Bloodsold: Cold Fire

Tavin stepped into the back room of his shack. It was where his parents had once slept. The room faced the mountainside, away from the rest of the small village of Varenwald. He opened his bag and slipped out the old tome. It had taken him three weeks and the kindness of one of the village’s elders to procure it, working extra jobs for whoever could spare a coin. But it was his. He had spent another month reading through it as thoroughly as possible, but he wanted to consult it one more time before committing to the night’s act.

Although it was nearly dark outside, he had covered the windows with thick cloth to keep what was about to happen private. He lit a candle, and opened the book. Its stained pages were pungent with the smell of parchment and ink. He slipped it open to the section where it was recommended what words to speak and what materials to use when seeking out a particular god.

Tavin aimed to find Falgen, the God of Strength, and make a pact. That alone would be enough to get him out of Varenwald, but he wanted more. With the power granted through a Bloodsold pact, he wouldn’t be forgotten any more. He wouldn’t be pitied any more. Instead, he would be remembered. He would be revered.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the jar he had prepared. He held it to the candlelight, inspecting it. It was mostly dust, but he had supplemented it with some dry, dusty soil and mixed it thoroughly. It would have to do. Once he reached out to make a pact, he wouldn’t get another chance—but he couldn’t wait any more.

Tavin took a deep breath, chased away his nerves, and stood. He moved to the center of the room, where he had cleared space, and carved a wide circle in the floor with his hunting knife. He moved to its center, and checked the circle’s size. Just smaller than his arm span—perfect. He unsealed the jar. It was said that the gods were always watching. Slowly, and with as much feigned confidence he could muster, he carefully poured the contents of the jar along the mark, and formed a neat line in a perfect circle around him.

Then came the hard part. Tavin pulled his hunting knife from its sheath in his belt. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes as he cut a deep gash in the fleshy part of his outer left palm. It stung, but he held in his wince. He opened his eyes, and in the dim, flickering candlelight, he let his blood fall over the circle of dust. He had to go slowly; it would only work if the circle was complete, without any gaps.

When he was sure he had spilled enough and the dust had soaked up his blood, he pulled out a clean cloth he had prepared and wrapped it tight around his hand. It quickly began to stain red. He had to work quickly, and couldn’t perform the cleanest dressing, but for now it was enough to stop the bleeding. Tavin made sure he was in the exact center of the circle, and closed his eyes once more.

"Ten of Creation, Ten of Laws," he said quietly, "I offer you my hand, so that it may become yours."

A wave of cold washed over him, and on instinct he shot open his eyes.

The parents’ old bedroom was gone, and Tavin found himself in an endless black void. He was still standing, his feet feeling firm on some unseeable surface of the infinite darkness. He had done it. He was in the pact-world. Now all he had to do was seek out Falgen, the God of Strength, and not be rejected. As he looked around, searching the endless nothing for a hint or sign of where to go, something caught his eye. Mist—faint and easily passed over—was barely visible in one section of the darkness to his right.

His instincts screamed at him not to move, for surely the place he stood was the only solid footing in this place. But he knew better, and showing fear wouldn’t look good to Falgen. Tavin extended his foot, and felt relief when his first step felt as solid as stone. He made his way toward the mist, and as he drew closer, the mist grew thicker.

He waded through it, undeterred, and soon there was just as much of it as there was darkness. Something came into view before him. It was a stone pillar, twice as tall as he was, and ornately carved in a beautifully flowing but unrecognizable pattern. At its base, a single word was carved in a language he couldn’t read. The book didn’t mention any of this—it had said that a god was supposed to approach him, but what was this pillar?

Tavin started to worry. Perhaps he had made some mistake somewhere, and this was just the start of something completely different. He had to find out whatever he could. He reached out his hand and touched the carved stone in front of him.

Light and heat exploded outward. Tavin snapped his hand back, almost losing his balance as he staggered backward. At his faintest touch, the entire thing had been consumed in flame so hot and bright that he couldn’t even see the stone beneath it.

He squinted and held his bandaged hand up to shield his face from the heat, but before he knew it, the flame subsided. It quickly shrank, and as it did so Tavin could see that the pillar hadn’t simply been covered in fire, but converted to it. The flame grew smaller and smaller, until it settled on a shape of its own—something humanoid.

It only took a moment before the image became clear. Before him now, still half-aflame, was a woman. She was strangely beautiful. She stood as tall as he did, and gave him a curious, eager look, like someone about to watch a toddler try to figure out a puzzle. Her skin was a bright, brilliant red-orange, and fire continuously burned in her curly, shoulder-length hair. She was dressed in a set of plain but well-tailored sleeveless clothes that suited her well. It hit him.

