Brightly Burning: What The Author Didn't Want You To Find Out
Starting off from page 127, Where Lan's POV starts
Lan had stopped thinking some time ago; now all he was doing was feeling. It was pure fear, and barely contained rage that consumed him, the ice of panic, the heat of anger, contending for his mind. There wasn't much room left over for thought.
He struggled to hold in the rage; somehow he felt dimly that if he couldn't keep hold of it something terrible and irrevocable would happen. But the part of him that tried to hang onto a little rational thought was also the part that hurt. The blinding pain of the worst headache he had ever felt without passing out entirely was slowly eroding his ability to hang onto his anger.
Abruptly, and with a final shove, Tyron's bullies sent him sprawling at the ringmaster's feet. He panted, both with exertion and the flush of heat that consumed him, on his hands and knees.
The pain was excruciating, the fear held him paralyzed still, and the anger raged against the bonds containing it.
His ears filled with roaring, very like the thunder of a river in full flood. He barely heard Tyron say, "Strip his shirt off, and strap him down."
A haze of red clouded his eyes. When two of Tyron's henchmen grabbed him and pulled his shirt over his head, they exclaimed as they grabbed onto his arms. "Tyron - He's as hot as a branding iron!" said the one on his right. "If he's got a fever, maybe you should leave him alone for now -."
"I've left him alone for long enough," Tyron replied with irritation, and to punctuate his intentions, he took his first stroke on Lan's bare back while he was still held between the two bullies, the cane whistling through the air with the savage force that Tyron put behind it.
The pain of the lash was worse then anything Lan had ever felt. It cut right through the headache, broke his paralyzing fear, and left him with only instinct.
He had to get away! He had to get away, and now!
The fear joined the anger, and together they destroyed the last of his rapidly eroding control over that overpowering rage - and the terrible thing that his rage had summoned.
A moment of utter silence as Tyron pulled back for a second blow.
It fell.
The entire room erupted in flames.
The three who were closest, Tyron and the two bullies, Loman and Derwit, who were holding his arms, went up like oil-soaked torches, screaming with agony. Tyron blundered backward and into the wall. The boy to Lan's right howled and whirled in circles aimlessly. The one to his left ran straight into the fireplace.
Lan himself only noticed this with a tiny part of his mind that was numb and frozen with horror, unable to think, only to observe. The rest of him was consumed with flame, was the flame, and existed only to feed itself.
It reached for the nearest source of fuel; the chair, jumping over the three boys already afire; still screaming in pain, then to the other boys who were trapped. He was between them and the door, and the fire was hungry. and very, very angry.
Flames blossomed all around him, sending his hair upward, propelled by tiny flames that liked the air savagely, a nimbus of fury that nevertheless did not touch him. One of the boys tried to dash past him, making for the door.
The fury inside him recognized the attempt at escape, and intercepted him before Lan realized what was happening. The boy exploded into flame like the other three and dropped like a shot bird to the floor. Dead.
That was the one horror that could make him pull himself out of shock. And It hurt. His headache was now reaching heights of pain he had never imagined could exist. But the fires were slowly going down, and down, til there was nothing left. Only a gang of frightened 6th formers, who cleared the room very fast after the fires were down, three badly burned 6th form boys, a pile of boy shaped ashes, and Lan. close to exhaustion and blacking out.
****
Tyron pulled himself up, glancing around in undisguised fear for the fires and their source. His eyes fell on Scrub; quivered into a ball staring at a pile of ashes, which he uneasily recognized as Holden Strumt, the son of a very rich merchant his father did business with. Scrub was murmuring over and over again, "I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident!" and "I'm a murderer." Tyron started to smirk. Loman still moaning with pain, came up to him on his right and Derwit, horribly silent, came up on his left. "Friends," Tyron started, his smirk widening, "I think we can speed up our plans for ruling Valdemar."
Loman and Derwit agreed. Then the three grabbed the boy in front of him, and headed home. to make up a story about Holden trying to play with fire and to get a Healer's aid. Tyron glanced one more time at Scrub and then grinned, maliciously, already planning what he would do as his first act as King.
