The Isle of Magic

by SwordTune

Burning Passions

There is no greater threat to our northern border than the Kingdom of Water, who has developed the most organized and systematic government on the Isle. If a conflict were to ever break out, our warlords will have to learn to unite, or we will face extinction.

~Wyrrefir The Valley Warlord

The Brule smoked black clouds as singers from every warlord gathered for the ritual. Black, voluptuous pillars of hardened ash held up the roof of the temple. The Brule was the only thing that could really keep the Kingdom of Fire together. It was the birthplace of every pony in its borders, the result of a holy sacrament that all other life condemned as impossibly cruel.

Prya waited among the congregation, watching as prisoners were brought to the altar of the Brule. The wide metal dish had space for five sacrifices to stand around its central flame. Branchlings, harvested from the clan west of the kingdom, made up most of today's procession.

But they weren't the only ones. An Oilform with a glistening black surface sat quietly once he was chained to the sacrificing stage. There were Mosslings too, two red and a green, who continued to struggle uselessly against the Burning Ones. Ponies who trained their whole lives to capture more fuel for the kingdom, they did not let simple Mosslings trouble them.

Yet, despite the rare catches, eyes widened most at the two Breezie spies that had been caught sneaking into the kith forests. They flailed and squirmed the hardest, crying out in their incomprehensible language. One was dragged away for the afternoon ceremony, while the other was placed by the Oilform.

"Colts and gentlemares," announced the procession's leader to the congregation, "stallions and fillies of all lands, we undertake today's rare occasion of unity to witness the rebirth, our kind's purest gift to the world."

The small coals of Pyra's eyes rolled at the notion that they were a gift. Burning Ones taught the belief that Fireforms, as beings of pure energy, inherited the spirit of everything they burned, from dead things like metals to kith trees, it was their predestined duty to preserve old lives and memories, while making space for new ones.

"These beings, taken to our Mother Blaze, have reached the end of their lives. Some are sick, some are old, others must be punished for crimes that threaten life itself." The leader gestured to the Breezie. "But they all will have their essence burned into the mind and body of a new generation of Fireforms."

Pyra looked at her own flames flickering off of her body. How did any pony fall for their lies? She had no memories of her mother, the Branchling that her father had apparently "redeemed" during a skirmish into the Branchling clan's forests. Her governess told her it was because she was born from mundane fighting, not from their precious ritual sacrifice, that made her connection so weak.

"Step forward, young Fireforms," beckoned the leader.

The Brule was a long amphitheatre that stretched into the side of the volcano where sons and daughters of warlords and their commanders were selected to contribute their own fire. They were selected for their heat, the defining trait of will so that the bodies of the sacrificed didn't mix into a single tortured being, but five newborn individuals.

Pyra glared from her seat among the common ponies. Down there, among the first five chosen for the ritual, was her half-sister, standing lustfully over the Oiling. Her half-brother would be along later to take a sacrifice too. There was no doubt all her half-siblings would have children today, their father was "The Falling Star of the South," Wyrrefyr, a proud lineage eager to pass on its glory.

More morbidly, as the participants approached the centre, the Burning Ones tightened the chains on their sacrifices. They wore special linings made by Breezie soldiers who needed protection against their kingdom's extreme heat, allowing the Burning ones to grip the sacrifices by the face and turn them up toward their killers.

It took only one drip of magic and fire from each of the participants and their sacrifices transformed into a hellish orange. The Oilform, quiet until now, roared the most. His voice was ripped and shredded as the fire ate through his body the quickest, elevating beyond the emotion of anger to pure rage.

"Burn 'em!" laughed a young Fireform in the lower seats in front of Pyra. Born only a few weeks ago, she guessed.

The cries of pain quickly turned into the mewling of newborn Fireforms once they entered the Mother Flame. It was a pile of wood set on fire by lava a few centuries ago. The came out with wide black eyes, the hot coals in their heads looking around like nothing was real.

One of those down there was now her niece. So quickly did fire burn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A moving brazier awaited Pyra outside the steps of the Brule, standing by it was her governess, Tulene. Stonehounds, the kind that lived in heated chambers of magma under the kingdom's volcanoes, blew smoke up in thick curtains, providing privacy while they pulled the brazier.

