A/N: Hi! I'm new to the site. If you like my book and want more, please leave a comment and I will post more chapters. Thanks! 

Chapter One

They had ambushed her in the dark: men clothed in black, humans and elves, armed with bows and sharp steel-tipped arrows, with long, wicked hunting knives at their belts. And they had magic—that was how she had first spotted them. She had seen one man’s palm glowing in the darkness of the cloud-blackened night, and had ducked just as a thousand shards of ice had flown from midair and peppered the tree behind her. But she had magic of her own, and when she turned and fled, she left three bodies behind her, two groaning and twitching, one still.

But there were too many of them. They kept coming, from ahead and behind, forcing her to change her course, to zigzag and veer in random directions as she bolted through the forest. She was faster than them, but they had arrows, and every time one zipped past her she was certain, for one heart-stopping moment, that she was going to die.

But that would never happen. They wanted her alive; she was worthless to them dead.

She ran as fast and as hard as she could, and when she had to fought with all she was worth: when she raised her hand, dead branches crashed on top of them, ivy tangled around their ankles, and saplings whipped across their faces. When it rained, she turned it to ice and drove it into their eyes. Yet still they came, relentlessly, mercilessly, never tiring and never failing to send arrow after arrow and spell after spell until finally one of them hit.

She wasn’t sure what they did, exactly—only that it struck her in the small of her back and sent her toppling forward, leaving her winded and blinded while the world spun beneath her head. She scrambled to her feet again as soon as she could, but she was slower now, and every breath was a struggle. She could not outrun them anymore. So she did the only thing she could do: she grabbed onto the first tree branch she could find and pulled herself up, climbing as high as she could.

They followed her, of course—but they were big and heavy, and she was wispy and skinny and not yet fully grown, and had been climbing trees all her life. When she had climbed as high as she could, she could not even see them anymore. But they could still see her. One arrow whipped past as she hugged the trunk, and another embedded itself in the branch at her feet; she moved, skirting around the back of the tree, but when something small and dark came flying past her head she knew that she was surrounded. So she climbed higher, and higher still, each pull an agony on her back, until she paused to sit on a wispy branch that bent beneath her weight. She hugged the trunk of the tree for support with one arm, and with the other hand fumbled beneath her shirt for an amulet on a silver chain, which she clutched tightly in her palm as she started to pray. She was soaking wet, blinded by lightning, deafened by thunder, breathless and aching, and had never been more terrified in her life.

“Iöna, Miáda, Olídia, Aliise, Aridella—Mother Goddess, help me—I want to go home, I just want to go home—”

At first, nothing happened; then, in rapid succession, many things. She was never fully aware of what actually occurred—only of a flash of light, a loud crack, a sharp pain, and the sensation of falling. And of clutching her necklace on the way down, and screaming, and praying with everything she had that she could be somewhere, anywhere else, that she would do anything, if she could only stop this horrible nightmare….

Then, quite suddenly, she hit the ground, and the nightmare stopped.

 

The flash of light was so bright it blinded him—yet it came and went so quickly that he was not even sure it had happened. He sat up and blinked away the multicolored spots dancing before his eyes, looking around the forest and frowning. He glanced up at the sky, but the thick mist floating just below the tree line was glowing gold with bright sunlight, and the air was light and fresh, so it could not have been lightning. Had he just had some sort of seizure? Or….

Then a piercing scream tore through the silence and thrust him onto his feet, scrambling wildly through the loam and underbrush.

“Hello?” he called. “Are you all right?” He squinted through his cut crystal spectacles at the tree trunks that surrounded him in every direction, extending for hundreds of feet in every direction until the faint, drifting mist swallowed them whole in the distance. In response, there was only silence, and he could see nothing, and no one, around him.

“Hello? Oh…um….” He turned a small, helpless circle on the spot, then stumbled into the direction where he thought the sound had originated. It led him off the path, which was little more than a game trail regardless, but he plunged forward heedlessly under the optimistic belief that he could easily find his way back.

“Hello? Hellooo…?”

He climbed on his hands and knees up an earthen slope, struggled through a thick cluster of new-budding bushes, and tripped over several fat roots protruding from the carpet of dead leaves and pine needles as he pushed stubbornly forward. “Is anyone there? Saya—miss?” he added hopefully, for he was almost certain that the cry had belonged to a girl or a young woman. “Are…are you…?”

His voice trailed away as he stepped through the trees into a small clearing and beheld a very strange sight. The ground was littered with broken branches, one of them quite large but most of the others no longer than his arm; they belonged to a type of tree that he had never seen before, though the leaves looked vaguely similar to those belonging to the trees he knew. Those leaves, and the fallen ones scattered across the ground, were dripping wet, as if the branches had been ripped free by a violent storm. Yet it had not rained in days, and when he looked up, he could see no signs of damage or missing branches on the surrounding trees….

“Vala ardüliid,” hissed a quiet voice behind him.

He whirled around—and found himself face-to-point with a steel dagger. And on the other end of it….

He had never seen a weapon in his life, and had certainly never been threatened with one, so perhaps it was the terror and adrenaline that made him think this way, but in that moment, he had never seen anyone so beautiful—and terrifying. She was small, and skinny, and in figure suspended somewhere between woman and child; he guessed her to be thirteen or fourteen years of age at the most, only a couple of years younger than he. She was clearly pure-blooded elfin, like him, yet her hair, which had been hacked and chopped by a clumsy hand until it was roughly the same length as a boy’s, was a pale shade of wheat-blonde that he had only ever seen in humans. And her clothes…he could not look at them without blushing. She was wearing pants and boots, like a man, and her thin top bared so much skin that he wondered if parts of it had been ripped away. And it was as soaking wet as the rest of her, and clung so closely to her body that even with the dagger leveled at him, he could not help but stare.

Then there was a flash of steel, and the point of the dagger tickled his throat. And every other thought was driven completely from his mind.

“Corsa na niaren’chi,” the girl snarled. “Vorsi?”

She was speaking some foreign tongue, or so he thought, though he had not known that another tongue existed. He took a half-step back as she applied a tiny fraction of pressure to the knife, his hands rising of their own accord, his neck craning until his watering eyes were staring up at the golden clouds of mist.

She pushed a little harder, and he flinched as the tip of the dagger bit into his skin. He could feel the blood trickling down his neck. Gods above, he whispered to himself. I’m going to die. She’s actually going to kill me. He had never in his life believed that such a fate was even possible—who was there in this world that wanted to kill him? I’ll be the first person murdered in thousands of years…. In his hysteria, he almost laughed aloud at the thought. Who would have thought that he would make his mark in the annals of history like this?

“Corsa na niaren!” said the girl again, harsher this time, and louder. “Isti voliva na…playing games. I’ll gut you like a—augh!”

He stumbled back as she cried out in pain, watched in stunned silence as the dagger fell away from his neck and tumbled to the earth. Then she followed, slowly, clutching at her ribs as she collapsed.

Somehow, he never knew how, he reached out and caught her before she hit the ground. His arms scooped her up and held her to his chest; he stumbled and fell to one knee, but she barely weighed anything at all, and even his skinny arms could lift her bodily from the ground. It was the strangest feeling, carrying a person…he’d held babies and small children, yes, but his arms were accustomed to stacks of books, and did not know how to adjust to a grown woman who struggled feebly to push him away.

“It’s all right,” he heard himself saying, little though he knew why. “You’re all right, I’m going to get you to a fixer, you’ll be just fine….” You idiot, he scolded himself, she was going to kill you. But he paid no attention to the thought, except to pause and look around for the knife. It was still there, gleaming dully on the forest floor. He couldn’t leave it there—what if some kids found it?—but he had no idea what to do with it, and was frightened to touch it. But he had read about these things, and sure enough, when he checked the girl’s belt, there was a bit of leather that he guessed was the sheath for the knife. Loath though he was to arm her again, in the end, his only option was to slide it back in there, and fasten with great care the strap that held it in place.

“You’re going to be okay,” he told the girl again, firmly, trying to convince himself as well as her. “I’ve got you, I’ll get you some help, I promise….”

It did little good; her eyes were closed, and she did not seem able to hear him. But saying these things aloud gave him a peculiar sort of courage, enough to square his shoulders and set off through the forest into the direction of his home, picking his way carefully through the underbrush at as fast a pace as he dared.

Halfway there, as he was making his way down the path, a small voice in his ear nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“What? I….”

He looked down at the girl in confusion and saw her staring up at him, solemn and disconcertingly calm for her words. She had, he noticed, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen: big and a bit strangely shaped, fringed with long pale lashes, with irises the color of clear blue ice. They were so lovely that for a moment he could not speak.

“I…I wouldn’t,” he tried, eventually, to stammer out. “I would never….”

“My family has money,” she told him. Her voice was hoarse and tiny, and she sounded so weary, as if this sort of thing happened to her every week. “A lot of money. They’ll pay to have me back alive….”

“I’m—I’m not going to—do that!” he objected; he could not even say the words, they were so horrible. “And I’m not going to ransom you. I don’t need money. I’m—I’ll bring you to a fixer, okay? The best one there is.”

“A…fixer?” She sounded puzzled.

“Yeah. You know, someone who can fix your…what’s hurt?”

“My ankle,” she said, and to his surprise, she began to laugh. “A healer? After I threatened to kill you?”

“Would…would you have? Really?” His heart sank at her words, and his stomach twisted; he would never in his life have imagined that she, or anyone else, was capable of such a thing. Hearing her say otherwise, and seeing her nod with such guiltless conviction, chilled him to the bone.

“Oh…well,” he said, trying his best not to let his emotions show, “it doesn’t matter. I’m still taking you. Are you all right?”

She gave a weak nod, her head falling back against his shoulder. “’m all right,” she said. “You…you know the Pure Tongue?”

“The what?”

“The—my language. The one we’re speaking.”

“I…guess? I thought—weren’t you speaking something different earlier?”

“No…I thought you were.”

He shook his head, confused. “I don’t know any other languages.” He hadn’t even known there were other languages—at least, not any that had been spoken in the past few thousand years. “Do you?”

“Several,” she said distractedly; his words had clearly troubled her—maybe even scared her. She looked around at the forest, looking suddenly very young, and very vulnerable.

“I’m Kayle,” he finally said to break the silence. “Kayle Aranya. What’s your name?”

Her eyes slid sideways, fixing him with a suspicious glare. Slowly, and after a very long pause, she finally replied, “…Marli.”

“What’s your family name?” he inquired politely. He was making every attempt to pretend that this was a normal conversation in a normal setting; otherwise, he would not have had the faintest inkling what to say or do. “Would I know them?”

“Are you—?” Her eyes, which had been drifting shut, snapped open. “You must be joking.”

“I…no. So I would know them?”

But Marli would not reply; she merely shook her head and stared off into the distance. After a moment or two, she pushed against him and squirmed in his arms until he was forced to stop. “Let me go,” she said quietly. “I can walk….”

“But your leg—”

But even as he spoke, she slid out of his grip and stood: shaky, perhaps, but otherwise perfectly sound on her feet. She stepped ahead of him, frowning as she squinted up the path.  

“I thought I saw…what’s….?” She pointed, taking a hesitant step forward. “What is that? Gods, it’s so hard to see, why is it so foggy…?”

“It’s not fog, it’s—I don’t see anything.” He followed her as she drifted up the path, her tiny feet making no noise as they skated over the leaves and twigs and earth. “What are you…oh.”

How she had noticed it through the mist was anyone’s guess, but as they approached, he realized what she meant: she had seen the edge of his city, a few small houses at the edge of an expansive clearing. She moved out of the cover of the trees and into the open space in a daze, her mouth half-open and her eyes wide.

“This,” he said proudly, “is Kocha, the elfin capital. And that,” he added, pointing, “is where I live.”

She followed his gaze forward, then looked upward, slowly, with eyes as wide and round as coins. Towering overhead was a massive tree at least half a mile in diameter, so high that the trunk disappeared into the mist overhead before even a single branch could be seen. Its bark was a deep brown, darker and stronger than oak; its leaves, the skeletons of which littered the ground, were rich green and half as large as a man. Due to the curious qualities of the enveloping mist, the tree cast no direct shadow over the ground beneath its massive span of branches, but it did enshroud the buildings nestled beneath it in a faint dappled dimness.

Marli stared up at the tree in what he took as awe, craning her neck to see as far up its trunk as possible.

“The Great Tree…” she whispered. “But…how…?”

He watched as she lowered her eyes once more, and looked around at the city sprawling before them. They were small houses, many just large enough to contain one room, and none had ceilings much higher than he could reach with his fingertips. They were built from dark tan bricks, the roofs thatched with straw, the windows little more than open squares covered by a makeshift curtain. The houses were spread across the grass in no discernible pattern, the roads between them little more than dirt paths choked by rough wooden stalls where vendors sold their wares, twisting and snaking and breaking off into a thousand narrow alleys and dead ends.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Kayle proudly. “It’s the biggest city in the forest, and one of the biggest in Ametris. We have—

“Ametris? No—”

Marli stumbled back from the Great Tree, her eyes skating wildly across the vast expanse of misty sky. He touched her shoulder, concerned, and she whirled around to face him with such hysteria that he shied away from her.

“It can’t be—but how?” she nearly shouted at him. “It’s impossible, I was home, I—no, this is a dream, it has to be, I can’t…I can’t….”

Her head sank into her hands, and she stumbled; Kayle had to catch her elbow to keep her from falling. She jerked away, her thin frame shaking violently.

“Don’t touch me!” she said shrilly. “I—I’m not—this is…this isn’t….”

When she lifted her head again, Kayle thought she was about to cry; her face was twisted, her eyes wide with terror. But as she turned slowly on the spot, taking in her surroundings once more, she seemed to reach an eerie, numb state of calm. He watched her eyes grow blank and expressionless as she stared up at the mist and the Great Tree, watched her blink in dim confusion as her trembling ceased.

“Ah…Marli?” he stammered after a long pause, and reached out, gingerly, to touch her again. This time, she did not resist. “Let’s get you to a fixer, okay? Look, I’ll show you around town—I promise there’s nothing to be afraid of….”

This time, she let him take her by the hand and lead her forward, trailing along behind him as he set off through the heart of the city square. Kocha actually encompassed several miles of forest in every direction, but all of the shops and stalls and public venues were located here, in the meadow beneath the shadow of the Great Tree, where they were easy to locate and approach, as opposed to a large percentage of the houses in the forest, which were usually partially underground, and built so skillfully around the trees that they were almost impossible to spot if one was not paying attention. The only houses here belonged to the shopkeepers; no one else had any interest in living somewhere so noisy and dirty and crowded and unnervingly open to the sky. But at this time of day, when everyone was awake and restless, eager to leave their homes and start the day before it grew too hot, Kayle loved it in the square: he had grown up in Kocha, and he knew most everyone, and the rest knew him. As they moved through the narrow streets, pointed out his favorite places and introduced his friends.

“Ooh, smell that? This is Eila’s bakery. We have three or four of them, and they’re all really good, but no one makes better sweetbread than her. Those little tarts on the windowsill are delicious, we’ll come back and get you some if they say it’s okay for you to eat, all right? And up there, that’s Glenn’s workshop, he’s a carpenter—Good morning, Glenn! This is my friend Marli—we’ll come by later, we can’t stop to talk—he was really good friends with my dad. He makes nearly everything wooden around here, and all without killing any trees at all, I don’t know how he does it. And here’s our well—in the forest people get water from the springs everywhere, but the one that ran through here got too dirty, so they blocked it off and dug this well instead…must’ve been hundreds of years ago. And there, down the street, you can see my library—see that door in the side of the Great Tree? That’s where I live. It used to be a fortress before the war, but obviously we don’t need one of those anymore, so now it’s full of books. The humans have their own library, and the dwarves, but ours is the biggest by far. And over there is where we’re headed, down this path….”

Between the library and the edge of the square was a vast expanse of grass and wildflowers, and a peaceful little pond filled with still green water. A slightly sparser patch of the knee-high grass formed a path that forked into two: one leading toward the library, the other to the left of it, following the edge of the square. They followed the latter, and as the trees rose up to meet them at the edge of the meadow, they rounded clumps of dense foliage and shrubbery to find a small plaza hidden away between the trees. Unlike the other streets, the courtyard was paved in neat brick patterns, and the houses here—seven of them, arranged in a circle around a small well—were sturdily crafted from porous yellowish stone. They were some of the largest in the city, each one built with a kitchen, a sitting room, a washroom, and two bedrooms.

