The hot mid-afternoon sun beat down on the streets of Hariq, making the air above the dirty stone paved streets shimmer. A very slight breeze came from the West, channeled and slowed by the many brown stone and mud buildings so that it could only be felt when standing at the opening to an alley or on one of the wider intersections where the major roads met in the winding city.

            Baharam tried to stick to the shaded side of the street as he walked, slowing briefly to enjoy the breeze before being prodded by Arran, who would repeat “We must get home, don’t slow down!” every time he poked his finger into Baharam’s side. Occasionally during the two-mile trek from the temple Baharam would intentionally slow down even more just to see the frustrated and anxious face of Arran, who not only detested the heat, but was keen to please their father by arriving home as promptly as possible every day after lessons.

Baharam didn’t feel the same way as his older brother, and he enjoyed seeing the many sights there were to explore in such a large place as the capital city of Mataal. The heat bothered him as it would anyone, but he never understood why they needed to rush home every day when their were so many people to watch and so many places to see. But he was a younger brother and the son of an important person, so he had to obey.

As the two brothers walked down a major street, the came near the front façade of the banking house, only to find that the gate was closed and a large crowd was gathered outside. Arran saw it first and immediately stopped, unsure what to do and confused as to why there were people here, and even more anxious that he and Baharam would be late getting home.

Baharam stood next to his brother, absentmindedly watching the crowd, and noting the angry faces and the shouting. It took him a while to notice the look of consternation on Arran’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, squinting his eyes as he tried to concentrate on Arran’s face in the bright sunlight.

“We can’t go that way,” Arran replied, and said nothing else. He stood there looking around for a way through the crowd, but could see nothing helpful.

Baharam stood there looking the at the crowd some more before a thought came to him, and he began looking all around the street and the buildings, before looking over his shoulder. It was then that noticed the street slightly behind them and to their left that connected to the one they were on, and tugged on his brother’s sleeve. “What about that way? We could go around?”

“We’ve never gone that way. It might take us home.”

“We could try it,” Baharam said with a shrug. Try as he might to be helpful, he often got the feeling he was only a burden for Arran.

Arran sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to.” He grabbed Baharam by the hand and started across the street. “Just stay with me, alright? And we have to go faster. We can’t be late.”

The two ran across the street and began a brisk walk down the road. They passed several alleys and alcoves on the right side of the street looking for a way back the direction they needed to be going. Every one of those ended in a wall, or the door to a home, or some other dead end. With each one they passed, Baharam noticed with an equal mix of humor and anxiety how red Arran’s face was turning both from the heat and his increasing frustration.

Eventually, Arran forced the two of them to slow and then stop.

“None of these streets go the right way!” he yelled with a cracking voice. Baharam had only ever heard his brother that exasperated when he was truly upset and discouraged, but knew that there was nothing he could say or do that would help find a solution.

Then Baharam heard, or thought he heard, a deep, soft voice call to him from the alley they had just passed call to him, saying “here.”

Baharam looked towards the alley, looking for the source of the voice before turning to Arran. “Did you hear that?”

“No, what are you talking about?”

“That voice?”

Before Arran could answer, the voice called out again. “Come here. I know the way.” This time, with Baharam already looking towards the alley he thought he heard the voice from the first time, he had hoped to see who was talking, but could not see anything. Instead, all he could tell was that the voice had sounded like it was carried on the breeze, but he knew it was coming from the alleyway.

“Did you not hear that?” Baharam said again, tugging at Arran’s sleeve.

“No I didn’t. Stop playing around, we need to find a way home!”

“NO, I heard it!” Baharam yelled, before forcefully breaking Arran’s grip on his hand. “We can go this way!”

Before Arran could stop him, Baharam had bolted towards the opening to the alley. As he crossed into the middle of road at the opening, he saw that ahead, the buildings lining the alley created a tunnel that was entirely in shade. The building followed the curve of the hill, so that the alley curved away such that Baharam couldn’t see the end of it.

