Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  I’ll try to help you, Erif had said.

  “Help! Erif, help me! I don’t know how to stop it.”

  Nothing happens. Lava surges toward us in the distance. All around me the earth cracks open and steam shoots in the air. Sulfur overrides my nostrils and burns them. Our parents…It must be becoming too much for them.

  “Zaktirenni!” I yell to carry Jatin’s weight. Gripping him under his arms, I pull him down the slushy slope he created to get us up here. With a few raw green magic spells, I dig a moat that connects to the trenches Jatin and I crafted. It might buy us a few minutes. But I don’t know what good it can do, really. I’m alone, with no plan. Panic blossoms angry excuses in my head. Of course I couldn’t do this. I failed my ceremony. I am no rani. What did Erif expect? She should have known I wasn’t good enough.

  I touch Hubris the Third on my belt, then jerk my hand away at the thought. I bite my lip and let my screams take hold. Mount Gandhak isn’t the only one that can explode. When I open my eyes, with one look at Jatin and the echoing shrieks of the earth burning my ears, it’s clear. I won’t leave him. And I won’t leave my country to be destroyed.

  I wish I could reverse this, undo every decision that led to this point. But I don’t know if that would have been any better. Without Erif’s warning I might have attacked this volcano like it was an average eruption. My head spins. That’s what Jatin and I were doing, weren’t we? Yet the bloodstained sky, the exact same color of my Touch, demands attention, howls my failures.

  I may have blessed you, but you are the one who created firelight.

  Yes, I created it. Me! It responds to me. And that’s what it has been doing. I’ve fanned my firelight with more of my magic and it fueled Mount Gandhak, it responded.

  But how do you stop a fire? You deprive it of its energy. My energy.

  That’s it! I need to take it back. That’s the only way to get rid of it. And I have done that once before. It’s insane to attempt something like that again and on this scale, but it’s the only way I see out of this.

  I take a few deep breaths. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it right. First, I cast a bubble shield around Jatin. Thinking better of it, I bend down and latch one of Mr. Mittal’s masks for high elevation and cast a circulation spell. In case…in case I don’t make it, Jatin will still have the chance of breathing through the ash.

  Then I stand, desperately trying to clear my head. What had I said in Basu’s shop? I search for the words. It had all come on impulse, in anger. Panic.

  “Dadti Erif,” I try, motioning my arms toward the top of Mount Gandhak and then gesturing toward myself. The spell feels wrong on my lips, but it’s close.

  “Pratidadti Erif. Yatana Agnierif.”

  And on it goes, with nothing happening, me experimenting with each syllable and hoping the right ones will come. Beneath me the hard ice has turned to brown slush, the snow mixing with the dirt. The heat of the earth soaks my body. Sweat drips off me as if I’m melting.

  Meters away, lava rolls down the mountain and through our trenches. As it meets Jatin’s ice it sizzles and steams and then the ground is gone, eaten up by my fire. Jatin and I will be surrounded soon, floating on a slushy iceberg amid a sea of flame.

  I dig my feet into the muddy snow and move with my casting, the dance of the royal ceremony flowing through me. This is my magic, my magic! And it’s going to listen to me now, not anyone else. I won’t let it be used like this.

  “Yatana Agni Tviserif!”

  That’s it. That’s what I was missing, the direction. I don’t just need to remove the firelight. I need it to return to me. I reach out my arms and snap them to my body continuously, pushing and pulling in each new direction I can.

  “Yatana Agni Tviserif!” I roar, jerking with the intensity.

  Then it happens. A small blur of red light shines in the distance, and hope blooms inside of me. I chant, calling and gesturing.

  The light spins closer, closer and closer, until wham! It connects. The red light hits my wrist, sending me reeling sideways. I trip backward and choke on the words of the spell. The spot on my wrist, right on the first mark of my Touch, glows red and then swims up my arm until it fades. I clench my fist. Blood, that hurt, but it worked….It worked!

  I look over at Jatin. “Just hold on a little longer; I have a plan.”

  “YATANA AGNI TVISERIF!”

