Heat - 17. Interlude 2, Asher

Interlude 2, Asher

My father is reading in his study when I burst in. He looks up, irritated that I didn’t knock. “Sorry for the interruption, sir, but I need your help. Something is wrong with Moses.”

Still irritated (he doesn’t like to be disturbed after 8pm) he says “What is it?” but he lays down his book and stands - a good sign.

“He went out to help with Peter’s first spell and when he came back he… well he couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He’s in the backyard.”

Dad, seeing the seriousness of the situation on my face (I have never been good at hiding my emotions from people I am close to) says “Fine, I’ll handle it. Go tell your mother what you told me, someone needs to contact the other Elders." Then he leaves the room.

I run to their bedroom where Mom is in the bathroom brushing her teeth. Quickly I tell her what Dad told me to. Always the action mom, she is already on the phone before I’m finished talking, alerting the phone tree about what is happening. The Elders will be convening tonight for an emergency spell of some sort, she says, something to help Moses calm down and to restabilize him. I try to go back out to the back yard to check on him but my father blocks me at the door.

“It’s too dangerous, Asher. You are opposite elements - he could hurt you very badly without even meaning to. You are too important for that.”

It makes sense but I find it hard to believe Moses could ever hurt me, even on accident. He’s too good for that. Then again. I remember the swirling, screaming storm cloud rapidly shifting between rain, snow, and hail at random battering the treehouse that Dad and I built when I was little and I decide to stay. The Elders will know what to do - they always do.

They arrive in groups - not everyone in town owns a car so the ones that do are tasked with driving around picking everyone else up. The Elders are an eclectic bunch, ranging from your standard white haired old white men to a thirty five year old asian woman covered head to toe in arcane tattoos that she can cast small, frequent spells with at will.

Once our house is packed almost to bursting the discussions begin and I am swept out of the room. My mom says meetings like this have to be private, for Moses’ sake. This doesn’t sound like the true reason they don’t want me involved in the meeting but there’s nothing I can say to change a decision that has already been made for me so I go to my room in the basement.

The metal bed creaks as I sink into it’s bare springs (when I was in middle school I had a streak of bad dreams that ended up setting three different mattresses on fire - after that it was just thin blankets from the military surplus store folded twice on a charred metal bed frame - my own fault of course) and I listen to the hum of distant voices above my head. Outside I can still hear Moses screaming. It’s like he isn’t even in there anymore. Like all there is is the storm. Will they be able to bring him back? What happens if they can’t? I don’t even know. All I know is I wasn’t strong enough to help him and now he is out there in pain and I am in here, helpless.

I am working myself up for no reason, I know. I can feel my skin starting to burn - the pain of it twisting at the nerve endings on my back. My flames always start there, in the place between my shoulder blades. I roll my arms to try and relieve some of the pain and work to calm my breathing like Moses taught me. It spreads to my arms first, like always, frying the hair there and blistering the skin instantly. Then, downward, to my chest - so I stand and walk around the room to keep from burning my blanket. It’s ok, Dad is going to fix it. He always fixes it. No need to panic. Moses will be ok. The flames settle, finally, and like always the wounds heal themselves just as fast as the fire goes away - like they were never even there.

I hide the shirt under the bed - I can get rid of it later. I don’t have many shirts left now, Dad said since I couldn’t get my act together and stop ruining what he bought for me he was just going to stop buying me more clothes so I hide what I destroy. I’m sure he notices my dwindling wardrobe but so long as he doesn’t see the evidence of my constant failure I at least don’t get yelled at. Then I pull on one of the four I have left and sit back on the bed to wait.
What might be hours later (I don’t own anything that can tell time) my door opens. It’s my father. “We have decided on a solution. You will be assisting us with the required rituals. Prepare. I’ll come get you when it is time.” With that he turns and leaves the room, no comment on my outfit change. He must be really worried about Moses to not notice. That makes me feel better.

I’ve removed my clothes when he returns to my room, and carefully painted symbols on important points across my skin to make the transfer of power easier. They used to try and tattoo this on me when I was younger but eventually after a couple years of strapping me down in the tattoo chair over and over (for hours each time) they realized ink never stays in my skin for long (after all, it peels away every time I flare) so they taught me the required symbols and where they go and told me to never, ever, arrive for a ritual without them. He inspects my body from top to bottom, gesturing for me to turn around so that he can check the symbols on my back as well (those were the hardest to learn to draw). He always does this - checks to make sure I have properly applied my symbols. He’s careful like that. Once he’s satisfied he says “Everything is ready outside.” and turns to head up the stairs, assuming I will follow.

