Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  Sims walks away in the direction of his office. Or he might be heading to scout out Streak and Thunder, who are near the end of round one. A bell dings in the background and the audience’s roars quiet down.

  I turn to Kalyan, who is staring at me.

  “Thank you. I—” he begins.

  “Not here. Follow me.” I walk in the opposite direction of Sims, toward the locker rooms. The noise of several fighters flits down the hall. This is going to suck. The others are never happy about fresh meat without some sort of announcement by Sims.

  “Don’t say anything,” I whisper to Kalyan, before pushing through the curtain.

  Five heads twist at my entry. Beckman, easily the largest man in the room, returns to his meditation. But the others are all eyes and a torrent of emotions at Kalyan’s presence.

  Rakesh stands and steps into my trajectory. “Who the blood is this?”

  I try to hide my hatred. Nightcaster. As he speaks his arms flex. He’s had ink sketched into his upper arms, trying to present himself as an eight or a nine. Everyone knows, can see the color difference. He’s also the only one who fights shirtless. The muscles and abs in full view are as intimidating and disgusting as ever.

  “A friend, new fighter. He’s taking my place against Tenson.”

  Tenson, with his scruff of brown hair, pops up. “What the blood? Sims didn’t clear this with me.”

  “Go talk to him yourself.” I gesture to the door.

  Tenson slides around Rakesh and then pushes past Kalyan and me. “Knew you would be scared when you got to the big leagues,” he scoffs.

  I turn to Rakesh. “Get out of the way. I need to prepare him for the fight.”

  “Friend, huh? All the times you could have had me, Jaya, and you chose this?” Rakesh gestures to Kalyan as if I have brought in trash off the sidewalk.

  Could have had Rakesh? I don’t want to even touch him. He’s been like this since I arrived here: harassing me, insinuating his sexual prowess. It’s sickening. One would think after I beat him in a match a few months ago it would have settled the sexual fantasy he has cast upon me. Instead it’s gotten worse. He doesn’t want only sex anymore. He wants domination. More than any Vencrin in here, Rakesh rattles my blood. Can make me shrink back into the younger and less confident Adraa. I hate him for that.

  I’ve never been fearful of my looks or power before, but when people like Rakesh exist it’s hard not to wonder whether looking any different could lessen my burden. It’s his fault, not mine. I know whatever I looked like he would harass me. But I can’t help but wonder, could his foul tongue and fouler mind be contained if I changed anything?

  Kalyan tightens behind me. Oh Gods, I forgot. He’s a better, kinder person than I am. He might try to defend my honor or some crap, even not knowing who I really am.

  “Get out of the way,” I repeat to Rakesh.

  Rakesh shifts into a fighting stance, but it’s Kalyan’s eyes he meets over my shoulder. Oh blood no! I don’t get to be dismissed for a fight just because now I have a man at my back. No matter how much Rakesh scares me.

  “We don’t have time for this.” I step to the right.

  Rakesh shoots out an arm as a barrier. Everyone pauses except Beckman, who stands from one of the wobbly wooden benches Sims provides.

  Then Rakesh speaks. “Hope she’s softer and wetter on the inside.”

  The scene erupts, mostly because I’m pissed. “Kavacraw,” I cast, and a red flurry of magic smokes into a blockade between Kalyan and Rakesh. Then I grab Rakesh’s wrist, the one right in front of me, and twist and bend it upward with force. My shield catches Kalyan’s fist, barely. He hadn’t cast any spell behind it, which I was counting on. His punch sinks into my shield like sand, and flecks of red magic splinter off.

  I have only a second to examine my handiwork because with a yelp of pain Rakesh swings for me with his free arm. I release his wrist, duck, and push further into the locker room. Far enough away and he’ll have to cast something instead of taking a swing.

  “Leave the fight for the ring!” Beckman shouts in his deep voice.

