An Army of Misfits

Clouds of dust billowed with every sharp, evasive maneuver Cera executed. Each time she pivoted to escape Cy’s relentless pursuit, her feet scraped against the parched ground, kicking up fine powder that she futilely attempted to dispel. It was a wasted effort. He held his position, a sphere of fire blazing in each hand while a third hovered menacingly in the air between them. A frustrated scream was building in her throat, a frantic mental plea for the flames to cease, but her control was already stretched to its absolute limit.

For one potent moment, the flames did seem to diminish, but Cy needed only to narrow his eyes for them to surge back to life, burning with even greater intensity and size than before. It was like battling an inferno that simply refused to be quenched.

He lunged forward, launching the fireballs in a swift succession that perfectly mirrored Cera’s own frenzied movements. An instant before each scorching projectile could find its mark, Cera sliced through the air with a forceful chop, the sheer power of her motion enough to extinguish it. Panting from the exertion, she let out a low groan. Their sparring matches had been growing more demanding with each passing day. Cera had a feeling Cy was testing her limits, trying to measure her progress as her first week of training drew to a close.

She desperately wished she could unveil her killing technique; that would certainly serve as a spectacular display of her advancement. Though the clan’s healer had needed to draw on a portion of her life force to accomplish it, her arm was now completely mended. The move was far too lethal for a simple practice session, she knew, but she could now execute it twice a week and still have ample energy left over. In its place, she demonstrated the raw velocity she had cultivated during her panicked retreat from the tigers.

“At least you won’t be the first to fall in battle,” Cy offered as a lukewarm compliment, though his brow was creased in disapproval of her purely defensive strategy.

“I’m not certain that’s something to make light of,” Cera countered, even though she had heard much darker humor over the past week. The impending war felt like a distant abstraction, a threat looming in a future that had not yet taken solid form, so she couldn't truly fault anyone for their morbid jokes.

When she snuffed out one last fireball, Cy shook his head. “That will be enough for today. I need to conserve some energy for the other children.”

Cera nodded her assent, dusting off her loose-fitting trousers. “A good match,” she conceded.

“Before you leave,” Cy said, his expression becoming serious, “I believe it’s time you were introduced to your army.”

He sent a tiny spark high into the air. Cera watched in amazement as it climbed higher and higher before reaching its zenith and bursting in a dazzling flash of light.

“Can I try that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

Cy shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Two flashes is the signal for an attack. Three means we require medics on the scene.”

“Some other time, perhaps.”

The first to answer the summons was Hana, who sprinted across the cottage rooftops on bare feet before landing without a sound beside them.

“This is Hana,” Cy said by way of introduction. “She’s Saku’s distant cousin. They don’t see much of each other, as she rarely ventures out of her hut.”

The girl was slender, with eyes as piercing as daggers and impossibly long black hair. She gave Cera a brusque nod. “Commander.”

Cera was still getting accustomed to the title. A small jolt of adrenaline shot through her at the word, and she remained undecided if the feeling was a positive or negative one.

“And what is it that you can do?” she asked.

Hana’s thick lashes seemed to catalog every detail of Cera’s face as an enthusiastic smile spread across her own. “I possess extraordinary strength. I can lift anything you command me to.” She carried herself with a voracious energy, as if she were starved for a challenge.

“Interesting,” Cera mused. “Did you train her personally, Cy?”

He shook his head. “She will be a tremendous asset, but she cannot manipulate fire. Besides, we didn’t have any trainers to spare.”

Cera took the explanation at face value, though a part of her suspected it was just an excuse. Her eyes swept the clearing, searching for an appropriate test of skill. “Can you lift that tree?”

Hana gave Cera a look of pity and shook her head. “Something that isn’t anchored to the earth, please.”

Without a word, Cera directed a jet of flame toward the base of the tree. Before the fire could ascend the trunk, she cut it off, and the massive tree groaned and began to topple. She sidestepped its path with practiced ease.

“Cera!” Cy exclaimed. “That was incredibly reckless!”

