Chapter 2
Sparks
I decided that it was best if I didn’t spend all day yelling at the fire. Yesterday was lost when I was stuck in a tent all day. I was starting to run low on drinks and needed to make a run into town. I also wanted to try out some gold panning in a nearby stream. I had seen many mining shows talking about gold, and they always used pans as a way of verifying spots. I knew it didn’t cost much, so I bought a few pans for my friends and I. While they were here, we didn’t get to the activity. Instead, we spent the time on board games and laughing.
After I had made the full plan for the day, I decided that I would have random fires throughout the day. That way I could call out Thunder’s name and see if he was around. Now that the day was planned, the first stop was going into town.
The grocery store I found was cute in the way a baby is cute. A person can see a baby giggling and understand the potential of growing into a full adult. Tiny socks on tiny feet that mirror the adult feet that would soon grow. The grocery store had aisles with handmade signs above them. There were displays at the end of the aisles, constructed of cardboard. Each display looked to be hand made and painted. Most of them contained images of copyrighted logos. Tiny orange pieces of paper hung below several products. Words were handwritten on them, such as ‘2 for 1’ and ‘free with purchase of’. The grocery store did not have a produce location but kept several baskets of bananas and apples near the register. The register had raised keys with a different price on each key. The register did not appear to have any bar code scanning.
“How do you keep stock of inventory?” I asked the young man behind the counter.
He had an Asian look to him though I wasn’t sure of the specific nationality. He wore jeans and a t-shirt that celebrated some bar half the world away. His hands stopped clicking keys on the register when I asked, and he tilted his head to me. His right hand flicked to a pair of glasses hanging on his face. He raised the glasses up on his nose, to which they fled back down after just a few seconds. Perhaps he wanted a better look at me, or the act of moving his glasses was a nervous tick.
“Why? Were you planning on stealing?” the young man asked.
I put my hands up as if I am pushing away his resistance. Perhaps it looks like I am stopping the question. “No… no. I am just not used to a place that doesn’t use bar codes.”
A few moments pass and the clerk begins to start clicking away at his register again. He starts up as if out of nowhere “We have a spreadsheet. Plus the local bank manager is a good guy. He helps me figure things out when I need some advice.”
I nodded as if that made sense. I nodded as if the ideas proposed by the clerk were the most logical in the world. Yet, I thought that this bumpkin store clerk must not have much social experience. Most people don’t have long awkward silences after they accuse each other of stealing. I am glad to be gone and don’t ask any more questions. I hope that there is another store in town, just in case I forgot something else. I didn't like the idea of a store clerk trying to catch me stealing. I had no intention of stealing, but his stare and fidgeting made me mentally itch. Like an ant crawled under the skin of my back.
‘Marshmallows’ I remember. ‘I forgot Marshmallows! Ug, Now I remember.’
On my way out of town, I spot a pawn shop of sorts. I am not sure if they have any food, but they will know all the locations that do. Then perhaps I can ask about an alternative spot to find some marshmallows.
The store was packed full, and I had to be careful with each step. The clerk was friendly. An old woman in a tie-dyed shirt who spent her life collecting. Beyond the initial greeting, she left me alone. What caught my eye were not the DVDs or video games, but the sword hanging behind the counter. All thoughts of food escaped my mind. The sword was a broadsword style but had a bit of a scimitar curve at the tip. The blade was not a bright metal sheen like many decoration swords. Instead, the metal was a solid black. The hand had a soft rubber black grip. Upon closer inspection, I saw the handle was electrical tape wrapped around and around. The blade itself was not decorated but had paths and grooves in it.
“Can I see that blade?” I asked the clerk. My finger pointed toward the blade, and she must have seen my wide eyes fascinated with the object.
“Sure thing, hun! But can I show you something first?” She asked.
I nodded my head, and she asked me to step back a few steps. She took down the blade and had space in front of her. I was worried I would topple over merchandise as I backed away giving her room. She began to swing the blade in front of her. A whistling sound happened with each pass of the blade.
“You hear that whistling sound? They carved grooves in the blade to make it ‘sing’. Neat, huh?” She said swinging the sword in front of her.
Again I nodded my head. Strange that I felt more comfortable with a woman swinging a blade in front of me than a store clerk selling me food. She returned behind the counter and put the blade on the glass case between us. She gave me a discount on the item, and I did not counter the number. She clicked away at the same type of register as the grocery clerk.
“No barcodes here” I mused again.
“Nope! They are not needed. The local bank manager helps with inventory! He’s a real people pleaser, bless his heart.” She said, excited to have the sale all but done. I wondered if it would be her only sale for the day. I felt a twinge of guilt though. I recently lost my job and was spending money on ‘singing swords’. Still, I longed for swinging it in the woods by myself. Perhaps I would chop down some branches for a fire, like a fancy machete.
When I got back to the campground I started up another fire. I used branches cultivated from my new investment. The sword quenched my thirst to destroy as it whistled before it bit into branches. I noticed that it was horrible for sawing and was worried I would break it. However, the person who had made the sword had experience and the sword remained in one piece. After I had collected enough branches, I started a fire and called out Thunder Born’s name. Seconds after calling the wind esper appeared.
“Hi!” Thunder Born pointed toward my new treasure “What’s that whistling thing? I could hear it from miles away.”
