The Seven (Fist of Light Series) (25 page)

I directed a blast of energy behind me, while I called to Air and entrusted blind luck to win out the day. Nearing my target, I brought my sword forward, bringing all the strength in two weary arms to bear into a double-handed stabbing motion downward into the giant eyeball promising retribution for my actions. There was a wet slapping sound that accompanied the impact into the giant beast as my bare feet sank partially into the exposed eye. The sword reverted to its original state, racing through the tortured body of Nessie.

A detonation of power and sound that can only be associated with lightning filled my senses, drowning out all other sensations. I remember the shockwave that followed and sent me flying backwards. Then,
blackness
.

A tumultuous shaking brought me back to consciousness, and my reaction was a defensive one brought on by frayed nerves. There was no way in hell something was going to snare me in its clutches for a second time. I threw up a fist toward my unknown attacker as my eyes opened to plan the next move. My punch was neatly caught in a delicate yet firm grip, and despite its gentle grasp I lacked the strength to disengage. Jas put on a serious expression and wagged a finger at me.

“Now, look here. That’s no way to greet your savior,” he said.

I warmed up a glare, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “When’d you get here, Jas?”

“I came as soon as your whining voice reached my sensitive ears,” he explained. “Couldn’t get it out of my head. So, I decided that the best course of action was to step up the routine check to an earlier time.”

“Well, are you satisfied that I’m in good health?” I queried.

His expression became serious. “You look like road kill, Caleb. You need to get some rest. This whole Dreamscape thing is draining the life out of you.”

A discording tolling resounded through my mind. “I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s not like a day’s rest and recuperation will bring about the end of the world,” Jas said, ever the voice of reason.

I looked Jas dead in the eye. “Really, there isn’t anything more to tell. Something’s wrong. Something’s
not right
. And I’m a part of whatever is going down. If I’m unable to learn the basic application of my abilities, a rain of fire will be the least of our worries. It’s as simple as that.”

“Harsh words, dude. How do you know? How can you even be sure?”

I tapped my head, wincing at the brutal contact as a discordant tolling vibrated through my skull at the contact. “I feel it in my bones, and my instincts took the reins from there. They didn’t even think to consult me. You’re the one who first told me all that prophecy or legend stuff about The Seven and doomsday, even before Em.”

“You’re pushing yourself like this on a gut feeling?” Jas said, irritation in his voice.

“It’s kept me alive so far.”

Jas threw his arms up in exasperation, clearly conceding to a lost cause when he saw one. Smiling, we departed the glade and strolled to dinner in companionable silence. It was much more than a naïve gut feeling, although I knew that my instincts had never steered me wrong thus far. They had kept me breathing in situations where the odds were stacked against me, and so they were given an extension of trust when difficult decisions presented themselves. Someone had to careful and deliberate, and it certainly wasn’t going to be me. Too much critical thinking would only exacerbate my headache, so my previous conclusion would remain unaltered: a tempest was gathering, and anyone caught out in the coming storm better be armed for bear.

W
ith the passing days, I’d become more and more impressed with Jeeves and his ability to summon something new to try and murder me. Goblins, the Loch Ness Monster, mermaids, and even in a recent bout, a dragon. I was getting a tour, albeit a painful one, of the shadow world. It wouldn’t be long until rabid pixies swarmed me in the Dreamscape.

The scenery had transformed, and since Jeeves was satisfied with my ability to alter the Dreamscape, he formulated the design of this one on his lonesome. I was secretly pleased with the fact, having become much too weary to accomplish the feat. Standing upon the harsh otherworldly wasteland, I found myself longing for my cool lake and its unfriendly inhabitants. There was neither hide nor hair of vegetation, nor was any species of animal visible.

Within a few agonizing minutes upon the arid plain my breath was short and strained, most likely in response to the thinner air. Sweat seeped from my pores in an unceasing torrent, and although it was impossible to become dehydrated, a feeling of unalleviated thirst plagued me. More than likely, it was another form of training enacted by Jeeves, and I was determined to persevere in these inhospitable conditions. Finding my center, all senses were tuned into the land while Jeeves waited passively.

“Ah, you are progressing. Good,” he commented offhandedly. “This plain is one prepared to test the limitations and shortcomings of those who are unlucky enough to find themselves upon its barren soil. There is nothing living here, besides the fire elementals. No doubt you have already attracted their attention, and so this explanation must be kept concise, for your sake. Fire is an unassuming element, and yet it can rage unchecked if left to its on devices, blaze with passion unequaled by any force of nature. For all practical purposes, it possesses a mind of its own, hungers eternally for incandescence. You must seek out the passions that drive you before we can continue. Remember the fire in your veins and without, and you might keep your eyebrows,” Jeeves chuckled.

