The Road to Searing Falls

It's too long-winded, I think. If anyone can tell me (in a review) what I might cut... I would be endlessly grateful. I seem to somewhat rusty and writing.



The thought of spending another day in this city was sheer torment to the great warrior Siolden. Time was flying by and still he had accomplished nothing. Sitting on his balcony, he glanced at the sprawling forest of stone trees below him. The wide trunks of stone had been hollowed out into homes, and faint voices, laughter and the clink of dinner plates drifted up to him. The stone trunks reached high into the sky and mingled in a canopy of pale green-gold leaves. Some called it beautiful, but Siolden felt it was nothing more than a gaudy novelty town. People were often too easily impressed.

He looked down the heads of the busy people walking along the pathways below and wondered if he was really going to find what he was looking for.

There was a sudden sound of a door opening nearby and Siolden looked around sharply. On the next balcony a young woman stumbled out from the room inside the tree. Her thin body was stooped under the mountain of rugs she carried. Siolden watched as she set the rugs down. She pushed a good deal of plain black hair out of her face, straightened her plain blue dress and set to work draping rugs over the balcony. She may or may not be the innkeeper’s daughter - he could never be quite certain - but she fit seamlessly into the background of the inn, constantly cleaning something, cooking something, talking to someone, going somewhere. He felt he should offer to help her with the rugs, but he was mildly irritated at having been surprised while sitting on his own balcony.

The young woman turned and spotted him and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she said timidly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Why should you be sorry?” returned Siolden calmly.

“I-I am, all the same,” blushing as her confusion deepened.

He kindly offered to help and she politely refused. His conscience at ease, Siolden settled back to his reverie again and promptly forgot she was there. The day was passing by and he had yet to decide what to do about it.

“You are a Warrior Healer!”

The girl’s astonished outburst startled him a second time.

“Yes.” Siolden made a considerable gentlemanly effort to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I suppose you have seen my sword?”

“Just.” The girl was still staring at it, where it lay gleaming on the table in front of him. “We’ve not had one of you stay here in over ten years!”

“That is understandable. There are not many of us.”

“Well of course! How many people can master two lifetimes of work? ... Oh!” She had been studying his sword intently. “And you are of the House of Vanora!”

One of the oldest and most distinguished families of the exalted Warrior Healers. It was an innocent remark, but she struck a tender nerve in him.

“And what good is that?” he replied impatiently.

“I’m not sure what good it is, seeing as you still cut your hair with your sword.”

He stared at her.

How could she possibly know that he had hacked it off just above his shoulder blades, less than a day before arriving in Stone Glade? The girl turned back to the rugs, but one corner of her mouth was unmistakably tucked in. Siolden fought the urge to cover his blunt white-blond hair in embarrassment.

So far he had only half been paying attention to the conversation. Sometimes he could predict every word he heard.

‘Wasn’t it grand being a Warrior Healer? Was his life very exciting? What adventures he must’ve had - had he fought battles and cured thousands of people?’ He had expected awe, fear and adoration. Not because he craved it - but because he was resigned to it.

He had not, however, expected a little slip of innkeeper’s daughter to make fun of his hair.

* * * * *

Siolden grew restless as the day wore on.

By dusk he was purposefully wandering the night markets. They were just beginning to awaken as merchants laid out their colourful flowers and crystals. In Stone Glade the night markets sold delightfully frivolous, yet inviting, items, and people came laughing and happy, determined to relax after a long day of work. Colourful lanterns burnt powders of many colours and brilliant cerulean, turquoise and coral lights cast a glow across the darkening sky.

Throngs of men and women passed him by, yet he felt strangely detached as he towered above the average man.

Alone in the crowd, Siolden examined every face carefully. He felt ridiculous. Surely they would notice his intense stares. Pride almost held him back, but he simply had to find the Firesoul. He was not about the let pride stop him now that he was this close.

Having spent his whole life looking for a single source of magic, it frustrated him that once, the world had flowed so plentifully with it you could not go twenty paces without coming to a source. The world had then discovered the healing power of plants and magic had been abandoned. Centuries passed, man had stopped building sources, and as cities were built and rebuilt, magic was buried. By now almost all of it had disappeared but Siolden knew there remained a few concentrated spots throughout land that. Most were lost or unreachable - sealed inside mountains due to shifting plates of the earth, buried deep in dangerous jungles or just plain forgotten. No one knew where to find them, or how to recognize them.

