The fire started weakly, almost pathetically. It didn’t even pop or crack. It ran along a few leaves and pine needles in a hopeless race for more oxygen. It jumped to other leaves, other needles. And then, just as it was about to lose the race, it ran straight into a widely-spaced pile of tinder. The mediocre flame became an arrogant braggart. The fire jumped onto the dry tinder and overcame it. In seconds, the fire branched out, multiplied and seized control. The larger kindling succumbed next. The defenses leading to the larger logs had been beaten. The fire roared to life.
Jularra stood on a stone along the fire’s outer perimeter and gazed at it with a stern affection. She wanted to lose herself in its light and movement, but needed to confirm that it had taken hold. Once she saw the flame soaking into the dry bones of the wood, she tossed a few more thin branches on for good measure, along with one more sizable log.
She backed away from the stone circle and sank to the ground. A few leaves and acorns poked at her bare behind, but a bit of shuffling and some absent-minded swipes of her hands resolved that problem. She was free to bask in the warmth of the fire and watch it grow.
And grow it did. The fire she had nurtured—previously silent, like an intimidated child—was now cracking the ribs of twigs, popping the knots out of logs, and sizzling with a ferocity that rivaled a bear’s roar. Jularra leaned back on her hands and claimed the stillness of the moment. It was just her and the fire and the energies of the world. Fire had lived long before her, and would live long after the embers of her own life had died out.
As she looked into and through the fire, a familiar awe washed over her. Fire was such a humbling element, capable of amazing things. It fortified food, warded off predators, provided light, warmth, and comfort. But it also devastated. It could tear through forests. Obliterate villages, and burn the flesh of criminals, or those misunderstood and persecuted by the powerful. Fire, it seemed, just like humanity, was capable of any horror, and any beauty. It only depended on the type of fuel you gave it.
Jularra’s heart slowed, close to its resting rate. The dissipating euphoria of the wine gave way to the peace of appreciation. She followed the climbing flames to their flickering tips, then further still, up along the trees to the canopy and then even further above. She craned her neck, then purposely fell back to her elbows and looked even higher until she found the stars. For all she knew, the stars looked down upon her and the performing flames. Do they approve of my respect? Do they care at all?
The forest floor cracked, close enough to startle her. She flipped and spun onto her hands and knees, blinking in an effort to banish any remaining drunken blurriness.
The shadows against the trees rose and fell with the fire as her eyes adjusted. She strained to peer deeper into the woods.
She was naked, defenseless as far as armor went, and couldn’t gauge properly how liquored up her magical focus might be. She remembered her stash of items under her log. My knife!
She whipped around, but before she could turn completely, a boot bashed into her chin. The force threw her back onto her elbows again. Her head tingled from the strike and mixed with the fuzziness of her lingering intoxication. The sensation of the blow started out as a cold pressure, but rapidly evolved into a series of stinging pulses. She cupped her bleeding jaw and looked up at Vilfarin with her still-disguised face of Aleusa.
He loomed over her. She must not have appeared stunned enough for him yet, for he stepped around and kicked her in the ribs. She screeched in pain.
Jularra dug her elbows into the ground and tried to scratch away from him, but he didn’t allow it. He followed up with another violent kick to her unprotected ribs. She screamed again and rolled to her side.
She curled around the pain and tried to focus on her breathing. She started to cry. Each minuscule expansion and constriction of her chest sent blasts of agony through her body. A few bits of dirt flew up onto her mouth as she gasped and sobbed.
Then came sounds of a fumbling buckle. Her mind somehow wrestled control back from all of her pain and fear, ordering her body to focus on the sound. Vilfarin undid his belt, calling attention to his intentions like a road sign directing Jularra to a destination of terror. She heard his pants flop to the ground.
Don’t let him do this!
Still coiled and lying on her side, her eyes remained shut while she tore her mind away from the pain. She felt the ground stir as he dropped to his knees. He gripped her locked knees and shoved, rolling her onto her back. She cried out again. Her side burned in pain.
You can stop this! she said angrily to herself. Stop him!
He parted her legs. Her mind, heart, and soul honed in on his one motive. Her pain got shoved off her attention’s cliff. When she felt his arm brush her leg—as he grabbed himself and prepared to enter her—she opened her eyes.
He froze in place, unable to move. Jularra pulled a leg back and kicked him in the chest, throwing him onto his back. As she sat up, her taut hand that had rooted him grabbed at the core of his essence, while the other connected with the fire. She strained her arm’s muscles to bond with the conflagration—to re-establish the
