1LARK / NOW
The fence that surrounds Druid Hill is ten feet tall and made from wrought iron. It encloses the 745 acres the Fellowship of the Anointed calls home. Along the east side of the hill, at the foot of the bridge, resides the only gate. In my twenty-four years, nine months, and three days, I have never known an Anointed One to pass through it. Until today. Until Kane.
I stand with him and the other Anointed. The toes of our boots overlap a red line painted across the road, exactly fifty feet inward from the gate—the fence’s weakest spot. Across it, Fellows gather to see Kane off. They’re allowed to cross the line. They have nothing to lose. My fingertips tingle, head feels light. We shouldn’t even be this close. And Kane is going to cross the line, going to cross the threshold of the fence.
The backs of our hands bump. When I feel his fingers slide between mine, I grip them hard. I know it’s an honor to go out into the world. We’ve trained our whole lives to slay the monsters that have corrupted and influenced those beyond the fence for generations. Kane for twenty-five years; I for twenty-four years, nine months, and three days. Isn’t that close enough to go with him? He shouldn’t be alone out there. Maybe Nova will allow it. We can be each other’s strength.
“Coming through.” A body bumps between ours, head turning. Deryn looks over their shoulder at Kane as they walk toward the gate, as if it were his fault. Their lips purse as they toss their long, loose hair over their shoulders; it falls across their wool shawl and soft, flowing dress.
I run my fingers over one of the three French braids that holds mine back. Deryn doesn’t wear their hair back—they don’t need to. Despite their insistence that we are siblings, Deryn and I look nothing alike, not least because they are a Fellow and I’m Anointed. They don’t wear denim and long sleeves to protect their limbs from sparring in the woods. Don’t require a leather harness to carry weapons and potions. Don’t spend hours every day running around the lake, strengthening their muscles so they can fight a literal monster.
Their days are spent mending and making clothes. Mine are filled with training and the intimacy of the Anointed. With fire and sweat and scholarship. With ritual and righteous discipline.
The Anointed are my real family and Nova is our leader. She raised us—the Fellows who conceived us mean nothing. I don’t even like knowing their names. I wish Deryn had never told me.
“Don’t,” Kane says. “You can’t let them fluster you, it—”
“—dilutes my magic, I know.” I press my pierced tongue against the roof of my mouth, comforted by the pressure of the warm metal barbell that makes my words more powerful.
He deflates. Looks at his feet and purses his lips, as if to keep himself from saying more. I squeeze Kane’s hand. His fingers are hot and sweaty between mine; is he nervous?
“Before I go…” He turns to look me in the eye. His are so dark brown, they’re almost black. They shine in the moonlight, just like his hair. I release my hold, reach up and run my hands down its length one last time. Rest my palms flat on his chest.
I’m not sure I can say goodbye again—especially not in public. “We did this last night.” I try to blink away the tears before they can erupt.
“I know.” Kane covers my hand with his, curling his fingers around mine. We slide naturally together, his arms circling my back, mine his waist. We hold each other so tight, my body begins to tingle. “Just remember what I said.” He kisses my hairline, the few strands that freed themselves during the day.
I was mostly asleep, but won’t ever forget his words. To them, I add, “You love me—I love you. Don’t forget that either.”
Kane tips my chin up, and then his lips are on mine, strong and sure. As we kiss, all I can focus on is the soft stroke of his thumb over my cheek. When he pulls back, I feel the memory of his touch against my face, though my lips are cold and alone.
The murmur of voices surrounding us drops to whispers, then silence, as several Anointed step aside. Nova walks forward, resting her hand on the shoulders of those nearby, greeting them one by one until she stops in front of us. I need to ask her if I can go with him. I’ve earned her favor. Maybe she’ll—
“Meadowlark.” Nova places her hand on my right shoulder, and I do the same to her. We greet each other with a brief exchange of power. An openness. Vulnerability. For a moment, we both close our eyes, and I feel her energy probing mine, like fingers digging between the tight strands of my braids. “Good, very good,” she says as we gaze upon each another.
I take a breath, open my mouth to ask—please, I’m ready—but her words outpace mine.
