Page 54 of Take No Prisoners
"It's air. Feel it. See it. Become it."
Niall's mother had pushed him through the same paces with water, but he'd never been able to latch onto her weaves.
This time was no different. He could sense how Stan moved the air around the chicken, but when he tried to gather the energy himself, it danced from his grasp.
"You are in charge of your power, and there are several competing for dominance within you. Air may not be your strongest to call, and it won't answer when you ask. You have to demand it."
He tried again and again, with little success. When he thought he could feel a ribbon of air starting to bend to his will, it would slip away.
Finally, he'd had enough. He slammed his hands against the sand, and the chicken let out a shriek and pounded her wings to flee, using his burst of air to lift herself over the wall.
His grandmother snorted. "Well, you did it, but you lack control. Do it again."
"I don't even know what I did!"
"Yes, you do!" Her voice was raised almost to a shout, but no emotion played across her face. He did not want to sit down to play cards with her. "You lost your temper and called the wind. Any child can do that. You can do better."
Niall opened his mouth to shout again that he didn't know what he was doing, but a snatch of conversation he'd had with Efren resurfaced in his mind.
"You already know about practice and hard work."
He'd used fury to call the air. If he could temper that fury into a command, he could wield it.
Another chicken, or maybe the same one, fell into the pit with them, thanks to Stan's push of air.
"Lift the chicken," his grandmother said, as though he'd forgotten his objective.
He knotted his frustration and inadequacy and used it to tether the air to his core. In a rush, the power of the wind filled him, almost knocking him off his feet. He laughed at the feel of it, and it danced away again. He heaved a disappointed sigh and sank onto his knees in the sand.
"Yes!" She clapped her hands, drawing his attention to her beaming smile. "You're getting the hang of it. Once more."
He responded with a smile of his own. He could do this. Before, he'd always run from his anger, tamping it down so he wouldn't lash out at Master Othelio or his condescending customers. He hated the hot, greasy lick of impotent rage crawling across his skin.
It wouldn't be impotent if he channeled it, though. He latched onto that feeling again, jumbling it into a knot in his chest and letting himself feel all the rage for his former master.
"You'll never be good enough for your own maker's mark. I should have left you at the orphanage. What a waste of my time you've been. You're only fit to carry bags of clay."
This time, when the gust of wind ripped through him, Niall held onto his anger. He knew he could wield it like a whip, cutting the chicken in half, but that wouldn't do him any favors unless his grandmother wanted chicken for lunch.
He sent a controlled gust at the chicken, lifting and pushing her at an angle until she was outside the crater once more. This time, her wings didn't even flap.
Stan whistled. "He already has some control."
"And you, Stan?" Niall's grandmother crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow at him as though she expected him to lie or embellish.
"I killed my first twenty chickens," Stan said. "We had a barbecue fit for the emperor that night."
"Gods, so much chicken," Efren said. "Arrowtip even had her fill."
"I wasn't the worst, though." Stan punched Efren in the arm. "Remember when Bea asked you to fill a pitcher for dinner, and you filled it with salt water?"
"You didn't say why you needed the water!"
Niall's grandmother laughed and raised her hands dramatically, as though she was rehearsing a play. "What else would you put in a pitcher?"
Niall had never seen Efren's face so red. Niall wanted to comfort him, but he couldn't stop laughing. Letting go of all that anger made him giddy.
"That's enough observation for today," she continued. "I'm sure you two have plenty to keep you busy after your long time away."
