Creatures of Fire

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, so the legends went. Historians and charlatans alike spun tales of red skies blackened by billowing clouds of smoke, of endless rivers of fire bubbling up from beneath the earth, and of a burning mountain that spat the creatures onto an unsuspecting world, destroying itself in the process. The truth mattered little, though; for all practical purposes, Velota had always had dragons.

One of them flew high overhead as Gino walked, and it cast a dark shadow that darted about on the murky water. He watched it fade into the bright blue sky until it was only a copper-coloured speck atop the distant mountains. His thoughts were muddled now, and he let them dissolve into nothingness. The rest of the journey passed swiftly, lost in blissful oblivion.

It was past sunset when he arrived at the Piazza, and the usual tavern crowd was already in place. Small groups of men gathered around wooden tables that creaked in protest when they banged their cups amid their drinking. Few noticed the medico of Sant Nick as he crept past them and slid beneath the great chapel, the sound of his descending steps barely registering against the rush of the cold evening wind.

Alvize was waiting inside with a glowing lantern, and he gave Gino his usual half-smile. Gino sighed and glanced around the room, which was stuffed with a hundred half-full bottles and potions that sat on dusty shelves on either side of the small vestibule. The smell of sage ash permeated the warm stone walls and filled his head with memories of better times.

The assistant shut the door. “How did Signora Ricci take the news?” he asked. Gino shuddered at the memory, and replied matter-of-factly, “What do you expect?”

The thin man was silent for a moment. “But your poultice of crushed mushroom worked better this time,” he said. “After I added flame-of-juniper.”

“Hmm. And the children?”

“They are as they always are,” Alvize replied simply.

Gino motioned for the other to lead the way, and they followed the narrow stone passage deeper into the earth. He had not wanted the hospital built so far beneath the surface, had felt that a little sunlight and fresh air would be better for his patients, but the elders had vetoed it, saying that Lower Velota did not need the screams of helpless young echoing throughout the city. Now the almost two dozen children withered away thirty feet underground, with no one but he and his assistant to tend to them.

Their mothers came fairly often at first, then less frequently after the depressing air of the place drove them away. Many times a child would succumb to the fever, and he or Alvize would have to travel to the family house to interrupt a breakfast meal or a cheerful supper with the sad news.

They had reached the main ward now, and the light from torches on the walls made the lamp redundant. Alvize pinched the flame tip and placed the lamp on a nearby table while Gino walked slowly between the tiny little beds and their occupants.

“This one will live,” he said to no one in particular. The boy was asleep, and his face had lost the ashy pallor that characterized the fever. He lifted one warm bony arm and saw a single dark streak that ran the length of the lower arm. A fortnight ago, there had been a broad network of the same lines, like black vines that wrapped around the wrist and elbow. He felt the slick oils of juniper on the child’s skin. Alvize was right; the poultice did work.

He moved to the next bed. This one was a red-haired girl of seven or eight, and she was awake. She turned to stare weakly at him before her eyes closed again. She was still shivering, and a spiral of coal-black veins dotted her left cheek. It was the only blemish on her lovely face.

Alvize stood opposite him, and he rubbed the girl’s head compassionately. “I pray the scars fade away, for the sweet child’s sake.”

“Uncertain,” Gino said, coldly but truthfully. His daughter had been a sweet child, too.

They spent most of the evening wandering around the hall and attending to the children. One of them, a fair-haired boy of nine, sat up and asked for some water, and Alvize beamed at Gino before giving the child some cool water in a wooden tumbler. Another had ripples of dark red running across his entire body. He had curled into a foetal position and responded to Gino’s touch with an inaudible whisper and a sharp intake of breath. Alvize stopped to bless the child, while Gino mumbled “uncertain,” and moved away quickly.

By midnight the room was mostly silent, and all had been attended to. An exhausted Alvize mumbled goodnight to his companion, retired to his bed at the back of the hall and swiftly fell asleep.

Gino was tired as well. He made his way towards the entrance, extinguishing the torches as he went. There was a bed waiting for him too, wedged into a corner beside his worktable. He crept between the sheets, and was soon lost to the world in troubled slumber.

***

He still saw Carina in his dreams; still heard her whimpering quietly in the cold dark room, still watched helplessly as her skin sizzled and charred, burnt by the heat seeping out of her own body. He had helped hundreds of children with the fever, but seeing his own flesh and blood inexorably torn apart by fire-magic was pure heart-wrenching agony. Despite the heat, he stayed by her bedside throughout the night.

Nevertheless, he had always been a practical person. He had hoped with every fibre of his being that she would live, and come out of the dreadful experience with minimal scarring and hazy memories; just like he had. But he had also been prepared for her death—too prepared, he thought retrospectively. The coffin had been made, and funeral arrangements were drawn up. He had learnt by heart her favourite line of her favourite bedtime story; “I have taken you, and you are mine.”

He never expected her to become an Incendi, and for her to be stolen from him in a way far worse than death. And in this dream, he stared into her face and watched helplessly as her soft blue eyes gave way to red-orange oceans of liquid fire.

***

Gino woke to a violent knocking on the door, a hollow sound that echoed down the corridor and into his dreams. His eyes were groggy with sleep, and he blinked long and hard as he climbed slowly up the steps. There was a shadow bobbing back and forth in the door viewer, starkly outlined by the glow of the moonlight.

He opened the door, and almost toppled backwards as a burly man shoved him aside and ran into the foyer. The acrid smell of burning flesh overwhelmed him.

"Medicine," panted the stranger, wincing noticeably as he spoke. "For burns." He was bleeding a little bit from a cut on his forehead, and Gino noticed he was favouring his left side.

"Let me see," said Gino sternly, motioning him towards one side of the room. The stranger seemed to hesitate for a moment before slinking onto a nearby bench. He pulled off the rough waistcoat as slowly as he could, and Gino could almost hear the sound of simmering flesh when the wound finally lay open. A broad patch of angry red skin covered the man’s entire left torso, and Gino reached for a nearby cloth to wrap the wound.

Suddenly, he heard a shriek outside, and he rushed to investigate despite the pleas of his new patient.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the figure. She—for she was undeniably female—stood with her cloak strewn over one arm, and he saw the misty clouds of rapid condensation that drifted around her and glowed softly in the moonlight, marking her as one of the Incendi. Her hair was a tangle of thick black strands tied with a crimson sash, and the bundle fell to a waist encased by a leather harness. She was looking away from him, towards the source of her obvious agitation.

In the centre of the Piazza, bounded by a rough circle of charred stone and dried puddles of silvery blood, lay a dead dragon.