“I know it’s not easy for you to say goodbye to Kane.” She pauses, staring at me with such depth that I swear I can feel her inside my mind. “But your time draws near. Until then, you must remain disciplined.”
I release my held breath. Nod. She’s right; it was wrong of me to doubt her.
“You’ll join him soon. In the meantime, I’d like you to mentor a pair of promising Anointed Ones. You have much insight to offer.”
“Absolutely.” I bow my head slightly to her, think of the opportunity she’s giving me—and the compliment. Kane is moving on and so am I. “Thank you for your wisdom.”
She squeezes my shoulder, looking down the long, pale ridge of her nose at me. A sudden wind lifts her waist-length hair up around her in a spindly brown web as we stand holding on to each other. Nova doesn’t need to braid her hair or commit to chastity in order to discipline her magic. She is the original—the strongest of us. I shudder, overcome with warmth and love, reminded of why I believe in her. Of the person she’s helped me become.
When her hand slips away, I know this is right. I’ll leave when it’s my time. Now, it is Kane’s. Nova holds out her hand to him. He doesn’t look at me or anyone else before taking it. He believes in his destiny—in all of our destinies. He’s the best of us, and he can manage without me. I can wait two months and twenty-seven days.
Nova leads Kane across the red line—the closest any Anointed has ever been to the gate—through the throngs of our Fellows, those who’ve birthed and supported us. They gather around him, the youngest giving him flowers they picked during their Fellowship class, the eldest laying hands on his shoulder like Nova did. I crane my neck to follow him as he disappears into their mass.
An elbow jams into my side as I feel Maeve step into Kane’s place. She brushes soft baby hairs from her face, the ones that never keep, even in Zadie’s meticulous braiding. “What do you think it’s like out there?”
On my left, Zadie squeezes up to the line. Instinctively, I look down at our feet, making sure none of us have crossed accidentally. I shiver to imagine the atonement such a transgression would require.
“Empty,” Zadie says.
“Empty?” I look between the girls. They’re the only other Anointed approaching their quarter centuries. The only others who feel the pressure of going out into the world. The curiosity. The nerves.
“Not literally,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I can see their concrete towers and smell the black smoke of their cars as well as the rest of you. I meant in here.” She slaps her hand against her breast. “Imagine living your whole life out there, unaware that your soul is being corrupted by damn monsters.” She squirms as if one’s passed right through her. Normally, I’d correct her for using outsider profanity, but words evade me.
The three of us watch through breaks in the crowd, catching sight of the big toothy key Nova hands Kane. Fellows obscure him as he turns toward the gate. I wish I could see. Over their heads, the tall gate swings open, and I hold my breath, as if a stampede of monsters will surge through the opening. That’s not how it works, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying.
I need to see. I shouldn’t. I’m going to be in so much trouble, but suddenly the atonement feels worth it. I can handle the pain. Quickly, I slide away from Maeve and Zadie, and into the crowd. Over the line. I creep, stealthily, until I’m close. Obscured by a cluster of Elders but close enough to see Kane pull the key free from the gate and loop it around his neck on a chain. He tucks the key under his shirt, clutching it through the thin cotton. Knives line the bottom of his leather harness, its pockets similarly packed with potions. A Fellow hands him his quiver and sword, helping him fasten them to his back. Pride warms my chest and tears threaten my eyes once again.
Kane looks like the hero he was meant to be. Humanity’s savior. Ours.
I am going to miss the stars out of him.
He looks over his shoulder, not managing to find my eye before Fellows surround him again. That’s the last I see of him, the last time I’ll see him until my quarter century, and I try not to care. I make out the towering gate swinging closed. Kane’s gone. Kane’s gone, and I am so, so proud of him.
The Fellows disperse—my cue to rejoin the Anointed on the safe side of the line. I weave my way through them, keeping my head down as their volume swells. While they break into groups and wander off into the night, I glimpse Deryn chatting with their friends. Every now and then, one looks over their shoulder toward the gate. The Fellows are taught what lies beyond it, but not the gruesome details. They know that monsters wait out there, but not that they look like us. They haven’t heard about the otherworldly scales and ichor, the teeth like carving knives and eyes like holes drilled through wood, all hiding within fleshy suits. They’ll never have to face the filth and wickedness that monsters emanate, burning like the sun. They’re free to play and laugh and work, protected by Nova’s wards, by Kane’s sacrifice.