"Miss Starling," Tulene uttered in a soft-spoken manner, though it was a merely for show. Pyra knew well the wrath that mare had within her. "Let us return home. Training begins shortly."

"I'm not going home yet, ma'am," Pyra replied politely while her flames crackled slightly hotter.

"You know what your teacher would say. Your aunt isn't exactly the kind of lady this kingdom needs."

Pyra rolled her coal eyes and walked away from the brazier. "My teachers should learn to give Lord Wyrrefir's sister a chance. The rest of my family's a bunch of stuck-up royals anyway, whether or not I learn the right lessons won't change how little I matter to them."

Her governess stretched out her hoof and placed a circle of fire around Pyra. The newborns, just coming out of the Brule with their new parents, watched.

"You are making a scene, young lady," hissed the governess.

"You almost sound like a real parent" Pyra goaded her. "But if you were, you would've asked my father to visit me for once in my life."

"Are you really going to resist me?" Tulene laughed, ignoring the taunt. "I thought you wanted to get out of hard work."

"Oh, this isn't going to be hard." Pyra engulfed the volcanic earth around her and burned off her governess's magic, cutting back her hoof. He reached out her own magic and her flame followed, eating up the energy like they were a pile of dry leaves. Her hoof knocked over the brazier, scattering hot coals over Tulene.

Her governess, enraged by their transport being destroyed, burned out of the coals and grabbed up a chunk, knocking Pyra over in one hard throw.

"You are a lady of the Kingdom of Fire, Miss Starling," she said. "A lady has no time for the ridiculous games Aunt Bonfyrre wastes her time with. Now, you will stay there like a soldier while I get some pony to clean this mess up."

Pyra burned her way out of the coals slowly. It seemed Tulene was as tired of their arguments as Pyra was. She had never gotten mad like that before. No, Pyra cleared her mind. Rarely, not never. She was there when her father scorched up her mother, a lieutenant in the warlord's raiding party.

She was assigned her like any other job. Pyra knew that whatever she felt for her governess, the mare had a long and great career before her, and will return to that glory once her father found a family who would have her as a daughter-in-law.

"I'm going to Aunt Bonfyrre," Pyra groaned, heating up the coals. They reddened and darkened, smoking up the air the same way the stonehounds did. A little trick her aunt had taught her to get out of a fight.

"Don't you dare-" Tulene caught a coal in her throat as hundreds of small pieces of coal burst from the smoke. They spread and burned and covered the steps of the Brule in a thick haze. Hot embers rising, it was too much to see through, giving Pyra more than enough time to stretch her form out into a blazing trail and simmer off to her aunt's manor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonfyrre estate, for a warlord's sister, was pathetic. It was on an open field of grass that grew healthily green with the volcanic ash beneath their roots. It was far from the Brule, her father's castle, and the loud and cluttered city than clattered and sparked under the warlord's protection.

Pyra's aunt took measures to keep her grass protected from any passing Fireform. Wide roads made of paved stone ran across the fields in winding directions, and any embers that flew off of her body could never reach the grass unless she wanted them too.

"Pyra!" called out a squeaky voice from the manor's gardens. Her cousin, Helia, had spotted her from a little patch of kith saplings.

Pyra smiled, the fire on her face burning hotter and forming blue flames from cheek to cheek. "Good to see you're healthy today, Ia."

"How was the Brule?"

Pyra rolled her coals. "Ceremoniously boring as always. I can't believe my siblings are proud of something so dull."

"It's the one thing that unites the lords," Helia said, holding up a kith leaf in her hoof. The tiny green speck dried up and burst into a blue flame, rich in magic. "We'd immolate the whole Isle if the kingdom fractured apart."

"I'm not sure if that's true, Ia."

Helia chuckled. "You're probably right. We're all family, by flame or by marriage. The Brule's just a place to show off to every pony else."

"Spoken truth," Pyra said. "By the way, where is Aunt Bonfyrre?"

"Oh, of course, I almost forgot," Helia grabbed Pyra and brought her around to the back of the manor. "We have some guests, two sons from the Graphus family."

"Northerners, here?" Pyra's eyes burned brighter with interest. "That's days away, what do they want?"