“Luxurious,” said Marli behind him; he turned over his shoulder and saw her eyeing the houses with a critical expression. It sounded like sarcasm, but he could not understand why.

“They are,” he agreed. “This is where the Elders live—they’re in charge here. And Carn is one of the best fixers I…that I…what is that?”

He had directed his steps toward a house to the left, but at a sudden outburst of noise he veered toward the house in the center. It sounded like raised voices, but surely that could not be—this was Ametris, people didn’t fight here, it was supposed to be impossible….

Then he recognized one of the voices and understood at once what was going on.

“Eäyo,” he cursed. “I—Marli, will you wait here for just a second? Please? I need to go—I have to—I’ll be right back.”

And he ran off without waiting for an answer, leaving Marli alone in the courtyard.

 

-0-

 

Marli counted silently to five after Kayle disappeared into the house, then followed on swift, silent feet and ducked beneath the curtained window. These windows were made from real glass, though crafted poorly, with the surface thick and uneven—but they were unlatched, so it was a simple matter to push it open an inch or two and peek through the curtains into the room beyond.

Whoever these people were, they dressed like peasants and lived in squalor—but not so the occupants of this house. Here the floors were covered in colorful rugs, the furniture was expertly crafted, and anything wooden, which seemed to be rare enough in this place, was crafted not from discarded fragments of the bark of the Great Tree, but from real wood, treated and polished to a shine. And of the eight people that she could see in the room, seven of them wore fine forest-green robes that covered them from throat to ankle, so richly dyed and clean that Kayle, in his worn shirt and pants, looked especially shabby beside them.

The people, she assumed, were the Elders Kayle had mentioned, but they looked nothing like the assemblage of sour old men that she had pictured. There were four women and three men; the youngest was a beautiful doe-eyed girl of perhaps eighteen, while the oldest was a man who could not be older than fifty, though he was already grey-haired and wrinkled. They did, however, look as surly and disagreeable as she had expected, and she was thankful that Kayle had gone ahead instead of insisting that she meet them now. In her current state, disoriented and confused and dressed in clothing she knew they would consider wildly inappropriate, she did not feel that she could possibly soften their tempers.

One of them—their leader, judging by the elaborate silver stitching around the neck of her robe—was talking as Kayle entered, or, more accurately, snarling. Every single man and woman in this town had looked as alike as brother and sister to her, with thick hair of brown or black, peach-colored skin, and eyes of brown or hazel, and this woman was no exception: she looked like every other woman in her early thirties that Marli had seen on her way over, with wavy chestnut hair and brown eyes, only her face, instead of bearing a pleasant smile, was twisted in fury and contempt.

“—and I have had enough,” she was saying, directing her words to something or someone in the far corner that Marli could not see. “You have caused me nothing but trouble for nearly a decade now, you little heathens, and it is nothing less than disrespectful, not just to us, but to the gods themselves—”

“Elder Srai?” Kayle said loudly; the woman had ignored his entrance, even when he had caught the door and closed it as hard as he could without slamming it. “Can I talk to you for just a minute?”

But the woman continued as if she had not heard. “What use is a gift of peace,” she hissed, “if people like you choose to ignore it? What good does it do if the two of you go around and spit in the faces of the gods by taking advantage of our kindness?”

“You aren’t kind!” cried a tiny, shrill little voice from a corner, and Marli stiffened in shock: the victim of this woman’s vicious tirade was a little girl, no older than eight or nine by the sound of it. “You’re awful, and so was he—we didn’t want to steal it, we offered to pay, but he said no—”

“Because you had nothing to pay with!” the woman retorted. “And he knew it—you’ve stolen everything you’ve ever touched, you probably even stole the clothes on your backs, the two of you have never made an honest trade in your lives!”

“Srai!” Kayle insisted—but again, he went unheeded.

“We had money!” the little girl nearly screamed at her. “We were gonna pay, it’s just no one ever lets us—here, take it, just take it!”

There was a metallic clatter; Marli saw two copper coins bounce against the floor. The woman made no attempt to pick them up.

“That does no good now,” she said scathingly. “He had every right to refuse you—but you had no right to steal from him—and then you had the gall to attack him when he caught you in the act!”

“We didn’t!” The girl was nearly sobbing now, and Marli did not blame her; she could not believe what she was hearing. “He grabbed me, it hurt, and he was yelling at me, I was scared….”

“So you threatened him with a knife?”

“I—I didn’t—it was Everan, he—he was hurting me, and—”

“Elder!”

Kayle, it seemed, had finally gathered his courage: he marched up to the woman and grabbed her by the arm. The woman whirled around, and in the space between them, Marli finally caught a glimpse of the objects of her ire, who….

“Gods above,” she breathed.

She knew those children; she had seen their faces a thousand times, immortalized in paintings and statues and illustrations in books. She knew their faces better than those of her own mother and sister. They were twins, eight or nine, young enough to be indistinguishable in body and build; they were slender, small for their age, and painfully thin, the bones in their cheeks and shoulders protruding beneath clothes worn to tattered rags. Their faces were identical in appearance, yet could not have differed more in bearing: the girl was sweet and confused, with wide innocent eyes, while the boy…his face was expressionless, but from his eyes Marli felt an icy, murderous hatred that chilled her to the bone. Those eyes were not the eyes of a child, and did not belong in a face so young. The two of them looked so utterly foreign compared to those that surrounded them as to be unnatural: their skin was just as pale as the rest of these people, who had clearly never been exposed to direct sunlight, but was olive-toned instead of peach or tan, and their hair was black and silky beneath matted tangles and months’ worth of dirt and dust.  

And their eyes were huge and long-lashed, slightly slanted at the corners, and glowed a brilliant silver in the half-light.

It can’t be, Marli thought numbly. She had received shock after shock this morning, but this left her reeling; she clutched the windowsill until her fingers turned white. Impossible…not here, not like this….

“Srai, stop,” Kayle was pleading with the woman in an undertone. “Please—just let me talk to them, they won’t be any more trouble—”

Srai shook herself irritably out of his grasp. “You’ve had their whole lives to keep them under control, Kayle, and look at them—”

“Please, I promised their mother I’d look after them, if you’d just let me—”

“Let you what? Keep them in your library where they can cause even more trouble? No, I want them gone, I want them out of my city, for good—”

“Srai, no! I’ll take care of them, I swear, they’ll never steal anything again—they’re just kids, they can’t live by themselves on the streets, if you’d just let me take care of them—”

“And when you throw them out like their mother did, they’ll be right back to snatching sweetrolls from my citizens!”

“I would never—”

“She didn’t throw us out!” the little girl shrieked. She was done cowering in the corner now: she was livid, her small hands clenched into fists, standing as rigid and tall as she could.

“You’re horrible!” the girl shouted at the Elder, as fierce and heedless of danger as a maddened animal. “It’s all your fault—we didn’t wanna steal it, we didn’t, we were hungry, but he wouldn’t let us buy it, no one ever does, they all hate us and it’s all your fault! You’re mean, you’re awful, and so was he, and so are all of you, I wish Everan had killed him, I wish he’d kill you all, you deserve it—”

Srai whirled around and slapped her hard across the face.

Cursed, whispered a voice in the back of Marli’s mind. Any who raises a hand to them has defied the gods, and will be cursed with a terrible fate….

The reaction from the room was explosive: the young woman shrieked, several of her fellows cried out in horror, and Kayle let out a strangled yell and lunged toward Srai to yank her away—then reached down to grab the little boy around the waist as he darted forward with his fists raised. The boy fought him, hard, but he was tiny, and Kayle was taller than most; he lifted the child bodily from the ground so that he was kicking and clawing at thin air. It would have almost been comical—if the boy’s eyes hadn’t been burning with a murderous rage Marli had rarely ever seen even in grown men. When for a brief moment, Kayle lost control of him and the boy nearly broke his grip, even Marli felt a genuine thrill of terror.

Srai was clearly petrified of him too, though she tried to hide it behind a sneer as she backed away. “Where’s his knife?” she demanded of her fellow Elders. “Who has it?”

“I do,” said one of the male Elders. It was just a simple kitchen knife, but he held it up by the end of the hilt with two fingers, as if afraid that it would jerk itself from his hand and cut his fingers off.

“Do not let him have it,” Srai commanded. “Now get them out of here.”

“Srai, you can’t treat them like this—!” Kayle began furiously—but one of the Elders, the older man, cut him off.

“Kayle, if you’ll allow me to help—I’ll take them, Srai. I’ll escort them to the city limits and see that they don’t return.”

“Nice try, Carn, but I’m not falling for it,” Srai snapped at him. “Now, Kayle, you listen to me—I want you to keep these children away from my people. I don’t care where they go, as long as they never come near Kocha again—or your library. And make them understand that it is in their best interest to stay away, and they don’t want to know what I’ll do if they cross me again.”

“I won’t—you can’t tell me what to do!” Kayle shouted at her. “My family owns the library, not you—we’ve just been kind enough to let you use it for the past three thousand years. You have no authority over me!”

“And in exchange for that,” Srai replied calmly, “we have provided your family with as much food, clothing, and other necessities as are needed. Your family has not had to pay a single shard for as long as they’ve held that library. Would you like all that to change?”

“Do what you like,” Kayle snarled. “You can’t threaten me, I don’t need you, I can pay my own way like anyone else!”

“Oh, can you? Really? And what will you do when everyone in town refuses to sell to you? What will you do when they find out that you’re a traitor?”

“I’m not—!”

“Those children are a menace. If word gets out that they’re living with you, no one in Kocha will have anything to do with you for as long as you live.” Srai’s eyes were as cold and hard as shards of ice. “I will make sure of that myself.”

Marli was cheering silently for Kayle, praying that he would outmatch the horrible woman—but to her dismay, she could see him wilting, weakening, caving in. No, Kayle, she begged him, fight them, don’t back down, don’t let her win…. But she knew that Srai had already won.

Kayle lowered Everan carefully to the ground and pulled him away as he tried to shove forward again, pushing him firmly behind his back. “Fine,” he spat, a defeated man, but still defiant, and still furious. “I’ll see them to the river. You’ll never have to see them again.”

“Good—it’s best for them if I don’t. Now—”

But Marli could not stand to watch anymore. She jumped up and burst through the door, slamming it so hard against the wall that everyone in the room gave a start.

“Kayle?” she said innocently, persuading her face to fall, her eyes to widen, her lip to tremble. “Is everything oka—oh!”

The twins bolted so suddenly for the door that no one had time to stop them; even Marli, who knew exactly what they would do, still barely had time to step out of their way. She feigned surprise as they rushed past, and feigned bemused clumsiness when two or three of the Elders tried to push by her to give chase. Finally, one of them grabbed her by the arms and physically moved her out of the doorway—but by then the twins were long gone. Marli hid a satisfied smirk as Kayle, with a weary sigh, steered her away from the door and sat her onto the couch. He sank onto the cushions beside her, burying his face in his hands.

For a few minutes no one even seemed to notice that she was there; they were all too preoccupied with the little twins. The only exception was the eldest man, the one Srai had called Carn. He did not seem upset at all by her disturbance, and by his attempts to intervene earlier she guessed that her distraction, for him, had actually been welcome, but the way he was watching her was making her uneasy: it was not gratitude, or curiosity, or anything so friendly. If it had been in any way likely, she would have thought that he recognized her, and that he was just as confused and alarmed by her presence in such an unlikely place. But that was, she reminded herself, impossible.

“And who might you be?” snapped a voice behind her, and Marli turned to see that Srai had noticed her at last.

Kayle jumped in before she could think of a reply. “Elder, this is Marli,” he said respectfully. “Marli, this is Head Elder Srai. And this is Carn, that’s Medilii over there, and the ones who left—”

But Srai silenced him with an impatient gesture. “I hope you realize how important what you interrupted was,” she told Marli, making no effort to hide her irritation. “What possessed you to burst into my home unannounced?”

“Elder, that was my fault,” Kayle said, coming to her rescue once more. “I told Marli to wait outside, but I was gone too long. Please forgive her, she’s hurt, and she’s not thinking clearly.”

“You’re injured?” Carn chose that moment to enter the conversation. “Where? I can treat you, if you’ll allow me….”

“Elder Carn,” Srai said stiffly. “Please. You’re interrupting us.”

“My apologies, cousin, but I can treat her while you talk,” said Carn, the picture of gentlemanly courtesy. “I’ve been a healer for a long time, saya, don’t worry. Where are you injured?”

Marli noted with interest that he had referred to himself as a healer, even though Kayle had never heard of such a title. She didn’t trust him, and was more suspicious of him than anyone that she had met so far, even Srai, but she decided that she liked him—if only for the subtle and innocuous ways he undermined the Head Elder’s authority. She held out her sore ankle and allowed him to take it in his hands and touch it gently with his fingertips. It had broken during her fall (as had several of her ribs and, she thought, one of her teeth) but it was already half-healed, and she doubted that he would find more than bruises and swollen flesh.

“I found Marli wandering around in the forest,” Kayle told Srai as Carn inspected her. “She was lost—I don’t think she’s from Ametris. She was speaking some other—”

“I am,” Marli interrupted him. “I am from Ametris.” These people would never understand the truth, and it would be hard enough to conquer their obvious xenophobia looking the way she did without adding something that frightening.

“Where?”

“I….” It should have been an easy lie, and would have been at home. But here…. “I’m from—it’s further north, up the river a ways—”

“Yes, but where? What village?”

“I…it was…I got lost, I don’t know….”

“Then how did you get here?” said Srai impatiently.

I was attacked while I was walking through the woods, she could have told them. I was being hunted by men who wanted to capture me and sell me to the highest bidder. They chased me up a tree, and I panicked, and—

But she knew better than to say that. Instead, she opened her eyes as wide as they could go, and summoned a trembling lip and a trace of tears. “I don’t know,” she said, allowing her voice to break. “I don’t know….”

“Srai, don’t,” said Kayle swiftly. “She’s really upset, and I think she hit her head. Can’t you ask her all this later?”

Srai huffed in weary impatience. “All right,” she said. “It’s all right.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “And you want to live here now? Is that it?”

“I—yes,” said Marli, deciding on the spot. “Please. If I can.”

“We don’t exactly…well, how old are you?”

“Fifteen,” said Marli swiftly. It was two years more than she actually had, but the legal age was likely to be fourteen, and she wanted there to be no doubt that she was an adult.

“Hmm. I have nearly ten thousand people in my city,” Srai informed her. “We’re stretched thin enough as it is. I can’t just let some stranger wander in that I know nothing about.”

Ten thousand? Marli nearly laughed aloud. Her own home city had over ten times that, and it wasn’t even the largest she’d seen.

“I’ll vouch for her, Elder,” Kayle offered. “I swear. I’ll make sure she follows all our rules and that she’s no trouble.”

Srai pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Not just that,” she said, “but she’d need to get a job as well, and be of use to us. I can’t have any idle hands in my city.”

“She can work for me! I could use the help.”

Srai shook her head. “No, that won’t work. Our arrangement is that your family is paid in whatever food and goods they need, not in money, so you couldn’t pay her. Something else.”

“All right then, we’ll find something. I’m sure she’s good at lots of things, aren’t you, Marli?”

“Hmm.” Srai leaned back against her wall, sizing Marli up with sharp eyes. “Listen…Merry?”

“Marli,” muttered Kayle under his breath.

Srai did not bother to acknowledge the correction. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Gift, and I’m sure you can understand how important it is to do our part to keep it intact. What I want you to understand, however, is how important that is to me. I will absolutely not tolerate any behavior that disrupts the lives of my citizens, especially anything that puts them in danger. Is that clear?”

Marli nodded in agreement, though she had only a vague idea of what Srai was talking about. Srai seemed satisfied; she turned and moved away, her attention already diverting to the others in the room.

“Kayle, please get your new friend some better clothes, then take her home. Have her come find me in a week to discuss her contribution to our city. Carn, Medilii, Nenya, don’t go anywhere—we have much to discuss when the others return. And, Kayle….”

As soon as Srai had turned her back, Kayle had taken Marli by the elbow, set her on her newly bandaged ankle, and rushed her to the door as quickly as she could move. But when Srai called him back, he turned, slowly, with his hand on the doorknob, and looked warily over one shoulder.

