Thorn thought he’d left the murk behind on Murgon 4. He’d seen the pristine barracks of the research facility upon entry and assumed that was the forecast of how his new life would be. He hadn’t taken into account the minds of the Magecorps’ Sergeants and how effectively they would force him to relive his muck-strewn past. At least on Murgon 4 he got to play cards.
Thorn shook his head at the memory. “Coulda been rich by now,” he muttered to himself as he glared at the brown tar an inch beneath his nose.
The air went still as his words tumbled out, and it took him a few seconds to notice the thick black boots standing in front of him. He turned his head up slowly, looking through his raised brow as he dared not drop to the ground and give the lieutenant a reason to start the drills all over again.
“Did you speak, Stellers?” The sharp lines in Narvez’s face dug even deeper into her tanned skin.
Thorn could hear the other recruits gasping as they held their form. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He struggled to project the response but refused to let her see his pain.
“Recruits.” Narvez turned her attention to the flagging troops. “Did I give you permission to speak?”
“Ma’am, no, ma’am,” they called back. Thorn was pretty sure a few of them were on the verge of crying. Or puking. Or both.
“Lieutenant Narvez, ma’am, if I may?” Thorn’s look of apology was mild, even regretful.
Narvez raised her brow as the silence stretched between them.
“I was simply going to comment on the sad state of your boots, ma’am. Those are not ON officer compliant.”
Thorn had only a fraction of a second to revel in the troop’s laughter before Narvez’s boot came down between his shoulders and pressed him into the mud. Above them a cloud began to swirl—far from natural, and contained only by the power of Narvez’s magical will. It took shape in seconds, growing darker and more intense by leaps and bounds. She glanced up at the unnatural structure as a sense of doom began to fill Thorn’s chest. Her face was still. Inhumanly so. And in that blankness, he sensed power.
Above her, power continued to gather, just at the edge of his senses.
Narvez’s voice rang with metallic clarity as she raised her arms to the sky. “Lay your arm out to the side, Stellers,” she commanded.
The recruits were stunned to silence. Thorn was compelled to obey.
“Fingers spread.”
A ball of light began to form in Narvez’s palm and she held it as it grew, sparking in wild, spasmodic growth. Thorn stared in horror at his fingers, spread unwillingly in the mud, wishing his arm to pull back in toward his body. When he realized he no longer had the mental capacity to control the limb, he turned to his side, grabbed the rogue shoulder with his other hand, and pulled against it. Nothing. His heart hammered against his ribs as his feet scrabbled for purchase; thoughts of his stupid mouth bringing this on to him unwelcome, bitter—and true.
The glowing globe shot from Narvez’s hand into the clouds and generated a bolt of lightning. It separated into four thin, distinct branches as it hit the ground between each of his fingers.
Narvez turned her dimming eyes toward him and lifted her boot from his back. “You can spit shine my boots later, Stellers. Thank you for your concern.” She grinned—a hideous effect on her features—and floated back to her trench, her feet skimming over the ground in a show of magical ability designed to make the recruits feel small
It worked.
Thorn threw his hand to the sky, then turned it over and back, checking his fingers for singe marks. Momentary fear still coursed through him at the sight of what true magic could do.
“Now push that ground away, recruits.” Her voice had returned to its natural grit. The recruits resumed their positions with a newly discovered motivation and continued their half count pushups.
“No, no, no,” Narvez hollered. “I said push that ground away.” She held her palms out toward them, drawing on the white-blue light once again and letting it hover in the air in front of each hand. “Push!”
Thorn regained his composure and placed his shaking fingers just above the mud. He looked up at Narvez in mild shock, then he pushed. The black cloud of shimmering energy shot from his hands and propelled him upward.
Narvez looked up at him, and for a moment her stoic demeanor faltered. The recruits stared up at Thorn in disbelief.
“Umm, a little help up here?” Thorn wobbled against the current of energy, some twenty feet off the ground.
“Release it, Stellers.” Before Narvez had a chance to complete her sentence, Thorn smashed to the ground. “Slowly…dammit.”
Thorn coughed and spat mud into Val’s shoulder beside him. “You could have led with that, ma’am.”
Val smacked him hard on the arm and wiped the mud from her skin. “Keep your filth to yourself, Proby.”
Narvez commanded their attention once more. “When you’ve all finished getting to know your own magic a little better, you can return to the mess hall for chow—then report to Instructor Burnitz for weapons training.” She turned to the back of the mud pit. “Lieutenant Wixcombe, direct the recruits and ensure each and every one of them initiates a magical push before they are dismissed. Not a pushup. This isn’t some childhood gymnastics class. I want command of their body mass against gravity, not an archaic workout.”
“Lieutenant.” Kira accepted the shift of responsibility and made her way to Narvez’s trench, kicking the mud from her boots into Thorn’s face as she passed.
Thorn couldn’t blame Kira. Because of him, she was stuck in the ditches with the rest of the grunts until he got himself under control—at the very least, he had to control his mouth. The magic would come with practice, he hoped, but his damned attitude might stop him from surviving in the program long enough to find out. Kira’s rigid form told him she was accustomed to the officer’s quarters and recruitment life—but her movements proved she could also get her hands dirty. Thorn was caught admiring the woman who he had first known as a girl.
“Stellers.” Kira wasted no time singling him out. “You’ll continue to push—with control—until every one of your squad have followed suit.”
“You know you don’t have to ask me twice.” He ran his mud-covered hands through his hair before returning to the plank position. “Ma’am.” For the next hour, Thorn pushed and released, practicing his descent and harnessing the energy that remained as he lowered himself to the ground for the next push. He felt like a leaf, caught in currents of his own making.
The food provided in the mess hall consisted of a small handful of nuts and a few cubes of cheese. His stomach roared in defiance as he chewed the last cube of pasty cheese. He dropped his tray on the conveyor and turned to see Kira standing behind him with her jaw jutting out. The childlike attitude reminded him of the days at the Children’s Home when she’d been pissed at him for one thing or another.
Kira punched him without holding back. “You dumbass.”
Thorn rubbed his shoulder. “Ouch. Tad excessive, don’t you think?”
“Get your shit together or I’ll show you what excessive is.” Kira marched off, pulling her hair tight in its frayed ponytail as she did.