Chapter 2: Brawl

Celian dodged another attack that Lark Dunn hurled his way. He refused to go on the offensive, refused to give in completely to Lark's game. The only reason he hadn't left Market Street already was to make sure none of his Hillshire kinsmen were severely hurt by the bloodthirsty Dunns.

Where are the damned marshals…?

But even as he thought this, he realized that they were already there. In every direction he glanced, he spotted the black uniforms of the marshals among the fighting men. They had joined the brawl, they were a part of it now. 

There was no end to the fighting in sight.

"Coward!" Lark roared at him as he sent another flaming attack toward Celian's head. He barely managed to dodge it, knocking over a seller's stall in the process and sending pears and figs rolling through the street where they were immediately trampled by countless feet.

Celian moved away from Lark, dodging another rogue fireball from a nearby skirmish. He held up his hands, showing his refusal to fight back.

"Will you not end this until someone has lost their life?"

Lark seemed to snarl back at him. "That's the goal, isn't it? I would see every Hillshire dead and cold on the ground before I would give up this fight."

A terrible visualization flashed through Celian's head: his parents, his aunt and uncle, his dear cousin, all still and blue-lipped, glassy-eyed, on the stone streets of Genua. His stomach churned at the idea, and a newfound anger filled his chest. Flames burst to life at his fingertips.

"There is no point to this senseless hatred! You will find no satisfaction in the death of your so-called enemies!"

"I beg to differ!" Lark bit back, shooting off another attack. "I find great satisfaction in the thought alone!"

The rage in Celian's chest swelled, along with the flames at his fingertips. Before he knew it, he was fighting back, sending bursts of eternal flame toward Lark. The fighting around them was chaos. The marshals had no control over the brawl, and the landscape was suffering from it. Countless sellers' stalls were smashed to bits, toppled over, and even alight with uncontained eternal flame. There were shouts and cries of injured men. The world of Market Street was pandemonium. Celian wondered if he would even survive the day.

And then a great flash of light. People gasped and stumbled out of the way as a fireball of incomparable size exploded at the center of the street. All turned to face the astonishing sight, and the fighting paused.

The pillar of eternal flame in the street burned with every color imaginable. Blue-gray smoke filled the air, and more people gasped as a tall figure stepped out of the flames.

"Keeper Spire!" someone shouted.

The people were rendered speechless. Keeper Spire? Here, on Market Street? But he hadn't been seen outside of the Eternal Castle in generations…

Some people fell to their knees, others bowed, but most just stood and stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. The pillar of eternal flame reduced until it disappeared, leaving behind only a haze of smoke. Keeper Spire, Lord and leader of all of Genua, stared back at the people with his color-shifting eyes. 

"What have I come upon today?" he spoke, and the sound of his voice made Celian's very bones shiver.

Keeper Spire began to walk along the street, looking from face to face of each citizen that he passed.

"Have not I banned fighting in these streets?" he went on, his ageless face unreadable. "Have not I forbid attacking your fellow man?"

Celian hung his head in shame. What had come over him? Surely, his will was strong enough to withstand the childish taunts of the likes of Lark Dunn. But here he was, palms still smoldering with eternal flame, chest heaving from the effort of fighting. And now Keeper Spire, the creator and leader of his city, was looking down on him with disappointment. He'd never felt such remorse before.

"The feud between the Dunns," Keeper Spire pointed a large, steady hand toward Lark, "and the Hillshires," he pointed next to Celian, "must end. Look around you!"

Celian did as he said. Market Street was in ruins. Stalls and goods smashed against the stone streets, wooden carts smoldering with eternal flame, and men and women laid out with injuries, moaning with pain. And all of this for what? An inherited rivalry and a perceived, petty insult. Celian was sick with guilt.

"If this does not end, then all of Genua will be brought to ruin by the fires of your hatred," Keeper Spire went on. "It is intolerable. It is unacceptable. It is disgraceful."

His last word seemed to echo through the air. Celian looked at Lark Dunn, but the impossible man only stared ahead, down Market Street. Was he even listening to Keeper Spire?

"Fighting in these streets is forbidden." Keeper Spire's voice boomed so loudly, it seemed to clear the last of the smoke hanging around them. "From this day forward, any citizen caught fighting, whether they be Dunn or Hillshire, shall pay for this offense with their life."

Lark Dunn snapped to attention at these words. His orange eyes finally looked to Keeper Spire.

"Heed my words," Keeper Spire repeated, and he seemed to be speaking directly to Lark. "Any man or woman who starts a fight with an opposing clan member shall be put to death. No exceptions."