by Shea Berkley
So many worried eyes stared down at her. She caught sight of Halim’s owlish gaze poking at her from afar. So young, yet so tough. He was Teag’s future. She couldn’t allow exhaustion and fear to steal that future from him. She’d fought her enemy and won the battle, but they would be back. She had to be ready. Not just her, all of them.
“I haven’t done enough.” Without thinking, Kera pulled more power into her.
She was suddenly reminded of something her father had said. He had known the Lost King by his first name, Baun. They had been friends, and even when Baun had been crowned, they stayed friends. When Baun first ruled, he would go for weeks without sleep because he was able to draw power from the earth at will, something most firsts couldn’t do. His drive to become the perfect king drove his need for power. Her father believed that constant need eventually caused an imbalance in Baun, and that imbalance affected his mind.
Had his insanity begun as simple as that? Wanting to help his people? Tearing through the energy until his body insisted he shut down? Had his extreme exhaustion caused his hate-filled delusions? From her position, her father’s theory was all too easy to believe.
And what did it mean that she could access the same power so easily?
Kera accepted the water Elix offered and shivered. Scoran placed his coat around Kera’s shoulders and sat next to her. After a few moments, the sallow cast to her skin pinkened and a collective sigh of relief passed through everyone. Yet all eyes stayed glued to her.
“What’s wrong? Why are you all staring?” Kera croaked out.
Scoran’s sharp gaze softened. “You’re a healer. The last healer died more than fifty years ago. Not just that, you sent the black souls away, something no other first could do, even if we combined our power.”
They all nodded. A girl with long, tangled brown hair hugged her knees. “They came in a rush of wind and darkness. Pulled us from our homes. No warning. No time to think.” She bit her lip and turned away, blinking back tears.
“You firsts did the same to my father and brother. They were in the field when they were taken. Beheaded and nailed to a post.”
The girl stared in horror at Elix. “Are we being justifiably punished, then? I deserved to be tortured? They deserved to die? Is that what you’re saying?”
Elix looked away and Scoran spoke up. “No. Never.”
“What were those things?” Kera had to know if what she saw was real.
A woman clutched her young son to her side. “I thought they were a myth. I should have known better. They are called the black souls.”
Kera thought back to all the stories she’d been told, and none had ever touched on anything like what she had seen.
“When I was younger,” Scoran said, his voice low and fearful, “an old man whispered a tale about the birth of the dark souls. They were—are—the creation of hate, and once made, nearly impossible to destroy. I never thought the tale was true. But to see them with my own eyes… I’ve not heard of anyone using dark magic for hundreds of years. I thought the art was lost.”
“Someone found it,” a man said.
“Someone always does,” another said.
“But who would do it?”
Elix hovered at the edge of the group, her face sour with hate. Bending, she scooped up a little girl who had lost her parents. “One of your kind, a first,” she said without any hesitance, “and not one I’d like to know. Talking about the dark souls, hearing the fear in our voices only makes them stronger and us weaker. I, for one, say we head back.”
As Elix carried the little girl away, the others straggled along behind her. Scoran leaned close. “Elix is right. Only a first would brave that kind of magic, though I personally know of no first with the kind of power it would take to conjure one dark soul, let alone so many.”
Kera stood, her feet steady, her vision clear. She brushed the dirt from her clothes as her mind spun with possibilities. “We have to find out who did this and why.”
“We will.” Scoran stood and squeezed her shoulder. “I know you wanted to leave, but if you had, everyone would have died. Thank you.”
Kera didn’t feel triumphant. She felt torn in two. If not for the voice…
She refused to analyze where it came from or how it had appeared in her head. She was just grateful for the help. “I cannot stay. You know that.”
His hand slipped from her shoulder, leaving the memory of warmth behind. “I know.” His brows stabbed together briefly. “We are not helpless, no matter what Signe would have you think.”
A gentle rise curved his lips, not exactly a smile, but a show of support she desperately needed. He eyed the sky. “It will rain soon. I should follow the others back to the village. I’ll tell your father what happened. He’ll know what to do.” Without waiting for her, he followed the others through the break in the wheat.
