Chapter 4: Flames that Are, Flames that Will Be

The Ballad of Solomon Rains

Smoke billowed into the night, and a chaotic dance of violent flames erupted from the hole that used to be his father's study. Its tumultuous underbelly roiled in the breeze and updraft — turning and spiraling star-ward and catching the garden, bushes, and trees on fire. The world rang shrill in Solo's ears, and his eyes danced unfocused into the burning branches of the trees above.

The air was hot, singed with Kolder's magic, but the dewy grass of the lawn was cold, and moisture seeped through his button-up shirt and pressed against his spine. Solo sat up, and his head whirled dizzily. He caught sight of the swing his father built and hung from the branches for Tyrus and him when they were small; it, too, was engulfed by the fiery vortex. His stomach rolled like a toddler down a steep hill, and he fell back down into the embrace of the lawn.

He'd been sent yards backward by whatever spell Kolder unleashed in the study. His shirt was singed with ember burns, exposing the skin beneath. He rolled onto his stomach and pushed onto his knees; he attempted to shake the dizziness from his head, but the world only spun quicker.

From somewhere that seemed far off, he heard muffled shouting and cracks of gunshots or lightning. Solo crawled, his breath catching in his lungs as he struggled to breathe against the force that had knocked him backward and the thick cloud of smoke.

His vision wavered as he called out to his mother; his voice garbled in his ears, and he looked off to the front of the house. When he stood, Solo staggered, but as his vision began to steady, so did his steps. The cracks grew louder and sharper as the disorientation receded dully from his spike in adrenaline. Flashes of light from inside the house flared brutally through the windows like colored snaps of contained lightning, but the distinct flickers of fire glowed throughout the home.

He called out again, his voice panicked and clearer in his ears.

A red-tinted cloud of rolling crimson thunder burst through the door like a freight train, moving like an imploding storm. The front door shot open, ripped from its hinges into three splintered pieces and thrown outward into the pebbled driveway.

Solo dove from the upper chunk of the door as it bounced twice like a spinning blade over the driveway's surface. He hit the ground, sliding atop the gravel, and felt the impact slice the skin of his forearms. The flaming chunk of door arced over him as he covered his head and made himself as flat as he could manage. He got his feet beneath him, ran, and slid into the garden between two large wood-frame flower beds. More crackling shots and shadowed projectiles burned and erupted through the walls dangerously above his head.

Gala came reeling through the front door, whirled around, and took firm backward steps down the stairs. One arm was outstretched, maintaining a large cracked section of the barrier that floated inches from her forearm like a glowing glass shield. Her right arm was held at the ready, fingers poised for another snap of magic from the flint rings. Her red coat was singed along its flowing bottom; her hair tossed and tangled, and sweat dribbled from her forehead. One arm of her coat was burned away, revealing the sleeve of the eggshell-colored silk shirt she wore beneath.

She snapped her fingers twice rapidly, and white-hot embers, followed by a bolt of fire-colored lighting, shot like bullets from the snaps. The bolts went soaring through the blown-out doorway. It was all she could do without any prepared spells to channel the magic. She only maintained the barrier with the calories in her body, but once it was gone, she'd need another defense source. She was at a disadvantage.

Kolder strolled through the doorway, untouched save for a soot mark over one of his cheeks and his hair slightly disheveled. The Ministry-Man held a killstick in either fist, and his cruel gray eyes were fixed on Solo's mother as she stepped down the stairs and into the driveway.