The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 1, Chapter 7

Gwendolyn

The Gloam was dissipating in patches, shrinking back and congealing as the fire leapt with hungry abandon from orchard to field, candling in trees and swaying with stalks of wheat. Black smoke rose into the air and orange light replaced grey mist as the acres below burned.

Six years of work. Six years of her sweat, labour, and even a little bit of her blood had tended and nurtured that soil. She had seeded the now wheat that now blazed, planted the trees that withered and crumbled as the fire devoured them.

"See the latch beside the hammer?"

Gwendolyn floundered with the Salamander in her hands, still finding even holding it uncomfortable. She twisted her hand back until she found a lever, as long as her hand, set on the side of her rifle.

"This?" she asked.

"Good. With your right hand, pull the latch until it clicks," the corporal said. Looking at him, it was astonishing how relaxed he looked, with his wrist resting on the grip of his sword. His feet were set apart wide enough to pivot on either foot, his breathing was slow and deep, his hands unnaturally still.

Seeing it helped her focus. She wrapped her hand around the handle and pulled until it clicked.

"Put your hand back on the trigger and let the barrel fall," Valen ordered. Gwendolyn shifted her right hand, and let go of the barrel with her left. The barrel fell open and swung lazily just in front of her hand.

"Now with your left hand, pull the spent shell out," Valen said.

Gwendolyn pinched the end of the Salamander shell still stuck in the barrel, and gently pulled it out.

"Drop it off to the side and take this," Valen said, extending the Salamander shell in his hand.

Gwendolyn reached out and took it from him. The shell glowed a soft orange, like firelight, and was warm to the touch. She nearly dropped it, surprised by the heat, and her hand was shaking as she tried to put the shot into the barrel.

"Once the shell is in, rub your thumb over the back end, like you were brushing dust off it," Valen said. Gwendolyn frowned, but she complied.

"We do this in case the shell's deformed. If it doesn't sit flush with the barrel, toss it out. A deformed shell could keep the gun from sealing properly, and you'd be lucky if the blowback only melted your eye. Is that a good fit?" Valen asked.

"Yes,"

"Yes sir," Valen corrected her. "You're a soldier now. Remember to act like it."

"Even now?" Gwendolyn asked, as she pulled on the barrel and closed the Salamander.

"Especially now," Valen whispered, as he stared out into the night. "Next step, point the Salamander into the air again, at an angle towards those Gloamtaken at the stairs. Once you do, go ahead and pull that trigger again."

Gwendolyn cringed and squinted, her body quietly recoiling from the memory of the last time she pulled the trigger. The bright blue flash was ferociously bright, the noise thunderous, and her hands still smelt of seared metal. But with one last glance at Valen, she exhaled slowly to steady herself, pointed the Salamander towards the field, and pulled the trigger.

Fury in flickering blue howled from the end of her barrel, and the flash didn't spare her eyes. She turned away and blinked as her vision returned, surprised to see Valen was standing at the edge of the wall, watching the Gloamtaken.

"They stopped when you fired," Valen said, pointing down at the mob. "They've noticed us, which is good. We can't make it back to the top of the stairwell in time, so any Gloamtaken we draw our way is good. If we draw just a few, we'll cut them down and head after the others. If we draw a lot of them, then we did it right and hopefully the kids will make it."