“Carol has that effect on people now.” Harper considered for a moment, then said, “Allie does, too, I think. To a lesser degree.”
“Sarah wanted me to show her how to light herself up, how to cast flame. She wanted to know how to send her consciousness out into fire. By then I was incorporating the Phoenix into rescue attempts, and Nick was making flocks of burning sparrows to hunt for the infected. I wouldn’t teach her, though. I was angry. I was so angry. Angry and scared. It was one thing to be contaminated by accident, and another to contaminate yourself on purpose. She wouldn’t let me off the hook, either. She threw every boast, every know-it-all lecture, every smug certainty back in my face. If casting fire was safe for her deaf nine-year-old and safe for her lover, it was safe for her. I had told her I wouldn’t trade the ’scale for anything, that I was glad to be a carrier. Didn’t we all say, in chapel, every day, how lucky we were? How blessed? She had seen us reeling with pleasure, with delight. How could I want that for myself and deny it to her? She had seen me fight for the sick and wanted to fight by my side. How could I refuse her?
“The more she talked, the more pigheaded I became. I hated her, myself, the world. I was ill with it, sick with malice. There was so much I didn’t know. Only two people could throw fire without hurting themselves, Nick and myself. I held back on trying to teach Allie, although she had nagged me often enough. I had sound reasons for reluctance. Consider this, for example: What if full mastery of the Dragonscale is only possible for those with a Y chromosome? I’m sure that sounds sexist, but nature has never had any great interest in gender equality. What if you need a certain blood type to make it work? What if it’s a quirk of DNA, like those who are immune to HIV because of a mutation that strips of them of the receptor the virus needs to infect them?
“So I wouldn’t teach Sarah. In the last weeks I was hardly talking to her. We shouted, we screamed at each other, but that wasn’t what I would call talking. I thought if I didn’t teach her, at least she wouldn’t be any worse off than anyone else in camp. At least she would be kept safe by joining the Bright. I thought I could protect her by shutting her out. Putting a wall up between us.”
If Harper listened very intently, she could hear the coals whistling softly in the furnace.
“So she turned to Nick,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied, in a listless tone. “Nick told me later that she very quickly learned to light candles with her fingertips, which was how I started. He said he thought if she could do that much, it meant it would be okay to teach her more. But he also said the first time she lit a candle she yelped like it burned, although she told him she only cried out because she was startled. Later he noticed she would always keep a glass of cold water on hand, and after lighting candles would grip it tightly, as if her fingertips were sore. Sometimes she even dipped her fingers into it. All this was done without my knowledge. They practiced at night, out in the cottage, when I was off with Allie, rescuing the sick and polishing my personal legend.
“Sarah wanted to learn how to push her consciousness into puppets of flame, as I did with the Phoenix and Nick did with his flocks of flaming sparrows. Nick thought that was like skipping basic addition and going right to fractions. He wanted her to try making her hand into a torch first, or practice throwing balls of flame. But she teased and kidded and gamed him into it. Nick never had a chance. So he explained the general principles, just the basic ideas. He didn’t think she’d really—he assumed she was just curious—and—”
He fell silent again, staring at the furnace, its orange glow shifting over his features like a gentle touch.
“I was just back from one of my expeditions with Allie. We had returned to camp with a few refugees . . . poor Nelson Heinrich among them, I believe. I was already on my way out to the island when I saw the smoke, coming from the cottage. It was all over long before anyone in camp realized what was happening.
“I paddled to the dock at the southern end of the island—the dock that isn’t there anymore. As I pulled myself onto the planks, the roof of the cottage fell in. I flung myself in through the back door and a moment later the chimney collapsed on the dock behind me, crushed most of it into the water. The whole first floor had old, exposed beams. One of them had dropped onto Nick. He was unconscious, but I could see him breathing. Heat billowed, distorting the air. Everything was smoke and sparks. I saw him—and I saw her. What was left of her. Bones and ash and—and—” He swallowed, shook his head, pushed the memory aside. “I am sure if Nick weren’t there I would’ve dropped. I was hysterical. In shock. But he was there and I needed to get him out. I tried to lift the beam, but I couldn’t. It had to weigh near on four hundred pounds. I strained against it, not budging it, screaming at God, screaming at Sarah, just screaming.
“Then she was there with me. On the other side of the beam, beside her son.” The Fireman spoke now in a hush, staring into the furnace with what was either awe or dread. “I shuddered to see her. In the middle of all that blazing heat, I shuddered like someone in a freezing rain. She was so lovely. She was the most lovely thing. She was walking flame, as blue as a blowtorch, her hair flowing ribbons of red and gold fire. She made a hatchet out of thin air—a hatchet of fire, you understand—and swept it through one end of the beam. Snapped it in two in one stroke. That hatchet was so hot it would’ve sliced through the beam even if it had been an iron girder. I tossed the big piece of lumber off Nick and got the hell out of there with him. I only looked back once, at the door. She was still standing there, watching me go with him. She knew me. I could see recognition in her features. Her face was beautiful and—sad. Confused. I knew she was self-aware. She had been a woman one moment. In the next she was an elemental of fire.”
“The house fell in on itself. The fire burned low. I never left the island. I sat in the dunes and watched. People came to me to offer food or comfort. I paid them no mind. Allie sat with me for hours. The sun rose up hot and dry and baked the island beneath it and I didn’t move. The house was still burning when the sun set again, although by then it was mostly smoldering coals. I dozed off for a while. When I woke she was standing in what remained of the ruin, a ghost of pale golden flame. She vanished again almost as soon as I saw her, but by then I knew for sure. What remained of her consciousness was threaded in the coals, spread across a billion microscopic particles of Dragonscale that wouldn’t and couldn’t be destroyed. She was ash and flame. I have been on the island ever since and I have never let that first fire burn out. It’s still going, in the furnace. She’s still there. She’s still with me. I believe her consciousness is held in place by the energy produced by the fire and will only break apart if the flames die for good.
“And I suppose that’s all of it. Few people in camp have any idea what Nick can do. He doesn’t cast flame anymore. You can understand why. He holds himself responsible for the death of his mother. Can you imagine being nine years old and having that thought in your head? He doesn’t know she’s still with us, and I haven’t dared show him. I’m scared of what it would do to him. What if he thinks she’s suffering and it’s his fault?” He shifted about uncomfortably and his gaze drifted from the furnace to the door. He stiffened. “My God. You’ve been here for hours. You have to get back to the infirmary before sunrise. You’ve already stayed too long.”