  Kalyan bats away my shield, which is already dissolving. I throw my hands up in the air in surrender to Rakesh, but mentally prepare another shield. Red magic floats down my left arm in warning. Rakesh is steaming with fury. He would have rather taken Kalyan’s punch than my wristlock, I’m sure. At least then he could have said a man made him shout in pain.

  “Listen to Beckman,” I encourage.

  I glance at Kalyan, who is assessing the situation in silence. He doesn’t look like he will throw a punch again, but his body angles like Riya’s sometimes does. Protective, guardlike, and, most important, ready to insert himself in the middle of a magical brawl.

  “Rakesh!” Beckman shouts again.

  With that, Rakesh shoves himself toward the curtain. “Bloody bitch.” This time the whispered phrase doesn’t bother me as much as Basu’s, because I’ve won this round.

  Kalyan slides out of Rakesh’s way and toward me.

  I find Beckman’s eyes and nod.

  “Gods. She always that fast at casting?” Navin, one of the young fighters who has remained quiet, asks.

  Beckman replies, but I don’t have time to listen, or care. I’m already marching toward the door on the far left.

  I slam the door securely shut as soon as Kalyan is through it. With a flick of my hand I soundproof the doorframe. The room is a third the size of the main waiting area. It used to be the storage closet, and various like-minded tools are stacked on the far side. The rest of the space is for me and two other female fighters, who come around every once in a while. So the space is mostly mine. I have a locker, a bench, and all the firelight I need to make out the dirty corners and dusty nooks.

  Kalyan has the good sense to wait until the magic clusters around the door’s perimeter. As soon as the square red halo completes its ring, he’s off. “What was that? Does that happen to you every week?”

  I think back. Not every week. “Normally, I don’t have to protect people who have no right being here.”

  Kalyan recoils. For a second I’m glad if it hurt him. He has jeopardized my entire undercover operation. I wait a beat. “That was an opening for you to tell me exactly what the blood you are doing here.”

  “I understand if you are mad.”

  I throw my arms up. Understanding won’t fix anything. “Congratulations, you are intelligent enough to understand anger.” I look at him and immediately regret my words.

  “I came here same as you. To get information about what has happened with the firelight,” he says.

  “Because Jatin thinks he owns it? It’s Belwar business.”

  “No, Maharaja Naupure gave me the reports. He wanted me to help you.”

  “My reports, you mean! My mission, my life on the line.” The words echo in the small enclosure. Even though I’m risking my life, it’s the mission that feels vulnerable right now, exposed. I was going to stop it after all, the Vencrin and the drugs. That was going to be my legacy. And if I fail…

  Then two words sink in. Maharaja Naupure. Maharaja Naupure gave this guard the reports, wanted him here. He never thought I could do this alone then. He had pestered me about a guard and now here one was, standing in front of me.

  “Yes, you’re right—your life. But if I had known it was you I—”

  “Known it was me?” Oh Gods, does he know who I am? Would Maharaja Naupure have told him? I must be such a joke in his eyes. The silly, rich girl who thought she could be tough and help her country. We both draw into a long pause.

  “I would have come no matter what, Jaya,” Kalyan whispers.

  I take in a breath. He doesn’t know. Regardless, it’s a nice sentiment. Even if I were only Jaya, an average commoner, he would help me. But did I bloody ask for his help? No. That’s
the point.

  It’s as expected, then. He’s here under orders and obligation, an ill-informed soldier reporting for duty, but doing a wonderful job screwing things up. He stares at me intently. I have to break eye contact. His eyes suck me in with their kindness and genuine good intentions. He threw a punch for my honor after all. But maybe that was for Jatin’s honor too? Ah, this is such a mess.

  I look at the clock. We have twenty minutes. “We don’t have time. You’re here now. I just hope you can fight, because that’s the only way we are going to salvage this.”

