Soul Blaze (5 page)

“You cotton on quickly,” Iain said, but the praise was
empty and cold. “From that, I’m certain you can deduce
that we may never ever find this man. Wouldn’t that just
be so terrible... You’d be stuck in this realm forever.”

I bit my lip, forcing back a plethora of responses. They
had me in the palm of their hand; they could crush me
whenever they wanted.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. It felt like admitting
defeat. “Tell me what the task is.”

“I think you might want to get your head around the
fact that you’re in a different world first,” Iain said,
beginning to go through some of the papers littering his
desk. “In a few days maybe, we’ll talk.”

I didn’t say anything, but left the room before Netalia. I
didn’t want to feel like I was being towed by someone.

The library was magnificent, and I did get caught up
reading some of the books. The large room was empty, but
I couldn’t help but feel like it was usually occupied. When
I asked Netalia about it though, she said that the library
was hardly ever used; that it was just her and Iain in the
castle.

As I stuck my nose back into my book, I remembered
the boy who’d come down to my cell. He’d recognised me,
I was sure of it. As they were yet to mention him or offer
any explanation for him being there, I was guessing that
Iain and Netalia had no idea he’d seen me, and vice versa.
And Netalia had let slip that this building was an
Academy. What kind of Academy didn’t have students?

As far as I was concerned, they’d slipped up twice, and
could do so again.
~Chapter Six~

The next few days passed without incident. I was
allowed into the library, and at one point, the stables.
Only one horse was present, a pretty bay mare, but as I
passed by the other stalls, I noticed that they were all
made up, as though there’d been other horses occupying
them before I arrived.

My dinner was brought up by Netalia though, and
when I asked about the girl who’d brought my breakfast, I
was immediately interrogated as to what she looked like,
what did she say, did I recognise her.

“How could I recognise her?” I’d asked, arms folded.
“Have I been here before?”

“Of course not,” Netalia had said instantly. Her
composure was slipping. “It means we’ve had an intruder
into our castle. Let me know if you see her again, dear.”

When she’d left, I’d hurled a plate at the closed door.

“You’re slipping up,” I said to myself one night before I
fell asleep. The sentence brought a small smile to my lips.
“Soon I’ll learn the truth.”

Apparently they thought the same. A few mornings
after I’d made the mistake of bringing up the girl, I was
brought to Iain’s office.

“I hope you’re settling in,” he said, not looking at me.
“Are you ready to discuss your task?”
“Finally,” I said, sitting down in the one chair in front
of his desk. “Lay it on me. I want to go home.”
Netalia came to stand behind my chair. I made sure not
to show them how uncomfortable I was.
“Do you know this man?”

Iain slid a portrait towards me. On the parchment was a
painting of a young man with long brown hair. The artist
had coloured his eyes a bright orange. Even through the
painting, I could feel the intensity of his gaze.

“No,” I said honestly. “Am I supposed to?”
“Of course not,” Iain folded his hands on his desk.
“Your task is to kill him.”

A bead in the glass bar behind him rattled before
clattering down the other end. The whole thing tilted to
the right.

“Kill him?” I repeated incredulously. “You want me to
kill this man?”
“Yes.” Netalia said from behind me.

“Are you crazy?” I asked them both. “No, are you
actually insane? I’m not going to kill this man just because
you say so. Also, I don’t know what you’re thinking. I’m
no assassin, I’m a year twelve student; I should be studying
in my room right now.”

“You are the right person for this task.” Iain said.

“Why?”I shot back angrily. “I want answers, Iain. You
can’t just point to a random guy, say ‘kill him’ and for me
to snap to.”

“This man is a very bad man,” Netalia said, apparently
resorting to simple words for me to understand. “He will
cause death and destruction for a lot of people.”

“You can’t punish someone for something they haven’t
done,” I retorted, pushing one foot against Iain’s desk so
my chair leant back. I folded my arms. “Besides, if he’s so
bad, why don’t you guys do something about it?”

They exchanged glances. I could tell they were trying
to work out how much to tell me.
“If we kill him, he’ll just come back,” Iain said finally.
“He’ll reincarnate again.”
I let the chair fall back to all fours with a resounding
‘
bang

“Ok, you two are seriously off of your rockers. First all
this magic crap, and then wanting me to kill someone I’ve
never met before, and now
reincarnation
?”