He was determined to find one. He knew for certain that there was one here in Stone Glade. His research had told him that. He was to look for the Firesoul. The Firesoul was sensitive to whatever magic was left on this Earth and could show him the way. And the Firesoul dwelt in Stone Glade.

Three days had passed and he had found no Firesoul. His books had been vague. Look for someone with vibrant character. Look for someone who touches the lives of others, deeply. It was all he could translate. Siolden was not entirely sure how he was to identify so rare a creature as this “Firesoul”, with such unsatisfactory instructions. The ancient dusty tome had seemed to suggest that he would know when he found him.

A group of brightly dressed ladies brushed by him. They cast him a shy glance and he felt even more uncomfortable as he forced himself to examine their faces. Could any of them have ‘vibrant character’? One girl told a joke, and another began laughing - a rich, delicate, wholesome laugh. Could she ‘touch the lives of others deeply’?

People were walking past him, faster than he could puzzle out the answers to these questions. Frustrated, Siolden stopped walking for a moment and let the crowd stream past him. He was momentarily distracted as he thought he recognized a familiar voice.

“Oh Etri, you’re terrible. How could you sell that?” The girl spoke softly.

There were so many chattering people around him that Siolden could not, at first, find the owner of the gentle voice.

“Terrible am I? And what would you have me do, girl?” A man spoke up in a smooth, pleasant tone.

“Surely you could sell anything but that. You know who it belongs to. His poor dead wife gave him that vine!”

“Well he sold it to me knowing full well that I would sell it. It’s how I make my living, Kalixeny.”

“Yes, I know. It’s only fair, isn’t it.” She sighed. “Well never mind. I can’t bear to see it sold, so here - sell it to me.”

Finally Siolden spotted the owner of the voice. It was the innkeeper’s daughter. He had forgotten her name was Kalixeny. She was standing by a nearby stall that sold exotic flowers. She wore the same plain blue dress, and the same plain black hair hung down and covered the side of her face so that he could see nothing but the tip of her nose. She was bent over a sickly looking vine with bright orange flowers scattered along its tendrils. A broad-shouldered man with a close-trimmed red beard stood behind the stall, looking down at her.

“It’ll cost more than you’ve got, my girl”

“Well...” she straightened up and pushed the hair from her face with one hand, and handing him some coins with the other. “Take this. And instead of the rest... could we give you a free meal tonight?”

“We?” The red beard bristled as the red giant grinned.

“Well...” The corner of her mouth tucked itself into a dimple. “Don’t tell father? I’ll bring it out to you myself. He doesn’t have to know.”

“All right fine.”

“Oh thank you!”

“But this is the last time.”

“It will be! I promise!”

“And you better be making that apple pie tonight.”

“But apples aren’t in season-... oh never mind that.” Another dimple blossomed at the other corner of her mouth and a sunny smile filled every feature in her face. She threw her arms around his neck, nearly strangling the air out of him, and told him laughingly: “You are a dear man, Etri. You’ll have two apple pies.”

Siolden was surprised to find he had been smiling. He shook his head and the smile faded quickly. He turned around and headed home, no longer interested in the short scene.

He knew where it would end. She was a simple girl, and the big merchant was a simple man, it seemed. She probably thought him the finest man in the world for his insignificant gestures of kindness, and he probably found that her unreserved displays of girlish pleasure would worm their way into his heart. It didn’t take much to impress simple folk. Siolden shook his head again. He felt old and wise for having seen such things a thousand times. Sometimes he wished he could be so easily contented, but at the same time he felt a wonderful thrill of purpose whenever he thought of the passionate cause he had devoted his life to. He could not imagine how anyone could settle for a lesser existence.

Forgetting Kalixeny and her red giant, Siolden passed the rest of the journey back to the inn, lost in thought. How was he ever to find a Firesoul?

* * * * *

That night the inn was alive with jumbled voices, roaring laughter and the clatter of dishes.
Siolden, hunched over the low stone table in his room, buried in his books. For the thousandth time he asked himself what on earth could tempt him to such a place as. What good was the Firesoul if he were uncouth enough to be found about the likes of a place like this?

