The apprentices got their ten minutes, heads bent together like little boys preparing to jump out on somebody. Scarlet had given up hating people quite a while ago, though with these three, it was sorely tempting. She would, if possible, settle for ignoring them. Once she’d kicked their butts.
She couldn’t ignore this lot though. As she opened the book, and held it in front of her, they were staring, one muttering to himself, the others leering at her. It really was like being back at school. She faltered, glancing over her shoulder at Martin, seeing the blood still dried on his face, the bruises showing through. Not so much like school.
She returned to the spell, trying to pick it up again, and continue the chanting. She was more aware now, and felt it in the back of her head, like someone was shoving their thumbs into the soft bits just above her neck. It made her want to be sick, then it suddenly flowed out, like water from a bottle, and the light burst into life before her.
It wasn’t as strong as the one she’d made in the Underworld, weak enough, in fact, that she could see past it, to the apprentice who had been chanting, and was now holding his hands before him, palms down. Martin had made it quite clear early on, that the use of hands was for showoffs and amateurs only.
Whichever they were, it didn’t matter, because in the air above her ball of light, what looked like a thick, dark blanket appeared, and descended over it. She felt it, a stinging in the front of her head, that made her blink and steady herself. It got worse as the blanket got lower, and she tried to ignore it, to focus on the light.
It worked, for a moment, the blanket stopping, the light growing more powerful, but the pain got worse, and she groaned, putting one hand to her head. The blanket resumed its sinking and she screamed, hands grabbing at her hair.
She’d lost the first one, if she lost this, everything was done, and finished. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. She gritted her teeth, wincing, staring at the ball. She could do this, she could, she just had to…
She could see the apprentices grinning, the two who weren’t casting, high-fiving one another and shouting typically childish things. How could they be older than her? Weren’t older people supposed to be more mature, and nicer and stuff?
This wasn’t happening. She stared at the light and poured everything into it, all the crap that had happened in the last day and night, all her anger and frustration. It grew and grew, until she had to cover her eyes, peering between fingers as the blanket got smaller, until a more accurate description would have been flannel. Then it vanished.
The crash sounded, the apprentices staring at her with wide eyes. She flashed them a smile, taking a few steps back. Her head throbbed, and her legs were shaky. Her heel struck the steps and she managed to turn her fall into a quick sit down, sighing with relief as she relaxed.
‘Joanna Slater, you have been victorious in the second conflict. The count stands at one victory each. This final fight will decide your fate.’
He was enjoying this. They were all enjoying this. She’d always imagined wizards and stuff had some kind of higher civilisation, or at least, didn’t watch X-factor, or laugh at videos of people falling off things. This was no better than everyone crowded round a fight at school. Worse, actually, cos they were adults.
She shoved herself to her feet, clambering up the steps and over to Martin. She knelt, seeing the different look in his eyes, and liking it. ‘That was pretty good, huh?’
He smiled, nodding. ‘Yes, that was pretty good. You surprised them.’
‘But not you?’
He rocked his head from side to side. ‘You have the power. I wasn’t sure you could access it.’
‘I can’t do it again, I feel pants, completely rubbish.’
He nodded. ‘It is draining. The power surge will not work again, if they are smart. They will counter your final spell in some other way, even assuming you have enough energy to do it again.’
‘But how come they can have three of them? It means they’re fresh and I’m knackered.’
Martin nodded again. ‘That is but one reason this is so unfair. I’m sorry, Joanna, truly.’
She patted his shoulder, pulling her hand away quickly as she felt the heat pouring off him. ‘What did they do to you?’
He looked down, brows coming together, and shook his head. ‘Don’t think about that, think about what is before you, what you have to do.’
She nodded, grunted slightly as she pushed herself to her feet, and walked back down into the circle. The crowd hushed, and she waved her hand in the air. ‘Don’t mind me, please, talk amongst yourselves.’
She stood in front of the three masters, chin held up, trying to look casual, trying to not clasp her hands together and look down. ‘Are you enjoying the show so far? Is it what you wanted?’
She wasn’t sure where the words came from. Her lip was bleeding from where her teeth were worrying at it, but all she felt was anger now. She was probably still scared. Terrified would be closer, but it was buried, the image of Martin tied up and bleeding chasing it away with fire that could only escape through her words.
The master in the centre inclined his head slightly. ‘You are indeed impressive, Miss Slater.’ He hadn’t got the sarcasm, at all. Or maybe he had, and decided to ignore it. Which was actually more annoying.
‘So, are there any other rules you’ve forgotten to tell me? Anything at all?’
All three paused, then shook their heads. ‘There is nothing else.’
She nodded. ‘Good. Well then.’
She showed them her back and walked into the centre. She’d realised, just as she asked them, how she was going to win this. It was ridiculous, but why not? They were acting like children, so…
She stepped into the centre, and cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, really, you’re too kind. For my final performance, I shall be executing the simple, ‘for the creation of fire.’
Next Installment Friday 27th December
