Ærlighet: Flames and Shadow

A young mage comes into his own as he attempts to prepare for a test.

I

         Two robed figures walk down a secluded forest path. One’s face was beguiling, no older than twenty-five but held a mix of centuries wisdom and childlike amusement. His build was reminiscent of a redwood. His golden hair cascading down his head, neatly placed in a braid with bangs falling over darkened skin from long travels. The other, teenage one, was the opposite. He held himself like a lion, confidently and assertively, with hair that looked ablaze in the morning sun, weaving and falling on his pale and faintly scarred face. Otherwise, he was slender, stiff, and unremarkable if not dishonest. The younger one, currently riled up from a recent shortcoming, began to speak.

“Come on, Bragi,” the younger one said. “If it wasn’t for me forgetting my tome, I would’a passed that! And even you’ve got to admit that trial was especially hard!” 

Bragi, responded, “Emile, even if you did have it, no amount of preparation would have assisted you. Your memory shouldn’t have been a problem if you were truly ready.” 

“What does that even mean! You’ve given me this test multiple times, every time I’ve been better than the last!” Emile let out an exasperated sigh. “Magic is an intelligence and skill-based practice, so the test’s impossible.” 

“No. You assume that I’m talking of magic.” Bragi heard Emile’s annoyance before it entered his throat. “You must acquire something that most adults and I share, but not something younger people often have.” Bragi paused for a while before continuing. “I should tell you; this next test is the last.” 

Emile panicked, but put it down before it grew.

The pair came to their home, a rather large cottage for being completely secluded in the forest. It was a dreamlike place, awash in books from far off lands and times. All were a part of Bragi’s collection. Some rooms were dedicated just to storing books and items, and strangely, some rooms came and went depending on if someone required their contents. Emile was allowed access into Bragi’s own study. He made use of the knowledge in there that he could understand. Emile’s was secluded from the rest of the house and the only room with a lock in the door, something he did himself. It held the essentials but was littered with the most exciting or knowledgeable books, and a single window that remained closed most of the time, only occasionally being cracked open for light.

“Now Emile,” Bragi spoke, “I must leave yet again, so take care of yourself. I will return within the week. You have all that time to try and learn, and I do so hope that you will pass this time.” 

“Oh, can’t you stay just one day? You always take off right after coming back.” 

“Goodbye and good luck my young, daring friend!” 

“Alright, but if I pass this next one, you better not go traveling for a whole month, you hear?!” Bragi left without looking back, leaving Emile by himself.

Emile loathed when Bragi left him on his own. Emile was caught between his own apprehension and panic. Fear of failing once more and disownment, as Emile understood it, paralyzed him. Anger at what he perceived as slights against his skill drove him to show his ability. He extinguished both feelings before they could rise, but they proved to be trick candles. Emile decides to explore the forest and begins to gather his things.

He collects a tome, well-worn and written in, as well as a small bag. The brown bag was ordinary except for the detailed flame framed with gold thread embroidered on one side. It was a painstakingly crafted gift from Bragi to Emile, to use for whatever he wanted. Emile kept his variety of chocolates inside the bag. His favorites were the milk chocolates for how sweet and soft they were. He liked the dark chocolates considerably less; they’re often too bitter and hard for his palate.

During this, Emile cursed his memory for forgetting what Bragi’s criticism was and only recalling that he planned to search for help in the forest. Part of him was glad to not be dwelling on whatever he had failed at.

II

         Emile made his way to a grove secluded within the forest. He entered, found a dwarf and elf sitting at a rock engaged in argument. He approached and said, “Excuse me.” 

“Silence, boy,” said the dwarf, who as dwarves are, stout barrels full of passion. “Me and him are arguing, and he’s losing! Let me finish this!” 

“Oh bother,” replied the elf, “Let him speak, it’ll only be a moment.” The elf had a statuesque tranquility which hid a peculiar cunning, which Emile remained cautious of. “You’re the boy with old Bragi, what are you doing here? All on your own? And please, do not mind that she-dwarf. Always interrupting!” The elf laughed.