Starting off from page 127, Where Lan's POV starts
Lan had stopped thinking some time ago; now all he was doing was feeling. It was pure fear, and barely contained rage that consumed him, the ice of panic, the heat of anger, contending for his mind. There wasn't much room left over for thought.
He struggled to hold in the rage; somehow he felt dimly that if he couldn't keep hold of it something terrible and irrevocable would happen. But the part of him that tried to hang onto a little rational thought was also the part that hurt. The blinding pain of the worst headache he had ever felt without passing out entirely was slowly eroding his ability to hang onto his anger.
Abruptly, and with a final shove, Tyron's bullies sent him sprawling at the ringmaster's feet. He panted, both with exertion and the flush of heat that consumed him, on his hands and knees.
The pain was excruciating, the fear held him paralyzed still, and the anger raged against the bonds containing it.
His ears filled with roaring, very like the thunder of a river in full flood. He barely heard Tyron say, "Strip his shirt off, and strap him down."
A haze of red clouded his eyes. When two of Tyron's henchmen grabbed him and pulled his shirt over his head, they exclaimed as they grabbed onto his arms. "Tyron - He's as hot as a branding iron!" said the one on his right. "If he's got a fever, maybe you should leave him alone for now -."
"I've left him alone for long enough," Tyron replied with irritation, and to punctuate his intentions, he took his first stroke on Lan's bare back while he was still held between the two bullies, the cane whistling through the air with the savage force that Tyron put behind it.
The pain of the lash was worse then anything Lan had ever felt. It cut right through the headache, broke his paralyzing fear, and left him with only instinct.
He had to get away! He had to get away, and now!
The fear joined the anger, and together they destroyed the last of his rapidly eroding control over that overpowering rage - and the terrible thing that his rage had summoned.
A moment of utter silence as Tyron pulled back for a second blow.
It fell.
The entire room erupted in flames.
The three who were closest, Tyron and the two bullies, Loman and Derwit, who were holding his arms, went up like oil-soaked torches, screaming with agony. Tyron blundered backward and into the wall. The boy to Lan's right howled and whirled in circles aimlessly. The one to his left ran straight into the fireplace.
Lan himself only noticed this with a tiny part of his mind that was numb and frozen with horror, unable to think, only to observe. The rest of him was consumed with flame, was the flame, and existed only to feed itself.
It reached for the nearest source of fuel; the chair, jumping over the three boys already afire; still screaming in pain, then to the other boys who were trapped. He was between them and the door, and the fire was hungry. and very, very angry.
Flames blossomed all around him, sending his hair upward, propelled by tiny flames that liked the air savagely, a nimbus of fury that nevertheless did not touch him. One of the boys tried to dash past him, making for the door.
The fury inside him recognized the attempt at escape, and intercepted him before Lan realized what was happening. The boy exploded into flame like the other three and dropped like a shot bird to the floor. Dead.
That was the one horror that could make him pull himself out of shock. And It hurt. His headache was now reaching heights of pain he had never imagined could exist. But the fires were slowly going down, and down, til there was nothing left. Only a gang of frightened 6th formers, who cleared the room very fast after the fires were down, three badly burned 6th form boys, a pile of boy shaped ashes, and Lan. close to exhaustion and blacking out.
****
Tyron pulled himself up, glancing around in undisguised fear for the fires and their source. His eyes fell on Scrub; quivered into a ball staring at a pile of ashes, which he uneasily recognized as Holden Strumt, the son of a very rich merchant his father did business with. Scrub was murmuring over and over again, "I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident!" and "I'm a murderer." Tyron started to smirk. Loman still moaning with pain, came up to him on his right and Derwit, horribly silent, came up on his left. "Friends," Tyron started, his smirk widening, "I think we can speed up our plans for ruling Valdemar."
Loman and Derwit agreed. Then the three grabbed the boy in front of him, and headed home. to make up a story about Holden trying to play with fire and to get a Healer's aid. Tyron glanced one more time at Scrub and then grinned, maliciously, already planning what he would do as his first act as King.