by A. L. Knorr
"Ask away."
"During your burning, do you have any idea how many hours you went without water?"
I frowned, trying to remember. "I'm not sure. I was unconscious for some of it." My eyes flicked to the cage. Hearing the details might upset my dad.
"More than eight hours?"
"I would think more than twelve," I answered.
Something crossed Basil's face. A shadow of emotion. Surprise? Horror? I wasn't sure.
"And what did you experience after you'd had water, I mean within the next day or so. Emotionally speaking." He finished with his shirt sleeves and crossed his arms.
I hesitated as a realization struck. "You've been through this, haven't you?"
"I have," he said. "I had to. I wouldn't be able to run Arcturus if I hadn't."
I felt a dart of shock. Basil had endured a burning just so he could start this school? He must have been very driven to make it happen.
"I felt harder," I said, truthfully. "Stronger, I guess. Emotionally speaking." I thought about how I’d felt toward Federica and her betrayal. "Not without forgiveness, but..." I paused. Basil waited, not prompting me with suggestions. "I think my judgement got a bit harsher, but it’s weird."
"Why weird?"
"Because my temper is actually easier to control now. I used to be more of a hothead."
Basil's eyebrows flicked at this. "Interesting. And your body, how did that change?"
"On the outside, only my mark changed," I answered. "On the inside, I couldn't tell you if I changed physically but I definitely felt different. Almost like, uh—" Self-consciousness washed over me. It sounded so dumb.
"Go on." His voice was gentle.
"Volcanic rock," I finished, feeling lame.
He didn't seem surprised at that. "If it doesn't make you uncomfortable, could I see your mark?"
"Sure," I answered, toeing off my left shoe. I peeled off my sock and rolled my foot inward so the mark on the middle toe was visible.
Basil knelt down. He took my toe in his fingers and turned it gently. The mark was buried in between my middle toe and fourth toe. It was shaped like a tiny fireball, no larger than a mole, and black as pitch. I couldn't see Basil's face as he inspected it. When he stood, he looked pale.
"Could I see yours?" I asked, feeling a touch awkward.
In answer, Basil pulled aside his collar. His mark was just under his collarbone. It looked almost identical to mine, so black that it looked like ink.
"I assume your mark changed color after your burning?" Basil asked. He really did seem more affected by the look of my mark than anything else so far, or maybe he'd just stood up too fast.
"Yes, it used to be brown. Like a freckle."
He nodded. His upper lip looked damp and he ran a hand over his mouth. "Do you mind if I take a photo of it?"
"I guess not," I said. "What for?"
I waited while he took out a cell phone and snapped a couple of close up pictures of my toe. "It will go into your student dossier," Basil said while he captured my mark. "Because you're so rare, you're of particular interest. Working with another mage like you will be a first for me." He stood up and shut off his phone. "There is very little formal scientific study of our kind. What there is, would be secret. I do my own but I'm not a scientist. I do it for my own knowledge and to have something valuable to pass on to the next generation. You would be of great help to me in that."
"Oh." I smiled but I wasn't sure what to say. I had come here for Basil to help me; it hadn't occurred to me that I could be of some help to him too. I liked the idea.
"Can you feel the fire right now?" he asked.
"No. If I didn't already know I was a magus, sorry, a mage, I wouldn't suspect anything. I feel normal."
"Can you light it for me, and look into my eyes as you do so. Don't try and affect how they look in any way."
"Okay." I lifted my gaze to his and he stepped closer. I called the fire to life in my belly and felt its heat lick up my insides at my request.
"Is it lit?" Basil asked, brows up.
"Yes."
"Remarkable," he murmured. "Can you illuminate your eyes for me please?"
I drew the heat upward through my neck and pushed it through the thin stems of my eyes. They grew hard and hot. My vision sharpened. The stubble of Basil's shadow became more pronounced.
"Can you make them orange instead of red?" Basil stared into my eyes, unblinking. He reminded me of my doctor, looking from pupil to pupil, probing at the secrets there.