"They're sparring with my brother right now. They came with their father, looking for a bride, I think."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By necessity the training ground kept behind the manor was cleared of anything but stone. Black scorches patterned the asphalt bricks, while bronze and steel weapons glinted with bright reddish-orange eyes from the blazes of the fighters. Bonfyrre sat laughing away with Lignite Graphus, the head of the Graphus family.

Holding the honorific of "Field of Fire," the Fireform was a vast stallion. His flames wrapped around two eyes of bright red diamonds, proof of his claim that he had been born in the heart of a volcano. True or not, the magic in those gems put him a good head taller than any other pony in the kingdom.

"You're slouching, darling," Bonfyrre called out to her son.

Cufyrre growled and scrunched up behind his shield. "I know, mother." His hoof's flames were wrapped around a mace but he failed to attack Peatbog, Lignite's younger son.

"He wasn't this cautious against my other boy," Lignite said, looking over to his elder son resting against a weapon rack. "Training him to be merciful?"

Bonfyrre smirked. "Sweetheart, sometimes it pays to be diplomatic. Should he go all out, Peatbog might get hurt. You'd be honour bound to retaliate after that, and neither of us wants that."

"Bon you are a real spark," he mused. "Should've been born a stallion, The Valley could use a leader like you, now more than ever."

"But if I were a stallion, how could we-"

"Mother, cousin Pyra just came from the Brule," Helia said as she entered the training grounds. She gave her brother a wide berth and brought Pyra over to the porch where they were sitting. Helia bowed her head to Lignite, Pyra following her lead.

"Oh perfect!" Bonfyrre gestured to them both. "Lignite, this is my daughter, Helia. Pyra's my niece, here to escape her lessons I'm sure."

Lignite rose from his seat, demonstrating the full extent of his size. Pyra and Bonfyrre weren't short mares by any standard, but Pyra still felt her neck straining to look up at him. He extended his hoof and they shook, Lignite's fire feeling much cooler than Pyra's.

"I'm sorry for intruding on your rare meeting with your aunt, Pyra," he said, gesturing to Helia and Bonfyrre. "These two wonderful mares have been telling me how important days like these are to you. But, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd let my son join your party today."

She looked over at Peatbog. The colt wasn't unfit, but he was a cautious fighter. He didn't have the ferocity that the kingdom preferred in its Fireforms. Her cousin Cufyrre was taking it easy on him.

"Are you certain? Tea parties can be rather cutthroat at times," she asked.

Lignite laughed heartily. "Parties are more his speed. He doesn't much care for fighting."

"Well then, Helia, why don't you and Pyra head up to the lounge while I finish up talking with Lignite? I'll be up shortly with our guest."

The two did as they were told and went into the manor through a door of black volcanic glass. Relaxing back into her chair now that the kids were gone, Bonfyrre grabbed a fresh branch from a kith sapling and put it in her mouth, burning the magic into her body.

Lignite opted to stay standing, watching proudly as his younger son struggled through the fight, tenaciously so. "Helia might be too sick to learn to fight, but what are you doing with Wyrrefir's daughter?"

"She's a bastard child, and it's not like my brother has any problem having children," Bonfyrre scoffed. "You said this kingdom needs leaders like me."

"But the fact that she's his bastard makes it harder," Lignite muttered. "She's spent most of her life in training ground like this one. Mare or stallion, that's what bastards do when they have a royal fire like hers. How is she going to drop her old lessons to learn about tea parties and diplomacy? Neither is my strong suit but even I know it doesn't have overnight."

"Same way as Anthrasus," Bonfyrre smiled, gesturing to the older son. "She wants to learn our 'silly little games,' and I'm certain she's spent every second of her combat lessons hating them."

Lignite huffed and sat back in his wide stone chair that would've been too big for any other Fireform. He grabbed a kith branch and smoked it with Bonfyrre to calm himself. Immediately his flames brightened as more magic burned into him.

"A war is coming," he said, speaking as if he was reminding himself as much as he was telling Bonfyrre. "Something happened in the Kingdom of Water, they've moved their garrisons closer to our border. Scouts from the Frostform clan have also started popping up near my home, though they let themselves get melted before we could learn anything."

