by T. C. Edge
He looks up at me once done. "Good enough?" he asks.
I nod, impressed, which probably riles up his ego just a little bit more. "Good enough," I say. "But...I heard your landing. It was too abrupt." I offer a grin. "Go again."
He stares at me, seemingly affronted, before shaking his head and moving to the ladder we brought with us. It's one of the ladders we used in the gorges when the Olympians attacked the fort, capable of extending to different lengths, depending on the depth of the canyon. Climbing it, he reaches the top quickly enough, and returns to my side.
"Nice and quiet now, Elian," I say. "Imagine you're infiltrating an enemy base, and you don't want anyone hearing you. You have to land as quietly as you can, and don't flare your flame so much. Centre it around your lower legs, and do it as late as possible." His expression suggests it's more than he'd anticipated. "See," I finish, "not so easy as you thought."
He draws a breath, stiffening up, and goes again. Once more, his fires are a little too bright for my liking, his landing too heavy. He returns to my side again, hopeful. I deliver the bad news with a tilt of the head.
"One more time," I say. "Just...a little quieter."
He performs a slow blink of frustration. "How many times have you actually done this?" he asks. He nods to the canyon. "I mean, exactly this. You're acting like you're an expert who's been flying for years, Amber. I mean...I'm not doubting you. I'm just saying...is this really necessary?"
I suppose they're fair questions. I am very new to this, after all.
"It seems necessary," I tell him. "I'm working on instinct here, Eli, but..."
"Eli?" he says, his voice flat. "We're back there again, are we?"
"Back where?"
"Back where you used to call me Eli."
"Where I called you Eli once or twice," I correct him, frowning. "That's hardly somewhere to go 'back' to."
"Whatever. It's just not a nickname I'm used to. You're the only one who's ever called me that."
"Wow," I say. "Just wow. You are such an unimaginative lot."
"OK, whatever," he says. "And I suppose calling you Goldie is just full of imagination."
I frown at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Jude. He told me he calls you Goldie sometimes. Or Goldilocks. I'm just saying, it's not the most original nickname for a girl with hair like yours."
My energy fails just a little, my expression souring. "So...you're having a go at Jude now, are you?"
He shakes his head briskly. "No...no, not at all," he says, no real sarcasm in his voice. "I was just having fun, trying to be funny. Guess I failed there."
"So you're not having a dig at Jude?"
"No. He just told me, a few days back, when we were clearing up outside the fort. You know, hauling bodies." He shudders a little at the memory. "We got on OK, Amber. Seriously, I'm not so petty that I'm going to try to undermine him in front of you. You should give me more credit. I'm not that guy anymore."
I take a moment to let things settle in my head, and find that I agree with him. He seems honest and genuine, two characteristics he's possessed since I've dug through the external arrogance and ego, and found the real Elian hiding inside. It's actually quite sweet, I suppose, that he'd defend himself so vehemently. He seems to hate the thought that I'd think of him as I once did, as the conceited high born Olympian he liked to portray.
"OK," I say eventually. "I know you're not that guy. But yeah, don't start calling me Goldie. It would be ...hypocritical for you to call me that." I grin at him. "I mean, you're even prettier than I am."
"Nice. Very nice," he says, suppressing the smile that wants to escape. He turns back to the canyon. "Anyway, you were saying? Something about working on instinct."
"Right." I step to the edge, and turn my eyes down. I draw a breath, and nod to myself. "OK, watch this."
I hop, as he did, over the shallow cliff, the ground rushing quickly up to my feet. No, it's not something I've done often, but it does feel like something intuitive now. Like...riding a bike. Once you get it, it's there forever.
I land quietly, pulsing with a controlled flame only at the last second. I allow myself only a metre of so to slow, my feet touching the rocky floor with little more than a light tap, one that I can hardly hear, and Elian, I doubt, can hear at all from above. I don't draw up a smug smile when I lift my eyes to his. I don't really need to. His expression says enough. It tells me that he isn't going to question me anymore.