“Well, Bragi’s given me a really difficult test,” Emile started, “and I came here to try and get some advice on it. I’m thinking that-” 

“Bah, I’m no good with magic! And that elf over there - all he knows is parlor tricks, making himself prettier, I don’t know!” 

“Hey!” A rather indignant response from Emile. He tried to come off as commanding. “I was in the middle-” 

“Maybe you can help us,” said the elf. “We been talking about forms of governance. She’s been insisting on a democracy for hours.” 

“People are self-motivated.” The elf sounded like a parent reprimanding the child. “Everybody ties to attain their desire, no matter what or who gets in their way. A form of governing based on such a thing would be no better than anarchy trying to pass itself off as a legitimate country. People need a ruler, a king, that can make larger decisions for the people.” 

Trying to remember what he was here for, Emile was drawn into the conversation and asked, “Wouldn’t the king be self-motivated too? So, what exactly is better about a king? And if the king messes up what happens then?” 

“The boy has a point, much like yer ears!” The dwarf’s laugh felt like a warm fire. “Aye, the people elect a leader from among them, then they can rest knowing that the person they chose ‘as similar interests to them. Unlike a king, another leader can jus’ be elected if the people are fed up! It really can be that simple. That’s why democracy should ‘ave a chance.” 

“You’re both saying that it comes down to how good a leader an individual can be,” and in a rushed tone added “What are the proponents of a worthy leader?”

         Everyone was quiet for a spell and Emile observed the elf and dwarf staring at each other, occasionally making contemplative faces. He had not expected this from such a seemingly simple question. Had he asked something offensive and would they then disregard him? He denied these doubts as quickly as they had flooded him.

“An excellent question, to be sure,” commented the elf. “Why don’t you answer some questions so we can come to an answer, clever apprentice?” The question held no malice, though Emile perceived it with caution.  “Suppose that one day, a ruler of a nearby country arrived and immediately demanded an audience with the king. He enters and demands part of the land for whatever reason. Otherwise, he’ll start war. What should the king do?” 

         Emile hesitated. He loathed the idea of confrontation, considered maybe just handing over the land; what would he gain from the war besides keeping some land at the cost of resources? Knowing that a king was, like any man, expected to be authoritative, he said:

“The king should threaten him right back with the military. He shouldn’t allow an invader to walk over him. He needs to protect the people and the land.” That last part came across a too readily and forced.

“Pah! Do what,” spat the dwarf. “Get all the good men and women in yer army killed because you were too eager to fight over some land? If ya really wanted to protect yer people like you said, ya need to negotiate more. Find out why exactly the other guy wants it. Get him to give ya payment if he wants it that badly. Great days laddie, maybe ya could have worked outta sort of bargain that ya’d both get something out of it.”

         Emile hadn’t expected such a response, from the dwarf no less. Thinking for a minute, Emile took out his chocolate and ate a piece.

“Ooh! May have a piece,” inquired the dwarf. “I’ll give ya some gold coins. Now that’s a deal!” 

“No way! They’re mine.” Emile finished the piece as he disregarded what the dwarf asserted and doubled down. “If the king is too generous in negotiation, the invader will just steal more land.” 

“I see that you won’t budge on this,” admitted the dwarf. Emile smiled with some pride. “How about another scenario?” 

The elf chimed in, “My friend, I assume you have enough foresight to see how this one child will respond to anything by now?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The dwarf continued, “The people are furious. The harvests are poor, trade isn’t doing good, an’ the people are fed up ya’. What can possibly be done t’ calm them all? Let’s hear it.” 

Something that was completely out of Emile’s control. After years of studying magic, which was completely dependent on how well he could command it, he hated unpredictable variables. Surely, he could not be blamed for things beyond him, he thought. “Well, the harvests are poor, and the king isn’t a god, there’s nothing to do. As for the trade, again, nothing much to be done. The king isn’t at fault for anything. He didn’t fail anybody.” Emile kicked at the grass below him.

