Warring of Fire

by Holly Hook

  "That's because she wanted a fighter," I said. "If I hadn't been born with magic, then she wouldn't have cared. You saw how she was with Steve."

  "I have a word for someone like that, but I won't say it with my parents standing back there," Dirk said, thumbing behind him. Mr. and Mrs. Macher stood talking to the Boers, making plans. It looked as if we were all heading out together. This attack might require us all.

  "She and my father should hook up," Sven said. "If they were the same species."

  The three of us made gagging sounds. Dirk slapped Sven on the shoulder. It was the first friendly gesture I'd seen between the two of them and it gave me hope.

  Mrs. Macher approached and said it was time to find the excavation site. "It's likely near the Water Company," she said. "Mr. and Mrs. Boer know every corner of this town and its geography. They've been here for the past century. They say it's likely just west of it."

  "The past century?" I asked.

  "Yes. We've all been here almost that long." There was an air of sadness to her voice as she turned away.

  "What are we waiting for?" I asked.

  The Machers and the Boers had both parked at my house, which was just a short walk from the gravel quarry. The Boers had a pickup truck, being farmers. It was hard to believe this young couple were dragon shifters. They were the most ordinary looking small-town folk I'd ever seen. Mr. Boer even wore one of those local business shirts with a load of advertisements on the back. It didn't get more small town than that.

  We drove around downtown, taking narrow dirt roads to avoid any blockades of Slayers that might be out and about. Some distant houses had lights on. People were going on with their lives, likely believing that the blasts had been a Water Company project. I wondered what the official story would be. The Machers hadn't dared to investigate whatever lie the Society had put out. I rode with Sven and Dirk in the Machers' van while the others took the pickup.

  "The Slayers will expect us," Mr. Macher said as he drove down a weed-choked drive. The Boers were leading us around farms and down rows of windbreaker trees, keeping the headlights off. At least we could see in the dark.

  I eyed the sky. Even the stars looked different. They were redder with hints of green. Sven shifted, armor rubbing against the seat. He still had his sword, which was better than nothing. I had to remember that he could fight. And this time, he'd brought his crossbow.

  He might shoot at other humans. The thought was on his face as he watched the floor. It wouldn't erase what he'd almost done. Only forgiving himself would do that. But I also knew he wouldn't leave my side. Sven wasn't the type to abandon when things got bad. That was Tasha's doing. His father's doing, too.

  At last, Dirk announced that he could see strange lights out his window.

  His father slowed the van. "Where?"

  "Well, you're driving, so you're not watching. The lights seem to be coming from the opposite side of Water Road as the Company. It looks like they might come from behind a bunch of trees."

  "I see them now," Mrs. Macher said, leaning over her husband.

  The Boers continued ahead, and I followed Dirk's gaze. He was right. Though the Slayers must be keeping their floodlights down, preventing the people of town from checking out the site, the heat from the lights penetrated the trees. It was reddish, just like the glow coming from our bodies, and it made the distant trees look like they had a fire deep within them. I imagined that the place was a gate to an evil underworld.

  "I can't see anything," Sven said.

  "They can't stop the heat from escaping," I told him. "It's visible to me."

  The Boers stopped what I estimated was a mile away from the site. It was away from houses and in a rocky field that no one had bothered to farm.

  "We walk from here," Mr. Macher announced.

  It made sense. We didn't want the Slayers to hear the vehicles. "I agree," I said. "We have to stay quiet. Do the Slayers have night vision goggles?" I turned to Sven, waiting for his answer.

  "Well, even though their leader is all about tradition, he might use something like that," Sven said. "He never let me in on all the secrets of the Society, so even I don't know."

  "Dirk? Did you see any orders for special equipment in those documents?" I asked.

  "I didn't search through them all. I was focused on finding where they keep all their stolen loot and looking at that mountain."

  "This hoard first," Mr. Macher said. "The Boers are getting out. Let's follow them. Or do you want to lead, Felicia?"

