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Know this, O Listener: that I have journeyed far and long, over many moons and through countless caravanserais, to reach the buried city of wonders that men have called Tri-Mundus; and that I have delved into the wreckage which is all that remains of their ironworks to find their most acclaimed prize - the buried figure of the dread FIRE KING. Know that when he found me, his eyes penetrated me, affixing me to the wall, even as my sweat wicked off my body and turned into hot air, so that he might tell me his tale. This he said to me:
*
In his [1] dreams, he was always in the cottage overlooking the great lake, back when the forests were still stadia-high and the sun still shone young and sharp. Sometimes nothing of import would happen. He would spend the time happily pottering about, cooking a meal or cleaning up the ashes that spilled out from the hearth. Sometimes there were cataclysms: the forest burning, or the waters of the lake spilling over, or even terrible booming noises echoing from the heavens. Those times he would hide under a table and shut his eyes, and pretend that nothing was happening. Sometimes there would be people milling around outside, building things, or fishing, causing a commotion. He never left the house then either. But whatever the dream, whatever the scenario, one thing never, ever changed, no matter how hard he wished or screamed or yearned.
In his dreams, inside the cottage, he was always alone.
When he woke up now, it was in the same little suite that had served as his home for the past several years. Finely hewn marble tables. A bed made from some fossilised tree. Walls that were not walls, but thick steel bars - the best that the smiths could fashion, back then. He got up and looked through the bars, staring into his own face as if through a mirror. All this time and he had not aged a day.
But when he raised a hand to touch his cheek, the image on the other side flinched and dashed away, trailing fading light behind it. It ran barefoot around the open stairwell and up the stairs, footsteps echoing throughout the area, a steady pitter-patter that grew fainter and fainter before dying within seconds in a harsh, explosive sizzle. Then he would blink, and another reflection would be there to take its place.
On the truly bad days, he would lie on the bed staring at the ceiling, while reflections crowded the space outside. The noise when the Water God came by to smother them would be deafening, and he would turn on his side, placing a hand on his ear to try and muffle the sound. It never worked, but he was able to sleep nevertheless.
“Why don’t you escape from here?” the Water God had asked him once, while he was in one of his stupors. “Surely you’re powerful enough to melt those bars and tear down the gates to this place. If anyone deserves to be out of here, it is you.”
The Fire King thought about that frequently. In truth, he had broken out once, very early in his penance. He had bent the bars of his prison as easily as if they were papyrus stalks, walked wordlessly out of the subterranean levels, banished the thick, potent web of containment wards from existence like a child blowing dandelion seeds into the breeze. His reflections, stalking behind him the entire time, had rushed out and torn apart the machinery at the heart of the sarcophagus, wrecking the piping, crushing the valves, spreading havoc in a thousand tiny ways as he pushed his way through the walls of the giant chamber. The terrified screams of the masses carried on the summer wind. As he looked over the city sprawled out beneath him, fire advancing through it as tirelessly as the emotion roiling in his heart, he considered what he was going to do, who he was going to be. He considered what it meant for the prophecy (what it meant for A-zal). He stared up at the clouds, tracing the curves of each individual shape with his eyes. The sun’s rays shone through tentatively, most of them obscured by the cloud cover. He wondered how long it would be before he would be allowed to see the sky again.
Then he turned, went back into his deep, deep underground prison, and unSpoke the events of the preceding minutes, leaving only confused daydreams and visions in their wake.
“Because,” he had answered the Water God, simply. And: “I don’t expect you to understand.”
The Water God amused him, sometimes. Other times, he felt mild pity. Mostly the Fire King left him alone. A juvenile deity, whose power had not yet waxed, who did not yet understand the workings of the world - and, given his incarceration, probably never would. In a way, a small mercy, for the god would never know what it had lost, or was possible to lose.
The Fire King tried not to think about loss. Tried to occupy himself with the odd little games that the Tri-Mundians supplied, ones which were a thinly disguised attempt at getting him to do complex metallurgy for them. There was a game that involved melting two alloys together until they were a certain color, and then maintaining that color for a certain amount of time. There was another game that involved fusing rivets and bolts onto a figurine without them falling off. That was delightfully thorny - the aspects were all misaligned, and so involved some trickery to get them to bond at the right levels. Then, yet another game that was just pouring molten alloys sequentially into a mold, except he would have to stop the flow at specific points with his fingers. This one tested his patience the most, and he would be tempted to simply Speak the metal into the correct configuration. But the Tri-Mundians always knew when he did such a thing and would become upset: they wanted the metal specifically to have flowed, not just be in a position. The Fire King did not understand why such a thing would be important to mortals, but he was nothing if not a gracious prisoner.
