A Heart of Fire - Standard Edition: The Nightling Trilogy, page 1
A Heart of Fire
Geoff Vale
Copyright © 2022 Geoff Vale
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798862458190
DEDICATION
To Guy, my backbone, without whom I never would have felt a hunger to work on myself and find a balance between magic and walking this life of mine.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments i
I My Name is Vallerie Conrad 1
II Secrets 21
III Of Sugar and of Spice 33
IV Dream Walker 54
V Seers & Auras 71
VI A Cardinal of Fire 88
VII Familiar 104
VIII Of Dreams and of Nightmares 120
IX Distractions 132
X The Painter 143
XI August 159
XII Breadcrumbs 176
XIII A Promise 190
XIV Looking Glass 201
XV Romana Angela Reinhardt 210
XVI Memories Lost 224
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A genuine thank you to Nina for igniting the initial spark. To Virginia, my unwavering supporter, your encouragement has been invaluable. Tyler, your practical assistance has been crucial—thank you. Ryan, as my first reader, your input was indispensable. And to you, the reader who chose this book, thank you for joining me on this journey.
I. My name is Vallerie Conrad
Vallerie – There it was, a silly thing, a juvenile crush, my inaugural romance that persisted for a not-so-brief period. My memories of being with him remain sharp and poignant. Sebastian, a tall figure with a face full of youth, possessed dirty blond hair and a voice resembling a child - shrill yet masculine, especially when I grew demanding. Reflecting back, I realize that his temper was seldom provoked, and more often than not, I was the architect of his discontent. I question why I tormented him so relentlessly.
"What can you really do?" he would often say. My experiences with Sebastian felt akin to learning the art of appreciating breath, of savoring life itself. In those days, his attention was my sole desire, my sole necessity. Occasionally, life morphed into an uninspiring routine, so mundane that I failed to recognize my own absorption within it. These times left me questioning my purpose, a sensation that amplified when I attempted to concentrate on my actions. But after releasing those deep breaths, after scrutinizing the predicaments I ensnared myself in, my existence felt nothing short of miraculous. Being with him brought unparalleled happiness, a feeling accentuated during our weekend sojourns to his apartment. I would often plan our adventures meticulously, only to discard the itinerary at the last moment, succumbing to the impulses of the present.
Sebastian wasn't a character from a love story, a fact I constantly reiterated to myself. He didn't resemble the boys in the books I sought solace in. Sebastian was my sanctuary, stirring contemplation of things I could have done, or actions I refrained from doing, to preserve my safe space. My thoughts and the books I escaped into painted a picture of me fleeing, draped in a hooded cloak. Everything, every single occurrence within our loveless tale, crafted a unique and bitter flavor, a sensation of being oppressed by a romance I didn't strive for. This could have triggered my inclination for solitude, perhaps it’s the anatomy of all those things; loneliness, isolation, my own identity.
Summer had passed twice already. I was roused by the sound of my jogging neighbors, their noise eliciting irritation. How could such an ordinary task generate so much commotion? The absence of dreams during my sleep was another constant. The piercing cold breeze making its way through the cracks of the window was like a dull thud on a Sunday morning. My inability to fall back asleep annoyed me, as did my inability to dream. Sebastian was right, I would often run gleefully into walls and into people. It’s also the reason why I hated my neighbors so much.
Is it merely five-thirty? Can't they just be quiet? Who the hell jogs on concrete within an apartment complex?
Despite the incessant disturbance, I eventually managed to return to sleep, only to be greeted by lingering grogginess three hours later. Monday demanded I carry my clean jacket. My routine was meticulously timed, ensuring I avoided the harrowing morning rush by a good half hour.
My duties included loading the rickety washer with dirty laundry, reviewing my homework, and attempting to prepare sandwiches, which two mornings later, were discovered in their original location, now a breeding ground for mold.
