Phoenix

Gift

demonstrations were over. Just like that, the magic was suspended, cut by applause and excited chatter. The performers, those who hadn't worn their robes, dried off and changed. The rest sat down and joined in the free-flowing conversations—laughing and cajoling as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Ash sat, gobsmacked as the festivities resumed around her. Dinner was served in coconut husk bowls still lined with the sweet, fragrant white flesh. Large pots of vegetables were steamed over fire embers and fresh fish, skewered on the end of barbed poles were charcoaled until tender. People laughed and chatted until, bellies full, they broke off in groups to watch the sunset. Couples cuddled, while others sat close in companionable silence. Everyone seemed relaxed and contented. Except one.

Freia sat by herself, tucked in the foetal position against a supporting pillar of the tavern, staring into space. Her skin had lost its sun-touched glow from the morning and was back to its usual pallid appearance. Ash, sickened with guilt, stifled the urge to go and comfort her. She knew if their situations were reversed, the last thing she'd want would be the condolences of her brother's murderer.

Gunner appeared and hunkered down on the fallen tree branch next to Ash. He noted her line of sight. "Oroton decided to let her stay. It's too dangerous to leave now, what with the Establishment trying to track us down."

"How much does she know about the forces?" Ash asked. And about me, she mentally added.

"Only as much as you know," Gunner said. "We've decided to train her even though she hasn't been born with our abilities. It'll be an experiment. To see if what we do can be taught from scratch."

Just then, Eli left his place by the fire and walked over to Freia. Sitting down next to her, he touched her arm and spoke soft words into her ear. Her face slowly regained colour, her lips going from blue to pink. She looked up at Eli and smiled.

Ash felt something stir in her chest, a tightness she'd never felt before. She shifted uncomfortably on the fallen tree branch and tried to look away, but found her eyes were stuck to the tender scene. Eli was standing now, and Freia was leaning on him for support. They walked, arm-in-arm, back towards the tavern and Ash couldn't help but notice how similar they were in height and stature, their bodies fitting like two stacked husks of a coconut. She set her bowl of coconut and vegetables on the sand, appetite gone.

Gunner nudged her. "You were impressive today, Sprout. The only person I've known to do what you did in their first lesson was, well, me." He chuckled.

Ash gawked. It was hard to imagine Gunner had been in her position once. "Who taught you?" she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

"Oroton," Gunner said. "Miki, Eli, Shorty and I were his first apprentices. Then we became teachers of the next generation of Wanderers." He gestured at the crowds of people.

"So what those people did with the sand... you taught them that?" she said.

Gunner grinned. "I did. We're always trying to do something new, to stretch the limitations of our medium." His tone turned serious. "Earth, for all its seeming impenetrability, can be changed by fire, water and wind, just as it can change the patterns of these elements in turn. None are without the others. That's how the balance is retained." He paused. "I think earth is a good grounding force for fire." His hand lifted, hovered in mid-air as though wondering which way to go. Then, came down and settled on the apple of her cheek. The touch was soft, only brief. But it betrayed an intensity of emotion that left Ash feeling small and childish next to him.

She felt her whole body stiffen and stay that way, unnervingly still. Over the course of the day, she'd become so comfortable in Gunner's sturdy presence that she'd almost forgotten he was there. Like the rocks that contained the river, he was protection as well as well as retention, all the things she needed, and yet all it took was a simple touch from him for her to slam down the roller doors and shut up shop. She'd had too many bad experiences to believe anything good could come from another person's touch.

Gunner quickly retracted his hand and redirected it to a fold in his robe, from which he withdrew a small diamond-shaped dagger. "I made this for you," he said. "The hilt is made from redwood, the blade has been made from heated flint."

It was the second gift she'd received in two days, first the matchbox and now the dagger. More than she'd ever received in her life. She shook her head. She couldn't accept it. Not without anything to give him in return.

Gunner pressed the hilt into her palm. "I'll not have you refusing, lassie. I insist."

The crack in his diamond strong voice was enough to make her concede. She took the knife in her hand and turned it over slowly. The blade shone so black, it almost had a gleam of blue. A trail of ants had been etched into the hilt, winding around and down as though avoiding imaginary obstacles. It was beautiful.

"Ants are the keepers of the earth," Gunner said. "Strongest and hardest working creatures alive. The ultimate survivors. Just like you, I suspect." He slipped the blade inside a soft leather sheath and gave it to her. Once again, Ash tensed as his fingers accidentally grazed hers. "Now it'll be with you at all times. Protecting you wherever you go." He looked as though he was about to say something more, then decided against it. With a small, sad smile, he heaved himself to his feet and made his way to the other side of the bonfire.

She touched the hilt of the blade. Tears prickled, threatening to corrode her sturdy orphan defences. The kindness Gunner had shown her was worse than any hurt she'd ever received. It stabbed her in the sternum, wedged itself in and threatened to stay. She knew couldn't meet him tenderness for tenderness. Perhaps, she could never meet anyone halfway like that. She was too tarnished by her past and riddled with bad experiences.

And yet, it would've been so easy for him to retract his dagger of kindness with a thrust and a twist of the blade so that she bled, and bled, and bled. But he hadn't. And something told her he wouldn't. He was made of earth—protection, comfort and sturdiness exuded from his very pores. It was this very revelation that reminded her she was a million miles away from the orphanage, Outer Band and Ace.

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