"It's these Breezie rumours I've heard about," Bonfyrre said. "I've entertained enough Branchlings begging not to be raided to know that we're not the biggest threat on their radar anymore. Breezies are expanding their lands, and it's eating into the others clans."

Lignite waved the branch of kith around in his mouth. "Meaning fewer kith fields for us. May the Brule help us all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pyra relaxed as Helia helped her into her dress of chainmail. It was an old style that had been making a comeback among many lords. Not as protective as plates of metal, the chainmail let in more air for Pyra to breathe. Its loose, flowing look was elegant, her dress stretching out a short distance on the floor.

She powdered her face with magnesium powder, to brighten her complexion, and lithium powder to redden her cheeks. Over a normal fire, the two metals would have simply burned away, but Fireforms changed their properties for a short while when they burned different things. The edges of her fire clung to magnesium white and lithium red, reproducing those colours even after the metals themselves burned away.

Helia grabbed a metal handled comb that had been soaking in a solution of lithium, a comb with made of wood from a kith tree. She ran the damp claws along the top of Pyra's head to entice a mane to form around the kith's magic, while the lithium solution fused with the embers to make a permanent mane of violet-red fire. Permanent, at least, until Pyra's governess extinguishes it when she goes home.

"I could look at this forever," Pyra beamed, tossing her mane along the side of her neck.

Helia smiled and put away her make-up brushes. "If it means I don't have to redo it every time your governess 'cleans you up' then all the better."

"Actually, maybe that's not a good idea," Pyra corrected herself. "I love watching you work Ia. I feel like a canvas being painted on."

They strode out of the powder room together with their dresses on, Pyra feeling bad that she didn't know how to help Helia with her outfit. But together they looked like a matched set, a little detail Helia was attentive enough to keep in mind. The floors of the manor were polished black tile made from the same volcanic stone as the Brule.

But the walls were made of a bright and shiny white marble, the surface so clear that Pyra could see deeper into the stone and look at all the little crystals that reflected her light.

Brass mirrors and other wall fixtures adorned the hallway to the tea lounge. They passed by Pyra's favourite, a brass replica of one of the relics that washed up on the Isle from time to time. It was the top piece of a staff or cane, with an oddly shaped head of a pony with a horn sticking out of its forehead. Just looking at the eyes, she knew it wasn't depicting any of the pony races that lived on the Isle, which made sense. It was a relic from the sea, after all.

"What are we having today?" Pyra asked as she entered the lounge, a small, light-pink room carved from rose quartz geodes. A round marble table adorned the centre which was filled with napkins, porcelain plates, ashtrays. Lavender scented candles, tributes from Branchling families who didn't want to be burned alive, produce sweet flames.

Pyra passed her hoof over one of them, drawing a small bit of the fire into her body, shivering at the calm sensation of the candle.

"Silver White Rain," Helia said, lifting up the lid of crystal tea leaf jar. "My mother brought some back from the Kingdom of Sand after her last diplomatic mission there. We've been waiting for a special day to try it."

The aroma was strong enough that she didn't even need to burn a leaf to try it. Just by sitting down at the table Pyra felt like she was taking a breath on a rainy day of spring, without the agonizingly slow and deadly suffering brought on by water extinguishing her body.

She couldn't suppress a giggle from the sensation.

They sat and chatted about their recent interests. The last time they spoke was about five months ago when Pyra sneaked out of in the middle of the ceremony to avoid her governess. Helia had taken up charcoal sketching since then, drawing what she imagined the rest of the Isle looked like on thin slabs of marble.

Pyra told her how she wished she could do something so creative. For her, daily life consisted of polishing and sharpening her brothers and sisters' weapons, then sparring with her teachers. The only exciting days were when Branchlings were brought in for real fights; she told her cousin how she'd always draw out a fight to try to talk to them, but they were always too frightened of her to say anything interesting.

Halfway through their conversation the door opened and Bonfyrre entered with Lignite's son. He was not the sputtering scrawny one who was fighting Cufyrre, but the other son, a colt who looked like he'd one day outgrow his giant of a father. He may have been older than Pyra, but no pony should've have been a head taller than her at his age.