Without missing a beat, the elf told Emile “Empty the coffers.”

“What?” 

“A king, or at least the head of the government,” said the elf as he smirked at the dwarf. “Has plenty of riches and money to spend and aid the people in these times of hardship, so why not do it?” 

“But shouldn’t a king hold on to symbols of power? That’s how the people know that they are in command.” 

“You yourself said that the people come first, it’s logical to spend what needs to be spent. Furthermore, a king would need no such symbols if he is a fair and just ruler; he has the respect of the people. Let’s end it here for now. I doubt that this conversation will go anywhere.” 

Emile was disappointed, he had been having fun with it. “Why,” he asked, “Do you both have somewhere you need to go?” 

“The model isn’t working,” said the dwarf stated in a hushed tone. “It’s better to just drop it.” She was taken aback for the first time in the whole conversation. Slowly, she continued, “For one, yer answers are, er- quite rash, foolhardy, and self-centered.” 

Without hesitation, the elf continued “Not to mention the blatant dishonestly you seem to think truth. It’d be better for you to be honest with -” 

“Shut up,” Emile snapped. A scowl crept across his face before turning to a passionate apathy. “I’m not gonna find any answers here, so I’m leaving now.” He spun around and walked out of the grove, forgetting why he had come and anything he could have learned, to the cottage. He remained in his room for the day, reading.

III

Emile had wasted yet another day, beating himself up over his own shortcomings. Cursing his memory for having forgotten the conversation, leaving only his guilt of the conversation. He tired to forget that too. He rummaged through maps and book, looking for anything that could aid him. Eventually, he found a map that would lead him to a shine in the forest. Emile gathered himself once more and departed to the location.

Emile entered the cave where the shine was supposed to be. He had expected grand architecture or something that was old and mysterious, an elaborate tomb, even. Instead, the space was as vacant and empty as the eyes of a corpse. At the center of the vacuous space, a stone altar decorated with gold and gems clutched an elaborate sword. On closer inspection, the gold, as well as the gemstones, were all fake and crumbling apart. The sword was rusted beyond repair.

“Really? Just a big rock and some stupid sword?” Emile looked around expecting something more.

“Aye, that’s what I’ve been lamenting for the past two centuries.” The voice startled Emile, and he whipped around to find a ghost in ornate armor, the kind fit for a hero returning home victorious but, in this case, the armor for a ceremonial burial. A violent gash ran around and across his neck. In a state of panic, Emile shot a bolt of fire from his fingertips that passed seamlessly through the ghost. The ghost laughed, harmlessly. “Now, everything is dull here, and I don’t think that I’ll be leaving soon, as much as I’d like. Tell me, who are you, why are you here?” 

“Dugh, uhm, sorry about that fireball, but I guess you’re already dead? Well, uhm, my name is Emile. I’m the apprentice of the wizard Bragi. I came looking for help with test.” 

“Bragi the Wise is still alive after all this time, hmm?” The ghost smiled; the news was a pleasant surprise to him. It didn’t make any sense to Emile. Afterall, the man before him had been dead for many lifetimes. “Alas, I know no magic to aid you.” 

“He said that I didn’t need magic for this final test, so any advice would be greatly appreciated.” 

“Very well then, I will tell you of my own failings so that you might not repeat them. Hear my story, the tale of Sigurðr.” Emile sat down and listened to his story.

         The ghost of Sigurðr detailed an epic of unimaginable proportion, the glory of which rang through the air as if it were the sun piercing the clouds with beams of joy and courage that Emile could not help but immerse himself in. The epic attested to feats of slaying dragons, contesting the gods themselves, and valor in war.  Emile wanted it for his own, to rival this figure’s bravery with his own. But as is with all light, shadows are cast; some dark, nagging part of Emile knew that this legend was false. Before Emile could have his fill of this spectacle, the ghost ripped away the curtain.

