired.
"Am I a fire-reader?" Kephra wondered, the spear clattering from his hand. "Or am I imagining things?"
"Hmm?" Micah stirred from his sleep, heavy-lidded eyes peering at Kephra. "Did you say something?"
"No, don't worry about it," Kephra reassured him. "Go back to sleep."
Micah closed his eyes once more, falling into a fitful sleep. Kephra studied the fire, wondering if the vision would return. He doubted it and reached for Absalom, to awaken him for the next watch.
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He was a soldier by trade who had risen up to the rank of general by a young age. He was ruthless and efficient, a rare combination in his world. General Rufus Tiber, emboar and commanding general of the Tao Army, gazed out at his army, currently camped at the entrance of a valley. They had recently conquered the resource rich Taso Valley, known as the "breadbasket" for the Sky Kingdom; their progress was slowed unfortunately, but rain, an unfortunate side affect of fighting a war in the autumn, but it was what the Fire and Thunder Emperors, Reshiram and Zekrom, demanded. The downpour had turned much of the area into mud, mucking up the wheels of their siege engines and supply wagons. General Tiber had ordered the soldiers of his four legions to cut down the forests that rimmed the Taso Valley, using the wood as planks to help move the siege engines out of the mud.
As a fire-type, he disliked the rain, but it was a necessity. Thankfully, his bronze hued, centurion inspired armor covering the bulk of his girth blocked out most of the rain. The feathered crest on his Corinthian styled helm, however, was suffering from the steady downpour, drooping over on one side. The tendrils of the crest tickled his boar like nose, eliciting a snort. His cape, bright red and going to his feet, sagged with the weight of the rain.
"Blasted rain," he cursed, his heavy-set claws fingering the haft of his weapon, a massive double bladed ax that could cut through nearly anything. It was a gift from the Tao Emperors, a reward for his initial excursion into the Sky Kingdom. One head of the double bladed weapon was stamped with the pattern of flames, a faint red and orange enamel coated over it, the symbol of Reshiram; the other head was stamped in lightning bolts, enameled in gold, the symbol of Zekrom. Kyurem had been neglected in the design, for he had disappeared shortly before the war.
"Sir?" it was his personal alchemist, Siegfried, was an alakazam, with long drooping whiskers an a pair of half moon glasses perched on his snout. The pokemon was dressed in the long, draping white and gold robes that signified his high ranking in the Tao Empire's Council of Alchemists. Those of the very top rank wore red and gray robes. He carried a oaken staff mounted with a hunk of transparent rock crystal, a very rare mineral, and pouches full of his alchemical supplies. He did not carry the twin spoons that were so common among his kindred, preferring his staff to project his psychic energies through.
General Tiber snorted once again, turning his head to acknowledge his assistant. "Can't you make this blasted rain go away?"
"I'm afraid I cannot," Siegfried turned his head upwards at the sky. "I may be able to transmute stone to mud and metal from a liquid to a solid, but I cannot control the elements. I am, unfortunately, not an elemental alchemist like so many of my comrades."
"Harrumph," General Tiber grumbled. "Then why do I have you around again?"
"Because I am a telepath and have the ability to predict and prevent those Sky rebels from assassinating you in your sleep. Plus, I was sent here by the Tao Empire Council of Alchemists and the Tao Emperors-"
General Tiber dismissed his statements. "Very well then." He gazed out at the hundreds of tents camped and the numerous siege machines at his disposal. At the moment though, due to the steady pouring rain and the thick woods surrounding their post, they were able to make little progress into the heart of the Sky Kingdom. "All-Father thrice demned rain."
Siegfried held one clawed hand to the temple of his forehead, closing his eyes. "Sir, some of the commanding officers wish to see you. They are concerned about the progress of the army and their dwindling supplies."
General snorted derisively. "They're always complaining about something or another. They'll probably whine about the rain next."
Siegfried chuckled at the remark. " Like you are, General?" he thought, then added, out loud. "Would you rather walk there, or shall I teleport us?"
"Teleport us, if you will. I would rather stay out of the rain as much as possible."
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Siegfried teleported the pair to General Tiber's tent, where the other commanding officers, known as "praetors", were waiting. The pair of guards keeping watch over General Tiber's tent saluted smartly, their armor clinking, their spears clattering, the sounds muffled by the rain. General Tiber ignored their efforts, sweeping past them and storming into the tent, a dark look on his face. Siegfried scampered hurriedly behind the general, apologizing profusely, holding onto his glasses and flapping robes, all while juggling his staff.
