Scorch Song

by Casey Hays

  Our minds link—no talk necessary. He thinks, and I think it in unison. He feels, and I feel it. I know the plan before he’s finished revealing it. We’re going in. Now.

  The transfer from this room to Jarron’s cell is instantaneous, and I’m totally serious. The door doesn’t move; we do. I don’t physically see the transition, but I’m aware of the exact moment it happens. It’s smooth and hot and immediate. A flash of starry light in my brain is the only sensation, and with one blink, I stare into the fierce, blue eyes of my brother.

  Shoulders raised as high as he can manage, he assesses us with a bird-like flick of his head. His mangled wings splay outward with their full, crippled length, and his body burns with bright, blue flames streaked in yellow-orange. His surprise at our sudden arrival—and especially at the sight of Rylin—causes his fire to sputter out slightly. But it doesn’t take long for him to gain his angry courage again, spitting fire off the tips of his uneven wings.

  The sirens of the outer room are replaced by Jarron’s furious screeching. In a frightened fury, he lunges, but Rylin blocks his attack with one swing of his powerful wing that sends Jarron hurtling backwards. He crashes against the wall with a fierce thud and slides to the floor, disoriented.

  I manage to tear my eyes from him long enough to scan the room for Mom. One body lies in a heap against a wall, completely inert, and for a fearful breath, I’m convinced it’s her. The mask on the fire retardant hood is bashed in, and I have a terrible feeling she didn’t survive that blow. A close look proves it isn’t Mom; it’s Cissy. I’m overcome with relief.

  “Jude!”

  Behind me, crouching in the corner closest to the door, Mom and Bryan huddle together.

  “Mom!”

  In one united motion, I drop to my knees and skid across the smooth floor, ignoring the flames that chase me. My own skin is so hot, cocooning me in feverish warmth that protects me from the unsurmountable temperature defining the room. There’s a very real and definite irony that my heat combats this outer heat, and if I had time to think about this, I’d be blown away by that truth. Instead, I concentrate on my mom.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nods, giving me a Michelin Man hug in her big suit. Bryan seems fine, but shaken. The stun gun, his only weapon, is cracked in half a few feet away. I turn my attention back to my brother, who regains his footing, the anger of his blue eyes climbing to another level. He stands as tall has he can, face to face with Rylin, who spreads his giant wings until they span the room, tip to tip against two walls. They cast a dividing shadow between my brother and me.

  I take in his room. The cell is the size of an average bedroom with a twin bed shoved up against one gray wall. The mattress is in flames along with an overturned desk and a book shelf stuffed with at least a hundred books. The pages curl and blacken as they burn. A busted flat screen sits where it fell from the wall, shattered pieces of plastic melting in the heat and gluing themselves to the floor. Tiny tongues of fire lick at the walls and run the length of the baseboards. The heat in the small area swelters, causing a mirage-like haze that dances on the air, but the cell contains it all.

  I feel Rylin strong and sure inside my head, still linked in every way.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “Time to meet your brother before I have to knock him out.”

  From behind, Mom tugs on my arm.

  “Jude, we need to get out of here.” I barely hear her through her mask. “Jarron is out of control.”

  “Why?”

  From inside the hood, she shakes her head frantically. “I don’t know. I—I— told him about you and—and he—he lost it.”

  Rylin’s voice fills my head.

  “Jude, get over here.”

  Leaving Mom, I duck under Rylin’s wing, keeping close to his side. Jarron flicks those sapphire eyes my way. Everything about him teems with anger, and although he’s not as beautiful and mighty as Rylin, there’s something about him—something that mesmerizes. Cautiously, I take a step toward him through the flickering wisps of flame that linger on the floor, burning but not consuming.

  “Jarron,” I hold up a hand. “I’m Jude.” My weak smile feels so ineffective. “I’m your sister.”

  He simply stares at me, bent slightly to the left in his hunched form. His face is breathtakingly beautiful—as beautiful as his twisted torso is appalling. His features are exact, with a firm jawline, high cheekbones, nose turned up just enough on the end, eyes the perfect distance apart. Completely symmetrical. In person, he looks so much like my Dad that it’s almost painful.

