crunching against the wooden floor.
It was cold. Marcus hunched over, clutching his arms, chilled to the bone. In a circle around him, the heavy wooden floor looked brittle and glass-like, flash frozen in the flood of coolant.
“By the Founders,” one of the travelers whispered. “How hot was he burning?”
“Don't just stand there!” Garren shouted back to his men. “Shoot him!”
The remaining travelers grimly raised their weapons, taking aim.
Marcus reached for the heat in the room, any heat… but couldn’t quite touch it. I’m too cold, he realized with a start. Mother help me, I can’t feel the fire! He spun and leaped, clearing the heavy black crates behind him and ducking out of sight.
Not a moment too soon. Gunfire shattered the air again, deafening and deadly. The little projectiles struck clouds of wood from the walls around him, pinging against the crates and whining off in chaotic ricochets. Marcus covered his head, trying to stay low.
“What's the matter, kid?” Garren shouted over the din of his mens' weapons. “That all you got?”
Again anger swelled up in Marcus, and he let out a growl, then blinked at the flame that came with it. I… I breathed that out. Marcus raised a hand to his lip, remembering the feel of Fire’s kiss. No, she breathed into me… does that mean…
Carefully, Marcus cupped his hands in front of him and exhaled into them. Warm air rushed out, filling his hands. And with it came one small, flickering tongue of fire. He silently implored it to burn hotter, brighter. The little flame slowly grew, shimmering and shining between his fingers, bathing the back of the hall in golden light. His hands tingled as the fire warmed him.
The colors swirled to life again, and Marcus sighed in relief. He felt the tiny bursts of heat in the guns, and reached for them, bidding them to be still. He grinned as the travelers began cursing, the hail of bullets coming to an abrupt stop.
Marcus stood, turning to face them, holding up the perfect, golden flame. The flame is life. The flame is a weapon. It stretched, curving into the shape of a bow, a flaming arrow already nocked.
“No, wait.” Garren staggered back, eyes wide and fixed on the bow of light and heat.
Marcus stepped around the crates, training the arrow on the traveler captain. “Anthony,” he said, his voice filling the room with a terrible finality.
==
“Marcus?”
Marcus looked up from his book. Lena stood just behind him, shivering in the cold. He didn't feel it. He rarely did, those days.
“Just watching the stars,” he said, closing the book reverently as he brightened the floating flame he'd been using to read. He frowned as she shivered again, warming the air around them with a thought. Lena's eyes went wide as she stopped shivering, somehow managing to look even more uncomfortable. Marcus rose from his seat on the smooth stone, stepping closer to the woman. “And thinking.”
“Marcus...” She didn't pull back, but her body tensed. “I know that it's only been a few days, but... well... we're worried about you.” She glanced around, shivering again.
Not from the cold, though. Marcus glanced back at his brother's tombstone, surrounded by the blackened husks of dead fire lilies. He let his gaze wander over the field, once filled with light and warmth, now nothing but charred flowers peeking out from under a blanket of white snow. No, not from that.
“You are, maybe. The rest of Blessing...” He sighed, shaking his head. “If you can even call it Blessing anymore. Don't worry, Lena. There's nothing to worry about. Not here. Not anymore.”
“It isn't healthy, Marcus.” Lena wrung her hands, her dark eyes pleading. “You spend all day out here at his grave, reading his books. It won't bring him back, you know that. What are you trying to find?”
“A reason why, maybe.” Marcus shook his head. “Why it was me. It should have been him, not me.”
“What?”
“That night, in the Heart, it should have been Anthony. He's the one who believed in them, he's the one who tried to warn us of the danger. But he was dead, so she chose me instead.”
“Marcus, I don't...”
“It was Fire.” He swallowed hard, looking up at the stars. “She kissed me. She said they were coming, that we would have to stand against them, and Fire kissed me. She should have picked him. And now, I have a job to do.” As he watched, a star shot across the night sky. Marcus Garcia squared his jaw, a tiny tongue of fire escaping his lips. “The stars are weeping, Lena. But not for us.”
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends