Divine Destruction

I

I | The Festival of Light
"When Minakshi bestowed fire upon those who valued passion and strength, the world was filled with warmth and light." -The Book of the Covenant, various authors

Flames dance before my eyes, shades of scarlet, orange, and yellow sparking to life and vanishing in a matter of seconds. Kinshasa creates a long ribbon of fire and cracks it like a whip, twirling it above and around the crowd like a snake. Heat ripples through the air.

People cheer as he flips through a circle of flame he creates himself; they watch mesmerized as he twirls batons and ignites a flower of fire in his palm. His signature move, breathing fire, earns him the nickname Dragon of Asmara.

He wears traditional skin-tight black pants to prevent from catching fire, but his chest is bare for all to see. Burns and scars are thinly concealed by ceremonial red and white paint, the price he pays for the wonder and awe of the crowds.

Once his performance is over, he ushers Kumasi out and sits on a stool inside our tent. "Nice job out there," I say, instinctively reaching for the jar of ashflower cream.

"Thanks," Kinshasa grimaces.

"Here," I apply the cream to his burns, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips. "I know it hurts."

Kinshasa stiffens at my touch and inhales sharply. "It's a mystery how Dad has managed this long," he mutters through clenched teeth. I gently rub in the rest of the cream and he turns to face me. "How are your hands?"

"They're fine," I reply quickly.

Kinshasa grabs my wrist before I can pull it away and turns it over to look at my bright red palm. "Kali," he says in his parent voice.

"It's just my hands, Kinshasa," I pull away and hold my hand to my chest. "Nothing close to what you've got." I gesture to his lower body, which looks like his skin has completely melted and cooled again incorrectly.

"Your hands are full of nerves," he explains. "They feel everything around you. I have never seen an Ember's Marks start at their hands."

"It's fine," I dismiss.

Luckily, my escape from the conversation is here. Kumasi enters the tent. "You're on, Kali," he says.

I hop up from my seat, give Kinshasa a shrug, and head out to the platform.

The Tierras fashioned it of pure stone so any wayward fire wouldn't spread, but I don't make mistakes. I have trained as a fire acrobat and dancer since I was a child.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as the final performance of the Festival of Light, I present to you the third of the Kashima siblings, Kali!" announces Shivaji. Shivaji is the Administer of Ember Affairs, so it's an honor to be announced by him.

When I walk onto the platform, I'm disappointed to see the crowd of non-Embers. Tierras watch with mouths full of Panzo bread, not knowing the bread is only meant to be eaten to break the fast at sunset. The few Tides I see don our ceremonial paint and clothes without understanding what it means, and Thorns wear our jewelry without caring what it's saying about them. The Festival of Light is supposed to be an Ember holiday, but we hardly outnumber the others.

My eyes finally settle on Luka in the crowd. He flashes me a crooked smile and two thumbs up. My white-hot frustration cools and subsides so I can focus.

I take a deep breath and begin.

My performances are largely based upon acrobatics, flips, and dance. I create a sphere of fire around me and let it carefully unravel like ribbon, a snake of scarlet slithering over my body.