Dawn of Ash (12 page)

“Good job, Jaromir! You are going to be a pro at this in no time!” my voice boomed through the red-lit courtyard, the deep sound echoing off the cobbles and broken stone work in a weird ricochet.

Everything was different close to Ilyan and Joclyn’s barrier. The small patio was bathed in a golden light that filtered over the already painted world. The light made everything look real, closer to how things were on the outside. It wasn’t perfect, but close enough that, for brief moments, I could believe everything was normal.

You will never get outside.

That was probably why I preferred to do my work out here, even though Ilyan demanded all magical training take place within the cathedral where he had placed a secondary shield to protect the ancient building, as well as keep the signs of our presence as shrouded as possible. I understood the reasoning, but the ancient space was too dark for me. I always felt trapped. Besides, the larger barrier Ilyan and Jos had placed out here did much of the same job. So, as much as I could, I would bring us out here and pretend it was nothing but a never-ending sunset.

I wished that was all it took to forget we were trapped in my father’s doom bubble.

Don’t worry; I’ll keep reminding you.

Even if it wasn’t for the restrictive prison we were trapped in, there would still be that incessant voice in my head, the disembodied words of my father seeping through me, trying to control me.

Trying.

But he couldn’t, not anymore. I wouldn’t let him. I would fight the anxiety his voice gave me. I would rise above him. I needed to, not just for me, but for what was coming.

I was reminded of it every day as I trained Jaromir, as I trained all of the other newly awakened Chosen, preparing them for what no amount of fantasy could conceal.

At first, I had rebelled against the job before I realized I was one of the few people here who knew what my father was capable of, who knew what they were up against. And someone needed to prepare them for the war that was ahead.

My war.

The war I am going win.

The war you are going to help me win.

No.

We shall see.

That training was as good a daily reminder as any.

“I didn’t quite get the flick like you taught me, though, sir,” the little boy spoke in quick Czech as he approached me, his shaggy hair bouncing as his voice rattled on with all the eagerness and excitement he’d possessed since the first day I had started training him.

“What flick?”

“You know, how you move your wrist to the side a bit…” He smiled widely, showing an odd mix of adult and baby teeth, before stepping away, the grin growing as he pushed his hands before him.

I could see the gears in his mind twist and turn as he thought about what he was about to do, as he twisted the magic to perform whatever wrist flick he was talking about.

With a bang like a gun, the magic erupted from his palms in sparks of colors that went wide, much wider than it had the time before, thanks to the odd jerking motion he was trying to accomplish.

Even with the large spray, the magic was still accomplished perfectly.

While all the other Chosen had fought against their new abilities and life, mourning what Edmund had taken from them, Jaromir took to it like a duck to water. He mastered complex tasks easily and quickly, surpassing all the others who had awoken around the same time.

You should use him.

Use him to help us win this.

To defeat Ilyan.

To kill Joclyn.

Of course, his acceleration was partly to do with how far he had pushed himself, how much perfection he expected. He refused to move on to another task until he had perfected it, and he would get quite upset with himself if things weren’t honed in record time. It was a lot for a boy of nearly nine to take on.

That insatiable quest for perfection, while valiant, was sometimes fruitless, which was what he was stuck in now—a search for perfection that was focused on a wrist flick not required for the task I had set him.

I recognized what he was trying to do. That particular movement was one I had done since I was ten when my father had broken my wrist in a fight and demanded I heal it, breaking it repeatedly until I mastered healing every mutilation of the bone he could think of.

And you whined like a baby the whole time.

I should have broken both your wrists just to teach you a lesson.

How I could have been stuck with such a—

I cut the voices out with a cringe, something that wasn’t easy to do considering the strength of the memory. It was hard to forget the full year of constant bone breakage and pain he had inflicted on me. I guessed it was a good way to teach a task if you were a sadistic monster, which my father was.

What is your guide for sadism, son?

How do you know you aren’t exactly like me?

I’m not.

You are more like me than you think.

In the end, I did master healing. I was also left with a few ticks within my magic, something that was bound to happen when you performed magic with nothing more than splinters of bone and tendons instead of a working hand.

You could always break his wrist. Then he would be able to master it.

Then he could be like you.

And you like me.

“That movement isn’t required, Jaromir.”

“What do you mean it isn’t required?” the little boy asked, the greasy mop of dirty brown hair quivering a bit as he shook his head. “That’s how
you
do it.”

“Yes.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but it leaked out, anyway. Jaromir wrinkled his bulbous nose in response. “But that’s because it’s how I was trained.”

Jaromir narrowed his eyes at me in defiance, and I fought the need to roll mine. I wasn’t going to tell him all of what my father was capable of, not yet. Right now, magic was still new and amazing to him, and I didn’t want to be the one to destroy that.

It was like Santa Claus—no one wanted to be the one to ruin the secret.

Then let me.

“So train me that way.” He was insistent, defiant even, and this time, I couldn’t help laughing, the reaction affecting him as deeply as a smack in the face.

Let me ruin the magic.

Let me train him.

“Not going to happen, kid.”

You can’t stop it, son.

You know it is the best way.

“What do you mean ‘it’s not going to happen
’
? It’s how you were trained, and I want to be trained like you. I want to be as good as you.”

Even he knows what you are capable of, what you were made for.

He sees it, and he wants it for himself.

No.

“You
will
be as good as me,” I said with a laugh, the forced sound resounding back to me with the same awkward ripple the barrier always gave. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do everything exactly like me.”

Why not, Ryland?

