Catalyst (Book 1) by Marc Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

myself and my ability.
    I had to get control of the fire. I slowed my pace so I could practice. It always drained me if I practiced for too long—like doing a hard day's work. Summoning it was easy enough—far too easy—but I needed to restrain it. I couldn't let what had happened with Kenneth’s family ever happen again.
    I made small fires at first. Just stopping them from flickering gave me a headache. If I tried to move the flames with my mind, my head throbbed until blood trickled down my nose. But I wasn't going to give up. My fear of what I had done to Kenneth's family and the look on my mother's face drove me. Gradually, my body adjusted not only to summoning the fire, but controlling it. I no longer ached from it, nor did I want to pass out.
    But I still wanted to know why I could do this. Why me?
    Whenever I had such thoughts and frustrations, I would lose control. My anguish and anger fueled the flames. I tried not to dwell on such thoughts, but it was hard, especially on those days when the fire wouldn't do what I wanted.
    While I heeded Kenneth's warnings about what could happen while traveling, I didn't run into any trouble of the normal sort. That left all my energy for worrying about climbing one of the most treacherous mountains I had ever heard of.
    I tried not to look at it at first, but the closer I came to the mountain, the bigger it grew, until it dominated the landscape. It never seemed to stop growing. I eventually stared at it while walking, wondering how I was going to survive such a monstrous and desolate place, and what waited for me at the top. Why was I supposed to come here?
    In its own way, the mountain was quite wondrous. It stood alone, surrounded by flat land, smothered in the winter season. It was forever frozen in time. No one knew why. There were stories, of course, yet unlike the Wastelands or the Great Barrier, which were remnants of the War of the Wizards, this mountain's origins were mysterious. But its winter had lasted for centuries.
    I reached the mountain at midday. While I was anxious to start the climb, I made an early camp so I could rest. I was going to need all of my strength, and more, to reach the top.
    A shiver rode along my spine as the towering mountain looked down on me. There was no mistaking it. This mountain was my enemy—a far more dangerous enemy than Nathan, Rowe, or Bruno. I had to find a way to do what no one else had ever been able to do—defeat it.
    I scouted the base of the mountain, sizing it up. Everything had a weakness, even the White Mountain. Heavy, smothering snow concealed most of the slopes, but exposed rocks occasionally poked through like unsheathed blades. Cold air enveloped the mountain in an icy shield, seeping across the plain. Its peak shot through the clouds like an arrow. I squinted, trying to see the top of it. It seemed to go up forever. I shook my head. No. It had a summit. I had seen it when I was still a week away from here. I would get there. I had to.
    As I explored the foot of the mountain, something began to bother me. The coldness felt wrong—as if it wasn't real, or as if something lurked behind it. I couldn't shake the unnatural feeling, but there was nothing I could do. I had to go on and stay alert for danger.
      Finally, I found what I was looking for. It wasn't a fatal flaw in the mountain’s armor, but it was something to help me climb it—a faint path. It would make the first few days of my climb much easier.
    That night, I ate well and enjoyed the warm food. It would be my last for a while. I didn't bother to practice with the fire. Judging from the look of the mountain, I would get plenty of practice.
    When the sun rose, I gathered my belongings and put on my heavy cloak and gloves. I jumped up and down, shaking my fingers and rolling my neck. In tune with my nervousness, the fire started to surface. I didn't let it rise, as I didn't want it to burn my gloves. I would need them. The fear of what I was about to do