Kindling (21 page)

The Rabbi nodded. “How did that feel?”

“Weird,” I said. “It didn’t feel like I was doing it.”

“You were. And soon, you’ll be able to do this.” He held out his hands and a small flame appeared. It grew up until it almost touched his beard then he pulled it back down and placed it in my hand. For a few moments it floated in my palm and then disappeared. “And you’ll be able to manipulate it to your will. It’s a great and terrible gift, Katja. I will teach you how to respect it.” He sighed. “I just hope you’ll only have to use it on your enemies.”

Over the next four weeks, I worked with The Rabbi to improve my fire. My schedule was a bit more relaxed during what The Rabbi dubbed as “My Kindler” training. I ran, we beat the crap out of each other for a bit, then made some fire with my hands, went home. The whole thing was much less grueling than the first five weeks and I was even home to the Walters’ by dinner most days. Unfortunately, I had to walk through the yard while the boys were still around, but I had headphones blaring in my ears to block out the taunts and I wouldn’t let myself look at them, so I mostly avoided seeing any lewd gestures.

I suppose most people would think me talking about making fire with my hands was weird. And, anyone who thinks that is right: it was totally weird. But, the fire became normal to me. It was basically all I had known since I entered into Hunter training and I wasn’t around any of the other trainees much, so whether it was unusual or not never really entered into my head. The Rabbi, who acted as my coach, was even a Kindler, so it was so natural for me to get comfortable with the fire. It’s like when I starting learning martial arts. At first, it was this odd piece of my life that didn’t really fit in with anything else, but then I adjusted. My papá, my abuelos, and even my bisabuela were all fighters, so it was just natural for me to adopt the practice, even if to other people it was really weird.

Besides, ever since I started Hunter training I’ve known only a few people - The Rabbi, Sarah, Braith, Jean-Luc and my host family - and I interacted with no one else. And Sarah and The Rabbi didn’t seem weirded out at all by the fire and Braith hardly even acknowledged I could do it and Jean-Luc, well, he never even mentioned it, except to tease me a few times about teaching me to cook.

The fire – how can I describe it? That first evening at The Rabbi’s where I set free the white heat into the popcorn bag, the release exhausted me. Maybe it was because I was so exhausted from the five weeks of constant exercise, but I felt like collapsing after the popcorn heated. I barely remembered getting driven home. The feeling of the whiteness was unexpected, I think. It’s like I had always felt it but I never knew what to do with it, and it was surprisingly calming to finally know how to deal with it.

But, it was draining. The Rabbi had me start out very slowly, just giving me one bag of popcorn at a time - we ate a lot of popcorn those first few days. He let me nap afterwards, which was extremely helpful in rebuilding my energy. After the first week, I was feeling stronger. The Rabbi gave me a full day off and I slept for 20 hours. I felt phenomenal, afterwards, and The Rabbi began giving me more complex tasks to undertake. First it was quickly bringing the fire in and out. Then we moved to target practice - the first time I aimed at a target and fire flew from my hands I freaked out and started screaming, but The Rabbi held my arm out straight so I couldn’t move and burn the whole woods down. And then we began sparring with each other - in fabulous flame retardant coveralls and face masks. Holy tomato, those sparring sessions were warm. We could only do it for 15 minutes at a time because we’d get so overheated, but once we would cool off enough we’d but the coveralls and masks back on and continue.

So, that was my life for the next month. During the day I trained, during the evenings I fought my homesickness. I thought it had gone away, but ever since I had a bit more time to myself in the evenings, it came back full force. In a way, having the evenings to myself was harder than working until the night because then I had time to think and thinking always led to homesickness and homesickness usually led to crying into my pillow. I began writing to my family weekly. I was forbidden to write to my friends – my parents had done weeks of damage control and covered up my fight and disappearance with an elaborated version of the same crazy story that we told my sister. Despite not being able to write to my friends – it was so hard not speaking to Sadie and not knowing what was happening in her life – I enjoyed so much having that connection to my family that it invigorated me and put passion into my Kindler training.

