The Lightning's Claim

by K. M. Fahy

  As she took the corner at full speed, her feet lost purchase and flew out from under her. She hit the floor and slid straight into the wall of the adjoining hallway like she’d stepped in a pool of oil.

  Shaking her head to clear her vision, Kitieri spotted two red officers marching toward her, one pulling his hand back to his side.

  Oh, an ice element. Perfect.

  The first officer caught her, stepping carefully on the ice before he stomped his foot down on her hair. The sheet of ice disappeared, and the other two came to stand over her.

  “I’ve been advised that this prisoner is violent,” the first officer told them. “She goes to the pillar tomorrow. Thank you for your help in apprehending her.”

  With her head pinned to the floor by the shiny black boot, Kitieri contemplated the force she could get behind a punch to the man’s shin, and how far she could get before…

  The ice element glowered down at her as if reading her thoughts, and shook his head in disgust.

  “Little more than animals,” he scoffed. “I look forward to the day that the lightning finally takes them all. They’re a blight on our city.”

  “Then who would mine your cintra and do all the work for you lazy sadists?” Kitieri spat. A booted kick to her back made her hiss and Ice knelt beside her, leaning in close.

  “Stupid little bitch,” he sneered. “What do you think slaves are for? The fact that they pay those heathen miners anything is a joke. When the Church of Enahris falls to us—and they will—this city will finally become what it was meant to be.”

  Kitieri stared at the man, struck dumb.

  “We aren’t supposed to talk about that,” Ice’s companion growled.

  Ice stood with a dark chuckle.

  “This one’s dead, anyways. Another menace off the streets. You want help getting it back to its cell?”

  Kitieri’s captor knelt beside her, snapping a thin cable to the oran collar around her neck.

  “Nah, I’ve got it.”

  He hauled Kitieri to her feet as the other two went on their way, and gave the cable a hard jerk. Kitieri stumbled forward, and the officer laughed.

  “After you, my lady,” he mocked, gesturing for her to walk first. That nixed strangling him from behind, she thought bitterly, dragging her feet down the hall.

  The officer shoved Kitieri back into her cell with a strike of his bat and she fell forward, knocking the tray and its contents against the far wall. The door slammed closed with such force that it vibrated the stone floor.

  Kitieri brushed the splattered grits off her face and jacket, and caught a glimpse of the cable still swinging from her collar. She grabbed it, holding up its looped end.

  Like a dog, she thought. ‘Little more than animals.’

  She dropped the cable with a snort, letting it trail behind her as she moved back to the window. Noia was still there, head hung low, and Kitieri dropped her forehead to the cold window ledge as her hands balled into fists. Ice’s words rattled in her mind, joining the unrelenting sense of despair already lodged there.

  Noia would die. Taff and Jera would die. She herself would die, and there would be nothing she could do against the horrors of this place.

  A cool draft from the window touched her skin, and Kitieri’s eyes flew open as the electric scent burned in her nose.

  “No,” she whispered, looking out at Noia again. “No, no, no.”

  She touched the window, trying to gauge the charge with her fingertips. Though the glass dulled its sting, the sensation was unmistakable. Kitieri’s heart raced, and her hands went clammy.

  I’m not ready.

  I don’t have a choice.

  Kitieri looked down at her trembling palms and closed her eyes. It had been so long since she’d opened the gates. Would it be there?

  A deafening moment of silence passed before the burn in her fingertips answered her question. Kitieri threw her head back as the power coursed through her for the first time in years, seething inside her with a wild, untamable fire.

  “That’s right!” She laughed. “It takes more oran than that to stop a Strike!”

  Sparks danced between her fingers like little white fairies, connecting to one another in miniature, crackling bolts. Two of the bolts collided, exploding into a full lightning strike between the ceiling and floor, and Kitieri reeled backwards in the face of the raw, unbridled energy. As her backside hit the stone, the dancing sparks disappeared.

  She growled, regaining her feet.

