The Firebreather, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hotaru gathered up a leftover loaf of bread, wrapping in some cloths and settling it in her bag, making some of the empty bottles and boxes clink. She froze, looking around to see if the noise had awakened anyone, but all was still among the troop. The horses stood silently, their breath coming out in wisps of vapor. Performers and travelers were bundled around fires that had burned low, or residing in one of the wagons, each covered in the Shaw Caravan's traditional colors of purple and black. The morning was a pale blue gray as she set off, tip toeing through her sleeping comrades. Not that she could say any of them were close to her, but it was a troop to travel with, and the shows brought her good money, as well as reeling in more business for the others. She made her way to the end of the camp, through the circle of wagons that kept animals and children from wandering off, the mist engulfing her completely.

The young, fiery haired woman rubbed her hands together, creating sparks that slowed right before hitting the ground and floated back up to spin lazily around their mistress, bring warmth and light, and making little chimes like bells. It was long before frosty grass gave way to dry pine needles and trees as big and round as a castle tower began to make themselves known through the obscuring fog. The balls of light followed their mistress as the wood began to thicken, becoming a full and fertile forest. Hotaru stretched, feeling at home in her childhood training ground, where her master had taught her the trade. She remembered clearly the first day Master Ignis had brought her here and shown to her the dainty little fire pixies, how she'd chased the little winged beasts around for a good hour, her guardian chuckling all the while.

“Hotaru,” Master Ignis had finally said, “You're not doing it right.”

“Well, then, how am I supposed to catch one!” the eight year old, frustrated Hotaru had snapped. Her master gave the girl a look that instantly made her regret her tone. Master Ignis had adopted her, an orphaned miscreant, out of pity. He could just as well have left her for the slave traders.

“I'm sorry, Master,” Hotaru apologized, bowing low, “Please, Master, show me what must be done?”

Master Ignis smiled kindly.

“Come here, Hotaru,” he said, beckoning her to sit by his side. She joined him on the mossy bolder, and watched in awe as he brought out a wooden flute.

“This is a Fire Flute,” Master Ignis explained, “Only people like us can use them. The pixies, as well as other creatures, find the sound quite enchanting, if you know the right song. Now, watch the little darlings play. What kind of song do you think they'd like?”

Hotaru looked at her tormenters as they played, giggling and showing off.

“Something... spirited. Something fun!” she'd said excitedly.

Master Ignis smiled and brought the flute to his lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and began to play. A quick, happy tune burst forth, disturbing the peace of the forest. Fire flew from the end of the flute and from the finger holes as his fingers flew across the wood instrument, and Hotaru wondered that it didn't catch on fire. Every pixie in sight froze and listened, but only for a moment. Then they all darted up close, smiling and landing on Master Ignis as he played his song, but he didn't seem to notice. His wrinkled face was all smiles are he played the spirited tune, almost as if he were in another world entirely, one in which there was food and wine and dance, instead of the sacristy of the Great Forest. The song ended, but the old man kept his eyes closed for a long time, as though he had fallen asleep. Then he started, eyes flying open as he batted at the pixies.

“Bah! Wretched things!” He growled as he examined the holes they'd singed in his cloths, “My point is, Hotaru, you can't force them to give you what you need. You must respect them, as well as any creature, big and small, and they will respect you. Always remember this, and one day you might even become Master of our trade!”

Hotaru kicked at the ground, her thick leather boots gouging the earth.

“Niko said girls aren't allowed to be Masters,” she pouted, “He said girls shouldn't be taught at all, and that you'll get in trouble.

“Nonsense!” Master Ignis said, getting up and stretching his legs, “We live in a changing world, Hotaru. Nebal is changing. One, day, I'll be gone, and it will be up to you to lead our people. I know. I can feel it in my bones!”

The old man's words echoed through Hotaru's mind as she came to the same, moss-covered boulder that she'd learned so much on. Except that, unlike the teaching place of her childhood, the present boulder had an elaborate urn sitting peacefully in front of it.

“Hello, Master Ignis,” Hotaru said, kneeling before the urn, “How have you been? I'm sorry I've been gone so long, but I'm back now. Master Paku has agreed to take you to where all your great predecessors have been taken. Isn't it a great honor?”

