Ninth City Burning (20 page)

“About five days,” Vinneas explained as he removed the collar from my neck. “You've got to promise not to do anything rash, now, for example, blasting my head off.”

“Sure. I bet you could zap me anytime.”

“Not at all.” He dropped my collar with a clank. “I have about as much control over thelemity as I do over gravity.”

“Really? You can't do anything?”

“I'm fairly good with crossword puzzles,” he said, “but not with thelemity, no. And before you ask, the word is ‘pacifer.' That's the polite way to talk about unexceptional people like me.”

That collar had hardly come off before I began to feel different, larger somehow, as though some part of me had diffused into the air. It reminded me of the way steam will rise from your skin after swimming on a cool day, only this cloud seemed to go on and on, and I found that if I tried, I could direct its currents. I flexed one wisp, then another, and, to my astonishment, small swirls of whitish fire began chasing one another across the ground.

“Exciting, isn't it?” Vinneas said. He had a smile on, though I noticed he had stepped deliberately away from the little flames. “I've been told it's like having a thousand sets of tiny hands.”

I supposed that was true, though a hand is still something solid, with a wrapping of skin, and this seemed more like smoke. A new appendage entirely, as different from anything I'd ever felt as a set of wings—and yet already it had begun to seem a natural a part of me, as much as any other piece I'd had the past nineteen years.

Vinneas had placed something in the center of our little enclosure: the food bowl from my cell. “Usually, we start people off lifting small weights and folding bits of paper,” he said. “But let's see what you can do with this. Go ahead—try to move it.”

I eyed the bowl, sizing it up. I couldn't tell how sturdy this new part of me was, and I didn't want to strain or injure it, as I sensed I might if I levered myself improperly.

“Don't worry about breaking it,” Vinneas said, meaning the bowl. “It's built to take a lot of punishment. Do your worst.”

He had broken my concentration, and I aimed a glare at him that encouraged another few steps back. Returning my attention to the bowl, I gathered my new power around it, and when I judged its strength sufficient for the bowl's weight, I closed it like a fist.

The air surrounding the bowl erupted in a gout of white fire that sent the thing shooting like a bullet into the far wall. I knew I ought to be embarrassed over misjudging my ability so greatly, but I was too preoccupied laughing with the fun of it. The nearest sensation I could name was shooting up a row of glass bottles.

Vinneas had ducked for cover to avoid the bowl's first ricochet, but now he stood, straightening his ruffled uniform. “Well, looks like you won't have any trouble with basic thermal artifices.” He went and retrieved the bowl, which was still rolling slowly along one wall. “Let's try that one more time, shall we?”

For such an unexceptional person, Vinneas proved an excellent tutor. By the end of my first lesson in thelemity, I could raise and lower my old gruel bowl at will, as well as produce a gust of wind from nowhere, light the space around my feet with a pair of dancing will-o'-the-wisps, and set small fires with a wave of my hand. Vinneas declared me a natural. “Of course, you'd learn a lot more from someone who could teach from experience,” he explained while I gleefully incinerated a number of wood scraps he had brought for this purpose. “We have an entire school here. The Academy. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you.”

Burning things lost its appeal at that. For a moment, as I watched the world bend and sparkle under my power, I had forgotten about my family and friends, all the people I loved, lost out in the wilderness. I nearly blurted out everything to Vinneas but caught myself just in time. All I said was “I can't stay.”

“I was afraid you would say that, but I had to ask,” Vinneas said. “My superiors are satisfied that the people Imway and his squadron took into custody pose no further threat. They will be released into their own territory, but with no memory of this valley or anything that happened here.”

“No!” I shouted, unable to hold back my panic. I could survive, I thought, if they set me loose now. I could beat the winter and the roving tribes and find my coda wherever it was. But if they took my memory, I wouldn't even know where to begin. “I have to remember how I got here.”

“I'm afraid it isn't up to me.” Vinneas did look very sorry, not that it helped any. “We can't risk anyone from outside learning about us, or about thelemity.”