I pushed more heat upward and outward.
"Now yellow?"
I pushed further. The heat in my eyes increased, but there was no pain. I had never made them this bright on purpose before. My vision sharpened again, almost startling me with all the distinct edges and contrasts that I hadn't noticed until now. I had thought Basil's eyes were a brown, but now I could distinguish flecks of olive in them. I could make out paler threads of rust around his left pupil. His pupils took on a strange cast, like there was a glow of dark red far inside them.
"Are you able to make them blue?" he asked.
I cranked up the heat. A low frequency vibration began in my core and radiated outward. The little muscles around my spine quivered and my brain felt like it was pulsing softly. Then something very strange happened. Basil's face looked for a moment like it had become translucent. I thought I could detect the vertical shadows where the roots of his teeth were, the dark hollows of his orbital cavities. His skull seemed to waver in and out of detection, like a faulty x-ray.
"All right?" he asked. "If anything feels bad, you can stop at any time.”
I pressed my lips closed and the shadows of Basil's skin faded to opacity, and his skull disappeared. I wasn't sure I had even seen it. Maybe I had imagined it? "I'm fine," I said, and held the heat in my eyes steady.
"May I touch your hands?"
I held them out and Basil took them and held my fingers gently. His eyes closed for a moment as though he was thinking, the shadow of a line appeared between his brows. He was properly sweating now; a sheen of moisture beaded on his brow and upper lip.
"That's enough," he said softly, letting my hands go. "Thank you."
I loosened the heat from my skull and it slipped quietly back down my spine and went to sleep. My insides cooled instantly, and I once again felt like a normal teenage girl and not a walking furnace.
Basil studied my face. "How was that? Did you notice anything particular about your vision?"
I hesitated.
"Be honest, please—it's the only way I can do you any service, Saxony."
"I thought for a second that I could see the bones in your face."
Basil nodded like this was normal, but his shirt was growing dark at the armpits. "Anything else?"
"Just that my vision got sharper the hotter my eyes got."
He nodded again. "All right." He leaned back against the desk behind him and took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket. He wiped his brow with it and stuffed it back, making a crumpled lump in his shirt. He crossed his arms. "Have you ever felt the fire detonate in your joints before?"
My mind flashed back to Dante beating me up in the back yard of his villa. I frowned. "Yes."
"Do you remember if light came through your skin?"
"I didn't let it. You're talking about internalizing and externalizing."
"You know about it?" He looked surprised. "How?"
I nodded. "Uh, well, did Enzo tell you where I got my fire from?"
"He mentioned that it was passed to you from a dying boy. Is that right?"
"Yes, but that boy’s father recorded some video clips before he died, and I got to see them. He talked about controlling the eye-glow thing, and also how a magus can detonate the fire in their joints to make them stronger."
"Have you experimented with that?"
"Not really. I can internalize, I guess. But I've only been a mage for a little over a month." I laughed. "I'm still getting used to the idea
."
Basil smiled. "Are you willing to throw a few punches for me?"
I shot him a side-eye. "Did you just ask me to hit you? Like some frat boy at a house party?"
He laughed. "Not me." He jerked his chin toward the contraption with the padded panel behind me. "The bag."
"Oh." I turned to face the bag and laughed, relieved. "Sure."
Basil bent down beside the machine and flicked a switch at the back. The digital panel beside the punching bag flashed with multiple glowing zeros. He came to stand in front of me. "Make a fist for me."
I curled my right hand.
"Put your thumb here," he said, moving my digit off my first knuckle. "And hit with your first two knuckles right here." He tapped a finger on my knuckles. "Keep your wrist straight and try not to send your fist in an arch. Come straight at the stuffing from the shoulder, okay? Keep the bones in your first two knuckles aligned with your forearm so you don't hurt yourself."
"Okay." I nodded. "With the fire?"
"Without for the first throw." He stepped back. "Whenever you're ready."
