117 CHAPTER 116 VOICE IN THE FIRE

Nimrod lifted his head when the sound of the explosion came again. He listened, letting his ears do the job of trying to pick the slightest sound that can possibly tell him what was happening. Most of his friends had joked that his ears were too sensitive for a human being, and they were right. He cannot explain it though be he thinks he can pick out the slightest and distinguish the slightest sound, even in a nosy environment.

There was a humming somewhere outside and then the stomping of feet like those of the matching soldiers he had seen on the TV some days ago. They sounded too urgent to pass for the normal activity of the resistance. Something must be up. Something was not right.

Sitting up from the bed, he rested his head with his palms just to keep his revolving word from spinning. He had drunk a lot the previous day and had played with the children that morning. The result of not resting was taking its toll on him. The bang on his head had made him retire to bed, even though it if was afternoon and the others were still on the farm. Good, a thing he was in the night shift. That had given him the free liberty to find the comfort of his bed with ease.

The vibration came again, this time more intense. Jerking his head up, he looked and hurried to the single door when he heard a woman screamed. He held the bars on the door, looking out into the hallway. Panic was already shaking his feet and from the back of his head down to his legs, he could feel sweat soaking his patched cloth. Were they under attack? No, that cannot be. General Zack and his cohort could not have chased them to this place. He cannot. 

Our defense system is highly fortified to fend off invaders. But we have hardly used them because no invaders can penetrate into our system. The voice of the Regent three days ago resounded in his ears. This is the second to none most secured place in Anadan. Nothing can happen. There will be no attack. Nimrod bit his lips. He was reminding himself of those words, just to keep his body and mind from wandering into the possible outcome. That was one of his strategies and had worked for him for a very long time. Whenever he was he was a bag of nerve, which was why he had developed a better way to get past his fears. He had learned to always remind himself of the positive outcome in a situation, no matter how depressing and difficult it may be.

The loud screams came again, this time, it was followed by another round of explosion, which shook the foundation of the mountains to its core, making the bulb hanging on his ceiling to shake down the dust on him. He was afraid to go outside, especially now that he didn't know what was causing the unrest. This had not been his nature. He had not always been a coward who shivers at the slightest noise of trouble. The death of his sister had taken too many things from him. She was the one that had given him a sense of responsibility and courage, per se. But after his death, it had been difficult to stand up even to a cat. Unless in a very crucial situation when the life of other people was at stake. Just like in the case of Jeff, when he had rescued him from the claws of death, three weeks ago.

"Help. Somebody help" 

The cry vibrated Nimrod's bones as he hurried to his bag pack and picked up his Candor. He hurried to the door and observed the hallway. There was nothing there that showed any unrest, but the smell of smokes, swerving into his room, was churning his stomach already. He tightened his grip on his Candor and pulled the door, hoping that the quiet cracking sounds will not give him away.

Stepping out of his room, he hastened his feet to the right side of the hallway where he knew the sound had surfaced. There was not a soul in sight and the more he hurried towards the direction, the more stench of smoke covered his nostrils.

"Help" 

Nimrod was already running when he heard the cry again. A door was burning and inside it was a woman, holding her child to herself, trapped and unable to make it out of the fire.

"Help me, please," The woman coughed when she saw him.

"Hang in there, I am coming," Nimrod said. The inferno was great and he could feel their heat burning his skin. He shielded his face from the fire, but that did little to shade his skin from the claws of the angry fire. If he really wanted to help, then he must find a way to go round the burning wood and into the fire as fast as he could or he would be roasted alive. 

"What's your name, Madam?"

"Margret" She sobbed. "Please, my son. Save my son." The cry of her baby echoed with the burning wood and flames that rounded the entire place. It was difficult to say which was louder.

"Margret," Nimrod called as he dropped his Candor on the edge of the stone, opposite the burning building, just where the floor and the wall met. "I will like you to hold your son as tightly as you can. Can you do that?"

"Yes…yes" Margret's eyes widened with fright when the ceiling behind her collapsed.

Nimrod clenched and unclenched his knuckles, trying to keep his mind focused amid the chaos surrounding him. The Extracting power does not come so handy to him. Perhaps that was because he rarely practices them. He was of the Red Lineage, the fastest in the history of Anadan. Most people can harness their power even without thinking about it. But that was not so for him. Extracting the power and glowing was a difficult task for him, it had always been.

Biting his lower lips, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the fire that was burning around him. He kept his mind on the woods, the cry of the mother and child, and the cry of the people around. An urgent urge started welling up in his heart, weighing him down. That urge was the urge to help. The need to do something, to get involved and help others, instead of standing by the side and observing life from a different angle.

That must have been the motivation he needed. Nimrod continued to feed his mind with all that was happening around him, using them as leverage to Extract his power. His method was not the best, in fact, it was a dangerous way to glow. His teachers had told him stories of how such methods had ruined the lives of a countless number of people. They had told him to keep his mind from holding on to sorrow, or grief, or even anger. Such ways could ruin the best Extractor.

But Nimrod would have none of it. The methods his teachers had presented were way slower and more difficult to attain. It would take years and years of practice for him to get to that height.

A burning sensation started to course through his body, from his bones to his muscles and skin. Nimrod smiled despite his current situation. The sensation was alluring and he could feel their sweetness trying to overwhelm him. It strode towards his throat, giving him that honey taste which he loved dearly. Some other time he would have held on to the power until they engulfed him in their goodness, but not today. There were far more important things to do than to dwell in the presence of the Extracting power.

He opened his eyes. They glowed with red, together with his face, his hair, and every part of his body. The only contrast was the patch of cloth he wore. Breathing out the fear from his mind, Nimrod went into the fire and grabbed the woman, pulling her out just in time before the ceiling collapsed, burying the room in the fire.

Nimrod coughed, panting heavily as his extracting power started to fade away. Running into the fire and out again took only a flash of seconds, and he was convinced that if he had wasted another minute before rescuing the woman, then they would have all been roasted meat.

"Thank you so much," Margret cried happily "Thank you. I must find my husband now." She said and stood up.

"It is still dangerous out there," Nimrod said and waited for a reply. After some time he looked in the direction where Margret was but sighed when it dawned on him that the woman had already run off with her baby.

"Just don't get yourself killed." Nimrod scrambled up to his feet.

"Nim," Anabel called as she trotting towards his direction.

"Anabel," Nimrod exclaimed. Her body was covered with blood, and her face was as downcast as he could ever imagine. "Whose—

"Not mine. Just some people I was trying to help. Come, we need to get out of here."