  Is it possible to start to fall for someone when they’re fuming at you? As soon as Jaya asked, “Known it was me?” my brain did this weird dance; it clambered for words, and picked up affection instead. If I had known Jaya was Agent Smoke I wouldn’t have just come, I would have run. I don’t care who she is in society. I’ve seen her save a boy’s life. I’ve read her month’s work to stop a horde of drug criminals. I’ve witnessed her hear a man utter disgusting slurs at her and she rescues him from my anger? Who does that? Not to mention the extreme skill it takes to cast and move that fast. That young fighter who was incredulous and a little terrified at her swiftness has a right to be. I’m not sure if even I could have foreseen and cast a boundary shield that quickly.

  I like her. I want to fix my interference. Want to help her rebuild her mission.

  “What do I need to do?” I ask.

  “You have fought before, right? I mean, you’re a guard. You were taught?”

  “I was taught, but this is different. Cage casting is…minutes ago your opponent tried to burn you alive.”

  She gets defensive. “And what, real fighting is all nice and honorable?”

  “Sorry, but at least we try. We are expected to be honorable.”

  She shakes her head. What is she thinking?

  “Yeah, you’re right. I forgot what I was dealing with. Okay.” She paces a few times. “Okay, um…try to hit me.”

  “What?”

  “Try to take me on and I can see what you’re missing.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Look.” She points to the door. “In about twenty minutes you are going into the ring. Honorable walked out the door when you stepped in. I won’t get hit, unless you are some master wizard.”

  I make a swing. She’s right. If I’m going into the ring I should start fighting, not talking. I make contact and immediately retract. Blood! I thought she would be fast enough, like with Rakesh, or she would at least duck. Maybe she wasn’t prepared. Red smoke disperses, revealing her hand covering my fist. I didn’t hit her; she caught my punch.

  Jaya releases my fist a second later. “Good. At least you keep your wrist straight and can aim.”

  I rotate my shoulder. Is this what Ax felt like out there? Where did that magic come from? “Did you…did you cast a spell?”

  “Of course. What, you think I can catch a punch like that naturally?”

  “But I didn’t hear you. Can, can you…”

  “Oh, Gods no. Wait, have you ever met someone who can mind cast?”

  “No.” To be honest, I have been working on it for ages, but nothing has come to fruition. In theory, mind casting, casting without saying the spells out loud, could work, but no one has proved it yet.

  “I haven’t either, but cage casting is the closest it gets,” Jaya says. “You must chant under your breath so your opponent doesn’t know what to expect. Here, watch my lips and listen.”

  While the directive gives me an excuse to look at her, I don’t want my gaze to tell her anything, like, for instance, how bloody beautiful I think her lips are. She steps closer for me to hear. That’s the only reason she stepped closer, I know, but I can’t stop something inside me from roaring awake and pushing for me to do something. Something…charming.

  “Did you hear the spell?” she asks.

  Blood. Focus, Jatin. “No. What was it?”

  She sighs. “A shield spell. Please tell me you know those, both physical and magic.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Okay, good. Your opponent, Tenson, is a yellow forte wizard. He likes wind bursts, so either throw up a bubble shield or combat wind with wind. Like me, he also favors orange magic, particularly speed enhancement.”

  I nod. “Got it.”

  “Cage casting is also about letting the magic flow continuously.” She touches my hand and traces up my arm. Even over my cloak it feels amazing. “Pick a finger and focus. Let your Touch flow up and down your arm and not all at once. Okay, chant with me this time, and actually cast the spells. Each one should appear at once and disappear as you start a new spell.”

  She steps back. “Ready?”

  For fifteen minutes we build shields crafted for strong gusts of yellow magic. I’ve trained to cast continuously, but never quite like this. A white shield spell isn’t even fully destroyed before Jaya tells me to start the next. She taps my arm to indicate when I should change. It’s an advanced teaching method and I wonder where she learned it.

  A knock on the door whips our attention back to the real world. I almost forget there was anything beyond this closetlike room.

  “Hey,” Sims calls.

  Jaya pulls back the soundproofing.

  Sims bashes the door open and charges in. “Two minutes!” He pounds on the wall in emphasis. The way he looks, I think he wishes that wall were my head.

  “He’ll be ready, Sims. I got it!” Jaya yells back.