“It’s a sword. Where were you? Why didn’t you show up earlier today?” I ask with frustration and relief soaking my words.
“Do all swords do that?” Thunder asked, avoiding my questions with a question.
“Chop wood? I suppose.” I glanced at the sword and inspected the edge for nicks. I didn’t see any pieces notched in.
“No, do all swords whistle like that? I even danced through one of those whistles earlier! It was a glorious movement and the first time I felt…” Thunder Born stopped talking.
“It was the first time you felt what?” I asked. This time I would ask just the one question and let it sit in the air until answered. The strategy paid off.
“It was the first time I felt physical. Like a physical object in your world.” The wind esper began to twirl the top of the smoke in a type of curly spiral. I watched in fascination as the smoke curled and then disappeared. The fire returned to normal.
“Thunder Born?” I asked. “You still there Thunder Born?”
There was no wind around, and the sword was still, resting on top of the cooler. Perhaps that is why I jumped when the sword gave a loud whistle and fell off the cooler. I stared at the possessed metal when the fire roared up with the word “Glorious!”. The hairs on the back of my neck started to stand on end despite the fire’s heat. There was something here, I could feel it.
“Can… can I ask you a few, uh, questions, Thunder Born?” I mumbled out when the fire started to recede.
“Sure!” said Thunder Born with gleeful enthusiasm. The questions were often interrupted by wild sword whistles. The constant whistling distractions made the experience feel like talking to a child with candy.
Thunder's attention span was difficult to focus and required putting away the sword on occasion.
T
hunder Born knew of no container that could hold a wind esper. They preferred to be outdoors since that is where the wind would be. When they died, he wasn’t sure where they went. All he knew was that they were gone forever. He could not only read my writing, but explained of writing I couldn’t read. Thunder Born talked about the language of stripped tree bark and worn stream shores. I asked about how the pieces grew back, which he knew little about the mechanics, they simply grew back. Pieces could only be given to the fire and other wind espers. Pieces given to the ground just sunk in. Pieces given to the water resulted in bubbles that reformed and came back into the wind esper. Thunder Born twisted violently when asked about giving plants and animals pieces.
“Why can’t plants and whatnot be given pieces, Thunder?” I asked with some perplexment.
“I am going to go; I feel the need to fly.” Said Thunder Born, tired with the lack of whistling swords (the sword now inside my tent).
“Can you answer this last question, Thunder? Why can’t you give an animal or plants pieces?” I wondered. Perhaps I was like a child, asking ‘why’ so often.
“Plants refuse to take it in. Animals take the pieces in, but then just filter them through ‘blood’ and pass them back out.” Thunder looked disgusted as he curled on himself “It feels dirty to us to have a piece filtered through animal blood. Gross.”
The fire then returned to normal, and I knew that the wind esper was gone. Now that my questions were answered, I felt better. I was not crazy, or at least was consistently crazy. I had talked to the wind esper on several occasions and, if I was lucky, had made a new friend.
I took the sword and my gold pans to look for some gold in the nearby stream. The fire would burn itself out, and I liked the idea of keeping it going as long as possible. The fire felt extra comfortable now. Not only the heat, but it was a point where a new friend could stop by. I didn’t feel like extinguishing that right away, so I left it going. I strapped the sword to my back, knowing Thunder liked the sound of the metal swinging.
The stream was less of a stream and more of a river. While not deep, the water had power surging through it. The first time I stepped in, I was shocked by how cold the water was. The raging water must have been from mountain snow, and that melted snow threatened to knock me off my feet. I got out of the water, feeling stupid for not taking off my shoes first. I would have wet socks and shoes to dry tonight. I slushed down the side of the bank, each step making a squishing sound. I found an area near the bank that was a slow moving inlet. According to the mining shows, inlets had gold. I felt like a gold expert, surveying my new “claim”.
Near an hour later, the only thing “claimed” was my time. There wasn’t gold here. Not even fool’s gold or some pretty rocks. All I had been able to collect were cold feet and brackish, green mud. I decided to return to camp and start drying my feet. Perhaps I could spend the night with Thunder, asking him questions. On my way back I saw some flickering in the distance. It looked like a lot of smoke for just a campfire. I was half way back to the camp when I saw the forest on fire.
I saw the grass on fire first. It didn’t look like the trees were catching, but then I saw that flames were licking up the side. Perhaps the sap stuck inside the trees slowed down the fire’s progress. In a forest fire, the base instinct is to run. The true terror is not in the running, but in knowing which direction to run. Was the fire surrounding you and closing in?
I could tell it was moving fast as it started consuming another tree closer to me. The wind picked up blowing hot ash in my face and started miniature fires near my feet. The heat started drawing whispers of steam from my soaked feet. I started running back to the stream.
I heard yelling coming up from a different direction. A woman’s voice was screaming out a name. I didn’t even think, pure panic already pulsing in my veins. I ran toward the woman to help. The time spent would mean that I wouldn’t make it to the stream as quickly. Yet, I was sure that I could make it there eventually, so long as the wind didn’t pick up. If the wind picked up, I would be a black corpse. Rescuers wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between me and a burnt log, passing right near my charred body. I pushed the thought out of my skull and ran towards the screams, praying to outrun the fire.