Fire Within

by Ella M. Lee

  The other side of the shield was a huge training room. There was a pommel horse, a balance beam, a barre, a bench, punching bags of various sizes, a wooden dummy for practicing martial arts strikes, two treadmills, and a whole rack of free weights and bar weights. The entire center of the room was covered with a large mat for sparring.

  The windows and walls were all protected with layers of wards, some activated, some not. Silencing, guarding, blast protection, water protection, and magic dampening wards all glittered in my eyes alongside many more.

  The bookshelves had an elaborate sound system built into them. Daniel hooked his phone into it and pumped rhythmic Japanese pop music into the room.

  He pulled me through the shield into the training area and then swept his hand in an arc. “Feel free to look around,” he said lazily, heading to a corner of the mat to stretch.

  I stood for a moment, paralyzed by indecision. This was the most choice I had faced in a week, and I couldn’t settle on a single thing. All my normal workout routines came to mind immediately, but none of them felt right. I was exhausted from the magic use, but I was oddly excited and electrified by the opportunity to move.

  The treadmills faced out the windows, and I sidled closer, thinking about how nice it would be to run with this view spread out in front of me, almost like I was out in those mountains myself.

  With a slight backward glance at Daniel, who was laid out into a stretch with his eyes closed, I hopped on the nearest treadmill and started it up.

  The moment my feet got moving, I wasn’t content to walk. My restlessness caused me to crank the speed up quite high, and it was only a minute or two before I was breathing hard with the pounding of my footfalls sounding around me.

  I wanted to run. Physically, emotionally, in all ways. I didn’t know how I had managed to stay so still and quiet for much of this week. It was very unlike me. Although part of me knew that running wouldn’t get me anywhere today, that I was trapped in this room, I did it anyhow.

  I ran until the view of the mountains and river blurred in front of me. I ran until my arches ached. I ran until the sounds of music and Daniel striking the wooden dummy behind me faded to nothingness. I ran until I was too wrung out to feel anything anymore. It was only when I stumbled and fell and landed sprawled out, clutching my knee with a yelp, that I let myself remember anything about my weariness or uncertainty or grief.

  Daniel’s hand smacked the emergency stop button on the treadmill. He was looking down at me with wide, curious eyes.

  “Fi?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, shaking. “Hi,” I whispered, choking slightly.

  He gave me a sympathetic look. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I knew his words went deeper than merely inquiring about my bruised knee.

  I picked myself up, sitting on the edge of the treadmill, breathing hard. Daniel took a seat next to me, frowning, wiping sweat off his forehead and hair with a towel.

  I turned to look out the window. “No,” I said after another few moments. “I’m not okay.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I glanced at him and shook my head. “You don’t have to be nice to me,” I said.

  “Allow me to decide what I have to or don’t have to do,” he said.

  I swallowed. “My commander in Flame…” I started. I had to swallow again to clear my throat. “My commander in Flame told me something during my candidacy period. He said, ‘Girl, you are running from something. That’s bad news. When you make a change, you can’t be running from something. You have to run to something. Lucky for you, I’m going to give you something to run to, but the next time you run? You’re going to have to find that yourself.’ Six years ago, I took for granted that I had something to run to, that I had every option in the world open to me. Now I’m here, and I have nothing. What I wouldn’t give for a choice right now, for something to actually want.”

  I pressed my palms into my eyes, trying to stave off tears. My chest felt simultaneously hollow and somehow filled with lead. Empty of everything important, like my heart or my lungs or my will to keep playing games I was sure I would lose in the end.

  Why were my emotions all over the place lately? Why couldn’t I understand myself? And if I couldn’t understand myself, how was I supposed to understand what to do here?

  “You are very sensitive, aren’t you?” Daniel asked quietly.

  The words weren’t cruel or critical. They were simply a statement of truth as he understood it. He was watching me sympathetically.

  “You know,” he said, “Nico doesn’t understand sensitivity, not really. He thinks he does, because he can read minds and feel people’s emotions and whatever, but he doesn’t know exactly what it’s like. He views it from far off, like an interesting movie. He doesn’t know what it feels like to live day after day hung up on feelings, to be aware of every little movement or change, to be delicate.” Daniel smiled sadly at me. “I do, though. I’m about as sensitive as possible, although Nicolas has done a good job of helping me be strong and deal with it.”

  Daniel folded his hands in front of him, looking down. “You don’t understand Nicolas. I get that. He’s probably acting strange and confusing you. It’s annoying to all of us, trust me, but completely natural to him. He could choose to be less mysterious, but he doesn’t. Fine, whatever. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you. Let me ask you a question. If you had to choose right now between joining Water or letting Nicolas execute you, which would you pick?”

  I tensed, alarmed. “Water, of course.”

  “Then can I give you some advice, Fi?” he asked.

  I wanted to say something sarcastic or snippy, but Daniel was being so kind that I couldn’t summon the desire to hurt him. “Of course,” I said as graciously as I could.

