Elemental Origins: The Complete Series

by A. L. Knorr

  "We're done when I say we're done, and I say we're not done," he said, grabbing my arms once again.

  I looked down at his hand on my bicep and back up at his face pointedly, letting my expression do the talking. How dare you threaten a magus. Again. I knew what he was doing. He’d been so angry at me for responding to Elda's requests—he’d wanted me to manipulate her by ignoring her. I could see now how Dante worked people. He was trying to jockey into place as my dominant.

  Screw that. I glared at him.

  Fear flashed across his face, just for a second. He released me and held his hands up. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Just..." he sat on the bench. "Please let’s sit and talk like adults. We can figure this out." He patted the bench beside him, and then held out a hand.

  My confidence boosted, I seized my chance. "Dante, no amount of talking is going to change my mind. I'm not going to help you take over Italy."

  His eyes flashed with anger again, but it evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.

  "Okay, okay," he said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Then just tell me what you meant by it being forced on you. I didn't think that was possible. At least, Nicodemo never told me that could happen."

  I sighed. "I can't explain it to you, Dante. I'm collateral damage in all of this madness. I just have to figure out how to live with it."

  "But don't you see, I can help you with that." He stood again, since I still hadn't sat.

  "How?"

  "Nic was part of my family for a long time. I know what a magus can do, I'll teach you. I can make it so that you never have to be afraid of your power, and so that you can use it to help people."

  I scoffed. "Help people? Is that what you call what your family does?" The fire was crackling merrily in me now, melting my caution away.

  His face hardened. "Careful. You don't know anything about my family, not yet." Then he smiled and said, "But you will, I'll tell you everything. You'll be my partner, my closest confidante. You'll have access to all of the resources at my family's disposal."

  "Stop talking like that. I'm not interested. I know enough about the Barberini family—"

  "What do you know?" he interrupted me.

  I had already said too much. I turned away. "I have to go, Dante. I have somewhere I need to be." I made a show of checking my watch. I did have to pick up the boys from the pool, but I still had forty minutes.

  "Who have you been talking to?"

  "No one," I said, cursing myself. "Your family is infamous, you know that."

  His eyes narrowed.

  "Goodbye, Dante. Don't contact me again." I hadn't taken more than three steps when he grabbed me by the arm and spun me around. Rage blinded me but before I could react—

  BAM!

  A tightly coiled fist slammed into my stomach. Fireworks popped in front of my eyes. All the air whooshed out of me in one sickening, forced exhale. I dropped to my knees, my face an inch from the ground. Breathe, Saxony. Breathe. It felt as though the walls of my lungs were stuck to each other. My stomach churned and I thought I might throw up. Even as I was fighting for breath, the fire roared to life inside me, flooding my limbs with fury. I wanted to get up, to defend myself, but I couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

  Finally, my lungs unstuck. I sucked in a painful breath. I coughed, and a spray of embers littered the grass. My eyes cleared and Dante's shoes came into focus. Adidas. White, with three black stripes. Just standing there. One shoe moved to snuff the embers I had spewed, one by one.

  Hands jacked me up by my armpits. I coughed again, but this time only smoke curled from my lips. I sucked in more oxygen, starved for it. With every gulp of air, the fire inside me licked higher, hotter.

  His body telegraphed another punch—the fingers curling, the fist drawing back, the shoulders turning. My eyes widened. Nope.

  The fire shot to my right shoulder and elbow and exploded in my joints. I sent my fist into Dante's face with the force of a cannon. I heard Dante's nose break as his head snapped sideways. He flew off his feet and landed hard in a heap several feet away.

  I covered my mouth, in shock at the power of my own punch. The feeling of breaking bone against my knuckles made me feel queasy. A wave of nausea washed over me again as I crouched beside him. I'd knocked him out.

  "You idiot!" I said, unsure whether I was addressing myself or him. Exactly how hard had I hit him? I reached for his neck to feel his pulse.