“If you see those twins,” she told him, “I want you to bring them to me immediately. Understood?”

Kayle hesitated; Marli could see his jaw clenching, and knew just from the sight of him how hard he was working to control himself. She greatly admired him for that—though she would have been even more impressed if he would have been willing to fight back.

But, instead, he merely gave a grudging “Fine,” before he swept Marli out the door.

Marli followed Kayle at a trot back through the courtyard and down the path, hoping that he knew where he was going; he seemed too preoccupied with his anger to remember, and did not even seem to realize that she was still there. As they turned down a street leading through the square, however, instead of toward his library, Marli felt that she had to speak up.

“Um…Kayle? Where are we going?”

“Oh…to get you some clothes,” he said, after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “And some food. Sorry, I…my mind’s a thousand leagues away.”

“That’s fine,” she said quietly. “But you don’t have to get me anything. I’m all right.”

“No, no, I insist. Just…pick out anything, okay? Whatever you like. This place up here has some really nice clothes….”

Marli did not want a dress; she hadn’t worn one since she was a tiny child, and did not know what to say if Kayle insisted that she get one and dress like every other girl they passed. But to her relief, when she sheepishly held out her choice of outfit—a simple white shirt and black pants, much like the traveler’s clothes she had left at home—he took them without comment, and even flashed an approving smile. Instead of paying, he simply hailed the shopkeeper, showed him the items, and asked if it was all right to take them. And, to Marli’s amazement, the shopkeeper agreed with barely a glance at the clothes.

“Why don’t you have to pay?” she inquired as they left.

“Oh—it’s a deal the Elders made with my family, ages and ages ago,” said Kayle with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “The library’s in the Great Tree, which doesn’t belong to anyone but the gods, so my family insisted from the beginning that it wouldn’t be part of any city. But the Elders use it all the time, and they keep their records in it and everything, so in exchange they offered to give us anything we needed. I can take whatever I want from anyone in the square, and all they have to do is find one of the Elders and ask to be paid back.”

“Wow. Doesn’t that—wouldn’t they lie, though? To get more money?”

“What? No, of course not. Nobody does that here. Lying is…it’s wrong. Like stealing, or hurting someone. People in Ametris don’t do things like that, ever.”

This brought a question to mind—but Marli was reluctant to ask it. She had a vague idea that the answer would be obvious to him and to any other native of this land, and she was afraid that asking such a thing would immediately make him suspicious. But she had to know, so she phrased it as carefully as she could.

“That woman…the Elder,” she said slowly. “When she told me about the…the Gift….”

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Kayle was quick to tell her. “I swear she didn’t. She’s just frustrated….”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Marli agreed halfheartedly. “But I just meant that I don’t quite understand….”

Kayle glanced at her for a moment, sizing her up—but then, to her relief, explained without further prompting. “The Gift is what makes Ametris the way it is. It’s…. Do you know about the war?”

“Which one?” She could think of dozens, two of which had happened in her lifetime.

“The…the only one,” said Kayle, frowning. “You know, the Thousand Year War, where the dwarves and humans and elves were all fighting each other—”

“Oh. Yeah, I know that one.”

“Right. Well, Haenir, the hero, took up the fight for the last few years of it. But in the last battle, he arrived too late, and the humans had poured all this ash and rubble into the lake, to kill the merpeople. And he was devastated, because hundreds of merpeople were dying, and they, you know, they couldn’t leave the water, so they hadn’t done any fighting at all. They were completely innocent. That’s what made it so terrible.”

They drifted down the street at a lazy stroll as he spoke; he paused once to borrow a basket from a friendly woman, then, as he spoke, stopped every few minutes to inspect this stall or that one, and pick out tomatoes, basil leaves, mushrooms, a jar of milk, a loaf of fresh-baked bread. Marli followed him and noted the wares in silence, stunned at how simple the food was, and how little variety existed. When he paused to pick out a soft lump of white cheese, wrapped in a fragment of one of the Great Tree’s enormous leaves, she glanced surreptitiously around the little dairy, searching for any other kind, but it seemed that that was all they had in Kocha: one type of cheese, squishy and white and flavorless. It was a culinary nightmare, and Kayle didn’t even seem to care.

“Anyway,” said Kayle, once they were outside again, “Haenir prayed for the war to end, and since he was pure of heart, the gods answered him. They named him the first Chosen, and gave him the Heart of Ametris…have you ever seen it?”

Marli nodded, silently; she did not trust herself to speak. Her hand reached up automatically, her fingers clutching at the silver chain around her neck.

“And then he and everyone else in Ametris fell into a deep sleep. And when they woke, they remembered nothing about the war, or any of Ametris’s history. Haenir was the only one who knew what happened. They might not have believed him, if he hadn’t had the Heart, and if the mist hadn’t appeared…. It covers all of Ametris, you know, and it goes all the way out to the ocean. It protects us. Nobody can get through it, so we don’t get any evil influences from the outside world. No one even knows if there is an outside world anymore. Is…is there?”

In truth, Marli had no idea, and she hated to lie to Kayle after he had been so kind to her. But she had no other choice. “Yes,” she said. “There is.”

“Wow…. I wish I could see it,” he said wistfully. “But then—how did you get through the mist? It’s supposed to be an impenetrable wall….”

“It is,” said Marli, thinking quickly. “Against evil influences. But I’m not evil.” Of that, she was entirely certain.

“I…guess that makes sense,” said Kayle with a shrug. “Anyway, that’s the Gift—the mist and the Heart, and the way our history was erased. We were given a chance to start over, and given the mist to protect us. The goddess put a spell on Ametris that day. As long as there were Chosen, she said, then Ametris would be forever at peace. There would be no crime, no violence, no theft, no falsehood, no evil of any kind.”

“Oh,” said Marli. She could think of little else to say. Kayle seemed to believe in what he was saying wholeheartedly—yet how could he, after what he had seen today. “And it…it still is?”

“Well, the mist is still there, isn’t it? As long as it’s there, the Gift of Peace is still intact.”

“So then the Chosen must still be around somewhere.” Marli looked around expectantly, though that was just a show; she knew that if the Chosen would be around, he, or she, would be impossible to miss.

Kayle shrugged, his mouth twisting uncomfortably. “Marli…do you mind? We aren’t supposed to talk about this in public.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s illegal. Come on, let’s go back to the library….”

Illegal? Marli couldn’t believe her ears. What kind of insane upside-down world had she stumbled into?

Kayle finished the last of his shopping in silence, then led her back toward the edge of the square. Once they had stepped onto the meadow between the square and the library, he spoke up again, though he sounded very much subdued.

“I’m sorry for the way Elder Srai was acting,” he told her. “I’m sure you would never do anything to endanger the Gift. She’s just frustrated with Kamilé and Everan, that’s all.”

“Who?”

“Oh…those two kids that were in there. The twins. Did you…you didn’t….” He cast her a nervous look from the corner of his eye. “Did you let them out on purpose?”

“I…yes,” admitted Marli. “I just…I couldn’t stand to see her yell at them like that. Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I mean,” he rushed to correct himself, “I…please don’t tell anyone this, but…I’m glad you did. I would have done it myself if I could have gotten away with it. Those kids…I know they seem bad, but everyone’s too hard on them. Please don’t think badly of me if I’m honest here, but I just can’t hold it against them. They’re—they’re like my brother and sister. I love them. I can’t help it.”

“No, I—I think you’re right,” Marli reassured him. It alarmed her how distressed he was making himself over a simple disagreement with his elected government. “I do. Who are those kids? Why would the Elders hate them so much?”

“They don’t…they…nobody hates anybody,” Kayle muttered, sounding very unconvinced. “It’s just…they’re a handful. My mother and their mo—or, well, adopted mother, they were good friends, and I’ve known them since they were babies, and I was supposed to be taking care of them, but I…I just…I couldn’t, at first. They kept fighting me, and my dad died right afterward, and it was a rough time, and I just…. But it’s too late now. They caused too much trouble on their own, and now the Elders won’t let me take them in.”

“But they—then—where do they live? Where do they go at night?”

Kayle shrugged, and Marli’s stomach sank. It was the worst possible answer he could have given.

“But they’re just kids….”

“I know,” he said heavily. “Believe me, I know. It breaks my heart. But there’s not much I can do….”

Marli could actually think of a thousand different things that he could do—but none that he’d be willing to try, she guessed. So she said nothing.

Halfway across the meadow, Kayle burst into a furious tirade without warning. “It just—it kills me! How could they treat them like that? They’re supposed to find them a home, and new parents, and give them food and clothes, just like they would for anyone else who couldn’t pay for them. But instead…I mean, I’d take them in, I’d take care of them, I’d make sure they never stole anything again. They’re even more dangerous left alone like this, they don’t know any better, they made the last schoolteacher quit a few weeks ago because they kept starting fights, but it isn’t their fault…Everan can’t even talk.

“He…he can’t?” That took her by surprise.

“No, he can’t. If they would just let me, I could help them, I could end this….”

His sudden outburst was frightening, but Marli understood his frustration; she was just as outraged, and felt just as helpless. She touched his arm, very gently, in comfort. “I know,” she said. “It’s awful. Can I…is there any way I can help?”

He sighed, his fingers drifting absentmindedly through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just…sometimes it…the way people treat them, it makes me think that maybe everyone’s right. Maybe there aren’t any Chosen anymore. Maybe that’s why everything’s going to hell.”

“There aren’t—wait,” said Marli slowly. “Are you telling me that everyone in Ametris thinks the Chosen are gone? Just…gone?”

“That they were never born,” Kayle corrected her, looking forlorn and miserable as he trudged across the damp ground. “After…let’s see, there were Kilio and Tara, the twin Chosen, about a hundred years ago, and then their daughter…and then that’s it. All of her children were normal. No more Chosen. She died thirty years ago of old age, and there’s no one to take her place.”

“What…but…is anyone looking?”

Kayle snorted. “What’s there to look for? Just a mark over the heart, and it’s not like you can just see that walking down the street.”

“But they…but they’d look different, they’d look like—”

“Marli,” Kayle interrupted her, his tone gentle, but firm. “We can’t talk about this. All right? It’s illegal to talk about the Chosen.”

“Why?” she demanded in exasperation. “Why would anyone ever make that illegal?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “All I know is, eight years ago they made me pull all the Chosen books from the shelf and send them to the library in Merista. They didn’t tell me anything.”

“So they just—wait. Eight years ago?”

“Yeah. I remember. I was nine years old, it was a really big job for me.”

Eight years. It could not be a coincidence. “Kayle…your little friends….”

“Kamilé and Everan?”

“Yes. How old are they?”

“Nine. And actually, I…I need to ask you something….”

They were right in front of the library door now: a small portal crafted from a piece of bark from the Great Tree, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the façade except for a brass handle and a small sign. The sign took Marli aback for a moment: it was written in a language she had never seen before. It looked similar to her own, in a primitive, childish way, but she could not read it at all.

Kayle had paused in front of the door, his fingers resting on the handle. He did not look at her when he spoke. “Marli, I…when you go in there…I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone. All right? I…I know it’s wrong, but…there’s nothing else I can do. So…will you please…?”

He looked so distressed, and so guilty, that Marli immediately nodded and said, “All right. I promise.” In a place like this, anything that could cause such a guileless man this amount of guilt had to be interesting, and she had no love of the authority figures that she had met so far. Her entire life had been spent skulking at the edge of the law, when she did not abandon it entirely, and she was not about to change now.

Kayle pulled the door open and stepped back to let her inside.

Marli stepped through a thick archway and into the library, which she recognized at once: this grandeur, this beauty, belonged to her own country. She recognized it in the graceful curves and soft lines of the architecture, the complicated scrollwork along the edges of the fixtures, and in the way the furniture seemed to grow seamlessly from the living wood. The whole place had been crafted from the Tree itself, grown, not cut, so that the Tree did not suffer in the slightest—and yet the wood was polished to a glowing shine at every surface, as if treated by the finest carpenters in the world.

This room, the foyer, was enormous: the ceiling rose three or four stories high, creating a cavernous, echoing space lit by the soft light of sporadic lanterns and broken only by two small balconies and the wide archways that led to them. At ground level, two more arches, so wide that ten men could walk through them abreast, led to more enormous rooms to the north and south; straight ahead, to the west, a double staircase curved along each wall and met on either side of a spacious balcony, which led, she could see, to yet another expansive wing of the library. In the exact center of the room, resting on a large, rich carpet left faded and soft by the passing years, was a horseshoe-shaped desk covered in scrolls, ink bottles, quills, and scraps of parchment.

And in front of the desk, playing together on the carpet, were Kamilé and Everan, the two fugitive children.

As Kayle and Marli walked in, the two of them jumped at once to their feet and backed away, she looking frightened, he looking defensive and threatening. Marli saw Everan tug on Kamilé’s wrist, then step protectively in front of her. They might have run, but Kayle dropped his basket and hurried forward, raising his hand in surrender.

“No, no, no—it’s okay, you two. This is my friend Marli. She helped you get away on purpose, she won’t do anything to hurt you, I promise.”

He beckoned Marli forward, and she walked up to the children as if in a dream, transfixed by their piercing silver eyes.

A hundred years ago in Ametris, Kilio and Tara had walked the earth—heroes that Marli knew well. They had been the first set of twin Chosen; it had been the first time that two Chosen had been alive at the same time. After their adventures, they had married (choosing to ignore that they were twins, and insisting that everyone else to do the same) borne a daughter. The girl had lived to be sixty-three; it was presumed that she died of old age. But that was thirty years ago. And if there had been one Chosen in the interim, just one, that nobody knew about….

Eight years ago, a law was passed forbidding anyone to speak of the Chosen, read about the Chosen, or gain knowledge of them in any other way—and as a consequence, no one knew where they were, or what had become of them, or even what they were supposed to look like. Eight years ago, these two would have been infants—but there would have been no mistaking them for what they were, if anyone had known what to look for. The black hair…the olive skin…the silver eyes….

And the mark. Marli could see it as she approached them: a white scar, shaped like a perfect crescent moon, shining faintly in the soft light beneath Kamilé’s tangled hair. Everan had one too, beneath his overgrown hair, right in the center of his forehead; she had no uncertainty of that.

There was no mistaking it. For the first time in her life, just as she’d always dreamed, she was looking into the eyes of the Chosen.

In that moment, she no longer doubted where she was, and was no longer afraid to be there. She no longer cared how it had happened…and she no longer wondered why. As she looked at the two children—fugitives from the law at the age of nine, huddled in fear and half-starved, one of them still bleeding at the lip from the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to protect them and care for them—she knew that the gods had brought her here for a reason.

She sank to one knee in front of them, the closest that she dared come to bowing, and, smiling, offered them her hand.

“Hi, Kamilé,” she said softly. “Hi, Everan. I’m Marli. I want to be your friend, all right?”

And I will be, she added fervently to herself. I swear to the Mother that I will protect you. You will never have to be afraid again.

 

2: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I swear she’s up to something, Everan muttered. I just know it.

Hmmm…maybe, Kamilé replied, flicking absently at a newly budding twig.

They were sitting on a branch halfway up an oak tree that bordered a small clearing, on the other side of which sat Kocha’s schoolhouse. It was a small building, one room only, just large enough for a desk and a rug on which two dozen children at most could sit and hear their lessons. It was rarely ever full: families in Kocha, on average, had around five children, but it was usually easier to have the older ones teach the younger ones how to read and write and perform basic arithmetic than it was to send them all half a mile into the forest east of the square from sunrise to midday. So the children here were a mixed bunch, either firstborn children whose parents wanted, but could not, teach them, or children whose parents needed them out of the way for a few hours, or, rarely, older children who were avoiding chores at home and had nowhere better to be.

It was just after sunrise now, and class would start soon. Everan’s sharp eyes followed every movement that the children inside made through the openings in the walls that served for windows, paying special interest to the teacher: Marli, the strange teenage girl that had saved them from the Elders’ wrath two years previously and had shown an unnatural interest in them since.

I mean, she’s friends with Kayle, I get that, Everan continued. He spoke the words in his mind, but he knew that Kamilé could hear them in her own—even if she chose not to listen. But Kayle’s friends with lots of people, everybody likes him, and he’s had a lot of girlfriends too. And none of them have ever cared about us. So why would she? What’s her motivation?

