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  “Ease up, now. Run any harder and you’ll hit the ground before you hit me.” Burnitz continued to run backward, his feet finding purchase on the ground below as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

  Despite himself, Thorn let out a groan. Luckily, it wasn’t heard over the retching behind him. He looked up and saw Rodie, by some act of the gods, appeared to be at the front of the pack. He had to admit, the nerd had great cardio. Thorn watched as Rodie raised his hands, running awkwardly with shoulders stiff to the front. A globe of light built in his palm and he threw it forward, but it was an awkward motion, like a fawn taking its first steps. The globe splattered against the ground and blew Rodie’s feet from beneath him. He hit the trail hard and whimpered before scampering back to his feet at the back of the pack, head down.

  Burnitz chortled. “There we have it! The best of the best! Is that all you fresh bloods got? A miserable fizzing of energy that takes out the ’caster?”

  All around him, Thorn saw balls of light begin to glow one by one, and each fizzled out before it could be thrown at Burnitz. He clenched his jaw and directed his eyes to the dirt, determined not to give in to his anger at Burnitz. The instructor was an asshole, but an asshole with a purpose. Thorn would avoid being one of the many. Instead, he let the anger simmer as everyone else around him failed, their magical efforts little more than an embarrassment.

  “Kids, kids—we’re all going to be friends someday, but not with this terrible attitude,” Burnitz called, hoping to further break their egos. “Can’t run, can’t fight.” He sniggered. “And can’t even perform magic. Not a good way to assault your instructor and reveal your incompetence.” He lifted a brow, smiling at them, his feet still moving like pistons. “You have to understand enemy strength, along with your own ability. So far, I’m seeing neither.”

  Val growled and threw her hands forward, a bright white ball of light flying from them. Burnitz sidestepped easily and the globe splintered the tree beside him.

  “There we go! That’s some fire!” Burnitz lit up—literally; his eyes glowed with an electric blue. Val tried to harness the energy once more, but it only sparked.

  Guess I’m not the only failure here. Thorn fought a chuckle and lost the battle. Burnitz stopped in his tracks. The recruits collided and tumbled over one another in the abrupt stop, like a train piling up in slow motion wreckage. Thorn’s legs twitched as if they itched to keep going, even as Burnitz’s eyes bore into him with that electric blue glare.

  “Stellers, is it?” Burnitz demanded.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” Thorn answered instantly. He was learning.

  “I don’t recall seeing your pitiable attempt. Remove the hat from my head, recruit.”

  Thorn bit back his first reply, then spoke. “I wanted to, ah…save up my energy for a legit try, sir.” A few of the recruits snorted uncontrollably at Thorn’s uncertainty and their own failures.

  Burnitz grimaced back. “Not a fan of waiting. I like to get to the main event.” He tapped a finger on his rugged watch, indicating time was wasting.

  Thorn was about to respond when a blast of seafoam light singed the hair at the top of his head.

  “Remove the hat from my head, recruit.” Burnitz’s voice now filled the space between the trees.

  Thorn’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He chewed on his cheek and stood resilient, face placid.

  “Oh, my mistake.” Burnitz began to turn forward again. “Thought you were a coward. You don’t have the fighter’s eye.” Burnitz gave him a look that slid away in disgust. “Or intellect, for that matter.”

  The column of rage that boiled inside Thorn shot through every nerve in his body—a furnace of heat and energy that sizzled nerves into action before Thorn even knew what was happening. Without a thought, Thorn’s hands went up, wrapped in a malignant chorus of light, then he released it all in a single pulse of magical power that streaked forward faster than the eye could follow. The silent blast of dark, glittering energy had thrown Burnitz to the forest floor; his hat lay beside him in the dirt, curls of smoke rising from the seared fabric. Silence filled the empty space and the air burned with a sulfurous residue.

  A harried breathing made the squad turn to see Narvez approaching from the rear. “Instructor Burnitz!”

  “Lieutenant Narvez.” Burnitz bounced to his feet as if he hadn’t just been hit with the force of a truck.

