TFS: Burnt Earth

Molly – 15 years ago

I’m sitting on my bed when Phelan comes barging into my room like the bulldozer he is. He has a hefty stack of papers in his hands, and as if Sheelin knows precisely what he plans to do, the floor rises up, forming into a table for him to place them on.

“We have a mission,” he announces.

I point to the papers. “What’s this shit?”

“Necessary information,” he claims. “Read it and take note of the important parts.”

With that, he leaves the room. I’m left wanting to take the papers and shove them in a place he won’t find comfortable. I know they won’t fit up his ass though. Not with his head occupying the space.

I move to the table, and Sheelin offers me a chair like the champ she is. “Thanks,” I mutter.

I start reading. What Phelan provided is a historical record of Anthony King, a recently transitioned Solathair from Helena, Montana. His element is earth, and he has the ability to move from place to place by simply blinking. Learning about his ability brings with it travels to nearly everywhere from the Fairy Pools in Scotland to Hiller Lake in Western Australia. He’s seen the most beautiful places in the world. It doesn’t seem to be a horrible gift to have. Travelling is a wonderful alternative to the confines of Sheelin. I long for that sort of freedom.

While this guarantees he follows the constant movement rule, it doesn’t come without complications. He can’t control the movement, meaning he can’t technically control his destination. He blinks. He moves. Always. So long as he refrains from doing that, he’s immobile, but as soon as he closes his eyes—poof—he’s somewhere else entirely, and it isn’t somewhere he’s chosen. Definitely not ideal.

There are hundreds of reports to review. I spend hours trying to absorb as much of the information as possible. By hour three, my head is aching from reading with the lack of ample lighting and my soul is longing for adventure like the ones on these printed pages.

“He must really hate you,” Connor interrupts my torture session. “At least we have a mission.”

“Yep! Strike One Mission.”

“He’s in trouble?” He lifts a brow. “How could he have done anything wrong?”

“Fucknut’s leaving a trail.”

“Ah, I guess when you blink and leave it behind, you’re still leaving it.”

“Bullseye.”

“There’s an easier way, you know.”

“An easier way to what?”

“To review.”

“I think Sheelin did pretty well for me. She made me this table and chair.”

“Not Sheelin, though she does seem to favour you.”

That makes me smile. I favour my best bitch too.

“Bring that pile of garbage,” he orders me. “We’re going to see Asteria.”

“The fuck for?”

“Just come on.”

He leads me down the hall, me trying to keep all the papers in order as we go. Asteria’s in the main hall, which is glorious in display. The standard Sheelin décor is replaced with an open, significant space. The dim lighting remains, but it’s considerably easier to see, illuminated by ghostly white, seamless walls. It’s a spherical tomb that fucks with your depth perception hard core. If everywhere else is Sheelin’s general guts, I reckon this is her fucking eyeball.

There’s a long table dividing the room at the center. Along the back side of it, there are four large seats, similar in composition. Each has a familiar symbol engraved into the chair back. Fire is a single flame, Air is a spiral with four loops, Water is a strainer, and Earth is a woven tree. They match the brands placed on the recently inducted Solathairs.

Asteria is pacing around the table. “How can I help you?” she asks sweetly.

She seems nice enough, and she’s been kind to me, but I hate the twat all the same. I hate every Solathair. It’s the strength of that hatred keeping me from succumbing to the evolving darkness smothering my conscience.

Connor points to the stack of papers in my arms. “Phelan gave her those.”

She laughs. “He must really hate her.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Then again,” she hedges, “it could be me he hates. Asking me to do things does dissuade some people.”

“Why?” He smiles brightly at her like the ass licker he is. “Does it come with a catch?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” She winks. “This one’s on the house.”

I don’t like her winking at my brother. Not because I think it means something inappropriate, but because I want him to hate them as much as I do. Soft fuck isn’t capable of hating anything. I’m a problem solver. This one’s easy to solve. I’ll just have to keep hating everyone enough for both of us. I do good work. Happy to carry his load on this one.

“We need a lens.”

“Pleased to help,” she agrees.

She motions us to the table, and I place the papers in front of her. With a single touch of her hand, she transforms the hefty stack into a small, circular stone. It’s bead-sized.

“Pick it up,” she encourages me.

I do as she requests, peering inside it. Sure enough, the contents of the papers are there, but it’s hard to see the actual words.

“Stick it in your eye.” Her tone is disturbingly sweet for such a sick suggestion.

“You want me to shove a rock in my eye? The fuck’s wrong with you?”

Connor laughs. He takes the small stone from my hands, squeezing it between his thumb and index finger, so it’s smooth and flat like a contact lens. “Over your cornea,” he clarifies.

I trust him more than her, so I set to doing the nasty deed. Only, since I’ve never worn contacts in my life, I can’t get it in. Connor finds the whole thing hilarious and is laughing so hard he has tears rolling down his cheeks by the time I get it positioned properly. Asshole. I blink a few times, and as I do, I realize what she gave me. Every time I close my eyes, I see a page. Every time I blink, the page turns. It’s like reviewing microfilm at a library.

“Coolest trick ever,” I concede.

“You’re welcome.” Asteria smiles warmly. “Was there anything else?”

“Not yet,” Connor states. “Thanks for your help!”

“Anything for you, Sunshine,” she coos affectionately. “Any time.”

Connor ushers me from the room while I’m still turning the pages, utterly fascinated by the technology.