“Thanks a lot,” I replied tonelessly.

Funneling all my emotion to a mere pinprick, its distraction fled my mind. As the clock ticked off the precious seconds remaining to me for preparation, I strained without success to harness the fire dwelling within. No matter the strength of my attempts, however, it appeared an impossibility to create the smallest spark, find the slightest ember to kindle. The elementals had long since arrived, and were only deterred by an invisible barrier of Jeeves’ will. They were expressionless columns of flame, formless entities that didn’t even come close to resembling a human body. Their general physique varied, but for the main part I saw rampaging tornadoes of fire raging, hoping to sizzle me extra crispy.

The entire day passed without the essential breakthrough, and although I strove to keep my emotions at bay, they began to trickle through my carefully constructed defenses. Jeeves was frustrated with my lack of progress, it seemed something of this nature was expected to occur when I had finally progressed to this stage. Sweat trickled down the contours of my body, and for the rest of the day, I stood, exasperated, without success in my conquest.

Halfway into the next day, I voiced my frustrations. “I can’t do it!” I protested vehemently. “I’ve been trying
over
, and
over
, for the past day and a half! Nothing’s happening!”

“Well then, you should attempt a different approach in attaining your goal,” Jeeves said.

My frustration with the situation morphed into anger, and my blood began to boil with ire. I paced back and forced irately, my arms pumping, throwing invectives out every couple of seconds as my pent up rage grew. For Jeeves’ part, he just looked on, faintly amused with the proceedings.

“No matter what I do, I can’t—”

Memories flooded through my peanut brain, and I stopped the tantrum abruptly, on the verge of discovery. Times of anger, pain, frustration, sorrow, fear, apprehension, relief, regret, longing, rage, compassion, and love—they were all emotions that fired the blood, drove me to action. And in essence, isn’t that what fire really was? It was a fleeting flash, the crackling of emotion, the entrancement provided by living in the moment. People are compiled parts, and without emotion behind the gearshift, the engine block will fall to pieces, missing a vital component, a facsimile of life. With my realization, I allowed the floodgate that withheld my emotions to unbar, release its charges, then latched onto every speck of frustration and anger felt over my string of agonizing defeats, my inability to proceed.

I raised an arm and let out one whispered word. A flicker of will, a flash of red, and a flame materialized in the palm of my hand. Neato,
presto
, have fire, will burn. Looking down curiously, I studied the little flame with curiosity. Why wasn’t I being singed?

“Hell yeah!” I exclaimed in celebration, throwing invectives and making obscene gestures at the onlookers.

“Finally,” Jeeves said. “I thought we’d be here until doomsday before you figured it out,” he declared.

“Doomsday?”

“A figure of speech, nothing more. Let’s move on. We hardly have sufficient time to cover the basics, let alone every challenge you overcome.”

A figure of speech? I wasn’t so sure.

He gesticulated at my hand, and the flame resting upon it vanished.

“
Hey
, what was that for?!” I complained.

“Now that we have your attention focused, we can continue. Playing with fire is dangerous, so listen closely. For instance, the reason you were not singed or baked by the flame you birthed was because it was under your own jurisdiction. Ability will grow with practice, and more likely, experience, however you will never become particularly adept with the intricacies of this particular element. Multiple projections of consciousness disseminated into disparate elements will be particularly difficult when not enacted in those
elements
you possess a propensity for. When the fire you attempt to control exceeds your power to maintain grasp upon it, you will experience a fatalistic backfire. Wildfires, third-degree burns, self-immolation, you name it. So tread cautiously. For all practical purposes, this is your practice round.” Jeeves indicated our surroundings. “You do it wrong on the outside, and you’re a medium-rare husk of a man.”

My excitement levels were too high for me listen to things like self-immolation, vaporization, or cooking myself extra crispy. Besides, steak tasted best that way. Putting my hand out again, I allowed emotion to inundate mind and body. Triumph and exhilaration were among the top contenders, and so I seized upon those emotions to provide the metaphysical kindling for my fire. Jeeves sat back and provided me with tips, diatribes, and impatient foot tapping. The novelty wore off quickly and I found that my short-lived burst of energy had dissipated. I felt bone tired once more. The day elapsed in relative silence, besides my superfluous curses and Jeeves’ particular form of encouragement. By the end of my lesson, I possessed a general knowledge of the internal workings regarding self-immolation, including the particulars of basic control as outlined in Fire 101.