Like a Surge

by Olivette Devaux

  “No,” Ash whispered as he nuzzled his neck from the side, sending waves of comforting warmth through Cooper’s whole body. “No, I think it was an accident. All those talents were flying around. I don’t think you can dematerialize just by trying something new. If he had only given too much of himself, he should’ve just passed out, and woken up with a splitting headache.”

  “But that’s not what Mark had said. Or had it been Paul?”

  Ash nuzzled him some more. “I don’t think they had seen it before either, love.”

  Cooper paused for a bit, relishing the word. Love. It warmed his heart, especially during this conversation. “And then we found your sword,” he said, trying to decide whether or not he was ready to change the topic.

  “And then I gave that sword to you,” Ash said, with emphasis on “you.”

  Except every time Cooper tried to do his sword exercises with the venerable old katana, he had to think of Jared, and thinking of Jared made him sad. “I miss him,” he said.

  “I know, love. I miss him too, and I know you miss him in a much worse way than I do. But he’d want you to work on your skills and get better control, right?” Ash didn’t have to add that diligent practice on Cooper’s part would honor Jared’s sacrifice.

  “Okay. Just because if I won’t I’ll feel guilty.” He felt Ash tense as soon as he said that, but when he looked at him, all he saw was concern.

  IN NOT TOO long, they were both dressed in their sword uniforms of gray kosode and black hakama, which swirled around their legs in elegant patterns as they walked down the cobblestone alley toward the river.

  “What a beautiful night,” Cooper said, summoning all his will to be positive and upbeat as he strode next to Ash with the antique, sheathed blade in hand.

  “It sure is,” Ash agreed. “And just a few little clouds in the sky, too! The sunset should be spectacular.”

  Cooper shot him a bemused look, grateful that Ash was willing to play his game of postponing the inevitable while discussing weather trivia. They reached the empty loading dock, which was now covered with a smattering of dry leaves.

  “We can do better than that,” Ash said after a cursory look. “Let me take care of our practice space.” He pressed his new sword into Cooper’s empty hand and slipped through a curtain of branches and vines to where a small “well house” disguised an entrance into the underground tunnel network. He soon emerged with a broom.

  “I should be doing the sweeping, I’m the student,” Cooper said, thinking secretly that if he got stuck with the sweeping, Ash would have to handle both swords.

  Which meant that Cooper could postpone dealing with the irrational feeling of being watched by the now-dead Jared.

  I’m procrastinating going crazy, he thought to himself as Ash shook his head. “No, no, you do it next time. We’re good!”

  Their procrastination time was limited. Less than ten minutes later, they stood side by side, bowing to their naked blades, greeting them in a fashion which still was traditional to Japanese sword masters, and which Ash had adopted from Ken Swift up in Boston.

  First, the warm-up cuts, up and down, over and over again.

  Then the eight cuts, spanning the eight directions, like slicing an apple pie that hovered before him.

  Then, the lighting cut, an attack where the blade flashed out of the scabbard and was sheathed only after a flick of the wrist shook off imaginary blood.

  Because Ash was able to pass down a genuine, functional martial art and not just a series of ceremonial movements.

  Because functional, albeit archaic, technique mattered. Not only to be retained like the antique gem it was, but also to aid in focus.

  Cooper relished the evening breeze off the river,sweet with the scent of the fragrance of ripe, wild grapes this time of the year. The light sheen of sweat on his face cooled him comfortably. He relaxed and flung out his senses.

  The traffic on the powder-blue bridge upstream of them died down some, and the dusk of the encroaching night broke into the song of cicadas and crickets and frogs.

  Frogs, and the shuffling of their smooth practice shoes over the rough concrete of the loading dock, the swish of traditional garments, the swoosh of a blade splitting the air just right.

  Ash had been right to come down for a bit of practice. For the first time since Jared’s passing, Cooper held Ash’s old sword with confidence and with a peace of mind that had been slow to come of late.

  “Focus, Cooper,” Ash said in a low, smooth tone. “You’re doing great.”

