The River, The Dragon, and The Wizard (or How Seri Earned Fire)

All things can talk, but most only talk to those clever enough to listen.

"Ah, come on, come on!" cried the girl, her hand on his arm. Her feet splashed through the stream, the gentle taste of spring air filling their lungs.

The boy was laughing. "Slow down!"

"Ah come on, you coward!" Her voice was musical, full of joy.

The boy smiled as he struggled to keep up, his short legs already failing. "Sis! I can't keep up!"

The water sloshed up to his knees, soaking through his shoes. He felt a rock shift beneath him. Her hair flew around her as she bounced, her face resolutely ahead. "We're almost there, Seri! Just a little-"

The rock flipped under his weight and he hand was torn from his wrist. For just a moment, Seri met the eyes of his sister. And then the current stole him, dragging his tiny body down the river. What had seemed knee deep just a few moments ago was suddenly far vaster than he'd thought possible, as wide as a canyon and vast as the night sky. He kicked his legs feebly. It did nothing. The current had him now, wrapping him up tightly in its strong grip.

Seri shut his eyes tightly as the water pulled him back under. He counted the seconds slowly, the breath in his lungs slowly running out. The pressure was building. He had to breathe. He needed to breathe. Any second now, he would open his mouth and the water would pour in and devour him from the inside. He couldn't last any longer. His heart was pounding and he was curled up against the rocks scraping his back.

It was like a pounding in his head. It was living thing that had to get up. The gas was building up, it was ripping him up from the inside. He couldn't last any longer. Against his control, Seri's mouth opened and he gasped for air.

Instead of the fresh water filling his lungs, air, sweet fresh air, poured in. He panted there, hair pinned to his forehead, water dripping from his sides and came back to himself slowly.

The mistress of the river cradled him in her massive hands, bearing the frail child body aloft. Strange stars shone overhead and she smiled in the way of rivers, mysterious and vague.

"Hello, little child," said the river.

Seri coughed.

"I have saved you, little child," said the river.

Seri rolled over onto his back and studied her. She was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.

"You owe me a favour, little child," said the river.

"I don't think-" said Seri, only to break down coughing.

The river ran her fingers along his back gently, sloshing into his ears and nose, filling up his lungs for just a moment.

Seri tried to scream but the water muffled it, filling his lungs and stomach to bursting.

"Oh," said the river, oh so sweetly. "Oh, but you wouldn't want to be rude to me, would you little child?"

With that, she withdrew, leaving Seri gasping again for air. Gently she rubbed him against the rocks on her bed.

"A favour?" gasped Seri, still struggling to breathe.

"Oh yes," said the river, wicked sweet. She burbled happily, her white rapids calming to a gentle spring. "A favour, little child. Just one favour, and then you can go home."

All growth requires cost. In this way, demons are honest.

The statue had sat there, untouched, for longer than any could remember. Had it been crafted by mortal hands, it would represent to absolute pinnacle of skill. Only a true master could have captured the dull sheen of the beast's scales, the dimples in its back, the tangled coils of its lengthy curled body, the sharpness of its talons, the malice in its eyes. Fire, white marble fire, burst from its open mouth, almost glowing in the light of the midday sun. But this was no ordinary dragon and this was no ordinary statue.

Seri traced his hand along the base of it, feeling the sinuous muscular curve. He could feel a weight on it, something that reflected back upon him. It carried a potential. It was almost a sense of deja vu. He had been here before. Surely, he had been here before.

But the trees overhead were unfamiliar, branches curled inwards for protection. The river burbled behind him somewhere, the raw emotions of the river expressed as foaming rapids and sharp jagged edges of water. Seri studied the angry face of the dragon, the sheer weight of the muscles straining against stone. It was often said that evil was obvious to the wise, for things often appeared as they truly were to those brave enough to look. But Seri was young and foolish still and he merely saw a mindless beast. He saw no reason to deny to the river her love, no reason not to abide her quest such that he might step back into her flow and be carried home again.

And so Seri found himself wandering up the trail towards the wizard's tower. The tower stood out from the trees, tall and twisted. It was carved, as all wizard towers are, from rock and pure magic. It simply erupted from the earth one day, jutting forth and straining for the stars. The trees themselves bent their wood to avoid it, for it was a place of true magic. The forest itself rejected it.