He made one more attempt at the page in front of him. A particularly shrill squeal erupted somewhere below the thin floorboards under his feet, and was answered by the muffled cheering. Siolden sighed explosively and threw his chair back with what anyone might call ungentlemanly vigour. There was no more use in working tonight. For nighttime in Stone Glade, this was just the beginning. There would be no peace and quiet for several hours yet.

Siolden left his books, and thumped off in search of stimulating entertainment. He doubted he would find any.

Downstairs the inn was full to the brim with patrons from all walks of life, from the colourful ladies to the drably garbed workmen. Only his deeply engrained manners kept him from visibly raising his nose above the fumes of ale, sweat and cheap perfume. He dallied long enough to catch a glimpse of a dark-haired insignificant girl scurry across the room and into the kitchen - clutching an apron full of apples to her chest. A brief memory of this afternoon made him scan the room in amusement. And where was her red giant?

Deciding to speak to the kitchen staff about a particular tea he hoped they'd heard of, Siolden strode calmly across the chaotic room.

"...and I won't be the one that tells your father!" An irritated woman finished, as Siolden entered the kitchen. She looked flushed and altogether flustered.

"You can tell him, or not, as you please. There's no need for you to take a hand in this," Kalixeny was saying, as she lay her apples down on the table.

Siolden coughed politely. Both women looked up.

"Sir what are you doing in here!" The flustered woman grew a shade rosier.

Kalixeny smiled. "Mylla go finish your breads," she ordered.

The unhappy woman threw up her hands but voiced no objection.

"She does so hate being interrupted," apologized the dark-haired girl. "I wasn't trying to be rude, I promise."

"My lady - my apologies for disturbing you at your work."

"Oh please don't apologize! Could... could I get you something?" Kalixeny offered hesitantly.

Siolden inquired after his particular tea, and received the regretful yet expected response with good humour. Appalled at the thought of returning to the comforts of his empty room and busy thoughts, he offered to help. He was declined, but offered a seat and an apple instead. He accepted both sheepishly, and sat down to watch her peel the rest of them. Lost in his thoughts as he munched away in perfect contentment, he was startled when she suddenly spoke.

"What is it...you dislike about the Warrior Healers?"

Siolden watched her thin fingers as they delicately guided the paring knife along the apple's skin, trailing bright red peels. It was somewhat mesmerizing to sit in a warm kitchen with a quiet girl and her apples, so he answered without the stiffening anger he usually felt when the question was put to him. He was surprised she remembered his words at all.

"I simply do not agree with the path of the profession... Our methods our crude - while once we built magical sources and healed organs without destroying any organs in our path. It is a shame that once we had a science that could perform it's duties with predictability - albeit limitations. And now we have these healing weeds - nothing more than a novelty. That is simply all they are and ... " Siolden halted, wondering if he were boring her.

"And you have come to Stone Glade in pursuit of magic?" she suggested.

"It is, after all, one of the few places left in the world where the legendary sources of magic are said to be hidden. I am so close! If only I could find one who is still sensitive to this magic - perhaps they could lead me the rest of the way."

"Hmmm." Kalixeny assented. She smiled amicably up at him and continued peeling her apples in contentment. "You are looking for Searing Falls, are you not?"

For one unpleasant moment Siolden wondered if this girl often saw common travelers arriving in Stone Glade, searching in vain for the long-lost enchanted waterfall. "Yes, I am. All my studies point to the Searing Falls. Only... they are simply a legend."

"Oh! But they are real!" She burst out in delight. "You can hear the falls all the time from any part of Stone Glade - and sometimes even feel the heat of the waters! But no one can ever see them no matter how close you think you are. No matter how hot or how deafening it becomes."

Siolden was puzzled. "Hear them? Can you hear them now?"

"Why yes! Can't you?"

"I'm afraid not." He was skeptical. He had read and heard all the old-wives tales about the Searing Falls - the steaming waterfall which gave warmth to Stone Glade and who's rushing waters could be heard faintly if you listened just so. Even his mother, one of the most revered Warrior Healers of the entire house of Vanora, had told him the story.

He politely said nothing, though he did not blame Kalixeny for her passionate belief. She was a Stone Glade native after all. He himself expected that it was nothing more than a magical source beneath an ordinary waterfall. All tales of its heat and sound were probably exaggerations introduced by storytellers over the centuries.

Siolden sighed. There was truly a long search ahead of him, and he no longer wished to talk about it.

"How many pies will those apples make?" He wanted to know.