  Three streams of firelight blaze toward me. I welcome them with a smile until they join my arm. They sting and force me to retreat, but I don’t pause in casting. I don’t think about the implications of what I’m about to do. I must do this.

  As I continue to cast the spell, I expel my magic and my energy, but as each of my spells returns to me I gain back the magic I once used. I’m like a weighted scale, seesawing between weakness and strength.

  Before long, hundreds of red streams of fire zip toward me and ram into my body, punching, kicking, each one knocking me down and building me up at the same time. Impossibly, they get even more violent. And I fall.

  With each passing spell cast, my firelights feel less like light and smoke and more like physical arrows piercing my body. One hits me in the shin and my knee buckles. I stumble to right myself. Two jab me in the shoulder and I spin. I have to stand up again. Three punch me in the gut and I crumble. I have to keep going.

  Soon I’m not only righting myself but I’m also clawing to get back up, to reaffirm my position and cast again. “Yatana Agni Tviserif.”

  One giant mass of firelight slams into me and I’m hurtled through the air. I’m a doll to this power now. I can’t even control the landing. My right leg slips off the slush and twists at the wrong angle. Needles, thousands of needles, stab my knee. I grip the slush as I scream into the ground. Each of my muscles shakes uncontrollably in turmoil. I…I can’t get up.

  For some reason, Naupure’s words from long ago surge through me. Strength is more than standing. He obviously didn’t mean it in this way and yet—I don’t need to stand to save the world. I just need to cast.

  “Yatana Erif Agni Erif Tvis Erif!” I cry, embedding Erif into each word.

  Like I thought, even without the movements or me standing, the firelight keeps coming as I cast into the dirt. There must be thousands.

  Pop! The shield around Jatin shatters. I’ve come to the breaking point. With my body beyond even sitting up, my magic can only center on this one spell, with no room for anything else. I face Jatin but can’t see anything behind the veil of red consuming my vision. It’s like I’m with Erif, surrounded by the color of blood and destruction.

  “Jatin!” I scream.

  The firelight doesn’t stop, though, and that’s how I know I’m still alive and on Mount Gandhak. They pound me, throwing my body to and fro like a ship lost at sea. Each time my leg is jostled, intense pain wells and splinters through me.

  The lights accumulate into one big ball of fire. I’m not lost at sea. I’m sinking. Red blazes over my arm, diving into each vein, each vein that pops out as if it’s the tracks of lava running down this volcano. A putrid variation of reds swells and lashes out. My skin puffs in fluorescent hues. I…my arm can’t take any more. My own blood is too full of magic.

  Snap. My left arm breaks in what feels like a dozen places. From skin to muscle to bone, I’m being torn apart. My screams swallow all other noise, all other twig-sounding snaps.

  Adraa. You must keep going! Erif’s voice yells inside my head.

  The heat rises and it’s not just my arm anymore. My shoulder blazes. I tear at my neck, which feels like someone is cutting into me, branding me. When the pain hits my face I’m nothing but screams. It’s too much. Make it stop. I can’t breathe.

  Adraa! I’m doing what I can, but you have to keep casting. You have to keep casting.

  I raise my arm. I try to say the spell. It falls from my lips in a
whimpering stutter. No.

  If you ever have had a destiny, it is this. So be a witch and cast.

  “Help him! Help Jatin. If you are a Goddess help us.”

  Sometimes one must die so others can live. It’s you and him or millions of lives. Fight this.

  “Erif Yatana Agni—” My voice cracks.

  Adraa.

  I chant. I chant through the razor blades ripping at my throat. I motion in the dirt what needs to happen. I have to keep absorbing my magic even if my soul flees back to the red room with Erif. For what feels like hours, red coats me in pain as I chant. Dying the first time was so much easier. But I guess it’s always easier to die when you don’t expect it. Knowing is much more terrifying.

  But I can’t think that. If I stop the volcano someone will come for Jatin; someone else will save him. If I stop the volcano my country won’t burn alive. And so I chant.