Grace did not come easily to him, which made it ironic that it had now become his defining characteristic. Probably A-zal having an effect on him, even after all this time. He supposed he should stop being surprised how much A-zal had become a part of him, considering what had happened between them. He could pull them out now at a moment’s notice: the cheery voice and the wispy look and the optimism flowing out of every pore. He hated having to, because then he could never stuff them back in, and after a while it began grating on him, the bright outlook wearing his face. Then he would try to sleep and will his being to reset itself.
One day, as never before, A-zal came to him in his dreams.
He was in the cottage, as usual, but now A-zal was there as well. He was decorating the living space and humming to himself. The Fire King snuck up behind him and kissed him on the cheek. The light coming in through the window was low and smoldering.
“We can have lamb on the fire tonight,” said the Fire King. “The herdsmen brought us some as a sacrifice.”
“I have lentils,” replied A-zal. “Mmm, that sounds amazing. Lamb and lentils! And we can use our nice bowls.”
The Fire King laughed and kissed him again. “I’m going to get the fire going. See you outside.”
Then, in the manner of dreams, there was a jumble of activity, and they were eating lamb stew by the lake next to the dancing fire.
“It would be nice to do this every night,” said A-zal.
“Yes, it would.” The Fire King supped from his bowl and stared across the moonlit water. The crickets were chirping in the trees. “You never come, though.”
“You never ask me to.” A-zal turned to look at him, eyes sparkling. “Are you truly that scared of me?”
“I don’t want…” The Fire King lowered his bowl, took A-zal’s hand in his, and laid it on his chest. “Do you know how much it hurts to know that I will lose you again? That I will wake and you won’t be there, and that all I have is a promise that it might turn out well for us?”
“But you’ll never lose me, my love, I’m in you all the time.”
The Fire King blinked back a tear. “You know that’s not what I mean. Shit. Never mind. Retreat.” He tried to turn the dream back, but A-zal simply laughed at him.
“You can’t unSpeak your dreams, you know, much less when there’s a god in it.”
“Damn it. I was hoping…” He looked back across the lake.
“I know, love. But it’s no use - I’m here now!” A-zal smiled. “And I will try to be here as much as I can.”
“If this is what the prophecy was pertaining to-”
“No,” said A-zal quietly. “It is not. You haven’t even begun to fulfill it.”
“Then.” The Fire King felt sideways, grasped the god’s hand. “There is a chance I will see you again, fully?”
“Of course. But only if you stay the course.”
The Fire King shook his head. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You already do. Do your time, help the gods, help the men who become as gods. For goodness’ sake, don’t break out again. That time, you almost ruined everything.”
The Fire King reached out, took A-zal into his arms. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry for… for everything.”
But when he looked back up, he was embracing a damp, rapidly drying tree trunk, and the water and trees were on fire.
“Bad dreams?” said the Water God as he jolted awake. “You were just about melting down your entire cage. I tried to help, but it was starting to take up too much of me.”
The Fire King sat up, head barely touching the layer of steam. “Something like that. I apologize.”
“No need, no need. I just have to sit in the river again, that’s all.”
The Water God bustled off, leaving the Fire King to muse over the dream he just had. It unnerved him greatly, not just because A-zal had gone, again, but because A-zal had shown up at all. What was so different about this day? He remembered a mention of the prophecy - was that it? Was A-zal trying to tell him something about the prophecy?
The Tri-Mundians came by later that day, providing a much-needed distraction. As usual, they were clad in what the Fire King thought of as “bubble suits” - full-body suits filled with water that insulated them from the extreme heat the Fire King put out. Hoses connected them to the levels above. Today they seemed to be installing a new set of pipes along the ceiling - at a guess, to siphon off the steam generated when one of his reflections encountered the Water God. He wondered if that ever hurt him.
That night was a sleepless night, and his mind turned once again to A-zal.
You haven’t even begun to fulfill the prophecy , he’d said.
The Fire King remembered the prophecy as clear as yesterday. It had been in the very early days, back when he still roamed free above the earth; when his true brothers were at his side, not paltry reflections. He was still brash and untamed, arrogant, without a care in the world. He had not yet met A-zal.
Here he was on the mountain the gods called home, attending one of their lavish revels. The god of prophecies had been telling everyone’s fortunes, and now was speaking unto him:
Beware the crime that matches with your name [2]
And if this happens, then for your rebirth
You’ll do your penance deep below the earth
To aid the gods, and men who’ll be the same.
