Melitine of the Ashes

A part of a whole...

They stood face to face, the other engulfed by fires, the other buffeted by great winds.

The ground was rent and broken, marred by soot and ashes. The ashen remains of a village lay scattered all about them.

The man buffeted by winds took a step towards her. "I made you. I raised you up from the ashes of that house. You are my creation!"

The girl engulfed by the fires took a step towards the man, eyes blazing in fierce defiance. They were the only part of her body that had matured. The man continued, shouting incredulously.

"Do you think that you were chosen randomly? No! I chose you. You were MY choice."

The winds seemed to quiet down, but suddenly there was an ominous pressure in the air as the man - the King - eyed the girl darkly. "I may have chosen wrongly."

Melitine gazed about herself, registering the destruction she had sown. It gave her pause. The winds buffeted around her, afraid to touch her. They would only add to her strength. Maintaining a barrier of flames around her, she sat down. To remember.

It had happened when she had been fourteen years old. Nobody knew where that inferno had originated from. The only thing they knew was that, by some miracle, a little girl had survived the incident without a scratch. She had been found sleeping peacefully in her bed, the entire house around her scorched to ash. A soot-free circle around her sleeping figure. The story took wings immediately: the Girl of Fire, the Demon of the Inferno, the Child Anointed by Flames... the Fireborn.

That incident would haunt the entire village for years to come, and suddenly Melitine found herself noticed everywhere. She had become the sole survivor, the miracle-doer... and in some places, something quite different. Dark whispers heralded the return of the Fireborn; a deity of ruthless, uncaring destruction.

The King of the land eventually heard of the incident. Melitine was brought to the capital and presented to the court.

Then something amazing happened.

Rising up from his seat, the air itself seeming to drum in anticipation as he stepped up to the dais, the King made a proclamation.

"She is my heir."

The court fell silent. Nobles, advisors, diplomats, ambassadors alike stared at the King, stupefied, their eyes occasionally flickering nervously towards Melitine.

Melitine, standing in the middle of the King's hall, flushed furiously and tried to hide from the nervous gazes. The court fell into chaos around her, but she didn't even notice. Something had come up to her. She thought it had just been a dream, but... back at her house, the fire had been strange. It had just... appeared. At one moment, everything was peaceful, and on the next everything was on fire. Most strangely of all, she couldn't remember going to sleep - and yet, she'd waken up in her own bed, surrounded by fire and ashes. And something, something in the fire, tugging at her, beckoning, bestowing - empowering.

As if in celebration.

She shuddered, sneezed, and hoped she were someplace warmer. The blue-grey silken rug beneath her feet did little to shield her from the numbing coldness of the stone floor. What was it that she had done, back then? Warmth. She needed to feel warm.

The rug burst in flames beneath her. Melitine screamed, reflexively jumping away. But the fire followed. And as it did, she noticed - to her shock - that it didn't feel warm.

The court had noticed her, by now. Feeling a hundred sets of eyes glaring in her direction, Melitine quickly willed the flames to go away. That was what she'd done, wasn't it?

The flames didn't retreat. She willed harder, desperation welling up inside as several hurried footsteps suddenly rounded the corner into the main hall. Guards. And suddenly, Melitine could feel a great pressure building within the hall.

It was coming from the dais.

The King, still standing, did something. His eyes remained intent on Melitine, his posture remained exactly the same as before, but somehow everyone knew that the King had just done something, for a great gust of wind suddenly gushed in through the entrance, unwrapping heavy blankets and curtains from the walls and tossing them onto the flames like leaves to the wind. Melitine retreated away from the blankets, collapsing onto the stones. Somehow, they didn't feel cold anymore. At least that was something to be glad about. She remembered now, too. A man had appeared from the fire.

The King stepped towards her, a faint smile playing on his lips, oddly proud.

The man called himself Ameril. It was a spirit of fire.

The wind began to buffet around her. A fiery-red cloak unfurled on her shoulders.

Ameril chose her as its harbinger.

The King heard nothing, only smiled that oddly proud smile of his as the winds died down. He was convinced that the girl had conquered the spirit.

Several memories flashed before her eyes. A burning village. A man asking for the mercy of death. A smiling child.

She flashed all the way back to the battlefield. Flames exploded from her body once again, engulfing the entire width of the village. The winds kept the fire away from the man. Slowly, and with effort, the King began to gather a counter-attack. Behind him, a horrifying pull and noise signaled the beginnings of a great tornado. Ameril's voice urged Melitine on, charging towards the man.

She picked up a makeshift spear from the ground. Hurled it at the man, the former King. She'd never learned his name, oddly enough.

The King had never fought someone physically. The winds, his servants, had done everything for him. The spear sunk easily into his flesh. Then the flames engulfed him.

Melitine sat down on the sooty ground and began to cry.

It had happened again. Her family was gone. Ameril stayed silent as she wept. Finally, it spoke to her.

"You know, this is the role you were chosen for." it said calmly, voice like burning embers.

It paused for a bit, as if to ponder, then continued. "Who will die? Who is dead? It's your call."

Slowly, the tears stopped coming. She willed the flames to dry up her tears.

Then she laughed.

"Nobody will die."

Author's Note

What do you think of the story? The language I used? I appreciate all feedback greatly!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good ending to a powerful tale.
"It paused for a bit, as if to ponder, then continued. "Who will die? Who is dead? It's your call."
Slowly, the tears stopped coming. She willed the flames to dry up her tears.
Then she laughed.
"Nobody will die."
I like the story line, the characters and the good ending. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Mikael Malmberg]

Thanks Coyote! I'm going to release a sort of a follow-up to this later on, as well. :)

[Coyote Poetry]

Well-written and you are welcome.

[Solar]

I liked the way the heat is built up almost to a burning spirit of revenge which then becomes a heart-warming flame of hope 'nobody will die'. The language is in keeping with the genre and the ethos evoked.