I brought my fists up, went onto my toes and bounced for a second, then threw a punch with everything I had, but without using the fire.
The digital screen flashed the number 45.
"What does that mean? Is that good?"
"It's expected for a girl of your age, weight, fitness level and inexperience," Basil answered. "The number is in psi, pounds per square inch. Your fist is roughly four inches square so you've delivered a peak punching force of 180 pounds. It's average for a woman." He reset the digital screen. "This machine is accurate within half a pound, so it’s not perfect. However, it’s good enough for our purpose." He turned to face me. "I'd like you to try it with the fire, but I won't coach you. And then we'll try it a second time, and I'll give you some tips."
"All right." The fire flared up inside me, ready to accommodate.
Basil stepped back. "Give it your best shot."
I bounced on the balls of my feet and then sent another shot at the bag, at the same time the fire went off in my right shoulder, elbow and wrist.
The digital screen flashed again. The number read 382.5.
"Whoa!" My hand flew to my mouth and I glanced at Basil in shock. "That's a crazy difference!"
Basil blew out a breath. It was the first time he'd given any kind of obvious emotional reaction. He ran a hand over his mouth and chin. "That was 1,530 pounds of punching force." He lowered his chin and looked over his glasses at me. "You just broke the world record by 110lbs."
My jaw dropped. I looked up at my dad. He looked dazed and somewhat amused.
I let out a guffaw of surprise. "I'm a freaking Marine!"
Basil gave a bemused, lopsided grin, but the sides of his mouth were tight. "I'm not sure a Marine would know what to do with you. Let's try it again and this time I'll coach you."
Basil explained how to place my feet and how to use my whole body to throw a punch. He explained how he wanted me to use the fire in almost every joint in my body. "The explosions need to be microseconds apart," he explained as he was crouched down beside me. "Do you understand? To follow the flow of energy. If you mix up the detonations and fire one moment sooner than you should, you'll dampen your efforts instead of optimizing them." He lowered his voice, and his forehead wrinkled with concern. "You could even hurt yourself and we don't want that. Do I need to worry about you externalizing accidentally?"
I shook my head. "I internalize without even thinking about it now. I've just never tried to make so many detonations at once before."
"You don't have to do this. It's your choice."
"I want to." I narrowed my eyes at the soft surface of the bag, preparing.
Basil stepped back. "Anytime, Saxony."
I went through the motion in my mind first, and the fire flickered in response to my mental dress rehearsal. I felt heat flare up in my joints in reaction to my mind. When I threw the punch, it seemed time slowed down. I could feel the heat as it traveled through my body, hitting every joint involved and going off like successive bombs inside me. The square surface of the punching bag, which was more like a vertical platform with a metal arm bracing it, made a strange sound upon impact, almost like a drum. The digital meter beeped and the number appeared.
Basil and I stared at the meter.
"That can't be right," I said, looking at him finally. "Can that be right?"
Basil sort of drooped back against the desk. "It's right," he said quietly. "You just produced more than four tons of force. 8,900 pounds, give or take."
I looked back at the reading. 2243psi. My whole body was tingling, but the fire had gone quiet. My punching hand throbbed a little and my heart was pounding, but otherwise I felt normal.
"Have you done this test?" I asked.
Basil's mouth quirked and a bit of color returned to his cheeks. "Want to know if you can out-punch your superior?"
I grinned. "Can I?"
He blinked and put a hand to his heart. "A bloke has to have some secrets."
I laughed. "Fair enough. What else can we do?" My blood was up and I liked this game. I looked around the room at the other contraptions and curiosities, wondering what they were all for.
"That's quite enough," said Basil, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He looked up at my dad and gestured for him to come down. "I'll show you to your rooms and give you some time to freshen up. We'll talk more over lunch."