  Before I could touch him, his eyelids fluttered. His upper lip was split and blood poured from his nose. To my horror, he began to laugh. It was a horrible wet sound. He groaned in the midst of his laughter and struggled to sit up. He wiped his nose with his hand but it was still pouring blood, staining his teeth and making him look like a Halloween mask.

  He finally looked on the outside the way he was on the inside.

  "You're so stupid, Dante. I have a temper at the best of times." I watched him crawl to a nearby fountain so he could wash his face. "Why did you hit me?"

  My stomach still ached. Only the fact that I had retaliated had dampened my rage.

  "All fire magi are hot-tempered. I knew you'd do something, but I didn't think you'd internalize," he said, and spat a gob of blood. He dipped his mouth and nose in the cold water. He rinsed and spat again and then put his hands to either side of his nose, feeling the break.

  He had my attention. "Internalize? What are you talking about? I don't know about you but a right hook to the face is not 'internalizing'."

  He barked in pain as he snapped his own nose sideways.

  "What did you just do?"

  "What, do you think this was my first broken nose?" He stood up. The flow of blood had become a trickle. He grinned at me with bloody teeth.

  I shuddered. "I need to get off this crazy train." The only reason I wasn't running away was because he'd piqued my curiosity. "What do you mean by internalize? And if you hit me again, so help me..." I threatened. I could feel the glow in my eyes come out and I let it.

  "Madonna. You're a thing of beauty when you do that." He spat again and wiped a hand across his face, leaving a streak of blood. "Internalizing is something that only mature fire magi can do. Usually. It means you used the power of the fire but you didn't show it. See? You don't even know how much potential you have."

  "I don't get it."

  "Young magi can't help but show their fire when they use it. It manifests as a glow that can be seen through the skin, or comes out as flames or sparks. But a mature magus can prevent this obvious show of power. It’s a skill they have to develop to maintain anonymity. The way Nicodemo explained it was that he could direct the fire to places in his body and sort of... " he paused. "What's the word? Detonate it? So that it would explode behind a kick or a punch, like gunpowder. That way a magus can use her power without tipping people off that she's supernatural." He cocked an eyebrow. "Hai capito?"

  He swiped an arm across his face, wiping away the remainder of the blood, and then spat another red gob off to the side.

  I did capito. I capito'd perfectly. What he described was exactly what I had felt. The fire had detonated in my shoulder and elbow - making me throw a punch like a two-hundred-pound hockey player instead of a one-hundred-and-forty-pound girl. My hand was still throbbing from the pain of the impact. It was a wonder I hadn’t broken every bone in my hand.

  I didn't know what to say. Dante really did have some knowledge, but somehow, I wasn't really feeling a 'thank you.'

  "You didn't have to hit me," I said, bitterly.

  "Yes, I did." All trace of malice and anger was gone. He thought he'd gotten through to me. "And I'm sorry," he said, his eyes softening.

  I'd heard it before, and he'd been about to hit me a second time. I wasn't going to fall for his silver tongue again. Maybe he did know some things that could help me, but I didn't need to ask him, because Elda was going to help me. If I took Dante's help I was going to owe him, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  "Save it,” I said. “I'm finish
ed with this insanity. I'm walking away now and if you jump me, I'll internalize you right into the hospital."

  "Don't be such a stubborn redhead, Saxony. You know I'm the only one who can help you."

  I turned my back and walked away.

  He raised his voice. "Do you know what happens to a fire magus who doesn't know what she's doing?"

  I kept walking.

  "She burns to death," he called. "From the inside out!"

  Chapter 24

  My phone chirped just as the boys and I arrived home.

  "We're home!" I called up the stairs.

  "We're home!" Isaia repeated, and ran to the second floor after Cristiano. I smiled every time I heard the sound of his perfect little voice. He no longer had any trace of the rasp that I had. I heard Elda greet her boys upstairs and I took my phone out of my purse and checked it as I kicked off my shoes. It was Raf.

  Everything okay?