  “Which recruit?” Her inquisition was incomplete, but they all knew what she was asking.

  Thorn stepped toward her before Burnitz could respond. “It was me, ma’am.”

  Narvez turned to head back to the training field. “Follow me, Stellers.”

  Still shocked at what he’d just produced, he fell in behind Narvez, his body gone cold with fear and uncertainty. He could hear Burnitz calling cadences as the rest of the recruits trotted on behind him.

  Commander Schrader’s office was as cold as his skin was pale. Lieutenant Ashworth was already sitting in a high-back leather chair in the corner. Thorn sat in a state of rigid attention, more statue than recruit. His thoughts were simple—on the first day of training in the Magecorps, he was going to be discharged because his magic was too volatile for even the ON’s dark horse battalion. The Commander’s icy stare made Thorn hold his tongue for the moment while he sorted a response to the oncoming shitstorm.

  “Commander Schrader, Thorn Stellers. Wixcombe arrived with this one yesterday.” Narvez’s hatchet-lined features went blank when speaking to the Commander.

  “Bring Wixcombe to me as well, Lieutenant Narvez,” Schrader said.

  “Aye, sir. Right away, sir.” Narvez hurried from the room.

  Thorn stood in a cloud of uncertainty as Schrader and Ashworth sat, their eyes pinning him from two angles. After a few minutes, Narvez returned with Kira. Thorn turned his eyes toward her bright auburn hair as she brushed it neatly back away from her face and stood at attention.

  “Commander Schrader,” Kira said.

  “Wixcombe, what do you know of this recruit?” Schrader appeared genuinely curious, and Thorn’s nerves settled a bit at the Commander’s demeanor.

  “Commander, sir, this is Thorn Stellers. I arrived at Code Nebula with him yesterday. I sought him out because I believe he will be a fine addition to the Magecorps, sir.” Kira never looked in Thorn’s direction as she addressed Schrader.

  Schrader steepled his long, boney fingers. “And why do you believe that, Lieutenant?”

  Kira dropped her eyes to the ground for a brief moment as she cleared her throat. Thorn could see that she was struggling with whether or not to reveal their connection.

  “Stellers was…” She lifted her eyes and set her jaw with a new resolve. “Thorn was my brother at the Children’s Refugee Collective Home. He might be a little broken, but he’s a good man.”

  “And you thought… what did you think, Lieutenant Wixcombe?” Commander Schrader stood and placed his fingertips against the desktop so that his knuckles bent like spider’s legs. “You thought you’d collect this boy you haven’t seen in more than a decade and bring him to Code Nebula without even holding him accountable to the trial first?”

  Kira’s hair fell into her face, head dipping. “Aye, sir.”

  Lieutenant Ashworth drew his breath in between his teeth. “Wixcombe, you know he must be held accountable to the trial. Why in hell would you expect to plant him directly into training without accountability protocols?”

  Kira cast a glare toward the second in command. “Because I know this man. And I know what he is capable of. It may have been years ago, but he has passed the trial. A trial need only be given once.”

  Schrader lifted a closed fist in the air, silencing the lieutenants immediately.

  “Lieutenant Wixcombe is right, a trial need only be given once. If she says this trial has been passed, then we take her on her word.” Schrader left his cold stare on the olive-skinned man. “But all magic may become tainted through time without proper instruction. You”—his gaze
moved to Kira—“have just run the risk of contaminating our entire fleet of new recruits with your carelessness.”

  “Sir,” Kira began, but she was cut short when a single pointed finger was raised toward her.

  “To your bunk, now, Lieutenant. Tomorrow you train with the recruits.” Schrader sat once more behind his mahogany desk.

  “But Sir, I…” Kira started, but it was useless.

  “Butts are for the stock of your rifle. They do not belong in my office.” The angular commander’s shadow grew against the wall and the strong bass of his voice resonated in their chests. “This man”—he pointed to Thorn—“needs to learn full control of his magic immediately. It may interest you to note that these people will be going to war with the Nyctus—and soon. You are taking that responsibility on yourself, Lieutenant. If the dog is not broken in a month’s time, you will join him on whichever slum-bucket you pulled him from.”