Zadie beelines toward me the second I cross the red line. “What the hell was that?”
I pull myself together. Remember what matters. “You shouldn’t use outsider profanity.”
“And you shouldn’t cross the line! The gate was open. You’re vulnerable.”
“I know.” Shame burns through my core, but I don’t regret it. “I’ll atone; I just had to see…”
Zadie sighs. “Let’s go to bed.” She takes Maeve’s hand and turns away from the red line. From me.
Bed. The word hits me like the first hard blow of a paddle. I have to go to bed without Kane. Nova’s going to assign me to an existing pair of Anointed to mentor, but not tonight, surely. I don’t want to be alone, but, even more, I don’t want to be with anyone else.
“I’ll catch up with you,” I tell the girls, knowing I can’t put off sleep for the next two months and twenty-seven days. Fatigue doesn’t wait for you. “I want to…” I realize I shouldn’t finish my sentence. I already crossed the line to see Kane off. Let them assume I’m off to see Nova or grab a snack.
“Zadie and I can wait up for you,” Maeve says in her soft, kind voice. “Hold a quick circle before bed, process what’s happened.”
“No,” I say quickly and firmly. “We can address it tomorrow during morning ritual.”
“Okay.” Her tone is skeptical, but I can tell she only wants me to know she’s there for me.
I wave as the two of them head down the path toward the commune, past the empty swimming pools and the track with its rusting exercise equipment. Before Nova bought Druid Hill, it was a public park, with tons of amenities. It even had a zoo. The only animals that remain are poultry and livestock.
I step up to the red line, not brave enough to cross it a second time, and align the toes of my boots with its edge. Kane can’t be far, yet, and for my magic to reach him, I need to get as close as possible. I was wrong to think last night was enough, or that I was strong enough to continue on without him. Looking over my shoulder one more time, I raise my palm to my lips and whisper my goodbyes to Kane—even though I said we’d already done this—my confidences and I love you. Magic rushes out of me and into my words, pulled along the connection between us. I squeeze my eyes shut and my hand into a fist. Hold it over my head and, with a deep breath, release my words to him. Hopefully he’s close enough to—
“Lark?” Nova’s voice shocks my eyes open and wide. Each crunch of the leaves under her boots sends a chill through my spine. “What are you doing?”
I was supposed to let him go. “Noth—” What am I doing? Am I going to lie, as well? Kane’s barely gone a minute and I’m struggling to discipline myself. Sneaking over the line. Lying. My body is suddenly prickling with warmth despite the cool air. I don’t lie to Nova, and I never ignore her instructions. “Speaking to Kane.” My eyes fall to the ground, head heavy.
“Mm-hmm.” The sound rolls around in her mouth like a bite of red meat. “What did I tell you?”
I mumble my response. “To remain disciplined.”
She pushes one thick finger against the bottom of my chin, until I’m looking square into her eyes. “What was that?”
“To remain disciplined,” I repeat, clearly this time.
“First, you cross the red line—”
I open my mouth to object, but stop. A wasted breath.
“And now, despite knowing better, you’re wasting your magic on mindspeech. Have you considered you’re also wasting Kane’s on receiving your words?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Her fingernail digs into the underside of my chin as I swallow.
Nova’s face tightens, her eyes narrowing. They’re blue like mine, but dark as storm clouds. “Remember who granted you power, Meadowlark. Who can take it away. You haven’t worked this hard to lose it all worrying about Kane. I would not let an Anointed leave before they were ready, just because they reached their quarter century.”
I shake my head, held in place by the tip of her finger. “I won’t cross the line again. Or attempt to contact Kane.”
“Good.” Her lips flatten into a smile, age creasing the corners of her eyes. Nova drops her hand from my chin to my back, encouraging me to walk with her. “Why don’t you take guard duty for a few nights?”