A bird fluttered to a nearby branch and watched Seri carefully as he hiked. "Greetings master," said the bird.

Seri did not know the names of birds. "Hello bird," he said cautiously, for he knew that birds were often tricky creatures.

"Do you go to see Ol'Wizard Gryvins, master?" croaked the bird.

Seri considered for a moment. "Yes," he said at last. "Why do you call me master?"

The bird cawed once, milky white eyes almost glowing. "You are human, are you not? Is it not your people who turn forests into fields and trees into tools? Is it not your people who conjure the rains and banish the seas? Is it not your people who yolk magic as a tool instead of calling it like a friend? What would you call such a people but "master"?"

Seri considered this. "I am but a smith's son. There is no artistry to my hands. I cannot do those things and therefore I am no master."

The bird chuckled. "Does the wizard not cloak himself as a child? What call you a deception so strong the liar himself is fooled?" It fixed Seri with a piercing glare, laying his very soul on the path between them.

"I am no wizard." Seri had stopped walking to argue with the bird. "Begone, creature!"

"Is learning the process of becoming something new or ceasing to be something old? Are you forgetting who you were or remembering who you will be? Your fate is long, master. We can see it, oh great wizard."

"I am no master, nor will I ever be. See how my hands shake?" Seri held up his frail hands, scarred and wounded. "My will lacks resolution, says my father. He will not teach me and so I will most likely die as I am."

"It is almost paradoxical. The mortals look down upon you as you do to me. And yet, we stand as converse as equals. For what greatness will you seek? What will magic tell you?"

"I am no wizard. I know not magic, bird."

The bird laughed, amused. "You do not speak as a child. The echoes of what will be carry to the present."

Something felt wrong to Seri. He remembered sitting on his mother's lap, her voice in his ear. Stories and tales folding together become patterns, reducing merely to morals and lessons. "Bird," he said, "do you have a name?"

The bird laughed and cast off its feathers. It stretched out sinuously, body lengthening, now a cat, hairless and ugly. It curled around Seri in great fleshy coils, a serpent with rows of teeth running down its back. "I have many names, little lost child. I am Soldak-Vanoush. I am Ramisa Heart-taker. I am Mirira-the-child-thief."

It hissed, a massive mouth splitting open in front of Seri's face. He stared past rows of sharp teeth and that horribly twitching tongue into the depths of its throat. "You are a demon," said the child. It was not a question.

"What brings you to my woods?" asked the demon.

"The river tasked me to steal a dragon's fire."

"Oh!" cried the demon, lost in rapturous pleasure. "Yes, of course. You come for the heart of old Calivanuagh. That jolly old serpent. Oh, how his fire was delicious. It kept me warm through the winter that year."

Seri frowned. "The river said it was in possession of the wizard."

The demon laughed, shaking, retreating a little. "I sold it to the wizard in exchange for an egg." In the form of a spider, it began weaving webs, trapping Seri in a little box.

Seri ran his hands along a web strand. "What hatched from the egg?"

"Nothing! I ate it!" The demon cackled, pleased with itself.

Frowning, Seri asked, "What purpose did that serve?"

The demon was now the webs and it smiled wide, glowing red eyes surrounding the trail. "What purpose will eating you serve, oh great wizard?"

"I'm not a wizard!" cried Seri.

The demon's voice was low, persuasive. "Would you like to be?"

Foolishly, the truth slipped out without hesitation. "Yes," said Seri.

"Yes, it would be good, wouldn't it?" The Demon returned to the form of a bird, hopping on the ground in front of Seri, clutching a mouse in its claws. "Wouldn't it be nice? To leave your home, to commune with the true nature of the world. To become wise. Or to become powerful." Flames began to lash at the trees surrounding the trail. "Power is an object. It can be moved. It can be bought."

Seri swallowed. Child though he was, he knew about the costs of dealing with demons. "At what cost?"

"Ahh," croaked the bird. "Canny child. Things are what they seem. To become a wizard, one must look like a wizard. I cannot grant you power for no cost, for that devalue the very power itself." The bird thought for a long moment, although this assuredly was merely for show. "Here," it said, holding up the mouse in its beak, which was now a sharp knife. "Hold that knife in dragon fire and plunge it into the heart of the river. Do this and I will grant you power."

Seri hesitated. The knife felt cold and heavy in his hands. But take it he did.