  Kira’s eyes narrowed and Thorn could see the anger darkening her face, but she maintained her composure with some effort. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  With that, she turned and left.

  “Now, Stellers. Is there any thought in your head of what it is you’ve produced?” Schrader turned his attention to Thorn.

  “I don’t want to lie,” Thorn began but paused as he realized that even the truth was evasive. “I…felt it happening. Inside me, but I don’t know where the power came from. When we were kids, I did it so I could survive—my book from home was life to me. But as to a plan, no sir. I had none.”

  “Yes.” Schrader sighed, his anger dissipating, if it had been real at all. “Magic is a reflection of our deepest thoughts and emotions. When you are so broken, your magic, though powerful, is broken as well. It will control you before you have control over it. That makes you a danger to every soldier stationed at this base. That makes you a danger in training, on the field, or anywhere else. Do not let your emotions drive your actions, for in battle that is a sure way to never return home. Use your emotions to fuel your intuitions, and then train your actions to harness that energy into a controlled force. The snake does not strike out of anger or hatred, he strikes out of necessity. And when he does, his venom is released in a carefully measured dose to neutralize the enemy and preserve himself. If the snake were to strike out of hatred, the dose would not be carefully measured, and so the snake would drain himself of his precious venom and commit himself to a deadly fate. Measure your venom, Stellers. Keep your satchel full.”

  Thorn gave a cautious grin. “Got it. Be the snake. Channel the snake. Will do, sir.”

  Schrader waved his hand in dismissal, and Thorn felt as though he could finally breathe as he hurried through the door to the fresh air beyond.

  4

  “Get those knees up.” Narvez’s heavy black boots created a trench of their own as she paced in the viscous semi-liquid that Thorn had become well acquainted with over the past few weeks. The suctioning sounds resonated as the recruits raised their knees chest high.

  “Good,” Narvez murmured. “Tear them down. Then build them up.”

  The only energy Thorn had left was spent tearing his feet from the mud that grasped onto his boots. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been running in place, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue to lift his legs. They felt full of lead, and a punishing heat suffused every inch of his body.

  He faltered. Narvez saw. She saw everything.

  Narvez came to an abrupt stop and turned on her heel to face them with a look of irritation. “Drop!”

  The recruits obeyed, dropping to their stomachs in a ragged line, hands sinking into the putrid ground.

  “Now push that ground away from you in half counts—Stellers, you’ll be particularly delighted at this exercise. It’s all of the pain your body can take, but you’re using whatever magical ability you can muster. Think of it as a little vacation from running, won’t you? Now! One-and-two-and-hoooollld it. Four counts.”

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” the troops called back at her. “One, two, three, four.”

  “Now down. Half counts. One-and-two-and-hoooollld it. Four counts.”

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” The group response had already begun to lose its fervor.

  “One, two, three, four.” Among the shouts were groans of pain and a muted sob. Magic was hard, even if you were gifted.

  Narvez schooled her features into something that appeared neutral.

  Thorn thought he’d left the murk behind on Murgon 4. He’d seen the pristine barracks of the research facility upon entry and assumed that was the forecast of how his new life would be. He hadn’t taken into account the minds of the Magecorps’ Sergeants and how effectively they would force him to relive his muck-strewn past. At least on Murgon 4 he got to play cards.

  Thorn shook his head at the memory. “Coulda been rich by now,” he muttered to himself as he glared at the brown tar an inch beneath his nose.

  The air went still as his words tumbled out, and it took him a few seconds to notice the thick black boots standing in front of him. He turned his head up slowly, looking through his raised brow as he dared not drop to the ground and give the lieutenant a reason to start the drills all over again.

  “Did you speak, Stellers?” The sharp lines in Narvez’s face dug even deeper into her tanned skin.

  Thorn could hear the other recruits gasping as they held their form. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He struggled to project the response but refused to let her see his pain.

