Touch of Flame

Spending the whole day alone, Malachi had a lot of time to think of the past. His memories drifted to certain times, some he wished to remember and others not.

He remembered his father.

His father was a big man. Powerful, respected, and feared. As young boys, Malachi and his brothers admired him and wanted to grow up to be like him. He oozed strength and confidence. Yet, he smelled like home, warm and safe.

He frequently took them hunting and fishing and made them cut wood or assist the humans working for him in the fields with plow work. He would put them in competition with one another and give the winner a pat on the back or a simple compliment to boost their confidence. This way, he raised them to be both strong and reliant on him.

As they grew older the rivalry between them intensified. They no longer wanted just a compliment or a pat. They wished for him to respect them as men, confide in them, seek their opinion, and let them influence his policies. Their father adjusted his rewards because he was well aware of this.

He would ask for their advice, explain things, invite them out for drinks, and allow them to accompany him to important meetings. He would also counsel them on how to conduct themselves in both work and life.

Malachi recalled how important it was to them to get their father’s approval. ​​He could make them change their ways, only by giving them a disappointed look.

He formed them to his advantage but also to his disadvantage. Competing for their father’s attention often got them into fights and ignited jealousy, but their father taught them to stand together no matter what. It was them against the world until a little girl was born and disrupted their peace.

Amal.

After giving birth to five boys, his mother finally gave birth to a girl. A little fragile being was suddenly running among the large males they had become, teaching them the small joys of life besides competing for his father’s attention. Now they competed about her as well. She was a mischievous little creature and she had them all wrapped around her finger.

Malachi decided to put aside those memories but her voice calling his name echoed in his mind.

“Malachi! Malachi!”

“What is it?”

Whenever she wanted something she would wrap herself around one of his legs.

“Mother said I will marry whoever I love but father and eldest brother have to approve.”

That was the tradition but she was only eight.

“Yes.”

“Then can I marry Star? Please.”

That was her horse, which their father once killed when she disobeyed him. She loved the creature a lot and was heartbroken for days.

“Yes. When you grow up you will marry a man of your choice.” He assured her.

She was so happy about it that she jumped around, missing the word “man” but that joy later came to an end and he looked into her tearful eyes.

She still held onto his leg but this time not because she was small. She had grown into a young beautiful lady, but she was on her knees begging him.

“Please Malachi. Please don’t let them take me. You promised I would marry a man of my choice. Please talk to father. Do something!” She begged.

“I will. Stand up now.”

“No!” She looked up, her eyes showing horror. “Promise me first. Promise me they won’t make me a breeder.”

“They won’t. I won’t let that happen.” He said knowing very well he didn’t have the authority to go against his father.

He tore his leg away from his sister’s grasp and went to find his father.

“Father, what is going on?” He asked him.

“Be more clear.” His father said seated on his throne.

“I thought we didn’t do the breeding thing.”

“We didn’t but now we will. Our race needs us.”

“It is your daughter,” Malachi said standing up against his father for the first time.

“And that is why. There are many pureblood males but we don’t have pureblood females as much. I will let her breed with someone of her choosing.” His father explained calmly.

“That man is not her breedmate.”

“Malachi. As a king, I have a responsibility toward my people not only my family. She will breed for the benefit of our people. We need to be stronger to stand against the humans. Look what they are doing? Populating themselves. Even if we tried, we wouldn’t be able to eradicate them easily.”

“You don’t want to eradicate them,” Malachi spoke the honest truth to his father. His father wanted control over the humans. “Let Amal be. I will become a breeder.”

“We need a purebred female.” His father said.

“I am sure you can find me one, or all of them if you wish. I will do it. Release Amal from this.”

His father watched him with narrowed eyes for a moment. “I’ll think about it.” He said.

What happened after that he didn’t want to think about for now. It was enough for today to turn his hot blood cold. Not even the sweet female scent that came to evade his senses was enough to make him burn again.

She was here. She walked straight inside as if in a hurry and pulled the lever only halfway. Then she stepped within his zone and placed a pen and a paper on the ground before walking back and releasing the chains.

“Write your name for me.” She said.

“And If I don’t?”

She pulled a foreign-looking pistol from her bag. “Then I will try my latest invention.”

She was not playing around today. Her eyes weren’t cold. They were burning. What happened?

He was curious. Would she pull the trigger? Could she do such a thing? It would be good to know.

“Then try.” He said.

She aimed right at the side of his stomach where his old infected wound was already hurting. Pain shot through him, stealing his breath away.

“I still have many bullets to try. Now write your name, in your language.” She said.

His language?

He grabbed his stomach where the blood seeped, trying not to get angry despite the pain. It was a different kind of pain. Not obsidian. This was something that caused him pain even with small movements. He hadn’t seen it before.

“Do you enjoy tending to me?” He asked, trying to keep his voice sturdy.

“Talk less, king Malachi, and do as I say.”

He went to pick up the book and pencil, the thing in his body stabbing him in every movement. For a moment he considered tearing it apart but if he was going to pay her back, he needed to think long-term.

He looked at the empty page. Why did she want him to write his name in his language? She must have found out something she wanted an answer to.

He contemplated whether to write rubbish or reveal their language. If he wanted her softening toward him, perhaps he should give her what she wanted.

He wrote his name in Targas. The dragon language, then threw her the pen and notebook. She picked them up and stared at the letters. Her face remained passive as she closed the book.

She looked between his face and then at his wound. “Since I am already testing, perhaps I will come back tomorrow to collect information on how badly it hurts.”

“Maybe you could offer me tea since I volunteered.” He told her.

“Do you like it with honey or poison?”

“Just brew it with your own hands, princess.”

She stiffened for some odd reason. Pink colored her cheeks and her heart accelerated. Why?

Without another word, she hurried away.

Once she left, he could finally grimace in pain. He opened the bandage, unable to endure the stabbing he decided to go through a lot of pain once and then let it by over.

He dug the wound with his own fingers, his face twisting with pain, he reached deeper and deeper and grabbed something sharp, spearlike but with blade winges, and pulled it out cutting through his already swollen flesh.

Then with a groan, he fell back, panting from all the pain, knowing he wouldn’t heal so easily now.

Today the woman made another mistake. She didn’t kill him.