"Remember the dream where you sent fire shooting in a V-shaped line? That's what you're trying to accomplish today."
I was on the concrete block in Mr. Dougal's Genesis room, the bright lights only a few feet above my head nearly blinding me. I didn't even bother to ask how he knew about my dream; I figured Mr. Dougal was the kind of person who knew you without even looking at you. I looked at him and shook my head.
"Do I just...?" I spread my hands out, and fire burst out of them. A V-shaped line of fire appeared in front of me, and Mr. Dougal started coming closer, closer to the fire. I opened my mouth to say something, maybe like a "Don't stand in the fire!" or "Are you crazy old man?!", but nothing came out.
He stood where my line of flames came together, the flames leaping onto his navy blue suit, enveloping his pantlegs to the thighs. He smiled and clapped. I stood amazed.
"Why are you clapping? I don't even know how to control this!" I shouted over the loud roar of the flames. They projected off the black concrete like the sun in space. The concrete block was pretty large. I estimated it was about twenty-five feet all around.
"But you do. Better than you think, actually. In all the years I've mentored, no one's caught on to this as well as you have."
I huffed a breath. The flames had subsided by now, leaving no trace in the black concrete. I realized then why the concrete was black. Well, maybe it had been gray before, but it was black now.
Crimson had dropped me off fifteen minutes ago, saying he "needed to do things", which both of us knew meant something else.
"Try it again, but this time angle it towards me," Mr. Dougal said. I gave him a crazed look and shook my head. I was coming to the realization that he was insane. But for some reason I felt like I had to trust him.
I flexed my fingers in front of me, and pushed outward like I was pushing an imaginary box. Flames involuntarily shot out, not like the last time, but directly outwards, right toward my mentor. He outstretched his hands to a position just like mine, but for him it looked so simple, like he'd been doing it forever.
Flames shot out of his hands, but unlike mine, which were vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows, his flames were blue and green, not exactly turquoise, but a mix of blue and green. The flames met mine in the air, sending beautiful arrays of fuschia, brown, and violet flying through the air like fireworks.
I kept pushing out with my hands, but I was being blinded by the colors our flames were creating. I let go, unable to stand the force, and brought my flames crashing to the ground around me. Mr. Dougal, however, brought his hands together, and created a ball of blue-green and red-yellow in between his wrinkled hands. It was ravishingly exquisite, and for a moment I stood and stared, as Mr. Dougal twisted his hands, turning the fireball in circles. Then, instantaneously, he shot his hands to the right, and the ball turned into five lines of flame. The flames crashed loudly into the wall, and lit up the black paint of the walls before vanishing into thin air.
Mr. Dougal smiled radiantly and nodded in my direction. "Right then," he said, "enough fun for me. Tell me, Emry, what did you learn from that?"
"You are a fireball when you want to be. Literally," I said and grinned. He shook his head, but a harsh laugh escaped from him.
"You were supposed to learn that your innermost fire abilities are the strongest power you have. When you just put your hands out like this," he said, and shot his hands toward the ground, creating a V-shaped line that erupted quickly on the concrete then subsided when he closed his hands into fists. "That is just making scorch marks. But when you harness the power from inside you, that is when it's most powerful."
I sighed. "So I mastered the easiest and most harmless technique. Great."
"Precisely," Mr. Dougal stated. I glared at him and walked over to the gigantic ladder we used to get on the concrete.
"Good idea," Mr. Dougal said. He went over to the ladder, and kicked his leg out, sending the ladder clambering to the ground. I stared in disbelief and held my threw my hands up in exasperation.
"Now how do we get down?" I inquired, and flames shot up my forearms. They stung, but it wasn't bad enough to really hurt. I'm a long way from controling this, I realized.
"Control your powers with your mind, and use them to get you to the ground safely," he said with little expression.
I didn't know what to do. I tried to concentrate, but nothing came to mind, at least, nothing that would help. My stomach was growling from the lack of energy from food, and a splitting headache was starting to root its way through my head. I thought of what I wanted to accomplish: gaining the power to harness the Sun, earning the accomplishments of being a fully-trained Sun Weilder.
I threw my hands out to the side, palms facing the walls. Fire emitted from them, spanning the distance from my hands to the wall. Mr. Dougal had a wolfish grin on his face, looking at the flames that bounced on the reflective glints of gold in the walls.
I stood at the edge of the block, and jumped off, doing two or three mid-air somersaults as I did so. I landed safely on the ground, although a sharp pain shot up my leg, the leg that had been broken in my car accident two days ago.
I turned around to see Mr. Dougal's blue-green flames crowded around him, reminding me of an object coming into Earth's atmosphere. He landed on the floor with a soft thump.
"That," he said as he picked up the ladder and drug it to the right side of the room, "is how it's supposed to be done. Granted, your way worked, but it is more harmful. By creating a sort-of forcefield around you, it makes you less vulnerable and your enemies and predators less powerful."
I was bearely listening to him. I pointed to the lab table on the left side of the room.
"Can we use these today?" I asked, and walked over to pick up a beaker filled with electric blue liquid.
"That's for me, Emry. Only older Sun Weilders get to experiment with vials and beakers," Mr. Dougal said, rubbing his long fingers across his chin.
"Aww, c'mon!" I exclaimed. After a few minutes of arguing, I finally gave up hope and walked over to the elevator. "Well, I should get going now."
Mr. Dougal nodded. He followed me toward the elevator, but stopped to pluck a blood-red vial from the table. "Just remember," he added," 'INA UTU ALKA ETLU', roughly translated to "From the Sun Comes Warriors. That means we are the Warriors the Sun has chosen."
I nodded rapidly.