         “Regrettably, all those shows of courage were a masquerade fooling everybody. As I neared my ultimate goal, I fell short of my apotheosis. My strength is akin to this cavern, so I met my end at my deception’s edge. That wolf was the end of me.” The ghost smiled serenely like a violin’s final note.

         Emile was furious and a small ember lit on a tree. “How could you?” The fire spread to the neighboring trees. “All of them depended on you, and you,” the forest was engulfed. “You - a - you’re a hypocrite worth only your sword!” 

         “Yes, quite. Now I have told you my truth. The Níðhǫgg eating my roots. You asked for my counsel, so here it is: discard the masquerade and face the light!” The ghost spoke triumphantly, as if rallying an army.

         In a hushed, almost unperceivable tone, Emile spoke. “The mask is worn because nobody wants what hides there. I’m going home.” 

Emile retuned once again to the cottage, retreated into his room, locked the door, and added a spell to keep it in place just as precaution. He had forgotten Sigurðr’s tale and wisdom. Night came quickly.

IV

         Emile woke to the sound of somebody moving around in the main room. He dressed, left his room, and ignited a fireball in his hand. It was a delicate thing that could have been blown out in an instant should it find the air disagreeable. Emile brought it in close to him for some warmth before extending it out and enlarging it. He was still careful to not let any wind near it.

         Emile descended the stairs and crept through the hall haunted by the possibility of what laid in wait. He was readying to launch his spell when a brilliant light lit up the living room, gentle and abrasive to the eye, illuminating Bragi. His usual serenity was displaced by a haggard contemplation. In a nervous, timid, tone he spoke.

         “It’s all caught up with me now. It came for Sigurd first and returned once more.”

         “You - here early - this late - what the -” Emile was looking around, and his gaze fixed on the door, gaping open, spilling darkness into their home and encroaching on Bragi’s own light. Suspending his fireball midair, he stepped closer.

         “Stay away from the damn door!” Fear struck Emile like lightning, Bragi was visibly rattled and now he was shouting. Emile scampered like a scared kitten to his master. Bragi tried to reclaim his composure and mumbled something under his breath. He then said, “I - must tell you something about the test - no, I shouldn’t.” 

         Emile tried to recollect his bravado and said, “Tell me what to do. I can take care of it. Just - don’t do anything that I would.” Bragi’s fear was apparent to Emile. Once again, he said, “I can do it, let me take care of it.” 

         “Emile, your tricks are nothing to it.” 

         “My magic is not weak!” 

Bragi was silent for a time. He could not allow his apprentice to go out into that devouring darkness. What could he say? In the end, he believed in only one choice. “You will die if you depart this place Emile.” 

“NO!” Emile had enough. “You - you always do this, you say something vague and I try find out more, and then you leave! It’s just me and the books!” He laughed. “What do you expect from me?!” Emile turned and walked back in front of the door, grabbed his flame, and took another step forward to that threshold. “I’m done trying to be the perfect apprentice that does as he’s told. I’m done trying to prove myself. Honestly, I hate it, I’m terrified of whatever is going on,” and quieter, “Part of me hates you. I’m going. Even though I’m scared, I want to protect you.” Emile sheds a tear before saying, “I’ll come back. One way or another.” 

As Emile stepped out, Bragi sighed, “You have already passed, dear Emile…” He had already stepped into the door’s maw, into the deathly night. Jörmungandr released its tail.

V

As soon as the night swallowed the light of the cottage, the winds howled and choked Emile’s flame down to a small ember it had originally been. Emile closed his hand around this final flicker, barely keeping it alive before letting it out. He continued onwards, with each step feeling a little heavier.

Emile was not alone; something had been stalking him from just beyond the trees on the trail. At times he had seen what looked like white eyes, but they were a pallid white, like the complexion of a corpse devoid of blood. The trees seemed to tower above him, all the way to the sky and at times stretching to blot out the moon’s light. Not that the moon was comforting, he couldn’t help but think of a scythe while looking at the crescent moon.