  Dangerous. Unstable. Uncontrollable.

  Kitieri knew the reasons lightning elements had been banned from practicing. Even the strongest couldn’t keep their element in check during a Strike. An inexperienced electric element might struggle in the charged atmosphere, but it was the lightnings that accidentally killed their friends and family when the Strike pulled their abilities out of control.

  Electricity shocked. Lightning killed.

  Kitieri limped back to the window, the sparks lively on her fingers as the Strike’s energy called to her own. She’d opened the floodgates now, and it would not be suppressed so easily a second time. It yearned to be free, to lash out from her body… to kill.

  “Not today,” she whispered. “Today, we save.”

  She felt the first warning pulse through the glass. Noia lurched as the shock hit her, and Kitieri heard her anguished cry ring out across the Square.

  “Hang on, Noia,” she mumbled. A bolt flashed between her palms, arching through the air in a beautiful flash of white. She’d never tried to intercept a Strike before, but she had to try.

  The second warning came, and Noia sobbed openly at the pillar. Kitieri glanced up at the morning sky, clear and blue; there were never any visual warnings. It was as if the lightning materialized out of nowhere, powerful enough to destroy anything it touched.

  The third warning shocked Kitieri through the window, and her element snapped back at the glass with a sizzling pop. The power within her writhed and twisted, begging to be set free.

  “Almost,” Kitieri said, jaw clenched. She timed the pause after the third warning, always the shortest interval, ready and waiting for that first hint of blinding blue malice.

  The surge of electricity pulled on Kitieri’s element, and her white lightning struck upwards from the ground on the other side of the glass to collide with the blue bolt in a brilliant fountain of sparks. They locked onto each other, forming a column of sheer, blinding energy, each fighting to overpower the other. Kitieri ground her teeth, shaking under the effort of holding the Strike, and blinked sweat out of her eyes. The blue lightning was far stronger than her own, but if she could just… guide it…

  Inches away from diffusing into the ground, the Blue Killer broke the connection. Kitieri’s bolt exploded into a million tiny sparks, and the blue bolt flashed to the side, burning an L shape into Kitieri’s retinas. The Strike hit Noia with a deafening crack, and her ashen corpse fell to the ground, free from the destroyed chains.

  A scream ripped from Kitieri’s throat, so violent that her vision blurred and her lightning crackled around her, arching to the floor and blackening the walls. Her legs refused to hold her weight and she sank to the floor, one hand dragging along the wall.

  She had failed. And Noia had paid the price.

  Heaving sobs racked her body, and the minimal contents of her stomach were spewed to the floor. She coughed and gagged, running a hand back through her hair. Her breaths came in ragged gulps, and the bright L glowed behind her closed eyelids. She barely heard the door open.

  “Ah. Lovely view, isn’t it?” Stil’s voice stabbed like a dagger of ice.

  Kitieri kept her eyes down, sapped of any energy she’d had left.

  “Have you finally learned to behave?” he drawled, the smirk evident in his tone as he crossed the cell. He was trying to goad her into another outburst.

  Kitieri sat back on her heels, eyes still trained on the floor. Her tear-stained face felt stiff and swollen, but she wouldn’t
give this man the satisfaction of watching her wipe the tears away. She turned her palms upward on her knees, curling her fingers.

  One more bolt.

  But the air was clean again, and the oran collar kept what sparks she might have produced on her own at bay. Kitieri lifted her gaze to Stil, whose brows twitched at her curved fingers.

  “Take her to the pillar,” he snapped.

  Two red officers reached for her arms, but she stood on her own before they could jostle her shoulder. The men exchanged glances; one picked up the cable attached to her collar, but said nothing as they followed Stil from the cell.

  “I thought my Judgement was set for tomorrow morning,” Kitieri said. Stil cast an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

  “You are not privy to the Church’s decisions. Our Lord Histan wants you judged and gone as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, really?” Kitieri barked a laugh. “Did Histan come down from wherever the hells it is he hides and demand my death himself?”