The young woman rummaged in her bad, pulling out her own fire flute and a steal box. She dismissed the sparks, knowing how they annoyed her little cohorts.

“I just have to get some fire dust from the pixies, and then we can be on our way,” she said before bringing the instrument to her lips. Thought there had been no pixies in sight when she arrived, the moment the first measure had faded away, the air was swarming with the tiny, red tented, human-like beings. They flew around her in rings, each landing on the edge of her box in turn to shake its wings lightly and give her some of its magic in exchange for her song. They were all dressed in little red leaves or flower petals, their hair combed straight with flames braided in their red and blond hair. They were vain little creatures, but Hotaru was rather fond of them. She continued to play the song, little bursts of flames coming from her fingers every now and again, until her box was full. Wrapping up the song, she closed the box and bowed low, thanking her friends. They twittered in response before dispersing. Sighing, Hotaru swept her red hair back and gathered up her things before gently picking up her master's urn.

“Here we go,” she said quietly, making her way deeper into the forest as the sun began to rise.

“I do apologize, Master,” Hotaru said to the urn quietly, “But I'm afraid I have a few more stops to make before we visit Master Galahad. You see, I'm in desperate need of supplies. I'm done my last few shows without any salamander salve or flame flower oil.”

Coming upon a small, sunny brook, the girl set her things and the urn on the shore. She still had a few hours before the salamanders would be out to sun themselves, and the fire flower's guardians wouldn't retire till sundown, but that didn't mean she was going to waste time lounging around like the lazy lizards who were so necessary for her trade. Stripping, she left her cloths in a pile and slowly waded into the cold mountain water. Using whatever she could find, she scrubbed months of winter grime and soot from her body; she'd need to be clean for the upcoming spring shows. As the dirt was washed away, pale scars became noticeable on the girl's pale skin, places were the fire had turned wild and bit her. She hadn't had a serious mishap for years, but she still got burned from time to time, mostly due to a shortage of salamander salve. She dried herself and munched on the bread she'd brought, watching as the sun followed its path slowly across the sky. As noon approached, the first of the six legged beasts skittered up the side of a rock and found a patch of sun, laying itself flat with its chin hanging off the edge, as was customary for the creatures. What wasn't customary was for them to drool, which was what Hotaru needed. She waited a while longer, and soon there were at least a dozen lounging salamanders about. She silently pulled out her flute and began playing a deep, wanting song, the type of song that was traditional played in preparation for a great feast at the castles. The notes carried with them an undertone of hunger and greed, and after a while, long, reddish tendrils of salamander phlegm were trailing down the rocks as the foot long, deadly creatures slept. They held poison in the oils of their skin and venom in their fangs, but their drool acted as a healing aid for the kind of burns obtained in Hotaru's trade. Once she'd finish the song, she got a few phials and, unstopping one, places the lip gently under the first salamander's mouth. It filled quickly, and before long Hotaru had enough phials to last her at least half the season. She packed up and left the sleeping salamanders behind, undoubtedly dreaming of a festive feast of their own. From the brook on, the terrain began to get steep and rocky. Used to the necessary trips through the forest and up the mountain side, the willowy but strong young woman had trouble with the treacherous path. As she ascended, the air became thick and sulfurous, the stench burning her nose. Even with her experience with fire and heat, the girl found herself uncomfortable warm. Smoke obscured her vision, making the trip even more dangerous. The sun was blocked out by the thickness of the atmosphere, so it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. After what seemed like days in the sweltering heat and gagging air, Hotaru felt a deep vibrating in her chest. Smiling, she hurried on, and soon she heard the sound that accompanied the rare sensation; a deep, resounding, melodious roar, echoing through the mountains. The girl stopped respectfully outside the opening of a huge cave, sitting the urn down and once again brought out her flute. Waiting until the next part of the melody, she joined in, accompanying the sad song. She could hear tears in the deep singer's voice, and felt her own eyes begin to water more than could be explained away by the fumes. The song came to an end, and after a moment of empty silence, the cave's occupant showed himself.

“Good to see you again, Master Galahad,” Hotaru said, bowing low and hastily wiping away her tears.

“And you as well, my child. You as well,” the huge dragon rumbled as he hobbled out of his cave.