Having a modicum of control over his power didn’t affect Snapper much, though starting a campfire did feel notably easier now.

Snapper extended his hand toward the pile of wood and thought about heat.

A soft whoosh sound rushed past his ears, and light flooded the dark forest. Snapper grinned at the flickering orange within the fire pit, summoned from nothingness by his will alone. It was truly no ordinary flame; although a typical campfire of its size might have illuminated only a few paces on either side, Snapper could now see almost as far and as well as he had during daytime hours.

The forest canopy murmured far overhead, leaves rustling as though giving applause for Snapper’s accomplishment, and he laughed triumphantly. Then, his gaze fell upon the pitiful figure slumped in the hollow of the nearest tree, and some of his mirth faded. He crouched by the Sage Doctor, resting a hand on one frail shoulder.

“O wise Sage Doctor,” he said, prodding the Sage Doctor’s shoulder, “Come rest by this fire I have made. The warmth will make you feel better.”

The Sage Doctor groaned, and algae-green eyes opened a sliver. A moment later, they opened all the way—too wide, in fact. The Sage Doctor yelped and scrambled away from Snapper.

“You fool. Put it out, before it’s too late!” the Sage Doctor shrieked, insofar as an ancient and exhausted Sage Doctor could shriek, pointing a shaky finger at the treetops above.

Snapper frowned. Looked up. Saw the bright orange dancing through the forest canopy directly overhead. Frowned more deeply.

Evidently, the wood in the fire pit hadn’t been all that Snapper ignited.

As promised, Snapper brought the injured Sage Doctor to his home by the coast. He had found an abandoned wheelbarrow in one town along the way, and the Sage Doctor now enjoyed the comfort of the wheelbarrow tray rather than Snapper’s lumpy shoulders.

The villagers were amazed by the close resemblance between Snapper and the mysterious Sage Doctor, but none were more delighted by Snapper’s return than Minnow.

“Grand-uncle Snapper! You’re alright!” Minnow threw her arms around Snapper. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

Snapper guiltily drew the string and bits of pendant from his pocket. He pried one of Minnow’s hands from around his shoulders and gave her the stone fragments. “The necklace… sorry, Minnow. I know what it meant to you.”

Minnow tossed the stone fragments onto the ground. She clutched Snapper’s arms. “Never mind the pendant. You’re back, and that’s what matters most of all.”

“I’ll fix it as soon as I can mix the glue,” he promised nevertheless, stooping to retrieve the fragments.

Then, Minnow spotted the Sage Doctor in the wheelbarrow. She, too, was amazed by the resemblance between Snapper and the Sage Doctor.

“Are you sure this is the Sage Doctor? He looks like your long-lost twin.”

Snapper shrugged. The fellow looked ancient and sagely enough to him, if one ignored the strange resemblance between their features.

“He looks unwell,” Minnow observed. Her voice held the concern she typically reserved for family members. She hurried off to the cottage to prepare lodging for the Sage Doctor.

The toolshed had been partially rebuilt in Snapper’s absence. Where a tarp had once covered the hole left by the missing ceiling, flat tufts of waterproof plant fiber had been woven into a new thatched roof. The holes in the walls were also patched with a mixture of clay and wood; though not quite as pretty as the old walls, a quick bucket-of-water test assured Snapper that the repairs were functional enough to repel the weather.

Following Minnow’s directions, Snapper brought the Sage Doctor’s wheelbarrow to the toolshed. Minnow left a stack of blankets at the entrance and rushed back to the cottage to prepare food. Meanwhile, Snapper helped the injured Sage Doctor climb out of the wheelbarrow.

The Sage Doctor leaned against a wall in the toolshed, watching Snapper arrange the blankets into some semblance of a bed. After the setup, Snapper helped the Sage Doctor settle into the new sleeping area. The Sage Doctor seemed pleased.

When Minnow came in with two steaming bowls of porridge, the Sage Doctor gratefully ate. Snapper almost ate the second bowl, but then he reconsidered. Though the Sage Doctor had physically grown stronger since escaping the Liege’s castle, the draining effects of the madman’s rock still seemed to weaken him. The Sage Doctor could clearly benefit more from the extra food.

Snapper offered the second bowl to the Sage Doctor, who accepted it with a guilty smile. As Snapper stepped out to fetch another bucket of freshwater from the well, he recalled his original reason for seeking out the Sage Doctor.

When Snapper returned from the well, he set the bucket aside and heated a cup of water over the hearth. The Sage Doctor seemed pleased at the offer of warm water to cleanse his palate, and he took a long drink.

Snapper then knelt in front of the other.

“I beg you to take me as your student, O wise master Sage Doctor,” Snapper said, bowing like the Caster apprentices did in Hal’s storybook.

The Sage Doctor spewed hot water everywhere. Fortunately, Snapper was far enough away that he avoided most of the spray.

