Into the Fire (The Elemental Wars Book 1)

by K. Gorman

  “My master’s supervisor, Dr. Lenn Glavinssen, decided to run with the former theory and attempt to create crystal spirits by, basically, funneling a metric hellton of single-element magic into a crystal and giving it a mythological blueprint to impersonate. This crystal, the ship spirit, and Sophia’s Forlital are three of the results.”

  So, in essence, they were crystal siblings. Well, at least it explained the hum in her chest. She kept her distance, folding her hand over a paper in her pocket. She’d written down a list of questions during class.

  The engine rose behind the screen, orange light gleaming off its large, boxy exterior. As she stared at it, those questions seemed trivial now.

  His silhouette didn’t move. The engine thrummed behind him, hitting her insides like loud soundwaves, except without the sound. It felt warm.

  Well, on to the first question. “What is magic?”

  He plucked something from the console, waving it in the air. Light slipped over its cylindrical side. Was it a wand? Wizards used wands, didn’t they?

  “It’s hard to explain magic, so I’ll show you. Give me your hand.”

  She hesitated, remembering the Phoenix.

  “Nothing will happen that you don’t want.”

  He popped the top off the object, and she recognized the smell.

  Permanent marker.

  She held out her left hand. He wrote something on the back—one of the Mage sigils.

  “I studied the data last night,” he said. “You could probably do this by yourself, eventually.”

  The fumes send a wave of light-headedness over her. As the ink cooled on the back of her hand, her skin tingled.

  Her voice quavered. “What is this?”

  “A transfer mark. You can tap into nearby magic now.”

  “What, like yours?”

  “Yes. Go ahead. Try it.”

  Mieshka lifted her hand experimentally, examining the black mark. Like in the memorial, the combination of characters had a Cyrillic style to them, though they were stacked together into a box-shape.

  “How?”

  “There are no rules for this sort of thing. Just focus on it. It’ll become like breathing, eventually—if you so choose, of course.”

  Of course.

  She focused on warmth; on summer, not winter. She thought of a tall, flickering fire, like the Will O’ Wisp flame Aiden had used yesterday.

  Orange light collected within the ink like fiery dew.

  Heat washed over her face as a fire snapped into life above her outstretched hand, its bottom cradled in the air, top fluttering wildly. Shadows flickered on the walls.

  “Nice.” Aiden grinned. “Don’t be afraid to play with it. There’s not much you can burn down here.”

  So, that was why he’d taken her here. Despite her earlier worries, she found herself sharing his grin. The fire leapt, reaching for the high ceiling.

  Remembering the law of gases from science class, she condensed it.

  It grew brighter as it shrank, hissing like a blowtorch.

  “I’m using your power now, right?” When she took her focus off of it, the fire unraveled with a pop.

  “Yes.”

  Time for another premade question. “How would I get my own power?”

  “Ah. Well. Normally, with Terrans, you tend to already come with power. Elementals, similar to us Mages. But I’ve been looking through the data we gathered last night, and yours takes on a different style. You’re more a conduit, able to channel energy—just like you’re doing now.” He indicated the transfer mark on her hand. “In normal circumstances, I would have thought that’d be the end of it, but, as the Phoenix was eager to show us last night, that channeling power carries over into absorption, as well. If you absorbed a crystal, you would carry its power.”

  She’d been afraid of that. Her fire wavered with her thoughts. Eyes like ash haunted her memory.

  I have been alone. Now, you are here.

  It felt like it had been waiting for her.

  Which was impossible. It was from an entirely different world. And it had been created before she’d even been born.

  The Will O’ Wisp settled onto her palm, fluttering against her skin like butterfly wings.

  Or feathers. Feathers of fire. Not the first time they’d brushed her hand.

  “Would it possess me?”

