Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  One spell hits a crate and it explodes. Orbs of firelight tumble out, hundreds of them rolling across the makeshift battlefield. I stare after a few dancing past me, dazed for a second. It’s true, then. They’re taking firelight! With my newfound rage, one of my spells breaks through the wounded blue Vencrin’s shield and he drops.

  The black forte wizard runs toward me, an aggressive move in a spell-shooting fight. I whip my line of fire at him and he barrels over it. Blood.

  I need time to think, to chant. But I don’t have time. He’s too fast. He yanks a steel dagger from his belt and jerks forward. I lean back as a flash of silver cuts toward my chest. Reflexively I reach for my own belt, but I don’t have a blade on me, only Hubris. With a flip I release my skyglider from my belt and hold it up in defense. With another swipe the dagger buries itself in Hubris, and with one more quick motion the Vencrin whacks Hubris’s handle off.

  “Vitahtrae!” I shout, and Hubris obeys. Its remaining handle extends without the kitelike tail so I can whirl Hubris like a staff, as I used to do as a child. Smack, cut, twist, duck, the two of us dance as the wizard nicks and slashes Hubris apart, piece by piece. Splinters slice my hands as wicker frays and Hubris is whittled away.

  I lunge, feint left, and then smash Hubris’s broken end into his right shoulder. “Zalaka Drumahtrae,” I chant, and shards of my broken skyglider explode into black forte’s arm. He hollers and stumbles to his knees with the pain, curling his arm into himself. I take advantage of the distraction and elbow him in the face, his teeth knocking against my elbow. Finally, he falls back.

  And then it’s done. My line of fire sizzles as it eats up the deck. A thump echoes as the pommel of Kalyan’s sword hits the last wizard’s chest. I’m relieved until Kalyan raises his pommel for a blow to the head.

  “Wait!” I yell.

  Kalyan stills as he holds on to the collar of the drooping Vencrin. I tumble through the firelight, bodies, and debris.

  “Why…why do you have firelight?” I demand of the Vencrin.

  He stares at me, dazed. One eye is swollen and blood gushes above his eyebrow. But the other eye appears haunted, or maybe even terrified.

  “I’m not telling the Red Bitch anything.”

  I really need a more creative name. I mean, I get the red mask brings the color into descriptive play and the snug black cage-casting top shows I possess boobs, but still, to quote Sims, it’s weak. Kalyan jostles the wizard. Clearly, he’s not a fan of my street name either.

  I lean in closer, steady my breath, and cast fire to my hands like I did when interrogating Basu. “Tell me what you are doing with the firelight.”

  He flinches from the fire like they all do, as if the temperature and height of the flames aren’t under my control. “It’s you who will burn in the end, witch.”

  “Are you delivering it to Moolek?” I yell.

  His one good eye widens, then narrows. “Kalaleah,” he spits like a curse.

  “No!” The fire vanishes and I rush to cover his mouth, but smoke swarms over his head and he goes limp, already unconscious.

  “Blood.” I slump down the side of the ship and start numbing the pain in my arm. Kalyan drops the dead weight and scans the destroyed ship. As I drag my hand over the sweat soaking my hairline, he sits down beside me and places his elbows on his knees.

  “Next time”—he breathes heavily—“we need a better plan.”

  I watch the ship burn into the night, the smoke condensing in angry plumes. Then Jaya and I disperse the soot and extinguish the flames, because the last thing we need is an audience. Though the Vencrin’s mighty illusion helps with concealing everything.

  I’ve never been this mentally exhausted. I might have worked my magic harder at training a few times, but never before have I had to cast for my life quite like fighting a ship full of Vencrin. I mean, I was a raja in the gods’ eyes and thus my people’s. Unnecessary risks like this are practically forbidden. Yet, it feels good. Real, like the Alkin avalanche or saving people from the wreckage of the Southern Bay monsoon in Agsa five years ago.