  All eyes fell on me. These people were looking up to me even though I was one of the youngest here. Was my magic that powerful? I felt as if I'd fallen into a parallel universe where my lifetime role had reversed. It was the strangest feeling. There was no one here to tell me what to do or when to be home. Maturing had changed everything.

  Now I was the one to make orders, and I wasn't sure if I could do it. Instead of feeling good, it felt...heavy.

  There was a role they expected me to fill. Adler had been right.

  "I'll lead," I said. "Me, and Sven. Sven will know how the Slayers work better than any of us. Dirk, stay behind me in case I need you to amplify my magic."

  "Got it," Dirk said. "Flash flood alert."

  No one laughed. We walked from the dirt drive and under the stars. The last of the sun's rays vanished under the horizon. The people of Olivia had no clue about the war about to happen on their turf. Or the war that had already started. As we walked, the red glow of the floodlights intensified and the shouts of men followed, echoing over the landscape.

  "I can see the light now," Sven said, accented. He was nervous. Perhaps he feared what he'd see even if he expected it.

  That meant we were close.

  The tree line, meant to shield the flood lights from everyone else's view, allowed us through. All of us slowed our pace as we drew closer to the clearing on the other side. Right below us was the hoard. I could feel the magic from it now, coursing through my limbs and begging for use. And use it, I would.

  But the magic was also ragged. They were in the middle of stealing the treasure.

  The voices got louder. There were more than a dozen which made little sense. The Slayers didn't like outsiders knowing their dirty secrets.

  But when we got to the edge of the clearing and peered down at the blast site, the full horror became clear.

  The Slayers stood in a wide ring down below, armed with crossbows. Grappling hooks lined the edge of the pit they had blasted into the earth, and the lights shone off two piles of treasure resting at the bottom of the pit. Voices echoed up from the pit and from around it as dirty men milled around, carrying crates out of trucks. More men stood around a crude pulley system, pushing another crate onto it to be lowered into the pit. There must be three dozen men here, all working and some casting nervous glances at the surrounding Slayers. None of these guys wore hard hats or safety equipment. They were guys I didn't recognize, dressed in dusty jeans and sweaty T-shirts. Some were shirtless and sunburned. All of them walked with an exhausted gait.

  And the Slayers stood around, armored and pointing their crossbows at the workers.

  Mr. Olsen paced around, a whip in his hands. An actual whip. He snapped it over the heads of two men carrying what appeared to be an empty crate. Mr. Olsen wore his armor with Beowulf's sword hanging from his hip. The look on his face—a look of disgusting pleasure—made an inferno fill me.

  The Wiglaf Society used slave labor.

  These poor men looked as if they'd worked to death many times before. None of them dared to look up at their overlords.

  Sven cursed. Even though my hearing wasn't enhanced by maturing, I heard him make a noise in his throat like he wanted to vomit. But instead, he let the branch he was holding back snap back into place, blocking the horrific sight.

  "Sven," I hissed. "I know this is horrible."

  "They all need to die," Sven said. He rubbed his arms as if trying to remove his skin. "Those cowards aren't even going in
to the den and loading the treasure themselves. They're making these guys risk their lives. I bet they kidnapped all these people."

  Dirk joined us. "We need to free those guys."

  "Did you see any guns?" Ed asked.

  I parted the branches of the underbrush again. "Yes."

  The Society had brought in a military vehicle with a machine gun. I'd been so horrified at the slave labor I hadn't noticed it at first. A jeep with a machine gun on the back stood on a small hill, overlooking the workers. I bet that there were more weapons in that vehicle in case crossbows weren't enough.

  And then another horrible thought hit me.

  "If there are innocent people down below, we can't flood the hoard."

  Sven gripped my arm. "I think you're right. Now what?"

  "We have to free those men first," I said. Right then, my magic rippled, disrupted. I gasped as a wave of weakness swept over me, reducing me, but the sensation only lasted a split second. Then another eruption of anger replaced it. These guys were touching our treasure and taking it. My body could sense it.

  But they weren't doing it out of their free will. The Society was at fault. I had to direct my anger at them.

  "Did you feel that?" Dirk asked.