  “That depends on your definition of ‘possession.’ In the broadest sense, meaning one thing using another as a host, then yes, it certainly tried that last night. But if you mean full possession as in a complete take-over of mind and body, then I’d say that, while it could do that, it’s not likely to. It’s not that kind of spirit. You’d need to learn to control it, or else it will overpower you, energy-wise, in a way that involves burning everything around you without stopping as opposed to manipulating your mind and thoughts. Same as other Fire Elementals, actually.” He paused. “So, if you choose to become an apprentice, you’ll learn the basics via this transfer mark. In a nice, safe environment with nothing valuable around.”

  Subtle, wasn’t he? Mieshka caught his eye in the firelight. She wondered what he really thought about her ‘job shadow’ idea.

  Whatever. That was his problem.

  Behind him, the screen flickered. A graph that had been displayed vanished, replaced by a message she could read:

  Incoming call.

  Aiden followed her gaze, the chair creaking as he swiveled around. His smile dropped.

  “I have to take this. Go find Jo. She’ll take you Underground.”

  “Underground?”

  They were already underground. Did he have a dungeon? How far did those stairs go?

  He met her eye. “Jo will explain. Not many can call this line, if you catch my drift.”

  Right. Few people had access to the engines. She could guess who those ‘people’ were.

  She walked out. The farther she got from Aiden, the smaller her flame shrank.

  It guttered out on the stairs.

  *

  Jo led her back down the stairs. They passed the engine room without a glance. After a while, the stairwell lost even its Spartan finishing, reduced to blank drywall, unpainted pipe railings, and naked bulbs. One had burned out.

  Only their footsteps kept them company.

  The final flight angled down a hole in the floor. Concrete surrendered to wood, which creaked as Jo’s heavy boots stepped down. Mieshka took a moment to peer around.

  The walls sloped at a hard angle, supported by dusty wooden beams. Boxes and stuff were stacked all around. Some looked quite old. A standing mirror leaned against a beam, reflecting a glare of light on its grimy, dust-streaked surface. The bare bulb’s lighting didn’t quite reach into the corners.

  An aisle had been cleared through the boxes, and Mieshka found Jo bent over a contraption in the floor. It was a folded wooden ladder, complete with joints and neon yellow rope.

  It looked like they were in someone’s attic, three stories underground.

  Underground?

  “What’s underground?” Her voice seemed loud in the still room.

  Jo paused. “I thought you were a refugee.”

  “I am.” So?

  “You got housing?”

  “Yes?” People didn’t get housing?

  Jo turned around and leaned against one of the wooden joints. Mieshka tried not to look at her guns.

  “Well, some cities are built on top of themselves. London, Rome—all built on their old counterparts. Same goes for Ryarne.”

  “Why?” Ryarne wasn’t as old as the other two.

  “Flooding problems, so I’m told. Building up made the problems go away. They could afford to do that then.” Jo tapped her toe on the floor. “This is an old house.”

  Mieshka had been right. This was someone’s attic. Nerves rushed through her. How old was this place? She looked again at the wooden beams. They didn’t seem so sturdy now that she knew they were buried.

  “How does it stay up?”
<
br />   “Good architecture.”

  Jo pulled on the rope. Except for an initial creak, the staircase unfolded soundlessly down. It left a dark hole in the floor.

  Jo, not soundless, stepped into it. Her boots were heavy on the ancient-looking wood.

  Mieshka approached the hole. A small forest of flashlights stood next to the path.

  Convenient.

  Grabbing one, she followed at a slower pace. The stairs creaked beneath her, leading her down into a hallway. White-painted walls lined both sides, with lighter squares in places where pictures must have hung.

  Jo disappeared around a corner. Mieshka rushed to catch up, her light bouncing off a hardwood floor. She turned down a carpeted stairwell, one hand trailing on a smooth, carved banister.

  “Upper Ryarne was built on the old city before Chromatix B was discovered.” In the stairwell, Jo’s voice had a hollow echo. “Lots of refugees dug out homes here when the government started refusing housing.”