  Looking up at the ship from the pier, a majority of my mind still tumbles with the knowledge that Jaya and I took down ten decently skilled wizards, no, criminals, who couldn’t care less if their spells were lethal. Their bodies lie strewn before us. And while I wouldn’t want to leave them to be torched by the pyre, I can’t spur any sympathy for their injuries or their blood-splattered faces. I heard the spells they were casting. I could have been an innocent bystander on the pier when the first three rushed in to attack me. And I didn’t walk away unharmed. Bruises already bloom over my torso, the tenderness and ache verifying their color and circumference.

  As soon as Jaya extinguishes the fire, it’s quiet again. Only the waves brush against the shore. A loud rip tears the silence. The tatters from Jaya’s right sleeve sway in the night air. Blood patters onto the pier.

  “How bad is it? Let me see,” I say.

  “I’ve got it.” She twists away, impeding my view. Red glows around her arm as she recites a healing spell. An intake of air hisses through her teeth and the magic disperses.

  “Jaya, I have experience with this sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, me too.” That’s true. The way she commands pink magic she must have buckets more experience treating wounds than I do. And yet, I want to check for myself. Verify she’s actually okay. I would never have brought another wizard or witch into the unpredictable danger of that fight. For a majority of it, I had no clue whether she was hurt, or dead. But if it weren’t for her wrenching me down, I would be convulsing in a fit of pain until I gladly welcomed darkness. It was a quick moment, but I still feel the huff of her breath on my face when I landed on top of her. Just like I still remember my arms wrapped around her when I carried her days ago. It’s too late for me. It’s more than attraction and wanting to help someone in trouble. I care about her, enough that her winces and small gasps now stab at my concern.

  She lifts her right arm and tears off the black sleeve. It’s dark out, but the moon casts a wide glowing net. And in that net I extend my neck and finally glimpse Jaya’s arm. I can’t understand what I’m seeing at first, maybe the blood covers the designs, but no, that’s wrong. There is no Touch at all. Her arm is bare.

  Hesitantly, I move closer. “Jaya?”

  She doesn’t glance up from her arm. “Yeah?”

  I step even closer, right in front of her. Strands of red magic penetrate the wound and begin stitching the skin together. She presses at the raw streak and wipes away the blood. Now I am dead sure. No Touch.

  She finally looks up and staggers back a little at my closeness. “Blood, don’t do that.”

  “Your arm…”

  She tilts her head and smirks. “And you said you had experience with this sort of thing.” When she sees how blank my face must be, she sighs and gestures back at the ship. “A Vencrin sliced around my shield. I’m going to fix it.”

  “N-n-no, I-I mean…,” I stutter, then trail off. This can’t be.

  Then she stills. Her eye’s hook mine and slowly she pulls her arm away and behind her so it’s no longer in view. The action nags at a memory, one where a young girl slid her arm behind her back as I told her she wasn’t a witch.

  “Oh, that, it’s nothing,” she says.

  “Let me see your arm.”

  She tries to laugh. “Kalyan, I fixed you. I can heal a little scratch.”

  “Please,” I say as tenderly as possible. The truth is I need to clarify what I saw more than anything in the entire bloody world, because every Touched member of society I have ever met has had at least a swirl or two on both wrists. There is only one person who has a one-armed Touch, is about my age, is a red magic forte witch, and knows my father. Adraa Belwar.

  Jaya, or Adraa, or whoever she is, sweeps both her arms forward and with
a quick spell her left sleeve also rips off. Her Touch is dense; swirls, sweeping lines and flourishes whirl up her forearm, and higher, I’m sure. It’s an arm of power, but I’ve yet to see her this vulnerable. Caution lingers in her eyes as she takes me in. “I’m a one-armed Touch, and whatever you think, it’s not contagious or a weakness.”

  She folds her arms into herself. Time teeters on what will be said next, but I’m reeling. All the pieces have fallen into place, but the puzzle in my mind is exploding. I think my brain has rebelled, because all I can hear is my voice yelling Stupid! over and over again. My hands fly to my head to try to shut it up, but they can’t. Oh my Gods. Oh my bloody Gods!