The bird laughed as it flew off.

A sharp knife is more useful than a dull knife, but a dull knife holds more symbolism that a sharp knife.

And as the sun set, Seri's sister sat on the riverband where hours earlier her younger brother had vanished. Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, face grim. "It's time to go," he said.

Screaming, she plunged into the river again, it only coming up to her knees at the deepest. Where had he gone?

Overhead the stars winked. There were answer there if only she knew how to read them.

The wise wizard listens. The powerful wizard commands.

"Well now," said the old man. "What strange move are you?"

Seri blinked. The sky overhead was darkening rapidly, the sun fading into the mountains and the sky streaked with purple. But the bonfire in the centre of the clearing illuminated the shirtless old man sitting crosslegged.

"Speak child," said the wizard Gryvins.

Seri stammered a little as he spoke. "Um, greetings master. I-"

"No." The wizard cut him off. "I'm no master. Are we not both human?"

His wrinkles trapped the light from the fire, almost seemed to glow as his skin sagged off his frail body. "I'm sorry."

His cracked lips spread in a gentle smile. "Ah, I see have scared you. Come child. Come sit by the fire and tell me of your journey. You must have come far to make it to my tower." Indeed, the tower cast the whole scene in oppressive shadow, sitting across the clearing as it did.

"Okay," said Seri as he moved to sit on a rock across the fire.

"Do you have a name, boy?"

"I'm Seri, sir."

"Ah, ah! No sir. Call me Gryvins."

Seri hesitated for a moment. "Alright, Gryvins," he tried, experimentally.

"Now Seri, what brings you to my tower?"

"A river asked me to steal your fire."

Gryvins laughed, a true deep belly laugh. "Did it now? That tricky old hag. Where did she pluck you from?"

"I come from the village of Sarador, sir."

"Ah, "sir"." Gryvins grunted. "Respectful lad, aren't you? Ah well." He paused. "Sarador, eh? Never heard of it."

Seri's eyebrow tightened in confusion, but he stayed silent. The knife sat heavy in his pocket.

After it became clear the boy would not speak without prompting, Gryvins continued. "Well, Seri. What would you like to do now?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Would you like to go home?"

Seri hesitated slightly too long before nodding.

"You don't seem particularly confident, lad."

"Aye, sir."

"Well, perhaps you would like my fire then?" He gestured at the bonfire between them, that towering pillar of flame.

Seri frowned. "You would be willing to part with it, sir?"

"Perceptive." Gryvins laughed again, amused. "It's worthless to me. I paid a pittance for it and so it has no value to me. Remember that always."

"Does that mean it would be worthless to me as well?"

"Well lad, that would depend on what you pay, wouldn't it?"

"Can I take it?"

"Of course, Seri. Simply reach out and take it."

Seri extended his hand into the heat for just a moment before retreating against the pain.

"Not so easy, is it?"

Seri stared at the flickering flames thoughtfully. He could almost see little dragon-like sparks dancing in it. "So it would hold power for me because it would hurt me to take it."

"Yes," agreed the wizard.

"And for the dragon?"

"How many years has the beast been sealed? I think it should hold the most value for the dragon of all."

"Who trapped the dragon?" asked Seri, and perhaps this was a wise question.

The wizard's eyes met Seri's through the flames. Voice low, he spoke, "the demon did."

"I met the demon in the woods," said Seri.

"Well, aren't you just a fascinating move."

"You said that before. "Move". What do you mean, sir?"

"The demon and the river have been playing this game for many years. The demon wants to kill the river. And the river wants to kill the demon."

Seri considered this. "And I'm a pawn."

"Aye," said the wizard.

"Why don't they simply fight?"

"That should be obvious, I would think."

"Do all wizards speak in riddles?"

The wizard chuckled. "Someday you will too, Seri."

Seri scoffed. "I want to go home. How do I do that?"

"Follow the trail." The wizard gestured back along the path Seri had come. "But it is dark. Before you go, let me teach you something."

The air tasted like lightning. Seri held still as a rock, every nerve in his body active.

The wizard's mouth opened and arcane words poured out. His hand snapped and then there was fire in it, glowing and snapping. He tossed it gently, squeezing it as one might a small creature. "Fire," said the wizard, "is a very useful thing. Try."

The words were unfamiliar and the hand gesture almost painful. Nothing happened.