“Sky-”

“Also, can you stop calling me that?” I stood up,
shunting the chair backwards. “My name is Rose. Rose
Evermore.”

“Fine,” Netalia was grinding her teeth. “
Fine
. Rose,
then. Please. You must hear us out.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m out. I’m done.” I began to walk towards
the open door, but stopped in my tracks as it slammed
shut.

“We can’t allow you to leave the castle, Rose,” Iain said
slowly. “As for your consternation about magic, well...”

I turned slowly. Iain was still standing behind him
desk, but in his hands was a white fireball. I watched,
disbelieving, as he transferred it to both hands, and stood
there, ablaze.

“What’s that?” I asked quietly, my mouth dry.
“Magic.” Iain answered simply.

I was suddenly filled with the desire to touch the
fireball, like it was a possession that I owned, and had
owned, for a long time previously. I swallowed nervously,
and then reached out a hand for it.

“May I see?” I asked.

Iain closed his fists, and the fireballs disappeared except
for a few sparks that flickered between his fingers before
dying. I curled my fingers into a fist and then let my hand
drop.

“So that’s magic,” I said. “It’s real. Or you’ve drugged
me. Probably the latter.”
“We haven’t drugged you,” Netalia said. “In fact-”

“That’s my magic, isn’t it?” I wasn’t really asking, and
they knew it. “You said you’d come to take my magic
again, that you’d never had to take it twice.”

“Yes, well, we succeeded a second time, though it took
almost dying to accomplish it,” Netalia replied,
disgruntled. “You held onto it fiercely.”

I suddenly remembered the sport’s day at my school,
how easily everything had been for me. I’d been aided by
my magic, I realised now.

“Why did you need to take it a second time?” I asked.
“Have I been here before?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t I remember anything?”

“When you crossed back to the human realm, you lost
your memories in the transition,” Iain said. “This man,” he
tapped the portrait. “Is responsible for that.”

I looked at the portrait, and something hot stirred in
my chest.
“I lost a year, because of this man?”
“Yes,” Netalia said, watching me closely.

I picked up the portrait, feeling the coarse parchment. I
ran a thumb over the painting, the brush strokes rough
against my skin.

“What’s his name?” I asked eventually.
“He is known to us as Phoenix,” Iain said. “He’s a year
older than you, and a disaster waiting to happen. He has
the ability to start a war. You need to stop him before that
happens.”

“Why me?” I asked. “Won’t he just... reincarnate?”

“Not if you kill him,” Netalia replied. “There is
something special about you. If you were the one to kill
him, he will never reincarnate.”

That didn’t really make sense to me, but I had too many
questions to dwell on the one.
“How many times has he reincarnated?”
“This is the third.”
“Is it immediate?”
“No. It can take many years for him to be reborn.”
“So how long has it been since he was killed last time?”
Iain sat at his desk heavily.
“Roughly one thousand years.” He said.
I stared down at the portrait, my hands trembling.
“Why has he reincarnated again? Didn’t the last person
do their job properly?” I demanded.
“No. He was killed in battle, and not by the person that
needed to do it.”
I put the parchment back down on Iain’s desk. I hugged
myself, cupping my elbows in my hands.
“Am I a reincarnation?” I asked quietly.
Only Netalia’s sharp intake of breath behind me gave
away the fact that I’d just stumbled upon something.

“Yes.” Iain said slowly, and I could almost see the
wheels turning in his head, trying to work out how much
to reveal to me. He paused for a second too long.

“Just tell me, Iain!” I shouted, slamming my hands
down on his desk. “Stop hiding things from me! Tell me
the truth, or I swear I’ll hole up quite happily in my room
and grow old. You can have your damn war, but you
won’t be getting any help from me.”

The sudden silence in the room was broken only by the
rattling of the beads in the glass bar.

“Well apparently the stick isn’t working,” Iain said,
completely nonplussed about me shouting in his face. “So
how about a carrot? You help us, and we’ll give you your
magic back.”

My breath caught in my chest. That beautiful fire? The
power that I could almost taste when it took a hold of my
veins? I held my hand out as though he’d just hand it over.

