Breathe in the Embers

Part 10

“Alright, let’s do this.” Martin suggested, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Lithuega rolled her eyes, hand on one hip, facing him with a long suffering look. “Yes, please, let us start. Having us both here is exhausting you know. I can’t replenish myself and neither can you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Martin waved aside the complaints, far too excited to be deterred by her bad attitude at this stage. “Come on. It might seem mundane to be able to inhale fire, and punch holes in walls, but for those of us ordinary humans, this moment is quite exciting.”

“And to me, it’s like someone literally asking if they can watch your hair grow.” she was lying. Lithuega knew it, and so did Martin. He’d gotten to know her personality flaws quite quickly during their time hashing out the contract, and he knew as well as she did, she loved showing off.

“And you’re sure you can handle all of these?” Martin asked, gesturing around at the dozen metal trash cans arranged around the abandoned warehouse. He supposed they were trespassing, technically, but there wasn’t exactly a safe, sanctioned place for them to do this.

“You watched me devour the better part of a wildfire, and you doubt me now?”

“Your abilities, I suppose not. Let me put it this way then.” Martin retorted with a knowing smile. “Are you going to handle all of these, or be tempted to let it get out of control and burn the building down?”

“Please. That would qualify as me screwing up your life, or so I would think. Either leading you to being burned, crushed, maimed, killed, or even blamed for the fire. Any or all would count I imagine.” Lithuega rolled her eyes again, and Martin found his reflexively doing the same. “For someone who spent a week arguing with me, you’d think you’d understand my motives a bit more. I’m no scatterbrained imp, intent on causing mischief. I have a contract to adhere to.”

“Then I shall not ‘mistake you for some conjurer of cheap tricks.’” Martin joked with a grin, receiving that blank, unenthused glare in return. “A...also Lord of the Rings… the Fellowship of the Ring…”

“Now I’m the one who wishes we’d get on with things.”

“Fine.” Martin pouted, grumbling. He really needed to educate this woman before she’d be any fun to hang around at all. They’d be spending quite a bit of time together either way, so they might as well put forth some effort. “Here you go.” and he went around with his match book, lighting one at a time and tossing it into the barrel.

They didn’t quite explode, but it was enough of an eruption for Martin to become tense each time he struck a new match. The heat singed his hair, making him draw back reflexively, wincing in anticipation of the next barrel.

Then he struck the final match, dropping it the dozenth time. But this time, he didn’t feel a thing.

Martin slowly peeked open an eye, inched himself forward to peer over the rim, having drawn back to avoid the gout of fire. In the barrel was a tight, spinning sphere of brilliant white flame. He stared in wonder, the heat radiating from it as intense as the brilliant white glow. Transfixed, he couldn’t tear his gaze away until a feminine chuckle sounded from behind him.

“So easily impressed.” Lithuega commented, her fist clenched in midair, pointing toward the barrel she held that sphere of plasma in. Turning her hand over, she slowly curled her arm, the sphere moving toward her as she did. Martin stepped away as it contacted the side of the barrel, the metal melting like butter, the plasma sphere drifting lazily through it. It was only then that Martin noticed the other eleven barrels were doing the same thing, in perfect sync. His jaw dropped.

Then all the orbs winked out.

“What happened?” Martin asked, impressed by the feat but surprised by the sudden end to it.

“I can take the fire and manipulate it, transform the energy, but when I remove it from a fuel source that energy is quickly spent.” Lithuega explained, shrugging. “I can devour it too, absorbing it into myself for later use, but so long as it is free in the air, it will dissipate. The small amount of gasoline in each of those drums couldn’t sustain even those orbs for long.”

Martin nodded his head thoughtfully. “So the more fire there is, the more energy, and the more impressive things you can do.” he commented idly, trying to imagine this being anything less than horrifically lethal. Heroes weren’t supposed to kill except under the most dire of circumstances. They could typically prove self defense or defense of others fairly easily, but powers were also taken into account. A bullet proof woman couldn’t claim self defense if someone tried to shoot her, for example.

“Yep. If I have enough energy available, or enough stored, I can even whip up a barrier of fire hot enough to melt bullets.” Lithuega bragged, staring down at her nails with exaggerated nonchalance. “Burns me out quickly though.”

“Well that one I don’t really feel comfortable testing out…” Martin admitted, trying to imagine firing a gun at Lithuega. Come to think of it, he would need a gun. And bullets. And have to learn to handle such a weapon. None of these things were easy for a middle schooler to do, and most were also illegal. “You’re pretty strong though.”

Lithuega snorted. “I’m stronger than I look, sure. My muscles and bones are denser, joints stronger, blah blah blah. Basically I’m the weight and strength of a… those huge dudes with all the armor on, who hit each other trying to get something wrapped in boar skin.”

“Football. And I think you mean Linemen.”

“But you almost never use your feet…”

“Yes, yes I know. Most of the world agrees with you.” So did Martin, come to think of it, especially since another much more sensibly named sport already had been called football. “That’s pretty cool, but probably not something to bank on. Not when normal humans could be a match for you.”

“Strong as me or not, no human is a match for me.”

“Then how about the ones with super powers?”

Lithuega turned an annoyed glare to him, lips pressed into a thin line. “I have thousands of years of knowledge and experience, including tricks from other worlds that you’ve never heard of. Even without my powers, I would have an edge. You’re my only weakness. If at any point the anchor here in the real world dies, the other will be trapped in shadow, forever. So tell me Martin, how do you propose we deal with that?”

It was a question Martin pondered during the next few days. His parents believed him to be with his friends, spending some time on frivolity to forget the trauma. His friends thought the reverse, that he was recuperating at home. He would bring Lithuega out for a few hours each day in that warehouse, both completely wiped out by the effort it took to be present simultaneously. Martin spent the rest of the day barely keeping his eyes open, and that night would be unconscious, unable to speak with Lithuega in that place of shadow. And when he woke, and they next spoke, she’d admit to being similarly comatose.

So Martin had great difficulty answering that question, though his tired mind spent every free moment on it. Until, at last, he returned on their fourth day of training with an answer.

“I need you to make me stronger.”