Again, the voice on the breeze called to Baharam. “Come. This way.” He still could not tell who or where the voice came from, but he could not help the impulse to find out. He took a step forward, fully entering the alley and leaving the street behind, when he thought to look back for his brother. To his surprise, Arran was nowhere to be found. Even more to his surprise, Baharam found that Arran’s absence didn’t bother him, and he didn’t feel afraid. He turned back around as the voice again said, “This way. Follow me.”

He walked down the dark path of the alley slowly, looking around at the trash and wall markings around him, trying to peer into doors and windows for any sign of a person. But all the windows and doors were shut and shuttered, and there was no person he could see in this strange place.

The further he walked, the more he felt the breeze on his back, and it wasn’t until he looked back behind him again and his eyes watered from the wind that he realized it had changed direction at all, and that it had grown stronger than it was before. After he had gone several hundred paces into the alley, the breeze had become a strong and steady wind. Baharam felt as though he was a sail being blown forward, and in his curiosity he wanted even more to know who was calling to him and how they were performing such a unique trick. His feet wouldn’t stop, and the itch of curiosity kept him moving; he felt no need to stop or get his bearings, or look for danger. The only compulsion he felt was to find the mouth that spoke the voice.

Baharam wandered for what felt like an eternity, concerned only with his newfound quest, until finally the alley ended. There, sitting in the shadow of the wall, the buildings came to an abrupt stop at a simple wooden door. No adornments hung on the outside of the structure in front of Baharam, not even a window on the face of the tall building. He assumed this was the back door to some large dwelling. To both his astonishment and annoyance, there was nobody in sight, no source of the voice he had followed.

Suddenly, the voice spoke again. “You have come. Enter.” Still, the voice sounded as though it was a soft whisper in Baharam’s ear, almost as though he was thinking it to himself.

“Where are you?” Baharam shouted, in defiance of the reverence of that silent place. “I can’t see you!”

“I am here,” the voice replied calmly. Baharam could not see where “here” was, and there was no physical change in his surroundings to indicate it, but he was oddly drawn to the door in front of him. He stepped towards it slowly, looking around for some affirmation.

“Yes, this way.”

“Where are you?” Baharam repeated, at a much lower volume, trying to match the voice as he would in a conversation with someone he could see.

“I am here.” The voice seemed again to come from the direction of the closed door, so Baharam approached it more purposefully, stepping right up to the threshold before stopping.

Baharam reached out his had and touched the door. For all the mysticism around the person he assumed was behind it, the door seemed very normal. The rough wood grain was cool to the touch, and the iron door handle was even cooler, as he would expect of it having been in the shade for some time at this hour of day.

He tried the handle, and despite the layer of rust, the iron bar slid easily on its track with only a hint of the screech of iron on iron. When he tried to push the door open, Baharam found the door swung inward slowly but easily, for more easily than heavy, thick oak door like this one should have, but that didn’t bother him.

“Welcome,” the voice whispered. “Please, come inside.”

Baharam saw that as the door opened, he could see nothing inside of it. Only darkness faced him in the room the door exposed. Darkness, and two orbs, floating in the air, glowing like molten magma

It was then that Baharam’s curiosity began to bleed away. As compelled as he felt to continue into the room, he was also aware that he did not want to enter at all. He wanted to turn back, to flee the alley. He noticed that Arran was nowhere in sight as he looked behind him, and his desire to leave grew. But he could not fight the urge to step into the darkness. It felt to him as though someone else was in control of his body and he was just a spectator, and the feeling filled him with a fear he had never known before.

Soon, he was completely in the dark room, and even now that he was inside it he could not make out any details: no furniture, no corners, no other doors or windows; just the orbs in front of him, and the door behind him, slowly closing with a barely audible shhhhhh. As the last sliver of the light outside was blocked out, the room around Baharam went cold, and the orbs seemed to glow brighter.

“What is your name, young one?” the voice in his head asked of him.