  I don’t black out from the burnout overwhelming my consciousness. Years ago I learned to push myself beyond burnout and keep going, to stay awake. Now I wish for the unconsciousness, for the end. The pain both steals time and elongates it into torturous, immeasurable moments. In one last effort, I roll to where I last saw Jatin. I stretch my right arm until I’m touching his hand. He feels like ice, what I imagine death feels like. Maybe I am ice. Or maybe I am fire.

  Either way he can’t be gone, he can’t. I continue to chant.

  Adraa! You can stop. I think. I think…

  I mutter, moving my lips endlessly even though there cannot be any noise coming out of me now. Feet crunch in the slush beside me, and then stop. Thank Gods! We are saved. Then dark-green shoes eclipse my view of Jatin. Slowly, the figure squats down next to me.

  “I knew you were special.”

  No! Not him. Not him. I try to move, but it’s useless. I’m broken.

  “And somehow I just knew you would regret rejecting my offer.”

  Tears stream down my face until finally I greet the darkness and the numbness of black. It’s over or I am.

  Adraa?

  Adraa…

  I open my eyes. Then wish I hadn’t. It feels like a pike is trying to split my head in two. I blink and try to rise. My head pounds even harder. My arms ache as if my bones have dissolved.

  “He’s awake!” someone shouts. Doors open, close, slam. Cheers sound in the hallway. What is happening?

  Suddenly, the bed sags and my father comes into view, leaning toward me. “Jatin? Thank Gods. How do you feel?”

  I peer into my father’s face. “Ah, my head is killing me. What happened?”

  “Mukleah,” he casts, and blue smoke unleashes from his hands and dives into my forehead. “I was hoping to ask you the same thing. But don’t worry about that right now. How are you feeling? Everything okay besides the head? You broke four ribs, though they should be healed, and you have some bad bruises and, of course, a bad burnout. But other than that…”

  Burned out. That’s what happened. I burned out. My kurta is gone and a white bandage wraps around my torso. Sorting dreams from reality is one of the hardest things to do. Especially the kind of reality I last remember. Heat sucking at the air. Sweat beating down. Lava coming for us. Falling. And Adraa back from the dead and right next to me…

  “Adraa! Where is Adraa?” I scan the room, hoping she’ll barge through the door without knocking.

  “She’s alive. And she’s doing well, considering…”

  “Considering what?” I demand.

  “Considering what she did.”

  “She did it, didn’t she? Stopped the volcano. There’s no other way I would still be alive.”

  “I’m not exactly sure what happened. One moment the Belwars and I were losing to Mount Gandhak. Then out of nowhere the mountain stabilized and stopped fighting us. When it comes to Adraa, I was hoping you could clear some things up. But that can wait.”

  My heart thumps. “No, tell me! What’s wrong with Adraa?”

  “It’s just a rumor. The truth needs to be settled. She’s fine, physically, a few…burns, but nothing that can’t be healed by Maharani Belwar.”

  “What’s the rumor? What needs to be settled?

  My father pushes my shoulders down. “You need to rest. We can talk about this when you feel better.”

  “Dad, if it’s about Adraa I need you to tell me now.”

  He pauses, then slowly smiles. “You haven’t called me Dad in a long time.”

  I stall. “I guess I haven’t.”

  I remember collapsing into his arms after Adraa died. Never had I felt closer to him than at that moment. Staring at his face now, I notice the dark patches beneath his eyes. His hair is ruffled and unkempt. He looks awful.

  He wraps me in a hug. His kurta scratches my face and the angle is uncomfortable, but I hug him back. This is what I should have done on my homecoming and when he returned from Moolek. But no, I had been awkward and irritated. Frustrated about all those years that I had been sent away; jealous of his warmth and friendliness with Adraa; and then hurt he had chastised me for doing the one thing that felt right. But I’d done my part in pulling away, hadn’t I? After Mother died, we both retreated, me into studying, him into running the country alone.

  “I’m proud of you, Jatin,” he continues, without letting go. “There is a rumor going around that Maharaja Moolek says it was Adraa’s firelight that caused Mount Gandhak to erupt, but…”

  I pull back. “It was her firelight.”

  “What?”

  “It was her firelight. That’s what made Mount Gandhak blow or at least fuel the eruption.”