These terms, if met, will set you free: and then
You’ll meet your love outside of Where and When. [3]
At the time, he had not paid the prophecy much heed, for the gods are justice unto themselves, and very little that they do can be deemed a crime. That, and he had had no love, nor any desire for one.
All that had changed, of course, when he’d met A-zal, god of rivers.
Why had A-zal insisted that he hadn’t begun to fulfill the prophecy? Nigh eight hundred years he’d spent in this farce of a prison; surely he’d have something to show for it. He’d seen the mortals progress from bronze-work to steel - wasn’t that proof that they were becoming as gods? Unless it wasn’t the mortals he was supposed to be helping, it was…
“Ho! Water God!” yelled the Fire King. His voice echoed, rumbling through the vast complex. A couple of reflections appeared and ran up the stairs to their quick demise.
It took a while for the deity to come down to him, but he had all the time in the world.
“Hello, Fire King,” said the god amiably. “Feeling better?”
“Much better. Listen.” The Fire King moved closer to the bars, leaning gingerly against them. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
The Water God cocked his head. “Do for me? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean… this.” The Fire King gestured to the room around him. “All of this. Surely you’ve wanted something more than to swat at my spawn as they run around and try to consume things.”
“Hmm.” The Water God stood briefly in thought. “No, I can’t really say I do.”
“Shit. I mean.” The Fire King bumped his head lightly against the bars. “You haven’t always been here, correct?”
The Water God looked puzzled. “I suppose not?”
“I distinctly remember you coming in here two hundred years ago. You were, well.” The Fire King snorted. “Much the same as you are now.”
The Water God nodded. “I remember that as well! It was a rough –”
“So you remember what it was like outside?” The Fire King cut him off. “The sun on your face and the cool wind at your back, and running wild through the trees - or I suppose it would be, flowing amongst the shores for you? Being a sorry little shit who lit the woods on fire, or flooded the riverbanks, I don’t know, and having no-one to answer to but yourself?”
The Water God smiled sadly. “No, I’m sorry. I remember waking up in this place, and I remember the river, and the mortals fussing over me. At first, it was unpleasant, but they really made sure they got everything right! After a while, it was like a dream.”
The Fire King frowned. “But if it were a dream, then you would wake up. Outside.”
The Water God shook his head. “I’m sorry, Fire King, but this is my home. I don’t know what I’d do if I were set free again.”
“You’d return to the waters, or find your way back to our brothers, the gods. This is no place for someone like you.”
The Water God looked down. “I wouldn’t last a day out there. I’m not as powerful as you, Fire King - I barely remember what it was like outside.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” The Fire King sighed. “Thank you, Water God.”
“You’re welcome, Fire King. Are you sure you’ll be fine?”
The Fire King wondered what it felt like, being the Water God. To not remember what it felt like to unleash one’s being upon the world, to not remember what it was to be beholden only to oneself… to have forgotten the reach of the far mountains, from their summits to the low deltas. To have been, for all intents and purposes, born into servility and not yearn for anything else.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said.
Weeks passed without any sign of A-zal in his dreams. Instead, his sleep was filled with visions of the olden days: travelling the world, testing the limits of his power, seeing the majestic patterns that would form in the wake of a brushfire. He traversed the known continents and more, and, like his brothers, fell into the habit of trailing mortal migrants, marvelling at their aptitude at summoning and controlling the element which formed the very essence of his being. He was always saddened when one of his brothers would inevitably leave his troupe to observe the mortals, but he understood the novelty and the curiosity, and did not begrudge them that.
He’d met A-zal in a lush, subtropical jungle, long before the Opening of the Ways. The river god had perplexed and mystified him in a way he could not assess. A-zal would respond neither to threat of force (his fires would fizzle out almost immediately) nor to honeyed wiles. Instead, the river god bade him sit and share a meal and talk, like equals. The Fire King had never encountered anyone like him. They traded stories of lands they each had seen, of the mortals they had encountered, of their plans for future life. The Fire King did not have much in the way of plans - dancing gaily from brush to brush was his wont - but now he evinced a keen interest in those of A-zal. He learned that the god lived further down the river, out of the jungle, by a great lake. He learned that A-zal was responsible for the flourishing of a mortal colony, and had no intention of abandoning it just now. And he learned that A-zal was going there now, and would he like to come and observe? The Fire King was loath to offer his regrets, so great was the river god’s charm and beauty, but when he looked around for his troupe, they had already left him, in the manner that he had left his brothers so many times before. So he accepted A-zal’s offer, and they went merrily down to the lake.