Her what? Kamilé was barely paying attention; she had spotted a swallow in a higher branch, and was busy making coaxing sounds to try and lure it onto her finger. And it would have worked by then, if the bird weren’t so obviously scared of Everan. For her sake, he sat as still as he could on the branch to avoid startling it as he continued to spin out his theory, though he knew he was wasting his time.

Motivation. It’s the reason you do something. That’s what I don’t get, what her reason is—what could she possibly be getting out of being nice to us? And she’s just strange. She looks odd, I’ve never seen anyone that looks like her. Elves don’t have blonde hair, humans do, but she’s clearly pure elfin…and I’ve never seen eyes that light, except for ours. And she dresses…she dresses like….

But there he had to pause, scowling as Marli walked by the window. Today she was wearing a white button-down and pants like a man, only she’d chosen a shirt much too tight on her and cut the sleeves off at the shoulder and the pants off far above the knee. She wore things like that every day, things that were too tight or too short or revealed far too much skin, as if she were intentionally trying to make every woman in Kocha despise her. And her hair was too short for a woman, and she had gems and silver rings pierced through both ears from earlobe to tip and a tiny blue stone embedded in her navel, and all in all, she seemed to be trying her best to be as odd-looking as possible.

I kinda like it, said Kamilé, diverting her attention briefly from the bird. I wish I could wear clothes like that, it’d be good for adventures. And I like the little sparkly things on her ears. And on her tummy. Can I get one of those?

Kamilé already was dressed like that: the dress she had stolen from someone’s clothesline months ago was now so tight that she had had to borrow a pair of Everan’s pants, which she’d torn to ribbons in a matter of weeks. He’d had to cut them off just above the knee when the weather turned, and now they were playing their usual game: seeing if they could outgrow a piece of clothing before it literally fell apart. So far, most of Kamilé’s clothes hadn’t made it, but these were holding up fairly well.

But he felt it was morally reprehensible, as the closest she had to a parent, to encourage that kind of wardrobe. No, he told her firmly. You are never, ever dressing like her.

Kamilé huffed, but knew better than to argue; instead, she turned, pouting, back to her bird.

And there’s something off about the way she talks, too, Everan went on. She speaks our language perfectly, but some of the things she says sometimes…. People before the war used to speak other languages, but I don’t know that there are any more now. Maybe people in different cities talk differently? But then—I saw her writing, Kamilé, I saw her, but then the next day Kayle was teaching her how to read and write. It doesn’t make any sense…. How could they have made her a teacher if she couldn’t even read?

Kamilé snorted. Can’t believe people think you’re quiet, she grumbled. You never shut up.

Everan frowned, but chose not to respond; he knew that she was still sulking. Instead he watched, from the corner of his eye, as she whistled a few notes of birdsong. The bird, now two feet away and edging closer every second, finally gave in: there was a small flurry of brown wings, and then it landed on her wrist, inquisitive and trusting. Kamilé was beaming as she stroked its head with the tip of her finger, and smiled even wider when it closed its eyes in pleasure. Good, Everan thought to himself—she clearly wasn’t angry anymore. With that settled, he turned back to the schoolhouse, where Marli was standing on tiptoe on the chair that she’d propped against the wall. She was uncommonly short, he had noted long ago, especially for someone who claimed to be seventeen.

I think she’s hanging up the artwork for this week, he told Kamilé.

Oh! She looked around excitedly. What about mine? Is she putting up mine?

Well, she said she would, Everan reasoned, but you didn’t draw it in class, so don’t be surprised if she doesn’t. Are you ready?

Kamilé grimaced and shook her head. No. I don’t WANT to go to school, I TOLD you.

Kamilé, come on. Please? I have to figure this out, she could be dangerous to us….

I hate school. The kids are mean to us and we have to do math.

There might not be any math today. Kamilé, please? I can’t do it without you….

Kamilé hesitated, her sullen expression lightening just a little. Really?

Of course, he assured her. I need you. What if we need to steal something? You’re the best at that, I’d get caught for sure.

His flattery worked immediately: she blushed and preened, her reluctance forgotten. Oh, all right, she said, and turned back to her bird. “Hey, li’l fella,” she told it in a low, soothing voice. “I have to go now, okay? You can come fly down and meet me when I get back if you want.”

There was no way of knowing for sure what the bird understood from that, but it did allow her to kiss it on the top of its head before fluttering away, so Everan assumed that some combination of the words and Kamilé’s eerie connection with animals had worked on it. With the bird gone, Kamilé swung down from the tree without further delay, leaving Everan to climb down, somewhat less gracefully, in her wake.

Marli always left the schoolhouse door open in the summer, to try and coax in a nonexistent breeze, so it was easy to slip in and sit against the wall without being noticed: the two of them were small for their age, and could move, when they wanted to, as silently as a cat. They settled in, several feet behind the nearest child, and watched Marli as she paced back and forth in front of the thick rectangle of dark slate propped up against the far wall, pausing occasionally to make notes on it with a stick of chalk.

“…Elders have told me that the Gathering is in six days, on midsummer day, and that all of you are encouraged to attend. This week we’re going to spend our art periods helping with the decorations, and if you’d like to help more, the Elders have asked me to ask all of you to tell your parents that any help they can offer will be greatly appreciated. That includes food, flowers, candles—”

Beside him, Kamilé squirmed excitedly and clapped her hands together. Isn’t it great? she sang. It’s on our birthday, it’s on our birthday, Everan! We’re so lucky! Do you think they picked it like that on purpose?

Everan, with great difficulty, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They might not have known it was our birthday, he told her, with as much patience as he could muster. I’m not surprised they made it on midsummer day, though, that way they can have both parties at once. Midsummer day was sacred to the elves, as it was, they believed, to the plants: it was the longest day of the year, and every full-blooded elf in the country would be up from sunrise to sunset to celebrate it. But if they knew, it was awfully nice of them, he added, with an amount of sarcasm just shy of what she could detect; the Elders despised them so much that if they knew midsummer day was also the twins’ eleventh birthday, they would probably have cancelled the celebrations altogether out of spite.

I can’t wait, Kamilé said happily. It’s going to be so so fun!

They had been to the Gathering before, but they had been two years old, and as such weren’t capable of enjoying it. It was held in Kocha every four years, so the last time it had occurred, they had been seven, old enough to have a wonderful time—but they hadn’t attended, save to dart in from the forest, snatch a few handfuls of food, and slink back into hiding again. It had been a rough time for them, and they’d been in no position to attend a party so large that the city square could barely contain it.

“…and to prepare all of you for the Gathering,” said Marli, reaching behind her desk, “I have some very special lessons planned for these next few days. We’re going to learn all about the different races, their cultures, where they come from, what their lives are like…and today, we’re going to learn why we have the Gathering in the first place.”

The collective eye-rolling and groan-stifling of every child in the room was almost audible. Not this for the millionth time, Everan grumbled.

Shut up, Everan! Only Kamilé seemed excited: she loved hearing about the Chosen, and so far, constant repetition had not spoiled the stories for her.

But the version Marli told surprised them from the very beginning.

“Roughly three thousand years ago, in your time,” she said as she pinned a large map of Ametris up on the wall, “Haenir, the first Chosen, was born in a small village on the eastern border of the forest, populated by both elves and humans.”

See what I mean? Everan hissed to Kamilé. “In your time?” What is that supposed to mean?

But despite himself, he was intrigued. Nobody talked about the Chosen anymore, even Haenir, except in passing—never in such detail, and never about his personal life. He watched closely as Marli located the site of Haenir’s hometown, now empty, with a forefinger. The map was as detailed as any he’d ever seen: it showed the entire island nation of Ametris, from the tiny specks of islets scattered like freckles near the southern and western shores, to the crescent-shaped bay in the east, to the mountains that sprawled infinitely onward to the north and northwest. The borders of the four territories were marked by dashed lines, like fat black seams on a shirt: the elfin forests to the south, the plains and hills of the humans right in the center and spreading all the way to the western shore, the dwarven mountains and foothills, and the massive lake and smaller sister lakes, connected by rivers, that drained into the eastern bay and belonged to the merpeople.

“History insists that Haenir was fully elfin, but that wasn’t so: there is evidence to suggest that he was a mix of everything, with even a touch of blood from other countries neighboring Ametris.” Several of the children made noises of surprise and indignation, for mixed-bloods were rare in Ametris, and any elfin-human mixes that lived in Kocha were regarded with suspicion and scorn—but Marli deliberately ignored the glares and raised hands, and carried on.

“Haenir was born right in the middle of the war—which only lasted nine hundred years or so, by the way, though the ‘Thousand Year War’ does have a nice ring to it. There was too much going on in the country for any one person to follow, and we won’t go into that, but it will serve us just to say that his village was never left in peace for long. His father was recruited into an army by a local lord against his will, and died in the fighting, leaving his mother to take care of seven children on her own. But when Haenir was thirteen, the village was raided by slavers and razed to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes, and his whole family was destroyed. His mother and sister were killed, and he and his two brothers were taken as galley slaves aboard a warship. A slave is—I know you’ve probably never heard of it before—it’s when someone kidnaps you, and makes you do things like building walls or digging ditches, things they don’t want to do themselves, and hurts you or kills you if you try to leave. And these ships…I doubt you’ve ever seen one before….”

She drew a quick sketch on the slate of a three-tiered, five-masted behemoth of a ship, and pointed out to them where the cannons would be, where the food was stored, where the captain and sailors slept, and where the galley slaves rowed when the wind was still or in the wrong direction.

“The conditions were brutal—the slaves were crammed shoulder to shoulder on long wooden benches with their necks chained to the oar and their ankles chained to the ship itself, so that if the ship sank, the slaves would sink with it. They were never unchained, so they had to sleep on the floor when they were allowed to rest, and if they didn’t row fast enough, they were whipped by their overseers.”

Several of the children squirmed, looking queasy and restless; this talk of slavery was clearly making them uncomfortable. And Marli saw it—she must have—but she persisted regardless.

“They were fed with scraps and leftovers, given just enough to stay alive, and diseases spread very quickly—and when one of them died, which happened nearly every day, he was simply thrown into the ocean to be eaten by the fishes. Haenir lost his younger brother that way, and many of his friends, during his three long years as a slave. Then, one day, he and the others rebelled, and they managed to take over the ship. This was a miraculous feat, as they were half-starved and had no weapons, and slaves attempted it all the time without success, but from the accounts of several of Haenir’s fellow slaves as well as the journal of the captain of the ship, it may be that Haenir himself made the difference, with his courage, his strategic mind, and his skill as a leader.

“The slaves steered for land as soon as they could, and when they reached Ametris, they scattered, turning their steps toward home. But Haenir had seen his village burn and his family die, and he had lost both brothers on the ship, his youngest to illness and his oldest in the rebellion. He had no one, and had nowhere to go. That was the fate of many during the war: men and women alike would lose everything they had, and would be left with only blood, and fire, and death.”

By this point, Marli’s audience was entranced: the roof over their heads could have caved in right that second, and most of them probably would not have noticed. Kamilé watched her with wide eyes, holding Everan’s hand whenever the story frightened her, and even Everan listened carefully, for he had seen nothing like this in the many histories of Ametris that he had read.

“So Haenir did what, in his mind, any man would have done: he took up arms and joined the fighting. He chose sides very carefully, and at first, he truly believed that he had selected the army with the best morals, the best claims, and the fairest practices. But in that, he was disappointed. He came to learn that there were hundreds of armies of varying sizes roaming Ametris, and all were alike in violence and cruelty. War brings out the worst in people, and men change when a weapon is placed in their hands…I am so glad that none of you will ever live to see anything like that.

“In the end Haenir decided to raise his own army, one comprised of all races and dedicated to stopping the conflict entirely, instead of creating more, and uniting the warring lands instead of rushing to claim his own piece of S—of Ametris. It was a constant struggle for him to keep his men in check, and due to his strict practices and punishments, his army always stayed small. But Haenir was a brilliant tactician, and did with a small force what lesser men could not have accomplished with ten times as many soldiers.

“Around his eighteenth year, he became caught in a series of fights with one of the more brutal armies. Haenir was determined to crush them, but they were always one step ahead of him, and outnumbered him nearly twenty to one. For their final battle, Haenir’s scouts told him that their enemies were heading toward Lanaesa” She pointed, on the map, to a spot on the northern edge of Ametris’s largest lake. “The scouts reported that their enemies intended to use Lanaesa as a base of operations to invade the nearest human city; Ametris was much more populous back then, or it had been before the fighting, and even the towns occasionally had more people than Kocha, but Lanaesa, though large, was not very well protected, so it would be easy to invade. It lay right at the edge of this lake, so close that the southernmost buildings were supported by stilts so they did not fall into the water, and lay barely half a mile from a city of merpeople of almost the same size, beneath the water of course, who used Lanaesa as a trading post.

“Haenir traveled hard and fast to reach Lanaesa in time to stop his enemies—but he was too late. Instead of taking the city, the army had put it to the torch, and collapsed the supports it stood on. The whole city fell into the lake, all the ash and the rubble and the bodies. And the merpeople, they breathe water like we breathe air, and all the ash choked them like smoke. Hundreds of them died, and as Haenir approached the lakeside, he could see their bodies floating to the surface and washing ashore.

“Now, you have to understand…the merpeople had done nothing in the war, and had taken no sides, because they couldn’t—they were stranded in the water, and were of absolutely no use to anyone on land. They were friendly and generous people, as they are now, and had been kind and helpful to Haenir whenever he had crossed paths with them before; one of them had even helped guide his ship to shore after the slaves had rebelled. They were innocent. And they didn’t deserve it.

“Seeing them slaughtered like that broke Haenir, heart and soul and mind, in a way few of us will ever understand. He ran to the shore and fell to his knees beside the body of a young mermaid, hoping to revive her, but she was already gone. All of them were. Haenir cried out in despair then, to the gods in heaven, and begged them to stop the war and all the violence before it was too late, before all the good in the world was corrupted and destroyed.

“I doubt he ever dreamed that he would receive an answer—but he did, from the most powerful of all the gods. He looked up to see that the world had gone dark around him, and time seemed to have stopped: his men were frozen in place and unresponsive, the air was still, and even the waves had stopped halfway up the stand. Then a ray of light broke through the clouds, and in its light descended a beautiful woman, who landed on the water and walked over it as if it were solid earth.

“He described her later as wearing a simple white dress and nothing more, with long curling black hair and eyes so brilliant that he could not meet them—he was afraid that they would blind him. And her face, he said, was both old and young, lovely, yet terrible. It was a mother’s face: all-knowing and wise, gentle, but fierce, capable of great mercy toward her children, and unspeakable wrath toward anyone who would hurt them. The goddess spoke to him then, and by Haenir’s own account, he had never been more afraid, or in awe, in his life than he was when he first heard her voice.

“She told him that the war had gone on for far too long, and that soon there would be nowhere in the world that was unsullied, and no one in the world pure of heart. But Haenir, she said, was one of the last there was, and clever, and brave. She told him that she needed an envoy on earth, someone whose descendants would carry out her will on earth for all time. And Haenir, of course, did not refuse her—he couldn’t. He promised to do whatever she asked of him.

“But the goddess gave him no instructions, and told him nothing at all. Instead, she simply placed the Heart of Ametris in his hands. Has anyone seen the Heart of Ametris before?”

A few of the children raised their hands, their eyes bearing the most curious expression, as if they had been dazed by a blow to the head.

“Good. Hopefully all of you will during the Gathering—it is truly a beautiful sight. It looks like this—” And she turned and drew a circle on the slate, then divided it by a graceful curving line down the middle. “It looks a bit like a silver coin, only it’s the size of your head. One side is black, with a white circle, and the other side is white with a black circle. It is meant to represent the nature of man: both evil and good, with even the best man still flawed and even the worst man still possessing a hint of virtue. It is a symbol of balance, and wisdom.

“Haenir took the Heart and asked the goddess what he was meant to do with it. The goddess had only one command: Protect my children. But according to Haenir, she never spoke those words: he heard them in his mind, as loudly as if she had shouted them, as she took his face in her hands and lifted his head so she could look into his eyes. The brilliance of them overwhelmed him—they say that his eyes turned from brown to silver in that moment as they soaked up the goddess’s light. He felt her kiss his forehead, leaving a burning mark, and lost consciousness at her touch.