  I smiled at his thoughtfulness. He was probably worried. My guts ached in response to his question, reminding me that I'd been punched today for the first time in my life. The fire flickered as I remembered, but I wasn't about to tell Raf what had happened between Dante and me; I didn't think Raf would react well. I also didn't feel as bad as I thought I should feel after taking a hard punch to the gut.

  Me: I'm okay, thanks for checking. I'm sorry about that.

  Raf: That's okay. You can make it up to me. :)

  Me: How about tomorrow night? I'm free after nine.

  Raf: Sure, Giardini again or somewhere else?

  Me: Why don't we just go for a walk? Maybe get some gelato.

  Raf: Sold. Let me know where to meet you.

  Me: Will do.

  I tucked my phone away and ran up the stairs to help Elda fix dinner. Tonight she was going to teach me how to make a Neapolitan ragù and steamed mussels for prima piatti. Once the boys had finished telling Elda in great detail about their day, they went down to the courtyard garden to play.

  "I've been meaning to ask you," said Elda as she was clipping the stringy bits from the mussels. She paused with the scissors. "Did you want to come to Gallipoli with us? You never told me and we're leaving in less than a week. If you do, then I'll pack some extra bedsheets."

  I blinked in momentary shock at how fast the time had gone. I hadn't forgotten that they'd be leaving, but I had lost track of time.

  "Not that we'll need anything more than sheets," she continued. "Even those might be too hot. It's been above 35 all week in Puglia and it’s supposed to climb."

  "Davvero?" I said, using a new Italian word I'd picked up which simply meant 'really.' "That answers it then—that is way too hot for me." I had barely been able to handle the Venice temperatures, so there was no way I was going to go where it was even hotter.

  Understanding dawned on her face. "Oh, I see. Hot weather makes it... hurt more?" She put down the scissors and tossed the mussels under running water. She peered into my simmering pot of red wine sauce and proscuitto. "Good, you can add the tomatoes now."

  "Yes, it really does. Unfortunately." I added the skinned tomatoes and sauce and stirred. "So, on to the most important stuff. Please tell me you've had a chance to watch all the clips? Cuz I'm dying here." I blinked for a second at my own words. I had meant it figuratively but Dante's last words rang in my ears and I hoped that I hadn't just said something prophetic.

  "I have actually seen them before. I watched them a few years ago in case there was anything that would help Isaia. But I have to tell you, now that I've watched them again I remembered that I was disappointed the first time I saw them, too. I really thought there'd be more information. Kind of makes me wonder if I missed downloading some files somehow."

  "Hit me with what you got anyway," I said. I peeked into the pot and felt rather pleased with the sauce I had made. I took out the casserole dish and put it on the counter, ready to layer with gnocchi, sauce and cheese.

  "Hit you?" Elda repeated, looking confused.

  "Sorry, I mean go ahead and tell me what you know."

  "Ah. Allora, first, he explained that those born with the fire are either killed by it, or made stronger by it. The saying what doesn't kill you makes you stronger is literal for a fire magus. It was clear that Isaia was going to die from it, but as long as you're smart, you won't."

  "Comforting," I murmured. "What does 'smart' mean?"

  "Most importantly, and I already told you this but I have to emphasize it because Nic talked about it more in other clips, you must stay hydrated. He talked about the stages of dehydration for a magus, and Saxony"—she gave me an emphatic look—"it's serious."

  "It's serious for everyone," I said. "People can only go three days without water. After that they're pretty much toast."

  "Yes, but you have a smaller window than that. Much smaller."

  The hair on my arms stood up. "How small?"

  "You have about 16 hours before you die. Even that might be pushing it."

  Less than a day. It wasn't a nice thought. But as long as I drank a lot, it should never be a problem. I resolved to carry a water bottle with me from now on.

  Elda was studying my face intently.

  "What?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I am. Just... processing." I stirred the tomatoes.

  She was still staring.

  "What?" I repeated, my hands wide.

  She shook her head, "I know that you wouldn't have chosen this for yourself, Saxony. But..."

  "But?"

  "But, you're an amazing creature," she blurted. "I know there's pain, but from what Nic says, that gets easier to manage. The power that you have, you're basically a superhero. I kind of wish I was a magus. It always made me so afraid, because of what Isaia was going to have to deal with..." she looked like she wanted to say more, but she paused.