  "They're taking the hoard, bit by bit," Mrs. Macher said. "Someone needs to take out that machine gun over there. Felicia, don't shift. You must make it rain. You and Dirk stay in the trees. But don't act until the rest of us liberate the poor slaves down there. I see the Wiglaf Society is still using them."

  "They've always had slaves?" Sven asked.

  "Ever since the beginning," she said with sadness. "Slavery was common a thousand years ago. It was a slave who stole the egg from Felicia's mother. I've always wondered if Wiglaf ordered the man to steal it so she'd come out and fight. People needed a reason to want to see her die, so they wouldn't turn on Wiglaf. Instead, he became a hero."

  I didn't want to think about it. A brave man, Mr. Olsen was not. He was a coward with nothing but words who propped himself up on the backs of others. Next to me, Sven's expression hardened as he readied his crossbow. "I'll pick some of them off," he said. There was no trace of a lie in his words. "And I don't care how much it hurts them."

  "Don't hit the workers," I said. "None of you. Make sure they can get away."

  "They might tell the world about us," Ellie said. She looked young, maybe a couple years older than Dirk and I, but the look in her eyes was hard.

  "They might, but they didn't choose to be here," I said. "We let them go. These guys deserve to be free."

  Ellie said nothing. Instead, she shuffled off into the trees, retreating from the clearing below. I knew why. While shifting, she'd make noise. They all would. I was relieved that I wouldn't be doing that this time, but terrified that I might catch workers in the coming flood. Dirk and I would have to conjure up a storm that had no mercy.

  "Remember, Felicia. You can heal," Mrs. Macher said. "Don't forget that, but we have to make sure we take out the Slayers and their weapons first."

  "Where's Adler?" I asked.

  "I didn't see her," she said. "Stay quiet. When we attack that's when you need to do your worst."

  Chapter Twelve

  Mr. Olsen cracked the whip again over the heads of three more workers. The men struggled to hold up a crate that had swords sticking out of the top. They shuffled their legs, carrying it over to one of four moving trucks that had a ramp down. That ramp was the only luxury given to these men.

  Yet despite that terrifying whip, none of the men reacted. That told me something disturbing.

  The others had to leave the three of us alone to keep watch over the site. Pulleys squeaked as platforms rose and fell with crates and men. Some creaked, and I feared one would break, sending workers to their deaths.

  "They must be ready to take it to that place in the Sierras," Sven said. "If we can save the workers, one of them might help us locate it."

  "I was thinking the same," I said. "I'm glad to be fighting beside you, Sven."

  "And so am I," Dirk admitted.

  The three of us were alone now. The others had gone off to shift.

  A worker fell and the crate he was helping to carry fell with him, shattering it. He cried out and curled into a protective ball as Mr. Olsen descended on him, sword shining. Mr. Olsen lifted the whip—

  A whoosh sound followed. I looked up to find a huge shape, a dragon I hadn't seen before, swooping over the camp. It looked like a giant, dark shadow that blocked out the stars. Everyone stopped, even the poor workers, to look up at the sight. Mr. Olsen lowered the whip and drew his sword as the man on the ground uncurled himself and scrambled to the moving truck. Slayers shouted and raised crossbows.

  "Take shelter!" Mr. Olsen shouted at the workers.

  It was the first shred of compassion I'd seen from him. The workers ran inside the moving vans. Or maybe he didn't want to lose his slave labor and kidnapping people was time consuming. Most of the men vanished within crates and vehicles, but two others still manned the pulleys, trying to get their fellow workers out of the hoard.

  A second whoosh sounded as another dragon flew over. The Slayers shouted. The woman dropped her crossbow in favor of the gun. She was like Sofia, trying to prove herself to the others.

  Mr. Olsen slipped his visor down and grabbed his shield off the ground. It was a rehearsed motion. The second dragon flew over as if delivering a warning. The two vanished into the night.

  "There are two," another Slayer shouted.

  "I'm ready," the woman shouted, manning the machine gun.