“And when he woke, it was a new world: the mist covered the sky, the waters were clean, the fires out, the bodies gone. But no one remembered what had happened. They knew who they were, who their families were, where they were from, but could recall nothing about the war. Only Haenir remembered. He knew, then, that his purpose in life was to rebuild Ametris into a united and peaceful country, and that he and his descendants were meant to ensure that Ametris did not stray from grace again. He spent the rest of his long life doing exactly that. He married and had three children, and his oldest daughter was born a Chosen after him, and her son was Chosen after her, and so on through the years…questions?”

Several hands shot up at once: Marli had her students well-trained to wait until she was done talking before asking questions. She said it trained them in respect, patience, and the ability to think about what they said before they said it.

She nodded at a little boy, who blurted, “Girls can be Chosen?”

“Yes,” Marli laughed. “Haenir was Chosen by a goddess, why wouldn’t she want women to be Chosen too? Girls can do anything that boys can do.”

“Nuh-uh,” protested another boy. “They can’t be fighters. They’re not strong enough.”

Yes we can! thought Kamilé angrily—but Marli spoke up before she could.

“Of course they are,” Marli corrected him. “Especially in Ametris. Nobody has to fight here, so it doesn’t matter who’s stronger, does it? Anyone else? Vix?”

“Yeah…why was it so hard to stop the war?” inquired a teenage boy leaning against the back wall. “I don’t understand. Couldn’t the people in charge just sit down and talk it over? Why would people who’d never met need to kill each other?”

“A very good question,” said Marli; her smile was bitter, but they could tell that she approved. “And one that I wish I could answer. The reason Ametris is so special is because the nature of mortals does not usually allow us to be peaceful—we are violent by nature, and when we try to talk, we get frustrated and rely on our fists instead. In Ametris, fights are settled by words, and agreements, but during that time, that simply was not possible. One man drunk with power would get greedy and try to take what was not his, and would not listen to reason, so the other men had no choice, they felt, but to fight back with violence, in order to protect what was theirs. And when lords and kings and nobles fight, they usually stay safe in their castles while the lesser men that they rule fight for them. It becomes a game to some people, and the men become nothing more than numbers on paper, and everything becomes attainable if the numbers can add up properly. You are truly lucky to live in a place where none of that can touch you. Who else?”

A girl around Kamilé’s age spoke up, twisting her skirt nervously between her hands. “Um…Professor…do you know where the Chosen is? Everyone’s been looking for him….”

The room fell silent, the tension nearly palpable. Marli set her chalk slowly onto the desk and leaned against it, looking, for the first time in the duration of the lesson, very guarded indeed.

Don’t tell anyone, Everan whispered, in the deepest, most private corner of his mind. Don’t tell, it’s illegal, it’s not right, you know it’s not—

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Marli said gently. “If I did, I’d tell the whole world, so everybody could meet them and love them and treat them like they’re supposed to. The Chosen used to be treated like gods, you know…they would lead every holy ceremony in the country, and travel all around Ametris, and would be worshipped, and adored, and given more gifts than they’d know what to do with. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

“But that’s enough for now—let’s take a recess. Everyone meet back here in an hour for the next lesson.”

3: Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 

Kamilé and Everan were outside before Marli had even finished speaking. They ducked into the bushes and hid while the rest of the children poured out of the schoolhouse, careful to avoid being seen: other children did not generally react well to their presence.

Marli was the last to leave, turning her steps west, toward the square, no doubt to join Kayle for a mid-morning repast. Nobody in Ametris even had locks on their doors, and the schoolhouse was no exception, but Marli did not even close it on her way out; she was, Everan thought smugly, making it far too easy.

Stay here and stand guard, he whispered to Kamilé. I’m going in.

And he slipped back into the schoolhouse, closing the door carefully behind him.

Two years ago, a few older boys had tried to pick on Kamilé, and Everan had jumped on one of them and broken his nose before the others could pull him off. By the time the adults intervened he was in much worse shape, but of course they were more worried about the kid he’d hit, who had started sobbing like a baby as soon as he felt his nose crack. At the sight of blood the previous schoolteacher, a middle-aged grandmother who’d been teaching so long that she had her lessons memorized, had had a nervous breakdown and quit rather than deal with the twins any longer.

They’d been banned from school grounds since then—but, much like their banishment from the square and the library and all of Kocha, they chose to ignore it. Everan dragged Kamilé down to the schoolhouse as often as she was willing to come, and they would sit in the bushes and watch and listen through the open door with their sharp eyes and ears as Marli taught the other children lessons, and Everan would bring parchment and a wax crayon and practice whatever they were learning. Kamilé would try too, if she were interested, and Marli was so engaging a teacher that it was rarely a problem, though she still refused to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic, seemingly on principal.

But they had never been inside the schoolhouse while Marli taught there. Today was the first day—and Everan only risked going inside because he needed to get a better look at the place before he searched it. If Marli were hiding something—and he was almost certain that she was—this was the first place to look.

He walked gingerly over the braided rug, past the waist-high shelves laden with books and parchment and art supplies, past the children’s drawings on the wall—one of which, he was grateful to see, was Kamilé’s. She had drawn one in the library a few days ago and insisted that Kayle give it to Marli. He would have to tell her later, but for now he shut her out so he could concentrate. There had to be something here, somewhere….

Thanks to a combination of his small size, his natural abilities, and years of practice, he could move silently over almost any terrain, even at a full run; it took him almost no time at all to reach Marli’s desk. On the surface he could find nothing of interest, just bits of parchment covered in her handwriting, which he had always thought appeared deliberate and painstaking to the point of childish. But he would not have expected anything to be lying out in the open. He pulled open one of the two desk drawers, expecting to find more useless junk to clear before he could start looking for false bottoms and hidden messages….

But instead he found what he was seeking, sitting neatly in the empty drawer. It was a book, bound in real leather of the type that only rich humans could want or afford, and the embossed silver title was in a language he didn’t know.

It was almost too easy, but he was too excited to care about that. He picked it up and flipped eagerly through it, studying the graceful curves of the new characters. They were not much different than the ones he was used to, but there was something strange about them…something familiar…. There aren’t any other languages, he thought to himself. Not anymore. So why does it feel like I’ve seen these before…?

Maybe because you have, replied a voice that was not Kamilé’s.

Everan nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the book as he backed against the wall. He was no longer alone in the room: as he looked up, he saw Marli leaning against the door, watching him in silent scrutiny.

But—how— His thoughts were wild, disjointed, panicked. I—I had Kamilé—

The same voice spoke to him again. Don’t blame her—I snuck in through the window. I thought it was about time we talked.

This time, there was no doubt: that was Marli’s voice he heard inside his head. Marli’s! It was impossible—no one knew how to do this but him and Kamilé, it was their secret power, something that only twins could do, and only with each other….

You’re mistaken, said Marli, and across the room, her face took on a gentler expression. Where I’m from, lots of people can do this. It isn’t very difficult to learn. I didn’t mean to frighten you….

But Everan had already drawn his knife from his belt. GET AWAY FROM US! he shouted at her. GET OUT OF MY HEAD! It was a horrible feeling, her presence: not painful, but too controlling and too invasive, as if a hand had reached inside him and grabbed a handful of his guts.

The pressure of her mind against his receded somewhat, until their thoughts were just barely connected, and they could only hear what they intentionally projected to one another. It was how he was with Kamilé, sometimes, when he wanted to think through something privately, though she rarely ever noticed as long as he didn’t withdraw completely. This, however, was different: he and Kamilé were connected on an extraordinarily deep level, mind to mind and soul to soul…but his whole body trembled at the strange feeling of this connection, and his head fought to push Marli back with every second of contact.

I’m sorry, Marli told him, raising her hands in surrender. I really am. I just needed to talk to you alone—

STOP IT! He couldn’t stand to hear her voice in his head. I’ll kill you, I swear to all the gods—

It was a mark of how terrifyingly strange Marli was that she did not cringe or whimper or turn pale, the way any other Ametrisan would have at the mere sight of a knife brandished at them. Instead, impossibly, she smirked. No, she told him. You won’t.

I will! he fumed, infuriated. I don’t care, I’m not afraid of you, I—

It happened more quickly than his eyes could follow. One moment, he was raging at Marli, who listened with arms folded and eyebrows raised; then something silver flashed through the air, and he found himself standing frozen in place while a knife quivered next to his head, its point stuck in the wood an inch away from his scalp. And Marli was still standing in the same spot, scratching absentmindedly at a spot on her arm.

NOW you could kill me, she told him calmly. Well, maybe. It wouldn’t be easy, but it’s a hell of a lot harder when I’m armed. She looked up at him, her pale eyes indecipherable. You should always know if someone’s armed before you threaten them….

Everan was too stunned to move, too shocked to process any of her words. This was like one of Kamilé’s nightmares: if she had them while he was still awake, and if they were bad enough, her dreams would take over his reality, and he would see spectral visions float before his eyes, and hear distorted voices shouting wordlessly in his ears. And when that happened, he, like Kamilé, would be unable to move, forced to stand there, staring, while people were trying to kill them….

Wh-what are you? he demanded, though even he could hear how weak and frightened his mental voice sounded. You…you’re….

I’m a friend, she assured him. I want to help you.

You just threw a knife at my head!

Marli snorted. Really, Everan? You think I was actually aiming for you? I missed on purpose. I would never hurt either of you. Look, you want proof? Keep it. It was a gift from my father before he died, but you need it more than I do, and I know you’ll take care of it. Go on, take it.

Everan reached up, slowly, and grabbed the hilt of the still-quivering knife: communication by telepathy was as fast as thought itself, and only a second or two at most had passed since Marli had thrown it. He tugged it from the wall and turned it over in his hand, blinking numbly at it, still wholeheartedly convinced that he was trapped in another dream. But the dagger felt real enough in his hands. It was a weapon of death, yes, but Everan was not afraid of it, and could therefore see the beauty in it: it was crafted from the finest steel, with a curved twelve-inch blade and an edge so sharp it chilled him to the bone. The hilt was made from what appeared to be wood from the Great Tree, inlaid with delicate patterns of silver and ending in a sapphire pommel. He had never seen a real gem before, and the way this one shone and sparkled in the light entranced him.

Beautiful, isn’t it? said Marli fondly. My dad gave that to me when I was five years old. It’s a family heirloom, worth a small fortune, but there are some things you just don’t sell no matter how badly you need the money. And just in case you were wondering, I was keeping it in my sleeve.

But Everan was barely listening. Why are you…? Why is this…?

Because I have a feeling you’re going to need it soon, said Marli quietly. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…alone….

It finally clicked: two threads connected in his brain, and he finally realized what it was that she wanted, and why he needed to be alone. No, he said at once. No, I’m not talking to you, EVER—

Everan, please. I’m just trying to—                

Is this even a real book? he demanded, and gave the book a vicious kick. Or did you just write in gibberish to bait me into coming in here?

It’s a real book, and I want you to have that too. It’s a biography of Haenir. It’s where I got today’s lesson. She watched him cautiously as she spoke, as if expecting him to spring at her any second. I think it would give you and Kamilé a lot to talk about….

NO! he yelled at her. You don’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t know ANYTHING—

I know that you’re the Chosen, said Marli quietly. You and Kamilé both. And I know that you’ve been keeping it from her. I could hear you thinking about it during the lesson, I could hear you begging me not to tell anyone what the Chosen looked like, because then she might figure it out…because they’d look exactly like you, wouldn’t they? Black hair, silver eyes, and a mark….

Far from being one of Kamilé’s nightmares, this had now twisted and mutated into one of his own. If Marli could see it, the rest of them would too, and then…. How…did you…?

Did you never wonder who I was? Marli told him, though she spoke very gently. Don’t tell me you didn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have snuck in here…. Look.

Everan flinched as she raised her hands, but she merely unlatched the silver chain that was always fastened around her neck and held the necklace up. And, for the first time, he was able to see the pendant: a tiny Heart of Ametris, no bigger than a coin. She tossed it to him, and he caught it instinctively: it was lighter than he had expected, and it felt strange, as if the metal were hollow. It wasn’t silver, beneath the jet and pearl façade of the Heart; it was something else….

Turn it over, said Marli softly.

He did as he was asked. On the other side of the pendant, etched into the silver backing, were words and what he guessed were numbers, though all of it was in the same strange language as the book. He traced the elegant letters with the tip of his finger. I can’t read it….

It says, ‘Given by the Order of Ages to Remín Inachi on this fort-second day of spring in the year 453.’

Gods, muttered Everan in awe: it was currently the year 7074. Who is…? I’ve heard this name before….

Inachi was Haenir’s second child, said Marli. Marsöli was his first-born, who was born a Chosen, and whose descendants became Chosen as well…that includes you. The main line, the Haenir line, all had black hair and silver eyes, just like Haenir himself. But when a Chosen died before he or she could have children, or when there were no descendants to be born a Chosen, the gods would choose a descendant of her brother Inachi. Remín Inachi was one of those Chosen. And he was also my great-grandfather.

Really? Then you….

I have Chosen blood as well, yes. She sounded almost sad as she told him, and stared wistfully out the window, heedless of his disbelief and fear. Not much, but enough to make me look like Remín the same way you look like Haenir. It’s enough. Chosen blood is more powerful than you’ll ever know….

But you…. His head was spinning; he could barely form a cohesive thought. How have I never…?

Heard of me before? It’s because I’m not from here, she told him. I’m not from Ametris.

Then how—?

Marli shrugged. I’m still not sure, she said. I think that necklace helped a lot, it has strange powers…and my Chosen blood, of course. But it seems to me that it was the gods’ will that I come here. They wanted me here to help you…. And Everan, you have no idea how hard I’ve been trying. Do you know I’ve been trying to get you alone for a year now? When I heard you thinking about sneaking in today, I couldn’t believe my luck….

Everan’s stomach sank; he knew where this was going, and what she was going to tell him. She can’t know, he said; he meant to snarl the words, but his voice sounded thin and pleading to his ears. She can’t. Nobody can.

And why not? Marli asked him.

Because they’ll—they won’t believe us—they’ll hate us more—and if they do, they’ll make us do all sorts of things, I don’t even know what, celebrations and prayers and—and they’ll make us do whatever they want, because we’re the Chosen, because we’re supposed to keep Ametris safe. But they can go to hell after the way they treated us, they can all burn and die, they’d deserve it, I won’t help them!

And Kamilé, said Marli. Why doesn’t she deserve to know?

Because…. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he said it; he had to turn away. Because she wouldn’t understand. She’s too young.

She’s the same age as you, Marli pointed out. And you’ve known for…how long?

Since we were two, he said impatiently. But I’ve kept it from her all this time because I had to, because it’s—she and I aren’t the same. She needs someone to protect her. She doesn’t need to be…to be burdened by all of this. She wouldn’t understand.

Everan, you can’t make that decision for her—

Yes I can! he nearly shouted at her, so forcefully that she winced and backed away ever so slightly. Of course I can, I’ve been looking out for her all our lives, nobody knows what’s best for her like I do! You don’t understand, I’m all she has, I have to protect her, and if she knows about this—

What? demanded Marli. What is the worst that could happen, Everan?

She won’t understand! he insisted. YOU don’t understand! If she knows she’ll—she’ll tell everyone, and they won’t believe her, and she’ll…she’ll wonder why everyone hates us, if we’re really the Chosen, because they’re supposed to love us…and she’ll be heartbroken. She likes pretending she’s a Chosen, she thinks that’s what she wants, but she doesn’t—it’s horrible. It’s why people hate us. And one day, when they realize what we are, they’ll pretend they’re sorry, and beg us to be their little puppets, and…and I can’t think of anything worse. We’ll be their prisoners, like Kayle, we’ll have to do whatever they want because they’re feeding us, and because they’ll hate us if we don’t….

And you think keeping Kamilé in the dark will make all of that easier if it happens? Marli asked him.

I wasn’t going—I’m going to tell her! he said defensively. I will, I swear! Just…not now. She’s not ready. Maybe when she’s twelve…or fourteen. When she’s a bit more grown up.

Fourt—? Everan, you can’t wait that long! Marli protested. Please, you have to tell her, today, NOW—

What—why? Her tone alarmed him; his fingers instinctively tightened their grip on the dagger.

Because these things you think Chosen do—that isn’t it, that isn’t everything, there’s REAL danger, REAL fighting, and gods only know when it will start…you two are in danger, or you will be, and you have to PREPARE her. I can help you, I can teach you how to protect yourselves, but you need to tell her the truth!