  First she’s Jaya, a beautiful commoner, then she’s Jaya Smoke, a cage-caster spy, and now! Now she’s Jaya Smoke and Adraa all wrapped up in one. I was, am, going to marry this girl. This is my fiancée. Shock peels away and my heart thumps in triumph. My heart is going to race out of my chest. I can care about her. I can like her—blood, I’m even allowed to love her. I don’t need to squash the feelings or the thoughts that have bubbled to the surface ever since she saved that little boy in the street. What have I done in my life to make me this Gods-blessed lucky?

  I gaze at her in wonder. Who would have thought the little eight-year-old girl who hit me in the face would become a cage caster? Actually, that part kind of makes sense. She hasn’t changed much in that way. But she has grown and, ah, developed.

  Then I realize what I’ve done. I’ve freaked out, not for the reasons she thinks, but I haven’t said anything. Blood! Say something, Jatin! What my face must look like. It’s probably awful, because her face goes blank and her eyes harden. It’s as if I can touch the wall she’s crafting between us.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need—” She pauses. “It’s a birthmark, not a disability.”

  “I know.” Okay, words, words are happening. Good. But was that the right thing to say? I move closer and reach for her right arm. She jerks a little as I lightly raise it into view. My heart may give out just being able to touch her. I stare at her wound. It’s not as deep as it appeared. It will scar for sure because she didn’t work on it immediately, but the pink magic has already done a great job sewing the flesh together. And finally my brain kicks back into gear and I know how to spin shock and elation into reassurance. “Okay, good. It looked bad when I first saw it.”

  “Oh, ah, yeah.” Her expression is a mix of relief and confusion. “Told you I could fix it.”

  I release her. “I know about one-armed Touches. Legends say they’re created when the gods fight over the blessings of a witch or wizard. The fights can get so bad that contests are held, and the victor is the only one allowed to touch that child.”

  Her eyes hold wonder and confusion with my religious knowledge. How many little jerks had made fun of her over the years for her to be this cautious? Oh Gods, including me when I was a heedless nine-year-old. She must hate me, the real me. I clamp my mouth closed. For now I won’t tell her I’m Jatin. I can’t. Not in this moment where I’ve royally messed up.

  “Yeah, Erif must have fought for me and won.” She stares up at the sky. “That is, if you believe the legends.” She lowers her head and looks at me. “How do you know any of that?”

  “Reading.” I shrug. I know about the legends, but that’s the last thing I’m worried about. My father has been telling me for years how Erif blessed Adraa with a one-armed Touch. At the time I didn’t care. It was an interesting factoid that made sense later, when I learned she had invented firelight. Now, it’s the key to everything. She’s been lying to me from the beginning, leading me to believe she works for my future wife. Now…she is my future wife.

  “And that’s why you serve Adraa.” I give her a pointed look. Will she continue to deny who she is?

  She refocuses her attention on me. “Yes. Adraa taught me everything I know. I would be lost without the Belwars.” I wait a beat for her to say more. She doesn’t. So she’s going to keep the charade up, then.

  Having verified she is going to keep lying to me, her fiancé, who is lying to her, I don’t know what to say. Being Kalyan is always easier than being Jatin. And it still might be on this occasion. But I’m at a loss. With my conscience giving me permission to like her I’m twisted and tongue-tied. I start to sweat.

  “I’m breaking open the crates,” she says, not knowing how life-altering this moment is for me. At least now I understand why she’s so committed to discovering what’s happening with the firelight. If hundreds of my spells were being shipped who knows where, I’d want to find out too.

  The crates are wicker, a combination of stalks woven together. Unlike wood, the wicker flexes against acts of violence. The best way to open the crates is through a simple green magic spell that frays one spine and then splits the thing open. Adraa must not know the technique. The sound of a thousand twigs breaking reaches my ears. I step closer to find the nearest crate gutted, with orbs of firelight leaking out.

  She picks one up and turns it over. “Two days ago.”

  I snatch an orb rolling by my feet. On its underside is a date that confirms it.

