WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 26

Mare

"Good," Julian murmurs from the sidelines above. "But you can do better."

I grunt and sweep a stray hair behind my ear. At least this way my hair sticks behind my temples nicely, sweat pasting everything into place. "Maybe if I had an audience I'd do better, Jacos," I respond, sending a bolt into the cavern's wall.

The training base here in Tiraxes is expansive and makeshift, but the years have been kind to odd facility. It really isn't manmade at all, save for a couple of wings, but a series of caves that are conveniently suited to an army's needs. The mess hall, training rooms, and viewing arenas are massive, and the echo of my voice gets worse every day. 

My instructor leans over the iron railing two stories above that wraps around the jaggedly circular arena, and though his tone is playful, there's not a bit of sarcasm on his face. "You can do better."

"Doubtful." The sky above us is open and cloudly, though the wisps are rapidly dissolving into nothing but brisque autumnal wind. 

"Perhaps you are right, Miss Barrow. Perhaps the day you conjured that Godly storm was simply a fluke. Just like that evening you walked through inferno at the capital, no?" Julian begins to saunter around the ring-shaped platform, identical to one below it and ten above. "Forgive me," he amends as I don't say much, only to continue glaring at the reddish-brown sandstone in front of me, all around me. 

The clouds continue to dissipate, and a chill filters down into our hollow space. Julian tucks his robes further around him. 

"The fire... it was some sort of miracle, Julian. I didn't conjure my lightning or even consider using it. There were suddenly sparks across my body, and that's all there was to it." I look down, somewhat ashamed of eye contact with the man that has taught me so much. It must sound so idiotic in his mind.

But Julian only says "Hmm," an intrigued sound. "Your lightning proves more and more each day that it has a mind of its own. I would call it self-preservation, but I suppose it was not. As for that storm you created with inky clouds and hundred-mile high volts, that was inspired."

"By hatred."

He cants his head in a sad agreeance. "I asked what made you angrier than anything else. But it would be a shame if you had to go through a mental breakdown and a session of passing out every time you wanted to create a storm."

"Indeed, it would be."

"Try again," he veers us back on course, and I try a new tactic, by kneeling down. 

The clouds drift through my veins and the rain itches to be poured down as I draw a perfect storm together in my mind and reality. The first clap of thunder is louder than previous ones, and it is followed by another few, matching the beat of my pulse. Without glancing up, I can tell it's getting darker. Because of the shadows shifting on the floor, becoming darker and obvious. 

It's taxing, it's taxing, but the feeling that I get is like a drug, addicting to the senses. The scent of coming rain bobs in the air and my hair prickles with static.

Addictive things destroy. 

In anticipation, Julian backs up precisely three steps. He made us hike down a dozen stories of stairs to get here, rather than stand outside. It's safer for him and warmer for me, but I'd still rather be out there, discovering exactly what the wind is like, how dark it is without all these flamed sconces.  But looking up, it's dark. Not as extreme as it was at the Rift, but a nice charcoal. 

Had the sky been a piece of stationery at the Rift, then's it was dripping in pitch ink, so black, where it begins and ends was a mystery. 

Clouds bubble and froth, about ready to explode. Anywhere but the pit, Julian told me a while ago, before it mattered and I was still struggling with getting more than a few clouds into the sky. I nod and release them to jerk down and dip into the sky, anywhere they please besides for the cavern and its vicinity.