  His face drops. “So you are saying she—”

  “No, it’s not like that. It was her firelight, but she didn’t put it there. It must have been Moolek. He used her magic. But Adraa stopped it. You say Mount Gandhak got weaker. She saved me. She saved us all.”

  “Adraa didn’t save you.”

  “Yes. She did.” She was the only one on the volcano with me. If it wasn’t her, then who could have possibly—

  “Maharaja Moolek. He’s the one who saved you. He’s the one who saved us all.”

  Pain. A red room. Jatin. A volcano. More pain. A pair of dark-green shoes.

  “No!” I scream as I lurch awake.

  “Yatana Agni…,” I chant until my voice crashes into reality. It was a dream. I’m in my bed. Dull light blinds me. A thick grogginess wafts over my eyes.

  Then the pain engulfs me. My neck and the left side of my face burn. Moaning, I clutch my face and find several cloths taped to my jaw and running down my shoulder. It wasn’t a dream.

  A rough voice curses. “Blood!”

  I start. I’m in my room, but I’m not alone. Guards, two by the door and one by my window, overwhelm the space. They stiffen when I rise to a sitting position. One even reaches for his sword and curses again. Another runs out of the room. I blink, focusing on their uniforms, but the tree etched in green is easily identifiable.

  Bile laps at my throat. Moolek’s men.

  “What is going on?”

  Silence.

  “Where’s Jatin? Is he okay? Are my parents okay?”

  The guard whose hand still hesitates on his sword looks to his fellow guard. “They said she wouldn’t be awake for days.”

  “Quiet.”

  “Is Jatin all right?” I yell, louder.

  “Go. Tell him,” the guard orders the younger wizard, who retreats in relief, slamming the door behind him.

  “Raja Jatin,” the man chastises in a bitter tone.

  “What?”

  “It’s Raja Jatin to you.”

  Is he serious? “Yes, fine. Is Raja Jatin okay?”

  Nothing. He gives me nothing.

  Frustration and fear bubble over. Why is this guard here? I begin casting a diagnosis spell to
gather my bearings, but as the red of my magic swarms around me, a purple stream flies through the air. The wicker from my bedpost unravels and lashes out, gripping my right wrist in a binding cord. I yank against it and the wicker tightens. “What is this?”

  A lavender haze drifts off the wizard’s hand in warning. “Don’t try anything. I’m not afraid of you.”

  “What do you have to be afraid of?” I yell, jerking at the cuff. When he says nothing again, irritation and confusion sharpen into anger. “Answer me! Why?” I yell.

  Purple magic blazes. “Because two days ago you and your firelight killed one hundred twenty-nine people. Because, Miss Belwar, you are a danger to us all.”

  My people. One hundred twenty-nine of my people are dead. That’s the number I’m going to live with for the rest of my life. My firelight.

  But I stopped it. Didn’t I? If Mount Gandhak were still erupting I’d be dead. We’d all be dead. Without a second thought, I break the wicker cuff with a sweep of purple magic. Intense heat flares up my shoulder and into my cheek. It slows me down—but only slightly.

  My healed broken leg, now numb and wobbly, buckles under my weight, but I push myself to the window limping. I have to see.

  “Stop!” the guard yells as I reach the window. I chuck a cuff of my own behind me, pinning the guard to the wall. With one heave, and a spasm of retching pain, I throw the curtains open.

  And then I do stop, because the world before me is completely gray. Ash covers everything in grime. Beyond the palace gates, timber and roof shingles pebble the ground. Amid the gray, black marks scar dozens of homes. But there are still homes, still wizards going through the wreckage. Flashes of magic light up my city. They’re cleaning up, repairing. And in the distance, Mount Gandhak sits peacefully. No fire or clouds storm from its peak. “I did it. I—”

  “So. You are finally awake.”

  An icy chill pierces me because I know that voice. Slowly, I turn. And it’s him. Just him. The guards have disappeared. A warm breeze wafts into the room, whipping my hair and brushing his cloak from the floor. The green satin of his clothes gleams in the gray world he has created. Jeweled accents on every cuff and seam reflect the dull light into my eyes, but I don’t dare blink as I take in Maharaja Moolek.