The wizard smiled and demonstrated again.

The two stood there for some time more as the sun set and the stars came out. They stood there until Seri made fire for the first time and laughed as his magic poured out of him and into the world itself, fire cupped within his hand as a friend and not an enemy. And in that, there was power. The sharing of knowledge is a bond and a bond is a tool.

The difference between a thing and its symbol is negligible. This is why the wise wizard practices their art.

The trail was dark and cold but for the flickering lights born from his palm. The trees seemed to dance in the darkness, the wind whispering warnings through their branches. The stars were unfamiliar. Truly the river had carried him far. How long would he have to walk to return home?

"Fool!" cried a voice.

Seri jumped a little, panicked.

"Buffoon!" cried another from the other side. Red eyes glowed in the darkness.

Seri's feet found the trail and he started running, the fire giving him just enough view of the ground to ensure his feet continued to land safely.

"Halt!" howled the demon, voice deep and angry. It hopped from branch to branch, bristling with teeth and claws.

Seri did not halt. Instead, he kept running.

He sprinted down the trail until it widened and he found himself on the bank of a great river. It was massive. The failing light of his magic was lost to the dark water, the far side invisible if even there was one. It roared, rushing past with great speed. Seri hesitated on the bank, the rocky ground unsteady beneath his feet. But the demon burst from the trees, in the form of a great serpent teeth dripping from its open mouth and Seri leapt into the river.

The river's outstretched hand caught him. She smiled. "Hands off, foul creature," she hissed gleefully.

Roaring, the demon backed off before it hit the water. It knew better than to fight in a place of power.

Seri's fire was snuffed in the water and he was left in the dark, the glowing stars above the sole source of illumination. "Thank you," he said to the river.

She chuckled. "Did you bring me the fire?"

Seri's hand felt the knife in his back pocket, fingers tightening around the hard leather grip. His thumb ran along the blade. The knife was dull as anything. What good would slashing water do anyway? Carefully, he spoke. "I did not, my lady."

The demon laughed from its position on the bank.

She hardened. "Pray tell, child. Whyever would you not?"

"It didn't seem right."

The river split in two, plunging Seri against the rocky riverbed. "Right?" she yelled. "Right? Let me tell you about right!" The water swirled above him angrily, threatening to crash down and drown him. "I wait for my love. I wait, year after year, as the stars circle above and the trees grow tall and old. I wait, locked in my banks. I wait for an eternity. And I wait so some child can lecture me about right? His heart was stolen and it shall be returned if I have to erode the very world itself!"

The demon cackled from the bank.

"I am but a child. Whatever this is, I want no part in it."

"Then here you shall die!"

The river began to descend, only for the chilling voice of the demon to interrupt. "It wasn't stolen, you imperious brat."

"You lie!"

"He sold it to me! He sold it to be rid of you, you foul snake." A kind of manic glee suffused the demon's words. "Oh, how he despised you."

The river whirled, confused. Seri saw the gap and took his chance, hurtling towards the bank. The river reached for him, fingers of water snapping at his heels. But he made it, diving facedown on the rocky shore. The demon sat above him and smiled.

The river screamed angrily, but both were out of her reach now.

Seri rolled over and muttered the spell. Sparks clicked and his hand lit up, the fire putting a little heat back in his bones. It reflected in the angry eyes of the demon. It grinned wide, wider, rows of sharp teeth glinting. "I see. How clever," it said.

"What do you mean?" asked Seri. But it was too late because the demon had taken to the air on scaled wings, slipping off into the night.

And the woman wished for immortality, so the demon took her flesh, as rivers are immortal.

And the demon laughed, for it was sure it had won.

The old man sat alone in the clearing, his back to the stone of the tower. It was dark, the bonfire long gone out. He smiled to himself, feeling the cold deep in his bones. Above the stars whispered to him of what was to come, for he was an old master and spoke the language of the sky.

The demon surged out of the woods, wrapping him up in sinuous coils, muscles and bones threatening to snap the old man's frail body. "Where's your fire now, wizard?" hissed the demon.

The old man chuckled. "What is it worth to you?"

Its massive head settled mere inches in front of the wizard's, their eyes meeting. "Fool. Your vigil ends here and for what? What purpose have you served?"

"Kill me and see," said the old man.

So the demon did.

Magic flows through all of us, even those who never use it.

