A Lightning Storm of Spark and Flame

Chapter 2

After breakfast, Grandmother brings Phoebe into her study. Just like always. The room itself is spacious with high ceilings, but the dark shelves that line every inch of available wall space make it seem much more dim. Some of these are crammed with all kinds of books. Massive leather-bound volumes, paperbacks small enough to fit into a pocket, and everything in between. Others contain row after row of glass jars like the ones upstairs in Phoebe's room. Some of them contain storms, but others hold captured snow flurries, rippling water, and some molten orange Substance that she's sure is lava. There are even jars containing liquids of different Hughes which do not appear to be of this earth. The most impressive feature, however, stands alone at the very top of the center shelf. A single glass bottle, larger than the others, contains a very bright golden light. It's impossible to look at directly, but gives off enough warmth and glow to illuminate the entire room. Phoebe hasn't dared to ask, but some part of her believes that it is sunlight. A large wooden desk dominates the center of the room, clear except for a single pen and a notebook with a dark red cover. Phoebe shudders just looking at it. For as long as she can remember, that book has been the bane of her existence. Grandmother strides toward the far wall and removes a scarily thick tome from one shelf. She sets it down on the desk with a massive thump and gestures for her granddaughter to sit in front of it. "In today's lesson," she announces once she herself is seated as well. "You will read the theory of element control. This was written many, many years ago by a scholar who was said to be one of the most powerful known elementalists. He put a great amount of research into his studies so you will read over it and tell me what you learn. After lunch, we will test to see if it is true." Nodding, Phoebe pulls the very heavy book toward herself and begins to read aloud.

"The Theory of Control
The first step toward harnessing the gift you have been given is to acknowledge its presence. Feel it humming beneath your skin. Understand that it is always there, never fluctuating, waiting to answer your call. Next, you must learn to call for it. Reach within yourself. Focus, But ensure that you are not in a heightened state of emotion for your first time. That can produce disastrous consequences. Finally, once you can get your power to respond to you, you must exercise it just like any other muscle. The more you work with it, the stronger it will become and the easier it will be to get the results you want. This process will take time and much concentration. Regardless of what element you are able to manipulate, it will not be of any use if you do not know how to appropriately utilize it. But if you follow the steps above and continue to persistently put effort into strengthening your connection to the power inside you, it will help you."

Once she's finished reading, Phoebe clears her throat and looks up at Grandmother. The elderly woman is watching her with an expectant expression, as if waiting for her response to what she has just read. "How true is it?" Phoebe asks. Grandmother shakes her head. "That, child, is for you to learn." The girl sighs. No matter how many times they repeat this process, it's always the same. Grandmother will present her with some obsolete theory or list of instructions in one of her many thousands of books. Then it's up to Phoebe to test it out on her own. The results are usually terrible at first, but then they become more helpful once she figures out the balance of following them and finding her own way forward. "Yes, Grandmother." she says resignedly. It's not like the method doesn't work, she just wishes sometimes that the other woman would occasionally help her a little. "The book goes into further detail on each of the steps." she says instead, gesturing for Phoebe to continue. Obligingly, she picks up the book once more and reads on. By the time Grandmother calls her for lunch, Phoebe's eyes are drifting closed out of boredom. Even so, she remembers absolutely everything she has read exactly to the letter. In her darkest moments, she sometimes resents being blessed with the gift of wisdom. If she hadn't, maybe her brain would be a bit quieter. She shakes her head and gets to her feet. What an ungrateful thing to even think, she chides herself. Once they finish lunch, Grandmother leads Phoebe into a large, empty room with no windows and thick concrete walls. The roof in this room is made entirely from glass, allowing sunlight to stream unbidden into the space and fill it with warmth. Just like in her room, the glass ceiling retracts at the pull of a lever. At once, the sounds and smells of nature rush in to tickle at her senses. Despite feeling drained of every scrap of energy when she leaves, the training room is her favorite place. Sometimes, under the pretense of remembering her instructions, she'll lay in the center of the floor and just allow the golden sunshine to wash over her, basking in its warmth and light. Today, however, Grandmother removes three glass bottles from a pocket of her house dress and hands them over with a smile. "The extra is in case you need a backup. I already took some medicine, so don't worry about these storms hurting me. Release the blizzard only after you have succeeded in harnessing the regular storms." Nodding, the girl takes the bottles and is left alone in the training room. Two of them contain angrily swirling thunderstorms, but the third one imprisons a fierce looking cloud of white. Even now, the intense cold radiating off the bottle nearly makes Phoebe drop it. Instead, she puts the blizzard along with the spare thunderstorm into her own pocket, thinks about the instructions she had read earlier, and throws the remaining container to the floor. It shatters on impact, and its prisoner rises from the remains with a roar unlike any other. Wind instantly begins to howl, the clouds reforming and rising fast. Rain falls like icy needles, soaking Phoebe almost immediately. Shivering, she focuses on what she needs to do. She's had her fair share of capturing storms and battling them, but now she must bend them to her will. She can feel her magic deep within, humming like a Live Wire, ready to be summoned. Gritting her teeth against the rage of the storm, she closes her eyes and retreats inward. For a while, nothing happens. Around her, the storm gains power and fury. Lightning strikes over and over again, thunder loud enough to shake the walls not far behind it. Yet still, Phoebe stands in the center of it all, her focus unbroken. Again and again She tries to get the power within her to answer the call, but it doesn't seem to want anything to do with her. For a moment, she's tempted to give up, but the thought is gone just as fast as it had entered. Clenching her fists and squeezing her eyes shut, she pushes harder. After what feels like a monumental effort, she finally feels something different. Her concentration pays off as power suddenly floods through her. She raises her arms to the sky, focusing on pulling the storm back toward her, but something else happens instead. Phoebe feels the wind strengthen, and then suddenly, impossibly, she is lifted clean off her feet. She cries out in fear, losing her grip on her power. But it doesn't seem to matter. She can still feel it surrounding her on all sides, protecting her from being tossed about unceremoniously by the nearly unnaturally strong winds. Each time lightning passes through her body, she feels somehow stronger. Despite this, she still can't quite figure out how to release herself from its grip. She is completely unaware that the reason for this is no fault of her own. As she is taken higher and higher from the ground, she is none the wiser to the fact that her grandmother is standing on the front porch, watching her granddaughter spiraling into the sky With the remnants of two more broken bottles at her feet.