"This is Anthrasus," Bonfyrre introduced him, gesturing him to sit in the seat beside Helia. Bonfyrre took her own seat by Pyra. "He's expressed a lot of interest our 'little games,' and he has a lot to say about life on the northern border."

Pyra forced a smile, parting her mane to show a bright and cheerful face. "It's very good to meet you." She shook his hoof heartily but beyond that, she wasn't sure if she would be able to bear the next few hours. This young stallion was everything she wanted to get away from, the strength and ferocity of the training grounds, the need to do everything on her own.

Pyra wanted Ashling servants, she wanted bright sun and clean floors that weren't stained with charcoal and smoke. Before Bonfyrre brought up their first conversation, however, their tea was brought in.

"Golden Kith Royal," said the two Ashlings. The coal-black Ashling placed two pitchers of distilled kith sap in the centre of the table.

"Bottled on the day of the Molten Sun," added the wood-white Ashling as he placed kith branches on their plates. "The Master of the Cellar says this was made to commemorate the meteors that caused the wildfire that spread the kingdom's southern border."

"Yes, I've heard you can taste ten thousand deaths in the alcohol," Bonfyrre joked, a gesture that made her servants uneasy and unsure of what to say. "Do be good helpers and return as soon as you can with the Mason Red. Kith can get too sweet without it."

Glad to be dismissed, the two Ashlings bowed and turned away, sealing the door behind them. Bonfyrre did the honours of pouring out the kith wine, alcohol made by fermenting the sugar in kith sap. Helia helped her mother by taking up the jar of tea leaves and adding them to their cups.

The alcohol in the Golden Kith Royal was an excellent solvent for the tea leaves. Pyra didn't know exactly what that meant, but on her first tea party, her aunt assured her that she simply needed to know that alcohol was the key to success in any diplomatic room.

Anthrasus watched carefully but in his shining coal eyes, Pyra could see his thoughts. Definitely, it was his first time. Aunt Bonfyrre trusted him though, so she would give him a chance.

Once the table had been set, Helia led the first drink to ease Anthrasus into it. Most Fireforms stayed away from liquids, many of the lower classes had never even heard of tea, while the lords and their families rarely had an interest in drinking it, though they did keep large cellars just for show.

Helia sucked on the tip of a kith branch, scorching it with her fire, and dipped it into her cup. The wine popped into a relaxing blue flame and, after a second, she lifted the cup up to her mouth and sipped up the sweet, spring-scented fire.

All the while, Antrasus kept his eyes on her, doing everything exactly as Helia did. Bonfyrre and Pyra drank their tea with them, though enjoying it at their own pace.

"Now then, onto business," Bonfyrre said, nodding to Pyra. "I hear I'm going to be a grand-aunt now, am I? Your siblings have all burned up their first sacrifice?"

Pyra nodded. "My sister Fiera was in the opening ceremony. She got to burn an Oilform for her child."

"Oh?" Bonfyrre raised a brow and turned to Anthrasus. "Was that the scout that was captured around your area?"

The colt nodded meekly, his voice much quieter than what Pyra had expected. "It could be. We found him five days ago, so he would've arrived yesterday during the sacrifice preparations."

"Certainly good for the family, Oilings burn hotter than most," Bonfyrre said. "He'll be a difficult child to feed though."

Anthrasus looked to Pyra. "Do you that's enough to put your sister on the seat of successor?"

She didn't respond for a moment, not realizing he had addressed her. When she caught Helia looking at her, her coal brightened with surprise. "Oh, uh, it might be. The rest of my siblings didn't get sacrifices as good as hers, but she is still a mare. Wyrrefir isn't going to take away my brother's birthright just because his grandson has a hotter flame."

"I just hope they don't raise that one like the rest," Bonfyrre worried. "A Fireform born from an Oiling, that's a card I'd like to be able to play when the time's right."

Only here, in the most private room, could Pyra's aunt make a comment like that about her grandnephew. To any pony who saw her, she was just the ditzy sister of the strongest warlord in the Kingdom. Her grasses and gardens and tea parties were considered popular games among Ashlings and Branchlings; Pyra had been told so enough times over her years.

But those games had a different strength in them, the kind that directed invisible strings around the kingdom. And the succession of the Valley with a leader who understood that was the keystone in Bonfyrres grand plan.

