The Lost War, Karl Gallagher [recommended reading txt] 📗

Strongarm took over an abandoned set of sticks. Newman made him focus on control instead of force—“Keep the end turning on the same spot, not moving around”—and left him to it.

Goldenrod started the second fire.

“Cheater. Bet your boyfriend gave you extra lessons,” snarked Redinkle.

Goldenrod just laughed at her.

The other students eventually ignited kindling or gave up. Redinkle and Strongarm were the last two still trying. When his kindling sprouted flames, she cursed at him. “How the hell did you start it so fast? I’ve been at this three times longer than you have.”

Strongarm showed his palms. “Calluses, sugarpie. I can twirl harder than your pretty pink smooth hands.”

“Not so pretty now.” She lifted a hand off the stick to show a burst and bleeding blister.

Newman said, “I think you should stop for today. That needs a bandage.”

Redinkle glared at him. “No, dammit, I’m going to start this fire.”

The tinder, board, stick in her hand, and waiting kindling, twigs, and sticks all burst into flame together. Flames climbed onto Redinkle’s sleeves, skirt, and hair.

Newman tackled her, rolling her over in the grass until she wasn’t burning. Goldenrod threw a bucket of water onto the fire. “How the hell did that happen?” asked Newman.

“Who cares? She’s hurt.” Strongarm picked Redinkle up and trotted toward the chiurgeon’s tent. As the pain overcame shock she started screaming. Goldenrod followed. Newman only paused to tell an onlooker to put the fires out before chasing them.

One glance was enough for Lady Burnout to tell the patient sitting on her examining table “Off.” Strongarm, Newman, Goldenrod, and apprentice chiurgeon Elderberry were all needed to hold Redinkle on the table. “First degree on face and legs. Third degree on hands.” She stepped back and thought for a second.

“What are you doing?” said Goldenrod.

“Triage. Will all three of you work to keep her bandages clean?”

“Yes, milady.” “Yes’m.” “Aye, my lady.”

“Then we’ll do it. Here, give her this.” Burnout handed a scarce hydrocodone pill to Goldenrod.

With a little water and whispers of, “You’ll be all right,” Goldenrod managed to get the pill down Redinkle’s throat.

“Now, boys, this will be the hard part,” said Burnout. “I need to remove the damaged tissue, put on some ointment, then bandage her. That’s going to hurt like hell. You have to hold her arms still so I can work on her.” They nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Everyone was relieved when Redinkle passed out.

***

Newman led Constable over to the fire. Six piles of ash surrounded some unburnt firewood. Redinkle’s stood out by its flatness. The other fires had still been charred sticks when put out. Hers was pure ash.

“Who started the one that burned her?” asked Constable.

“I don’t know. She was working on her own drill, but she couldn't keep it going long enough to heat it up. I tried to get her to give up and try again tomorrow. Then it all just burst into flame, even the wood she wasn’t working on.” Newman pointed at the ashes of the sticks stacked up to feed the fire after the twigs.

“Anyone mess with her stuff?”

“No. It just went poof.”

“Son, you make it sound like it just magically burst into flame, and I don’t believe in magic.” Constable had retired after thirty years as a cop, and could produce the look when needed.

“Sir, if you don’t believe in magic, how do you think we’re here?” asked Newman.

***

They waited two more days before asking Redinkle. Lady Burnout came by once a day to apply ointment. “You’re a lucky young lady. That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen such burns heal. I think you’ll even recover full function in both hands.”

“Thanks,” said Redinkle.

Newman stepped forward. “Red, while you’re awake, could you tell us how it happened again?”

She glanced over his shoulder at Constable. “Like I said before. I said I’d keep trying, I gave the drill an extra hard twist, then the whole stick was burning in my hand. Don’t you believe me?”

“I do,” said Newman. “Could you try something for me?”

“What?”

He held out a paper receipt from his wallet. “Imagine this bursting into flame.”

“You think I burnt myself?”

“I don’t know. Let’s test it.”

“Goddammit.” Redinkle glared at the paper. Flames sprung up along the edges. Newman dropped it. It was grey ash before it reached the grass.

“Now I’ll believe in magic,” said Constable.

***

Pernach wasted no time putting his wife’s new power to work. Once Lady Burnout declared Redinkle healed he dragged her out to the clearing in the woods where he and Pinecone had been making charcoal.

“I don’t know what you need me for,” she complained. “You’re burning stuff just fine.”

The clearing was covered with stacks of drying wood, ash, bits of charcoal, and wood chips. In the center a pile of dirt fumed.

“It’s not fine.” Pernach picked up a piece of wood charred on one end. “Our results are uneven. Some of the wood doesn’t burn at all. When we open vents to spread the fire we wind up burning it to ash. We’re getting a twenty or thirty percent yield. It’s cutting into Master Forge’s production.”

“I can’t ignite dirt.” Redinkle paced around the edge of the mound.

“It’s mostly wood. The dirt is to keep air out so it smolders instead of burns.” He crouched, put a hand against the dirt, slid a few feet to the right, and checked again. “Here’s a cold spot.”

Redinkle pushed her fingers through the layer of dirt and leaves. When she touched split wood she concentrated for a moment. Flames flared from the hole as she yanked her fingers out.

Pernach tossed a shovelful of dirt on the hole. “Perfect. Now I don’t have to try venting it.”

She was kneeling next to the mound. “I might have made ash of that