I do, of course. In the yard, Moses is still swirling and screaming. They have trapped him in a binding circle but those never hold long when we are like this so there is obvious urgency among the collected Elders as they run around the backyard placing pre-drawn tarps with magic circles I don’t recognize in a complex pattern surrounding his cage. I am quickly guided to my spot by a burly elder with food stains on his shirt. He is impatient to the extreme and I am sure if touching me wasn’t taboo he would have physically shoved me into the circle.

While everyone prepares I look at the tarps they have laid out. There are a lot of them - far more than they could have thrown together in the time since they were gathered. They must have been prepared for something like this. Smart. We could hurt a lot of people, it makes sense to have a backup plan in case of emergencies like this one. They finish adjusting and a handful of the most skilled casters, including my father, step onto their own circles.

When the spell begins at first it feels normal. The pain starts in my back, spreads to my whole body until it feels like my skin is peeling off my bones (because it is) and then all at once there is a burst of energy and suddenly I feel incredibly, impossibly, alive. The pain is gone and I am so… powerful. It’s a rush, a thrill. Maybe even a little arousing, though I would never admit that. I hate it.

Then they begin drawing and the power flows out of me. I’ve never been more willing to let it go than I am today. If what they are doing can help Moses then I will give them anything they ask for - everything I’ve got if I have to. I feel it flow into the casters around me. I can feel people as they connect to me - each person has a specific feeling to their draw. My father feels steady and constant. The woman with the tattoos, Mae, feels jittery and strong like one of those electric hand buzzers. The burly man with the stained shirt feels dark and cool like a midnight swim in the nearby lake. I send them what they ask for and more.

The spell starts, the symbols glow. I watch as the raging storm that is Moses begins to slow, to calm. It’s working! The cloud slowly drifts to the ground and settles, reforming into my friend. I almost collapse with relief when I see him lying in the middle of that binding circle unconscious but himself. Then, my father, who had been collecting power without actually pouring any of it into his circle (he can hold more of my power safely than anyone else, they say it’s because he spent so much time close to me growing up) pours all of what he has into the circle at his feet. The circle flares with flame, my flame, and I watch it begin to form a symbol in the air. A magical symbol.

No one realizes just how much magic I actually know, I think. When I see that symbol appear in the air I know what it is immediately. It’s very similar to the symbols in the binding circle but it’s been modified in a way I’ve never seen before. That is a symbol of binding but what they have done to it has changed it so that it doesn’t bind the body - it binds the mind.

I pull back to stop him but it’s too late. With a flick of his wrist he flings the flaming symbol directly into the unconscious Moses’ chest. Moses awakens instantly and screams with pain as the symbol begins, slowly, to burn into his body. I can feel my father still pulling my power, feeding his spell. I try and stop the flow of power, turn off the tap, but all that does is hurt like it always does when it is unwilling. I just can’t stop him.

Every other Elder has disconnected from me now, and they watch with something like curiosity on their faces. I realize all at once what is happening. This is an experiment. I collapse to my knees, burning a wide circle of grass around me.

I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. Moses is sobbing now, begging for them to stop hurting him. Begging for me to stop hurting him. I am panickedly pulling at the connection trying to stop the draw, slow it, anything. Then I have a thought. I can’t reduce the amount being pulled… but maybe I can increase it.

All at once I pour everything I have into my father. Suddenly his tap is an ocean. His spell gets stronger and stronger as he pours more and more of my power into it and I can hear Moses scream as the burning on his chest intensifies but I can also see my father begin to smoke. “Asher what are you doing, stop this!” he yells.
My mother, watching from the house, races out into the yard. “Asher! Asher, stop you're killing him!”

I ignore her, pour even more of myself into my father. He collapses to his knees and I can see his skin begin to light. Still I continue. More. More. His entire body is burning now. I keep pouring until there is nothing left but ash.

Then I fall. Rematerialize. The yard is horribly silent now. Every eye is on me. Then my mother, sobbing, says “What are you standing there for!” waving her arms at the collected Elders “Look at what he’s done! Are you not going to stop him?”

The burly one shakes off the shock first. He turns to Moses, lying glassy eyed and grievously wounded in the center of the yard. “Attack” he says. For a moment I am confused. Then, horrifically, Moses’ weeping wound reignites. Again, he screams in pain. “You heard me. FIGHT!” The man shouts. Moses struggles to his feet but doesn’t move. The flaming symbol on his chest burns hotter and hotter every moment he refuses the order to attack me. Tears run down his face in constant streams and I can see parts of his body become liquid again as he tries to hold out.

“Ash…” he whispers weakly, the sound carrying - the only thing I can hear “you have to run. Now.”

So I do.