Even so, most nights ended with me crying or moping around. Poppy comforted me and often snuck me cookie dough, which was a big no-no while I was training because The Rabbi claimed it was full of useless carbohydrates that would just slow me down. I snuck some on my really bad days – those days I realized I was going to miss a whole year of my brothers’ and sister’s lives; when I thought about the twins having their fourth birthday party in a few months; when I thought about my sister going on her first date without me there to give her advice; when I thought about my family having game night or movie night without me; when I thought about running with my dad in the mountains; when I thought about summer afternoons weeding the garden with my mom. It was all hard to think about, so I tried to think about them as little as possible. My family was growing without me and my heart ached to be with them.

Most of my time, though, was occupied by Kindler training. To take my mind off my family, I practiced constantly. After Braith brought me home in the evenings and I had eaten dinner, I usually headed out to the beach for practice. No one saw me - I was outside the walls of the town - and I picked up on it incredibly quickly. After two weeks, I was able to accurately throw fire balls at targets; in three weeks, I could hit moving targets with 98% accuracy. By the end of the month, I could leave fire trails wherever my skin touched. It both impressed and shocked me.

At the end of the ninth week of my time in Portugal, – the fourth week of pure, Kindler training – The Rabbi and Sarah invited me over for Shabbat dinner. I gladly accepted, because Sarah was an amazing cook and I could eat about a million pieces of that Challah and chocolate rugelach she made.

After the candles and the prayers and wine, we ate. It was a wonderful meal, roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. I ate like a grown man because I burned so many calories then – seriously, no pun intended – so I had multiple helpings of everything.

“So,” The Rabbi began after we were partly though with eating. “Monday, you’re going to train with the boys.”

Sarah and I stopped eating and stared at him. “What?” we said in unison.

“It’s time,” he said. “You need to learn how to fight with them. You’ll meet with me once a week, but you need training with the other hunters and you need to learn the ways of the other High Masters. Learning how to work with your peers is an important skill. You won’t learn that hanging out with an old man all the time.”

I put down my fork and knife and sat, still staring at him. I felt like I was going to cry and I was sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to spend any more time with the other Hunter trainees than I had to – the names and awful remarks when I ran around the track had not abated at all and had even intensified since they found out I had honed my Kindling abilities. I felt betrayed. “I’m not doing well? You don’t want me as a student?”

“Kit, no, that’s not it at all,” The Rabbi said. He placed his hand on mine. “You are exceptional. That’s just it. You’re too good and I can’t further your training. You need the other students to challenge you.”

“They hate me,” I said. He nodded and looked away. “What will I do there all alone?”

“You will fight them, Kit,” he said. “You’ll beat them, you’ll dominate then, and you’ll show them what kind of an asset you are to the Hunters.”

“What if I don’t?” I asked. “What if they try to kill me or something.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s something we’ll have to keep an eye on. Braith and Jean-Luc will not leave your sight while you’re there. We can’t take any chances.” The Rabbi could tell Sarah and I weren’t convinced. “Listen, you two. There are bigger things at work here than Katja. Heike and I are busy with a little side project. It’s very important that I devote more time to it. I’m sorry, Katja. It’s a matter of safety for everyone. Do you understand?” I could tell whatever was going on upset him greatly, so I nodded. I did understand. He was needed elsewhere and, he was right, I needed to learn how to deal with the boys, not just ignore them. I was a Hunter just as they were.

I stayed over Sarah and The Rabbi’s house on Friday night, as The Rabbi wouldn’t drive me home to the Walter’s on the Sabbath. The Rabbi didn’t make me do anything, either. I felt like an honorary Jew when The Rabbi said I deserved to rest. I had a whole freaking day off, and he was giving me Sunday off too, mostly, I think, because he felt bad about sending me into the lion’s den, so to speak.

