The Arts of Fire: 05

“If you could have been anything, Huo, what would you have been?” the shadowy Dominica whispered as she held him firmly, a clawed hand tight around his neck. “If you had never known the stories, would you still have chosen this path?”

Huo gasped for air, and the beast’s nails dug into the flesh of his neck. He tried to pry that steel grip off, but his strength was draining along with his vision. Black butterflies settled on the corners of his eyes; spots blotted out the face of the menace that held him so precariously over the abyss of zero, of death.

“You realize you’re meant for the grave, don’t you, Huo?” the oily voice continued. He was sinking ever faster into darkness. He felt the shadows pressing against him like sirens beckoning him to a superficial paradise. “No matter what you do, you’ll have to cross that threshold. So why did you choose this path, the quicker path?” The blade of a dagger flashed before his dimming eyes as the antithesis of his self bared her teeth. She rested the jewel-encrusted weapon against his cheek. Her hand loosened, and her dark, ironically mellow voice ordered, “Speak.”

“There is no other path, you bitch,” Huo said, and attempted to slide his fingers under her hand and wrench himself away.

“Wrong!” she bellowed, and a fiery pain shot through his head as she sliced his forehead with the dagger. Blood flowed into his left eye. “Tell me again why you hunt me at your own peril!”

“Because I was born for it—”

“No!”

Another icy chill as she cut him again. This time, the pain was doubled; the cuts were progressively approaching his blinded eye—she was going to stab him through the head and kill him—

“Huo, Huo—listen—stop crying and listen. This is your last chance. Tell me honestly why you came here to face death today. Tell me why you’re still alive. Tell me why killing me is worth dying…”

He tasted blood on his broken lips; his side swelled with pain from a previously dealt wound; his throat throbbed from her unrelenting grip. What answer would satisfy her? He had already told her the truth; this was his destiny. What other words could make her understand? He was made to fight her! There was nothing else…

Why am I this way?

The question slapped him in the face. Huo clenched his teeth. She was looking into his eyes; he heard her breathing rapidly, expectantly. She wasn’t smiling; her gaze bore into him intensely, the hunger for knowledge, the hunger for power. The white hall seemed darkened with her presence. Her being filled his senses. He was lost among her cunning words. Like harpoons, they struck him, and extracting them was more painful than bearing them. And analyzing them was more shocking than being their victim…

Why am I who I am?

What was this question? Who was asking this question?

Who am I?

What was this???

Who am I?

Stop it—

Who am I???

He must have said something, for Dominica roared angrily and brought the knife down again. The rest was a blur.

Later, he found himself lying on his back in a barn, far from the pillared recesses of the White Temple where that monster had cornered him and poisoned him with her words. He could hear fires burning in the distance, the screams of men dying—were they crying out because of the pain, or because death had ensnared them at last?

Blood stained Huo’s hands, and he knew he had wounded her. Maybe killed her—but no. He could sense she was still alive.

And as he lay there in the dark, listening to the clash between civilians and soldiers in the distant villages, he asked himself, Why am I alive? If it was not his fate to be alive until he could slay this dragon of a woman, then what was his purpose? Dominica had purpose—oh, yes, she was surer of her reason for living than anyone Huo had ever met. The way her eyes burned when she killed the men around him, the way her lips curled when she asked him question after question, and the rage that consumed her features when he gave her unwanted answers—Dominica lived to dominate. She lived for knowledge and the power that entailed.

So what of him? If Dominica was the proud, albeit arrogant and all-consuming, flame, what sort of flicker was his own life force? Did he burn with passion for ideals? Or did he merely spark because this was his assigned agenda? And why did he—why was he—why—why?

Then the answer came to him. Who would have guessed that in his frantic flight he had stumbled into sanctuary?

The door of the barn slid open and the angel slipped in silently. Huo sensed her approach; he felt as if he had walked into a wind tunnel of clean air. His cheeks flushed as she bathed his face with rose-scented water, and kissed his parted lips. She held him in her arms for a while, and her freshness rejuvenated him.

This was the angel who knew him so well, the angel that promised him relief once his quest was over, the angel that gripped him to her chest in the darkness. This was she!

So when she said, “Huo, you have to go,” he knew why he was alive.

She lent him the horse, and cautioned him to stay out of sight, and kissed his face once again, and never asked him why Dominica was not dead yet. She only gripped his hand as she led the stallion to the barn door, and promised him the horse would bear him safely, and whispered with sweet intonation the words that remained imprinted in his mind:

“Huo, stay alive.”

---

So he had not died. Yet, he realized, that if she had not spoken those words, Dominica’s own venomous phrases would have killed him even without a dagger.

His side ached, but his heart hurt more. He wanted her—he needed her. He should have told Dominica—there was no other reason.

---

Through the glaze of sleep, Huo saw her. His lips trembled and he shaped her name, lacking the energy to actually bring it to life. And just like that ghostly word, she also vanished into the sunlight that cut through the open canvas flap and planted itself firmly on his face. Huo struggled to call her back; his right arm flinched and the fingers of his hand stretched ever so slightly, reaching for the vision that had now departed.

The tent flap closed.

He let his head fall back.

---

Author's Note: Aww... Poor Huo. And poor me - my reviewers are gone, gone, I tell you! Well, no - only the loyal have stayed. I love you guys!!

Before anyone obliterates me for making another Ruben (if you have read Music of the Spheres...ahem...), don't bet on it. Ha!

...malicious smile...

Huo isn't what I would call the perfect hero.

Anonymous reader: "Why? He is a good guy, isn't he? How come he isn't the great hero?? And what about that girl - isn't she the perfect angel? Isn't she? Tell me she is!"

Read on - when I post again!

...and so, the mad writer leapt into the air and vanished - into the bushes...