"Two!" Kalixeny glowed. "And how did you know I was making pies?"

"A fortunate guess?" Siolden set down his apple core and leaned back in his worn wooden chair. The air was still warm and peaceful. He had seldom sat in country kitchens, but he concluded this was the first pleasant evening he had had since arriving in the Glade.

"Very fortunate indeed!" Kalixeny tripped onwards, forgetting the timidity she had first shown in his large presence. She swept a handful of long dark hair from her face and let it tumble over one thin shoulder. "I am making two pies for the dearest man who did me a wonderfully generous favour this afternoon. I wonder if he's here? I hope not. I'm not nearly finished and I do want them to be the best two pies I have ever made... "

An indulgent smile unfolded across Siolden's face. Again he remembered the scene in the marketplace. He could almost hear the budding love in her voice. Simple people would be simple - though happy.

"And I'm sure the gentleman in question will be boundlessly grateful, and you will in turn be boundlessly flattered," he said casually, and did not bother to finish the sentence out loud. The warmth and peace of the dancing kitchen fire filled his tired head, and Siolden dozed comfortably in his chair.

There was silence for a moment and a half.

The silence struck the lounging Warrior as odd, and he cast a glance at Kalixeny to see if she were still working. He saw the half-peeled apple - so much larger than the small hand that held it - and a paring knife in an equally tiny white hand, suddenly slowed and fumbling. Curiously his gaze traveled to her face. The eyes that had smiled so contentedly a moment ago were wide with hurt and the pointed little face downcast behind the dark hair.

Before he could understand what he was doing, Siolden stood up suddenly and breathed her name.

"Kalixeny!"

The hurt little face flew up, and her wide searching brown eyes found themselves held by an expression more gentle than Siolden even knew he possessed. To the day he died he could never explain what happened to him. No 'madam', no 'lady' - but gentle 'Kalixeny' rose to his lips. At that moment the only thing in the world that mattered, was that the hurt be gone from the little face. She was not the simple girl he had thought her, and she had most certainly not missed his meaning.

"What you said - that's not me, you know." She whispered earnestly, as she held his gaze in anguish.

He did not look away. It would not have been right. And he did not deny what he had meant. He should not have insulted her so. He could not imagine what brand of ease had let him say such things to such a gentle creature. He had meant no harm - but it was unforgivable.

In one stride, he was beside her. He knelt down and took her little hands. Her eyes had widened and rested wonderingly on his face as he looked up at her.

"Kalixeny..." He breathed her name again so deeply.

He could never remember if he told her he was sorry, out loud or in his head. All he remembered were too little hands, smelling faintly of apple - brushing the blond hair back from his shoulders. Two little hands held his face. She smiled down at him gratefully and two friends whispered goodnight.

It was only later, after he was settled in his bed, a moment away from sleep, that Siolden remembered apples were out of season. And he had eaten one of hers.

* * * *

Siolden woke early the next morning from the wind sighing through the pale gold stone trees above him. It had never been quite so loud before.

He groaned and wondered what the strange feeling in his chest was.

Today was the day. Today had to be the day. He was suffering from the familiar feeling of frustration and no solution in sight. He had to find the Firesoul before his entire life's calling began to grow stale even in his own eyes. He reflected that he had never supposed it possible. His was a passionate cause – a great cause. He could not imagine a lesser existence.

The broad warrior heaved himself from bed and embarked on his day.

The streets of Stone Glade had never been so unwelcoming as Siolden strode anxiously along, peering closely at everyone that passed him by. At times he could hardly hear their conversations over the heady sigh of the wind. The day wore on but no one he saw could possibly have had a soul of fire. Nothing he saw stirred him in any way. He found himself wondering what Kalixeny was doing and if she were comfortable. He had a vivid memory of the feel of her small hands holding his face, and was taken with a sudden irrational notion that all would be right in his world if he could find himself looking up at her endearing crooked smile just one more time.

Dinnertime came, and the sun began to sink behind the gold canopy of leaves. Siolden found himself back at the inn. Restlessly he wandered through rooms where people had begun to gather for dinner. He had no real idea of where he was going, but he was cold from the chilly air of Stone Glade and found that the kitchen door exuded an atmosphere of warmth and comfort within.

“Is there something you need, Sir?”

“Hmm?” Siolden looked absently down at the nervous little kitchen maid who met him at the door.

