Forsaken: The Chosen Trilogy - Book One

Chapter Nine

Firemage - a human who embodies the Element of Fire, controlling fire, creating firestorms, and can see the future in flames

BRANNYN

The Rose Farm, Northwestern Valory

26 Alune 575A.F.

"Gods curse this stupid rain," I muttered, scowling into the fireplace at the sodden wood I was trying to light. "Burn, damn you!"

The others watched me with wide eyes as they huddled under their blankets. It had been raining for days, the freezing, miserable rain of early spring which soaked everything, including our woodpile.

The flint shook in my hands, my body trembling with both the chill and my frustration. I had been trying to get the fireplace lit for nearly half an hour, and a part of me wanted to rip the whole cursed thing from the wall and toss it into the Western Ocean.

I took a deep breath, and tried once more. It didn't light. I swore, and tossed the flint as hard as I could against the far wall. The clatter it made was far from satisfactory, and I growled as I punched the floor. My anger was clawing at me; I hated being trapped inside, the walls closing in around me-

"Brannyn, the floor!"

Kryssa's startled shout made me glance down, and I jerked back in alarm, away from the small pocket of flames on the floor beside me. She rushed over and stamped it out.

"Sorry, Kryssa." I stared at the burns in dismay. "I don't even know how that happened."

Her brows drew together, and she knelt. She gingerly touched the scorch marks, and I realized they looked like the grooves of fingers. "Brannyn?"

My fingers.

I set my jaw. I didn't know what it meant any more than she did, but I was willing to try anything if it meant not using the cursed flint.

I bit my lip, concentrating, and held my hand over the wood in the fireplace. The others were silent; I think they held their breath as the long minutes dragged past.

I had been angry when I punched the floor, and I focused my frustrations on the wood in the fireplace, willing it to burn. Nothing happened. Sweat began to form on my brow in effort, and my head began to throb.

Finally, I felt it: a faint, cool sensation on the back of my neck, like the trickle of water on a hot summer's day; a slow release of tension, like a coiled spring calmly unwound.

The fireplace exploded.

I was sent flying backward, colliding with the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kryssa and Lanya dive for the younger children, shielding them from the sharp, jagged pieces of brick that shot across the room. I found myself prone on the floor, staring as blue flames roared in the blackened fireplace, consuming the wood in mere moments, leaving only ash and choking smoke.

The room was suddenly sweltering.

I sat up slowly, groaning at the ache in my shoulder where I had struck the table. The floor around me was speckled with embers. I did my best to stomp them out before they caused any more damage, for the first time thankful that our father was with the Crone.

Kryssa began to laugh.

I gaped at her in surprise, which only seemed to make her laugh harder. The others joined her, nearly helpless in their hilarity, and I stared at them in confusion. Lanya at last had pity on me, swallowing her laughter long enough to fetch a mirror.

I had no eyebrows. They had been completely burned off, leaving my face looking perpetually startled. Much of my hair was still smoldering, and black streaks lined my face.