Cera almost rolled her eyes. As if facing down five tigers at once hadn’t been exponentially more dangerous. That encounter had concluded well enough; she had held one at bay, incinerated two, and detonated the other two. It had been a monumental achievement, though she had regrettably expended so much energy that Perla had to intervene to dispatch the last one.

Ignoring Cy, Cera turned her attention to Hana, but the girl was already in motion. She darted toward the fallen tree and, with a single grunt, lifted it steadily over her head.

“Is this sufficient, Commander?”

Cera was dumbfounded. Hana wasn't even perspiring.

“Yes, quite. You can put that—” An idea suddenly struck her. “On second thought, try to throw it into the forest. With all your strength. Be careful.”

Cera saw the subtle tensing of Hana’s small frame as she drew her arm back. The sheer velocity of the throw was staggering. The tree flew like a javelin, crashing into two others with such force that it snapped their trunks, sending their canopies tumbling to the ground.

“Excellent. Impossible. And wonderful,” Cera breathed, a wave of exhilaration washing over her. Even Cy looked impressed.

Hana strode back toward them, grinning from ear to ear.

“Looks like you lot have no need for me,” a voice boomed from nearby. “Little Hana has everything under control.”

“She’ll eliminate a few, but she’ll require a defender,” Cy smirked at the approaching man. “You can serve as her bodyguard.”

Cera recognized the man in an instant from the sharp spike of animosity she felt: Jiro, the so-called defector. She fought the urge to confront Carmine for burdening her with him; it wasn’t as if she was any more prepared for this war than he was.

“Cera, this is Jiro,” Cy said flatly. “He’s the one who will be ostentatious, compromise your position, is prone to acts of arson, and prefers to work alone.”

“Cy, Cy,” the older man chided. “Forgetting my glowing recommendation? I’ll wager you didn’t say anything nearly as unkind about the girl here. Hana, is it? That’s hardly fair—she has a truly troubled history.”

“Shut your mouth, Jiro,” Hana spat. “The entire village is aware of your destructive temper tantrums. Cy doesn’t need to say a word. You strain the limits of even our clan’s infamous temper.”

“And who was it that leveled a boulder when her little nursery school crush went unrequited?” Jiro grinned. “I must confess, that particular tale had me in stitches.”

“There will be no infighting on this team!” Cera’s voice rang out, sharp with authority. The two of them fell silent, seemingly shocked by the outburst from their twelve-year-old commander. “You will all learn to control your tongues. Our sole enemy is the witch Krysta. After we have killed her and her fifty men, you two are at liberty to debate who has caused more property damage.”

“No disrespect intended, miss,” Jiro said, though his tone clearly conveyed the opposite, “but what exactly qualified you for this command? Have you fought in any battles yet?”

“Would you prefer to lead instead?” Cera challenged.

Jiro appeared taken aback.

“No? I didn’t think so.” Growing annoyed, Cera turned away from him and began to inspect her nails with a show of indifference.

“Fundamentally, I feel you have yet to answer my question.”

“Take your complaints to Carmine. I was forced into this, and I am not going to pretend I was born to do it.”

Just then, Argent rushed onto the scene, one hand held behind his back, clutching what looked suspiciously like a newly woven crimson shirt.

“Did the Seeress weave that for you?” Jiro quipped, even as Argent offered a stream of apologies for his tardiness.

“I have indeed just come from the direction of the castle,” Argent said stiffly, “but without any specific summons. It was only when my mother informed me that I realized the signal flare had been set off. Again, I offer my apologies.”

Cera gave him a nod of acknowledgment. She was certain the reason for his strange behavior would become clear soon enough.

A moment later, the final member of their unit staggered into their midst, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was Reddington, obviously just awakened from a nap.

“No one informed me about this,” he muttered quickly, before shuffling into line.

Cy sighed. “It seems I will be joining your ranks as well. Someone will be needed to help maintain order.”

This was not what Cera had been expecting. “What about the other men?”

“This army will have several men assigned to each of your commands.”

She looked for another way to change his mind. “But I have absolute command, correct?”

