Page 52 of A Flash of Golden Fire

They’ll not have anyone this time.

Let the sea and the flame rejoice.

Let the ocean and sky make the choice.”

I gripped the railing as the storm raged and howled, blackness and blue fire making a terrifying image. Then, as quickly as the gale had come up, it died down. The clouds became sparse and grey and through them could be seen the enemy ship. Aflame, and barely a vessel anymore, the smell of burning timber and steaming sulphur drifted on the breeze.

I blinked, coming back to myself with a horrible dread and shame that almost felled me. But I had to see. I had to see what I had wrought.

I lifted my hands from the rail and turned. Men backed away and crossed themselves or made other superstitious gestures. My palms ached and stung as I grabbed the fallen spyglass and lifted it to my eye.

I’d made the wrong choice, though my actions hadn’t been a choice at all. Unfathomable power had overtaken me. A familiar phenomenon that hadn’t occurred for a very long time, one that I’d thought had been laid to rest with my dear mother on that horrible day.

I couldn’t see the other ship for the flames. Captain Martin was as lost as everyone else. No men were in the act of throwing themselves over the side because they were all dead.

It was a funeral pyre.

I tried to come to terms with the deathly vision, knowing I’d never see Captain Martin again and wondering how I’d survive.

“He’s there!” Hillier yelled. “The captain! By all that’s holy, look there!”

I gazed at Hillier, wondering why he was torturing me with impossibilities. Then I looked to where he pointed and saw a form bobbing in the water. But surely he was dead—a corpse tossed on the waves.

Then I heard a splash, and spotted three of the men swimming toward him.

“Lower the rope ladder! Do it now!”

A frail hope inside me broke.

They thought he was alive but that was an impossibility! I had put him in that maelstrom of death. I had murdered everyone aboard. I had torn that ship apart as if it were a child’s plaything.

I had most likely killed him as well.

I looked at Hillier. He met my gaze with trepidation and alarm, which only made me feel worse. So I ran.

*

Ihid in the hold, crouched against the slick wall, where my hammock still hung by the porthole, not ready to talk to anyone or offer any kind of explanation for what had occurred. I barely knew what had happened myself, and a similar thing had only occurred once before. This time, the release of my magic hadn’t worked against me and left me with a vicious scar or killed me outright, although I wished it had.

But, perhaps I was wrong about that because my palms wouldn’t stop stinging. I examined them in the light from a nearby oil lantern. They were indeed red and blistered. I hadn’t been spared at all.

“Fuck,” I said, as the pain worsened. As if seeing my injury made the destruction real. How had the railing not burst into flames? I didn’t know if my recollection of events was accurate at all.

I gazed about myself, trying to focus and shake this inner turmoil. I didn’t even know how much time had passed since the incident on deck.

I heard footsteps, and Martinéz came down into the hold as if he was looking for someone. But surely he wasn’t trying to find me?

“Martinéz,” I said, but my voice was gone. I cleared my throat and tried again, with more volume. “Martinéz.”

His head swung toward me, and his eyes went wide when he saw me. He took a step back, and for a moment, I thought he might flee. He stood his ground.

“The captain,” I stammered, my face crumpling into misery. “Did he…live?”

His eyes softened and his posture relaxed.

“Aye,” Martinéz said, and I almost sobbed with relief. “Except for having watched his best mate killed before his eyes, and an entire ship burnt to timbers beneath him,” he said, a statement of fact, and not an accusation. His voice was gentle.

I nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

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