“You want to be my student? Hahaha…” The Sage Doctor doubled over, shoulders convulsing, and Snapper reached out a hand to steady him. That much amusement could not be healthy for anyone, especially when it came without warning or apparent cause. After the tremors subsided, the Sage Doctor took several deep breaths and looked at Snapper with sad eyes. “Ha… my student, good one… no. That will never happen. Not in this lifetime.”

Snapper flinched back. He had saved the Sage Doctor’s life, and this was the thanks he received?

No, no. Snapper took a deep breath, suppressing his dismay. He mustn’t blame the Sage Doctor for these words, nor interpret the laughter as a lack of gratitude. The Sage Doctor had just escaped from imprisonment and torture, only to be dropped in a wheelbarrow and carted halfway across the country by a random fisherman whom he’d never met before. Of course the Sage Doctor had a right to be mistrustful. Developing such deep bonds as those shared by a master and student took time, and Snapper…

Snapper had more time than most, if his memories were accurate.

“Sorry for offending you, Sage Doctor,” Snapper said in a small voice. “Know that you are safe here. If you need anything, shout or visit the cottage. I wish you a restful night.”

Snapper collected the empty dishes and left the toolshed, closing the door behind him.

As Snapper washed the dishes, power hummed beneath his fingertips. Staying at Minnow’s cottage was still out of the question, since he was loath to repeat the forest incident in Minnow’s presence. Normally, he would take the toolshed, but the exhausted Sage Doctor needed its shelter more than Snapper tonight.

Where should he sleep, then?

Snapper’s thoughts drifted as he rinsed off his hands. The answer, when it struck, seemed so obvious that he cursed his own foolishness.

Water—of course! Where better for an accident-prone fire Caster to spend the night than on the water? Specifically, a fishing boat. Just last autumn, he and young Hal had outfitted the dinghy with a sleeping mat in anticipation of days when the fish bit infrequently. Today, the clear evening skies promised a rain-free night, perfect for sleeping under the starlight.

After setting the dishes out to dry, Snapper hurried down to the docks with a long rope and a plan.

Snapper rose with the sun, as always, but today he spent a few minutes relaxing under the sunrise and the gentle rocking of the sea. After the sun fully emerged over the horizon, Snapper sat up and took hold of the fifty-foot rope attaching his dinghy to the docks. The knotted rope had held fast overnight, keeping the dinghy from drifting out to sea, and Snapper easily reeled himself back to shore using the same rope as a tow line.

Once ashore, Snapper decided to let the Sage Doctor sleep in for a few more hours. The poor fellow must be exhausted after imprisonment and a difficult journey, after all; he deserved a good night’s rest more than anything.

Snapper found an old fishing pole by the boat rack, swapped the dinghy for a light canoe, and pushed off from shore again to catch breakfast.

By mid-morning, Snapper caught two fine trout and boiled them to perfection. He may also have boiled a few gallons of nearby seawater, but that was besides the point. His control over his powers had definitely improved since rescuing the Sage Doctor, even if the latter was not directly responsible for this improvement.

At least Minnow and her children seemed to appreciate Snapper’s cooking.

As the sun neared its zenith, the Sage Doctor still did not emerge from his temporary lodging. Snapper brought a covered bowl of leftover fish stew to the toolshed.

He knocked on the door. “Sage Doctor, are you awake? Breakfast is ready.”

No response. Snapper glanced at the window. The shades were still drawn; perhaps, exhausted from the journey and isolated from the sunlight outside, the Sage Doctor simply hadn’t realized the time.

“Sage Doctor?” Snapper knocked a few more times, but then he paused. Perhaps the Sage Doctor was still offended about his query last night. Snapper crouched, setting the bowl of stew on a flat rock outside the door.

“Take your time. Rest is important. I’ll leave the food outside,” Snapper called through the door. The bowl lid would keep the flies out, and local animals were unlikely to disturb food near a house during daylight hours.

Faintly disappointed, Snapper left to attend to other chores.

When he returned two hours after noon, the untouched stew had cooled to room temperature outside the toolshed. Snapper rapped on the door.

“Sage Doctor, I hope you are well. I’m coming in.”

He counted to ten and pushed open the door.

A neat stack of folded blankets sat in one corner of the bed. The Sage Doctor was gone.

Hal and Marlin sat on sun-warmed sand fifteen paces away from Snapper, watching him with sparkling eyes. Hal held a sturdy reed basket in his lap, and Marlin idly chewed on a roll of bread from that basket.

Snapper considered the distance, frowned, and waved at the two boys.

“Move back a little further... back, back... alright.” Once the boys were twenty paces away, Snapper held up a piece of driftwood. Warmth flared just beneath the skin of his fingertips, hungry for the fuel just beyond its reach. “Here goes.”