How he wished he could go back to that time. His dreams again grew different - more foreboding. The cottage was back, but now its interior shifted in new and sweeping ways. Sometimes the rooms would repeat themselves in an endless corridor. Other times, stairs would open up into yawning chasms. Still other times, the rooms would expand along with everything in them, leaving him the size of a helpless kitten. When finally A-zal showed up again, it was in a second story that the house had grown, and no matter how quickly the Fire King chased after him, the god would always slip away into a passage or stairway unseen, only to reappear on the other floor.
The Fire King could ill afford to lose his beloved again, and so decided to refrain from sleeping as much as he could. As a god, he did not actually need sleep, merely using it as a way to pass time and dwell in long-gone memories. Now that he was actually forgoing it, he found the nights excruciatingly boring in a way he had never felt before. He ended up bothering the Water God, who was bemused, but glad to assist.
“Does it hurt you when they do that?” he asked the Water God after a couple of reflections ran into him.
“Not really,” said the Water God, rubbing his arm. “Stings a little. Takes a bit out of me, but I can always–”
“--sit in the river, yes. I know.”
Soon enough, their closeness became enforced. The Tri-Mundians, always looking for ways to expand their operation, began work on a new engine powered not by water or fire, but by steam. To do this, they channeled the Water God’s artificial river down into the subterranean levels, placing him next to the Fire King. This allowed the Water God to strike down the fire reflections almost immediately upon generation.
The gods first noticed problems when the new reservoir would not cool.
“I’m sure that’s not going to be an issue,” said the Fire King. “Water gets hot all the time.”
“All the same, could you try to… I don’t know. Weaken your aura?” The Water God wiped sweat off his brow [4]. “I’ve never lost water like this before, I don’t think it’s normal.”
“My aura is as weak as it can be,” the Fire King snapped. “It’s probably your lousy reservoir making you lose water.”
“It’s their lousy reservoir! I was fine with where it was until they moved it!”
“We’ll figure out a way to deal with it.” The Fire King tried his best to sound unconcerned. The hiss as his reflections emerged directly in the water belied his efforts.
The reservoir continued to grow hotter over the next few days, and, more crucially, the water level started to drop.
“Fire King,” said the Water God, panting. “This water is going to boil soon, and I don’t know what I’ll do when it goes.”
The Fire King sat at his table, absently manipulating the alloys in front of him.
“Fire King,” said the Water God. “I know you can hear me. Do something, please.”
The Fire King threw a metal disc at the floor, startling the Water God. “What do you want me to do? I’m not the one who can manipulate water.”
“I don’t know, but…” The Water God gulped. “You have power; I don’t. Do something.”
The Fire King threw his head back and bellowed in frustration. “If only you weren’t just a damned god of–”
And then an idea hit him.
“Fire King?” The Water God peered at him, unnerved. “Fire King?”
Yes, he would have to re-enact that fateful day, except – without losing control. If he were careful, he could take the Water God into himself without it consuming him. Without it being a crime.
That fateful day, after a lifetime of bliss with A-zal, when they had decided to flout the Sole Proscription, and had coupled –
– and it had ended in ashes and fire –
– was not a possibility. But something gentler, something where he didn’t pour all of his force, all of his will into the other being. Something that required finesse, where he had before used raw power. Then he might be able to save the other god.
A-zal is coming through strongly on this, he thought.
But it would never work. He would have to relive that day, with stakes so much higher than just an afternoon of rapture. If he failed (and he would surely fail), then he would be responsible for not just one crime, but two. And then he’d have not one god, but two inside him, blaming him for their deaths for all of existence.
“I’m sorry, Water God. I’ll think of something.”
He honestly did try to think of solutions. They were not helpful solutions. Mostly they consisted of storming out of his cage up to another level, far away from the Water God, or up to the ground level to destroy the machinery entirely. At best, that would provide only a minor setback, for the mortals were almost a force of nature in that they always found a way to make their plans work. They would likely pump the reservoir up or down to wherever the Fire King made his new home, or laboriously repair their steamworks, and he did not know whether they would endeavor to retaliate. Against him their methods would come to no avail, but against the Water God… he pitied the younger deity, seeing what a state he was in. They might deprive him of water, give him only the barest minimum required to survive. If only the Fire King had power over a greater part of Speech, he could merely cause the reservoir to flow where he ordered it, to keep the Water God insured against any sort of harm they might cause.