  "But now that I have to deal with it instead of your little boy, you're all about the fireballs, is that it?" I said, sardonically.

  She cracked a smile. "You make me sound like a horrible person. And I am sorry for your pain, if I could take it away, I would. But, you're strong, Saxony. You can handle this. It's kind of... a gift. Don't you think?"

  "You try carrying a campfire around in your belly for a few hours and then ask me that again," I said, as I poured the steaming tomato sauce over the gnocchi. In spite of my sarcasm, I did understand what she was trying to say. I had a lot of power at my disposal, if I could just learn how to use it properly. "Let's focus. What else did he say?"

  "Okay, so with the dehydration, he said there is sort of a steady progression of pain and an increasing lack of control over the fire. But after six, eight hours or so the fire begins to dry up and burn your tissues until..."

  "Can we skip to the next part? I think I got the whole being roasted alive concept."

  "Sorry, I thought you wanted every last word. Then, he talked about something called externalization. Externalizing means the fire will show through your body as a light, or it comes out in the form of flames, sparks, or smoke. He said the first step for a magus is to learn how to control the externalization of the fire. In the early years, he said there is always a fight for control. The fire is wild and you have to tame it, and this is more of an emotional exercise than a physical one."

  I nodded—it made sense to me now that I've had to deal with it for several weeks. It was always harder to control when my emotions were running high. I layered the cheese over the gnocchi and put the casserole dish into the oven. "I think I understand that, too. So far, this is nothing new."

  "Then, as you might guess, he also talked about internalizing it. Which just means that people on the outside can't see the fire. He said it is critical for a magus to reach this point for their own safety. The world is not really aware of the existence of fire magi, only a few select humans know about you. So, except for people you trust with your life, you need to keep your ability a secret."

  "Kind of obvious, thanks Nic," I said. "Go on."

  "Internalizin
g means that you can control the fire well enough to use it within your body to give you strength and speed when you need it. Sort of like..." she paused, thinking. "I'm trying to translate it with the right word..."

  "Detonating it?"

  "Si, perfetto: detonation." She put a pot on the stove and lit the burner. She dumped a piece of butter in to melt. "He said that the simplest way to learn this is to make one detonation at a time and in one part of the body at a time. For practice, he suggested detonating it in your shoulder when you skip a stone out to sea. But he explained that eventually you'll be able to detonate the fire in multiple places at once and with rapid succession. For this he said to start by running and detonating in your hips, to practice alternating quickly back and forth and to increase your running speed.”

  Okay, so that bit was new and interesting.

  Elda continued, "He said that one of the best things he did to learn how to control his fire was take a martial arts class. He started just learning the movements, eventually adding detonations in his joints and soon he was able to detonate with every single movement. You can imagine how powerful you would become if you were to master this."

  "I can, but I sure hope I don't need to have to use it that way. If I do, then it means I've got enemies," I said.

  It sucked enough to butt heads with Dante; I didn't want to make a habit out of it.

  "Everyone has enemies, Saxony," Elda said as she stirred chopped onion and herbs into the sizzling butter. "You are young, but give it time."

  "So cynical. You sell blush for Pete's sake—what kind of enemies do you have?"

  "Not the kind that need to be beaten up, thank goodness. But retail is a bloodbath, metaphorically speaking." She poured some water and then white wine into the pot and added the steaming basket.

  I had to laugh. "That sounds a bit ridiculous, but okay."

  She smiled and went on. "That was it about the fire itself."

  It wasn't much to go on, but I felt a bit better armed than before.

  "He said that he doesn't know a lot about the history of the fire magi, where they originated or how many there are. There were rumoured to be scrolls about the fire magi in the library at Alexandria, but those were supposedly destroyed. Poor guy was raised in an orphanage with no one to teach him about himself. The nuns who raised him told him that when his father dropped him off as an infant, they saw a strange birthmark on the side of his father's face, like a tiny flame."