We stop momentarily as an orange cat dashes across the road. We’re not supposed to pet them. Any that live on Druid Hill have snuck between the fence posts and may be tainted; monsters can influence all manner of creatures.
I don’t hesitate to agree, not after having just broken two rules. I need to correct myself. I risked losing her grace, by which we are Anointed.
I force myself to look forward as we continue down the path. Not at the pool to our right—and definitely not at the lake on our left. I don’t dare glance back at the fence, lest Nova think I’m searching for Kane. I close my eyes and listen to the footfalls of our boots against asphalt, to the distant shrieks of children who don’t want to go to bed. The bleat of goats on the hills.
We stop at the entrance to the old zoo. Two metallic cranes top the smaller fence that surrounds the commune. Between them hangs a wooden sign crafted by one of our Fellows that reads HOME.
“When the time comes, you will want to be ready,” Nova says. “Until then, take comfort in the other Anointed and focus on strengthening your abilities.”
“I am ready.” I don’t mean to say it—to be so presumptuous after demonstrating my fragility. I hope the night hides the embarrassment I feel hot on my face. Why has losing Kane undone so much of me? “I mean—”
“It’s okay, Lark. I understand.” Her voice softens and I feel my body relax. “Someone you love has gone, a thing that’s never happened before. I admit I’ve worried over the day you would leave each other, but I have faith in you. And you’re going to make a wonderful mentor, in Kane’s absence—think of the good deeds this situation has granted you.” She rests her hand on my shoulder and I return the gesture. “Go, now. The fence won’t patrol itself.” She smiles and nudges me toward it.
“Thank you,” I say, cherishing the warmth of her encouragement.
“I expect to see you for morning ritual!” she calls as I jog away.
I pass the last of my Fellows making their ways to bed. Outside the commune, it’s dark. Trees twist their way up through sidewalks no longer used. A sheep chews a mouthful of grass with ambivalence as I rush past.
When the light from the commune no longer illuminates my path, I stop and reach into one of the chest pockets on my harness. From within, I draw a long plastic vial filled with a clear potion. One hand on either end, I snap it. Release the contained ingredients and shake them together, so a magical light glows from inside, brighter than the oil lanterns the Fellows keep in their quarters.
I take it with me to join the younger Anointed who keep watch along the fence at night. To the red line that borders the gate. To the place where Kane crossed over, and where I will soon. In two months and twenty-seven days.
* * *
I struggle through morning ritual the next day, and every day of the week that follows. Maeve shoots me a worried look when Nova asks me to stay behind, on the tenth day after Kane’s departure. Two months and seventeen days.
“You’re off guard duty,” she says with a stern face.
I don’t question her because it’s not my place, but also because I feel the exhaustion in every muscle of my body. The ache around my eyes barely eases anymore when I close them.
“Yes, Nova.”
“You’re no good at half-strength, Meadowlark. You’ve trained for too long only to flag in your final days.”
“Understood. My apologies.” Shame grips me. This is the second time since Kane left that she’s scolded me. That I’ve shown weakness. Get it together, Lark. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll go rest for a while and rejoin the group for skills training.”
“I will. Eat first. I’ll see you at training.”
“Thank you.” I don’t look her in the eye when I leave, but I can feel her gaze penetrating me. I didn’t think it would be this hard. That I would lose sleep, ignore hunger. Slip.
I hear Maeve catch up with me before I see her. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly, even though Nova can no longer hear us.
“Yes.”
“You’re trembling.” Before I can stuff my hands into the pockets of my wool robe, she grabs them. “It’s okay.”
I go limp in the warmth of her grip. Squeeze my eyes shut.
“I miss him too.”
My eyes fly open. “I don’t miss him,” I say. “Neither should you. Kane’s following his path. We all are.”
Maeve blinks, her long lashes only making her look more surprised. “I’m not Nova. You don’t have to pretend around—”
“I’m not pretending!” I yank my hands from hers. “I’m fine. I’ve been foolish and weak, but I’m going to eat and rest. Nova’s orders. I’ll see you this evening.” I hurry off before she can try to comfort me any more—I don’t need it. I need to pull myself together before I lose everything.