Chapter 11
Basil showed us up the grand staircase from the foyer to two rooms across the hall from each other. The rooms weren't unlike a hotel, each with an en suite bathroom and a writing desk stocked with paper and pens. He told us he would have lunch ready at one and to take a rest and meet him in the dining room. Once he'd left us, my dad and I faced each other in the hallway.
"How did that feel?" my dad asked.
"The tests?" I opened the door to my room and rolled my carry-on inside and then came back to join my dad in the hall. "It was good actually. I mean—" I laughed. "A bit weird, I guess, to be tested on my power, or whatever you want to call it. But it was amazing to meet another person like me. I could learn so much from him." I looked up at my father. “Can you understand why I need to come to this school?”
He nodded. “What do you think of Basil?”
"I like him,” I said truthfully.
My dad sighed. "I do, too."
We made our way down for lunch together. A single table among many in the dining room had been dressed for a meal. Basil stood near one of the tall windows talking quietly with a woman in an apron. She had dark glossy hair swept up into a high bun on her head. She was petite but strong looking, with square hands. Her skin was olive but lightly freckled. They looked up and smiled as we entered.
"I hope you're hungry," said Basil. He gestured to the lady beside him. "This is Susan Palmer, our resident chef during the school year. She was kind enough to come take care of us on short notice." He turned to Susan. "This is James Cagney and his daughter, Saxony.'
Hands were shaken all around. "Nice to meet you," said Susan. She grasped my hand firmly and when we shook, she deliberately looked me in the eye. The subtlest telltale glow reflected in her pupils.
My calves swept with gooseflesh as heat shot up my arm. "You're a mage, too!"
Susan laughed. "I am.”
"But, you're the cook here?" My father sounded surprised.
"Yes, food has always been my passion."
"Susan teaches an elective here called Food and Fire," said Basil, rocking back on his heels. "It was her idea, and a jolly good one at that."
Susan smiled up at him. At the glance that passed between the two of them, I had immediate suspicions that Basil and Susan might be more to each other than just colleagues.
"I hope you join us, Saxony," said Susan. "Right now, enjoy the meal. I'll leave you to it." With a nod, she left the room through a swinging door.
We sat down and Basil lifted the silver lids fr
om the food. The scents of steamed trout, braised vegetables, and mushroom risotto made my mouth water. A thought occurred to me as we began to fill our plates. "Did Susan use her fire to cook this food?"
Basil chuckled. "She could have, but no. She doesn't do that anymore, except when she teaches. She's a second-degree mage."
"Is that a popular class?" my dad asked, looking skeptical. "Cooking?"
Basil shook his head. "Not very, but the ones who take it seem to enjoy it." He bent to take a bite of risotto.
But my mind caught on something else. "You have degrees?" I took a bite of the trout and it melted in my mouth. My stomach gurgled and I realized then how hungry I was. I followed the trout with a forkful of broccolini.
"We do, but it’s an internal thing. It helps Arcturus to classify the mages who pass through our school. White wine?" Basil put a hand on the neck of a bottle in a bucket of ice and poured white wine for himself and my dad.
"Tell me more about these degrees?" I asked.
"We have five classifications. Simply—first, second, and third-degree mages are those who have not passed through a burning. The first is untrained, the second has some training, and the third has mastered some kind of specialty."
"What's the difference between fourth and fifth?" I asked.
Basil put the wine back in its ice-bath. "Fourth-degrees have passed through a burning and so have the benefits of heightened power. The fifth is the highest classification we have, reserved for mages who have passed through a burning and are trained." Basil cleared his throat. "I should make it clear that at Arcturus, we don't talk about anything above the third degree with our students."
"Why not?" asked my father.
"We don't want to encourage mages to attempt burnings, so it’s not something we want to glorify." At a questioning look from my dad, he added, "Too many mages die that way."
I glanced at my father but he appeared stoic. I was grateful, not for the first time in the day, that my mother hadn’t come with us.
"So, how would Saxony fit in at Arcturus then?" my dad asked, looking confused. "If you don't talk about anything over third-degree, and she's been through a burning..."