Earth Awakened, page 18
But human morality was not so cut and dry. The regulations helped with it, but there was a lot of blood on her hands, and a lot of shitty situations where she’d had to make her own judgment calls.
Out on the field, the lines separating you from the enemy tended to blur.
When it came right down to it, all she’d been doing was killing soldiers who just happened to be born and raised on the other side of an imaginary line.
“You want to find out about her, don’t you?” he asked, his voice only a few feet behind her. “You want to find out about the spirit on the mountain.”
A flash of eyes came across her mind. Once again, she felt that deep pull within her. For a second, her breath caught, and it was like the spirit had caught her through the screen once again, freezing her in place and piercing through her soul.
The Malik her grandmother had prayed to.
She hesitated.
“McKay?”
Kitty’s voice sounded small, like a mouse. She’d stopped by the door, her expression an unstable mask of emotion.
And McKay felt like a piece of shit as her decision clinched inside her.
I have to go with him. Even if there wasn’t something about the spirit, he’s the only Earth Mage in this goddamn city who has the power, the will, and the time to even think about training me. I am out of options.
She hated it. But Kitty couldn’t help her.
She met the Elemental’s eyes, and she didn’t even need to say anything. Kitty read her intention right through her expression.
A hard mask solidified over the woman’s face.
“Fine,” she said, her voice cold. “I see how it is.”
Before McKay could even speak, Kitty had already left. She slammed the door behind her. Hard.
Then, Gobardon’s microwave exploded.
She jumped at the noise, a full-bodied flinch that had her reaching for a rifle that wasn’t there. Gobardon gave the sparking mess a flat look.
A few seconds passed.
Finally, he moved, shaking his head and dropping his shoulders as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“She does that when she’s pissed off at me. I had to put extra warding on the computer so she couldn’t take it out. She is the reason I have a good backup system.”
She gave him a disgusted look. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He went back to the sink, dumped the water from the glass, and poured a finger from the brandy bottle into it instead. “Would you like a list, in point form? It’s extensive.”
Her mouth twisted into a snarl. “All right, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t like you, and I’m not your bitch.”
“Duly noted.”
“I’m only here because I’m running real low on choices. I almost demolished a school building today. That can’t happen again.”
“Indeed.”
“I need to leave town, and I need an Earth Mage to teach me who is strong enough to take me down should the cat get out of hand.”
“You’ve stated as such.”
“I will help you find this spirit, but only because I’m interested in finding her, too. Got it?”
“I believe so.” His hand twitched where he gripped the glass, the only show of emotion from him. He held still, staring at his glass for a few moments as if he were waiting. “Are you finished?”
She crossed her arms. “For now.”
“Good.” In one smooth move, he lifted the glass and tossed back the inch of liquid he’d poured, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“All right.”
A fog of emotions had settled between them. The grief and anger from his conversation with Kitty radiated from him so heavily that it made the air feel thick.
Betrayal, loss, and murder were tough topics for a Tuesday.
What the fuck am I getting myself into?
She turned to leave, but Gobardon’s voice stopped her.
“And McKay?”
When she turned, he was watching her, his expression a twist of a sneer.
“She is not an ‘it’ and she is not ‘the cat.’ Her name is ‘Greneinta,’ and she is inextricably female. From now on, you will refer to her as such. It’s only polite.” His sneer twisted further. “Consider that your first lesson.”
He pivoted on his heel and turned on the faucet as he began to rinse out the glass. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” he said over his shoulder. “Pack some essentials.”
As he moved, the casual grace she had noticed the day before was now a jerky stiffness that pulled at his tailored suit.
A grin, satisfying and slow, spread across her lips.
He was still hurting from her punches yesterday.
“Need another night to recover?” she asked.
Those inscrutable, shadowy eyes met hers as he twisted his torso to face her. He held that gaze and flicked the glass downwards. She could hear the soft pings when the water droplets hit the metal sink.
“Try to wear clean clothing tomorrow.”
Chapter 21
May 14, 2003 - Transition Year Twenty-One
Occupied Seola
The water splattering off the bottom of the sink drowned out the crows outside.
Brown-ish red and reeking of iron, it bounced hard off the metal and streaked a regular stream of dark droplets across the wooden floor and laminate counters. At first, Javen had tried to keep the area dry, but when the water hadn’t cleared overnight, he’d given up the endeavor. Besides, large portions of the wooden structures in the kitchen already bore the scars of water damage, thanks to a broken window on the eastern wall. Vegetation had crawled through, an arm of it creeping up the inside wall, making it look as though the window had been punched out by one of the vines.
“This looks like it used to be a really nice house.” Rosie sat on the small table by the window, her legs swinging in the air, narrowly missing the water jugs they’d stored underneath.
“Do you know anything about Seola?” Javen asked. He stood in front of the dozen half-used candles Gannon and Caleb had collected from the house. One of the books they’d printed suggested using candles to practice breathing and control of the Fire Element. Until Rosie became more comfortable with her power, he figured this was a safe way for him to become comfortable with it, too.