Snapper reached inside himself and recalled the absolute heat of the inferno. Imagining this sensation crammed into the small dot of a candle wick, Snapper cupped his hands together and focused on the driftwood twig in his grasp.

With a thunderous crack, a ten-foot circle of sand turned into a knee-deep glassy crater around Snapper’s sandal-clad feet. A tiny flame also appeared on his twig. Snapper gingerly prodded the transmuted ground with the tip of his shoe. How had his clothes survived such a blast, anyway?

Applause distracted Snapper from his musings. Holding the driftwood candle aloft, he climbed out of the bowl-shaped glass depression to check on Minnow’s sons. Both boys were completely covered in sand. The dusting did not dampen Hal’s spirits; he clapped enthusiastically, a wide grin upon his face. However, Marlin wore a slight pout as he brushed sand away from his snack.

Snapper sat on the sand next to the two boys and examined the driftwood. Only the very end had ignited, just as intended. A wisp of orange flame flickered in the breeze, and Snapper cupped his hand around the twig to protect it from any sudden gusts of wind.

“Amazing,” Hal cheered. He took two sand-free bread rolls wrapped in leaves from the basket, handing Snapper one and biting into the other.

Marlin frowned at his older brother. “No fair. Yours doesn’t have any sand.”

“That’s what you get for being impatient,” Snapper teased, chuckling when the boy’s pout deepened. “Maybe you’ll think twice next time, eh?” He tore his own roll in two and gave the larger piece to Marlin. The boy bobbed his head in furious agreement as he accepted the food.

Hal’s reed basket still held another item. From beneath the bread rolls and a partly woven fishnet, Hal retrieved an old storybook with Caster myths. He flipped to the third page, running his fingers over the lines until he found a particular passage.

“And thus the Fourth Prince of the Lesser Inferno mastered ‘Candle,’ the seventh basic skill of a fire Caster, directly following his mastery of ‘Sparks’ and ‘Fire Extinguisher,’” Hal read from the book, looking up at Snapper with a grin. “Great. We can cross this one off the list, too!”

Snapper glanced back at the glass bowl carved in the beach, and his eyebrows climbed to his hairline. He extinguished the burning driftwood with a sharp breath.

“Hmm, alright. What’s next after ‘Candle’?”

Hal turned the page. “Next is ‘Tea.’ You’re supposed to boil a cup of water.”

Wading up to knee-level in the ocean, Snapper thought of warmth. The ocean boiled.

They continued in this way for hours, with Hal finding new techniques and Snapper attempting to imitate them. His control wasn’t the best, and the beach gained several more glass craters from the practice, but Hal cheered and applauded after every attempt. Seeing the young lad’s joy brought happiness to Snapper, and so he persisted.

After a time, Marlin ran off to search for crabs in the high tide. Hal eventually grew tired of reading as well, and he started working on the unfinished fishnet. Snapper picked up the abandoned storybook, curious about this text that claimed authority on all tales of a Casting sort.

The book felt musty and fragile in Snapper’s hands, which were more used to holding rope and driftwood than thin paper. He inspected the book with care, skimming through the pages out of order. On the very last page of the book, the nearly unintelligible scribble of a signature stamp had been pressed into the paper.

“The Sage Doctor,” Snapper read, tracing the looping font delicately. He glanced at Hal, surprised. “This book was written by the Sage Doctor?”

“If that’s what it says, must be.” Hal shrugged. “I’ve had this book for ages. Never could figure out what the signature said. You’d think a Sage would have better handwriting, right?”

“Indeed,” Snapper laughed.

Snapper flipped through the heavy book, searching for other interesting entries. One word caught his eye: transference. This chapter told an old myth about the Chosen One, an extraordinarily powerful Caster who fell from the sky and bestowed his power upon a passing hunter. Snapper tapped the page with a finger, glancing up at Hal.

“Look at this, Hal. It says here that a Caster can give his power to another person. What if I could give you my Casting? Then you could learn these skills, too.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes brightened. He dropped the half-finished net and rushed to Snapper's side, skimming over the same passage. As he read, however, his shoulders began to droop. “The price of transference is… the giver’s life.” He shook his head, a horrified expression coming over his face. “No, I wouldn’t want that. Not if it meant your life.”

Snapper read the last few lines of the section and understood.

“Not if it meant my life,” Snapper agreed solemnly. “Don’t worry. We’ll find another way to make you Caster.”

Hal returned to his seat, picking up the net and spool of string once again. His hands deftly knotted the twine strands together to form a fish-proof grid, but as he worked, a troubled expression pinched his brows and flattened his mouth to a thin line.

“You seem quieter than usual. What’s wrong, Hal?” Snapper closed the book partway, leaving his hand between the pages as a marker.

Hal’s fingers stopped weaving. He looked up, eyes dull with resignation.

