Mathieu (White Flame Trilogy) (19 page)

Solomon smirked at him. “We all need each other is why; even you and I. I need your desire for revenge to fuel Nathan, and I will be very critical to you. Elise says so, anyway.”

“Elise says so?” He said slowly, almost disbelieving.

“Yep, she’s a seer.”

“Er…?”

The blond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Seriously?
Eight year olds know more than you. A seer is someone who can glance into the future. They can’t control what they see, how far forward they view, or what the significance of it is, but what they see always comes to be.”

“Wow. It must be hard to live like that. Randomly getting visions I mean.” Mathieu said. He wondered if he had been a seer and seen Avian’s death or that he would someday be sitting here, how he would have reacted.

“It doesn’t work like that. Well I guess for some seers it might; however, Elise must touch a person to see into their future. She saw you come to us when she met you six years ago. And she saw…well I don’t know exactly what she saw. She won’t tell me.”

“What about Mina?” Mathieu said, looking at the sky.

Solomon gave him a flat look, clearly not wanting to talk about his sister. “What about her?”

Mathieu huffed. “I
mean
, I know that she has a gift, but what is it?”

“Ah, that. It’s her voice. She can sound beautiful, but she can also turn it into a harpy’s screech. Good for causing paralysis.”

Closing his eyes, he laid back in the grass. “You have a god on your side.”

“Not me personally, but Korinth does.” Solomon replied.

“We do?”

Solomon picked up a rock and threw it, watching it soar through the air.
“Yeah.
It’s attached to some kid, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well…I’ve been around a long time.
A
long
time.
I’ve never seen a child manage to summon one and decently anchor it.” The blond shrugged and raked fingers through his hair. “You should see the kid. He’s the only one that the god will talk to. Hell, I haven’t even seen this so call god.” The tone of his voice was annoyed, just shy of irritated.

“Everyone here has a lot of power…”

“You do too, probably. Alright we need to start your training. Come on.” The blond got to his feet and held out
a hand, pulling Mathieu to his feet.

“Ugh. Thanks.” Mathieu said, attempting to pull his hand back once he was on his feet.

Solomon kept a tight hold on his hand. “Try not to panic.”

Chapter

Nine

The shadows cast by their bodies began to darkened and thickened, slowly twining up their legs and around their bodies. The darkness dragged the pair down in a quick jerk, forcing the air out of Mathieu’s lungs. Mathieu tried to pull in more oxygen, but nothing came. His lungs burned and screamed for air, the darkness pressing in on his eyes until he thought he’d pass out.

And as fast as it’d begun, it was ending, shooting them up out of the darkness. Solomon’s hand was still wrapped around his, however, the scenery had changed. Now, they were in a tall building with mirrors on all the walls and mats on the floor. Beams and rafters crisscrossed lowly around the room to the upper area. Near the top of the room was a small platform, although Mathieu couldn’t see what was on it.

“What is this place?” He looked around but already knew. It was a training facility of some sort with weaponry lining the walls, along with targets and protective gear.

The blond man moved towards a rack of swords ranging from blunted broad swords to dulled rapiers. “This is where we train. Here.” Solomon tossed a rapier to Mathieu in a no-nonsense manner. “Ever used a sword?”

The sword fit in his hand well, a familiar feeling. Over the years, he had been convinced by Demetri and Avian to learn to fight with a sword, must to his disinterest. “Yeah, Avian made me fence with her for the past three
years. I hated it. I didn’t do too badly with it though. Stabbing just takes too long and limits the ways to attack.”

Smiling, Solomon held a hand out for the rapier. “Broads it is then.
Alright.”
He took down two swords and pushed one into Mathieu’s hands as he passed, taking a ready position. “Let me see what you can do. You’ve had some instructions, so…” He shrugged.

Mathieu nodded and rolled his shoulder, lifting the blade. It was heavier than a rapier, but he held it point up and at the ready.

“If you’re interested, technically these aren’t real broad swords. They have hand and a half grips.” Solomon said as he advanced towards the white-haired man.

“Uh…” Mathieu didn’t know how that helped, but he nodded and brought the sword up to parry a blow from Solomon, wincing slightly as it reverberated through his wrist. This was part of why he hated swords.

The blond rolled his eyes. “It’s not a foil. It’s a sword. Use it like one.”