"We could begin a rapport with the Magmamolds," Helia suggested, looking to Pyra. "Do remember the history we talked about the last time we were here?"

"The Magma Carta was the peace treaty signed to ally the Magmamold clan to the kingdom," Pyra recited. "They sealed the treaty with a marriage between, um..."

Anthrasus picked up where Pyra stalled. "Lady Butene of the Desert South and Huo Tian Lian, head of the Magmamold family." She was surprised, more than that, she was shocked that he knew what she had forgotten.

But, he bade Pyra continue. "I've only read their names, I don't understand why it wasn't one of the other lords. There were plenty of others at the time who had larger holdings and stronger armies."

"Well," she spoke slowly, wondering if he really didn't know or was just trying to be courteous, "the Magmamolds burn a lot hotter than we do. Their volcano is the most active of the Isle, and it's so hot that we'd lose control of our magic, burning up into thin air after just a few hours. But Lady Butene had an unusually strong flame, so she was the only one who could marry Huo Tian Lian."

Anthrasus's eyes dimmed as he squinted. "Can anything be that hot? The north might be cold, but we still have volcanoes, and I've never heard of a Fireform burning up all their magic like that."

"It's all true," Helia told him, "I went there when I was young, I had gotten sick again and we thought the extra heat could bring back my health. I actually almost died then."

"So, you think the Magmamolds would be willing to marry one of their children to this new Fireform?" Anthrasus sipped the flames of his tea.

Bonfyrre looked to her niece to see if she had a good answer to that question. Pyra noticed, but spoke hesitantly to push across how delicate the situation was.

"They're proud and they have the strength to back it. Their land can't be invaded by our armies, and living so close to a volcano means they produce a little more than half of all the refined alloys in the kingdom."

"But Fireforms born with that high heat are very rare," Anthrasus said.

"True," Bonfyrre took over, smoking on her kith, "but that doesn't mean there can't be more. The right mixture of fuels added to a sacrifice could give birth to one such special child, or pure luck during the combustion. It'd be easy to know, except the warlords hide so many of their children away in convents and military camps. Just look at what my brother does to Pyra and you'll see how hard it is for us to know for sure if we have the only marriage opportunity."

A knock came from the door, the Ashlings servants again with the Mason Red wine Bonfyrre had requested. Helia let them in, a short reprieve from their concerns on the succession of the Valley.

Unburdened by fresh wine and tea leaves, Pyra's flames reddened as they cooled slightly. She didn't particularly enjoy having a stallion around at her social gathering, but she felt glad that someone outside her family could appreciate how she looked. Or at least, she hoped he appreciated it.

She pushed her hair back, feeling it for herself and showing it off a little. It was all Helia's hard work, but Pyra didn't let that deny the fact she wore her mane well. The Ashlings poured out new cups and placed new branches, quickly leaving the room afterwards.

This, more than the family politics, was what made her happy. Even meeting a new pony was fun, and she wanted to keep doing it, getting to know him better and meet even more ponies. The little desire manifested into a spark, one that almost leapt from her head and burst the Mason Red in a gout of flames. But she kept it under control and simply looked to her aunt.

"What is it, darling?" Bonfyrre asked.

It was a stretch, nearly impossible and highly improbable, but Pyra had an idea that could break her out of her cycle of training and give her aunt the information she wanted.

"I want to get my father to throw a birthday party, no, even better, a birthday gala," she said. "For all kids, of course, but especially for the oil-born."

"And show our hand too early?" Bonfyrre scrunched up the flames upon her face.

Pyra shook her head. "To show respect to the Magmamolds' pride. I think they're more likely to accept our offer if we bring it out into the open, more likely than small-room talks at least."

Bonfyrre thought about it. Apart from it being impossible to make her brother do anything festive, Bonfyrre didn't see a flaw in that plan. It was based on the chance that the Magmamolds would take interest in a way to refresh the Magma Carta, but that was a gamble with very good odds in her eyes.

"Are you sure that governess isn't teaching you my lessons?" Bonfyrre smirked proudly to her niece and swallowed a cupful of flames.

Comments

[TheArcticWolf]

Yeesh this whole island is a powder keg with a lit fuse. I eagerly await the imenent explosion.