Obsidian Sky (5 page)

“I told you before we came here that I would be more trouble than I’m worth.”

“And yet I took the risk, because we need you more than you think.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m so important. What’s so unique about getting pissed off all the time? That’s a detriment, not a skill. And I’ve been waiting for nearl
y
five year
s
. Five years, and nothing has happened. What am I waiting for?”

“Perhaps explaining it to you would help the situation, given that asking for your compliance obviously hasn’t worked.”

“Your mistake in trusting me,” Aidan said, and Bailey shook her head in amusement.

“Okay
.
I’ll tell you the truth. One thing I like about you is that you don’t listen to someone just because they’re older than you. They have to earn your respect. As an adult, I want to knock you over the head, but as a visionary…I see how valuable your attitude could be, if properly channeled. No matter how much someone tries to persuade you to their side, you won’t go out of fear or hope of reward. You have to believe in the notions that they’re spitting at you. Some might see just another angry kid. I see a passionate, potential leader that could win over the hearts of thousands, because people want to fight against the status quo. They want to be saved, but they don’t have the strength. They need someone to carry their burden.”

“So now you resort to cheap tricks, Bailey?” Aidan scoffed. “Flattery?”

“No tricks
,
Tallawa
h
. Not a one. You know what I had to give up in order for the rest of the Elders to take you in.”

“A seat in their company,” he said under his breath, remembering the exact words she had said to him on his first day in Lowsunn. He had shrugged his shoulders then, but now he understood just how big a deal that was. She had been in a position of great power, and considering the goals that she had in mind for the village, there was no way she would have given up her ambitions without something of equal or greater value in exchange. He couldn’t see in himself what she saw, but her actions were clear: he was more important to her than being an Elder. The least he could do was behave while she got the rest of her plans in order.

“I remember,” he said finally, taking his hands away from hers. “But I still don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand,” she said. “Just continue to trust me. Remember that the original purpose of fire was not to consume, but to provide warmth for others. I’m not asking you to change who you are. Just to turn down the intensity.” He turned his head and stared at the villagers who were walking past once more, examining their defeated strides and expressionless faces.

“I will,” he said. “From this point on, I’ll do my best to behave.”

A burst of laughter interrupted their conversation and Aidan spun around to see a couple of adolescent boys, who immediately tried to hold in their giggles, once they saw they had been caught. Aidan snapped his fingers and instantly the jam sandwiches on their bark trays flash-evaporated, consumed by Aidan’s power. The boys’ jaws dropped in shock and one of them gave Aidan a pained face. The other ran off to find an adult who would listen.

“We weren’t even talking about you!” the boy who stayed behind cried out, but Aidan ignored him. As the boy angrily got up from the table to retrieve replacements, Aidan turned to face Bailey who had closed her eyes and firmly planted the palm of her hand against her forehead.

“Sorry,” Aidan replied, holding up both hands in surrender. “Now I’ll behave.”

Chapter 3 – Judge

All his life, he had carried an assortment of visual goals for his anger: the different faces of the adversaries who had inflicted wounds upon him. Whether it was a heckler from behind, an insolent adult from in front, or a beast that sought to devour him – there was always a face. Like an assembly line, they passed through his thoughts, met him en route, engaged in an unforgettable battle with him in the recesses of his mind, and then continued on their way, forever changed by their interaction with the angry young man.

And Aidan hadn’t even had his Fire Arts back then.

But this was different. Whoever was responsible for the deaths of his people had not just wounded his body, but his heart as well. In spectacular fashion, something…no, someone…had destroyed his friends, his neighbors, and everyone he had known from birth in one fell swoop. But this time, for the first time - there was no face. Like a coward, the enemy (whoever he was) had sent nature to do his dirty work and then ran off in into the shadows, so Aidan couldn’t inflict his own nature upon him.

What was there to do now?

The village and mountain were completely gone. His people had become one with the soil. His family…his family! That’s right! His father and mother had gone off with his youngest sister, Diana, on an expedition. Like they had done with him when he had turned five, his parents had taken her off of the mountaintop and into the world, to see how there were different kinds of plants and berries and landscapes, far more exotic and lavish than anything they could witness in Quinn, with its rocky terrain and high altitude. But how far had they gone? Did they get caught in the storm? Did they even know what had happened?

Aidan stood and squinted through the thick soot that hung in the air like a mist. It stung his eyes, and they watered so much that he was afraid they would soon go dry. But if he was going to find his family, he had to keep his eyes open in order to see them, and so he bore the pain. Trying to breathe as little as possible, he waved his hands through the fog as he walked, coughing and batting at it like he was pushing aside leaves from within the thickest of rainforests. He kept walking, but where was he headed exactly? He had no way of knowing where his family had gone or if they had even survived. If they had been caught in the firestorm, they would have been reduced to ash and he would never find them.

