By Rod A. White
The first thing that struck Rell was the silence. It wasn’t the absence of sound. No. The crowd still breathed, shifted, whispered. But the shape of it. A hollowed silence, like lungs emptied and waiting to be refilled. It gathered around the coals stretched before him: a long bed of glowing, orange heat that looked like wavering ghosts.
Rell had seen the trial before. From rooftops, from shadowy alleys, always from the safe distance of a man who never intended to stand barefoot at its edge.
“Step forward,” ordered the magistrate.
The words came from a man beloved across the volcanic kingdom. Magistrate Ilyas, the Unburned, claimed to have walked the coals three times in his life, each without a mark. He was a man of virtue, everyone said. One so pure that even flame recoiled from him.
Rell swallowed hard. Funny, he thought. I’ve stolen from men holier than you.
“State your crimes,” Ilyas said.
Rell considered lying. Instead, he shrugged. “The usual. Theft. Deception. A bit of smuggling.” He paused, then added, “No murders, if that makes a difference.”
A ripple of disapproval and anticipation moved through the crowd.
The magistrate studied him. “Do you repent?”
Rell almost laughed. “I regret getting caught.”
The ripple became a wave.
Ilya’s expression didn’t change. “Then the Ember will judge what you will not.”
He gestured, and the guards nudged Rell forward.
The heat hit him first, like an oven door opening. The coals glowed brighter as he approached, as if aware. As if eager to receive him.
He hesitated at the edge. I’ve seen them burn. I’ve smelled their flesh.
The memory came unbidden: a man screaming, skin blistering, hair smoldering. He had collapsed halfway across, and the crowd turned from him, satisfied. Judgment rendered.
Rell flexed his toes against the hot stone.
Ilyas bellowed, “Walk!”
And so, he did.
The first step should have been agony, but it wasn’t. The second step should have been worse, but it wasn’t.
Rell’s breath hitched. He looked down to confirm he was standing on a bed of super-heated coals, and yet… nothing. No burning. No blisters. Not a twinge of pain.
The silence morphed into a low, uncertain murmur that spread through the crowd as Rell continued to walk. Each step was steady now, quicker, driven less by courage and more by a rising, disbelieving dread.
This is wrong, he thought.
Halfway across, he dared to glance up. Ilyas was glaring at him, and for the first time, the magistrate’s composure cracked. Just a flicker, barely there, but Rell saw it. A narrowing of his eyes. A question in his mind.
Rell reached the end of the coals and stepped off unburned.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the noise came. Not cheers nor jeers, but confusion. A rush of questions, gasps, disbelief.
Rell stared at his feet, turning them over to inspect the soles. Perfect.
“Impossible,” someone whispered.
“Witchcraft,” another said.
“No,” offered a third, louder. “The Ember does not lie.”
Another cried, “Magistrate Ilyas, show us the Ember rules true! Show us it has no effect on the virtuous!”
All eyes turned to Ilyas. The magistrate stood unmoving for a long moment. Then slowly, he descended from his dais.
“The trial is not complete,” he said.
A hush fell on the crowd.
Ilyas approached the coals. Up close, Rell thought he looked older. Lines etched deeper into his face. His hands withered.
“You claim no virtue,” Ilyas told Rell. “No repentance. No goodness.”
“I claim honesty,” Rell replied. “For once.”
A faint smile ghosted across Ilyas’s lips. “Then perhaps that is enough.”
The magistrate turned to the crowd and removed his sandals. “You are witnesses,” he said. “Judgment must be clear.”
The crowd gasped.
He raised a hand to silence them and said, “I have walked this path before. Let there be no doubt.”
And then he stepped onto the coals.
The scream was instant and excruciating.
Ilyas staggered, his feet blistering before their eyes, skin blackening, splitting.
“No!” someone cried. “It cannot be!”
He tried to take another step but collapsed. The coals flared brightly, hungrily, setting his robe on fire, feeding on his flesh.
Guards rushed forward, hooked him with their pikes, and dragged him out, but the damage was done. His body was blistered and charred.
The crowd recoiled.
Rell felt something twist in his gut as he stared at Ilyas lying on the stone, gasping.
The magistrate raised a searching hand to find Rell, his eyes seared shut. “Come,” he rasped.
Rell moved before he could think better of it. He knelt beside the fallen man, his nostrils filling with the stench of cooked flesh.
“What did you do?” Ilyas whispered. “What trick―”
“No trick,” Rell replied.
“Then why didn’t you burn?”
Rell hesitated. The answer came to him, quiet and unwelcome. “I don’t think it judges what we do.”
Ilyas’s breath hitched. “Then what?”
Rell glanced at the glowing coals. They had dimmed, their fury settled.
“I think it judges what we believe.”
The magistrate’s eyes widened.
Rell continued. “You believed you were completely virtuous. Untouchable.” He shook his head. “But no one is.”
“And you?” Ilyas asked through teeth clenched tight with pain.
Rell smiled. “I’ve never pretended to be anything but what I am.”
The words settled between them.
The crowd began buzzing with uncertainty. If the Ember could reveal something deeper than actions, then what did their judgment mean?
Rell stood, and for the first time in his life, he felt no need to run.
The guards hesitated.
The crowd parted.
Rell looked back at the coals, at the dying magistrate, at the kingdom that suddenly felt less certain than it had an hour ago. Then he walked forward: unburned, unjudged, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain… more afraid than ever.
Rate this story:
(5 votes, average: 2.80 out of 3)
You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading...ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gripping and full of lore and world building. I absolutely loved this story, Rod. Thanks for sharing.
Loved this story!