“Then I will stay.”

He stepped back, like he needed to see all of me to verify my earnestness. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” My plan, formed in that moment, was to attend this school of his only until the opportunity came to slip away.

“Excellent,” he said, still plainly dubious of my intentions. “The Academy administrators will want to interview you to verify everything in my report. I'll tell them to contact me if they have any questions.”

“Won't you be here?”

“No.” He gestured to his collar, where he wore a silver mark shaped something like the letter “C.” I recalled seeing others there before, one more like an “A.” “I've been promoted.”

“Congratulations.”

“It isn't much of a promotion,” he grumbled, “and it means I'll be away for a good while. I'd been hoping my superiors wouldn't go through with it, but alas. By the time I get back, you'll probably be at the Academy.”

Admission turned out to be somewhat stricter than the simple process Vinneas had envisioned. The representatives of this Academy were haughty and pompous and universally under the impression that I was some dangerous savage. They refused to speak to me unless I was collared and locked in my cell, always using that rumbling, otherworldly voice—which I learned was a kind of translator—even after I proved I could speak their language nearly as well as they could. By the time Vinneas returned to visit, I had moved only to a different wing of the same prison.

It was one of the few times I was glad to be locked up because I was in a foul mood when he arrived at my cell, and the grin he had on was so cocky, I would have fancied it a fine target for my fist. But that was until he spoke. What he said flipped my world around more than anything I had seen since coming to this strange place: “So, why didn't you ever tell me you had a sister?”

I
like shooting. I know I'm not supposed to think of it as fun, of course. That's the first thing they tell you when you start weapons training. They show you a lazel, and they say,
This is not a toy.
It's right there in the Academy Handbook, too: “A weapon is a tool of destruction, not amusement.” I get it. I do. But shooting is still a little fun. And when you think about it, most things that are really fun
aren't
toys.

The point, I think, is that you shouldn't forget what weapons are for, which is killing. And when you're only shooting a target, it's easy to forget. The one thing you definitely shouldn't do, though, is
look
like you're having fun. Rhetor Croupo, our weapons instructor, is totally the best shot I've ever seen, and when he demonstrated the lazel for us, he looked like he was about to fall asleep, like someone had told him to look at the target but never, ever shoot it. But he still put all ten shots right in the center. A perfect score. Since then, everyone's been doing their best to look as bored as possible.

Today is Section E's first day of live fire. We started weapons training at the same time as all our other lessons at the School of Rhetoric, but for months, all we've been doing is learning about how the weapons work, how to put them together and take them apart, how to handle them, but never actually
using
them. So everyone was pretty excited when we found out we'd be getting to shoot something. We don't even care that our lazels are turned to almost the lowest setting.

The LL-40, also known as the “lazel,” is the standard weapon of the Legion. “The legionary's best friend,” Croupo calls it. Lazels are issued to everyone in the Legion, though only the milites, the Legion's infantry, really use them in battle. A lazel is basically a tool for focusing and
directing thelemity, made so that anyone can use it, even if you're not fontani or revenni. You can load it up with all sorts of different grips and sights and attachments, but basically it's just a dull gray cylinder about forty centimeters long, shaped a little like a tilty letter “L.” Inside is something called a “valcov,” which gathers up thelemity and turns it into an artifice. What type of artifice depends on the type of valcov, but it's usually something destructive, obviously.

The valcov we're using for practice today creates an artifice called “null.” What it does is make things not exist. “Negates the actuality of ordinary matter” was how Croupo put it. Null isn't very exciting to watch—whatever you hit with it just turns sort of blue-white and disappears. There's another artifice called “blast” that makes big, fiery explosions, which is much more interesting, but the thing about explosions is they waste a lot of energy on heat and light and noise. With null, all that energy goes into pure destruction. That's why we mostly use null in battle. If you shoot something with blast, you might blow off a piece or send it flying, but afterward, there'll be a whole lot more left over than if you'd hit it with null instead.