  Chromatix B. The wonder drug catalyst that boosted the effects of most medicines it was paired with. It had exploded the Westran economy fifty years ago and formed its backbone ever since. It had also been the excuse Swarzgard had used to go to war seven years ago. Supposedly, there had been a scandal over the discovery between a Swarzgard scientist and the Westran government.

  “People live down here?”

  They passed a boarded window, the wall cracking at the corner of its frame. Jo’s light bobbed ahead, flashing over the dead screen of a TV. Old porcelain gleamed behind a cabinet’s dirty glass. Shadows closed in behind her. Every haunted house movie she’d watched came back to dog her steps.

  They entered a foyer, where a crystal chandelier glittered overhead like a thousand dusty eyes.

  “Rich people,” she remarked.

  “Dead people,” Jo added, and turned out the front door.

  Through a grimy window, she saw Jo’s flashlight illuminate a concrete tunnel. It was a stark contrast to the house’s finely finished wood.

  She stepped out into the tunnel and closed the door behind her. It did not make a sound.

  Somehow, that was worse than the obligatory haunted house creak. She caught her reflection in the dark, dusty glass as she followed Jo. Her breath misted up in front of her.

  “It’s better in the Core. There’s enough people and electricity to keep the place warm. Ish.”

  “What keeps the air safe?” she said, trying to remember what she’d read about mines.

  “Here? Nothing. Farther in, where there’s more people, there’s ventilation. Need to go deeper for poison gas, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Good. She hadn’t signed up to be a canary.

  Jo turned left at the first split. The house ended, and brickwork swallowed up both sides. On they went, with nothing but their footsteps for company. And echoes. Mieshka looked at everything for the first few minutes, swinging her light around.

  Graffiti cropped up on the walls. Some might have been directional signs; others had a ruder nature. Several renegade paintings cropped up, bright as the day they’d been painted. Without the sun to shine on them, she guessed they wouldn’t fade.

  They went through an office building, where Jo directed her down three floors before they left through a hole in the wall. She heard scurrying. Rats? She tried not to think of it.

  Eventually, the tunnel opened onto a street, complete with chipped road markings. Light spilled from a building to their left, its heavy stone walls still holding after decades of burial. The windows were barred, and a fluorescent white filled the inside, illuminating racks full of guns.

  Mieshka froze, staring at them. In the corner of one window, a pink neon sign read ‘Mo’s.’

  Jo clicked her flashlight off and stepped up to the shop. A bell tinkled as she pushed the door open.

  Mieshka lingered on the sidewalk, gripping her flashlight hard. She stared at the guns through the window. The old glass panes made the inside waver if she moved.

  She forced herself to relax. Hadn’t she decided to face her problems?

  The bell tinkled again as she pushed the door open and held it as a shield while she peered around its edge.

  Jo leaned over a nearby counter, chatting with the man behind it. He was almost as big as Buck, with a black handlebar mustache and a shaved head. His hands gestured over the counter as he spoke, fingers thick and calloused. Mieshka stepped around the door, and it closed behind her with another jingle.

  Guns were everywhere. All kinds of guns. Even some she recognized, racked under a small sign in the back corner that read ‘Military Issue.’ Her mom had shown her those. Had shown her how to take them apart and clean them.

  She’d never shown her how to shoot.

  Repressing the thought, she joined Jo at the counter.

  “People are getting antsy down here,” the man said with a heavy accent.

  “Water people?” Jo shifted a shoulder from the counter to include Mieshka in the conversation.

  “All people. Worried about the shield. More and more holing up, getting crazier. Wouldn’t be surprised if they mobbed up.” He passed Jo a wry smile. “So, you know, business as usual.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, Mieshka’s attention slid from the guns. Was there something wrong with the shield?

  Jo’s comment was light. “Cabin fever?”

  “Guess you’d call it tunnel fever down here. Takes longer to set in if you have places to run.”