“He’s just here to warm his hands.” A quiet, pleasant girlish voice spoke up. Siolden broke out of his absent-minded reverie as he recognized Kalixeny at the kitchen table. “Would you like to keep us company?” She waved happily at a chair across from her.

She had a basket of herbs on the smooth worn table top in front of her, and her long long dark hair was bundled under the soft blanket gathered about her thin shoulders. There was peacefulness in her appearance that finally put the fretful warrior at ease. After a day of elbowing his way through busy throngs of people, he was warmed by the familiarity of her face. How nice it was to have a friend in a strange city.

“Would you like a hand with that?” he offered, politely.

“Only if you are bored,” she said. One corner of her mouth tucked itself into the promise of a smile. It was clear who was bestowing the favour.

Gratefully, Siolden sat down and received bundle after bundle of pungent greenery, to be tied and strung. Kalixeny inquired as to his day, and Siolden told her the unexciting truth – only half expecting her to understand.

“I do hope the Firesoul can show you the Searing Falls soon… You’ve spent so long looking – aren’t you very behind with your life by now?” She asked sympathetically.

Siolden blinked. “Behind with my life…” This was his life.

“You must miss your family… your friends…”

“My family is away at war, and my friends live all over the world. I had not really thought about it.” One of the herbs caught his trained eye and he picked it up. “Telurix? Does someone here have a lung infection?”

“Well actually I picked it because it tastes good in my lamb stew, but is that what it does?” Kalixeny sat forward eagerly.

“Well yes, it’s part of the treatment.” He had been about to make a sarcastic remark about its ability to damage the kidneys in the process of healing the lungs. However, out of consideration for the gentle girl who did not deserve an ungentle answer, he held his tongue on the subject, for the first time in his life. “So someone here does have a lung infection?”

“Well… if you swear you will not tell father…”

“You do!” Siolden dropped the Telurix in astonishment. Now that he looked at her again he wondered how he could have overlooked it. She was thin, pale and faint shadows lined her already too-wide eyes. He noted her blanket too, for the first time with a professional eye. She must be cold all the time. There was a particular strain of lung infection that he had heard afflicted Stone Glade for some time. “Why did you not say so!”

“Should I have?” Kalixeny was uncertain.

“Never mind that now.” It was not becoming in a gentleman to tell her he would have done anything to ease her pain. Anyone’s pain.

Siolden got to his feet and rummaged through her basket while she looked on helplessly. Deftly he pulled leaves and seeds and flowers from various stalks until he had made himself a pile on the table. Forgetting his gentlemanly manners altogether, the big man put aside his great sword, tied back his blunt blond hair, and began to cook over the fire. Kitchen maids began to giggle at the sight of the broad-shouldered giant bent over the fireplace. Kalixeny tried to shush them but could not help smiling.

“What exactly are you doing there, Siolden?”

“Don’t you worry. Just sit there and rest. I’ll be done in a moment,” he assured.

“But – “

“Do you like lamb?”

“Oh yes, dearly… but it’s for the guests-“

“Good.” Siolden strode to the pantry and helped himself to a rack of lamb.

By the time he was done cooking, all Kalixeny could do was sit helplessly as he placed a bowl of strong smelling broth in front of her.

“Drink,” he commanded sternly.

Kalixeny drank. The crooked grin crept across her face. “This tastes remarkably like my lamb stew.”

“Nonsense, this is a famous recipe of the ancient Vanora’s.”

The kitchen staff giggled louder.

“And this,” he set a few slices of lamb next to her broth. “Is for your kidney.”

“Why?” She was curious.

“Because,” Siolden knelt down in front of her and spoke gently, “the broth will cause you much pain if you don’t eat the lamb as well.”

“How clever you are, I have never heard of such advice.” The crooked smile spread, in all its warmth, across her pleased little face.

“That’s because it’s a medicine I devised myself. The Telurix wounds your kidney as it heals your lung. Most healers don’t worry themselves about that. Never mind that though.” Siolden shook his head. “But why did you not tell me earlier?”

* * * * * * * * *

Later that night, the inn was again in it’s state of revelry and raucousness. Siolden scowled at the kitchen door as he kept an eye on Kalixey dozing by the fire. The kitchen staff had long ago retired for the night.

“You should be in bed,” he pointed out. “The medicine will exhaust you.”

“I’m fine. What if someone orders food?”

“Then someone else can cook it.”