He takes his turn next, as I stay down in the canyon, watching from a different vantage. With a bit more focus and understanding of what I'm looking for, he lands with a light tap, as I did, taking only a little more time to slow. He turns to look at me, awaiting my verdict.
"Brilliant, Elian," I say. "Perfect. Shall we move on to somewhere higher?"
He shakes his head. "I can do better."
He returns to the top, and goes again. After another couple of tries, he's really got it down.
I smile at the effort, and his perfectionist nature. I may not be much of a teacher, but he's starting to make a good student.
We move off at that, Elian with his game-face on now, drawing up the ladder and heading for another canyon. The sun grows warm, as the morning shifts into early afternoon, the rugged plains shimmering with a faint haze of heat. It's odd seeing them like this, the fog relocated to the city, giving us a never-ending view in almost all directions. Now, those statues that dot the plains, only occasionally glimpsed amid the mists, are visible all over. There are literally hundreds of them of various sizes, some close, some far, a multitude of others filling the space in between.
When we reach the second canyon, at least twice as deep as the first, we perform the same test as before. Fully focussed now, Elian quickly gets to grips with it, falling the thirty metre drop and landing with great skill and timing on the shadowed floor below. I take the opportunity to practice as well, enjoying the sensation of falling through the air. We go again and again, until it's absolutely instinctive, and even make a game of it; dropping at the same time, we see who can land first, and with the more impressive dismount.
I win on the speed of the landing. Elian wins on flair.
"Call it a draw?" I say.
"Sure," he grins, eager to move on. "So, what's next?"
We move onto the next stage of my arbitrary training schedule, which involves the ability to stop in mid air. "If you can slow yourself to land, then all you have to do is push a little harder," I say. "Once you can hover, without losing control, then we'll be onto something."
He looks over the side. "Should we find a more shallow canyon, or..."
"No need," I say. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."
I perform a demonstration, dropping to the ground and halting my descent half way down. Hovering fifteen metres from the bottom of the canyon, I centre my fire around my lower legs, and through my palms to help guide and direct me, making adjustments should I begin to tilt to one side or the other. Even just floating there, the feeling is truly exhilarating. There really is nothing else quite like it.
"Come on then," I call up to Elian, standing on the edge of the cliff, about fifteen metres above me. "What are you waiting for?"
His face is a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I don't think it's a fear of injury that worries him, but one of failure, especially in front of me.
"Er, nothing," he says. "Just...give me a minute."
I move my palms a little, turning to the left, then the right, flowing quite smoothly upon the air. "Come on, Eli," I say, teasingly, "I'm waiting..."
He turns away from me at the top of the canyon, composing himself for a moment. I can almost hear him giving himself a short pep talk, rattling off a few cliches. He nods while performing the affirmative self-talk, before turning suddenly and lifting a smile, as if to say, 'I'm fine, just fine...look how much fun I'm having'.
And as I watch on, hovering there with my legs aflame, and palms burning, all I can think of is how damn cute he is
, how incredibly endearing it is to watch him try to pump himself up, before taking the plunge.
I feel nervous, in fact, when he does so, desperately willing him on. When he steps to the edge, my heart thrashes for a few beats, my breathing intensifying as he prepares to take the leap.
"Come on, Elian!" I call up to him. "You can do it!"
He nods a final time to himself, takes a gulp of air, and drops forward into the open space. He falls, quickly, arriving at my position in a second only, his lower half suddenly exploding into flame to stop himself from falling too low. He overcooks it, pressing too hard. As he reaches my position, he doesn't slow gently, but abruptly, and too hard, lurching suddenly upwards several metres into the air.
I see his hands rush out, fires swirling around them and pouring from his palms. He seems to realise he's overdone it, reducing the flame pulsing from his legs and feet, but only ends up overcompensating with the spouts of fire issuing from his hands. They flood violently, and he loses control. His right arm jerks suddenly to one side, pushing him that way. His left lifts to try to stop the motion, but it's all too fast, all to frenetic.