Although, Swarzgard was likely capable of taking out a candle-lighter.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, he reminded himself.
“I know it had Westray’s only naval base,” she said. “People came here for vacations. For the beach. And the mountains. It was a nice place.”
It had been a nice place. He used to come to the city for weekend trips as a child. When he’d left for college, he’d come down to escape the stress of exams. Before the war, each city in Westray had been connected by an organized and punctual rail system, run by a mix of both public and private funding so that even cash-strapped college students could afford tickets.
Almost every student had done a weekend trip to Seola for its water sports and military bars.
Hundreds of years of development, all wiped out in less than a decade.
Energy flared. On the floor, one of the middle candles caught, held its tall, leaping flame for a moment, then exploded into a crater of fire and melted wax. Rosie cried out and jumped from the table, scattering several of the plastic jugs.
He grabbed a dirty coffee cup from the counter and filled it under the faucet. As he made the short walk across the kitchen, he considered the specifically flammable properties of iron.
His degrees had focused on history, but he’d studied the basic sciences. As he walked, he remembered something about iron being potentially dangerous, but the details were fuzzy.
Heck. They use lake water to put out forest fires. I’m sure this is fine. Besides, if I blow up this kitchen, there are dozens of others for us to use here.
He flicked his wrist, sending water over the fire. The small flames died, lifting into tendrils of smoke that drifted to the ceiling like ghosts. Candle-wax hardened at the sudden temperature shift, leaving dots of acne-like spots on the even floor. Around it, the other candles held their ground, already melted to the floor.
After a moment, Rosie started to recollect the water jugs.
She didn’t say anything to him, but he could tell by the bow of her neck and the stiffness of her shoulders that what had just happened had frightened her.
He turned his back to her and began sorting through the candles, looking for survivors.
I need to be better than this.
Caleb’s Earth and Rosie’s Fire required different types of training. The reference material from Mersetzdeitz provided information on possible Elemental origins, spell lists, conjuring techniques, and manipulation methodologies. Meticulous, verbose definitions and explanations were only interrupted by Theories of Magic proposed by great Lürian Mages of the past. Fire Mages gave future Fire students advice. Earth Mages gave Earth students advice.
But the advice only applied to their Element.
Using Earth meant grounding oneself, it meant separating from oneself. He enjoyed using this Element. There was something almost therapeutic in the release of power—when it flowed into the floor, the walls, the ceiling itself, he reveled in the way it encased him.
No other Element had the defensive capabilities of Earth. Proficiency in this Element promised safety for himself and the people around him.
But Fire…
Every text on Fire and Electricity was riddled with warnings of restraint. All Elements connected to the core of the user, but these two drew strength from strong emotions and convictions. Passion could give a Fire wielder precision. Determination could make Fire push itself beyond its typical capabilities. Anger could make it appear faster than its user could control it.
His anger operated in the same manner as Fire itself. Most of the time, he wasn’t aware of its existence. Yes, Richard Frynell flipped that switch easily and often, but Javen had grown used to the kind of anger people like Richard brought out in him.
It was a frustrated anger, a bothersome irk.
But the Fire he felt connected to something deeper and far more bitter.
Grime coated the candles and the tips of his fingers. The few he could save slid in his hand in all their sludgy glory. Months of living as a vagabond had made him less squeamish in these situations, but there was something about the slime on the wax that nauseated him. Behind him, Rosie had returned to her spot on the table. Her feet were still.
He stood up, trying to not get any of the crud on his clothes, and walked to the sink, dumping the candles on the counter and leaning forward onto the metal rim. After a moment, his gaze drifted up to the window.
Naomi and the others had returned late the night before, with Bonnie’s group trailing shortly behind them. The newcomers had tripled their numbers, which meant that he needed to establish more safe houses.
It also meant that the water supply they had brought with them had disappeared before everyone had gone to bed.
And this house put out nothing but brackish rust.
But it was on well water, not city-supplied. It should work. They just needed to wait for the well to clear and for science to do its job.
A row of dusty beer cans lined the windowsill, with more stacked along the back splash. Ecru beer, mostly, with two imported Budweisers in the mix. Beyond the dirt-streaked glass, the backyard had grown into a tangle of waist-high weeds, stretching down a gentle slope before ending in a ravine that dropped into a small, parched creek.
It had been a fairly nice property, once upon a time. A gap in the weed growth suggested a neglected in-ground swimming pool, and a series of overgrown latticework followed the fence line to a rickety, weather-worn gazebo that looked like it had come out of a coastal painting.
He could imagine sitting on one of the benches, gazing out to the mountains in the distance.
After a moment, he tapped the stream with his fingers, the Fire in him flinching back from the shock of cold.
When he turned his gaze down, he expected to find a coating of shit-brown water running over his palms.
Instead, it was clear, and the last of the brown was washing down the drain.
“Rosie!”