Kalixeny laughed. “I don’t know if I’d like that.”

Siolden came and wrapped another blanket around her, and sat down next to her.

“This isn’t one of our blankets!” Kalixeny examined the soft sky blue wool with interest.

“No it’s mine. I made it from the wool of a particular breed of sheep that is only found along the Elorian coast. It has excellent thermal qualities. I always keep one in my pack. One never knows when it will be needed.”

Kalixeny looked at him with delight. “What a wonderful thing it must be to be a healer. I would give anything to know all these things.”

“You think my purpose a wasted one?” Siolden asked tiredly. Everyone would have this argument with him. It seemed it was a fact of life. He could almost hear his mother and his brother chiming in with her.

“Oh no no! You mistake me entirely!” She looked hurt at his interpretation of her words. “Why would your purpose be a wasted one?”

“Because I search for magic when it is buried where it belongs in the past? Because I don’t use the knowledge you envy?” Siolden suggested.

“Use it?” Kalixeny shook her head in bewilderment. “But you are looking for the magic of our Searing Falls to give us painless medicine. I should think it would take the use of all the healing knowledge in the world to do such a thing.”

Siolden could not help but wonder if it was simply the Telurix soup had gone to her head, making her unwontedly agreeable. It sometimes had that effect.

“But,” added the dozing girl. “I don’t understand why you want to. You have already found ways to solve the problem.” She pointed to the empty plate that bore the traces of her lamb on it.

Siolden shook his head. “This is a patch, not a solution. Living, breathing people deserve the real solution. It is right and just.” He said it as much to convince himself, as to convince her.

Kalixeny looked at him, and said no more. She stood up and took down her harp from above the fireplace. Once she was settled again in her blankets she began to strum softly, idly. “I often play a little at night. It brings good dreams.” She explained, smiling as if the good dreams were already on their way.

Siolden said nothing but tucked the bright blue blanket around her with a practiced hand. He settled himself to listen. She was not spectacularly talented but the humble voice of her music told him that she loved her instrument. They sat together in perfect friendliness, shoulder to shoulder, against the warm stones of the wall next to the hearth.

It was then that he noticed that her hair was not simply long and dark. It was also softly abundant, and as rich and dark as the night. It was then that he noticed that her face was not simply pointed. It was full of curves and quirks tipped with a tip-tilted little nose and an elfin chin. It was then that he noticed that her eyes were not simply big. They were warm and hazel and deep with the soul of a woman with more love to give than a lifetime could hold.

Upstairs a man began to hum heartily off-key, along with the fragile strains of Kalixeny’s harp. She looked up at Siolden and beamed.

“I love it when people sing along. I always play until someone sings along.”

It was then that he knew he was utterly and completely in love with her, and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning Siolden made the hardest choice of his life and decided to leave Stone Glade. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but because it was so difficult he was sure it must be the right choice. She could not love him. She must be the most loved woman in Stone Glade. He could not see how any man could think otherwise. The wind rushed louder than ever, as he packed his bags. This only added to the dull pain he felt in leaving. He no longer cared if he ever found a source of magic. It seemed so unimportant after the fire and ice his soul now felt.

As he rode though the city, he could not understand himself. He hurt – yet he had never felt so alive. And the wind simply would not cease.

So preoccupied was he, that it was some time before Siolden realized that the leaves on the trees were completely still. There could not be any wind at all. When he pushed himself to think harder, he remembered that the leaves had been still all week. Then what was that incessant sound?

A strange feeling took over his stomach. A rushing sound… perhaps it was not wind at all. He strained his ear for it, and after wandering off the road in a few directions he found that the rushing sound grew louder when he ventured near the thick copse of stone trees on the northern side of the road. The copse stretched for miles and was nearly impenetrable. The sun had not yet risen. The sky was a dull dark grey and the copse was black as night, but Siolden charged forward without a torch, leaving his horse behind on the road. The strange feeling would not release his stomach, and he found his whole being tingling with the excitement of what he was only just beginning to contemplate as being possible.

Several of the large stone trunks grew too closely together for him to squeeze his broad frame through, and many times he had to circumvent the thicker patches and backtrack. Always there was the loudening rushing sound to draw him forward. He could not understand it. He had noticed none of these sounds when he had first arrived in Stone Glade by way of this very same road.