  Jo leaned back, jaw working. Her brown gaze slid to Mieshka.

  “So, you’re Aiden’s new apprentice,” the man said. His gaze flicked to the transfer mark on her hand.

  It took her a moment to unclench her jaw. She felt the guns all around her.

  “Sort of.” She held out a hand. “I’m Mieshka.”

  His hand nearly engulfed hers as they shook.

  “Nice name.” He smiled, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “I’m Maury. People just call me Mo.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She smiled again, letting go. “Some people call me Meese.”

  “Meese?” Jo slurred, jaw still working.

  Something clicked in her teeth. Mieshka spotted a bowl of mints next to her elbow. The woman cocked a smile. It looked like she had something planned.

  “Anyway, Jo—here’s the new model. Just over the border last week.”

  In the second she’d looked away, Mo had filled his arms with a large silver-and-black assault rifle. Mieshka flinched back from the counter, snatching her hands to her side.

  They stared at her.

  “S-sorry,” she stammered. “I have a… thing… with guns.”

  The flashlight shook in her hand. Conscious of their stares, she forced herself to take a breath.

  Jo turned to Mo.

  “How about I come back for this later? We need to be heading out, anyway.”

  Jo pushed away from the counter, the mint clicking against her teeth. They exchanged a nod, and Mieshka flattened to a gun rack as Jo moved past. After a meek glance at Mo, she followed in the woman’s wake.

  The door jingled open. Mo stopped her before she left.

  “Meese—wait a sec.”

  He sidled from behind the counter. The rifle was gone. There was something else in his hand, which he held out to her as he came near.

  It was a business card. It had a gun graphic on one side, with the shop’s name underneath. On the back was a phone number and an e-mail address.

  “In case you run into trouble.”

  She looked up at him. With the fluorescents backing him, his face was in shadow. His bare arms had no defined muscle, only bulk. There was a tattoo on one shoulder. She recognized the Ryarnese military’s winged saber.

  “Thanks.” She gave him a smile as she backed out the door.

  Jo was waiting for her. She hadn’t turned on her light. As Mieshka soon found out, she didn’t need to. The rest of the way was lit.

  Chapter 11
<
br />   “Guns, huh?”

  She’d wondered when Jo would bring that up. Bare, dusty bulbs were strung along a bundle of wire at the top left corner of the brick-and-concrete tunnel. Two pipes ran along the floor, also to the left. A leaking joint in the smaller one had resolved any unasked questions about Underground plumbing. She tried not to think about the larger one.

  “Yeah. Guns.” Except for the tread of their boots and the click of Jo’s mint, the tunnel was quiet. “I don’t know why. My mom was shot, but…”

  Her throat clenched around the sore topic. She’d read somewhere that muscles clenched up around injuries. She suspected something similar happened in the mind.

  The mint stopped clicking. Jo stared ahead, eyes unreadable. Her jaw muscles tensed.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Mieshka heard that a lot.

  Silence thickened, each carefully not looking at the other. The tunnel was full of echoes. Some lights hummed in their sockets.

  “So, Meese, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  The tunnel shifted, angled down, and ended in a dim doorway. A draft drifted past her cheek.

  “City’s getting close,” Jo said.

  They entered an old shopping mall. The lights and wire stretched along the right wall, gleaming off empty display windows and disappearing into the distance—but lighting only a small portion of the cavernous space. Looking up or down, she only saw shadows and darkness.

  Mieshka clicked on her flashlight and flicked it to her left. Their path was edged by a grimy guardrail that protected them from a dim, shadowy chasm the led to the floor below. Across a drop, a second path hugged the opposite side. Escalators descended into the gap—dusty, dark, and dead. On the floor below, a vacant concierge desk advertised a long-expired sale.

  They followed the string of lights to the right. The occasional mannequin loomed inside shop displays, their clothes long stripped. The quiet was palpable and smothered her senses like a pillow.