She marveled at his faith in her father. Once she had done the same, but her father had let Navar run wild without questioning his motives, and Teag had suffered for it. Still suffered. Yet, if anyone could unearth how to rid them of the dark souls, it was her scholarly father.
When Kera entered the path, she saw Halim. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and fell into step beside her when she drew near. He cleared his throat twice and peeked up at her several times before he spoke. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You were amazing. When we get to the village, everyone will be abuzz with what you did.”
She took hold of his arm and held him back, dreading what she must do. “Halim, I’m leaving.”
He blinked, as if he couldn’t process what she was saying. “Leaving? Why?”
“I have other responsibilities. Signe knows how to get in touch with me if you really need me.” Though it was uncomfortable to see him struggle to understand, Kera had to stay focused. Her main concern was the barrier and how to fix it.
“Can I come with you?”
“They need you here, you know that. I’ll be back. Soon. I promise.”
Though he hid his disappointment well, he wasn’t fooling her. She’d have to be very careful he didn’t follow her. So far, Dylan had been understanding about her bringing strays home…at least the nonflammable ones he knew about. She already had a dragon on the loose in the human realm. The last thing they needed was a boy too independent to know when trouble stepped in his way. And right now, Kera knew she was trouble.
She just didn’t know how much had attached itself to her and how long it would last.
Deep Breath
I don’t know how long I was out, but a slap to my face drags me from the darkness like a bat from its cave. I jerk awake, fighting my way through the suffocating blackness and nightmarish dreams about fire. I feel dry. Not merely dry, but mummified. My skin is flaky, my eyes scratchy, my tongue withered. I’m like a sand sculpture, one the barest breeze will etch away.
I’m lying on my bed with only my boxers on and a cool cloth on my forehead. I have no idea how I got here. I drag the cloth off my head and let it fall to the floor. A shadow hovers above me. Leo gently slaps my cheek again, drawing my attention to him. When I finally make eye contact, he sighs. “Bro, you are officially a juvenile delinquent.”
I grunt, mostly because I can’t say anything through the desert that’s become my throat.
Wyatt rushes into my bedroom. The muscles in his jaw flex, his face flushes.
“You got the matches?” Leo asks.
“Lighter.” Wyatt clicks on the flame and grabs a pair of jeans I’d tossed in the corner the night before. Without asking, he touches the flame to the fabric. “Me burning his clothes… A little ironic don’t you think?”
I tap Leo’s leg. “W-w-” I can’t speak. I hold my throat and point to the bathroom.
As my jeans smoke and burn, Leo quickly brings me a glass of water. Grandma insists a man shouldn’t have to stumble around in the dark for a drink and made sure I had a clean glass every night. She’s sweet like that. I bet she never thought she’d be catering
to a guy like me. She deserves better.
I down the water and hand the glass back, all the while watching Wyatt burn holes in my jeans. “Shirt,” he says snapping his fingers for one.
Leo picks up a vintage concert T-shirt I unearthed in a secondhand shop, and I quickly point to an old crew neck that has a hole under the arm. “Why are you—”
Wyatt tosses the burned jeans at me, cutting off my question, and starts in on the T-shirt. “You are one piece of work. A regular demolition man. People heard and saw that blast for miles and now those damned looky-loos are camped out on your grandpa’s front lawn. We’re lucky nobody got hurt.”
“Well, a few chickens died…,” Leo says, then nudges my hand holding the jeans. “Put them on.”
I slip into them and push to my feet, feeling a bit better but still woozy. “Sorry. I’m not exactly sure what happened.”
“You blew Wyatt’s barn apart and everyone’s freaking out.” Leo dropped his voice to a whisper. “This is big. You can control fire, bro.”
“If that’s him controlling his…I don’t know…gift, then we’re in serious trouble.” Wyatt pats out the lick of flame damaging my shirt. “Done.” He tosses the T-shirt in my general direction. “I still don’t get it. You burned down the barn but your clothes are singe-free. That’s weird, kid.”
