The Great GM - Chapter Two
…or at least a snippet of it…
Last chapter’s choice: Run and get father out of the house, yelling, “FIRE! FIRE!” at the top of my lungs.
A great voice booms.
“I like it. Sensible priorities mixed with a touch of panic.”
You jump out of bed, blood thundering in your ears so loudly that, at first, you do not hear the screams. You think it is your father and you race down the blazing hallway all the faster, only peripherally aware that it looks like the throat of a volcano. It is only as you approach your father’s door that you recognise the timbre of the voice and realise it is your own. A part of you rolls its eyes, telling you no one could possibly hear you, but somehow you can’t seem to stop.
Da’s coughing becomes more animated, now boasting a hack and undertones of fear.
“Da!” you yell, slapping the hot door panel. The door is stuck fast in the frame. Did you try the latch? You can’t remember, but to do so would have been foolish, the equivalent of using your bare hands to pull iron off of the coals.
Between coughs, you hear a muffled response. “Get out! Quickly, child, get yourself to safety!”
Your heart cracks and a low, whining moan grinds out of your mouth. Save yourself, and leave him? Although you are suddenly flooded with sorrow, you find you are something else, too.
You are very, very angry.
He cannot die. You will not allow it. You do not remember picking up the anvil hammer but it is in your hand. You crush it into the bedroom door, which shatters like kindling. Then a few things happen in the space of an instant.
First, smoke billows out. You squint, waving to try and clear your vision. It doesn’t help. No matter, he will be on his bed. You’re as sure of it as if you could see him.
Second, the fire stampedes down the hall, eagerly diving past you, around the doorframe and inside, glutting itself on fresh surfaces. The force of its passage built as it came up the hallway, knocking you inside. In seconds, the fire is hungrily eyeing your Da.
Hungrily. You can feel it. Taste the longing to devour, to consume, and relish every moment of it.
Da is frozen on the bed, eyes wide, coated in sweat and soot streaks. The fire leaps from the nearby walls, reaching out to him. He throws an arm over his eyes and cries out.
No.
You stretch out your arms and … pull. Somehow. You pull and yank and heave. No, you inhale. Hard. Sort of.
And the fire halts. Arms of flame extend from the walls and hover, quivering, in the air over your father. You clench your teeth and twist harder, and the flames pull back a few feet. Snarling, you pull and don’t stop pulling until the fire shrinks all the way to the walls and then recedes from the room entirely.
Da’s strangled cry wanders to a halt in the room’s sudden silence. His arm drops listlessly to his side while he stares, open mouthed and coughing.
The hallway growls.
You rush in, sweep your free arm under Da’s shoulders and heave him upright. You are smaller than he by what seems half a cow, but you’re a blacksmith’s child. You clench your jaw and bear the load.
“Come on, Da, pull your weight a bit,” you grunt. He tries, leaning on you heavily.
You stagger to the door and stop. The fire is building again, you know, and it will return soon to reclaim the room. There is no window, of course. Da says life at the forge has taught him to prefer a stuffy chamber, so no window, no back door, and no going forward. You might be able to dodge the flames on your own but not while stumbling along under a cloak made of Da.
You face the wall.
“Right,” you breathe. “Let’s see which of us is stronger, after all.”
The fire shoves down the hallway so hard that you can feel it behind your eyes. You leap forward, bellowing as you swing the hammer as hard as you can, pushing all your rage into it. With enough consistent force, blows on the mortar might loosen the stones enough to push out a hole wide enough to crawl through.
None of your planning turns out to be necessary.
The wall explodes outward in a bright flash. Da cries out.
The hammer head explodes too. You are now holding a naked stick, a used-to-be-hammer.
A great voice booms.
“The Eternity Rift seals itself before you. You can see no further, unless …
I wonder …
do you have it in you to become a forger of fates?”
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