  He doesn’t respond, and all those fears I was clinging to capture me. Standing here, finally face to face, I have no idea what to do next. This is the immediate culmination of my whole plan. So what now? I can’t remember what else was on my agenda.

  When he shrinks into the wall, I understand how scared he is. His eyes dart away from me to land on Rylin, who is seriously menacing at the moment, especially since my dad was probably the only other Fireblood Jarron ever knew. My own natural form pales in comparison to either one of them. I take another step forward; he edges away from me.

  “St-stay b-b-back,” he manages. And I pause, tears pricking my eyes. His first words to me are a rejection.

  I don’t know what else to do, so I simply close my eyes, and I hold very still. I search for him in my mind, but I can’t find him; I hear mine and Rylin’s combined mantras embedded into every crevice of my brain, dancing and swirling and keeping us bound and safe and strong. But no Jarron.

  “Where is he?” I ask Rylin.

  “He’s here.”

  “Then link us to him.”

  Rylin shifts inside my head, and a sensation tugs me into a different direction. A blank wall seems to go up in my mind’s eye. A slate with nothing on it. That’s the only way to describe it. A greenish-gray sensation, like an old chalkboard—the kind they don’t use anymore—and I focus on it until my brother’s mind manifests. Together, Rylin and I push right through that barrier and into Jarron’s head. I sense him immediately.

  “Jarron. It’s me. Jude.”

  He blinks, stunned. “It’s you? It’s really you?”

  His Jezik is perfectly clear and articulate. Not what I expected.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

  “How are you here?” He balls his fingers into two tight fists. “You died.”

  Shocked, I focus on him. “No. I’m—I’m not dead.”

  I take a step, my hands pinned to my sides in the least defensive pose I can muster, but I am so angry. My parents told him I was dead?

  “I would have come sooner, but I didn’t know I had a brother. The minute I found out you were here, I came right away.”

  He doesn’t move, but the spitting flames lick outward, grasping for me. “You live with Mom?”

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  “All this time?”

  I nod.

  “Why?” he asks.

  His anger is refueled in this question. It jabs at me—a cold stab that leaves my heart with the emptiest feeling I’ve ever experienced. I don’t really know what to say. I don’t know the answer to the question, not completely. But I sense a jealousy in it. I simply shake my head.

  “I don’t know, Jarron. I guess… it was easier to keep me hidden.” I indicate my lack of wings. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Mom is here.”

  He plants intense eyes on Rylin. “Who is this?”

  “I’m Rylin McDowell.” Rylin joins in, and it’s so surreal. All three of us together inside Jarron’s head. “I’m a friend, and I came with Jude to help you.”

  “Help me with what?”

  “Well, we’d like to discuss that with you, but first, I think it would be a good idea to lower our fires, don’t you? We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  He seems to think this over, his fists unclenching, then curling back into tight balls at his sides. I study him, my guard up, eyes steady. When he make
s no move to simmer off, I take yet another tentative step. His fire can’t hurt me, but that’s not why I’m cautious. I want him to know we are not a threat.

  “Jarron, You don’t know how happy I am to finally meet you. I’ve thought a lot about this moment, and you know what? I’m angry too. I’m angry at Mom and Dad for keeping us apart. For lying to us both. But that’s over now. And I don’t want to hurt Mom.” His eyes shift, a crystal blink that assures me I’m getting through to him. So I keep talking. “And I know you don’t want to either. She loves you Jarron. And… I love you.” Another step. “I want to get to know you. So please, let the anger go so we can have a new start.”

  I attempt another smile. He stands perfectly still. Quiet. Observing me with those keen eyes that hide stories behind them I can’t even fathom. They prompt me to reach for him, so I extend my hand, hold it steady inches away. His eyes drop, and slowly, he lifts an arm, lets it linger, not quite touching yet. I wiggle my fingers, encouraging him.