  Stil spun on his heel, and slapped Kitieri across the face.

  “You will show respect here,” he commanded.

  The sting in her cheek paled in comparison to the rest of her pain, and Kitieri whipped her head back around with a steely glare. A tug on the cable pulled her back, but she held eye contact for a long, tense moment until Stil turned away, continuing their procession down the hallway of doors.

  As they ascended several flights of stairs, Kitieri noticed an increase in population in the Church. Some were officers in their red uniforms, one or two wore black robes like Stil’s with varying degrees of golden accessories, some were women in skirts and aprons like the one who’d attempted to deliver Kitieri’s breakfast, and some wore dark brown cloaks that hooded their features entirely.

  Kitieri frowned, watching as one such hooded figure swished past her. Their head was lowered, creating an even deeper shadow that made it appear as if no face existed at all. She recognized that brown cloak from somewhere, she was sure, but the memory felt hazy.

  The mines. A clear image of two brown-cloaked people sprang into her mind, standing at the back of the wagon that came to take the cintra loads into the city every week. But that was strange… She’d never seen these cloaked people anywhere else in the city. Did that mean all of the cintra came straight here?

  A nearby officer opened a door for Stil with a low bow, and Kitieri found herself back in the Church Sanctuary. Her eyes darted to the red runner where she’d thrown the fake Gadget at that man’s feet. Two others in black robes stood there now, and they nodded to Stil as he passed.

  Kitieri’s stomach clenched. Noia was gone, and she would soon follow. It seemed impossible that a life could go so wrong so quickly.

  Stil threw open the main double doors, scattering birds and frightening two children who appeared to be begging on the steps.

  “Get out of here, you little shits!” Stil shouted, kicking at one of them. The child yelped, dropping the few bits he’d managed to collect. The other pulled on his arm, and they scampered down the stairs. “And you’d better be glad I’m busy right now, or you’d be much sorrier!”

  Kitieri looked away. That could so easily be Taff and Jera in a week—if they managed to avoid Stil’s search.

  They made their way down the awkward, widely spaced stairs, and the shining pillar loomed closer. As they reached the foot of the stairs, a pair of red officers passed by carrying something between them on a long board. Kitieri squinted, straining to discern the board’s contents.

  Her eyes flew open wide and she stumbled back, gagging as the leashed collar choked her. Her scream came out hoarse and airy as she threw a hand over her face, but the image was burned permanently into her mind—Noia’s charred, blackened body, reduced almost entirely to ash except for the twisted, grotesque skeletal core. The breeze shifted, and the smell of burned flesh hit her full in the face.

  Kitieri retched again, her body heaving on the smooth stone, but there was nothing in her stomach to lose. She spit the phlegm and bitter bile from her mouth, choking and sputtering.

  “Get her up,” Stil barked, his tone thick with disgust. Kitieri barely registered the pain as the officers forced her to her feet, steering her back toward the pillar. Her feet moved without her conscious permission, obeying the pressure of the bat pressed against her back, and she climbed the three steps to the pillar’s dais like a walking corpse. Her wrists and ankles were snapped into shackles connected around the back of the pillar by long chains, while she stared up at the sky. Was it still morning? Was it midday? Did it matter?

  As the officers stepped back, Stil came to stand at the foot of the dais, reading words from a book. She didn’t care what he was saying. His words rolled over her, a meaningless wash of sound.

  “Hey!” A sharp jab in the side forced her out of her haze, and she glared at the man standing beside her with the bat. “He asked if you had any last words.”

  Kitieri cut her eyes from the officer to Stil, her head slowly turning to follow.

  “Yeah, I do,” she said, spitting the remaining bile to the stones at her feet. “Fuck you, fuck your Church, and fuck your god.”

  The officer stumbled down a step, looking shocked. Stil met her glare, and slammed his book closed.

  “May His Lord Histan judge you well.”

  With a dramatic flare of his robes, Stil turned and disappeared back into the Church.