“While I may outrank you within the clan, on the battlefield, I will defer to your judgment.”

The arrangement wasn’t terrible, but Cera had already convinced Perla to fight with her, certain that no one would object to her sister’s participation. Having the brother-sister duo in the same squad, however, could create complications for everyone. She knew she wasn’t supposed to reveal the secret, but her impulse control was a constant battle.

“Perla is my lieutenant,” she blurted out. “You will have to defer to her as well.”

Cy’s eyes widened. Jiro let out a cruel bark of laughter. Argent flinched. Reddington yawned, oblivious, and Hana started picking at a scab on her arm.

Cy’s gaze shot back to Cera. “May I have a word with you in private?” he snarled.

Cera gave a hesitant nod, and they stepped into the small cabin she and Perla shared.

As they walked away, Reddington groaned. “I suppose I missed all the excitement?”

“I lifted a tree!” Hana declared proudly.

Inside the hut, Cy spun around and scowled at Cera. “Explain,” he growled, his voice so low she might not have heard it if she hadn’t seen his lips form the word.

“I gave your sister the chance she deserves,” Cera said, refusing to back down. “Her presence on the front lines is going to save lives.”

“She cannot—” Cy started, but just as he spoke, the sound of a can being opened, amplified a thousand times, ripped through the village.

“What was that?” Cera asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

Cy shook his head, though whether it was in response to the immediate danger or her choice to recruit Perla, she couldn’t be sure.

Cera burst out of the hut, with Cy right behind her.

“Wait, Cera, don’t—” Cy choked as a wave of smoke billowed toward them. He shoved her out of the way just as a section of the roof collapsed, engulfed in roaring flames. “It seems today is the day Jiro finally snapped,” he coughed.

But Cera wasn’t paying attention. She extinguished what she could of the fire on their hut and ran into the open field, her head swiveling as she searched for the other members of her unit. Perla, she knew, was still at the restaurant. They weren’t scheduled to fight until the day after tomorrow.

Cy shouted her name and launched a ball of fire toward the roof of another cottage.

“What are you doing?” Cera screamed, still scanning the area for any sign of Jiro or Hana. Argent and Reddington, she assumed, were probably capable of fending for themselves.

Then, before Cy could respond, she saw him. Perched almost casually on top of their neighbor’s hut was a six-foot-tall blond man dressed in an immaculate gray suit. One of the witch’s men.

His hair shone in the sunlight, a shockingly pale blond that Cera hadn’t seen in years. The man sneered down at them. “Good day to you too, you fools.”

He carried a simple chained weapon, but the idle way he swung it informed Cera that he was an expert. The damage he could wreak if she allowed him the first move would be catastrophic.

Gathering her resolve, she tried to call upon her lethal technique. To her astonishment, she couldn't. Her thoughts raced. It must be because she didn’t fear for her life. She met his gaze, her expression stoic and unblinking. She was not afraid.

There were other methods to bring him down.

“Cy, find the others!” she growled. “I will deal with him.” Cy nodded and leaped out of her line of sight.

Cera broke into a full sprint, simultaneously unleashing six fireballs at the man, timing them to strike him from various angles. He sidestepped five of them with disdainful ease and deflected the last with a flick of his chain.

Trying to conceal her alarm, Cera jumped at him, hurling a much larger fireball that shot directly toward his position. His chain swung out once more, but Cera’s mocking laugh died in her throat. He wasn’t targeting the fire, which was too large to be deflected; he was targeting her. It was a suicidal tactic. The chain slashed painfully across her ankles as she soared through the air, and she swallowed a gasp of pain.

She summoned another fireball to her hands, intending to use the propulsive force to change her trajectory, but the morning’s training session combined with the spar against Cy was beginning to take its toll. The flames around her hands sputtered and flickered. Her canvas shoes and thin clothing offered no defense. She was plummeting directly toward the chain.

As he swung the weapon upward to meet her descending form, the man let out a triumphant, guttural roar.

Cera raised her elbows in a desperate attempt to protect her face. The arc of the chain seemed to last an eternity.

Was she about to die again?