Phoenix

Earth Lesson

Ash was speechless. All she could do was stare. The wall of water was sheer and magnificent, smothered by tonne-heavy cascades of water. Down it fell, dropping with a roar into a clear, sparkling tear-shaped pool, around which, broad-leafed ferns and spiky canary flowers tipped with red—the same red flowers from the vase in her room.

"See that boulder?" Gunner pointed to the tip of the teardrop where a large grey rock blocked the main flow of the river and forced it into two sections.

Ash nodded.

"Your task is to move it. Doesn't matter where, doesn't matter how far. I'll be here if you need me."

Ash assessed the boulder. It was half her height, at least four times her width, a dozen times her weight and wedged in silt. "Impossible," she stated.

Gunner chuckled. "Impossible or improbable?"

She glared and turned back to the boulder, trying to understand what it had to do with her 'induction'. She thought she was going to learn how to stop the rage, to stop almost killing people with fire. This had nothing to do with any of those things.

It could be a test,Ash thought. If they set an impossible task and I fail, it will give them an excuse to kick me off the island like they plan to do with Freia.

She looked back at Gunner, who made his way to the bank of the river and sat with his back pressed against a tree, legs stretched out in front, head tilted towards a shaft of sunlight that had pushed its way through the canopies overhead. He had a vacant smile on his face that offered no explanation.

She set her jaw and scrambled down into the water. It was deeper than expected, cold, and the current was strong, dragging her to the tip of the teardrop as though she were just another piece of debris. Waist deep, heart pounding, she gripped the rock with both hands and anchored herself against it with her feet. The current sucked the mud from around her toes, but she leaned back and held herself firm. She wasn't about to let a stupid rock determine her fate.

She tried pushing on it with the weight of her body and using the current for extra pressure. But the rock just sat there, stuck stubborn like the back stains at the bottom of the baking trays in the orphanage kitchen that no amount of soaking or scrubbing could remove. She tried from all sides, all angles, but to no avail.

Eyes stinging from the mist, feet bruised from slipping on the riverbed, teeth filled with grit from going under, she slapped the water with her fist. She was being subjected to some cruel joke. Gunner had brought her here for amusement. She looked at the giant for signs of amusement but saw none. He wasn't laughing, or smiling, just sat patiently, watching her with an intense look of concentration on his face. She'd seen that expression once before, on an orphan girl during collection duty in the Marquiet, Outer Band's largest market square. And it gave her an idea.

That day, the blistering sun had turned the vegetables limp and melted the smiles off the store-holders' faces. Most of the sideshow carnies and given up trying to get the poor shoppers to play their games and had taken to sitting and fanning themselves with bits of cardboard while their gaudy facepaint dripped down their cheeks. One carnie, however, was overrun with business, asking only one recyclable plastic bottle in exchange for a chance to win a bag of gold coins. The aim? Get the coins off the picnic rug without touching the bag with your hands. You get one glass marble to try to knock it off with.

The carnie was surrounded by daft orphans who squandered all their day's loot for a chance to chuck the marble as hard as possible at the bag, mostly missing or only managing to put a dent in the fabric. They swore and squabbled, pronounced the task impossible and demanded refunds. Their demands were met with the metallic chink of the carnie's brass knuckles.

A small girl who'd been watching the game, went up to the carnie and paid her bottle. Forgoing the glass marble, she stepped up to the picnic rug and pulled it out from underneath, swift as a magician. To the outrage of the gathered crowd, the coins clanked on the bitumen. She'd won the game.

Ash considered the boulder again and imagined it as a bag of coins. The riverbed was the rug. If she couldn't move the boulder, then she'd have to move the riverbed.

She scoured the bank of the forest for a long, straight branch to use as a scraper, and began shovelling the mud and silt from around the base of the boulder and letting it wash downstream. Every so often she'd wade around to the other side and try to lever the boulder with the base of the branch. Gunner sat straighter, his massive hand shielding his face from the sun, watching her every move with interest.

She continued this process for what felt like hours, digging, scraping and levering until her skin pruned, her hands blistered and her fingers cramped into permanent claws.

"How about we call it a day, lass," Gunner said, standing. "You'll exhaust yourself."

Ash ignored him. The earth was slowly caving. She could feel the weight of the boulder shifting with each grain of sand removed. She was so close, but Gunner was right. She'd been at it all morning. The sun had reached its apex and was about to begin its descent, and she was slowing from exhaustion.

Gunner stood and waded towards her. "Stubborn as the boulder itself," he said.

Ash gritted her teeth. "I'm almost finished." Her voice was as breathy and weak as she felt. But she didn't care. She was so close. He took hold of the boulder, just above her hands and added his own muscle to the motion. Soon, the last of the soot and debris gave way and, with a shudder, the boulder shifted and rolled. It was only a few centimetres but it was enough to make her step back and away from the teetering rock.

Gunner whooped. "Not bad for a Sprout!"

Ash was too exhausted to reply, just dipped her hands and arms in the cold, soothing water and sighed.

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