Between meals, the food court is empty, but inside the kitchens, Fellows work to prepare lunch for the two hundred of us that will descend upon them in a couple of hours. I glimpse Deryn leaning against the service area, playing with their unbound hair, skirt swaying in the breeze as they laugh with a friend. All the Fellows have jobs that support the Fellowship and keep our commune running, so the Anointed can focus on training and ritual.
Quietly as I can without utilizing my powers, I slip inside a kitchen whose old sign is painted over. I’m old enough to remember when it still used to say POLAR BEAR PIZZA over the awning. Now, it says LUNCH.
I sidle up beside a Fellow I’ve known since early learning classes. We Anointed are acquainted with almost everyone in the Fellowship, but we don’t really know them, nor they us. I can’t remember her name, but we smile and greet each other with a hand on the shoulder. I don’t feel the same exchange of power when I greet her as I do with Nova or the Anointed. I feel nothing.
“Would you mind if I made a sandwich, real quick?” I ask, inserting myself in their assembly line. “I haven’t been feeling well lately, but my appetite’s finally kicking in.”
“No need.” She puts aside the sandwich she was assembling and grabs two fresh slices of wheat bread. “I’ll make it for you. Chicken, right?”
“That would be great. Thanks so much.”
I’m watching her slice the meat when I hear Deryn’s familiar, sneering voice: “What are you doing here?”
“None of your business.” I don’t have to justify myself to them.
“Shouldn’t you be off practicing magic or something? I didn’t think you hung out with us Fellows anymore. Don’t cater to him, Emily.” They step between us.
Emily—of course, she’s Emily—freezes, knife halfway through the chicken. “Meadowlark is Anointed, Deryn.”
“And?”
She falters. “If he’s hungry, it—it’s our job to—”
“No, it’s not. If he’s so big and powerful, he’s strong enough to make his own sandwich or wait until mealtime like everyone else.” They straighten up, an inch taller than me. Even though I see myself in their features—in light blue eyes, thin face, and harsh cheekbones—their attitude has long since tarnished any connection we might’ve had.
“It’s okay, Emily,” I say, deliberately looking past Deryn. “I’ll finish up.” I nod, and she leaves for another station. Deryn always pushes, always tries to cut me short. But I’m Anointed and they’re not. I’ve forgotten myself and my station since Kane left, but no longer. “Nova told me to eat and rest.” I face them. “Are you questioning her?”
Across the kitchen, knives stop banging against cutting boards, hands stop tossing potato salad. Everyone turns and waits for Deryn’s response.
“I’m questioning you, Lark. Barking orders as if you’re better than the rest of us. As if you’re any more powerful than Nova allows you to be. As if you’re above the rules.”
“I’m bound to a higher set of rules than you, Deryn.” Heat swells at my palms. My fingers tingle—itch for motion.
They laugh. “I bet.”
“Fellows support the Anointed, Deryn,” Emily says. “We’re the lucky ones, safe inside the fence thanks to them and Nova.”
“You don’t wonder why they’re ‘Anointed’ and we aren’t?” Deryn grabs one of my braids and twirls it between their fingers. “Lark and I aren’t different. We’re siblings. Born of the same—”
“Enough.” I swat their hand away. “Shouldn’t you be at work with the other sewists? Go get a needle, or I’ll report you to Nova for disrupting routine and obstructing her orders.” I turn back to the sandwich ingredients, intent on ignoring their provocation. I am disciplined. I will not react.
Deryn grabs the front of my shirt and spins me around. Greens and poultry topple from their bread, spilling onto the ground. “Don’t you dare tell me—”
I whisper a command I’ve long practiced, press my palms against Deryn’s chest with a familiar motion, and thrust them across the kitchen. Their back thuds against the refrigerator. I stand braced with my feet apart and my palms up, maintaining my hold on them from across the room. My hands barely warm against the cool September breeze that flows through the open service windows. No one moves.