Suddenly, he's spiralling out of control, hurtling toward the canyon wall. I take immediate action, and turn in his direction, swooping toward him, stopping him before he crashes into the stone.
"Elian, control it," I call, managing to grab his body and halt him in place. "Just relax, and control it."
I cling to him, righting his position so his legs and head are where they should be, feet pointing down, head upright. I look into his face, expecting to see embarrassment in his eyes, some shame at requiring my assistance. But all I see is joy.
"This is...brilliant," he says, his golden eyes shining. They dip to the ground, still a good fifteen metres below us, as he manages to correct the fires on his legs and palms. "It's OK, Amber," he says. "It's OK. I...I think I've got it now."
I gently remove my hands, like a parent letting his kid cycle free for the first time. Elian manages to hold himself there, a bit more jumpy and juddery than me, but not by much. His lips split wide, white teeth gleaming. For a few moments, he just hovers, before gently turning his palms one way, moving sideways to the left of me, and then coming back to the right. He seems to have control of it now, the previous hiccup speedily, and impressively, overcome.
"You good?" I ask him, still hovering nearby. "You wanna stop for a moment?"
He shakes his head. "Hell no." His eyes dip. "Just...let me try something."
Before I can question what that thing is, he's letting his fires go completely out, and dropping quickly to the ground. I watch, more intrigued than worried, as he hurtles to the rock floor, before bursting into flame again, only a couple of metres from the rocky floor. This time, he stays there, controlling the descent perfectly and coming to a hovering stop.
And, with a final flourish, he presses upward again, using his palms to steady himself as his lower half bursts like a rocket. He rushes back up toward me, then right past, and up to the top of the canyon, where he diverts his course back onto solid earth, lets the flames recede, and comes to a decent stop on the plains above.
I push upwards too, flying to the top and setting my feet down on the barren rock. I find him sat on his backside, arms planted behind him, knees up and shaking his head in sheer and utter delight. He is panting a bit - this sort of activity does take it out of you - but I'm amazed by how quickly he's taken to it. From what I've found out, flying is extremely rare for any Elemental, and pretty much unheard of among Fire-Bloods. The fact that Elian has taken his first steps so quickly is amazing.
But, surprising? Why should it be. We've always been similarly powered, haven't we? I can go to higher levels, perhaps, but he's always had better control. It makes sense that he'd be able to learn a new skill quickly when he puts his mind to it.
"So?" I ask, stepping toward him. "How was it?"
He laughs to himself, shaking his head. I can almost see tears in his eyes, he's so exhilarated. "I..." he looks to the skies, to the warm sun above. "No words," he says, laughing. "I have no words."
I move to his side and take a seat on the rock. The city, a distant cloud of smog, lights orange and red in places, the artillery shells battering the hidden walls. "It gets harder, you know," I tell him. For some reason, looking at the city brings it all home. This isn't a game. Being able to float a bit, fly a few metres...that's not going to get you far when it counts. "When you're up there," I say, "you lose energy pretty fast. It's not just the flying, it's everything that comes with it."
He looks at me, his eyes earnest, laughter fading as he listens. He isn't upset that I'm dousing his flame, or trying to ruin his moment. He looks at me like a student would a teacher, one whom he respects. One whom he's eager to learn from.
His silence lets me continue, offering further explanation. My mind ticks back to the battle at the fort. It had been an instinctive reaction, taking flight like that. Yet, only several occasions I got lucky. On several occasions, I might have died.
"Flying is one thing, Elian," I go on, my voice distant. "But when you're being shot at?" I look at him. "When you're trying to take out those trying to take you out?" I shake my head and look to the city again. "You have to worry about keeping your shield strong enough to repel enemy fire. You've got to have enough fire to shoot down at them as well. You've got to make sure that you can actually land when it counts, and you don't just run out of fuel when you're a hundred metres in the air."