General Tiber was greeted by about six praetors, the leaders of the six legions General Tiber brought with him in the initial assault of the sky Kingdom. "Well?" he sneered, half-tempted to beat them to a bloody pulp for daring to defy and question him! And in defying him, they were defying the wishes of the Tao Emperors, who had specifically appointed him for the task of invading the Kingdom of Rayquaza. One praetor, an absol dressed in pale bronze armor, the helm emphasizing his crescent shaped horn, spoke first.
"General, there has been fermenting discontent about the campaign being led."
"Like what?" General Tiber growled, seating himself in a large chair constructed of carved mahogany and cedar, the back and seat covered in plush red velvet. He unsheathed his ax and placed it across his lap, one hand resting lightly on his weapon.
When the absol struggled to foment a response, a golem, dressed in only bracers and a helm to protect his face, continued. "Many of them are unsatisfied with the progress of the campaign and are displeased with the quickly dwindling rations."
"They are." General Tiber leaned back in his chair, the structure creaking under his girth, more muscle than fat. He was turning over an idea in his head, one that would cease the seeds of rebellion from taking root in his army. "Very well then. Who exactly are the main instigators of these "rumblings"?"
"Soldiers mainly," a bisharp praetor offered. "But a handful of officers as well."
"Bring those soldiers to me," General Tiber commanded. "And have them air their issues with me directly."
"General?" the absol queried. "What are you planning to do with them?"
"I'm only going to have a little discussion with them." General Tiber replied, slowly getting up from his chair, careful movements that belied his girth, suggesting years, maybe decades of training his body to the peak perfection, showing off his control and strength without actually showing it. He gestured to the praetors. "Now, be off and bring those soldiers to me."
They nodded and scurried out of the tent, leaving General Tiber and Siegfried alone. Siegfried settled himself in a cushion across from General Tiber, next to a large table, maps sprawled across it. "Sir?" Siegfried asked cautiously, his almost timid response breaking the heavy silence.
General Tiber, who had since seated himself once more, stirred. "What is it, Siegfried?" he snapped waspishly. He had been concocting a plan, and he did not need the bookish, if logical alakazam intruding on his thoughts.
"What exactly are you planning?"
General Tiber turned slowly to him, a malicious smile highlighting his massive tusks, one of which was broken at the tip. "I'm figuring out how to deal with these would-be dissenters. I cannot have a rebellion stewing in my ranks, especially when were so close now, now can we?"
Siegfried shuddered underneath his robes and it wasn't because of the cold dampness of the environment. "You mean to kill them."
"Publicly." Tiber corrected him.
Siegfried swallowed before he spoke. "But wouldn't that just create more rebellion?"
"You are disagreeing with me?" General Tiber said, a dangerous tone creeping into his voice.
Siegfried squirmed under General Tiber's steely, if piggy-eyed, scrutiny, making him extraordinarily uncomfortable. "What I mean—what I—what I meant was that it would be very costly for you to kill those soldiers, and then have to do it again because some other soldiers, and possibly costly, well-trained officers, rebelled against you."
"I know full well what I'm doing and if other soldiers decide to revolt as well, then I'll strike them down as well. We'll be receiving more legions within a fortnight, so what is a few soldiers to me?" Tiber shifted his chair to the table and the sprawling, hand-inked map. Small figurines made of pewter and painted in bright colors, representing the Tao Empire's legions, were scattered across the map, pinpointing the locations of the legions. He dismissed Siegfried with a wave of his hand. "Leave me. I will call you when I need you."
Siegfried nodded curtly and started to leave, when his foot caught on the edge of his robe and the alakazam stumbled, muttering under his breath about "tailors" and "hemming" as he left.
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General Rufus Tiber's name comes from a couple of places. The first is that the word "Rufus" means "red" in Latin. Incidentally, many Roman Governors and King William the II of England were known as Rufus—a nickname in King William II's case. Tiber is a river in Italy, and since the Tao Empire takes many of its inspirations from the Roman Empire, the names seemed very fitting.
The Tao Empire's army is also based off the Roman style, with legions and centurions and praetors and what not. A legion is made of 6000 men and at the moment, General Tiber has six legions under his command, with two more on the way, equaling to around 21,000 soldiers( he has lost about three thousand soldiers since his campaign began) which includes medics, cooks, engineers and alchemists, with 12,000 more on the way.