The aftermath of each weekend was a discernible lack of exercise, leading to slower reflexes in my fencing class, an activity I loved, albeit with less than likable companions. The monotonous drills, techniques, and arrogant beginners made the experience less enjoyable, coupled with the same intimidating coach. My motivation waned, given there was nothing more to achieve physically, and my team showed little progress.
"Parry and riposte! Don't readjust your arms back!" Natasha barked, her face contorting with displeasure. "Block then follow-through!" Her accent added weight to her commands.
By then, my first bout had unnecessarily stretched, courtesy of Dominic, the pompous, diminutive troll. His strategy was to retreat rather than lunging his point, even with a clear advantage. His monotonous technique, though frustrating, had unfortunately granted him a place in the Advanced Division.
He was known for his animal-printed shirts, often featuring kittens or other nauseatingly cute domestic pets. The shirts, usually riddled with holes and tattered seams, seemed a reflection of his wardrobe, with ill-fitting pants that were perpetually high, exposing his thick socks.
During matches, I sometimes picture him staggering, steadying himself with his gangly arms. After each session, he dons woolen sweaters or cardigans that evoke memories of my grandparents' closet.
Throughout tournament seasons, he consistently ranks within the top ten competitors - a feat unmatched by any other teammate. The rest seem lacking: lacking in patience, lacking in skill, and lacking of confidence. In contrast to Dominic, they're just as bothersome as his systematically inept fencing adversaries. Unsurprisingly, our team struggles to perform well as a whole making the tournaments a hobby and not competitions.
Dominic has patience, yet lacks originality, rendering his precise, predictable abilities unappealing to most. If only he'd stop wearing those eerie shirts, perhaps I might've befriended him.
Suddenly, a loud rebuke echoed across the room. "Your balance is shaky! You can't execute a counter-riposte like this!" Natasha shouted, gesturing at my trembling knees.
"I'm trying!" I shot back, my voice ringing across the room as my lungs seared. After a restless night, my day was turning out to be equally challenging. "I need a break!" I insisted.
The circumstances were daunting. If I snapped back at my stern Russian coach again, I'd risk suspension. I couldn't afford to do that - despite being her best fencer, aside from the irksome Dominic Bedford. I merited some leniency. This constant pressure led me to wonder if it was due to my perceived potential. I deserved every reprimand I received, just not on Mondays. Her voice reverberated in my tired ears, each syllable landing like a hammer. Maybe she had a rough night too, I pondered, suppressing a smirk at the thought.
It was hardly surprising that my teammates detested my condescending glares paired with a smart-mouth. Given my antagonistic attitude, I barely registered the gentle female voice trying to get my attention.
"Hey, you're doing really well out there."
A tap on my mask pulled my attention to a new face, startled by my intense gaze. She stood somewhat awkwardly, her voice carrying a tone that contradicted her childish stance, a loose bent at her knees.
"Thank you! Are you Natasha's new student?" I interrupted, recalling the buzz about new fencers joining. "Are you in the Beginner’s…" I trailed off, struggling to gather my thoughts.
"My name is Paige. I just moved here…"
"Enough rest, Vallerie! Get some water!" Natasha's harsh voice snapped me back to reality. She had a penchant for shouting from afar, even when a few steps would suffice.
As Natasha motioned Paige onto the mat, I whispered, "You'll get used to her. She's not singling you out. She's like this with everyone."
Assuming she was a beginner, I anticipated our upcoming bout to be enjoyable. However, I was mistaken.
"Promise not to hold back? I'll do the same," I told her, motioning towards nothing with my foil, and curtsying to Paige. The unnecessary curtsy, annoying to opponents, was an enjoyable habit for me. I continued it ever since I realized I could defeat everyone in my class. It irked them, giving me even more reason to do it.
Our match commenced, "En Garde!" Dominic, our biased judge, announced. His partiality dated back to my first and continuous victory over him.
Paige moved strategically, making rapid steps forward and back, creating space between us. I lunged at her, only for her to counter my movements with swift parries. In confusion, I lost footing and missed my target completely.