He pushed the marble buttons, and sideways we went.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
"What do you call cheese that's not yours?" Crimson asked, his face beaming. I sighed as I climbed into his black truck. The air conditioner was on full blast, and I pressed my cheek up against the vent, feeling the cool air brush against my sweaty skin and blow my hair.
Crimson laughed hysterically. "What?" I asked.
"Nacho cheese," he replied, and started driving down the street.
"Two muffins are sitting in an oven..." he started, but never got to finish, because I had shoved my fist in his mouth. He swerved into a vacant parking lot, making me jolt forward.
"I can create fire with my hands, Chill. I will set your mouth on fire," I spat.
He shook his head vigoriously, and I brought my hand down.
"I don't know. Those Ghost Peppers at La Comida Vieja made me grab the server's pitcher and douse myself in water," Crimson said casually. He started driving again.
"Anyways, I was trying out the 'Boy Next Door' style," he stated.
I laughed. "A six-foot teenage guy with a red mowhawk and an earing. I'd say you're the Poster Child for boys next door."
"Watch it," Crimson said with a faint laugh, "My skills can be very deceiving."
We rode together like that for the next twenty or so minutes, talking about Ghost Peppers and fire and, my favorite, school.
When we got to my house, I turned towards him.
"If you were to say something to me, right now, and it can't be anything cheesy or funny, if it had to be serious, what would you say?"
Crimson eyed me suspiciously. "What do you want? I only have tens in my wallet. You're welcome to them if you need the money."
I slapped his arm, turning the place I slapped him a pinkish color. "I mean, we obviously don't know what we are right now. We're more than best friends, and honestly, that's kind of how I want it to be. So, if you could say one thing to me, about us, what would you say?"
Crimson looked into my eyes, as if he could mentally say what he wanted to say. After a long while he said, "I'd say you're beautiful, more beautiful than any other girl I've ever seen. I'd say I'm the one who needs this relationship more, not you. You're so self-determining and individualistic, and I could only hope to be that kind of person one day. I'd say you need to find a different guy to hang around with, because I'm definitely not enough."
I imagined an imaginary knife cutting the tension.
"Please say something. That was like four things, even though I was only supposed to say one," Crimson said, and looked at my feet.
I put my hand over his, a comforting gesture. "I'd never find anyone different, because right now you and my grandmother are all I need," I said, and leaned in.
He did too.
Right before we touched, he pulled back, and raised his left hand, the one mine had been resting on. On the back of it was two scorch marks, making his skin a deep red as blood surged out of the wound.
"Come inside," I said curtly, and he was already opening the front door by the time I got to the steps. He had been in my house numerous times before, and he led himself to my kitchen sink, and started running water over his hand.
My grandmother came into the kitchen, and gasped when she saw my bleeding friend. She walked over to the tan box by the refridgerator that was labeled "FOR EMERGENCIES" and opened it with a key that was resting on top of the box. She came over to Crimson's bleeding hand with a mason jar that had a thick tawny-colored substance that was filled halfway.
"Put this on the burn," she ordered. "It was a burn, right?"
I felt my cheeks flame up, not literally though. "Yeah," I mumbled, and opened the jar. An aroma of sweet vanilla entered my nostrils. I dipped my finger into the thick substance and took Crimson's wrist. My grandmother had given me a harsh glare before exiting the room, leaving Crimson and I in it.
"Gosh, I'm so sorry," was all I could say when I rubbed the substance across the back of his hand. Almost instantaneously the bleeding stopped, and I heard his sharp intake of breath.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, and felt so stupid the second it left my mouth. Of course it hurt.
"Yeah. My hand went numb when you put that gunk on it. Hey, at least it's not my writing hand," he added, trying to make me feel better.
"I don't know how to control this," I said and nodded toward my hands. The blood from his hand was gone, and the pasty residue of the substance was left on his it.
He lifted his right hand to cup my face. "I don't mind. For all I know, it was just an accident. Just, don't do it again, if you can."
I laughed against his warm hand. He leaned in and lightly kissed my cheek.
"Have any wrappings? My parentals won't like this very much," Crimson noted.
"Sure," I said, and went over to the cabinet by my kitchen's window. I found tan wrappings, and wrapped Crimson's hand as delicately as I could.
"You're being too harsh, Em. My hand might fall off," he said sarcastically.
"Again, I'm really sorry. I don't know how to control it, and it just happened, and you.."
He put a slender finger to my lips. "Stop it. We're done here," he said, and started towards the door.
I followed him to my front door, which made Crimson's hair look even brighter in the late-afternoon Sun.
"Don't feel bad about this," he said, and lifted up his hand.
"I will anyway," I said, and he shook his head.
"Night," Crimson said, and started towards his truck. I closed the door and leaned against it.
"You can tell me," my grandmother's loud voice startled me, and I walked quickly towards the kitchen. She was sitting on a wooden stool in the kitchen.
I sighed heavily. "I put my hand on his, and all of a sudden he was holding that hand up, and it was bleeding," I recalled as I got water from the refredgerator.
"Your grandfather did that on our first date," my grandmother said evenly. She was looking at the window, as if she was replaying images in her mind. "He rested his hand on mine, and the next thing I knew, my hand was bleeding." She laughed.
I smiled. "You loved him a lot, didn't you? Enough to give up being a Sun Weilder?" I asked.
"Oh, I suppose," she said, "but that's another story. Off to bed now, young lady. Tomorrow's Saturday, but you're still are my little girl. Look at that box in your room. I know you've been so preoccupied lately, and you haven't gotten a chance to look at it. I think you'll find some interesting things in it."
She winked at me, and I trudged up the sqeaky wooden stairs of my house.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
I just wanted to thank y'all again for the unceasing support! I also wanted to say that I am my own editor, so please don't judge me too harshly if I add an extra 'i' or something. Thanks again and again and again...
~FAORA