“I’m never going to Cast, am I?” Hal said sadly. His hands clenched around the loose weave of the net. “Everyone knows the stories. Casters are either born or Chosen, and our village hasn’t had a Caster family since before the Empire built its walls.”

“Oh, Hal.” Snapper set the book aside and knelt at the boy’s side, placing one hand on a despondent shoulder. He knew instinctively that Hal’s words did not encompass the whole truth. “There are more than two paths to power. You don’t have to be born or Chosen. You can also choose.”

Hal looked at him, skeptical but unable to disguise budding hope. Quick fingers resumed tying strings into a net.

After Snapper spoke those words, however, a sudden doubt came over him. The third option seemed entirely correct when he thought about it, but he couldn’t recall a single story that mentioned a non-Caster attaining power. Plenty of stories described the careful selection of lineages that had yielded the most powerful Caster families; other, more mythical tales spoke of the Chosen One who fell from the sky and passed on his power to a worthy mortal.

And yet…

Somewhere deep in Snapper’s memory, a little voice insisted that the third path was the most dangerous and rewarding of all—a path that tested will and fortune alike; a path through mountains of ash and forests of deep green.

Snapper returned to his text with renewed vigor. In such a thick book, surely at least one entry would confirm Snapper’s hunch. Surely at least one entry could bring Hal’s dreams to life.

After Minnow and the children went to bed, Snapper sat in the toolshed with a candle, a bowl of freshly mixed glue, and a handful of broken pendant shards. He had mixed the glue first, as achieving the correct ratio of ingredients took the most care and precision. With the glue ready, he could now proceed to the other major challenge: fitting the pieces together in their original arrangement.

He toyed with the pieces for a time, rotating and rearranging the red shards until they formed a flat disk with a squiggle carved on one side. When he found the right arrangement, the pieces slotted together with a perceptible click.

Pressure assaulted Snapper from all sides, squeezing his limbs and smothering his senses. He twitched sharply, dropping the pendant, and the shards tumbled across the table.

The pressure vanished. Snapper hunched over against the table, panting to catch his breath. Once the spots faded from his vision, he peered at the stone shards.

If his suspicion was right, then the effect had to be repeatable.

Steeling himself, he fitted together all of the fragments but one. Nothing happened. However, when he moved the last piece into place, the smothering sensation returned.

He scattered the pieces with a flick of the wrist, leaning back in his chair, and contemplated. He felt fine with a broken pendant, but a whole pendant brought that unpleasant pressure. However, he hadn’t experienced any trouble with the whole pendant before, either when near Minnow or when wearing it himself.

Snapper experimentally lifted a hand, focusing on the sensation of warmth. A bright point appeared over the center of his palm—not the loose and nebulous dribble of fire, but the steady heat and brilliance of a miniature sun.

Then, he restored the pendant to its original shape. Pressure crushed at Snapper, but he held steady through the discomfort. When his gasps for air turned into normal breaths and he regained enough eyesight that black spots no longer danced across the world, he raised one hand and focused on warmth again.

Nothing.

He split the pendant and repeated the Casting a third time. Light flared up, pure and bright as it had shone on the first try.

Snapper extinguished the heat source and hesitated, hands hovering over the table.

What would happen if he just left the pendant broken? Even one missing shard would allow him to Cast. Minnow wouldn’t blame him for the disfigurement—she’d already assured him of as much. That way, he could continue learning to Cast properly, and Minnow’s family would have a lot less trouble with everyday challenges such as starting fires in a rainstorm.

Stone fragments dug into his fingertips from where he’d been clutching them. He dropped the shards onto the table as though burned.

What was he thinking? It was selfish, unforgivably so, to consider only his own progress as a Caster. Minnow was the one who had lost an artifact that she’d treasured since childhood, all due to Snapper’s negligence. She deserved his best repair effort, not a halfhearted sabotage attempt. If the pendant no longer functioned in blocking Snapper’s Casting, it might not protect Minnow from future accidents either.

Could he risk endangering Minnow for his own personal growth?

Snapper already knew the answer.

Minnow’s pendant was more important. Minnow was more important. She was still young and sentimental enough to value material things, no matter how often she might claim otherwise, whereas Snapper had grown old enough to understand the value of a group larger than oneself: a family. Snapper couldn’t afford to be selfish when family was all that he had in the world.

Snapper daubed glue onto the broken edges of the pendant, sealing each fragment back in place. The suffocating sensation came over Snapper again, but this time, he kept his hands steady through strength of will.

He felt smothered, confined, as a fire with too little air—

He felt like he had before the whole journey. A normal person without any mystical Casting abilities. No more migraine-induced accidents. No more quests for ungrateful Sages. With those pesky Caster powers locked away, Snapper knew that everything would soon return to normal for Minnow’s family.