The river wept, for it knew that the wizard was dead. She cared not for his fate but for what it represented. The demon craved the contents of that tower and with them, her lover's heart. She would never be reunited with the dragon and so she wept. And the boy on the bank watched this curiously, for he had never seen a river cry before. In one hand, he held a dull knife, old and powerful. In the other, he held fire, hot and young.

The thing about fire is that it only ever grows. All fire comes from the same source and shares the same fate. The river understood this intimately, for water is the same way. And perhaps in studying the way she wept, he began to understand this.

And the river parted around him as he crossed. The statue on the opposing bank stood there, proud and tall. It sensed the fire. It sensed his approach. It almost turned to face him.

The pattern was obvious. Seri pressed his hand to the dragon's chest and it roared.

It cast off its stones, bursting from within. It cast off its scales, bursting from within again. As a man, it stumbled to the water, half pulled by the boy. The river studied the boy and the boy studied the river. He could see her heart and almost feel the tug of the knife.

"The demon must die," said the river. "The demon must die or we will never be free."

Seri thought of his sister. Seri thought of the joy of running through the world. The knife left his hands, clattering to the rocky ground. "I know how to kill it," he said. "I shall do it."

And the man cast off his flesh, becoming water as his eternal love. Together, the two of them swam, intertwined. They danced through the water as powerful spirits eternal.

The dragon left the boy his fire, for he sought to accept peace. And the river left the boy her ruthlessness, for she sought to accept peace. And the boy accepted them both for he knew that peace must be purchased through sacrifice.

Fire in hand, he walked into the forest.

Wisdom is meaningless. Cast it from your mind to know peace.

The demon curled around the tower like a great snake. It had carved a huge gash in its side, letting magic spill out like blood from a great beast. The remnants of a life spewed into the woods in a great pile, adorned with the corpse of the wizard.

Seri strode into the clearing proudly, his face illuminated by his outstretched hand. "Demon!" he yelled.

The demon laughed a great hissing laugh. Voice booming, it replied, "hello little child. Tire of the river, did you?"

"You tore that couple apart."

"They asked me to!" The demon laughed again. "That's the beauty of it. I gave them nothing they didn't want."

"And yet they were unhappy."

"Perhaps there's some wisdom there for you, boy."

Seri glanced at the wizard. "What purpose does this serve?"

"Ah, wizards. Tricksy things." The demon's eye twitched. "He lied to me. He trapped me in this forest. I was merely extracting payment. And now..." The demon flapped its wings forcefully. "I am free."

Seri kept his face level, difficult though it was. "What will you do with your freedom?"

"Why, I think I'll drink that stupid river. And cook her dragon for dinner. But first, do you know why they call me Mirira-the-child-thief?" It smiled that evil smile, teeth the size of swords.

Seri stood his ground. "Answer me first, demon. You offered the wizard power. What did you extract for it?"

The demon laughed. "Yes," it said, as it descended the tower onto thousands of scuttling legs. "Yes, you shall die wise. This is a fair price." It hissed. "I gave him nothing, for power is its own cost. His responsibility bid him fight me and that cost him everything."

"And me? Were I to bring you the river's heart? What would that be worth?"

"Nothing, for the river has no heart!" howled the demon, amused by its own ingenuity.

"What about the power?"

"Why, boy?", it whispered, pressed its nose against the back of his head. "Do you crave it?"

Seri held out the fire. "Demon!" he roared. "What is a thing worth?"

"Obvious, child! What is paid!"

"What was fire worth to the wizard?"

"An egg!" it laughed.

"To the dragon?"

"A lifetime!" it laughed.

"To me?"

The demon hesitated for just a moment. "Nothing! You paid nothing!"

"Wrong," he said, resolute.

And the fire opened wide, consuming. The fire spread with the costs that were paid. It spread with the sacrifice of the wizard and the dragon. It spread with the sacrifices that were to come, for the demon was right to scent fate on Seri. The fire lit with the difference between the lonely path of the blacksmith's son and the path he now walked. The fire lit with the force of a hurricane. And the demon was no more, for it had made a deal it couldn't fulfil.

For peace is the greatest cost of all. Those who chose power always pay it.

Seri's sister sat upright, heart hammering. She could feel it approaching.

A boy walked out of the river that night, fire clutched in one hand and power in the other. But he was not the same. He never would be again.