  Which is how Cooper came to realize that he had stopped, and was just standing there, enjoying the moment.

  “The sky’s so gorgeous,” he said as he turned to look west, toward the downtown’s jagged skyline. Oranges and fuchsias stained the horizon as the sun dipped out of sight, pulling a dark indigo blanket over the world. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  He heard Ash stop behind him. A hand slid behind his hakama board, warming the small of his back.

  Cooper switched his razor-sharp blade from his right hand to his left, tilting its sharp edge away from Ash out of sheer habit, and leaned in as Ash pressed himself against his side.

  “Yes, yes it is,” Ash said. “Thank you for giving me this moment.”

  Just then, the frantic sound of feet slapping the cobblestones broke the tranquil moment of the evening.

  Harsh breath ripped in and out as a familiar power signature flared wild.

  They turned as one.

  Paul ran out into the open and across the loading dock, paying them no heed. Cooper widened his eyes, and gripped Ash’s elbow in alarm at the sight of the nimbus of glowing energy around Paul that struggled for a place to go. A target to hit.

  “What?” Ash turned, only mildly concerned. “Hi, Paul!” he called out in a greeting that went unheard.

  “He’s glowing!” Cooper whispered. “He’s overloaded and about to go off!”

  “What do you mean?” Ash retorted.

  Paul slid to a precarious stop at the edge of the loading dock. An inch more, and he’d have fallen in.

  Amazed, Cooper watched him stretch his hands out, as though he was holding a large ball – and that nimbus of directionless power that bathed him in an otherworldly light began to coalesce in a swirling sphere between his hands.

  Little lightings crackled, growing bigger. Only once Paul threw the ball into the river, a bright flash of lightning lit up the water surface and the arc of energy that split the ionized air deafened them with a sharp crack of thunder.

  “Shit! Where did that come from?” Ash had, apparently, lost his entire sword-master composure.

  More lightning danced at Paul’s fingertips, and his cheeks glistened with tears. He noticed Ash now, and turned toward him, acknowledging his presence –

  “No!” Cooper saw it coming, the tendril of power that escaped Paul’s fingers as he rose his hand in a habitual greeting.

  A lightning flashed, some spilling into the river, but a branch shot toward Ash.

  Not a surprise – Ash’s element was water.

  But Cooper’s was earth, and he could take a lot. For Ash, he would take anything. He threw his body before him, sword in hand, shielding Ash against the immaterial enemy.

  He raised his sword with both hands in a movement that was smooth and natural, as though it was normal to fight lightning with an old steel blade.

  “No!” Paul wailed, turning away too late, but the discharge sped through the air with a crack, a boom, and a fresh whiff of ozone.

  Cooper cut at it, willing it to go away.

  The blade lit up, energy patterns dancing in a display of power that threatened to blind him.

  “Cooper!” Ash’s desperate cry behind him was panic and pain and the fear of loss, but Cooper forced himself to ignore it for now. He had to hold on and endure.

  A wild surge of electricity passed through his body, searing his left arm, his side, his leg. As the pain of the burn hit, the whole world came ali
ve with scintillating lights and flickering lines that superimposed their spidery network over what he knew to be real.

  He stood still, as though frozen in the moment, taking it all in. He was reduced to a statue in flowing garments, with his katana raised overhead yet unable to move until he got it, until he understood exactly what all these lines of power were, where these fireflies of elemental light came from.

  “Cooper!” Ash’s voice behind him spoke of appalled sorrow. At the same time, Paul called his name in mortified alarm.

  Cooper came to, as though from a dream world not of his own making. The stench of his own seared flesh hit his nostrils, followed by a wave of pain unlike any he had felt before.

  Last he knew, Ash caught his fall and helped him safely descend to where dreamless sleep took his pain away.

  CHAPTER 5

  Paul squirmed at his own dining room table, a sweet new number he had found at IKEA and had assembled all by himself. The familiar surroundings of the rowhouse were a strange and forboding place now, after the accident.