  “You better. What’s his fighting name anyway?”

  She turns to me in question, and I shrug.

  “Do I have to do everything?” she whispers to herself. “The White Stranger!” she calls.

  Sims spits. “Weak.”

  “Then anything you bloody well please, Sims.”

  He grunts and turns to go, waving two fingers at her. Only two minutes left. That’s all? I don’t even have time to be nervous.

  “We’ll probably regret that later,” Jaya says. “Take off your cloak and pull up your sleeves.”

  I unfasten the cloak. “Why the sleeves?”

  “Because this is as much of a show as a fight. Now roll.”

  I almost comment on how bossy she is, but stop when I realize it’s leadership, natural bloody leadership. She must be frustrated, angry, nervous, and Gods know what else, but beneath all that she is under control. No wonder Father employed her. I should probably take notes.

  She seizes my cloak from me and hangs it up. When she turns my sleeves are rolled to the crooks of my elbows.

  “Good Gods.” She starts and stares at my arms. Giddy pride flows through me. I want her to keep looking. She blinks to snap out of it, and the slight movement is intoxicating. “Do, ah, all men in the academy have that much”—she coughs—“power?”

  “I got to be Raja Jatin’s guard for a reason, right?” The lie comes easy enough.

  She is thinking something; the wheels and cogs are churning in her eyes. I want to know what exactly. Did my Touch give my birthright away that quickly?

  “You must be, what? A seven, an eight?”

  Only rajas and ranis can harness all nine, so it would only make sense that I were lower, much lower. Kalyan is a six, but with my markings…“Yeah, seven.” I throw out the number hoping it is both low and high enough to make sense with the intricate designs of my Touch.

  She doesn’t miss a beat. “What can’t you do?”

  What can I afford to give up in the ring and still stay undercover? “Red and pink.” I’m surprised even as I sputter out the half-truth, red and pink having always been the trickiest magic for me to cast. But potions won’t be used in the ring and I don’t want to burn someone alive like Ax tried to, so I guess the partial truth works.

  Jaya nods. “All right. Now, off with your kurta.”

  “Excuse me
?”

  “We have one minute,” she says as she turns from me. I huff so she knows how annoying this is, then pull the kurta over my head. She holds out one hand, still facing away from me. I pass it over. Without a second thought, she whispers a spell and the fabric tears. The long sleeves rip off easily enough, right below the biceps. She hands my kurta back without looking and waits for me to put it on again. “You good?”

  “Yeah.”

  She faces me and nods. Her eyes linger on my arms, and despite the situation I smile.

  “You shouldn’t—” She pauses. “You can’t wear full sleeves. And this will give you more mobility anyway.”

  “What about you, then?” I gesture to her outfit. Both black sleeves stop right at the wrists, so all one can make out is the slight Touch that curls up the back of her left hand.

  “Yeah, well, if I were to show my arms to these men…For you it’s an act of aggression. For me it invites challenge. Trust me.”

  I’m going to have to trust her to get out of this, but a part of me relishes the idea. I want to trust her, to know her. Know everything.

  “Time’s up! Bring this good arm of yours!” Sims shouts as he bustles into the room.

  While Kalyan marches onto the platform that leads to the ring, I take the back route. Pushing through the crowds, I find the wooden ladder that ascends to a platform that runs the entire circumference of the underground warehouse. Only fighters and employees are allowed to watch fights from here. We call it the upper deck. I heave myself up and scan to see who else watches from this balcony-like walkway. Looks like the entire group came to observe this one. I spot Rakesh at once and veer away from him. There has been only one time I was trapped up here alone with him and it scared me into intense wariness from then on.

  Across the raised walkway, Beckman nods for me to join him. I walk toward him guiltily. Beckman is the best cage caster here and one of the only wizards who is not Vencrin. Cage casting is what he likes doing, is good at doing, and can make money doing. He’s savage in the ring, but he’s still one of my citizens, whom I swore never to harm. Even though he could and might break me in a cage fight.