Tavin was standing before a god. It wasn’t Falgen, the God of Strength, but instead one of his sisters: Hanari, the Goddess of Heat. He scrambled to remember the proper greeting.

"M—My Lady of the Ten," he managed.

Those weren’t the right words, but it was all he could muster. She raised an eyebrow at him, and one corner of her mouth just barely turned upward in a smirk.

"I mean," Tavin said, trying to regain his verbal balance, "It’s an honor to be before you."

"Not what you were expecting?" she asked. Her voice was calm and clear, but felt like it would carry for miles.

"I-I guess not," Tavin said, still reeling.

"I expect you wanted one of my siblings, at least." She was playing with him.

"I... suppose I did."

"Which one?"

Tavin almost didn’t want to answer. But it would not do to lie to a god.

"Falgen," he said sheepishly.

"Hmm," Hanari said, examining him, "you would be wasted on him. However, *I* can bring you strength."

Tavin froze. What did she mean by that?

"I can see into your soul, Tavin. It’s not strength you truly seek; that’s only a means to an end. No, you want something more. In fact..."

Tavin’s eyes widened. He started to sweat, but wasn’t sure if it was because of his nerves or if it was actually getting warmer in the dark, misty void. She gave him a wicked grin, and vanished in a rush of flame, reappearing the same way behind him. Before he knew it, she had her arms draped over his shoulders. Her skin was hot, far hotter than he could possibly stand, but somehow... it didn’t hurt.

"You," she whispered, "...want a *lot* more. That’s why I answered your call. I can see the flame of ambition in you, Tavin Delaron."

His arms had goosebumps, despite the heat. He knew he needed to say something back, but before he could think of anything, she took her arms away and began pacing around him in slow circles.

"You came to form a pact, did you not?"

"I did."

"Then speak."

Tavin took a deep breath in. There was no going back now. It was common knowledge that the Goddess of Heat was the most unpredictable of the Ten, but he had no other choice. Once a god chose to answer a Bloodsold’s call, no others would. He had to state his request, negotiate the terms, and Hanari’s seal would be emblazoned on his soul. If he was rejected, he would never get another chance.

"I offer you my blood."

"Oh? Is that all?" she asked, quizzical and unimpressed, playing with him.

"I offer you my life."

"How much?"

"Huh?" Tavin asked, already thrown off-balance again.

"How much of your life will you offer me?"

He considered it for a moment, then chased away his fear, and forced himself to say what he hoped was the right answer.

"As much as you need."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"That’s quite an offer. Are you sure?"

Tavin’s instincts were screaming at him, demanding he take back his words. But he knew that it wouldn’t do.

"Yes."

Hanari chuckled. She snapped her fingers, and the mist-filled darkness went up in a sea of flame all around them. The heat was the most intense thing Tavin had ever felt; the sheer force of it battered at him from all sides. When the flames died a moment later, they were standing in a tall, palatial hall, ornately decorated in red and gold. Hanari walked a few strides away and up a short dais. She turned and sat on an imposing throne of gold and stone that glowed red-hot, with wavy lines of heat emanating out and floating toward the ceiling.

"That will do," she said. "And in exchange?"

"I ask only for the gifts that you deem worthy."

"You’re really leaving *all* the terms up to me?" she said, her voice brimming with curiosity, "That’s one way to earn favor, I suppose."

"What can I say? I was expecting someone else," Tavin said, cracking his own smile for the first time, even if it was forced.

"Fair enough." she said, and rested her chin on one hand. She looked him up and down, carefully considering him. Then her wicked grin returned.

"Very well," she said. "I accept. How could I not when you offer me such *generous* terms? Approach me."

Tavin tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. Then he mustered his strength, put one foot in front of the other, and made his way toward the goddess’ throne. She rose, suddenly towering over him. He stopped an arm’s length away, and she looked down at him with glee in her eyes. She extended her hand. He held his own up to accept, and she grabbed him by the forearm. On instinct, he responded in kind.

"I grant you my grace. I grant you my strength. And I grant you my flame, Tavin Delaron, Bloodsold."

Flame sprouted from her fingers and wrapped around his arm, winding up its length and burrowing beneath his clothes. Tavin felt their intense burn as they settled in his chest, taking his breath away. He tried to let go and move away, but her grip was like iron, and the burn’s intensity grew steadily stronger. His vision blurred, and his strength faded.

Darkness enveloped him.