Huffing, Mathieu took the weapon up again and held it ready, this time swinging to meet the other man’s attack. It wasn’t as bad as the first and he dropped his shoulder before rotating the blade and bringing it back up in an upward cut. The movement was slow and deflected easily, but the blond smiled approvingly.
Okay.
This time he was on the offensive, making the first swing aimed for the other man’s head.

Solomon easily avoided all of Mathieu’s blows; however,
the blond man watched each thwarted attack, noting that Mathieu was slowly picking it up the use of a real sword.

Mathieu’s endurance was not used to standing up to the weight of a real sword, or his time spent in Korinth not practicing. His already rather slow attacks were becoming glacier drift slow, but he tried to not let it get to him. Irritation flowed through him at the fact that he hadn’t landed a single blow. Soon, Mathieu’s shoulder was having a hard time finding the strength to heft the blade up into a guarded position, and his effort began to diminish. Each swing was providing a dull ache and he was panting heavily,
sweat
darkening his hair to a grayish color.

“We’ll need to work on endurance.” Solomon pointed out with a smirk and took a quick step before spinning on his heel, bringing the weapon in a wide, sweeping arc that Mathieu just managed to duck under.

A sound of indignation left Mathieu’s mouth. “Hey, that wasn’t fair! I wasn’t ready…”

“Do you think a real enemy will be worried about whether or not you’re ‘ready’? Expect to not see it coming, especially when you are becoming fatigued. Quit thinking. React.” With that, the blond narrowed his eyes and began a barrage, coming at Mathieu hard and fast. He wasn’t giving an inch, pressing the other back until he hit a wall.

Mathieu groaned, body protesting his sudden retreat. His back was to a wall, literally, and he wasn’t sure if the blond man would really hurt him or not. Solomon wasn’t relenting, so he was inclined to believe he would. Mathieu closed his eyes for a single moment, taking a
deep breath. He swung the sword wildly to gain some breathing room and managed to get a foot or two away from the wall, using the time to fortify his defense. Mathieu was done playing around, and it was about time for him to use his gift. Energy slid down his arm and wrapped around the blade, infusing it with extreme strength. This time, when he swung to meet the blow of the other, the backlash wasn’t so bad, his energy crackling as it absorbed it. The tides were quickly turned, Mathieu now having Solomon backing up, albeit much slower than the reverse.

Things were going well until a particularly awkward clang of steel on steel left them both reeling. A weird strain on his wrist told him that he’d hurt himself. “Damn it…” Mathieu bit out, let the sword drop to the floor. It kind of stung to wiggle his fingers and he rubbed at his wrist.

Solomon set his sword down and reached out, taking Mathieu’s wrist firmly in a callused hand.
“Hm.”
He twisted and turned it. He poked and prodded. “It’s a sprain.” The blond said with a sigh. “We’ll wrap it and see if Elric will heal it, okay?”

Rolling his eyes, Mathieu yanked his hand from the blond, wrapping his fingers around his hurt wrist and closed his eyes. The soft glow of energy filled the gaps between his fingers, illuminating his skin. It took only moments before the effect took hold and his wrist felt fine again. “There. All better.”

Sharp green eyes surveyed him, judging. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“I’ve always been able to. I used to fight a lot with a kid I
knew.” Shrugging, he swiped the sword off the floor. “These things are pretty heavy. Not standard steel. Energy stone infused, I’m guessing.”

The blond simply grunted at his explanation to his healing. “That’s very perceptive about the sword. Yes; Lenore makes them that way because they’re stronger. And she makes each person’s unique to them, compatible to their gift.”

Mathieu smiled. “Oh? Then show me yours.”

Solomon hesitated, giving him a curious look. “Well…Alright.” Solomon left Mathieu to cross the room. Along one wall was a panel of white steel cabinets. Each tall, thin cabinet had a name engraved on it. The blond man stood before his and pressed his hand to it. After a moment, it clicked open; inside was a pair of hooked swords. Solomon withdrew them and carried them back with him. One was held out to Mathieu. “Be careful. There isn’t a grip.” The blond said.

Every edge of the blade was sharpened to perfection. Mathieu held it gingerly, avoiding the edges. “Don’t these cut your hands?”

“Yes. But my gift is resilience. I heal faster than even you. And my blood has some sort of extra properties or something that helps intensify wounds when my blood gets into the wounds my blades inflict.” Solomon smiled.

“It’s light…” Mathieu handed it back. “They’re pretty, too.”

Nodding, the blond just tossed both blades over his shoulders and they were practically sucked back into the
cabinet; it clicked closed.
“Now, to Ithaine.”
Solomon said.

