Once we’re all in place, Mom steps into the empty center of our semicircle and tosses her head. Suddenly, she’s no longer my mother, but President Lewis extraordinaire. She raises her right hand; the stadium falls silent. “Tonight, it is my honor to introduce my daughter, Myla Lewis, the Great Scala. You all know her as the supernatural warrior who fought off Armageddon and his ghouls from our lands. More recently, you know how tirelessly she’s battled to keep innocent souls from being sent to Hell. And I’m sure you’ve all seen this morning’s headlines. My daughter saved us from Armageddon, once again!” She claps in my direction and the crowd goes wild, tails wagging everywhere. Adair’s possession has been all over the news. I am the undisputed Great Scala once again.
Signs appear in the crowd, and unlike my ride to the press conference at the Thrax Embassy, this time they’re all pretty sweet. My favorites say ‘No curse, all awesome,’ ‘quasi Scala=best Scala’ and ‘Myla Lewis, protector of souls’.
Mom circles her hands towards her chest, encouraging the crowd to continue cheering. I take a moment to allow their roar to wash over me. Mom always says that when it comes to ruling, the happy moments are always far shorter than the ones filled with fright, worry and despair. So, you must take time to really enjoy the cheers. Thanks to my mother, the applause goes on and on. In short order, my face actually hurts from smiling.
At length, Mom raises her hand, signaling for silence. The crowd quiets down. “So, without further ado, we’ll begin the first-ever iconigration from our new Great Scala.”
I step over to my parents, give them both big hugs, and take my place in the center of semicircle as the ceremony’s main attraction. The spotlight hits me, making me wince. The audience falls absolutely silent. Excitement and adrenaline zing through my bloodstream.
I so love this.
Raising my arms, I summon the igni with my mind. At my call, black clouds roll across the horizon. The Arena darkens. An odd mist coats the stadium floor. Blasts of childlike laughter and metallic discord take over my mind.
Okay, this is different from anything I saw the Old Scala do before. But the Old Scala never moved this many souls at once, so I suppose there should be a few surprises.
I sense light and dark igni materializing, but not around my hands, like the usually do. So, where have those little buggers gotten to now?
Looking up, I see the igni’s tiny bodies spinning inside the rolling storm clouds overhead. Within seconds, they’ve formed a great whirlpool of light that stretches across the darkened sky. Bit by bit, the center of this igni-whorl lowers towards the stadium’s ground. I stare in awe at my creation, finding it hard to breathe.
This is some kind of igni-tornado. Who even knew this was possible?
The igni speed faster inside, their lights flashing within a cone of dark cloud. As the tornado’s peak touches the Arena floor, it pauses, shivers, and then keeps moving downwards. An inverted tornado forms under the stadium’s grounds, a perfect match to the one reaching up into the sky. Soon, its depths sparkle with red flickering light.
I’ve seen that glow before: it’s the fires of Hell.
I watch these twin tornadoes of light, my skin prickling with shock. Normally, the igni create one soul column for every spirit. But this time, the igni have formed the Mother of all soul columns, a giant hourglass-shape that reaches from Hell right to Heaven. The thin neck between these two extremes is a small circle of earth on the Arena floor that’s directly in front of me. A strange electric charge fills the air. The growing speed of the igni sends wind whipping through my hair and Scala robes.
I nip my lower lip with worry, wondering if I should pull up stakes and try again. Whatever this shape is, I’ve never heard of a Scala summoning it before. However, the igni could care less about my concerns. They were trapped with some wacko, and now the little critters are on a roll, so happy to be back with their proper Scala, doing their proper work. In the neck of the hourglass—the eye of the dual-tornado—an image starts to appear. It’s an old man, bent with age whose long white beard falls to his toes.
My mouth falls open with shock and recognition. I’d know that guy anywhere. It’s Maxon Bane, the Old Scala. I haven’t seen him since he gave me his powers and the igni sent him to Heaven. Who knew he’d show up today? His mismatched eyes meet mine and the old scoundrel winks. He mouths two words: good work. Pride swells inside me. The Old Scala zapping back here for a complement? Now, that’s cool stuff.
I close my eyes and my mind flickers through images of thousands of men, women and children…Quasi, thrax and human alike. These are the souls to be moved. My consciousness reaches into their spirits, sensing their lives and history. Millions of moments flow through me, all the courageous, lovely and terrible episodes that make up a life. Every timeline converges at a single point: Purgatory. Trial by Jury or Trial by Combat caps all their lives, and my mind flows through millions of verdicts. Most I agree with, and I move the soul accordingly.