What? We’re not in danger, we can’t be! It’s Ametris, nobody’s in real danger here….

If you think that, you’re not as smart as I thought you were, said Marli angrily. Would you please just listen to me? You need to tell her, as soon as you can, or else I will.

You can’t—you have no right to—!

I absolutely will, Everan! She needs to know before something happens, not after! One of the Chosen was taken when he was only seven years old!

Taken? What’s…? The word sent chills through his bones.

You aren’t helping her, Everan. You aren’t protecting her anymore by keeping her in the dark, you’re just making it harder for her. Tell her or I will!

I don’t…I can’t…I was going to wait until…until after our birthday, at least. After the Gathering. It’ll…I don’t want it to ruin it for her, she’s looking forward to it so much….

Marli sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. One week, she warned him. I’m giving you one week to tell her, and then I’ll do it. She needs to know.

He hated her for doing this, hated her so much that he could have killed her. But he was too overwhelmed by everything she had told him, too confused by the sudden and unnerving shift in his view of her and relationship with her, and too frightened by her terrifying abilities to think clearly. There had to be a way around this, there had to be, and he would find it…but for the moment, he had no other choice.

One week, he agreed, reluctantly. I’ll tell her then.   

 

Kamilé was waiting for him when he emerged from the schoolhouse, blissfully unaware of everything that had happened, and everything that had changed, within the space of the past few minutes.

Did you find anything? she asked him eagerly as he took her by the hand and led her hurriedly away. Was there anything in there? I kept watch just like you said, Everan, and I didn’t see ANYONE, I swear….

Yeah, he said heavily. You did a good job. He stifled a sigh as the schoolhouse disappeared from sight behind the trees. But it’s no good. I didn’t find anything.

Kamilé stopped short, digging her heels into the dirt until he stumbled to a halt. Everan, you’re lying, she accused him, her eyes wide and nervous. Why are you lying?

The book, the dagger, and the necklace seemed to weigh a hundred pounds each inside the canvas bag he always wore across his back—but still, he bit his tongue. I just meant—I didn’t find anything interesting, he amended quickly. Nothing I can use. That much, at least, was true; what was he to do with a necklace, a knife, and a book he couldn’t even read? I still don’t know why she acts the way she does…. And that was the truth as well. Let’s just go—let’s go somewhere else. Okay? Wherever you want.

Kamilé’s eyes lit up; all thoughts of lying were abandoned. Can we go swimming? she asked him. He nodded, and she beamed with pleasure and skipped ahead of him, dragging him along behind her. He followed in silence, lost in his own thoughts.

They skirted around the north side of the square, keeping well out of sight, and approached the western side of the Great Tree at a wide angle. Here, where the Great Tree met the river, huge roots taller than a house rose from the ground and jutted into the water, forming small still areas close to the bank and a dangerously swift and deep current in the center. One root stretched all the way to the other side with only a few feet to spare, but only one: this was the Iiyana River, the main channel through the forest, flowing from the largest of the Eastern Lakes to the southern ocean, and here, at its widest point, even the Great Tree had trouble bridging such a massive span. It was terrifyingly open out on the water, and the other side was barely visible through the thin mist, but they felt safe as long as they remained within the sheltered foliage of the muddy banks.

As soon as they reached the water’s edge, Kamilé threw off her clothes and jumped into the water, leaving Everan to pick them up from the damp grass and hang them over a branch. Instead of joining her, he took a few careful minutes to climb halfway up a nearby tree, then scoot out onto a branch and drop gingerly onto one of the fat roots of the Great Tree. It was wider at that point than most of the roads through Kocha’s square, yet he still kept his arms out to catch himself as he walked along the root until it dropped into the water. At this point he sat down, his boots dangling a couple of feet from the water’s surface, and pulled out the book Marli had given him.

Kamilé’s head popped out of the water near his feet. Whatcha reading? she inquired.

Oh, just a history book, Everan told her. She had started losing interest even before asking the question, and he doubted that she would push the issue. And he was right: she flashed him a bright smile, then dove back under the water, searching for fish to play with.

But the more he looked through the book, the less he was sure that it was a history of anything. Every other page or so had a separate, shorter line of characters at the top, like a chapter heading, but with numbers—it looked, to him, like somebody’s handwritten journal. Had Marli been lying, or was this book a copy of Haenir’s own journal about his adventures? It was certainly possible: according to Kayle, there were much older books still in his library. The Great Tree possessed some sort of magic, he said, that preserved the books and the furniture and even the rugs on the floor for much longer than normal; he claimed that that was why the people in his family lived to be eighty or even ninety years old sometimes. If only Kayle hadn’t been forced to destroy the books about the Chosen…. Everan did not doubt that some of them would be helpful, especially the ones from around the time of Haenir.

Kamilé emerged from the water again and tugged impatiently on his boot. Everan, come play with me, she begged him. Please?

Give me a minute, he told her. I’m reading.

You’re always reading, she complained. C’mon, Everan, the book’ll be there forever, won’t it?

It wouldn’t, and he almost said so—but then he realized that Kamilé wouldn’t either. None of this would be here forever. She was growing up, and soon all of this would have to change.

So instead, he got up and climbed back onto the bank. He tucked his clothes carefully into his bag, hung it on a tree branch, and joined Kamilé in the water, though he stopped when it reached his waist. But she pulled him forward, as hyper and playful as a kitten, until he was so deep that he had to cling to a tree branch to keep from sinking.

D’you want me to teach you how to swim? Kamilé offered. I could. ‘S easy.

Do you want me to teach you how to read? Everan retorted. In truth, he knew how to swim: he could feel exactly what Kamilé did with each muscle when she did it, and he knew that if he tried, he could imitate her without too much difficulty. But he was afraid, even though he would never admit it to her. The water was clear enough that he could see his legs moving like dark shadows beneath him, but under that, who knew what was lurking in here? And there was always the danger of sinking, or getting caught in something, or being pulled out into the current…. No, he felt much safer right here in sight of the bank, with something solid to cling to.

Don’t wanna read, Kamilé muttered. She sank back underneath the water, searching the riverbed for turtles or smooth stones or other sunken treasures. What’s the point? I have you.

You won’t always, he almost told her. You won’t forever. But it was no use telling her; she’d only deny it, fervently and persistently, until the day he turned out to be right.

But today….

Kamilé? he asked her on a sudden whim. How would you like to go on an adventure?

The top of Kamilé’s head slid out of the water, her eyes wide with curiosity. Huh?

Like Kilio and Tara, he insisted. We could go travel somewhere like they did, we could go see the—the mountains, or the lakes, or—

The ocean! she said excitedly. Could we see the ocean?

I—sure, he said. Why not? He would hate it, he knew, but if it made her happy, he didn’t care. We can get started right now, leave in the morning—all we need to do is steal some supplies first. What do you say?

Everan, we can’t go right NOW! Kamilé chided him. We have our birthday, remember?

Oh…right, he muttered. And you still want to spend it here?

Of course! There’s going to be a big party, and music, and dancing, and lots of food, and all sorts of new people, I can’t wait! We can’t miss it, Everan, we have to go. But can we go after?

After the Gathering? Sure, he said. As long as they escaped Kocha before Marli found them, his plan would still work perfectly. We’ll leave the very next morning. Okay?

Okay! She beamed at him, looking so happy and excited that he couldn’t help but smile—and at the sight of him smiling, she laughed and hugged him tightly beneath the water, as she always did. I can’t wait, I can’t wait, she sang. I always wanted to see the ocean—oh! Everan! Do you think there’s really merpeople there?

Maybe, he allowed. I mean, why wouldn’t there be?

Right! I know! And I bet we could find ‘em, I bet they’d like company, I bet they never get to talk to anyone from the land. I wish I could be a mermaid, and swim around and never need to breathe, I bet there’s tons of things underwater, like castles and sunken ships with treasure and weird fish…. C’mon, let’s play merpeople—remember when Kilio and Tara saved them from a giant eel? You be Kilio, okay?

He played along with her game, for once offering no complaint. Kamilé was still so childish…. She refused to grow out of so many of her childhood fantasies, like going on adventures with pirates and princesses and sunken treasure, or winning Ametris’s love by saving everyone from a disaster, or marrying Everan when they were old enough, despite the fact that they were brother and sister. She insisted that all of these things would happen, someday, and that when Everan tried to convince her otherwise, he was being “boring” and she would one day prove him wrong.

But she was sweet, and cheerful, and anyone who gave her a chance came to love her as they never loved him, and he knew that as she grew older, the other elves would start to see her differently, and she’d finally be treated the way she deserved. And, inevitably, some boy would fall in love with her, and all thoughts of marrying her twin would be forgotten. And Everan…well, he would simply have to step aside and try not to get in her way, for at that point, he would just be dragging her down. Nobody was ever going to like him or accept him, and unlike Kamilé, he knew he was destined to be alone forever.

Still, he hadn’t lost her yet. And as long as she didn’t know she was a Chosen, as long as the elves had no reason to love her, he could still spend every day with her. One day he would have to tell her that they couldn’t swim naked anymore, that she couldn’t marry him, that she was a Chosen and would have to act like one. One day he would have to tell her that Kilio and Tara’s adventures were all made up, and that princesses and giant eels didn’t exist in Ametris, and that being a Chosen simply meant that everyone who had ever been cruel to her or ignored her when she needed them would one day expect her to devote her life to them and lead them in prayers and useless ceremonies every season for the rest of her days. One day he would have to crush all her dreams under the cold, hard boot of reality.

But not today. Today she was still a happy child without a care in the world; today he had her all to himself. And if his plan worked, he’d get to keep her for much, much longer than one short week. 

4: Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 

When Marli had gotten the position as Kocha’s schoolteacher, after weeks of wheedling and convincing on Kayle’s part, they had given her a thin bedroll and a blanket and told her that she could sleep in the schoolhouse for free. They must have thought themselves generous, giving her a roof over her head and free food and clothing instead of paying her, but she privately disagreed, and when the day was over, she never returned to the schoolhouse to sleep. Instead, she kept the bedroll tucked in a dusty corner underneath her desk and sought the library, where Kayle would share his bed with her every night.

But that night, she couldn’t sleep: it was too hot and stuffy in the windowless library, and she felt as if the warm, muggy air were suffocating her. So just after midnight, she kicked off the blankets and slipped barefoot out of Kayle’s room.

The architects of the library had been kind enough to set aside expansive apartments for the library’s caretakers, conveniently placed with the entrance right across from the front door. When she emerged from the archway beneath the stairs, she could have easily skirted around Kayle’s desk and walked outside—the library door wasn’t even locked. But she was filled with restless energy, and in any case, there was nowhere to go that was more beautiful, and more like her home, than here. So she climbed the stairs to the second floor, then three different sets of steps located absurdly far away from each other, until she reached a small door tucked away in a corner of a dusty room. She tugged at the stiff latch until it opened, then slipped outside.

Perching high above the treeline, the wide, elegant balcony overlooked the southern forest, as well as the Iiyana river to the west, the waterfall where it plummeted off the tangle of the Great Tree’s roots and packed earth that formed the cliffs, the lake where the water gathered at the bottom, and the two small rivers that led back into the forest. In Ametris, the mist always made the nights eerily dark, unless the full moon was out: then, the mist shone with a silvery light that illuminated the world in a strange, ghostly contrast. But the full moon would not be for a few days yet, and as of now Marli could barely even see the trees, or the thin ribbons of water snaking their way south from the lake, though she could hear the distant roar of the waterfall and the faint rustling of the trees.

The night air was still warm, and still uncomfortably humid, but it was an improvement on the still, heavy air of the library: here, there was a better chance of catching one of the tiny breezes that the elves considered wind. She leaned against the balcony and looked out at the world, wishing that the mist would dissipate for just a few minutes, so she could see the ocean, and the stars.

Sometime later, as she stood lost in thought, she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and a door opening behind her. She did not need to look to know that it was Kayle, but as he walked onto the balcony, she turned anyway, to reassure him with a smile as he came toward her.

“Hi,” he said, and paused to cover his mouth as he yawned. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No…I just couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe in there.”

“It does get hot in there,” he said apologetically. “But it’s the middle of summer, what did you expect?”

“It’s always too warm here,” she informed him—though she welcomed his heat as he put his arm around her shoulders. “Even when it’s snowing…which is strange.” She frowned up at the mist overhead. “So when it rains, or snows, are the clouds on the other side of the mist, or…?”

“I’m sorry…the what?” said Kayle, blinking in confusion behind his glasses.

“The clouds,” she repeated, her stomach sinking. Please don’t do this again, it’s depressing, please tell me you know what they are….

“What are clouds?”

Marli sighed. “Really?” she insisted. “You don’t know what clouds are either?” She had nearly cried when she’d found out that he had never seen the stars, and did not even know what they were.

Kayle shrugged, looking away. “Sorry…” he mumbled.

“No, it’s…it’s not your fault,” she promised him. “But I mean, really…where do you people think the rain comes from?”

“From the sky,” he said simply, as if she were the slow one.

“And that doesn’t bother you? You’ve never wondered how it works?”

“No. I mean…I don’t know how it works. It just is.”

Marli had to suppress a groan, reminding herself that Kayle wasn’t to blame, and that he could hardly know something that probably wasn’t even written in a book. Kayle was, in fact, much more clever than anyone she’d met here so far, and a hundred times more well-read, and he was one of the most intelligent people that she’d ever known. But he could only be so different from his peers.

And he was different. He could read, which in Ametris put him in an elite category from the beginning; though he cringed at them in real life, he loved learning about adventures and battles and weapons, which would make most of his fellows feel ill; he drank wine, and stronger spirits on occasion, which were so rare here that he had to procure them from a hidden cellar in the library; and he was willing to break the rules, in his own timid, halfhearted way. And, most importantly, he didn’t hate her at first sight, as almost everybody else had. He was as close to a kindred spirit as she was likely to find in this place…with the possible exception of the twins.

In light of that, she probably should have been nicer to him—but it was just too fun to tease him. “Do you people even know what the sun is?” she said with a grin. “Or the moon?”

“Of course we do,” grumbled Kayle. “We’re not idiots.”

“Oh? Then what is the sun, exactly?”

“It’s…it’s the glowing yellow part of the mist. The part that moves.”

Marli had to laugh, if only to keep from crying. As long as she kept up a detached sense of amusement, it didn’t bother her how bleak and rustic and ignorant this place truly was. “Close enough,” she told him. “You get credit for trying.”

“Now, see,” he teased back with a grin, “this is why I knew you’d make a perfect teacher. Because you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything.”

“Please. You can’t possibly.”

“Well I know more than you.”

“Only about things that don’t matter.”

“Yeah? And what does matter? How to alphabetize a bookshelf?”

“Ha, ha. Fine, you win—you’re smarter. Happy?”

“And prettier. C’mon, admit it.”

“Are you kidding me? No, I’m prettier. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

She laughed again, her spirits lighter than they had been all day. “Fine,” she said. “You win. Anything interesting happen today?” They normally caught up in the evenings before bed, but Kayle had been kept far too busy by the upcoming Gathering. Midsummer also marked the beginning of a new year, so in addition to keeping a census for the Elders of the total number of guests arriving in a few days, he also had to gather all the records and materials he would need for the day after midsummer, which was when he started to consolidate the demographics for the past year—births, deaths, changes in city populations, expenses, exports and imports from other areas in Ametris, and all sorts of other dry subjects—into one final record to be stored in the library’s vault. It was, he liked to joke, the two weeks of the year when he actually earned his keep.

“Just writing,” said Kayle, shaking out his right hand with a grimace. “A lot of writing. I told myself I’d be ready for it this year….”

“You can’t,” Marli reassured him. “It’s the Elders that are disorganized, not you. If they had their ducks in a row, then your job would be much easier.”

Kayle gave her a quizzical look. “Marli…don’t judge me for this, but…?”

She sighed. “You don’t know what a duck is, do you?”

“I don’t. What is it?”

“It’s a bird,” she explained, trying her best not to let her depression show through her voice. Every day it grew harder and harder to live in this place…yet what choice did she have? There was no going home now. “Like a chicken. It lives on the water.”

“Oh.” He gave her another look, then, slowly, pulled her close for a tight hug. “What happened to your necklace?”