For today's practice, we're shooting at big metal spheres floating low over the ground fifty meters away. Everyone from Sixth Class Section E is lined up along the shooting range, firing away. The lazels have all been hobbled, meaning Rhetor Croupo can control their settings, and the power is turned way down—otherwise even a glancing hit would totally destroy the target. As it is, each shot only takes off a little pea-sized bit. We've each got a hundred shots to put as close as possible to the center of the sphere. Null makes a little crackling noise, like breaking ice or glass, and the range sounds like there are icicles dropping everywhere out of the sky.

Lazels are pretty tricky for beginners because the only way to get them to shoot is to
want
them to shoot. It doesn't work to just think
shoot!
or
fire!
or something like that—it's more like making a fist, or blinking your eyes, or talking. You don't think about it; you just
do
it. If you've never used a lazel before, it can be really hard. I can tell that a lot of the cadets are having trouble because their shots are going off almost randomly, and some kids are swearing to themselves. But I just keep focused on the target, sending off one shot after another.

Rhetor Croupo shouts “Time!” only a few seconds after I've fired my
hundredth shot. The hobbles shut down our guns, and we all get up from our firing positions while Croupo calls in the targets. When I see mine, I almost laugh I'm so happy: The middle is full of pea-sized craters. It turns out only seven cadets fired all one hundred shots, and I scored more points than anyone. Croupo leaves Elessa in charge while he goes to reset the range. Most of the section will be doing the same exercise again, but the top five cadets will have moving targets this time.

“That was great, Jax!” says Elessa, looking at my target. She would have had the top score if it weren't for me, but she really does sound happy. Some of the other cadets start congratulating me, too. I don't usually do very well in exercises like this, and they know it's a big deal for me.

“It's because he practices all the time,” says Bomar sourly. “That's the only reason Jax is any good. If I had my own lazel, I'd be better than Croupo. I'd have drilled a hole right through my target.” Bomar's target looks like an apple after a few bites from a worm, and not a very hungry worm, either. He scored in the bottom five.

Bomar isn't lying about me practicing. I'm officially part of the Legion, so I get a lazel like everyone else. Mine has a lot of weird-looking decorative parts, but it works, and I take it to the range a lot. I wasn't very good at first, but there are always other legionaries there who'll help me out. I wouldn't have said anything about it myself, but now I guess I shouldn't be so proud of scoring higher than kids who've never shot a lazel before—though I bet some of them have. Everyone knows cadets find ways to practice with lazels before they let us have them in class.

“If Jax has a lazel to practice with, why shouldn't he practice?” Elessa says. “Practicing is the only way to get better, and it's not like this is a competition. We're supposed to be learning. He shouldn't have to pretend he's as bad as you just so you'll feel better.”

“He shouldn't be practicing at all!” Bomar shouts. His face is all tight and twisted. It's pretty obvious he's actually angry about his low score but would rather yell at me than admit it. “It's not like he's ever going to use a lazel for real! He's just going to be hiding somewhere while we do all the fighting!”

He's kind of right about that. If I ever am in a real battle, I definitely won't be shooting a lazel. I won't have to fight at all if the battle goes the way it's supposed to. I know it's true, and so do all the cadets. Even Elessa
agrees, I can tell. She looks over at me, her mouth half-open, like she wants to scold Bomar but doesn't know how.

“We're all on the same side, Bomar,” I say. It's something Vinneas told me to remember whenever I felt angry with the other cadets. He says when you're at the Academy, and everyone's being ranked and evaluated and trying to beat each other out for the top spots, it's easy to forget why we're studying and training and taking all these tests in the first place, which is that we've got a war to win. But I bet no one ever got mad at Vinneas for winning at something. He's one of those people who just stand out. And I bet he never had to deal with anyone like Bomar. Or if he did, he knew exactly what to do.