She flinched at her name, and it took a few moments for her to lift her head.
He ladled a handful of water and let it drip in the light of the window.
Her eyes went wide. “It worked?”
“Yes! I told you it would. We just needed to run the iron out.”
She sprang from the table with a ferocity that slammed it against the wall, sidestepped the melted wax on the floor, and raced for the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet.
She laughed, then closed her eyes and raised her cupped hands to her mouth to drink.
“No!” He lunged and caught her wrist, splashing the water down her shirt. She flinched back at his reaction, and he immediately let go.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not safe yet.”
She stared at him, shock threaded through her frown. “But it’s clear.”
“It’s clear of iron, but there can still be bacteria in the well. Anything that comes out of this faucet needs to be sterilized.”
Her shoulders dropped. There was a sadness in her eyes as she stared at the flowing water. “Oh. I thought we finally had as much water as we wanted.”
“We will. We have those chlorine tablets. We just need to fill our jugs, put in some tablets, and wait thirty minutes. It isn’t perfect, but it is far fresher than what we have been drinking.”
She nodded slowly. As much as she tried to hide it, he could see her disappointment. Over the last few months, there were few things that could be looked at with delightful anticipation. What he considered a survival task, she considered a treat.
Maybe that excitement is part of the Fire in her.
“How about this?” He stepped past her and started collecting the gallon jugs, holding them by the handles. “You get these filled, and you can try to use one of those pots and make some hot water for yourself. Bath water doesn’t need to be sterilized unless you have open wounds.”
Her eyes widened. “Hot water?”
“Yes,” he said. “There are two bathrooms that don’t have magazines clogging the tubs. It shouldn’t take long to clean one of them. As for the heating…”
Rosie looked at the floor.
“It’s a safe way to practice with your Element. You are targeting metal and water. I guarantee that those things can handle any mistakes.”
“It’s worth it for a bath,” she said quietly.
“Definitely worth it for a bath.”
The prospect of taking her first heated bath since the fall of Terremain must have energized her. She grabbed the jugs in one big swoop of her arms, dumped them onto the counter with a grin, and began filling them in the sink. She was filling her third container before Javen realized that her focus on the task had brought an end to their conversation.
He left the kitchen and entered the dining room where all their belongings had been stacked on a once-elegant table. Dusty cobwebs cloaked the chandelier, and a thin, gossamer strand of webbing had detached from the rest and fallen in a way that formed a spider ladder between the table and the light fixture.
Javen paused to take in the room—this really was a magnificent house, all dark, hundred-year-old wood and carved moldings—then continued into the living room that doubled as their sleeping quarters. Someone had stuck one of the camping lanterns into the fireplace, where it glowed in the dim surroundings created by the boarded windows. He paused at the corner of an area rug that looked to more expensive than any vehicle he had ever owned. Caleb and Gannon lounged on the couch, thrown together by its broken springs, whispering as they looked at a magazine.
He was about to move on to check on the status of his morning meeting when the cover caught his eye.
Well, not so much the cover, but the smiling face of a topless woman.
He strode across the room and snatched the magazine from their hands. “What is wrong with you two?”
They gawked at him, clearly surprised.
Apparently, they had been too busy in their activity to even hear him come in.
“H-hi, Mr. Dan,” Caleb stuttered. “We were just—”
Javen raised his hand, and Caleb stopped talking.
“There are so many things to dissect here,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment and letting go of a long breath. “Let’s start with the most obvious issue here: you are not the only ones in this house. You are sharing this space. I don’t care what you do behind a closed door, but I do care about you actually closing that door. What if it was Rosie instead of me who’d walked in here? You would have made her extremely uncomfortable, and then I would have had to make you extremely uncomfortable.”
“We’re sorry, Mr. Dan—”
“Not to mention the fact that I don’t want to see you doing that shit, either. Also, why are you looking at this with another guy right next to you?”
Gannon scooted away from Caleb.
“Finally—” Javen glanced at the magazine and then threw it at them. It bounced off of Gannon’s knee and opened on the floor.
No one tried to retrieve it.
“Did you look at the date of publication?” he asked. “These pictures are twenty years old. You might as well look at your mothers.”
“My momma never looked like that,” Gannon said.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Wasn’t your mother Farrah Carter?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, yes. She did.”
“Oooooo,” Caleb yelled, cupping his hand over his mouth and punching Gannon on the shoulder.
Javen made his way toward the front door as Gannon pleaded at his back.
“Yo, Mr. Dan. We’re sorry. Man, you didn’t mean that, right? With my momma? You didn’t mean that?”
Chapter 22
The houses in this neighborhood were all large, well-built, and arranged at a comfortable distance from one another. How well the previous owners took care of the properties determined how well those buildings had lasted through seven years of no heating or air conditioning. Some of the damage he saw during his walk looked to be the work of decades of neglect instead of a few years. Having only visited the tourist districts in the past, he hadn’t expected to see such urban decay in a city like Seola.
