The Sun Weilders

4

Thirty minutes into my temper tantrum, I realized something I hadn't comprehended before. When the man with the dirty apron, Graham, kindly escorted us out of Faz's Family Diner, I had turned to look at the restaurant once more. The diner was a small building, and certainly Mr. Dougal's "Second Shack behind the Restaurant" would have stood far above the restaurant.

So why hadn't I seen it? I remembered that there were books about that sort of thing, where the building was concealed by some sort of "strange magic". But why would Mr. Dougal want to hide the beauty of that room?

I went into my linoleum-floored bathroom and looked at myself in the cracked mirror. My straight blond hair had grown long over the summer; it was at my collarbone now, but normally it would hang by my shoulders. My small blue eyes seemed to sink into my eyesockets; I had never liked my eyes. I had a scar running along my left temple, from an accident where I fell off of a horse when I was ten.

Let me just tell you now, I'm not the best with aniimals.

I went downstairs to find my grandmother sitting at our Goodwill table. In her hands was a box, her knuckles white from gripping the wood. Her expression was a mixture of glum, despair, and... regret?

Once she saw me, she immediately got up, the box still firmly held in her hands. "I've never known when to give this to you. It never seemed like the right time. But, now that I think about it, you are of age."

Her words didn't make much sense to me. Of age for what?

She handed the box to me, encouraging me to open it. The box was big in my hands, and the wood looked as if it had been polished at once, but the polish was peeling from it now. A symbol resembling a tongue of flame was embedded on the wood, the same one I saw on the tiles at Mr. Dougal's building.

There was a small clasp on the box, shaped like a flame also. I started to open it, and stopped.

"Grandmother," I began, "I've been meaning to ask you something. You see, I-"

"I know exactly what you're talking about. Of course, a Sun Wielder is a very special person."

What was she talking about? "Grandmother, I don't know..."

"I guess your mentor hasn't told you yet. So I will. You see, a few months after you turn sixteen, a few selected people get sent dreams. Ones that have awful, hideous images propelling you into an oblivion of a world that is unknown to us. After that, you get some sort of note inviting you to join mentors for private training. You, fortunately and also unfortunately, are one of those chosen few."

"Private training for what?" I asked, as worriness crept into my voice.

"The dreams, Emry. The ones you've been having. They're real. They just haven't happened yet."

"How do you know that I've been having dreams about the world going up in flames, with me standing in the midst of it all?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Sun Wielders run in families, Emry. Sometimes they skip generations, and I was hoping that would happen with you."

"So you're saying you were a Sun Wielder?"

"Yes," my grandmother replied rather curtly. "But I did not follow through with the entire process."

"Why?"

"Because I met your grandfather. And he was all that I needed at the moment."

My heart was pounding a mile a minute. All I could do was swallow back tears. The box in my hands was slipping due to my sweaty hands.

I only had one more question. "Can I continue to see Mr.-"

But she cut me off. "Yes. You are allowed to go. If you don't many consequences will occur. But you are not allowed to speak to me about your training. Not about your mentor, not about your weilding abilities. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I replied, and dashed up the stairs, the contents of the box making a loud sound. Once I set the box on my nightstand, I rushed to the bathroom to get my phone. I called Crimson, because I couldn't think of anything else to do.

He picked up on the first ring. "Emry. I know what you're thinking. I didn't mean to, but I just couldn't..." and his voice trailed off.

He was talking about the kiss. So it had been real.

"It's fine. I wanted to ask you about something else."

"Oh?" he asked, curiosity lacing his voice, "What is it?"

I took a deep breath. "I just had a talk with my grandmother. She said that, when some teenagers turn sixteen, a few months after that, they receive dreams. Ones like I've been having. And then they get notes from mentors and..." my voice broke and I put my head in my hands.

Crimson's voice was soft and beautifully sweet. "Listen, Em. I know Mr. Dougal will explain everything tomorrow. And yeah, I'll be driving you. I care too much about you to let you go off to that part of town by yourself. Now, get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow to pick you up."

I sighed. He always had known how to make me feel better. "Okay."

"Night," he said, and the phone clicked off.

I put my phone on my nightstand and set the box in my lap. I probably should have opened it, but sleep came before I could do so.

I was propelled into another series of heinous dreams.