“The next time you want to try something, remember that this is easy for me.” I don’t smile. I want Deryn to know I’m not going to spend the next two months and seventeen days letting them test me. “I’ve been guarding our home from outsiders and monsters for the last ten nights. I’m exhausted and hungry, and the person I’m closest to in the world just left. So, I’m taking a sandwich. You can wait there, watch me make it, and then return to your work.”
I bend two of my fingers and twist my hands, pinning them in place with the power I’ve already expended. What I said was only half true—I can’t afford to waste more energy on them. I curl my fingers into fists as I turn back to the destroyed sandwich. Emily looks at me and then down at my shaking hands.
“Let me help you.” She cleans up the scattered ingredients, sets out a clean plate, and begins from scratch.
“Thank you,” I whisper, clasping my fingers together. I try to focus on her motions, on the slicing of fresh tomatoes and lettuce. On her mundane questions about mustard and mayonnaise. Not on the constant scratching sensation I feel from behind, where Deryn remains fixed.
Emily puts the sandwich, a bag of granola, and a water bottle into a reusable lunch bag and hands it to me. “All set.” She looks over her shoulder at Deryn; her smile falters.
I snap my fingers, releasing Deryn. They slump, but don’t fall. Wordlessly, we stare at each other. You’d think after two decades, they’d get it through their head that being birthed by the same Fellows does not make us family. And never will.
* * *
Nova said to eat and rest. I eat, I try to rest. Mostly, I lie awake surrounded by empty beds, staring at Kane’s. Consider crawling into it. I slide my hand down my torso and wrap my fingers around the metal cage between my legs. Remember what it felt like when Kane locked it into place. The sensation remains with me, almost like he’s here.
“Dinnertime.” Zadie kicks the metal bed frame, jolting my hands from my body and my eyes wide. She pours water from a glass pitcher into a waiting basin and wets her face before taking soap to it. “Nova says to remind you you’re supposed to be eating.” She rinses herself off.
“I’m coming.” I hop up, dunk my hands into the basin, and rub them over my face.
“You know that water’s dirty, right?” Zadie asks as she towels off.
“Yeah.”
“You’re gross.”
“The water has soap in it. It’s fine.”
She rolls her eyes and follows me out of our quarters—a big old round building with several stalls that used to house giraffes. They house us now, two beds in each room. We know what the animals look like from the few textbooks Nova keeps around, and the sun-bleached signs along the path. I used to imagine giraffes walking through the city outside the fence, but one night on guard duty, Zadie pointed out we’d probably see their necks sticking up over the roofs if they did.
When we arrive at dinner, Maeve is already sitting at our table. Strands of thick black hair spring out from the braid that crowns her head like a fuzzy halo. Zadie beckons to her with a flick of her fingers. Maeve juts her head forward, still holding a forkful of barbecued chicken, while Zadie licks the tips of her fingers and weaves the stray hairs back into her crown.
I turn away when Zadie kisses Maeve’s forehead—bite my bottom lip, sending a sensation like magic shooting through my body. That’s how memories of Kane feel.
Zadie bumps into me as she walks past, jolting me back to the spread of umbrella-covered tables and the shady gazebo where the younger Anointed eat with the Elders. They watch us with big eyes and untempered smiles as we walk past the winding food line—past Deryn—to a separate window where the Anointed are served. We have different dietary needs—more chicken than anyone should be forced to endure and a strength potion that tastes vaguely sweet.
I feel Deryn’s anger radiating against my back as Emily prepares our trays with a smile, but I don’t acknowledge them. We thank her and sit with Maeve. I eat while trying my hardest not to glance at Kane’s empty seat. Why, in the company of two hundred Fellows, has the loss of one Anointed left me feeling so alone?
I try to kick the feeling. To match my friends’ smiles as they joke around. We clean our plates, then clear our table, taking our potions to go. Maeve casually pops the top off her bottle as she walks, challenging us both without looking either of us in the eye. I look sideways at Zadie, who’s grinning. I thumb open the wire swing on my own bottle and hear the clank of Zadie doing the same. We stop on the path and face one another.
We don’t have to speak the stakes—we face the same challenge every night. The one who runs the slowest after chugging their potion has to lead evening ritual. Not that we don’t like to, but the competition is our thing. The one pleasure we allow ourselves.