  Chapter 7

  Kitieri rested her head back against the pillar, watching the white clouds roll across the sky. The sun climbed directly overhead, then began to inch into the afternoon.

  She’d long ago quit paying attention to the people that passed through the square. The bustling center of activity was crowded with tradesmen, beggars, and folks taking the diagonal shortcut to another side of town. Some of them jeered at her, while others looked on with pity. Most, though, simply ignored her.

  Her throat burned with thirst, and she realized it had been nearly twenty-four hours since her last sip of water. As the sun beat down on her, she willed the fluffy white clouds to come together, turn dark, and give her rain, but they remained resolute in their dry, useless frivolity.

  As her thoughts wandered, Taff and Jera’s faces drifted across her mind. She saw gray eyes full of worry, felt the pressing silence as they waited for any sound of her return—the same heaviness she’d felt as they had awaited the return of their parents. Now she would abandon them, too.

  She rocked her head against the pillar, fighting the raw anguish that ate at her insides. Gods, she wished she could speak to them one last time. If only they could hear her from across the city, she would tell them…

  Kitieri’s deep sigh caught in her lungs. Her throat burned with the air’s charge.

  Even as her pulse spiked, Kitieri closed her eyes. The rational response was fear, she knew, but something about the mounting electricity felt soothing to her. It called to her in some strange way, as if beckoning her home.

  “Kitieri?”

  Her heart leapt into her throat and her eyes flew open, searching for the source of her name. Taff came into her vision, trotting up the stairs to the pillar’s dais.

  “No!” she hissed. “Taff, you can’t be here!”

  He ignored her, throwing his arms around her and the pillar as one. Kitieri glanced around the Square, sure she was going to see a red officer marching toward them. There were no uniforms in sight, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming.

  “You never came home!” Taff said, head buried in her shoulder. “The Strikes… we were so scared for you.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. But you have to listen to me.”

  “What’s going on, Kitieri? Why are you chained here?”

  “Taff, listen to me!”

  He looked up at her, gray eyes wide. Most days, Taff seemed like a miniature adult to Kitieri, taking the burdens of the world on his shoulders. Sometimes, though, he was just her little brother, as scared and confused as anyone else.


  “You can’t be here, Taff,” she repeated, her voice soft but intense. “There is a Strike coming, and the Church is after you. Get out of here, run home, and get Jera.”

  “The Church is after us? What do you mean?”

  “It means when they find you, they’ll kill you. I don’t have time to tell you everything, but Jera is counting on you now, all right?”

  “Where do we go?” His voice was shaking. Kitieri hated herself for it, but she said the only solution that had come to her mind just now—the one thing she’d wished she could tell them before she died.

  “You have to go to the Church of Enahris. They are the only ones Histan’s Church can’t touch. Tell them you are fifteen, and you want to join them with Jera as your dependent.”

  “You want us to join a Church?”

  “It’s the only way.”

  “They’ll never believe I’m fifteen.”

  “You have to try. Now get out of here!”

  “No, I’m not going to leave you here!”

  “You don’t have a choice, Taff. If we both die, Jera will have nothing.”

  “Hey! Hey, kid, get down from there!”

  The red officer approached from across the courtyard, brandishing his bat, and Kitieri felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Taff, run!” she screamed. He took a reluctant step back, looking desperately between Kitieri and the officer. “GO!”

  Taff stumbled down the steps, backing away. Kitieri screamed at him again as the officer passed her. He slammed his bat into her stomach, cutting off her cry as she lurched forward.

  “Don’t touch her!” Taff shouted, running for the officer. Kitieri watched in abject horror as her brother rushed the man, and the bat lifted for a blow to the boy’s head.

  The first warning struck, stopping Taff in his tracks. The officer froze, bat still lifted over his head. Secure in his proximity to the Church, the man had come out without a Gadget; with a malicious snarl, he turned and ran for the doors. The Square emptied with a chorus of cries and shouts as people hurried for home.