“I don't want you on my side,” Bomar says. “If I'm in a fight, I don't want to be anywhere near you. You know why? Because you're
scared
. If things get tough, you'll run off and leave the rest of us to go dark.”

Going dark is what legionaries call it when their thelemity fails, and everything it powers—weapons, armor, vehicles, everything—stops working. There are only two ways it can happen: either the source of your thelemity is killed, or it gets too far away for the thelemity to reach you. The very first thing every legionary learns is to protect your source, your fontani, at all costs, because without fontani, you can't fight. But there's nothing you can do about it if your source gets scared and runs away. And if you
are
the source, you've got to stay right up close to the fighting because if you don't, everyone who's depending on you is as good as dead.

“I wouldn't run,” I say to Bomar. “I stayed during the last attack, didn't I?” I'm not being totally honest. I wouldn't ever admit it, but while I was out there in the Forum, I did feel like running away. It was only for a second, but I thought about it anyway. I try to sound confident, like there's no question I'd stay and fight, but the thing is, I can't really know for sure.

It's obvious Bomar doesn't believe me. “You'd run,” he says, smiling an extremely mean smile. “You know how I know? Because you're a coward. I'll prove it.” Still smiling, he runs and grabs his lazel from the firing range, then comes back, pointing it right at me.

“Bomar!” Elessa shouts, using her cadet adjutant's voice. “Lower that weapon!”

Bomar isn't listening. “Look at him!” he says, laughing. “It doesn't even
work
, and he's still scared!”

When he pointed the lazel at me, I flinched and held up my arm to cover my face. I know the lazel won't fire with the hobble on, and even if it did, it couldn't hurt me the way it would the other cadets. But even though I know I'm 100 percent safe, I still don't like having a gun pointed at me.

Bomar's lazel has a trigger attachment, which is a fake trigger meant to help you figure out the feeling that will make a lazel shoot. Eventually, you're supposed to take it off once you don't need it anymore. Now Bomar's jerking the trigger over and over at rapid-fire speed, laughing, and saying, “Look at him! Look at him!”

“Cadet Bomar!” Elessa screams. “Drop your weapon
now
! That's an order!”

Bomar actually does stop, but he's still smiling, like he hasn't heard Elessa at all. “You know, Jax, I've decided you're right,” he says, lowering the lazel. “We're on the same side, and there's nothing I can do about it. So I'm going to help you get over being scared.” He takes a small silver disk from his pocket and flicks it toward his lazel. There's a little crackling sound, and the hobble breaks to pieces.

Everyone starts yelling then. Most of the cadets run. Even Elessa backs off. Without the hobble, Bomar can shoot the lazel at full power.

I'm the only one who hasn't moved, mostly because I'm so surprised. “How did you do that?” I ask.

“Every idiot knows how to disable one of those things,” Bomar scoffs. “But then every idiot knows lazels can't hurt fontani.” He points the gun at me again. “Here's your chance, Jax. I'm going to shoot on three. Let's see if you can handle it.”

“Bomar,” I say, “don't be stupid. You're going to get us both in trouble.”

“One!” Bomar yells, starting to laugh again. “Two!”

He pulls the trigger on two. At first nothing happens, but Bomar keeps yanking on the trigger and finally there's an icy crackle as the lazel goes off. The burst of null fizzles out about a meter away from me, before I even think to duck. Bomar hardly notices—he's still trying to shoot me, whooping like it's the most fun he's ever had.

And then, all of a sudden, Bomar is gone—just gone, like he was never even there. Way across the range, I see Rhetor Croupo kneeling on the ground with his lazel ready to shoot. I wonder if he
did
shoot, if he saw what Bomar was doing and nulled him right there, and for a second all I
can think is,
He just
killed
Bomar!
But there would have been a bluish shadow and some of the ground where Bomar was standing would be gone, too, and there isn't any of that.

And then I see Bomar. He's on the ground about five meters away, and looks totally confused—until he sees Fontanus Charles standing over him. Then he just looks scared.