Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2

by Justin Blaney

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Evan

  The blaze roiled with hunger and heat. The pages would soon be gone. I reached for a pair of tongs, but found none. I pushed the book with a poker, but could only shove it further into the inferno. I kicked the logs. The fire settled. The book fell deeper in.

  I felt I might burst into flames myself from the heat, but I edged closer, shielding my face. I reached into the flames.

  The hairs on my arms withered. My skin screamed. The last page caught. The book was too far. I ripped my hand back, dunking it into a barrel of water at my side.

  I threw my weight against the bucket. Water sloshed out, but the barrel didn't budge. I splashed the flames. Steam billowed out, scalding my face. I put my shoulder against the barrel again. I managed to tip it on edge, but the base rolled away from me. The bucket tipped sideways. Water rushed out onto the floor.

  Gritting my teeth, I reached into the flames again. Pain seared me. I willed myself to reach further. My finger brushed the book. My shirt caught fire. I jerked back. The sparks rushed up my sleeve. I yanked off the shirt and lunged at the blaze again, but my leg gave way. I collapsed.

  Rolling onto my stomach, I watched a log fall on the book. The fire burst higher with the pop of exploding sap and a flurry of sparks. I shut my eyes. Too tired. In too much pain to move. The inferno's roar screamed inside my head.

  In my mind, my eyes pierced the logs and smoke and flames. The book was right there. A few feet away—it might as well have been miles.

  I imagined reaching out to pluck it from the flames. My hand grew hot. In my mind, I pushed my hand into the fire. Except it wasn't combustion. Just dancing lights and smoke. My fingers wrapped around the book. Dravus said I could do sapience. My father feared my power. Henri believed in me. They were all saying the same thing.

  I only had to try.

  The blaze shifted. I imagined lifting the book.

  Then I opened my eyes.

  My hand stretched toward the fire. Three feet beyond my reach, the book wobbled on the logs.

  It rose out of the smoke.