elemental.
As he approached, he wondered if he was supposed to do anything before entering the temple. He watched and waited, but no one else seemed interested in this particular place. He waited a bit longer and still no one went in or came out. Taking a deep breath to relieve his tension, he walked to the door and went inside.
The interior was just as plain as the outside. More polished marble, more fire bowls, and at the end of the hall a raised dais. Atop the dais stood an ornate, golden tripod, which supported a great golden bowl. Another fire pot, he assumed, but it wasn't burning at the moment. He looked behind, toward the entrance, and saw that the stained glass seemed to tell a story as it went up the wall, but he knew not what it meant.
When he turned back to the dais, he saw an old woman standing on the bottom step. Like everyone else in this strange park, she moved silently and spoke not a word. Hesitantly, Eris took a few more steps forward.
“Are questions permitted?” he asked. His voice boomed through the empty hall.
“Of course. Come forward,” the woman said, motioning to him. “Everyone who comes here is seeking an answer to something.”
“Tell me about the First-Elemental of Fire, Raga-Tor.”
The woman looked thoughtfully at him for a moment. “Why do you seek him?”
“I don’t. He’s the last thing in this world I would seek. Last night I happened upon a crazed old man who insists he is Raga-Tor. He wants me to help him do something, and I want nothing to do with him. If there is no such person or what have you, then I'll have the old fool put in irons by nightfall. He’s a menace,” Eris answered.
The old woman smiled and gave a little laugh.
“As ornery and mean as they come to be sure.”
“Then what he says is true?”
“Yes, I have felt his presence here. He is my sire.”
“Your king?”
“No, my father.”
Eris felt an uneasy pit suddenly drop open in his stomach. This, he hadn’t expected. “You look more like his grandmother.”
“What's this? Insult a lady in her own house,” the woman said, but didn’t really sound offended. She came down the steps and stood in front of him. “Close your eyes.”
Eris hesitated and heard the door close behind him. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. A quick glance behind told him no one was there.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “It’s just going to be very bright in here for a moment.”
Tightening his grip on the sword, he did as she asked. He squeezed his eyes even tighter and turned his head as the light was very bright to say nothing of the heat wave that swept over him. When the light faded and the coolness returned, he turned back to see what had happened.
Neither father nor daughter can resist their trickeries , he thought, and stepped away from her. He should have expected it.
The old woman was gone. In her place a young one full of life and color. Her skin was pale against the vibrant red of her tight-fitting dress, and a mass of wavy, golden-red hair tumbled over her bare shoulders. He noted her eyes were the same color as the so-called sorcerer’s and even twinkled with the same inner fire.
“I rarely appear to mortals in this form, which is also why I get very few visitors,” she explained. “I don’t suppose I need to explain that to you, though, do I?”
“Hardly,” Eris answered and wished she would go back to being the crone. “I have all the answers I need. There is no mistaking the family resemblance.”
“Now, I am offended. I rather think I favor my mother,” she said, then took Eris by the arm and turned him around. “Look up at the windows. Do you see my father?”
Eris looked to where she pointed. Rising up from a primal fire was the striking likeness of the red-beard. In the glass on the other side of the door was the image of a watery storm fury from which came the slender form of a woman dressed in green with hair so pale it was almost white. High
Learning to Kill: Stories