As he approached his quarter century, Kane won every single day last March—Nova was pissed we let a game override our responsibilities. She was right: leading evening ritual reinforces our authority within the Fellowship. And she made us wake up before sunrise all April to atone. We stopped playing for a while after that, too afraid to win. We drank our potions at the dinner table and divided leader duties evenly. But after a couple of months, the itch to play got to us. To push one another, to prod and tease—to win. Now, we each make sure to lose regularly enough to keep Nova’s eyes off us. Not that we discussed it—we never did and never will. We just know.
“One,” Maeve says slowly.
Zadie follows. “Two.”
They both look at me, lips parted and hovering an inch above the glass rims of their bottles. Inside, small bubbles pop as the opaque potion settles.
I lick my lips. Look between them.
“Three!” I upend the bottle and gulp the thick drink down, barely swallowing as a drop leaks from the corner of my mouth and tickles my neck. I don’t stop until I run out of air and my stomach roils with the sudden rush of liquid.
I gasp, wrestling with a hard stuck-in-my-throat swallow as Maeve takes off running. Zadie wipes her face with her sleeve—an amateur move—giving me a head start on her. I hear her belch behind me.
“Stars, I cannot run on a full stomach,” she groans.
A full-bodied laugh slows me down. I’m not far behind Maeve. That girl is all thick muscle. Some of our Fellows underestimate her because she’s quieter, but she spends her time training rather than studying.
With Ritual House in sight, I push myself, drawing on my power to enhance my speed. The trees blur alongside me, my feet barely touch the ground, and then—I trip. Zadie rushes past me as I fly through the air and land rolling across the cool grass. The girls run victoriously up the stone steps of the ritual house as I stand and brush leaves and dirt from my grass-stained jeans.
“You cheater.” I smile as I join them.
“You used your powers too!” Zadie snaps before leaning against a nearby column.
“One of us didn’t have to use magic to win.” Maeve uncrosses her arms, her freckled face flushed from the sprint.
She places her palms flat on one of the glass panes between the house’s double doors. Before Nova bought Druid Hill, when it was still a zoo and recreation center and disc golf course—whatever that is—this was some kind of mansion. I don’t think anyone had lived here for years, though. Kane and I were kids when she and our teachers hauled everything outside—broken wooden tables and ripped leather chairs, dusty cardboard boxes and yellowing documents. After dark, they burned it. We followed the smell of smoke to the bonfire. They invited us to watch. Now, the mansion’s a big empty building, warded so that only Nova and the Anointed can open it.
As the winner, Maeve does the honors. Under her touch, the wards dissolve. I watch her shake off a shiver before grabbing one of the doorknobs and opening the hall. Zadie and I leverage ourselves off the clean white columns and follow her inside, leaving the doors open behind us.
We take our boots off—Maeve carefully unlacing, Zadie prying them off by the heel—then tread with bare feet across overlapping rugs as we open the rest of the doors and windows. I pause in the middle of the room and breathe deep. Sunset filters through the windowpanes, warming the space. Invigorating me.
Ritual House is the heart of Druid Hill. Twenty-five years of magic resides within these walls. Morning and evening, the Anointed have conducted rituals here every day since Kane was born. I feel stronger here. More confident. Better.
We finish readying the space and, soon, the rest of the Fellowship trickles in. Without guidance, they sit in circles that grow out from the center of the room, leaving an aisle open from the center to the front door. Maeve and Zadie, as the reigning winners, stand beside the doors and greet the Fellows who enter, resting a hand on each of their shoulders in turn. The younger Anointed file in under the watchful eyes of their teachers, before taking their places in the closest circle.
It’s my job to greet them. To exchange a small dose of power with each of them. The littlest ones barely register a spark, but I’m careful with the teenagers. I remember when my brain and body were still evolving so turbulently that I was powerless one day and blowing things up the next. There’s a reason we don’t go on our quests until our quarter century, until our magic has settled into its strength.
Nova is the last inside, and she greets each of us, Fellow and Anointed alike, as she walks up the aisle to the center of the circle. “I’m glad to see you at the helm tonight, Meadowlark.” We rest our hands on each other’s shoulders and I feel relief. Her confidence warms me along with her magic.