Mathieu wasn’t sure if Ithaine was a person, a place, or a torture device. Therefore, he silently held his hand out to the man, ready to run if he needed to. The sinking darkness twined around him again, pulling him down. Closing his eyes, he pressed closer to Solomon, hating the feeling of choking. It hurt. He suddenly realized they’d never cleaned up the swords.

As they came out of the darkness, this time in an old fashion house that reminded him of the orphanage, he was slightly better prepared. There was a large grandfather clock against the wall and if it was accurate, his little dance with Solomon had taken almost a full hour. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. His eyes slid around the room, taking it all in. The foyer was done in tastefully warm hues of browns and reds with seating aplenty. He could have heard a pin drop.

Solomon sat down and motioned for him to sit, as well. The loveseat sunk under Mathieu’s slight weight, as did the carpet. For the most part, the room they were in was rather empty, but he didn’t comment. If the owner of the place wanted to decorate sparsely, the only things other than the clock and the loveseat were a painting of a light house and long thin table with a single doll on it, then it wasn’t his business to judge. Mathieu stared at the painting, looking at the way that it seemed to be alive, the water sort of rippling and the grass softly swaying.

“This is a nice place.” He tried to compliment, “Very…quiet.” Mathieu’s voice was just above a whisper.

The blond seemingly ignored him, however, his gaze riveted on the small doll. It had a porcelain face, painted white with red lips and rosy cheeks. It had no eyes. The dress it wore was grey wool with white accents; clearly a handmade outfit, possibly by a child. Solomon’s fingers were tapping a very slow beat on his thigh, and it was maddeningly distracting to Mathieu. He wanted to cover the other’s hand with his and ask him to stop, but he was somewhat sure he wouldn’t get the appendage back. So he continued to look away from the blond and anywhere but at the eyeless doll.

There was a rustle of fabric and his companion stood to pace the length of the room. Mathieu couldn’t read the expression on Solomon’s face, so he busied himself with other thoughts, such as how time had seemed to slip from him so easily when he had been fighting with the blond. When it came down to it, he was not a fighter; that much he was sure of. He accomplished more with his words than his fists, although he needed it, he had the temper of a killer. He was following that train of thought when a slight movement attracted his gaze. It was the doll moving, nodding slowly. “That’s so creepy.” Mathieu said, covering his mouth.

“It’s time. We can go in now.” Solomon said, turning and heading down a hallway, opening the third door on the right. A plume of smoke wafted out, smelling strongly of apples and something sinfully dark.

Mathieu followed Solomon into the room, taking in the near darkness. Only a white colored fire that sat harmlessly on the carpet and the glowing cherry of a cigarette provided light.

“Ithaine.”
The blond man bowed before a girl.

Wrinkling his nose, Mathieu did the same. He peeked up into a startlingly young face with milky eyes. She was fifteen, at the most and draped languidly across a loveseat. Her hair was tucked under a scarf, and her dress was bunched around her thighs. Her feet propped up against the wall, baring her legs.

“Solomon,” her voice was high-pitched and she sounded like she was at the other end of a long tunnel, despite her proximity in the small room, “You brought a visitor. He’s positively radiant.”

“Um…” The sound escaped Mathieu before he could stop himself. Ithaine stared at him with those eerily white eyes, not blinking. A slow smile crept across her face, lips curling her cigarette. “Sit, boy. Talk a while, won’t you?”

Mathieu looked around but there were no seats other than the one she was slouched on, so he sat on the floor, next to the fire. It was cold. “Okay. My name is Mathieu, just so you know.” He looked around but he could make no details about the room out. “Um, what should we talk about?”

“That is the true question, isn’t it? Something circles in your mind, doesn’t it?” Her skin had a delicate sheen to it in the soft light, and she shifted until she appeared more comfortable.

The air shifted against him when Solomon sat leaning against a wall, but Mathieu averted his eyes, “…Can you see me?”

She let her gaze drift up to the ceiling where she blew a
smoke ring. Mathieu deduced that the apple scent he had smelt at the doorway came from her cigarette. “In a sense; your physical form does evade my sight, as do all things, but I see the things you can’t. But now it is my turn. Do you know your heritage?”

“Uh, well, hm.” He scratched the back of his head as he thought of how to answer that. “Well, I don’t know who my parents are, if that’s what you’re asking. I was an orphan.” His tone became defensive, “do
you
have a heritage?” Mathieu genuinely hated talking about his parents and his past. Not even Avian had cured him of that.