  “Nicolas is, uh, pragmatic,” Daniel said. “And I mean scary pragmatic, a psychopath-level of pragmatic. He’s been very clear about this with me, and I’ve watched him work for years. He never does anything without a purpose, and he has far more information than all of us put together. He brought you here for a purpose, he took you out of your cell for a purpose, and he’s giving you opportunities to impress him for a purpose. And you know what you’ve been doing? Sitting around being sad and pathetic.”

  “Hey!” I said. “I haven’t—”

  “Quiet,” he said, pressing three of his fingers to my lips. “I’m not done. You just told me you want to join Water. That’s it. There’s your choice. There’s something to run to. You don’t have all the options in the world—you have one good one and one bad one. You were smart enough a moment ago to pick the good one. So start running. Nico is impressed by strength and hard work and determination. He likes when people make intelligent moves. He even likes it when people are a little clever. Make him like you. Show him more of what he wants. Try harder.”

  “I don’t know how to do that. You say you understand, but… I am seriously at the end of my rope. Nicolas confuses me, and I have no idea what sort of progress I’m making, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to decide any moment that he’s sick of me.”

  Daniel put an arm around my shoulders gently. “Nah, you’re okay. Nicolas is impressed with your use of Water magic and that you’ve managed to get along with me. He thinks you’re smart and that you have a useful skill set. If you knew how many people he calls ‘dense’—his word—on a daily basis, you’d be more thrilled by that statement.”

  “What do I do differently, then?” I asked. “I don’t have much leeway to be more impressive. And Nicolas is impenetrable. I can never tell if he’s amused by what I say or do or whether he’s a second away from strangling me. You have no idea—”

  “I don’t?” Daniel asked sharply.

  I shut my mouth. Of course he knew what I was talking about. Daniel had been in a clan as long as I had, from a much younger age, and with Nicolas as a mentor. He had started out in my position but had needed to figure out the same survival skills as a teenager, on his own. He ha
d been steeped in this type of stress for years.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, looking down. “But you’re so fucking brilliant, and Nicolas obviously loves you. It’s hard to remember that you two didn’t start off in a great place, either.”

  “Not as bad as you and Nicolas,” he offered, shrugging, “but I didn’t like him very much, and I think I frustrated him until he got to know me.”

  I closed my eyes, slumping my shoulders. I took several deep breaths. Daniel was right. I needed to put in more effort. I’d been trying a little, but not really. I’d been too afraid to try. Afraid I’d screw up, afraid I’d make an irreparable mistake, afraid that actually trying would mean I’d have to admit that Water was my new life and home.

  Daniel was telling me that this would go well if I wanted it to go well. Nicolas had been alluding to the same thing, that I did have power over my situation.

  “Daniel?”

  “Fi?”

  “Tell me what to do,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Help me.”

  “Get up. Time for another test.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, confused.

  “Want to spar with me?” he asked. “I’d love to be able to tell Nicolas how awesome you were today and how hard you worked.”

  When I met his eyes, I must have looked completely shattered, because he said hastily, “Come on. No crying. Get up. Play with me. Put your energy into something other than being sad, okay?”

  Try, I told myself.

  It was clear that was the only way I’d be able to move forward, so why did it sound completely impossible?

  “Keep your shoulders down. You’re tensing. Watch me again, Fi.”

  It was an hour later, and Daniel had moved me through several exercises. First we stretched together as I talked him through my prior training in Savate, a French punching and kicking martial art. He had asked me to come at him and studied my form while competently deflecting all my attacks. He then allowed me to watch him while deflecting his careful and considered strikes.

  Unsurprisingly, Daniel was an excellent martial artist. All his natural grace translated well to his fighting style, and he was quick and precise in all his movements.

  In fact, he was so fast that he had accidentally hit me when he thought I was going to block and was now teaching me the correct interception for his strike. He wasn’t used to sparring with mortals, who didn’t have the slightly heightened senses and movements of magicians.

  “You still okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Are you a martial arts instructor? How can you teach so well?”

  He smiled. “I teach kids at my former martial arts school in the spring and summer. I’ve never taught adults before.”

  “You’re good at it,” I said.

  “How about a real match?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Don’t worry about hurting me,” he said.

  “I wasn’t going to,” I said, and he laughed as he beckoned for me to attack him.

  Sparring was an excellent distraction. It was impossible to focus on anything except the immediacy of our fight. Daniel was too fast and skilled for me to let my mind wander or let my exhaustion overtake me.

  I was tired and sad and empty, but the movement was energizing me. Daniel was clever with his instruction. He understood that goals focused me, and he made each round into a challenge, telling me explicitly where my attention should be.

  We were interrupted after several rounds by Nicolas. I jumped back, startled, as he entered the room. He was dressed in all-black workout clothes, looking grave and handsome.

  Daniel turned and asked him a question in Cantonese. Nicolas said a couple of words and waved him off. Daniel came to me and adjusted my stance, moving my feet slightly.

  “When you step back, try coming into this form, okay?” he said, looking up at me. “This time, I just want you to repeat that over and over.”

  “Okay,” I said. I was still watching Nicolas warily, nervous now that he was here.

  I did as Daniel asked, but I was skittish and uneasy, and I stumbled once. My eyes went to Nicolas in alarm, but he was busy bench-pressing an impressive amount of weight and seemed to be tuning us out.