Now he began to feel heat on his face. As he pushed onwards, he felt sweat drawing on his brow. The sound grew deafening and the heat grew singing until suddenly he spotted an orange glow through the trees ahead. Siolden pushed forward numbly. He was not sure if he should believe his eyes. Perhaps he was imagining this. Sweat poured down his face and the rushing filled his ears so loudly, it clouded his thoughts.

Finally he pushed through the thickest patch of all and stumbled out into a clearing. A waterfall of brilliant, molten fire flowed before his eyes, cascading into a glowing golden pool. Delicate sprays flew off in every direction as the molten fire bounced off rocks on its way down. All through the forest the heat had grown unbearable, yet now that he was in front of the source the heat disappeared. Here the air was suddenly cool. In the profusion of light, the rest of the forest seemed to disappear around him.

Siolden felt weak. It was all too surreal. He had searched for ten years, and finally found a source of magic – if this was indeed the legendary Searing Falls. He was elated and triumphant, yet to his surprise, a dark cloud hung over him. He felt as if he were missing something he could never have. A hollow life stretched ahead, and even this moment of ultimate triumph was not enough to live on.

It was the last thing the great healer had expected to feel, when he had dreamed of this moment.

Shock and dismay coursed through his veins, jerking him back to reality, when he realized he was not alone. Someone kneeled by the golden pool. He knew the soft silhouette of her long dark hair so well that he did not even need to see her face.

“Kalixeny…” Her name came out in a choked whisper. She could not have heard. Yet she started and turned around.

This was silly. Why was he being such a boy? He may not deserve her, but he was at least a respectable man. Yet here he was skulking away at first dawn, too scared to face himself or the world that had suddenly revealed itself in a few gentle strains of a harp.

“You found it,” she said, getting to her feet.

Her wide dark eyes were heartbroken and they were full of unshed tears.

“You…” Siolden whispered, hardly hearing himself. “You are the Firesoul.”

“I would have shown you this place if I could! I swear I would’ve.”

“You… the Firesoul…” he echoed himself stupidly.

Look for someone with vibrant character. Look for someone who touches the lives of others, deeply

“I couldn’t’ve shown it to you… you had to find the road yourself. That’s how the magic works.” The tears fell and her face was the picture of distress. “Please believe me Siolden. I know how much you wanted to find it.”

“What… ”

“I could show you this place, but you would see nothing. You have to be able to feel fire in your soul, to hear the rushing and feel the heat of the falls – and to see them. I don’t know what kind of fire you’ve learnt to feel… but that is the only reason you can see them now.”

“How… how did you ever know you were the Firesoul?”

“It’s just a word. You can give it any name… but I was born this way. I can feel burning in my veins when I am near it. I can see things no one else can see. You can give it any name you like.”

“But…”

“Do you need to know what the word ‘love’ means to be in love? You can give it any name you want, but you will always feel it.”

Her dark eyes burned, and she breathed heavily. Her voice shook as she spoke.

“And now you have found a source. You will leave us. You have your life – and your death – before you, and you will spend it chasing this magic. Alone…” She trailed off in a trembling whisper. “It’s not fair Siolden.”

He could see the faint glow of fire behind the warm hazel of her eyes as she begged him wordlessly – begged him to think of things he dared not believe he could have.

The world did not exist in this hour. The world was far away with the dark grey dawn. All that existed was this brilliant waterfall of fire he had sought for so long, and this gentle girl he had found. The sad warrior took two steps, and dared to gather her in his arms. He felt the soft curve of her back, and the graceful cling of her arms as they drew around his neck. He nearly melted at her touch. Her dark, soulful eyes looked up at him in wonder. She loved him.

“You… you cannot look at a man like that,” he implored softly, drowning in her warm hazel gaze.

“Siolden… ”

“I will stay – I will do anything! Anything… ”

“Siolden.... ” She put one small hand on his face. Her eyes filled with tears. “How can you say such things… I would give the world to make you happy…. Happy here with me… ”

He kissed the small hand. Then he bent his head and kissed her sweet crooked smile. A long, gentle, loving kiss that stirred his soul to depths beyond his understanding. He felt her soft breath on his, her dark hair on his face, and he could smell the heathery fragrance of her warm being. He was alive, he was loved and he was complete.

The world would be there for him to fix, all the rest of his days. But the best part of the world, he held in his arms.

Siolden could not imagine a lesser existence.