“But I want to,” he said, half-shocked, half annoyed, his little eyes squinting together as he wrinkled his nose.

I once again found myself fighting the need to smile, to laugh.

It was an odd feeling to be looked at by someone that way, like I was Santa Claus instead of the magic.

An unfamiliar knot formed in my gut with the realization I could be that to someone. With scars all over my body and a brain that was addled and frightening, I was baffled anyone could look at me and still want to be like me.

Jaromir still looked at me like that: eager, waiting, his eyes full of so much life it was infectious.

I really didn’t want to deflate that magic from him, deflate the fantasy into a twisted and frightening reality.

But it was more than that.

Jaromir was a child. He was an innocent.

That was what I didn’t want to destroy. That was the reality I didn’t want to taint.

And yet, hadn’t it already been?

He was a child, yes, but he was also a child who had been pulled away from his dead mother’s arms. He had watched his family being destroyed by mysterious, winged bats, only to be cursed with immense pain. He was a child who had chosen to survive, to live, even through all that pain.

He had something to fight for, too.

Just like I did.

Just like we all did.

Maybe
, I thought with a cringe,
it is a bad thing I am trying to sugarcoat it the way I am
.

Yes.

Be more like your father, Ryland.

I couldn’t keep the disgusting truth of what was coming from him forever. Besides, I didn’t have to tell him all of it right now.

“I twist my wrist that way because of how my father trained me,” I said with a sigh, keeping Jaromir’s focus on me, despite wanting to look away. “He broke my wrist every day to teach me how to heal while still teaching me other abilities, so things like the wrist flick are because I couldn’t move my body the right way and had to make do.”

That’s a good boy, Ryland.

Jaromir’s smile faded little by little with each word I spoke. This tiny, little fact about my father and what he was capable of seeped into him and replaced his awe with worry.

I groaned a bit at the shocked look he had now fixed me with, instantly grateful I had elected not to say anything more. I wasn’t sure what it would do to the kid.

“Your father broke your wrist?”

“My father is not a very nice man, Jaromir.”

He doesn’t seem to think so.

Look at him, Ryland.

“Every day for a year?” He continued speaking as though I hadn’t said anything, like he hadn’t heard the little asterisk mark that I was attaching to that or, worse, like he didn’t care.

“That is not a good thing, kid,” I reiterated as I turned back to him, my heart dropping to see the awe seeping back into Jaromir’s eyes.
Please don’t let it be for what I think it is.

It is, Ryland.

It is exactly what you think it is.

“My father is … well… He’s not very nice.”

“I know that.”

I froze.

“How do you know?” We had been very careful to shield him from knowing my connection with Edmund, something that had been nearly impossible, all things considered. “You don’t know my father.”

Jaromir smiled, his lips spreading wide to reveal rows of perfectly straight and white teeth. “Yes I do,” he said through the grin. “It’s Edmund.”

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. My mouth opened automatically, my brain struggling to catch up, to find something to tell him, some way to respond.

“I figured it out,” he said, the smug look growing as he rubbed his fingers over the mark on his cheek, as though, if he pressed hard enough, he could make it disappear. “It wasn’t that hard. I knew Ilyan was his son, and you and Ilyan are obviously brothers, what with your weird eyes and the crazy things you both do and everything…” He smiled broadly at that, his hand dragging over his hair before he pinched the bridge of his nose, his smile increasing in mockery.

He laughed.

I didn’t.

“Were you
trying
to keep it from me?”

“Well … yeah…” I dragged my hand through my hair in embarrassed frustration again before stopping halfway through and dropping it to my side.
Of all the things to give us away …

Jaromir’s smile stretched to inordinate proportions.

“There are some things you probably shouldn’t know yet,” I finished in a desperate hope he would let it drop.

I was a fool to think there was even a chance at that.

“That’s dumb,” he spat, the quick change in demeanor taking me by surprise.

The awe had gone; the pity had gone. He was just a lanky boy who stood before me in angry defiance.

I didn’t miss those mood swings.

You were always more powerful with them, just like him.

Whoever said only girls got those during puberty had never tried to control the magical rage of a boy trying to figure himself out.

Just standing here, I could feel the heat of his magic begin to grow, my own magic reacting in warning.

“How so?” I was careful to keep the hesitancy out of my voice.

“You’re training everyone for war, right?” He already knew the answer to this, but I nodded my head in acceptance, anyway. “Which means you are training me for war, too, so why hide things? Why lie and say things are different than they are?”

So that it’s easier for me to defeat you.

“So we can protect you.”

“That’s dumb,” he repeated, a smug, little smile springing over his face, his nose turning up at me as if he smelled something disgusting.

In any other circumstance, I would have laughed at the look, but I couldn’t. Not right then when the tense ball in my gut made it impossible.

“Why is that dumb, Jaromir?”

His smile grew. “Because isn’t that what you are training
me
to do? To protect myself?”

To die for me, you mean.

No, Father.

“Well … yes…” The words broke out awkwardly, my heart thundering as even
I
began to question who I was responding to.

“So why keep stuff like that from me? You are already training me to protect myself, but I can’t protect myself if you aren’t going to tell me everything. Just saying it’s for protection when I can’t protect myself without it … It doesn’t make any sense.”

He had spoken in circles the way he always did when he was agitated, the way I used to when I was his age. Despite the circles, however, I knew he had a point, one I was foolish for missing.

I stared at him, the obviously blank look on my face causing him to smile even more.

I know how to wipe that grin off his face.

He was smug. He had won. He knew he had gotten me. I didn’t know why, but that made me uncomfortable—being upped by a kid.