“I, uh, I’m Baharam,” he replied weakly, barely able to squeak out the words.

“Ba-ha-ram,” the voice hissed, slowly enunciating the name. “Ba-ha-ram.”

“Yes? Who are you?” Baharam said to the darkness, his voice still shaky. A part of him, though, was amused at how the voice mulled over his name. He wondered if the voice had heard a name like that before, or if it just had a hard time with his language.

“Ba-haram,” the voice continued. “You are not the one I seek.”

“I- sorry what do you mean?” Immediately, Baharam’s fear subsided almost completely, replaced with the confusion he felt at the voice’s admission. “Whom do you seek?”

“Child, you are not the one I seek.” The statement was tinged with annoyance or frustration. “Why did you come here?”

“I heard you on the street. You said to come this way.”

“You heard my call?”

“Y-yes? But I thought you were a whisper on the breeze. Who are you?”

For a long time there was no response. There was no noise at all in that space. Then Baharam noticed something had changed in the room. It wasn’t as cold as when he first walked in. He still could not move his body, but he felt warm, if anything. And the glowing orbs seemed to have moved. They seemed closer, and above him. The color of their glow had changed, from ruby red to blazing orange. Instead of being round, they now had the shape of almonds lying on their sides. Baharam noticed the space between them had shrunk as well. They reminded him of eyes in a person’s face.

“I…” the voice paused, as though considering what to say next. “am an envoy of the light.”

That answer took Baharam by surprise. “Why is an envoy of the light in such a dark place?”

“Even darkness can serve the light, young one.”

“How can that be so?” Baharam asked. “The Catechisms say that light and dark are opposites, and the two cannot exist together in the same place.”

“And yet,” the voice said, “does the darkness not let us better understand the light?” Baharam heard this and felt like he was receiving another lesson from his tutor, Toracrates.

“Are you the darkness or the light?”

The voice laughed, an echoing, raspy cry that rang all around Baharam and made the voice seem to be a chorus instead of a single being. Eventually the echo subsided.

“Young one, what do you see?”
            “Darkness.” Fear arose in Baharam again as the realization set in. “What do you want with me?”

“You?” A sudden boom, much like the laughter, but filled with anger. “I did not call you!” Then, a pause, before the voice spoke again, less with anger, more with seething fury, drawing out every syllable slowly, as through gritted teeth: “But you will do.”

The glowing orbs suddenly flared into life, replace by balls of actual fire. Their glow did nothing to illuminate the room, but it suddenly felt warm and stuffy for Baharam. Overcome with fright, he managed only to squeak out “Let me go!” before closing his eyes and covering his face, trying as he might to hide from this new, terrifying being.

“You will go, child,” the voice breathed, as though it was a rush of hot air from an stove door opened too fast. “But you will not escape me.” Every word was filled with a strange mix of delight, hunger, and venom.

Baharam found he could control his body once again, and turned to flee. In the darkness he still could not see, but he thought if he turned around and moved directly behind him, he would reach the door. He tried to do so, throwing his hands up in front of him as he turned.

As he reached out, grasping for a handle to open the door, his left hand touched a solid surface. The palm of his hand pressed against a cold, stone surface, before the surface changed instantly. What was a black, unfathomable darkness because a flaming, hot red, like the inside of a furnace. The stone on which Baharam’s hand lay turned white hot, outlining his hand in bright light. The cold touch turned to intense heat, so intense it burned his hand, and he could feel the sensation of searing pain run up his arm. But he could not remove his hand. It felt as though his hand were fused to the wall, and he cried loudly and panicked as the pain swept through him.

“The forge has chosen you,” the voice said, dripping with delight. “Now you will know the true essence of the light.”

All Baharam could do was stand there and scream, yelling through his pain and tears “Stop!” He yelled repeatedly crying out, begging the pain and the light to leave him alone. As he screamed, the light grew more intense, growing in its brightness and color until everything in Baharam’s existence was searing pain and white light. As though he were on fire, or was the fire itself.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2