  He writhed with guilt as he briefly scanned his audience. Hank was poised like an immovable statue, while Ellen leaned into Mark’s protective embrace while telling them the bad news. With Jared gone, and with Cooper and Ash in the hospital, their group had grown thin indeed. “So Cooper’s in the ER, and Ash is with him,” he finished the narrative of his latest disaster. “And we need Hank there to ground him out in case he generates power surges of his own. Or earthquakes, I guess.” He tightened his fists, then loosened them in an effort to make the act of drawing a breath easier. He met their eyes, one by one. “I am so terribly, terribly sorry.”

  Hank nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’ll go. I’ll go now, and once I’m done with them, I’ll come and see if I can send some of your charge into the Void, okay?” His eyes softened. “It’s hard. I’m sorry it’s so hard for you, but once you get on top of your gift, you’ll see how amazing this is. All I can do is take from people. Null them out. And you – all of you –,” he scanned the group with his eyes, “you can do things. I’ve always been jealous of you, and I’ve been feeling guilty for being so useless.” He faced Paul again. “But maybe I can help. Maybe I don’t have to be useless anymore.”

  “Thank you.” Paul gave Hank a tremulous smile. “I just hope Cooper will be okay. And Ash. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”

  Ellen piped up from across the table, leaning away from Mark and flattening her long fingers against the shiny, varnished butcher block. “Next time, don’t wave hi at people when you have a ball of lightning in your hands.”

  Paul nodded. “Noted.” He did glance in Ellen’s direction, but he still could not bring himself to meet his brother’s eyes.

  Moments passed. “I should go,” Hank said, clearing his throat.

  “Take my hog,” Paul offered. “It’s easier in traffic, and easy to park.”

  “Thanks,” Hank accepted, so swift and happy for the offer, Paul didn’t doubt Hank would join him and Ellen on the road on his own motorcycle as soon as he could afford one.

  Only after Hank snagged his keys and ambled out the door, Paul summoned the courage to look Mark in the face. “I’m so sorry,” he blurted out.

  Ellen stood. “I’ll be upstairs,” she said quietly, and left.

  They had privacy, yet Paul didn’t know whether being alone with Mark was better, or worse.

  “I’m sorry too,” Mark said with that quiet intensity which was typical of his general style. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, and that I started, and that I broke the glasses. I haven’t done that since... hell... since I was a teenager!”

  Paul was about to apologize some more, but Mark raised his hand. “Wait. I’m... I’m sorry for not seeing how hard this has been for you. This whole thing with Ellen.” He pressed his lips together, hesitating. “Can I keep her? I really like her. Like, a lot.”

  His penitent expression brought a touch of much-needed levity to the conversation.

  “Only if you promise to feed her and take care of her,” Paul said in his best imitation of their father’s voice.

  A burst of laughter escaped Mark’s throat, wild and desperate, before he shook it off, and got serious again. “But I mean it, Paul.”

  “I mean it too. It’s time. Mom and dad always said there would come a time, and all that.”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda, birds and bees,” Mark filled in with a nod.

  They both rolled their eyes out of habit.

  “They were right, though.” Paul leaned forward intently. “You love her. I can sort of see that. I won’t be a greedy, jealous bitch, bro. I’ll always be here for you, but there’s space for her to be here for you, too.”

  “And me for her.” Mark nodded, then reached out, and squeezed Paul’s hand. “And for you.”

  A small charge pinged his hand. They both knew it was there. As Paul began to shrink back in embarrassment and apologize, Mark pressed his hand to the table, keeping it in place. “When you get a better grip on your powers, let some of that juice leak a bit when you’re around me. I’d miss not getting that little shock every so often, y’know?”

  Paul nodded as a lump rose in his throat. He got up and drank some water to compose himself, then he sat down with Mark again, and explained his plan to him.

  “Really,” Mark said. “Interesting. So you’ll go back to that school tomorrow?”

  “No,” Paul replied after a hesitant pause. “I... I don’t want to go back until I know Cooper will be alright.”