  “Recruits.” Narvez turned her attention to the flagging troops. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

  “Ma’am, no, ma’am,” they called back. Thorn was pretty sure a few of them were on the verge of crying. Or puking. Or both.

  “Lieutenant Narvez, ma’am, if I may?” Thorn’s look of apology was mild, even regretful.

  Narvez raised her brow as the silence stretched between them.

  “I was simply going to comment on the sad state of your boots, ma’am. Those are not ON officer compliant.”

  Thorn had only a fraction of a second to revel in the troop’s laughter before Narvez’s boot came down between his shoulders and pressed him into the mud. Above them a cloud began to swirl—far from natural, and contained only by the power of Narvez’s magical will. It took shape in seconds, growing darker and more intense by leaps and bounds. She glanced up at the unnatural structure as a sense of doom began to fill Thorn’s chest. Her face was still. Inhumanly so. And in that blankness, he sensed power.

  Above her, power continued to gather, just at the edge of his senses.

  Narvez’s voice rang with metallic clarity as she raised her arms to the sky. “Lay your arm out to the side, Stellers,” she commanded.

  The recruits were stunned to silence. Thorn was compelled to obey.

  “Fingers spread.”

  A ball of light began to form in Narvez’s palm and she held it as it grew, sparking in wild, spasmodic growth. Thorn stared in horror at his fingers, spread unwillingly in the mud, wishing his arm to pull back in toward his body. When he realized he no longer had the mental capacity to control the limb, he turned to his side, grabbed the rogue shoulder with his other hand, and pulled against it. Nothing. His heart hammered against his ribs as his feet scrabbled for purchase; thoughts of his stupid mouth bringing this on to him unwelcome, bitter—and true.

  The glowing globe shot from Narvez’s hand into the clouds and generated a bolt of lightning. It separated into four thin, distinct branches as it hit the ground between each of his fingers.

  Narvez turned her dimming eyes toward him and lifted her boot from his back. “You can spit shine my boots later, Stellers. Thank you for your concern.” She grinned—a hideous effect on her features—and floated back to her trench, her feet skimming over the ground in a show of magical ability designed to make the recruits feel small

  It worked.

  Thorn threw his hand to the sky, then turned it over and back, chec
king his fingers for singe marks. Momentary fear still coursed through him at the sight of what true magic could do.

  “Now push that ground away, recruits.” Her voice had returned to its natural grit. The recruits resumed their positions with a newly discovered motivation and continued their half count pushups.

  “No, no, no,” Narvez hollered. “I said push that ground away.” She held her palms out toward them, drawing on the white-blue light once again and letting it hover in the air in front of each hand. “Push!”

  Thorn regained his composure and placed his shaking fingers just above the mud. He looked up at Narvez in mild shock, then he pushed. The black cloud of shimmering energy shot from his hands and propelled him upward.

  Narvez looked up at him, and for a moment her stoic demeanor faltered. The recruits stared up at Thorn in disbelief.

  “Umm, a little help up here?” Thorn wobbled against the current of energy, some twenty feet off the ground.

  “Release it, Stellers.” Before Narvez had a chance to complete her sentence, Thorn smashed to the ground. “Slowly…dammit.”

  Thorn coughed and spat mud into Val’s shoulder beside him. “You could have led with that, ma’am.”

  Val smacked him hard on the arm and wiped the mud from her skin. “Keep your filth to yourself, Proby.”

  Narvez commanded their attention once more. “When you’ve all finished getting to know your own magic a little better, you can return to the mess hall for chow—then report to Instructor Burnitz for weapons training.” She turned to the back of the mud pit. “Lieutenant Wixcombe, direct the recruits and ensure each and every one of them initiates a magical push before they are dismissed. Not a pushup. This isn’t some childhood gymnastics class. I want command of their body mass against gravity, not an archaic workout.”

  “Lieutenant.” Kira accepted the shift of responsibility and made her way to Narvez’s trench, kicking the mud from her boots into Thorn’s face as she passed.