Her hands fall to her sides as she gives me space to lead. I raise mine, channeling the energy of the room through my body like a lightning rod. The Fellowship falls silent. Through the many-paneled windows, the last rays of sunlight blind me before the horizon swallows them.
I close my eyes. “Join me, Fellows and Anointed, in giving thanks to Nova for the home she has given us. For bringing each of us into safety. For sparing us from the corruptions of the world beyond the fence. For the gifts—”
Glass shatters. I gasp; my body floods with the heat of surprise. Heart pounding, I watch a metal canister roll down the empty aisle toward me.
Gray smoke erupts forth like I haven’t seen since the bonfire. At first, all I can do is watch, but then the smoke reaches me—coughs burst from my body.
Another window breaks. A canister clangs and smoke fills the room as the youngest scream, their teachers attempting to calm them. Nova. I can’t see her—or Maeve or Zadie or—cough. I double over. Drop to the ground. Smoke billows up around me, obscuring Anointed and Fellows; all I can see is their feet as they stumble blindly around Ritual House.
What is happening? Are these monsters, come for us? I crawl, my belly scraping over the floorboards as I try to find the door. Someone tumbles to the floor beside me—dark skin, braided hair. “Zadie!” She rolls over, clutching her head. Blood coats her fingers.
“Everyone down on the ground!”
“Hands on the back of your head!”
Human voices bark orders above us. No one I recognize. Strangers—FOEs? All I can see of them are heavy boots stomping past. I pick up a discarded canister, immediately dropping it with a scream as its heat sears my hands. They tremble with pain, wet and red with blood. Zadie. I force myself to absorb the pain, use it to power myself. “Come on.” I grab her robe, and together, we crawl toward the side door. “Where’s Maeve?”
“I don’t—” She coughs.
“I’ll find her.” I nudge Zadie out the door, into the open air. “Go. Meet me at the—”
She screams as an armored figure grabs her out of my arms and drags her down the stairs. “Lark!” Zadie’s voice cracks as she shouts through the smoke.
It stings my eyes. I blink furiously as tears blur my vision. “Zadie!” I can’t see her. She’s gone. I flatten myself against the interior wall, coughing as I pick up a discarded scarf and wrap it over my nose and mouth. Below the smoke line, Fellows struggle to escape, but black gloves drag them to their feet one by one. Shock paralyzes me. There are FOEs on Druid Hill. Inside the fence. Beyond the wards. This isn’t supposed to happen in my home. We’re safe here. We were.
My breaths come hard and heavy as smoke weaves its way around bare feet, boots, and screams. Enough. These are my people. My family. And I’ve trained almost twenty-five years to defeat monsters. I can handle this.
When someone grabs my arm, I throw my weight and bring them to the ground. I see a black-clad figure with bug-like goggles and enough padding to break their fall. They reach toward me again, with the same gloved hands that pulled Zadie away.
“Stay down!” I shout. Power rushes through me as I pin them, twisting my fingers to keep them in place.
They lunge at me, ripping through my magic. The surprise puts me on my back.
“I said—”
But they flip me over, wrenching my arms behind me. Plastic tightens around my wrists.
My magic won’t come. It’s failing me.
Below the smoke line, I catch Maeve’s eyes before she’s hoisted up out of view. All around me Fellows and Anointed are pulled to their feet and disappear. And then, the same happens to me.
“Let’s go. Outside!” they bark, still holding tight.
I move with them—I can’t not. And as we breach the doors, I feel their grip loosen. In the distance, surrounded by people in uniform—people with cropped hair and radios—stands Kane. My stomach drops. They have him.
With a final surge of power, I break the plastic ties that bind my wrists, slide my ritual knife from its holster, and thrust it into my captor’s thigh. I feel hot blood on my hands, hear the FOE’s distorted scream.
Kane, from beyond the wall of outsiders, rushes toward me, but FOEs stop him. A swarm of them push me to the ground. And I feel the spark inside of me flare before fading out.
Copyright © 2021 by Kellan Szpara