In frustration, I let out a garble of incomprehensible words. I was known for hitting non-target areas, but missing her entirely was an absurdity I couldn't accept.
As we closed the distance, Paige apologized, her tone sounding less inspired, almost hinting at boredom.
I attempted a feint, coaxing her into parrying my foil. My knees buckled under the strain, to which she countered with a flying-parry, a graceful backward glide that concluded with a swift riposte. She soare
With an elegant flourish, she countered the guards of my blade in sync with her agile flight. As my foil rang out, my hands trembled, signaling a retreat before my mind could process the need for one. The contest was fast and intense, and she matched its tempo. Lost in the bout, I was unable to determine if it was my imagination. The fear of losing another point held me captive, preventing me from diverting my gaze from her to the audience.
Dominic announced the score with an exaggerated volume, "Paige is leading one to zero!" His overemphasis threw me into a spiral of overthinking. My fear of losing amplified as a crowd formed around us, anticipating a spectacle. The pressure was mounting, and the last time I experienced a loss was a distant memory. Frustration coursed through me.
Internally, I mocked Dominic's unnecessary theatrics, "Thank you, Dominic, you schmuck."
Their sudden interest in our bout puzzled me. The crowd had lost interest after my triumphant streak in the spring quarter. I found myself struggling to concentrate on the reaching for a point, overwhelmed by the crowd's attention and Dominic's persistent commentary.
When Dominic bellowed, "En Garde... Begin!" I braced myself for her next move. I anticipated a feint towards her mask followed by a strike at her heart. With a carefully planned strategy, I lunged. However, Paige effortlessly retreated, standing still as if she had predicted my move. My task was to duplicate what I had already managed for my initial successful strike.
Strangely, she slowed her movements, allowing me to take the lead. I didn't grasp her strategy at that moment. As my focus shifted back to her from the crowd, I mumbled, "Why is she slowing down? Why is she holding back?"
To my surprise, she responded, "I'm sorry you think I'm holding back!" Her booming retort unsettled me as much as the blow to my ego from her first point. Proceeding with caution, I was eventually victorious, three to one.
Once we removed our masks, we made eye contact, and she flashed a triumphant grin, never mind the perfectly set teeth, and walked towards me. I was left in solitude, the way I preferred, at my corner, which had been overtaken by beginners in my absence.
Jonas, a quiet member of our team, usually paid no attention to the ongoing banter. However, that day, he showed interest, diving into the crowd to observe only to let out a sigh as he walked away. Dominic's efforts to support our new teammate ended in disappointment.
Unbeknownst to me, my world seemed to crumble as our coach, Natasha, missed the bout due to her preoccupation with a prank involving a school of dead fish, in one of the university’s pools.
Paige's origins remained a mystery to me. I assumed she was from a country famous for winning epee gold medals. However, I dismissed the thought as unlikely, considering that such a talented fencer would probably not be training with us.
I dwelled on my feeling of defeat and was irked by her confident demeanor. I was agitated by the mere sight of her hair, a black banner waving behind her mask. Dominic's fixation on Paige had him headed towards my corner, adding to my very confusing day.
The conversation ended with an awkward proposal from Paige for a study break, which I declined due to my Philosophy lecture. Unsettled by the dramatic morning, I struggled to concentrate on my final class of the day. Despite the day's unusual events, my routine of studying, consuming coffee, solitary dinner, and reading poetry remained unchanged.
✽✽✽
Paige - Vallerie Conrad was not at all how Jonas had described her. I felt stupid every time I opened my mouth; I was just trying to be friendly. It seemed better not to tell my brother, except that I had already been caught. I needed friends, and I didn’t think he understood. The entire situation was such a nuisance, and to add insult to injury, I was stuttering like a maniac.
