Tell Me I'm Fire, Baby
Posted: Sat Jan 23, 2021 5:41 pm
4 Frost 120
Before dawn
Before dawn
Tell me I'm fire, baby
Tell me to open up
Shield my eyes, baby
They've seen so much
Bad dreams faded, but waking was almost worse. Life had never quite been a happy thing, but since leaving Sol'Valen for the second time, he had mostly been content. It hadn't quite become comfortable to be comfortable, but he hadn't realized how comfortable it was until his master had died, bequeathing much to him that was good and much that might have been good for him, but he did not want. His teeth were chattering, and the fae creature was curled up under his arm. There was only the one bed, but even had there been two, he thought the foundling would have found their way into his bed regardless. Perhaps with amnesia and having needed physical closeness for actual survival had laid down a new path of behavior for them. Sivan didn't know.
He glanced through the dark toward the shape of IX. That the automaton was sleeping seemed like a failure on his part. The creature's actual need for a bond with another person hadn't been apparent to him until their master was gone and IX had reached for the convenient and, to it, obvious choice that was Sivan. He just didn't want to be a master of anyone, but he had accepted it because IX was the closest thing he had to a friend and his master would have wanted him to look out for the creature. Still and all, while IX called him master, it felt more like he bore the yoke. Such was his perversity, perhaps. And while he didn't want dependents, he had accepted responsibility for the fae as well. He could have escaped the ire of the nature spirit that had called him to find the foundling by now, but if Sivan wasn't good with people, there were still parts of him that were good. Sort of.
Tell me you're mine, baby
Tell me before I erupt
Burn up in the sky, baby
Become the dust
Gritting his teeth so they would stop chattering, he slipped out from under the fae and the blankets, tucking them back under their sleeping form even though it set him to shivering. Shivering, mostly bare, his feet gave up heat to the stone floor as he padded over to fill the piss pot. He gave up some heat but it did little for the room. Cursing under his breath, he went over to see what he could do about the fire. Their modest stack of wood and collection of coal for the fire would not last long. He planned to seek an apprenticeship or, at least, employment the next day. They were not in danger of starving or dying of exposure. After all, he had secured them a cottage to live in. But he still had to make their resources last until they had more resources. And since IX was hibernating and the foundling too, that meant he had to earn those resources.
So be it. He glanced at the window. There would be hours of sunless cold before dawn, and he didn't know how much warmer it would be then. Judiciously choosing a small log, he added it to the fire, stoking it up so it would put out a bit of heat, at least. The roof leaked and it was a bit drafty. He would have to figure that out sooner or later. But for now, he sat back on the thin woven rug that did little to protect his bony arse from the chill or the hardness of the floor, but it was better than nothing. Sitting too close to the fire to soak up as much of its heat as possible, he crossed his legs under himself and began to meditate.
I can see no use in
Ignoring your burning heart just to calm mine
It's such a waste of your time
But the view takes every waking thought
I have when daylight comes
To relieve the night
As a spiritwalker, he had some advantages over other summoners. When he found a space of stillness within himself, he reached out and out until he could hear the susurration of those natural spirits that felt comfortable in civilized places. It was winter and many spirits hibernated. The tree spirits were always dreaming, though even they slowed down as did what passed for their blood. Many animal spirits slipped the tethers of their bodies or slept until it was warm again. Then there were the elementals, who also had changeable relationships with the seasons—ah!
Down the street, one of those streetlamps not fueled by magic was guttering. To his mind's eye, it looked like there was a firefly inside, panicking. Or a moth that had achieved its heart's desire and was burning, but not burning out. He sent out a tendril of himself, of his aether, a taste of something it could burn. Soothing, he offered more, and asked its name.
Give me your fire
Give me reasons to learn
Give me every excuse to burn
Let your flames rise
Let your flames rise
"Khal," he whispered in his body back at home. A rune lit up at the base of his spine as he fed his aether into it. Spinning aether out from there very much like a spider building a web, he created a framework for negotiation: a circle around him, a circle around the hearth, lines of connection, lines of protection. Not a trap, not an enclosure—spiritual furniture, a place for Khal the fire sprite to be comfortable.
"Khal," he whispered again. It was a name—sort of. The sprite was not powerful, not fully sentient, but he knew it could grow if it was fed and cared for, if it wanted to. The sprite didn't speak words, but they began to communicate. Simple concepts. Simple images. Words that he taught it that served as symbols for abstraction. It was slow going teaching something mindless to have a mind, but he supposed his work in artificing helped with this, and vice versa.
An awareness of winter. An awareness of summer. Fuel to burn, both material and spiritual. A task—to abide here, shining, burning.
Forget me, you're fire, baby
Leave me 'til I am distilled
And clean as the water, baby
And pour it over my fears, my fears
An awareness of spring. An awareness of fall. Renewing the contract from season to season, altering the terms to fit the weather. But Khal would not starve. And Khal would not consume too much. It would reside in the hearth, turning fuel into heat and light, trapping the heat and light within their walls so the wind would not steal it, so the stone would not steal it. They would form a balance, a virtuous circle, each giving and taking. Khal would burn, but not burn out. Their home would be comfortable. Winter need not be their enemy.
Too many fire sprites burned brightly for a season only to cease to be. This was natural. But Sivan needed a steady flame and so he worked out a deal with this sprite, which was also natural. People had been communing with spirits since time immemorial.
Good. Khal burn. Sivan warm, not burn. Sivan feed Khal. Friends.
The meditating face, calm, began to smile. It had learned a lot, perhaps fueled by its fear of dying.
"I'm a regular savior," he murmured from his light trance.
Give me your fire
Give me reasons to learn
Give me every excuse to burn
Let your flames rise
Let your flames rise
Higher
Deal.
"Deal."
He opened his eyes to a happily crackling fire. He found himself smiling. It was nice to feel simple pleasure and contentment. There was still plenty to worry about, but at least they would be warm. He was no longer shivering. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't icy. Little more than a will o' the wisp, Khal would make their hearth much more economical. A bit of wood would go a long way if the sprite was also feeding upon aether. It almost felt like the warmth of the room was the same warmth under the blankets—his warmth.
This had been an easy negotiation, all things considered. That was good, considering he was barely awake. It was important to go through the motions, take all the precautions. He had some proficiency but he was hardly an expert and it would be too easy to overreach in hubris and end up the slave of a spirit he could not contain. In any case, he didn't know if the fae would sense the spirit, but he would have to explain that the hearth could not be allowed to die out. Khal would go to great lengths not to let that happen, and it would not be difficult on their end, but Sivan would have to leave the cottage to earn gold and he could not allow his part in the bargain to fail. Not only would Khal suffer, but his own reputation among the spirits would, too.
Sivan stood up, stretched. His nipples were no longer prepared to etch his name in the ice.
"Good night, Khal," he murmured.
I burn!
"You do. Thank you."
Sivan eased the edge of the blanket out from under his foundling, who had balled themself up tight in his absence. Making soft noises, he urged them over and climbed in behind them, sliding an arm under their neck and the other around them. Yes, they would survive the winter.
Too far for you to touch
Too hard is never too much
Let your flames rise
Let your flames