  “Hey,” Daniel said sharply. “Look at me.” He waved toward Nicolas. “Ignore him.”

  I took a deep breath and started again, trying to push Nicolas from my mind. This was Daniel’s test. I needed to forget about everything except listening to him.

  “How do you feel about that change?” he asked me after two minutes of repeating the same stepping motion.

  “It’s easier to follow through, but how do I keep from feeling off balance on the entry?” I asked.

  “Bend your knees,” he said. “And twist a bit, like this.”

  I watched as he demonstrated. It was a little strange taking instruction from Daniel, who was a decade younger than me, but I knew better than to argue. Clans were a lot like military institutes, with rigid hierarchies and structures. Daniel was a lieutenant, and while he wasn’t exactly my lieutenant, he was lieutenant to the commander I was currently bound to. He was above me, and he was acting as my caretaker and teacher for the time being.

  It would be an excellent showing of my willingness to work well within Nicolas’s group if I listened to Daniel with respect.

  It wasn’t hard. Daniel was brilliant and competent, and his suggestions were good. He took my feedback seriously, and he was friendly and playful, getting me to smile at least a couple of times.

  This wasn’t so different from the kind of training I’d done in Flame, or biweekly with my figure skating coach, who made me drill the same difficult jumps and spins over and over. If anything, Daniel was being gentle with me, as though I might break at any moment.

  When we slowed down and moved on to walking together through kicks and punches, he started asking me questions about myself.

  “Nico keeps saying your name fits you. What does he mean?”

  I glanced at Nicolas, who was still ignoring us, and said, “He probably means my last name. An ember is a glowing piece of coal or wood in a fire. You know, the stuff at the bottom that keeps the fire going or can start it again if it’s dying.”

  “Nice,” Daniel said. “And it’s your real, uh, given name?”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s an English surname,” I said.

  “You were meant for Flame, huh?” he said, giving me a light push with his hand. I was getting used to him being physical with me even outside of his instruction—it was just his style.

  “I used to think so.” I sighed, continuing to follow his motions. “My name got a lot of comments in Flame, too. People thought I changed it to that when I joined.”

  “It’s not uncommon,” Daniel said, shrugging. “Ryan has a Chinese name that he barely uses, and my name is not Daniel.”

  “No?” I asked, surprised.

  “Nicolas gave me the name Daniel,” he said. “My original name is Chinese—it means daybreak or dawn. It’s a little girly.”

  “Fiona means white, pure, or fair. Like pretty,” I offered.

  “Someone named you well,” he said, smiling at me. “What is the word in English for the color of your eyes? That sky-colored blue?”

  I looked away, embarrassed by Daniel’s attention, even though I could tell the words weren’t a compliment or flirtation so much as merely fascinated curiosity.

  “Azure,” I said. “Or so people tell me.”

  “Azure,” he repeated. “I’ve never heard that word, but I like it.”

  “Yours are a bit like mahogany,” I said. “Or dark chocolate.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t like chocolate. I don’t eat a lot of sweets.”

  “You are a monster,” I said, and he smiled. “I love chocolate and sweets. That was the best part of living in New York City for a year. So many chocolate shops.”

  “No chocolate in Nebraska?” Daniel asked.

  I was surprised he remembered the name
of my home state.

  “There’s nothing fun in Nebraska,” I said, sighing. “Growing up on a farm was just a lot of work.”

  “What did you farm?” he asked, catching my arm gracefully and repositioning it. We were in a rhythm now, doing a complicated dance together through some steps and punches.

  “Oh, we had horses, and sheep, and chickens, and corn mostly. Nebraska has a lot of corn. I had a dog too. He helped with the chickens. And a bunch of cats.”

  “So your parents were farmers?” He was very obviously curious about my life, his questions genuine and interested.

  “My mom was,” I clarified. “She had me and my brother to help her. My dad had his own business, selling tractors and other farm equipment. He was a great cook, though. He loved to use what my mom grew in the garden when he wasn’t super busy with work.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Daniel said.

  His wistful tone made me recall his past—orphaned street urchin—and I wondered if he was jealous of my family.

  “It was,” I said, frowning.

  His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

  I took half a second to glance at Nicolas. He was busy and focused and hadn’t so much as looked in our direction, but I knew he could hear us. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for him, for both of them, to know more about me.

  I took a deep breath. “My mother died a week before my high school graduation. Brain aneurysm. There was nothing anyone could have done. My brother, Mark, who was only fourteen, found her dead in the garden when he got home from school.

  “We carried on well enough, I suppose. I still went to college. I had been accepted at the University of Nebraska, about an hour away, where all my friends were going. My dad mostly gave away our animals and focused on his business. My brother… Well, he struggled. With me and Mom gone, he had issues in school and was depressed.”

  Daniel indicated silently that I should do a sequence of high kicks and low kicks. He wisely remained quiet.

  “Things were okay,” I continued, between kicks. “I graduated from college with a double major in history and English. I decided to enroll in graduate school and was planning to get a master’s degree in library science. My brother hadn’t gone to college, but he’d been helping my dad with the business.”