Leo catches the shirt and shoves it at me. “Come off it, Wyatt. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
“Hell yeah I’m impressed, in more ways than one. He lights up, but not his clothes, yet he can burn through things, like the metal on my weight vest, without knowing it. He’s out of control. He’s a serious problem, and one I’m having a hard time keeping a step ahead of.”
My brain is slowly waking up, but there are still gaping holes I need to fill. “I get why Leo is here, I mean he lives here, or close by and he’s my friend, but what are you doing here?”
Leo glares at Wyatt. “Yeah. Why are you here?”
I slowly pitch to the side like a drunken sailor, one arm in my shirt and one fishing for the other opening. Wyatt pushes past Leo, grabs my arm and none too gently stuffs it into the waiting armhole. “I’m here to save your lily-white asses.”
I pop my head through the top hole and pull the shirt over my torso. “I’m pretty sure Leo’s is brown.”
They both stop, and there’s a quick anxious glance between them.
“I’m saying dumb shit, aren’t I?” I say. “Sorry. My head hurts. I need more water.”
Leo turns back to Wyatt. “And the burn unit treatment?”
“Residual damage.”
Leo nods. “Okay, I get where you’re—”
“Can you limp?” Wyatt cuts Leo off to ask me.
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “I’m fine. It’s my head that really—”
Wyatt hauls back and leg-whips my shin, dropping me to my knees.
“Get your kung-fu ass away from him,” Leo shouts and pushes Wyatt back.
Pain is a funny thing. Usually I would recommend avoiding it, but suddenly my head is a lot clearer. I pop back to my feet, gritting my teeth and babying my leg. It hurts so badly, I want to laugh/cry in that way your funny bone isn’t so funny, but is.
Wyatt points to Leo. “My ass is pure Brazilian jujitsu. Get your facts straight.” He then shoves a long finger at me. “Can you limp now?”
I glare at GI Jerk. “Yeah.”
Leo steps between us, using his height and smooth voice to instill a sense of calm. “Words are what separates us from other bipeds, bro. You could’ve asked him to limp.”
“Now he doesn’t have to fake it.” He pushes Leo beside me. “Help him.” He stares at me. “And for the love of God, try to look like you’ve just escaped with your life.”
Wyatt rushes out the door and we follow, though a lot slower thanks to him.
“Okay,” I say, my mind trying to catch up to what’s happening, “so I’m in trouble?”
“You and Wyatt are arsonists. Or terrorists have decided to wipe out Oregon. That rumor sent Mrs. Hess to the hospital with chest pains.”
I groan. This is Grandpa’s worst nightmare. He worried I’d start something, and now I have.
“I can kind of see why Wyatt’s in a huff,” Leo continues. “It’s a bigger problem for him. He can be charged as an adult if we can’t play this off as an accident.”
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to blow up the barn.”
“There is no rational explanation for what happened, at least not in this world. Spontaneous human combustion happens, but there are a lot of extenuating circumstances around the phenomenon. Most of it involves large quantities of alcohol and a cigarette.”
When we enter the living room, I whisper to Leo, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What?” he whispers back.
Just then, Kera turns from her post by the window and gasps at my appearance.
I can’t tell him about my dad now. The dream is all jumbled in my head. I need time and quiet to think it through. “Later, when we’re alone.”
“Great. Another secret. I’m not a priest, you know.”
Kera rushes to my side, tucking herself under my other arm, and glares at Leo. “What happened? He was fine the last time I saw him.”
It feels like forever since I’ve seen Kera. I stroke her cheek and kiss her temple. “Where have you been?”
She narrows accusing eyes at Leo. “You said you’d watch him.”
Leo hushes her. “Wyatt thought it would be better to present a more beat-up version of Dylan. Authentic, huh?”
