Wyrd: Book One of the Witch War Trilogy - WATTYS 2018 WINNER!

Chapter 9: Where Rowan Starts a Fire

Rowan had been burnt before. At the stake, in fact. She had the scars to prove it, twisting up the entire right side of her body: a gnarly-textured, swirling pink swath of skin; a reminder of the searing pain she'd felt as she melted on the pyre.

She'd hardly been older than the little girl now cowering under her cape. Between her own screams elicited from the excruciating and torturous agony, looking through the glassy air and smoke past the flicks and sparks of orange and blue and yellow that were engulfing her, to the guards – the spitting image of the men currently surrounding her – she had discovered how to hold the flames at bay. Their indifference, their ability to allow for such evil to occur, that was what had helped her dig down to the bottom of her resolve and realize what she was capable of, what she was meant to do. Her mind had called out in desperation and pushed, holding the heat away from her blistering swath of skin. She had cried out to the wind to kiss her scorched side. And to the fire she had begged: make them pay.

And the elements had answered.

Curled up on the ground, naked, a burnt little girl was the epicentre of a flower made of flames, her innocence a pile of ash in a pit. Tendrils reached out, blazing waves eager to lick at the soldiers. Some had run, some had died. She had cradled herself and cried. Afterwards, she had lain there, third-degree burns congealing with soot, too exhausted to try and crawl to her freedom. She could have died there.

But the Gods had answered her twice that day, while cursing others.

Chaos had erupted around the camp when the guards had been torched. The non-magicals and dissenters who had been fenced into the yard clamoured to escape in the face of opportunity. A husband, a wife, and their boy – a family of rebels – scaled the wire fence awkwardly in their irons like all the other captives. Two arrows arched down from the lookout, felling the unsuspecting adults in seconds, the woman falling to the ground, the man hanging impaled on barbwire. The boy, like a few others, managed to scramble over. Looking back at his dead parents, he cried out. And whether it was self-preservation or courage, shock or horror, he propelled himself forward and up the hill, running towards the only place free from panicking soldiers.

Rowan often wondered what had possessed him then, but the boy, around her age, had spotted her, a frail child laying on a bed of embers. He had run to her.

Joel.

He had picked her up, cradled her against him, and then continued to run. Each footfall had jostled her, sending shockwaves of pain through her horribly scalded body. He'd scooped her up, good side pressed against his chest, scorched side open to the air, but his hands could not avoid contact with her weeping burns. She could hear a wounded animal somewhere calling out. Still, the boy soldiered on. The torment of the heat and discomfort were unbearable. She fell unconscious.

She'd woken up to gentle rocking. She was on a boat, her entire body bandaged and wedged beside sacks of cool ice; two concerned green eyes peering at her.

The Gods had brought her Joel.

But that had been then. This was now. The only eyes looking at her this time were angry. And there were many sets. Rowan and the sweet child she'd rescued were trapped in the barracks with a room full of soldiers and one sleepy looking mage.

Damn lucky, then, that Rowan had a match. A few boxes of matches shoved into her pant pockets, actually. Okay, not lucky, but smart. Rowan liked to be prepared for any outcome.

Things hadn't changed much. The FF soldiers still picked on little girls. They still deserved to burn.

Good thing fire was her bitch.

She'd practically been baptized in fire.

A flick of her wrist and the match sparked on the strip of flint, producing a tiny dancing flame.

She blew and the wind blew, through the open windows towards the little lit match, stoking the flame higher. She smiled, watching the wizard mouth words faster and faster. Arcane spells were so much slower than what she had planned. She dodged enchanted flying books that came hurtling towards her. She concentrated, meditated on the orange fire, whispering to it, melding with its intensity and its impatience.

It roared in response, her mind guiding it to grow and consume. The books caught, flapping pages spitting fire as if they were phoenixes. The idiot wizard had only made this easier, added fuel to the fire.

"Run or burn!" Rowan yelled. The soldiers seemed too scared to get close to the conflagration in front of her to approach, but too afraid to look like cowards and leave.

So be it.

"Really?" She paused for another beat. She shrugged. "Your funeral."

The fire was hungry and ready. The heat singed her face. Rowan released her hold on it, pushing it out from her in a blast.

Hell.

An inferno.

It smelled of burning flesh. The sound of muffled screams mingled with the crackling of the dancing wildfire as people fell, rolled, ran, flailed and panicked. Everything in front of Rowan was incinerated by pure heat in moments.

Rowan threw up.

Her concentration broken, the fire began to burn the room of its own accord.

Rowan spat to clear her mouth and turned to the small child, a whimpering and shaking bundle completely covered in material and wrapped around her leg. Rowan picked up the girl and cradled her, just as Joel had once cradled Rowan. Then she sprinted through the doorway framed by fire, down the hallway, and out a side exit.

She would have preferred not to use fire. Then again, she preferred staying alive.

Joel would be waiting, worrying, wondering what was taking so long.

And since the unsanctioned mission had already taken way longer than she'd anticipated, she suspected Wizard Wumble would be awake by now and waiting for her at the portal: livid.

As if she needed a controlling, angry Wizard yelling at her. She'd done something good, something necessary. She looked down at the terrified bundle in her arms, pleased.

But no, her great uncle wasn't going to be happy about it regardless. She could hear his shrill voice squawking about it being an unnecessary risk. About her being some princess to a decimated land like it mattered somehow. About her disobeying commands and ignoring the chain of hierarchy.

"You okay in there?" She asked the waif in her arms.

Rowan heard a muffled sound that she took as confirmation and she continued to jog towards the gates. She moved through the heavy door that was still open, cresting the wall until she saw the bushes where her team had first hid. She dashed across the sandy dunes quickly to reach it. The sun was up and everything was bright. The trees were still sparse, but she continued, huffing and sweating, trying to abate the fatigue from the overuse of her magics. It felt like three more kilometres of distance might just do her in. But there, in the heavier forested area some ways away, stood a group of bedraggled looking civilians and few war-hardened veterans. And Joel. Like a mirage to her tired eyes, the view gave her a last burst of energy as she sprinted faster to catch up. Good thing he'd assumed there'd be no soldiers left to follow her and had dropped the hiding spell.

"Slowpoke," Joel teased, as Rowan offloaded the girl into his waiting arms.

Rowan was too tired to produce even one of her more lackluster gibes in response. But she thought you pissant at him.

Joel took out a small, round, two-sided mirror from his pack that had symbols drawn on the surface. He placed it on the ground and drew more marks around it in the dirt with a stick. A shaft of light sprang from its depths. And though the portal was in front of them, Rowan hesitated.

She was going to get punished. But looking at the group around her, relieved and thankful, she was pretty sure springing them all would be worth it.

So she moved forward and into the column, the magical bridge between here and there, and stepped through to the other side.

***

If you enjoyed it, please vote! What did you think of Rowan's backstory? What do you think of Joel? Are they friends or more than? And what do you think the adult Jorah Wumble will be like? Let me know! Emmy :)