Marli looked down and realized that she’d been toying with the collar of her shirt in place of the chain of her necklace. She felt so naked without it, and lost—just as she did without her dagger concealed on her person. They need it more than I do, she reminded herself. They’ll actually put it to good use. They need it and I don’t. But it still felt like a piece of her was missing.

“I….” She had to laugh; everything that happened seemed so unreal, so absurd. “I gave it to Everan.”

“What? Why?”

“Because…. Dear gods it has been the strangest day. The two of them showed up at school—”

“Oh, no….”

“I know, but nobody even seemed to know that they were there this time. They just appeared in the back of the class as soon as it started. Then they ran out before everyone else for the recess. I left for a bit, and when I came back, I found Everan digging around in my desk.”

“He was? Why?”

“To find something incriminating.” She could not suppress a grin at the memory, now that it had all been settled. “Apparently he’s suspicious of me because I’ve been trying to be nice to them. They understand why you like them, but not me.”

Kayle laughed and shook his head. “Yep…that sounds like him. Did he find anything?”

“Well, yes and no. I planted my journal in my desk to distract him, because I knew it would drive him crazy that he couldn’t read it.” Secretly, she had been hoping that he could read it, but that, she knew, was optimistic: even she, who had for some bizarre reason picked up Kayle’s language in a few minutes, had still needed a month or two to learn to read and write it. “And then I found him and…and I convinced him that I’m nice to them because I like them. It took a long time.”

“I’ll bet. But why the necklace?”

Marli shrugged, ignoring the sudden pang in her chest. You don’t need it, she told herself once more. And they do. “I thought he’d like to give it to Kamilé. You know, as a birthday gift.”

“I bet he would,” he said. “I bet she’d love it.” Kayle was one of the only people, in Ametris and in her country both, that had even seen the necklace, and that was only because they shared a bed, and she could not always keep it hidden while asleep.

“I’m sure,” said Marli. “I just hope it helps….”

Kayle raised an eyebrow at her. “Helps what?”

But she could not possibly explain it, not to him. She had yet to tell him where she was really from, or who her family was, or any of her secrets…she couldn’t find the words to tell him that before she’d come here, she’d known how to use magic, and had been to royal courts as a guest of honor, and had killed more people than she cared to count. He had no idea who she really was. And she wanted to tell him, she truly did, but what if he didn’t believe her? What if he didn’t understand? If she lost him as a friend, she’d be all alone in this place, and she did not think she was strong enough to bear it.

But Kamilé and Everan…they were a different story. As soon as they were ready, as soon as Everan told Kamilé the truth, she would tell them everything. And she would teach them all she could: how to fight, how to navigate, how to survive in the wilderness, how to talk to kings and queens and great leaders, how to read and write and speak all the languages she knew. She would teach them all that she had learned herself, give them every advantage that she could. But only when they were ready….

If only they’d been raised like her: constantly learning new things, improving her skills and her base of knowledge, in preparation for the day it would all be needed. If only they’d known who they were from the start. Every other Chosen must have known from early on. It must be terrifying, being so different and never knowing why…and devastating, to be hated and feared as much as they were. It wasn’t their fault; people feared what they didn’t understand. And how could these people possibly understand Kamilé and Everan when they didn’t know what they were seeing? All they saw before them were two strange-looking children who didn’t seem quite right, who refused to fit in….

If only they’d been raised differently. If only someone hadn’t made it illegal for them to find out what they were….

“Kayle?” she wondered aloud. “How long ago did the Elders ban talking about the Chosen?”

“Hmm? It’s…it was ten years ago, or close. Why?”

“And you had to destroy all the books on the Chosen?”

“I…well, I…yes,” Kayle muttered. “They made me….”

Marli turned to look at him, noting with sudden interest how uncomfortable he seemed, and how he could not meet her eyes. “But you didn’t destroy them,” she said slowly. “Did you? Not all of them….”

Kayle did not answer—but he looked so flushed, and so troubled, that Marli knew the answer.

“You didn’t!” She clutched at his arm in excitement. “Kayle, where are they?”

“I…I didn’t….”

“Kayle, please,” she begged him. “Please. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I just really need them….”

“I…I can’t,” he muttered. “I hid them.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere they’d…somewhere no one…. Marli, they’re illegal. You can’t.”

“I don’t care,” she said impatiently. “What are they going to do? Take my schoolhouse away? Kayle, please. It wasn’t right to ban those books, you know it wasn’t, and I really need to read them….”

“Why?”

To this, she had no reply; she opened her mouth, then closed it, scrambling to summon an excuse. Finally, she decided to tell the truth—or part of it.

“I think I might know where the Chosen is,” she told him. “If I could just be sure….”

Kayle had been watching her from the corner of his eye, trying hard to conceal his anticipation—but at these words, he sighed and hung his head.

“Marli, the Chosen are gone,” he said heavily. “They don’t exist. That’s why the world is so messed up….”

“You don’t know what ‘messed up’ is, Kayle!” she snapped. “If the Chosen were gone, you’d know it, trust me—things could get a lot worse. Look, they’re out there, and I can find them….”

“Them?”

“Him. Her. Whatever. Whoever it is, they might not even know, not if it’s been banned. You and I could help….”

Kayle was still reluctant, but she could tell that she was winning him over. Nothing appealed to his adventurous side more than to hunt down secret knowledge and use it to aid an undercover hero. “I…it’s just…Marli, I hid them in my parents’ old room.”

“So?” That was the best news yet: that meant that they were right on the other side of the wall in the room where she slept every night.

“So I don’t want to go in there.”

“But….” She faltered at the sight of him running his fingers through his hair, at the bleak expression on his face. “What if you just let me in? I could get them….”

He shook his head. “No….” He took a deep breath and pushed himself back from the railing with his arms. “No, I…I’ll take you. Let’s…let’s just go.”

And he headed back into the library, leaving a confused Marli to trot along in his wake. The whole way back downstairs, he was too preoccupied to even remember that she was there, and often she had to jog to keep up with his long-legged stride. She declined to comment, however; she could tell that he didn’t want to talk. One of the reasons they got along so well was that they never harassed each other about things they didn’t want to talk about. She never talked about where she was from or what she had done, and he never talked about his parents….

When they reached the caretaker’s apartments, they did not turn down the corridor as Marli had expected. Instead they moved into Kayle’s rooms: a cozy little sitting room, a small bedroom, and a washroom. And there was one other door in Kayle’s bedroom, but it had always been blocked off by a bookshelf and a pile of books, and he had never told her where it led….

It was to this door that he led her now, though he dragged his feet more and more with every step. She helped him clear away the books, then stood back as he dragged the cheaply-made bookshelf away from the wall. He fished in his nightstand and retrieved a ring of keys: so rare, in a country where locks were difficult and expensive to make, and so rarely used. Most people didn’t need to lock anything….

Suddenly she was afraid, for the first time since coming to Ametris. Whatever lay on the other side of that door frightened her. But Kayle was already turning the key in the lock, so she kept her mouth shut, clenching her fists against the uneasy feeling.

He opened the door and stepped aside, letting her through first.

The room was, she realized at once, the sitting room that had once belonged to Kayle’s parents. As he followed behind her, holding the lantern from his bedroom, she saw it more clearly: the furniture cozy and worn, the shelves cluttered with ornaments and books, a big empty space in the middle of the rug for dancing or playing. But all of it, from one door to the other, was impregnated with a thick layer of dust. It was clear to her that nobody had been in this room for years.

She turned back to Kayle, who was looking around the room like a lost child. He stepped over to a bookshelf and ran a finger along the spine of a book—then withdrew his hand as if stung. He turned in a helpless circle, chewing on his lip, then drifted to the other side of the sofa like a man in a dream. He withdrew from the corner a stringed instrument and a thin bow, blew some dust off the strings, and pulled the bow across them. The instrument produced a clear sweet note, and then another, and another, long chains of notes that would, eventually, if played in quick succession, spell out a beautiful melody. She watched him, surprised, for she had never known he possessed any inkling of musical talent—but before she could say a word, he shook his head and stowed the instrument away again.

“I didn’t know you could play anything,” said Marli, but quietly: it felt wrong, somehow, to poison the oppressive silence with speech.

Kayle blinked at her for a moment; he seemed to have forgotten that she was there. “Oh…yeah,” he muttered. “My dad taught me. He used to play all the time. I guess you don’t forget.”

No, Marli agreed privately. Some things never left you. But judging by the bleak way Kayle was staring around the room, she guessed that he knew that firsthand.

“Let’s go get the books,” she reminded him gently. This room gave her the chills, and it could not be good for Kayle to stay here long. She tried to imagine returning to her old home, where her father had been killed, and seeing it in this state, with everything she loved and missed covered in dust and forgotten…. She would feel, she knew, exactly how Kayle looked right now.

He shook the cobwebs from his head and turned to the far door, which was locked with another deadbolt in a vain attempt to keep the ghosts inside. Kayle unlocked the door and pushed it open, but seemed afraid to go inside. But when Marli rested her hand on his arm, he shuddered and jolted back into action, stumbling into the room like a drunkard.

It was an innocent enough room, she saw as she entered: a soft rug embroidered with flowers on the floor, a demure white counterpane on the bed, a wardrobe and a vanity against the wall beside a mirror of polished brass. There was a chest at the foot of the bed as well, in front of which Kayle knelt and brandished his keys. Marli watched over his shoulder as he opened the chest, expecting to see piles and piles of books—but to her disappointment, there were only linens inside. Kayle grabbed an armful of them and shoved them aside, but when the stack fell over, Marli saw tiny toddler clothes, a yellowing white dress, a soft green swaddling blanket, an old woven throw bristling with bits of dead grass trapped between the threads…. 

The books were hidden underneath it; Kayle handed them to her without ceremony. There were less than a dozen, and to her dismay, most of them seemed to be children’s books, fictional adventures featuring the Chosen as heroes.

“Is this it?” she asked him as he stuffed the linens back into the chest and closed it again. “Did you get rid of the rest?”

“No,” he told her. “I mean, I tried, but the human’s library wouldn’t take them, they thought Elder Carn would take offense, and I never heard back from the dwarves. So they’re all here.”

“Really? I thought there would be…wait.” Two of his words stuck in her brain, digging in and taking hold. “Elder Carn?”

“Yeah. The Head Elder.”

“But I thought…Srai….”

“She took over a year or two after that. Carn’s only daughter died, and the Elders felt he wasn’t making rational decisions anymore, so they had him step down. They only kept him because he was an Elder for ages, and because of his bloodline.”

Marli snorted. “What bloodline is that? I thought you Ametrisans didn’t have believe in royalty….”

“We don’t,” said Kayle quietly; he was clearly in no mood for teasing. He was leaning against the wall and hugging his arms to his chest, staring blankly at the bed where his parents used to sleep. “But his mother was a Chosen, so the Haenir bloodline.”

Marli turned slowly to face him, and watched him in indignant silence, certain, for a full minute, that he was making some sort of insulting joke. But then she realized that he wasn’t.

“Haenir?” she repeated, her voice rising uncontrollably. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” said Kayle, shrugging. “He says his mother was the last Chosen, or the last that anyone’s seen.”

“And you never told me?” Marli nearly shouted at him.

He frowned, his eyes flicking in her direction for a moment to flash her an odd look. “Why would it matter?” he said. “Or, well…I guess we could ask him about all this, couldn’t we? If we’re careful about it.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Marli promised him, inwardly seething. “So his daughter…?”

“Died. I never met her.” He shrugged again, only half-focused on the conversation. “I think she got sick or something.”

She could not believe how clueless he was. Here she was feeding all the clues to him one by one, standing in front of him with everything he needed to know either in her arms or on her tongue, and he still couldn’t make the connection. “Did you even read any of these?” she demanded to know.

“Most of them. I loved those adventure books when I was a kid. The other ones were too dull, though. One of those is just a genealogy, it’s all names and dates, I couldn’t even follow it at that age.”

That’s when she remembered that these books had been banned when Kayle was only nine years old. It wasn’t his fault if he’d forgotten all the important details since then. “Why’d you hide them in here?” she wondered aloud. “Wouldn’t your dad find them and make you get rid of them?”

Kayle shook his head. “He never went in here, after…it wasn’t the same anymore.” He drifted forward, his hand reaching out to touch a lacquered wooden box resting on the vanity. He sat on the bed as he looked at it—then, spotting a rust-colored stain beside him, quickly rose to his feet again. “Mom spent all her time in here after she got sick, and when she…when she was gone…it just wasn’t the same. He couldn’t stand to be in here. That’s why it seemed like the best place.”

“Oh…right….” She watched as he opened the box, paying more attention to him—his vacant movements, his stiff shoulders—than the contents. From the faint glimmer, she guessed that it was just jewelry, and Ametrisan jewelry was nothing special. Only the dwarves even knew how to cut stones, and their metalwork was primitive at best. But sifting through it like that, when he was already so upset….

She didn’t ask; she would never have felt comfortable asking. But somehow, he sensed that she wanted to know, and told her before she could say a word. “She got the red plague,” he told the heap of gems and metal, very softly. “There isn’t a cure.”

“The red…?” Marli knew someone had mentioned it before, but she had no idea what it was.

“It’s an illness,” he explained. “It’s very contagious. You can get it just by the sweat on their skin, or blood, or tears. It does something to the blood, makes it too thin, and eventually your heart just gives up. It takes a long time….”

“I’m so sorry, Kayle,” said Marli, her heart aching for him. Her mother had been sick too, for a long time, and was probably dead by now…she knew what it was like to sit helpless while someone wasted away in front of her, someone who was supposed to protect her but instead made her feel, inexplicably, like she was meant to protect them…and was failing.

Kayle said nothing; he merely nodded a few times in quick succession, rubbing at his eye with one sleeve. She turned away so he wouldn’t feel self-conscious, but watched him out of the corner of her eye as he closed the jewelry box and turned away—not, however, without removing one of the items and slipping it into his pocket. If it were her own mother’s she would have protested, but since it was his, she refrained from any comment.

“Let’s just get out of here,” he finally muttered.

She trailed behind him as he fled the room, his keys flashing as he locked every lock that he could find between him and the bedroom. In the end she was left alone in his room, frowning at her armful of books as Kayle muttered some excuse, then disappeared into the washroom. When it looked as if he were going to remain there for some time, she drifted into the sitting room, dumped the stack of books onto the sofa beside her, and opened the thickest one, the one Kayle had said was a genealogy.

She had high hopes for the book, but, like most things in Ametris, it disappointed her. It was, as Kayle had told her, the names and dates of birth and death of every Chosen that had ever lived—but that was all. There was no history, no description, no summary of events. The book didn’t even say which race the Chosen happened to be. Just the name on the family tree, with the birth date, the date of death, and a little symbol: a spearhead, a rhombus, a seven-pointed star….

When she saw the seven-pointed star next to Haenir’s name, she flipped immediately to the back of the book, stricken by sudden inspiration. The last quarter or so of the book was blank, presumably to fill in with the next generations of Chosen, and on the final page….

 

ͼ  Kilio and Tara Haenir

12th of autumn, 6949

to 25th of summer, 6970

 

And that was the final entry.

Damn, she muttered to herself, along with a few curses far more foul.

But it made no matter. She would squeeze the rest of the information from another source: Carn Haenir, former Head Elder of Kocha.

And, if she was correct, Kamilé and Everan’s grandfather. 

5: Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 

They were sitting on an outstretched root above their favorite place to swim, on the exact spot where Everan liked to read. But they were facing the other way this time, toward the south, and instead of a tangle of roots and trees and foliage and dark rivulets of water, they could see the waterfall beneath them, shining huge and crystalline in the light of sunset, and their feet dangled over the five hundred foot drop to the lake below. They could see all of Ametris spread out before them, everything, even the mountains and the lakes and the plains that were supposed to be toward the north, and her heart ached with longing at the sight of it, a longing to throw herself forward and explore every single twist and turn of the terrain….

It's not so bad, Everan was telling her. His arm was around her shoulder, his tone low and comforting. It really isn’t, Kamilé. Who cares if people like us or not? We’re lucky not to be like them. We can do whatever we want. Wouldn’t you like that?