“Not now. After you kill him.”
I told him to do something unlikely. Netalia gasped.
“Charming,” he said. “Do we have an agreement?”

“You’re asking me to kill someone,” I said, my voice
low. I still had my hands on his desk. We were about eye
level. “I’m not going to agree to that.”

Instead of answering, he lit a small ball of fire in the
palm of his hand. My throat tightened as I saw my magic
again. The white flames danced, tinged with green. I
needed it back.

“Do we have an agreement?” he repeated.
As though someone else had taken control of my body,
I heard one word fall from my lips.
“Yes.”
~Chapter Seven~

The next few days passed in a blur. I barely
remembered agreeing to kill this man, this Phoenix, who
threatened war. All I could think about was the white fire,
the magic that they’d stolen from me. Home seemed a
distant place now. I could barely remember what my
bedroom looked like. I couldn’t remember the sound of
my mother’s voice. My waking hours were consumed by
the thought of the magic, the feeling of it rising with the
adrenaline in my veins.

I was obsessed.

“May I see it?” I asked Iain for the thousandth time, at
the end of one of my training sessions that they’d insisted
on.

He held out his hand, and the ball of fire gleamed upon
it. I watched it for a few seconds before I instinctively
reached out for it. He closed his hand on it, the fire dying
immediately.

I sighed and let my hand fall. The swords they’d been
training with were on my back in sheaths that crossed
over, their hilts poking above my shoulders. I loved them
almost as much as I loved the sight of my magic. I’d been
thrilled when Iain had handed them to me for the first
time.

“They’re engraved.” I’d said in wonder, examining the
shining blades. I carefully traced the outline of small vines
that had been etched on the left hand sword. The other
had flames that spanned the length of the blade.

“Yes,” Iain had said, rather disgruntled. “If you find a
way to get it off, let me know.”
“Who engraved them?” I asked, and when he didn’t tell
me, came to my own conclusion.

As they taught me how to use the swords, I tried not to
remember why. Whenever I remembered the man in the
painting, the image of Iain holding the white fire, my
magic, forced his visage from my mind.

After a week of training, the swords had become part of
me. They were merely extensions of my being. Netalia
couldn’t hide her surprise - or her disappointment,
curiously - about how fast I’d picked them up. Iain,
however, was more focussed on the task at hand.

“You are ready,” he said at the end of a particularly
gruelling session. “We will lure him here, and you will
meet in the rose garden.”

The rose garden seemed like a strange place for an
assassination, but I didn’t argue. Guilt was beginning to
rise like the tide in me. Iain must’ve seen the doubt in my
eyes, because he held out a small portion of the fire to me.

I grabbed at it like it was a lifeline. To my surprise, he
let me, and a small flame transferred to my fingers. I
spread my hand, watching the fire dance upon the tip of
each finger. Even with this small amount, I could feel the
power beginning to leech into my veins like cheap wine.

When Iain tried to take it back, I let him, unwilling to
jeopardise my chances of getting it back for good.
I’d all but forgotten my victim.

The day of the assassination dawned bright. I felt
hollow, empty inside. I was teetering on the edge of
indecision, but then I’d remember the power, and how it
felt in my blood. I needed it, and if this man was the key
to getting it, then I’d go through with it.

By the time Netalia came to get me, I was dressed
neatly, my hair pulled back into a tight bun so as not get
in my way. My hands were loosely clasped behind me.

“You’re eager,” she said, almost disapprovingly, like this
wasn’t what she’d wanted all along.
“Of course I am,” I told her, following her out of the
door. “I get my magic back today.”

I watched her closely as I said it, searching for any signs
of deception. But when she didn’t display any, it only
increased my certainty that by the time the sun went
down, I’d be brimming with that delicious power, that
beautiful white fire.

“You mustn’t let him speak to you,” Netalia said as we
descended the stairs. “He’s an accomplished liar. Anything
he tells you is false at best.”

“Why has he agreed to see me?” I asked as I followed
her into the bright sunshine.

She didn’t answer, instead leading me to a bench in the
midst of the roses, their flowers heavy and dipping
towards the ground. I noticed that the bench was situated
in the middle of some blood red blooms; fitting, I suppose.
I sat on the seat.