“I am nothing if not thorough when it comes to deception.” Wyatt stops at the front door and grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Listen up, kid. I know your head’s spinning, but all you need to know is that you and I aren’t popular right now. When we get out there, don’t do anything. Don’t say anything. Hell, don’t even breathe too loudly. Got it? Now let’s make this convincing.”
I sigh. “I’m taking the fall, aren’t I?”
“Hell yeah you are. It is your fault.” He inspects me, eyeing his handiwork, and leans close. “Cough.”
The last thing I need is him punching me in my gut to get the response he wants, so I immediately put my fist to my mouth and cough.
Satisfied, he pushes the front door open and we step outside. “Here he is. Singed but alive.”
Grandma and Grandpa turn around, and the front yard crowd peers up at me. Grumbles and gasps roll through them. I cough and wince, giving Wyatt all the support I can.
Ed Tanner, a neighbor with a complaint or a doomsday theory to share every other week, steps forward and points at me. “And there’s the proof. Ever since that boy showed up, we’ve had nothing but problems. Pop is dead. Jason Delgato is missing and now this.”
Wyatt takes a threatening step forward. “Dylan was in the barn with me working out.”
“Working on mischief is more like it.”
A rumble tumbles through the crowd.
Grandpa shakes his head and moves down a step, holding out his hand for silence. “How many times do we have to say it, Ed? The boys smelled gas and got out of there. Dylan was the last to leave before it blew. We’re lucky he’s alive.”
“I’m telling you, Tanner Utilities checked that line last week. I did it myself, and it was tighter than a rusted bolt on a tractor.”
“Liar.” The word is hidden in a cough that bursts from the crowd. Tanner turns and points a shaking finger at the group. “Who said that?”
“This about saving your sorry reputation, ain’t it?” a man growls, stepping forward.
“That’s Mr. Cavanaugh, Wyatt’s dad,” Leo whispers out of the side of his mouth.
I would have guessed. They have the same coloring and square jaw. That jaw slides out at a stubborn angle. “Accusing someone of arson is serious. That boy is no more an arsonist than Wyatt.”
Tanner blusters for a second. “I caught your boy that time with your lighter and—”
>
“I was eight,” Wyatt says, the insult deepening the color in his cheeks.
“Think about what you’re saying.” Mr. Cavanaugh takes a step toward Mr. Tanner. “You telling me my boy came home on military leave solely to light up my barn with some punk kid too dumb to know when to run? That’s plain stupid even for you to believe.”
Mr. Tanner doesn’t bother listening. He turns to Grandpa and grumbles loudly, “Newman, it looks like you’re having trouble doing your job. Let me tell you what I think. Jason Delgato and your grandson get their jollies out of starting a fire. It gets out of hand. That old sheepherder comes on them and the boys beat him up good, but not before Pop gets in a good shot to your boy, there. They both go down. Jason skedaddles, leaving them to die. Pop does, Dylan recovers, but he hasn’t learned his lesson. What stupid-ass kid does? Back to his old firebug ways, someone recruits him to facilitate an accident and he helps them blow up the barn. Now everyone is looking at me like I’m the bad guy. How’s that for a theory? Looks plausible from where I’m standing.”
Grandpa has nerves of steel and stares down Mr. Tanner. “Speculate all you want, Ed. I deal with facts.”
“Then do your job,” the little man hisses. “I want a real investigation. I suspect Wyatt and that boy of burning down John’s barn so John can collect on the insurance. Times are tough, and I seen it happen a million times.”
The crowd moves restlessly, and many shake their heads while a few seem to take what Tanner says seriously.
“No, sir.” John Cavanaugh rips off his baseball cap and slams it on the ground. “You did not just say that.”
Wyatt and Grandpa bound down the steps and put themselves between the two men. It’s starting to look like there’s going to be a smackdown in the woods. Both men are turning beet red. Even my heart begins to pound at the possibility. I was told to stand here and act pathetic, but this is getting out of hand.
“I smell a cover-up,” Mr. Tanner yells over Grandpa’s shoulder at Mr. Cavanaugh.
He’s right about that, and it makes me squirm with guilt.