  THE SHOCK OF Paul’s lightning strike up and down Cooper’s left side had driven the air out of his lungs. He remembered that part, and he remembered heaving. Presently, his body was all floaty, as though he had been propped up by a bed of inflatable balloons. The bright light of his surroundings irritated him, making him wish he could keep his eyes shut forever.

  Yet he wanted to open them.

  Ash had to know.

  “He’s coming to,” a female voice said. “He was pretty lucky. I’ve read about random lightnings striking from a clear sky, but I thought that happened only near the ocean. And it’s so rare.”

  Cooper fluttered his eyes, summoning all his will in his effort to open them.

  “Hey.” The soft, tremulous word was Ash through and through. Cooper could hear the panicked fear in his voice. “You’re awake, love. How’re you feeling? Are you in pain?”

  “N...no.” His voice was as weak as a whispered exhale. He didn’t feel any pain now, just a prickling sensation up his left arm and down that side of his body. The accident had been fast and sudden, a power surge that had traveled up through the sword and into his hand, then up his arm and down his side.

  It would hurt later – he just knew it would, even though he didn’t know what gave him the basis for that opinion. He didn’t feel pain now, though – and he didn’t want to worry Ash. He forced a smile. “Hon,” he whispered.

  “You’re alive,” Ash reported in a low voice. “You received a wild lighting strike, which is unusual, but apparently can happen.”

  Their eyes met. Cooper understood the subtext. They couldn’t discuss Paul and his accident with strangers around. “Pittsburgh... weather,” he whispered, making a joke of the local saying If you don’t like the weather, wait half an hour.

  “Yeah, Pittsburgh weather.” Ash didn’t smile. “You never stopped breathing, and your heart seems okay. There might be some delayed effects, however. The doctor here was telling me about them.” Ash rotated as though he had been sitting on a stool, and glanced to his right, past where Cooper could see from his prone position.

  Ash moved up and back, and a woman settled down in his place, entering Cooper’s field of view. She had long, reddish hair pulled out of her face, and a green amber necklace which set off nicely against her periwinkle scrubs. “I’m Dr. Margaret Cook,” she said in a low, soothing voice. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Cooper Anneveinen.”

  “Good.” A satisfied smile t
urned up the corners of her narrow lips. “And who is the president, do you remember?”

  Cooper huffed. “That asshole.”

  Her eyes popped wide, and she almost choked on the laughter she was trying to suppress. “Well, you seem to remember this much.”

  The unholy inquisition went on and on, until Dr. Cook set her tablet on the nearby counter and swiveled on her stool toward him. “Well, you have no amnesia as far as I can tell, but we’ll run further tests later if you develop any issues. A lightning strike is an electrical burn. It travels along the nerves because they act like wires in your body. It affects the inside of your body more than the skin unless it’s a direct strike. Which this was not.” She waited to see if he was following her.

  Cooper nodded. Had this been a real atmospheric lightning, with as much power as a nuclear reactor, he would have been screwed despite his earth-affinity and being able to absorb more damage than, for instance, Ash. He was lucky, he knew it, and he made sure his expression reflected his gratitude.

  Apparently satisfied, Dr. Cook continued. “You have some deeper tissue damage, which will manifest only later. It’s not uncommon to develop neurological problems... if you notice tremors, ticks, if you have trouble controlling your left hand, or have latent amnesia or anything of that sort, we’ll want to see you again.”

  He nodded again.

  “Now as for the immediate part. There might be some scarring. You’re not in pain now, but that might change. You might develop some very interesting-looking skin patterns, which will present as red burns that blister over, and then result in skin discoloration. You’ll need to let those heal.” She leaned over him with an index pointed for emphasis. “Do not disturb the blisters! The blister fluid contains growth factors and stem cells. It’s your best, self-made healing system. If you accidentally rip a large blister area off, you’ll need to come in and have the wounds covered with special wound dressings.”

  Cooper summoned his words. “Yes. Thank you, Doctor.”