Aidan stopped to think, closing his eyes to give them some rest. It was eerily silent, and though he doubted anything would come of it, he decided to shout out the name of his little sister. No voice answered him in return, and he stood there shaking, overcome with the unknown. Whether he stayed or went, it was all chance. There were no guarantees to how his life would play out now.

Though the sky was still as red and orange as fire, he could feel a chill starting to crawl up his arms. The heat from the firestorm was passing, and the night frost was beginning to creep back in. He remembered he had put his shirt up into a turban on his head and quickly reached for it, but of course, it was gone, having been obliterated in the chaos. The rest of his clothes as well. Suddenly he longed for the cloak and robe that his father wore daily.

Aidan rubbed his arms and then stopped suddenly when he felt a slight but strange indentation in his skin. He glanced over at his right forearm and saw it with clarity this time.

Tattoo markings. Three of them. One was dark and faded, while the other two were glowing a metallic blue-white color. They were humming both visually and audibly like a beacon, and he tried to wipe them away. They didn’t come off, but the flashing became more rapid, blinking faster and faster. His mind raced to find the answers - the key to this strange branding. Only when he contemplated what had just happened over the last hour did he remember.

The voice.

It had asked him a question. It had asked him…what he wished for, at that moment.

I wish, he thought. I wish that…

And then he wasn’t in the soot anymore. He was in a large circular room. The walls were composed of massive, midnight blue bricks, and a manmade fire the size of his entire body hung upside down in the middle of the ceiling like a chandelier. The floor was of granite, and the same marking that was branded into his arm three times was displayed in the middle of the floor in grand fashion. A sword, with a small, medium and large organ pipe on each side. On top of the center of the colossal marking sat a man, leaning forward on a small wooden stool that was far too short for his long legs. He was wearing a long, dark purple hooded robe, and his head was bowed as if in prayer. Aidan surveyed his surroundings, not sure what to make of them, when he came to a realization.

This man…he could be the one responsible.

Aidan took a step forward and felt his body freeze in place. To his utter disgust, it felt as if hundreds of invisible hands had suddenly wrapped their fingers around every inch of his body, keeping him at bay, urging him to abandon his intent. But he continued to fight against his mysterious restraints. He grit his teeth and his eyes went wide in rage but it wasn’t until he saw the hooded man lift his head that he stopped. The invisible hands relaxed their grip upon him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t make a sudden move. Not now. The atmosphere had gotten thicker, and a strange sensation permeated the room, making it feel like he was at the bottom of a quicksand well. Without any foreknowledge, he suddenly knew. He just knew - the man was about to speak.

“What do you wish?” the man asked, his head turned away, preventing his face from being visible. His voice was deep and haunting, and the way it echoed off the walls, it felt like he was everywhere at once. Aidan glared at the man and chose his words carefully.

“Were you the one that destroyed my village?” he asked. The man bowed his head once more.

“And what if I did?” he replied. Not cold. But no emotion either.

“Then I kill you,” Aidan promised.

“You cannot kill me. Your power is lacking,” the man said - with such confidence and assurance that Aidan believed him. Who was this man?

“But did you do it? Did you destroy my village?” Aidan asked as calmly as he could.

“I did,” the man said, to which Aidan responded with a lunge, but the invisible hands had resumed their grip. The man sighed heavily as he maintained his gaze upon the floor. “I need you to understand something, Aidan. I hope you will remember these words forever.”

“There’s nothing –” Aidan was cut short as a hand sheathed his words.

“The brandings on your arms are wishes,” the man continued, seemingly unaware of the young boy’s outburst. “You have used one to save yourself from the fire. The other two – are there to be used whenever you like. Only two more. Once you use them, they will be gone, and you will only have whatever power you’ve gained from them at your disposal. That will be the only power you will have to rectify the massacre I’ve just unleashed on your people.”

Every muscle of Aidan’s body fought against his restraints.

“This conversation will be our only real exchange. After I let you go, and you return to the world, our meetings will be different. I, and I alone have given you this power of making your dreams a reality. All I ask in return is privacy. When you make a wish, either audibly or internally, you will be transported here, between the veil of space and time, and you will make your request. I will grant it, and then you will go back from whence you came, as if nothing had happened at all. You will ask me no questions about who I am, and what I do. Non-compliance will result in the loss of one of your wishes until there are none left. Do you understand?”

Aidan’s breathing slowed as he tried to nod. The hooded man received the message.