Jonas entered my room, the room I had chosen on the second floor. It was the only room that didn’t invoke that eerie sensation of not being completely alone in an ostensibly empty room.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked. Having a chat with my dear brother, after my travels through Europe, was a comforting experience.
“Yeah… Jonas, I invited that Vallerie girl you mentioned to have lunch with me or something." I probably should have approached her with more caution, knowing how Nicholae felt about strangers. But all the damage had been done already, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to undo it all.
Jonas looked upset. I think he just wanted to see how I was doing, but I knew my interaction with Vallerie, or anyone for that matter, disturbed him. Still, I had to do it.
He said, “Nicholae will be angry," as if I weren’t aware of the fact. Frankly, I didn’t particularly care. Jonas walked away before I could say anything else.
“I’m going to invite her again tomorrow morning! You can tell him that too…"
✽✽✽
Vallerie - "Can I ask you something?"
"What is it? A better question would be, who are you? Or where are you?"
"We haven't met. Not officially anyway."
"I feel like we have. Why do I only remember dreams like this? I know you, don't I?"
"Don't you get lonely?"
"All the time, but what can I do about it?"
"Vallerie, drinking a lot of coffee isn't healthy for you and they say it can make your heart stop. You always have a cup in your hand."
I jolted awake, startled by the voice. It was both serene and haunting. The deep and contained vocal cords began to ask insipid questions, rightfully inscrutable—dreams are weird like that. This was an unfamiliar voice, a voice that visits me intermittently, driving me into a deeper slumber, albeit judgingly. I remember them all too clearly because it felt parental in a way. Perhaps I was lonely, and this voice was a fabrication to shield me from what was actually going on. I was lonely.
That's when it all began. I could dream again. Dreams are quite amusing, manifesting when you least expect or desire them. During this period of strange dreams, I was lucid, and there was a sense of familiarity, making them easier to remember. These dreams became more frequent after I met Paige, as if the mental barrier my mind had constructed was abruptly shattered. Although I had encountered this voice before Paige, the dreams increased in frequency thereafter.
There was one particular instance when I dozed off, exhausted from the day's work. I was awake, observing myself sleep. Shadowy figures swarmed around me, indistinct and cloaked in green robes with black hoods. Although they never did anything, they terrified me. Each time, I awoke with the impression that people were in my room or that I was having an out-of-body experience—an extremely unsettling sensation given I lived alone. Always present, the voice lurked in the background. It varied between periods of silence and instances of speaking to me. At times, it was joined by another entity. The presence of this voice seemed to grant me control within my dreams, allowing for free expression which added to the confusion.
One morning, I woke up and whispered, "Who are you?" As soon as I awoke, I understood it was only a dream, but it felt so real that I found myself sleep-talking. It was all so vivid that it irritated me. I was convinced I had lost my sanity.
How is it only five-thirty?
I moaned at the clock, wishing it would respond or somehow tell me the time without requiring me to turn my head. I yearned to return to sleep, to hear that voice again, to discover how my dream concluded. However, there was no sign of the confusing hallucinations ceasing.
If I just close my eyes, I'll doze off. It's still early. I need to sleep.
The same voice jolted me awake, "Don't be late!" My eyes were still drowsy, heavy, and blurred. I wished to linger in bed, but I noticed strange grinning faces etched on the popcorn ceiling every time I half-opened my eyes. They were anything but friendly, so I decided it was best to rouse myself completely. I then proceeded with my usual routine without a second thought.
Brew coffee. Turn on the radio. Curse at any stations hosting talk shows. Rummage through the fridge. Realize five minutes later that I don't want breakfast. Shower. Grab the coffee cup. Drive to school.
The drive to campus was unusually easy, despite the traffic I knew I'd face on my return journey. It was already September, and the warm weather had lasted unusually long. Some days were even hot. I disliked the excessive brightness that morning. Despite my best efforts to avoid the sun, a tan line from my watch was highly visible. This was the sum and evidence of each time I put my hand out of the window while driving.