  My heart raced. We couldn't make our move yet. All the Slayers turned in the direction the two dragons had flown. They waited for the creatures to return. With my vision, I could see the dragon's body heat and gray forms in the distance, maybe half a mile away now, as they turned around together and prepared to come back and strike.

  "Who was that?" Dirk asked.

  "I don't know," I said. "It could have been the Boers, or Steve, or Ed and Ellie—"

  "Or my parents," Dirk said.

  I hoped not. These Slayers were ready to open fire. I couldn't imagine any creature being able to survive all this.

  "They're not going to just fly back, are they?" Sven asked. "Dragons seem too smart for that." He eyed the Slayers below, crossbow aimed. Shooting now would be suicide and he knew. Sven couldn't fire until the Slayers had their hands full.

  "They are," Dirk said.

  But the two dragons in the distance were doing just that. As soon as they came into human view, the Society would open fire.

  "There has to be a plan," I said, wanting to unleash a storm right now. But I had to wait. There were still workers shouting in the pit.

  And there was. Another set of whooshes sounded from above and the Slayers whirled to face a second pair of dragons flying over.

  "Four of them!" Mr. Olsen shouted.

  "Take cover," another Slayer shouted, firing. An arrow punctured a wing.

  "Remain at your positions!" Mr. Olsen ordered.

  "He has no soul," Sven whispered, training his crossbow on Mr. Olsen.

  The second pair of dragons banked around the first, which returned right them. I glimpsed green scales on one—Steve—and deep blue scales on another. Steve dove as the Slayers shot arrows, unleashing fire on a pair of Slayers before rising above the trees. The woods quaked and air blasted against us as if we stood under a hurricane.

  "Whoa," Dirk said.

  The screams of the burning followed. Two Slayers rolled on the ground, putting out the flames. Mr. Olsen didn't run to them. He continued to whirl in a circle, expecting. The woman fired off a deafening machine gun round for a second before stopping. She struggled to turn it, which may have saved Steve's life.

  Steve's victims put out the flames and rose. They were tough guys and their armor had protected them mostly. The blue dragon banked in a circle around the camp as the other Slayers fired crossbows. A few punctured the creature's gray wings.
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  Meanwhile, the workers rose from the pit. Men helped each other over the lip and ran towards the shelter of the moving vans.

  The woman fired another machine gun round at the blue dragon. The creature growled as its scales rippled with the force of the gunshots. Blood seeped out as droplets flew, splattering the ground. My heart broke at the sight of such a beautiful creature injured. The dragon veered into the dark, turning gray in my night vision as it crashed into another tree line.

  "One down!" the woman shouted.

  "I'm gonna puke," Dirk said.

  Sven opened fire. His arrow bounced off a Slayer's armored back. He fired again, nailing the man in the exposed back of his knee. The guy screamed and went down.

  "We don't know who that was," I said. I wanted none of them to get hurt. But rage filled me and I knew I couldn't hold back using my magic much longer. The dragon could be dying. Bullets were harder to dislodge than arrows. Only a faint red, thrashing glow came through the trees. My vision filled with tears as my heart raced.

  Dirk slipped his hand in mine. It was time for a storm. The water would douse any fire the dragons would unleash, but there were other ways they could fight.

  The magic in me exploded, and I sent my consciousness into the sky, ordering the clouds to gather and for everything to open. I'd need to maintain this deluge. The flooding had to be brutal. All I could do was pray that it wouldn't sweep through downtown or anywhere inhabited. If it swept these Slayers down to a horrible death, so be it.

  Sven fired again and again. An arrow bounced off the chest plate of the lone female Slayer, barely missing the vulnerable space that led to her neck. He fired again as she turned, trying to figure out the source of the attack. Slayers shouted as a fifth dragon flew over, yellow scales shimmering.

  "Ambush!" Mr. Olsen shouted.

  The sky opened.

  Curtains of rain thrashed as they engulfed the Slayers below. Cold drops bombarded my skin. The trees offered little shelter against this powerful deluge. It roared, drowning out most of the Slayers' shouts. The workers yelled from inside their shelters. Another set of wings whooshed, and a horrible, metallic squeal followed along with a scream.