  “It didn’t stop at Basu,” she whispers.

  “What?” Who’s Basu?

  Adraa turns to me. “This operation. It’s much bigger than I thought.”

  * * *

  After we open all the crates of firelight orbs, we eventually discover the drugs. In cloth patches tied with string sits a fine red powder. Bloodlurst! it screams at me. Couldn’t be anything else.

  “Careful not to touch it,” Adraa says. “It’s absorbed through the skin.”

  I warily set the bundle back down.

  “Another fire?” she suggests.

  “We can’t exactly dump it in the bay,” I counter. “You light them up, I’ll disperse the smoke. We don’t want any more potential signals—”

  Before I can finish my sentence the crates blaze. I cast a funnel of wind to divert the smoke, stifling a chuckle as I do. She doesn’t waste time.

  A few minutes later, only a spot of ash marks the drugs’ presence.

  “Good thinking,” Adraa relents.

  Our gazes glide to all the firelight. She sighs. “I don’t want to destroy it.”

  This is her magic, her invention. I don’t want to destroy it either. “Then don’t. Let’s hide it below the pier. We’ll put some black magic around it and bring it to Belwar Palace later.”

  “Okay.” She pauses. “Don’t rub it in, but you were right. I needed backup tonight.” And with that, the aches in my muscles and the bruises covering my torso stop throbbing. My whole body smiles.

  “I said don’t rub it in,” Adraa says as she heaves one crate up and chants it into levitation under a bed of yellow magic.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I defend.

  “Your face says enough.”

  I guess I do need to control my grinning.

  The job is done before I remember beginning, feeling perfectly right working beside her, even though the night enters its menacing hour in which the sky slips into a dark sheath of oily glue.

  “We should get out of here,” I say after I finish casting the last black concealment spell over four crates of firelight.

  “Ah, about that. I have a problem.” Adraa gestures to her belt. “I kind of destroyed, no, I did destroy Hubris.”

  “Hubris?”

  She shakes her head a little like she’s embarrassed. “My skyglider.”

  “You named your skyglider—”

  “It was one of my teacher’s ideas. I kind of was a reckless flier when I first—” She shakes her head again, harder. “Never mind. The point is, my skyglider is gone. I have no way of flying.”

  “So…” I don’t think I would ever describe myself as giddy—until now. “You’re asking for a ride?”

  “Yes.�
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  Which means she has to be close to me, and I to her. I smile and unbuckle my own skyglider from my belt. Might as well use this to my advantage. “I don’t know. My skyglider normally doesn’t like strangers.” The words roll off my tongue. It feels so natural to tease her.

  “Skygliders like me,” she huffs under her breath.

  I pull back our only means of transportation and hold up a finger. “One condition.”

  Her eyes become defiant. “I don’t believe for a second you would leave me here. I was a stranger ten days ago and you hauled me into a royal carriage.”

  She’s got me there and she knows it. I would never leave her.

  She stares at my skyglider, then back at me. “Which is actually kind of risky for a guard who protects the future maharaja. I could have been a trap to hurt Raja Jatin.”

  You were a trap. My father couldn’t have planned it better. He always wanted us to meet again, in unofficial circumstances. But I don’t think he could imagine what we have already been through in the past few days, how much I already care about her. “Are you always going to insinuate assassinating the Naupures?”

  “What’s your condition?” she relents, ignoring my question.

  “Fine, it’s not a condition. I’m starving. You hungry?”

  “We beat up ten guys together, almost got killed, and your condition is food?” she asks like I’m absurd.

  I feel absurd, confidence and uncertainty mixed together. “So yes, you’re hungry?”

  Adraa touches her stomach as if she forgot that part of her was still working. “Yeah, of course I am.”

  Victory. “Well, I’m stopping to eat somewhere before heading home.”

  She throws up her arms. “It’s one past midnight.”

  “Ah, well…” I look around the pier, hoping an answer will come. This is stupid. I should have just asked her out properly, when ten unconscious bodies weren’t surrounding us in the dead of night. “Do you know a place?”