Emile heard something rushing toward him from the trees and instantly formed a barrier of flames around himself and expanded it outwards. He heard a scream, identical to his own. The barrier retreated into a ball that floated above his head, illuminating the surrounding area dimly. He decided to sit down and wait for whatever it was to come to him. He felt ice crawling up his spine as if he were a tree and this a blight. His fear began to intertwine with his heartbeat, coming just short of completely stopping it. Emile couldn’t stand up again, the fear had now fully gripped him. He heard something walking down the trail towards him.

“What are you?” Emile spoke quietly, as if to avoid the question. He could see a dark spot in the night. It looked like a wolf, but eerily large.

It growled back at him, “I am the beast Fenrir,” it drew closer, “but for tonight,” and now in a voice identical to Emile’s, “I’m your shadow that goes bump in the night.” It stepped into range of his light and appeared identical to Emile, no, almost identical. Pale white irises rested behind red hair that seemed coated in ash. Emile didn’t think his skin could get any paler. “So, you’re that man’s new apprentice, hmm? Not a bad pick, not at all.” Fenrir came closer to Emile, each step feeling like a knife pressing against Emile’s throat. He stopped and sat down, right next to Emile.

Emile endeavored to speak, though he could only mouth what looked like words. Eventually, he managed to blabber out “Thanks. Em-ile.” Trying to sound casual, Emile continued. “Bragi’s been giving me this really hard test…” He took a few breaths, glanced about, swallowed, wiped his neck, and said “I don’t know what I’m going to do… I’m beside myself!” He laughed nervously for a bit too long before abruptly stopping.

“I’m not going to help you. Unlike that coot, your life doesn’t mean s**t to me. I can kill you and that stupid wizard. Aren’t you scared?” Fenrir reached out and placed his hand around Emile’s throat. The fire ball extinguished. “It would be this easy…” 

In a panicked, hurried tone, Emile said, “Oh - absolutely…  You could… absolutely.” Emile flashed a smile and slowly, gently removed Fenrir’s hand, and now holding it in his. Compared to Fenrir, Emile’s hands were warm. Fenrir stared, examining Emile. Emile laid back and asked, “What do you think of the stars?” 

“Huh? They’re… alright. Not as terrible to look at compared to everything else.” Fenrir laid back, matching Emile.

Beginning to calm himself, Emile says “I… I quite like them. They’re always out there. In the day when you don’t need them… and in the night to remind you that it’s never completely dark. You always… can always have a little light with you. Y’know?” 

“I take it back, you’re a loon too.” Fenrir turned to Emile and asked, “What the f**k now?” 

“I go back.” 

“That damn easy? You’re too weak for it. A disappointment.”

“I am. It’s why I go back. To keep working.” Emile reached into his robes and grabbed his chocolates. “Fenrir... want some chocolate? I was saving it for later, but have some.” Emile extended a milk chocolate, keeping the dark one.

For the first time since he came into the light, Fenrir smiled and chuckled softly. “Sure, why the blazes not. Let’s go back to that old idiot now, I can give him a good scare.”

“Fenrir, will you-”

“Yeah, I’ll help you out, Emile.” 

“You mean it? Really?” Emile popped up, pulling Fenrir with him. Emilie’s honest excitement and sudden renewal was infectious. For the first time in a while both were truly happy. Emile had forgotten what he was worried about, and Fenrir felt as if he wasn’t a beast.

The cottage returned to view, light and all. Before Emile could say anything, he realized that Fenrir was gone, leaving his hand grasping at air. Typically, Emile would have lashed out at the night for all he was worth. Now, Emile was just left with a sadness like a boy longing for his friend’s voice. A howl could be heard in the distance.

He whispered in the night. “I won’t leave...” 

And as it had come before, Emile felt ice crawling up his back. But instead of a plight, he felt someone else trying to warm. The night wind brushed his back as he walked in through the door. The light was now blinding. Emile felt Bragi hug him, not wanting to let go. But he loosened and said, “Congratulations, you have performed beyond any expectation.”  

Author's Note

One of my first creative pieces. Any remarks on what could be improved would be appreciated.