I think again of how lucky I was that night, how close I came to dying.
"When I was up there," I explain, "there was a point where I had to choose. My shield, or my flight. If I lost the shield, I'd have nothing to defend myself with. But...if I couldn't fly, how would I land? In the end, I didn’t really have a choice. You can't fly when you're dead, right? The shield always comes first."
"And what happened?" he asks me quietly.
"I let myself drop," I say. "Landed heavy, not like today. Slowed a bit, but used the rest of my energy to protect me against the fall. And still, even then, it wouldn't have been enough if I didn't get lucky."
"Lucky? I guess I still don't know exactly what went on that night." He raises his eyes, urging me to continue.
"The energy shell," I say. "The ones the Olympian artillery cannons were shooting at the fort. I had a tiny bit of power left, shot myself up and intercepted it." A wry smile pulls on my lips. "I took a chance, I guess. That energy feeds us, and gave me the fuel I needed to continue the fight. But I might have died, Elian. That's my point."
"But you didn't," he says directly. "You took a risk, but a calculated risk, and it paid off. That was bravery, Amber."
"But if that energy shell hadn't been flying my way, just at that moment?" I shrug. "Kovas and his men were bearing down on me, Eli. I'd be dead. I got lucky in lots of ways, not just then. I guess...I guess what I'm saying is, we need to be careful. Not just you. Me as well. You can see how thrilling it is, but that feeling doesn't last forever. If you're not smart, you will push too hard and your fires will go out. And then, what will you have to defend yourself with? Nothing."
"Then we will be smart," he says. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Amber. What happened at the fort was...a miracle. You did that on instinct, and saved hundreds of lives. That situation won't arise again. Any attack will come on our terms now."
"And that's what you want? To attack?" I look him dead in the eye. "Will you, when the time comes?"
"It... depends," he says, turning his eyes in the direction of Olympus. "I guess...I guess I'll fight if I have to. If there's no other option, I will." He glances at me, suddenly coy. "I'll do it for you. We can...fight together." His smile is weak, almost abashed. "Like we did before. That bond we have, Amber. It's..." He stops, thinking for a moment. "It's special," he finishes. "Don't you want to feel that again?"
I sense he may be turning the conversation elsewhere. Is this still about fighting together, or something else?
"I...I don't know," I tell him, now turning my eyes away. "I don't know what I want, Elian."
He nods and goes quiet. A short silence fills the air between us, interrupted only by the distant sounds of the siege.
"We should continue," he says, after a short time. "I want to learn to control it, Amber. Like you say, it's not just about flying. It's about flying with a shield. It's about flying and being able to fire at the same time, and control the direction of that fire too." He stands to his feet. "I doubt I'll be able to do what you did any time soon, but I want to get the basics at least."
I stand up as well, the afternoon still young. "Then let's go again," I say, feeling more enthused. "Let's empty the tanks and see how it goes. And maybe, when we're ready, we can try to connect our fires again, create that bond. Who knows, maybe it'll help power us up, just as it did before. Sound good?"
He smiles at me, and nods. "Sounds good," he repeats.
182
BRIE
"Keep moving, now," calls out the sentry guard. "Move down the path, and toward the officials. They'll register you and set you up with somewhere to stay. Those with supplies, move to your left. Those without, head right."
I step to the right, Marcus by my side, both of us now garbed in common, Fringer attire. The four soldiers accompanying us are similarly dressed, old jackets and pants worn over their sleek, black armour.
To the left, a couple of wagons roll, moving towards consignment officers. All coming supplies here, it would seem, are being added to the communal pot. Only smaller personal items are kept to oneself, with larger provisions of food and other supplies taken to the main stocks for rationing and storage.
Most of the people around us, however, move to the right. There are a few dozen, trickling in from the western reaches, some carrying backpacks with meagre possessions, others bringing nothing more than the clothes on their back. It's a sad state of affairs, really, to see these people so poor. I glance around them, and blink into their heads.