  “It’s okay. We have each other now, Jarron. And I promise I will never let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

  Without warning, my mantra rises up, tugging itself free from Rylin and seeking Jarron. It carries with it the very essence and promise of my words, and I feel the shift in his own emotions when he hears it. An involuntary laugh escapes me as my song plays out. Faintly, in the very back of his mind, I hear his song. Rich and sweet and full of the smell of a rainstorm. I lure it closer, weave it into mine, my emotions running high at the understanding of what it means to have a sibling—to share the same blood. A brother whose life stems from the same legacy, the same heritage, the same ancestry as mine. We link, and a new song is born. It burns; it heals. It soars through both of us together.

  And just like that, I understand what Rylin was trying to tell me.

  In an instant, Jarron and I share a lifetime of memories with each other. They flash quick and powerful, like slides on a screen. He sees my life—the one that should have been his too—with pancakes on a griddle, late nights tucked under Daddy’s arm watching classics, long walks in the park under the blazing sun. I see him as a three-year-old little boy, loping along a deserted beach at dusk, my parents strolling behind him hand in hand.

  I see him at eight, sitting on a cot with a book, my dad by his side as they read together. Then again at ten, sprawled on his stomach on a picnic blanket, his crooked wings folding and unfolding. The midnight moon hangs above a copse of trees in a dense and isolated part of the woods, and Mom pulls a sandwich from a basket and unwraps it. Jarron chomps, his smile visible on his shimmering face.

  I see him at twelve, his body exploding with uncontrollable light. Two orderlies struggle to pin him, but his heat overwhelms them, and they cry out in agony as he sears the palms of their hands. A quick flash, and the pain of Dad’s death sears my mind. And there’s Jarron, at fifteen, curled on his side in this room, his wings hugging his body, while Mom stands at the foot of his bed in a fire retardant suit. It tears into my heart.

  The pictures fade into the present, and I hold my breath. With a single exhale, Jarron’s fire dies out completely, and he slumps to the floor, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Jude.”

  He whispers my name, a sweet sound on his lips, and I sink to my knees, encircling him in my arms. I lay my cheek against the top of his head and rock him.

  “I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m finally here.”

  He cries freely; I cling to him, and one thing becomes abundantly clear: he has not been able to truly communicate with anyone since my dad died. My own tears blur my vision. What a terrible prison that must have been.

  Rylin folds in his wings and eases off his flare, connecting with me over Jarron’s head. The small sparkle that twinkles in his eyes proves he’s just as moved as I am. After this, he gets to work securing the room. He stands tall, almost majestic, as he stretches his hand, fingers spread, and absorbs the flames licking at the walls and the floor. Like a backwards fire spell, they leap from their resting places to collide with his palm and slither over his skin like tiny fire snakes. He spins a slow rotation like a mighty cyclone, and the flames flee the scene. I can’t help but drop my jaw in awe. Rylin McDowell is definitely not short on surprises.

  Bryan regains his footing and gawks at the full-blown Fireblood who miraculously appeared before his eyes just moments ago. Rylin takes care of that quickly. He camouflages completely and compels Bryan to forget that there was ever a flaming winged-giant inside the cell. With a satisfied sigh, he plants his hands on his hips and winks at me.

  “Well, that was quite the family reunion.”

  I laugh, hugging Jarron closer. Understatement of the century.

  Mom carelessly rips off her hood and struggles out of the fire retardant suit, disregarding the danger to herself. Bryan watches all of it in a compelled daze, not even capable of warning her to keep on the suit. Still, he won’t remember a thing. Hesitantly, Mom takes a step. Her wide eyes meet mine, awestruck, before they settle on Jarron.

  “I haven’t seen him like this… in a very long time.”

  I shrug. “He needed to talk to someone who could understand him.”

  She exhales a long, sad sigh and drops to her knees beside us.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, lifting hopeful brows as tears pool on her lower lids. “I’m so sorry. To both of you.”