“There is no use in figuring out who I am anyways,” the man said. “You will just waste your wishes and your life searching for answers that have no real significance. Enjoy your life. Enjoy your wishes, and somehow, forget about what I’ve done to your loved ones. For what it’s worth…I am truly, truly sorry.”

The invisible hands let go of Aidan and he immediately sprinted forward.

“YOU WILL BE SORRY!” he screamed, but only ash and soot engaged him, coating his tongue mercilessly. As he gagged and coughed at the thick, vile mixture, he squinted his eyes and noticed that, once again, he was back at the spot where Quinn had once stood. He clawed at his tongue, trying to remove the taste from his mouth, spitting and coughing more as he thought of what he had just witnessed.

The hooded man. He was the culprit, and he hadn’t even denied it. This strange, powerful man that could transport him to different locations at will. Who was he? A god? A supernatural being from the myths of old? If so, why would he reveal himself now? Why did Quinn have to be destroyed and what were these…wishes.

Aidan inspected his arm and rubbed a hand across it once more. Two wishes out of three he still had. Using one of them had saved him from the firestorm. Somehow, he had been shielded from its path, and when it had decimated his people and brought the mountain crumbling down, he…no, it was not the firestorm that had destroyed the mountain.

He remembered now.

It had been him. The hooded man.

He was responsible for destroying the platform on which Quinn had once stood. Aidan examined the palms of his hands in silence, searching each crease for a sign. And as he stared, he began to see it. It coursed through his veins like blood, but blood it was not. His eyes, somehow, could see through his skin like an x-ray and identify the substance as if he had studied it since birth. It was a chemical. No, not a chemical, because chemicals needed a catalyst or some other substance to perform a feat. This…this was like liquid fire. It was like an oil, a burning sun and a spark all in one. It was rage manifest.

And it had become a part of him.

Aidan stared at his hands in awe, watching the fluid course through him, giving his body fuel and energy, taking over the jobs his blood once had. He didn’t understand how it was possible, but he realized its potential. Taking a deep breath, he raised his head upwards, and stretched a palm towards the sky. He imagined the liquid fire surging like adrenaline through his veins, to his wrist, into his hands and beyond his fingers – erupting from his pores like a geyser.

To his shock, a surge of fire burst from his palm, streaking toward the sky with a shrieking sound that made him wince and grit his teeth. There was no pain or pressure. Just the flames. They reached higher and higher, rocketing towards the sky without end. Then, with nothing more than a thought, it ceased, and his hand looked no different than it had before. It had not been burned or singed.

He no longer saw through his skin, but he felt it pumping through him, building in intensity until the next release.

A curt smile formed on Aidan’s lips as he thought of what he had just acquired. Two more wishes, huh, he thought as he examined the seals on his arm. Two should be more than enough.

*              *              *

“You missed our appointment,” Isaac replied as Aidan approached the Field of Visions. Aidan shrugged his shoulders.

“Tell that to the boss lady. She wanted to have a chat.”

“Oh, I see. Then everything’s cool. Hey, do you think this looks good on me?”

Isaac spread his arms out wide, giving Aidan the chance to examine him. He was wearing a black leather shirt and pants with a great deal of belts, chains and bracelets strung around his body, looping around his limbs and midsection so tight, it was as if they were infused into his skin. The jacket over his shoulders reached down to his ankles and looked like a battle robe he had stolen from a museum. The contrast of black to his blonde hair was strange, but Aidan cared little for fashion. How would he know if it was a proper ensemble or not?

“Looks good,” Aidan said flatly. Isaac gave him a skeptical look.

“You’re just saying that!” he retorted, trying to stretch his legs. “It doesn’t look too tight or anything?”

“Can you breathe?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not too tight,” Aidan said, trying to keep a straight face. Isaac smirked and tried to reach the dagger that was hanging from his hip underneath the jacket, but he was restricted in movement, and it ended up looking like he was making failed attempts at stretching exercises. Aidan couldn’t bear it any longer. He burst out laughing, covering his face as his whole body shook. Isaac grunted in annoyance and flexed his muscles, shredding and ripping the costume. The fabric floated down to the grass as Isaac brushed off the village garb he had worn underneath. Yellow shirt and blue pants.

“It may not look appealing, but it gives me the movement I require.”

“Oh, like it makes a difference in how this will all end,” Aidan scoffed, wiping away his tears. He hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.

“You won’t be laughing when I rip that special robe of yours to shreds.”

“You can’t,” Aidan declared. “It’s very unique. Had someone on the outside infuse it with regenerative properties. Even if you somehow destroy it like you just did your costume there, it will always come back together, like it has a mind of its own.”

“I could have used that…” Isaac said, glancing down at the shredded pieces. “It sucks creating a new one each time.”

“Or you can, you know, not rip it to pieces.”