Nine Swords

A new beginning.


In pure exhaustion Katja threw herself flat on the couch, just as she had done every night in recent weeks. She closed her eyes and sighed happily. The intense joy she felt about how she had shaped her life was not slowed by the throbbing pain in her back. Many would snort contemptuously over her embattled work schedule and her aching muscles, but they did not understand the joy of sending out plate after plate of steaming small artworks.

Or the joy of being the one who had ultimate control over her own life.

She shivered of discomfort when she remembered the bruises that still had covered her body when she moved to London. She would never expose herself to something similar ever again. She pushed away the unpleasant memories, sighed again and picked off her socks with help from her toes. She spread them as much as she just could and felt a calmness filled her. She blinked with heavy eyelids and turned her head and looked up at the window with the red curtains. This was her home, her couch and her curtains.

When she fell asleep, she had a smile on her face.

Nesting.


Her gaze swept over the living room and the smile on her face grew wider. It was perfect. She had never been particularly interested in interior design, she was too restless to spend so much energy in one place. But after her final months in Sweden it had felt important. She needed something that she had spent time, energy and money on and that completely belonged to her.

The blue eyes shone with pride and joy when she looked out over the living room. Although she had laughed at the name of the wallpaper — mocha at sunset — she had fallen in love with it. To put them up had not been easy, but now that it was done she was very pleased that she had chosen to do it by herself. The fact that she had put the energy behind it only made it feel more like her own. For the same reason she did not feel that all the hours she had spent looking for furniture at second hand stores had been wasted. The somewhat chaotic mixture was absolutely unlikely, but it fit together comfortably in a way that reflected who she was.

She was home.

Calm before a storm.


She moved uneasily in her sleep. The entire restaurant had been completely booked for the celebration of a diamond wedding, something that had required hard work even if everything had gone as planned. Their suppliers of meat had been severely delayed, which meant that much work had been done at the last minute. Although they had called in all the extra staff they had, it was a miracle that evening had gone as smoothly as it had.

But it had taken its toll.

As soon as Katja got home, she sat down on the couch, only to fall asleep within a minute. Despite the deep sleep she moved uneasily. Winter chill penetrated into the homely apartment through a window that was ajar, and in her sleep she flung her arms about her chilled body. Despite the cold winter, a small insect had crawled in and now sat on the window sill. It was a strange creature that looked like a bee, but its body glowed with golden light.

Katja shivered in her sleep.

Phoenix.


She could feel the sweat running down her forehead and she attempted to kick off the covers. It took a few seconds before she realized that she was not in her bed, but on the couch with neither quilt nor blanket. She yawned and decided to open a window to let in a little cool air.

Then she heard the sound. The crackling sound of fire.

She opened her eyes only to realize that she was surrounded by yellow and blue flames. Her primal roar filled the apartment as she jumped up from the couch, which also was on fire. In an attempt to extinguish the flames she threw herself on the floor and started rolling around. Her panic at discovering herself enflamed caused her to register neither that her attempt to extinguish the fire only caused more of the apartment to combust nor the absence of pain. The shock was too great.

She screamed again, this time more sharply, the anxiety and fear filling her as she tried to smother the fire by hitting it. An intense light arose that blinded her, and she heard the sound of a small explosion, something she only recognized thanks to Hollywood's penchant for blowing up cars. She felt her body hit the floor, without any recollection that she ever had left it. She was both blind and deaf, able only to hear a ringing in her ears and to see the light imprinted on her retinas that hurt her. The shock and the pain prevented her from thinking clearly, but her body knew instinctively that she must extinguish the flames that licked her body. Her muscle memory took over as she crawled up from the floor, out in the hall and into the bathroom. She threw herself into the shower and fumbled a bit with the tap before she felt the water pour down over her.

A gigantic cloud of steam billowed up over her face, and for the first time, she felt how her skin burned. She could feel how her burned clothes fell to the floor as rags and ashes, and slowly she started to regain her vision.

She was still curled up on the shower floor when the door was thrown open. She blinked, almost drowsily when a firefighter entered the room. Behind him she saw more rushing into the apartment followed by even more steam and smoke from her living room. The fireman moved his mouth but she did not hear what he said. He took down her robe from a hook and handed it to her. Only then she realized that she was naked and she took it to conceal her body. He put a blanket over her shoulders and led her out of the apartment where two paramedics took over and led her down to an ambulance waiting on the street.

Before she went into the ambulance, she looked up to the third floor. She could see the light from the fire as it continued to dance all over her living room. She was confused. What had happened? She turned her gaze down on the pale skin on her hands. Why had she not incinerated as her clothes and as the furniture she had loved so intensely? The long hours she had spent making the room perfect turned to ashes before her eyes.

Aftershock.


A gas leak.

It had been the official explanation even if they had looked at her with great suspicion. They had said that the gas had gotten her to fall asleep in the shower and gave her hallucinations. She had seen their eyes and knew that they did not believe their own words. The only proof she had that she had been on fire had been the singed hair and not even all of that she had lost. They had explained to her that if she had burned as intensely as she told them, if she had been in the middle of the explosion, she would almost certainly be dead. She saw their judgmental eyes, could almost hear them whispering ‘pyromaniac’ and ‘madwoman’ behind her back.

Maybe they were right. Something was obviously wrong.

Otherwise, how else would she explain spontaneously bursting into flames every now and then, a trait she had gained after the incident?

The first week had been the worst. Every time she tried to go outside the door, she had started to burn. The more nervous she became about it, the more intense the fire had been. She had tried to call work, to tell them she was sick, but the first time she had touched the phone it had burst into flames that could not be put out until she had thrown it in the sink and sprayed water on it. It had not been possible to start again. It had been almost two weeks before she felt confident enough to go outside.

Somehow, she had managed to learn to control herself so she would not spontaneously ignite. When she had first appeared in the restaurant her boss had yelled at her for nearly half an hour. Then he had made clear to her that she was not welcome back and that he would make it a hell for her to get a job in London's restaurant sector. She believed him. He was influential, and she would be happy if she could get a job at a hot dog stand.

She sighed and leaned her forehead against her hands, sitting on a park bench. She had a scorched living room, no job, and a grumble in her stomach. She felt the tears rising in her eyes and the crackling sensation before she caught fire began to make itself known. She swallowed and tried to gain control over her emotions.

What would she do now? What could she do?

Rebirth.


The man's dark eyes looked at her kindly, almost amusedly. His warm welcome had been much needed. In recent weeks, her confidence had fallen to the bottom. It was not just that she had lost everything she had built up during these months; her whole worldview had been destroyed completely. She no longer knew what she could trust, and she had seriously considered getting herself enrolled in a mental hospital. What other explanation could there be than that she was crazy?

But then the woman had arrived.

She did not want to give Katja her name. Her blonde hair had smelled of raspberries and summer, and she had told her that there was a place for people like her. Not just a haven; a place where she could learn and develop.

Be an asset.

The hope of become something more than she was had led her here, to one of London's most imperious houses. The man had introduced himself as Richard Sonnac, a man with such a dazzling smile that Katja had started to wonder how much teeth whitening he actually used. And yes, he had given her an offer. She was tempted to take it.

She would, once again, have a steady income; she would get a chance to see the world; and, probably best of all, she would get in contact with people who were just like herself.

She hesitated a moment, trying to get a clear picture of everything she would lose by accepting. She tried to recall how difficult it would be to lie to her family... but all counterarguments paled before the loneliness she had felt the last weeks.

She nodded. “All right. I am in.”

“Then Miss Holm, I welcome you to the Templars.”