  Jarron eases back to look into my eyes. With our minds and songs combined, no words are necessary. We share our anger toward Mom, but we share something else too. Our love for her, and it’s stronger than the anger. In the midst of this beautiful connection we’ve made, we single-mindedly pledge that nothing will keep us apart. And nothing will harm us again. Not our parents, not the doctors, not the Contingent or the Renegades or any other authority. Our combined mantras testify to this. In the heat of our united strength, we choose to gather Mom to us despite the hurt.

  For the first time since he was a child, Jarron weaves his arms around Mom’s waist instead of her fire retardant suit, and she breaks into sobs.

  Twenty-six

  Rylin is forced to compel or redirect a number of people who saw him fly through the halls of the hospital in full natural form. He takes it upon himself to compel Dr. Samson and his staff as well, leaving them with smiles and no memory of what transpired here today, including the flared presence of a six-foot-five Fireblood. Cissy is injured, but will survive, and as far as any of them know, this visit from Jarron’s ordinary-and-completely-human sister went off without a hitch, other than a few common fire damaged items that regularly need to be replaced anyway.

  As for me, if I didn’t know it before today, it has become a full-fledged truth: the mantra is the seat, the center, the core of every Fireblood’s existence. The mantra reveals our passions, encourages our dreams, colors our emotions, and strengthens our friendships. It guides us and teaches us and protects us and heals us. It is the fire and the ash.

  It is who I am.

  Once the chaotic whirlwind settles, I’m granted some alone time with Jarron. Locked in together, we sit cross-legged on the floor of his cell. I hold onto both of his hands like they’re life itself, letting go only long enough to remove my ring, which Rylin managed to slip into place just before the sirens ceased their blaring and Dr. Samson pried open the door. A few minutes, and I’ll be able to slip into Jarron’s head again. Until then, I default to normal, human small talk.

  “Mom says you like to read.”

  He nods, piercing me with his eyes. They are so blue, striking the depths of my heart every time he looks at me.

  “That’s good. I guess you’re pretty smart then.”

  He gives me a twisted shrug.

  “Do you like ice cream?”

  I roll my eyes at my stupid attempt at conversation. Ice cream? Really? What is he, ten? Still, he grins, nodding again, and I smile.

  “Me too.”

  A pause. We connect, just watching each other, feeling each other out.


  “Jarron—”

  I stop, dropping my eyes to my lap. So many things need to be said. Hard things. Things that neither one of us are responsible for, but still, we carry the burden. We are hybrid siblings who were forced to live in hiding in drastically different ways. And maybe I had more freedom physically, but mentally? Mentally, we share the same journey. We both lost our dad, and honestly, I was just as much abandoned by Mom as he was. But together, we can move on from this. We can start fresh. We can learn what it means to be Firebloods—to be hybrids. We have a lifetime to get to know each other. And already, with the sharing of our pasts, I feel the start of a very strong bond.

  I don’t know how to say any of this, not out here. So I find him and slip into his mind.

  “I’m sorry Jarron, for how you’ve had to live.”

  He doesn’t answer. He blinks, shifts his eyes to the overhead light that is so bright it’s almost unbearable. I follow his eyes before I rest mine on his beautiful face. A few whiskers line his chin, just enough for me to remember he’s not a boy. He’s a man. My big brother.

  “Why didn’t Mom and Dad tell us about each other?” His eyes pierce me. “They let me think my baby sister was born dead.”

  I swallow and give a small shake of my head.

  “I don’t know. Probably for the same reason they didn’t tell me I was a Fireblood at all. To protect us, I think. Our lives. Our feelings. Mom worries the Contingent will find us.”

  “What does it matter if they do? Death might not be such a bad option.”

  He means it. It’s written all over his face, and his silent words reverberate in my mind.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? I’d rather face the Contingent than live in this prison another day.” He’s not talking about this cell. He shifts his warped body, clarifying his meaning, and shakes his head with a sigh. “I don’t mean to hurt people. It’s—out of my control.”

  “I know.”

  “I saw you, Jude. I saw your life. I would have settled for half of what you got.” He ruffles up his feathers. “Freaks don’t get that kind of life, though.”