Page 51 of Wings of War

The more magic he unleashed, the freer he felt. A laugh built in his chest at the heady, reckless feeling filling him. He’d never been this…whole. As if he’d been living with a part of him locked in a box.

Right now, he didn’t have to hold back. No making himself less than he was.

For several more minutes, he caught and exploded numerous artillery shells, growing more confident with the practice until it was almost easy to just grab a shell from the sky.

At last, Dacha motioned to him, then shouted, holding his gaze, “There is one last thing I need to teach you. Send your magic behind us.”

Fieran spread his magic into the straggling brush of the range behind them. As his magic coiled over the ground and around the scrub brush, he could get a vague sense of what the magic was touching. Dirt. Grass. Trees. He couldn’t sense anything with the accuracy of someone with plant magic, but he could sense enough that he could have wiped the ground clean of plant life while leaving the dirt unmarred.

Then his magic encountered something else, just out of sight.

Bodies.

He yanked his magic back. “There are bodies out there!”

“Pig carcasses, yes.” Dacha stated it flat and matter of fact, as if it was perfectly normal for dead pigs to be laid out in the bomb range.

Fieran reached out with his magic once again, letting it curl around the bodies. He wasn’t a healer, so he couldn’t sense more than the difference between tree and flesh. Yet there was still an impression of death that carried through his magic rather than the sensation of life that he could feel when he curled his magic around something alive.

Dacha’s magic joined his, wrapping around one of the pig carcasses. Dacha’s shouted words held a steely edge. “The army has taught you to kill, Fieran, but now I need to teach you to kill with your magic.”

Fieran couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his back, both at his dacha’s words and the fact that he’d used Fieran’s name rather than the warmer endearment of sason.

Perhaps it seemed harsh, forcing Fieran to practice this.

But Fieran understood the heart behind this gesture, even as he quailed at it. Dacha had been sent into war far too young. The first time he’d wrapped his magic around a body, it had been to kill a living enemy. He would not let Fieran walk into battle so unprepared.

Dacha held Fieran’s gaze, his eyes so very hard and unflinching, as he clenched his fist. In the far distance, Dacha’s magic incinerated the pig, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

Fieran drew in a steadying breath. Then he wrapped his magic around the carcasses, squeezed his eyes shut, and poured more power into the magic. He could feel his magic eating through muscle and blood and bone, and he let himself imagine that it was an enemy. That he was killing.

His stomach lurched, his breath hitching, but he didn’t relent until the dead pigs were nothing but ashes, quickly eaten away into nothing by his magic.

Fieran released that part of his magic, exhaling in a whoosh. He opened his eyes, his breaths coming hard and fast, as if that had been physically taxing.

Dacha motioned again, and the artillery and machine guns fell silent. Dacha straightened, cutting off his magic so that it fizzled out into sparks in the air.

Fieran clamped down on his own magic, straightening from his crouch as his magic dissipated. In the stillness, he took the moss earplugs out of his ears, his heart still beating, sweat slicking his shirt to his back, as if he’d been through a grueling PT session instead of magic practice.

When Fieran could finally bring himself to meet Dacha’s gaze again, Dacha’s eyes searched his face, the hardness easing with that undercurrent of fatherly worry. His voice was low, regretful and a touch weary, yet carrying a note of pride. “Well done, sason.”

“Linshi, Dacha.” This time, Fieran didn’t hold back. He reached out and clasped Dacha’s shoulders in an elven style hug.

Dacha gripped his shoulders in return, nodding. Then his nose wrinkled, as if he smelled something foul, and he withdrew his hand. “You are still in great need of a shower, sason.”

Fieran grinned, sniffing at himself. “If you’re going to get me special treatment, perhaps you could get me a hot shower?”

“Do not tempt me.” Dacha’s mouth tipped with a hint of a smile. “I am a general, but you chose the Escarlish Army. I am not your general.”

“I didn’t think that one through.” Fieran heaved an exaggerated sigh.

Then, together, the two of them strode toward that line of guns.

As they reached the others, Dacha gave Fieran one last nod before he strode away to rejoin the gathered generals.

Fieran turned and faced his unit, bracing himself.

About half the unit was openly gaping at him. Even Pretty Face, Lije, and Stickyfingers had their mouths hanging open, their eyes wide and awestruck. Tiny had his arms crossed. When Fieran met his gaze, Tiny gave him a nod of respect.

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