After he drove me to The Walter’s house on Saturday evening, only Poppy was home.

When I walked in, I saw her lying on the couch and reading a book. I put on a happy face for The Rabbi, but I was miserable and needed someone to commiserate with. “Poppy, I have to go on the field,” I announced.

“Holy flying shit!” She yelled. “You mean with the boys?” I nodded. “Oh, god. This is serious.” I flopped down on the couch with her. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Are we going to have a last hurrah before you’re beaten to death?”

“You’re not helping,” I moaned.

“Come on, Kit Cat, girls night on the mainland. Have you even been to Portugal since you landed?” I shook my head. “Well, you’re not going to get another opportunity. And I have to start back at school and won’t have much free time. Let’s have a girls night, come on,” she whined.

“Let’s just have a nice evening playing board games,” I suggested. Poppy groaned. “Okay, what exactly did you have in mind?”

Poppie eventually made convincing to go out to a club in Portugal and, for whatever reason, I agreed - reluctantly. I had a feeling it was going to be a bad night right from the get-go, I felt it in my bones, but I ignored it. I probably shouldn’t have ignored it, in retrospect, especially when I found out what Poppy wanted me to wear. It was an interesting, very small dress made with some sort of space-age, shiny, leopard print material that cut very low on my boobs and very high on my legs. I have no idea how she talked me into wearing it, but in the end I found myself feeling a bit awkward being at her weird club on the mainland – even the name of the club, The Dirty Den, made me uncomfortable – but I was also a giant in clothes that fit someone six inches shorter than me.

Now normally, Poppy was a very sweet-natured person, very girl-next-door kind a woman. By day she was a mild-mannered school teacher who worked as a stylist on weekends, but by night she was ... well, she was kind of a slut. Poppy had some serious daddy issues – her dad was one of the Masters at the Hunter training school and he rarely paid her any attention – so, she tried to get the attention of other men by dressing rather provocatively. This was my expert psychological opinion, anyway.

So, we were at the club and, at first, we were having fun just dancing together. Yeah, there were some truly creepy guys there – some tried to grind with us without even introducing themselves, which I was not used to. I pushed quite a few men away, most of whom were incredibly drunk. Then Poppy got drunker and drunker as she swallowed back drink after drink. I was beginning to understand what Heike mentioned before, that Braith wasn’t unique in his drinking issues - all Hunter’s children had similar problems.

I think I may have mentioned that I am not a drinker, like at all, but for some reason I was really in the mood for Sangria. After one Sangria, I was pretty trashed – seriously, one Sangria; I’m a lightweight with alcohol and I had to stop dancing for awhile. I made my way over to the bar so I could sit down. Poppy hardly noticed me leave the dance floor, she just moved from once dance partner to another. When I sat down, these scantly clad middle aged men with silk shirts unbuttoned to show their chests orbited me and, I noticed, similar sleaze balls gathered around Poppy as well. God, they were gross.

“Hey, beautiful,” one said to me when he heard I spoke English. “I think we are soul mates.” He was clearly inebriated. He smelled like vodka and sweat and body odour. I cringed.

“Go away,” I said.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Another guy actually said that to me. Like, those words literally came out of his mouth.

“God, go away!” I said again.

“I could show you things you never dreamed of,” a third guy said. I glared at him with such intensity that he backed away and bowed his head.

I was sick of the music, sick of the dancing, and I just wanted to get back to the island and into my pajamas. I was beginning to get really grumpy and irritated with all of the assholes crowding around, so I began to search for Poppy. I couldn’t find her for awhile, which made me nervous, but finally I spotted her on the other side of the dance floor. Poppy was so completely trashed she could barely stand up straight. She was flirting with several guys at once and they continued to bring her drinks. I didn’t like that and I was nervous for her, as one of the guys, in particular, was very aggressive in his lust – his hands moved over her body as they flirted, touching her in intimate areas and, I noticed, slowing inching her towards the wall.