Thrall - Christie Golden [25]
Spirits of fire, what troubles you? Let me help. Let me take you away from where you harm things old and rare and irreplaceable, and bring you to where you can warm and comfort living, breathing beings.
There was a strange grimness to the essence of one elemental as it responded. It was similar to the dark anger of the spark that had threatened to destroy Orgrimmar some moons past, but there was something resolute in this one’s nature.
I am doing what must be done. Fire purges. You know this. Fire burns away what is impure, so that it may be returned to the earth, and the cycle begun anew. It is my duty, shaman!
His eyes still closed, Thrall jerked as if struck. Your duty? Surely you choose your duty, spirit of fire. And what has happened to these old trees, that you feel they need to be purged? Are they ill? Plagued? Cursed?
None of these things, admitted the fire elemental, speaking in Thrall’s heart.
Then why? Tell me. I would understand this, if I can.
The fire did not answer at once, burning suddenly hotter and brighter for a moment. Thrall had to turn his face away from the inferno.
They are … confused. Something is wrong with them. They do not know what they know. They must be destroyed!
Thrall himself was confused by that response. He was well aware that all things had a spirit. Even stones, which were not truly “living” beings; even fire, which was “speaking” in his head and heart. But he could make no sense of this.
What do they know? Thrall asked of the spirit of fire.
What is wrong!
“Wrong” as in unnatural, or “wrong” as in incorrect?
Incorrect.
Thrall thought frantically. Could they learn what is correct?
For a long moment he thought he had lost the attention of the spirit. It was agitated, erratic, distraught. If it would not listen—
They did know, once. They could learn again.
Then, spirit of fire, do not destroy. I urge you to pull back. If you must burn, burn as torches to illuminate the darkness, or as hearthfires, to cook meals and warm chilled bodies. Harm these trees no further, lest you forever destroy their ability to one day learn what is correct!
Thrall waited, muscles taut. He desperately hoped he was on the right track. The only way he would know would be if the fire obeyed him. For a long moment, nothing happened. The fire crackled and burned, and heat roiled off the consumed trees as they blackened.
Then: Agreed. They must learn again what is true. Someone must teach them. If not, then burn they shall. Burn they must.
And the fire slowly faded away to nothing. Thrall stumbled forward, his eyes flying open, suddenly exhausted by the working. Strong hands caught him as cheers went up.
“Well done, shaman,” said Telaron, smiling approvingly. “Well done! You have our gratitude. Please—stay with us tonight. We would treat you as the honored guest that you are.”
Weary from the journey and the intense working, as were the elves who would have normally been slumbering during daylight hours, Thrall accepted. That night, he found himself shaking his head in quiet amazement as he sat, accompanied by Snowsong, and ate and drank and laughed with night elf druids and Sentinels. He recalled the meeting not so long ago in which ten druids—five night elves, five tauren—had met to peacefully negotiate trade routes. They had been ambushed and slaughtered, the tauren archdruid Hamuul Runetotem the only survivor. The action had inflamed both the Alliance and the Horde. It was rumored that Garrosh Hellscream had sent the attackers, but such a thing was never proven, and despite Garrosh’s hot temper, Thrall did not believe the rumors.
If that meeting had been successful, Thrall mused sadly, perhaps nights like this—singing songs and telling tales—would not be so uncommon between the two factions. Perhaps there would be more unity, and thus more healing of