Then there was the matter of his penance. Ever since his isolated attempt at a breakout, and certainly ever since A-zal appeared in his dreams, he had been a good prisoner - docile, accommodating in every way. Even if the prophecy had not been made, he had long ago made the decision to subject himself to this servitude in recompense for the life he had taken. Working against the Tri-Mundians would go against that. Even if they did not care about the terms of his surrender, he did, and he would not be able to live with himself knowing that.
But as the days wore on and the water in the reservoir continued to drop, the thought that he was simply coming up with ways to avoid confronting his loss continued to worm its way deeper into him. A-zal would have wanted him to help the god first and mortals second. He had referred to it in the dream, too. Help the gods had precedent over the men who became as gods. And who was to say that the Tri-Mundians were those men, even? They built magnificent structures and impressive machinery, but ultimately all they were doing was harnessing the deities.
The Fire King truly, truly did not want to relive the day of his greatest pain, but as he watched the Water God slumped over in his reservoir, breathing laboriously and sweating like a man, he knew in his heart that there was no other alternative. If he ended up shafting the mortals, if he ended up shafting himself, it did not matter. Here was another imminent loss, and that was something he knew he could not live with. He might not succeed, but he at least had to try.
“Water God.” His voice wavered. “I have an idea. I will turn you into a god of steam.”
The Water God stood, uncomprehending. “What?”
“Listen. I will take a part of you into me. I will take most of you into me. And I will take the reservoir.”
“I… But…”
“You will not die. I will not consume you. You will turn all at once into a being of steam, and you will flood the pipes, and hopefully escape into the world. And if not, you will live a nice new life in the giant steam engine. Will you permit me to do this?”
“I don’t know. How will I survive? What will happen to the mortals if the–”
“Listen!” The Fire King glowered, and flames visibly crackled around him. “This is no longer your home! Your masters brought you down here to die! So either you escape as a new being, or you die here in the depths with me. I ask again: Will you permit me to do this?”
The Water God looked at his feet. “Yes.”
“Good. Then wait there.”
First, he wanted to get rid of his body. It was not necessary, but he did not know how he could look the god in the eyes while within that much-too-puissant vessel and still maintain his composure. He told himself that he was removing that part of him that might kill the Water God, the harsh edge of his being that he would not be able to hold back. He was relieved to see that he actually believed himself.
With much concentration, he called forth a reflection and began pouring his being into it. He closed his eyes, muttered a word of Speech, felt his will transfer into the other body. Briefly he mourned the loss of his old vessel. Without his essence to sustain it, it would crumble into ashes - endlessly smoldering, hot to the touch, but ashes nevertheless. Then, when he felt his spirit coalesce fully, he opened his new eyes and stepped forward to face the Water God.
It was easier than he remembered. He touched the Water God, palm to palm, stepped close to him so that their auras were mingling. It was the first touch of water that he had felt in over a thousand years. Then he grasped the other deity by the back and pulled him into a kiss. Already he could hear the telltale sizzle of boiling. He closed his eyes and willed his aura to be larger, stronger. He Spoke his self into the Water God’s self, into the room around him, and he waited for the god to Speak back. All around him was the cacophony of the rolling boil. And then, slowly, slowly, he felt the Water God turn to cloud. A small cloud, at first, wisps of steam around the edges of his figure; but then swiftly greater and greater portions of him. At the last moment, the Fire King stepped back, withdrawing his Speech, and the newly born God of Steam rushed into the pipes above him and exploded into the giant engine.
The blast rocked the compound to its core; already he could feel the wondrous machine spinning to life. The Fire King laughed and laughed as the stairwell vibrated itself into rubble, blocking him in. He had done it - he had prevented another death and saved another god. He saw it clearly now: that was the true penance, not just all the time he had done. And if the prophecy were true, then he was all that much closer to being with A-zal again. But that did not seem to weigh as heavily on him anymore. He knew A-zal would be proud of him, was indeed already proud of him. In the meantime, he would embark on a great sleep and wait for the men who harnessed the gods to clear the rubble - and if, in the meantime, they did become as gods, all the better. There was not much else to do.
The Fire King sat down against the stone wall, legs folded, and closed his eyes, eager to awaken to something marvellous. In his dreams, A-zal was already waiting.
Runao’s Commentary:
Ash is a complex hour, one of rebirth and prophecy, destruction and servitude. Be not shackled by those who are more avaricious than you - remember you are a king, and power is your birthright. Do not overstep, for violence is your wont, and too easily a gentle dalliance can burn out of control. But do not despair either: fortune smiles upon you, and as the salmon that stays in the river shall eventually return to its spawning grounds, so you too may blossom if you heed the wisdom of your counselors.