She remembered those words: he had spoken them to her before, when they were seven years old. Their adopted mother had left Kocha for a two-week journey months earlier and had never come back; they had fled to Kayle’s library when the winter weather had grown too cold to bear and had been staying there for weeks. But today Elder Srai had caught wind of Kayle’s misconduct and cornered them in the library to tell them, loudly and angrily and in no uncertain terms, that they were forbidden from stepping foot on sacred ground ever again, that they were abominations who tainted the holy energy of every room they entered, and that their mother was never coming back, that she had abandoned them—and who could blame her?—and that without her they were a drain on her city and she wanted them gone. They had fled before Srai could officially banish them, but her words had stung, and Kamilé had been crying inconsolably ever since.

We don’t need the library, Everan promised her. I’ll build us our own house, just for us. Okay? How about that?

Really? she asked him. You really will?

Yes. And you can help too. We can build it up in a tree if you like, so only you and I can get to it, and it’ll be our secret, we won’t even tell Kayle where it is. What do you say?

Okay. She smiled in her dream, the weight in her chest slowly easing.

Good. That’s what we’ll do, then. He gave her a hug, a quick little squeeze of her shoulders. We don’t even need to stay there if we don’t want to, Kamilé. We could go off on adventures, like Kilio and Tara. Go find pirate ships, ride a dragon, climb a mountain, whatever you want.

Really? Can we?

We can. And we will. We don’t need these people. We’ll go have fun instead, and learn how to fight with swords and all of those things, and one day when Kocha’s in trouble they’ll beg us to help them, and we’ll tell them to go to hell. Okay?

She nodded and hugged him tightly, relishing his solid warmth. I love you, Everan, she told him. I love you. It was what you were supposed to say to your family, that’s what their adopted mother had told her—to your mother and father, your sisters and brothers. And she had said it to her new husband all the time, before he was her husband, and it had always made him smile.

I…I love you too, said Everan, taken aback. He squirmed uncomfortably, trying to escape, but she wouldn’t let him. Why…?

Can we get married? she asked him.

What? Kamilé….

I mean it. I don’t wanna marry anybody else. Ever. I wanna be with you forever. That means we should get married, right? That was what their mother had said: two people married because they loved each other and wanted to be together forever, and never wanted to be with anyone else. That was how she felt—surely Everan felt the same?

Four years earlier, when they had had this conversation in reality, Everan had groaned and attempted to explain that no, they couldn’t marry, because they were brother and sister, but Kamilé knew that Kilio and Tara hadn’t cared about a trivial little thing like that, so she had sat on him and threatened to stay there forever unless he promised. There had been a fight, and a vicious one at that, but Kamilé had won, as she always did, and made good her threat, sitting cross-legged on his chest and pinning his arms down until he grudgingly gave his word. She had kissed him to seal the deal, then let him go, laughing as he spluttered and scrubbed at his mouth.

But in the dream, Everan was silent: he simply stared at her, his expression bleak, his eyes filled with grief.

I can’t, he told her. I can’t.

And then he disappeared.

The darkness began to spread immediately, reaching out with cold tendrils from the place where Everan had been. Kamilé screamed and threw herself at the emptiness, clawing at the darkness as she tried to fight it back, searching blindly for her Everan. But he was gone, and the darkness was moving faster now, strangling the whole world with its icy claws. And then the cold was gone, melted in a sudden wave of heat: she turned and saw a wall of fire, dancing and twisting and roaring so loudly that it deafened her, and watched, powerless, as it raced toward her, pulverizing everything it touched and leaving only ash and cinders.

She tried to run, but there was nowhere to go: there was only the waterfall, and the massive drop beyond it. She screamed, but no one heard her, and no one came to her aid.

A burning hand grabbed her arm and dug in, slicing into her with fingernails like knives. It grabbed her and lifted her over the fire, until fire was all she saw, all she smelled and heard and tasted…. Everan was screaming somewhere, trapped by the fire too, calling for her, needing her, but she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t find him….

Then, as the flames licked over every inch of her skin, the hand let go, and she fell through the air, the ground rushing up to meet her, and—

KAMILÉ!

She awoke with a jolt, gasping for breath, and opened her eyes to see Everan leaning over her. It was his hand on her arm, his, with clean short fingernails instead of claws…she realized that he hadn’t really been screaming, that he’d been calling her name quite gently, and burst into tears, so relieved and terrified and confused that she couldn’t bear it.

Oh, Kamilé, it’s okay…. He held out his arms, and she sat up and hugged him so tightly that he winced. He patted her back and soothed her until she calmed down a little, then laid her down on the pallet again and covered her with a blanket.

What’s the matter with you? he asked her, staring at her in bewilderment and alarm. Did someone tell you a scary story?

She shook her head. No…I just…it was REAL, Everan, it was….

No, it wasn’t, he said firmly. I’m still here and so are you. Don’t let it scare you, it was just a stupid dream….

Kamilé grumbled, unconvinced, and threw the blankets over her head. She reached out one hand and scrabbled for Everan, to pull him close and use as a pillow, but he shook her off.

Cut it out, he said. It’s almost sunrise as it is, you should be getting up.

YOU get up, she retorted in a sullen mumble—though rather unnecessarily. She had never once seen Everan sleep, not even as an infant: he would sleep at some point while she was unconscious, but would stay up later than her to read or write or to continue with other dull pursuits, and yet somehow was always awake before her, perfectly alert and waiting for her to join him.

Kamilé, come on, he insisted. We have a lot to do today. It’s only three days until our trip and we still need some things….

Don’t wanna, she whined. You go.

Everan poked her in the ribs with one finger, making her jump and squirm. Come on, he teased her, and tickled her again until she shrieked and curled up into a ball, giggling uncontrollably. Come on out, Kamé, or I’ll tickle you to death!

She lunged at him from under the blanket, simultaneously shoving at him and prodding him: he wasn’t ticklish, for the most part, but he did have a sensitive spot somewhere on his side. She found it, and exploited it mercilessly, until Everan shoved her away and threw the blanket over her head. Blinded and besieged on all sides by tickling fingers, she screamed and laughed and thrashed around until she was finally forced to surrender. And Everan, ever the gentleman, untangled her from the blankets and helped her up as part of the truce they had made.

As Everan consulted a list he had made of items they needed for their trip, Kamilé stretched and blinked peacefully at her surroundings. They were in their little house, the one she and Everan had made with their own hands. It was nested in the top of a tall oak, and consisted of little more than a floor made from a sanded-down square of bark from the Great Tree, just big enough to hold the pile of blankets on which they slept, and a basket suspended from a rope that held all of their possessions. In place of walls, they had woven nearby branches together to protect them from as much of the wind as they could, though it didn’t help much during the winter or when it rained. They hadn’t wanted to hurt the tree, so the whole thing was secured by rope, and more lengths of rope tied around the tree trunk at intervals formed makeshift handholds for the climb up and down; it worked, but it swayed and wobbled horribly sometimes, and they were so high up that even the tiniest tilt in the floor made Everan’s gut twist into knots and her own stomach ache in sympathy.

Kamilé watched sleepily as Everan sifted through their paltry belongings in the basket. There wasn’t much, but it was all his: a couple of spare shirts, a book or two that he had “borrowed” from the library, a pile of parchment and some pencils. She thought he was looking for her boots at first, which had fallen apart sometime during the spring, but then he began to take everything out and pack it into his bag.

Whatcha doing? she inquired sleepily.

I’m just thinking…we need this stuff, but we might not be back here before we leave, he replied as he folded one of his shirts. We don’t come up here that often. This was true: it was a long climb, and they weren’t often in this part of the forest when the sun set, so when the weather was nice they slept on a patch of soft grass or a pile of leaves instead of trekking all the way back to their little home. The only exception was if they no longer felt safe on the ground, in which case there was no better place to hide than up here.

Oh, she said. We’re not coming back?

We can, but there’s no need to. Want to help me get the blankets? We can stash all this stuff in the library somewhere, nobody will know it’s ours with all the visitors staying there.

Kamilé rolled off the blankets and gathered them up in a wrinkled little ball—then, at a look from Everan, dropped them with a huff and attempted to fold them properly. But the blankets were too long, and too difficult, so in the end she bunched them up and threw them toward the forest floor. What? she said blithely when Everan glared at her. They were going down there anyway. Everan rolled his eyes but passed no comment.

Once they had all their things, they began the descent, Kamilé swinging down with ease and grace, Everan following carefully behind and testing each branch before applying his weight. When he reached the ground, he brushed some dirt off of his pants, then veered off to the east and beckoned for her to follow.

And she did—but reluctantly, dragging her feet as she trudged along. Where are we going? she demanded.

I thought…school, he said vaguely. They’re learning about the other races today.

Aww, Everan, Kamilé groaned. I don’t want to go to stupid school….

But don’t you want to learn these things? All the humans and elves and everyone will be here in a couple of days….

Well, you know it all, right?

No, he sighed. I don’t. That’s why I wanted to go.

But you know everything important, Kamilé insisted. So you just tell me. Then we’ll both know.

Everan pinched his eyes shut for a moment, clearly struggling to keep his patience. All right, he finally muttered. Let’s head the other way then…. He turned and headed south, and Kamilé, beaming, hurried to keep up. Humans aren’t that different, he informed her as they walked. Not really. We’re herbivores, we can’t eat meat, but they can, and they do, because it’s easier.

But they—they won’t HERE, right? Kamilé bit her lip, feeling suddenly queasy. They can’t, that’s awful….

They won’t, Everan assured her. We have an agreement with them, they aren’t allowed to bring meat or hunt anything while they’re here.

Good. Kamilé shuddered. I can’t believe they eat ANIMALS! How could they be so mean?

It's not that they don’t like them, Everan tried to reason with her. They don’t eat all of them, they keep some as pets. It just makes sense for them, they wouldn’t have much food otherwise. If we could eat meat I bet we would too.

I would never! objected Kamilé.

Well, you physically can’t, said Everan patiently. It would make you sick. But they can, so we can’t judge. I think it’s disgusting too, but it doesn’t make them bad people, Kamilé. They’re a lot like us, you know, they look almost the same….

They do not, Kamilé sniffed. Sometimes Everan took it upon himself to lecture her like a parent or an Elder, even when she knew he agreed with her, and it never failed to irritate her. He hated humans, she knew, just like he hated all people. Why did he have to pretend otherwise? They’re different.

Not that different. Pilori was half-human, remember? That’s why she had blonde hair and her ears weren’t pointed. But that was the only difference.  

Mama was part human? Really?

She wasn’t our mother, Everan snapped. We already have a mother.

We can have two, insisted Kamilé. We CAN, Everan, she said we could.

Everan scowled, but passed no comment. I just meant, he told her instead, struggling to keep his obvious irritation from his voice, that she wasn’t that different from anybody. Not compared to the dwarves and merpeople.

What do dwarves look like? I never seen one….

Neither have I. All I know is, they’re not small. They’re huge. I don’t know why they’re called that. It might be a joke.

Oh. They’re really big?

Yeah. Six or seven feet tall, and they have big shoulders too. Don’t be scared, okay?

Okay, Kamilé promised. She smiled and skipped ahead, twirling in place, her bare feet skimming lightly over the dead leaves and grass. And merpeople! I can’t wait to see one. What do they look like?

Everan shrugged. Part fish? I don’t know, there isn’t much about them in most books. That’s why I wanted to go to class today.

Kamilé ignored the slight hint of accusation in his tone. Well, we got stuff to do, she told him, as if she were the parent and he the child for once. What’s left?

A pack…but that might be hard to find. A map. Some boots and pants for you—you’ll be grateful for them come winter, he added as she started to object. Some cloaks, maybe. And food. And maybe money, I don’t know if we’ll be able to use it….

Can we steal that, too?

Everan shook his head. No. Nobody really pays in money. They only make you do that if they don’t like you.

Like Mama?

Yes, said Everan slowly, his jaw clenching in anger. But she—is not—our mother.

Kamilé wanted to protest, but Everan was frightening her, and she did not want him to lose his temper. So she demurred, and fell back, and followed him in silence until they reached the edge of the square.

For all that these people hated the twins, they were always surprisingly oblivious to them. Kamilé and Everan could often walk right among them, winding their way through the streets like everyone else, and never be noticed or even given a second glance. As long as no one was actively looking for them, and as long as there were other children around to take the suspicion away from them, they had no trouble blending in with the rest of the crowds. And now was no exception. They ventured down one street and up the next, keeping their eye out for the supplies they needed while using their invisibility as their shield and their cloak.

When they spotted the first item, they had a brief, silent, heated argument about who was going to steal it. But Everan, as always, won. Ever since she’d been caught a couple of years ago, on the day they’d met Marli, he insisted every time that he should do all the thieving. Kamilé was faster, and she would tell him so, but then he would cite multiple examples of his own success at thieving, and she would have no reply. People were terrified of Everan: on three separate occasions, someone had caught him stealing, looked him directly in the eye, and, quailing under his icy glare, had said nothing, and let him do as he pleased.

But nobody was afraid of Kamilé—so, as usual, she was the lookout. She stood against the wall and danced a little on the spot, giving an occasional bored glance at her surroundings, while Everan snuck over to the stall in front of the cobbler’s shop, scanned the rows of shoes with his sharp eyes, and reached out, lightning-fast, for a pair of boots. He held them up to his own feet for comparison—he and Kamilé were, as far as they could tell, the exact same weight and height, and wore the same size in everything—then, satisfied, tucked them under his arm and slipped back into the crowd. He reemerged next to Kamilé a moment later and showed her his handiwork. They looked much the same as every other pair of boots to Kamilé—crafted from a cloth of plant fibers that was tougher than canvas, which the elves used in place of leather—and were made for a bigger foot than hers.

I know, said Everan when she pointed this out. But if you lace the ankles really tightly and stuff something into the toes then you’ll be all right. Just don’t grow too fast, okay?

She scowled and punched him on the shoulder, but slipped the boots on without further complaint: come autumn, when the grass dried into tiny brown spears and the falling leaves left prickly skeletons and sharp thorns on the ground, she would need them dearly.

They found three more items that morning, after hours of scouting and cautious thieving: two pairs of black pants, both of them slightly too big, and a pack. This last one they were lucky to find, Everan claimed, even though it was little more than a drawstring bag with two crude shoulder straps. As soon as they found it, Everan claimed the day a success and steered Kamilé toward the library, stuffing their blankets and clothes into the pack as they walked. But he left everything else in his bag, even the heavy books, and insisted that he didn’t mind the weight. He was hiding something, Kamilé suspected, and vowed to poke through his bag whenever she had the chance…but then she realized that it was probably her birthday present, and put it out of her mind. Much as she would have loved to see it, she wanted it to be a surprise.

When they walked into the library, they never expected to see Marli and Kayle: she was supposed to be teaching her class, and he had been far too busy lately to sit around. But the two of them were sitting right inside the door, almost as if they were waiting for the twins to walk in. They looked upset about something, and Kayle was holding a small roll of parchment in his hands, which he stuffed hastily into his shirt pocket as they approached.

“What’s that?” asked Kamilé at once, pointing to it. They’re hiding it, she added accusingly to Everan. They don’t want us to see. They’re keeping secrets.

“N-nothing,” stammered Kayle unconvincingly. “What are you two doing here? Did you come for something to eat?”

“Yes,” said Kamilé swiftly, forgetting momentarily about the lie. But then Everan nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, to remind her. Don’t get distracted! he hissed. “But what is that?” she demanded. “Don’t lie, you hafta tell us!”

Kayle sighed and slumped in his seat, running a hand wearily through his hair. “All right,” he said. “I was going to tell you, I just…. Come sit, then.”

Kamilé sat obediently on the rug at his feet, but Everan remained standing, casting wary looks from Marli to Kayle. Neither of them, however, would meet his eyes.

I don’t like this, he muttered, half to himself. I have a bad feeling about this….

“I…um…so I got this letter,” said Kayle, gesturing uselessly at the scrap of parchment. “And it’s…well, it’s about you, and….”

“It’s from your mother,” Marli interjected. “From Pilori.”

She’s not our MOTHER! Everan yelled in his mind, his sudden fury so powerful that it made Kamilé shudder as it coursed through her. But for once, she didn’t voice his thoughts for him.

“From Mama?” she said. “Really? What’s it—”

No! snarled Everan, and lunged for the letter. But Marli’s hand darted out, lightning-fast, and grabbed his wrist before he could touch it. He jerked away as if stung; his eyes burned as he cast her a look of pure loathing, but he made no more efforts to take it.

“Kayle,” said Marli calmly, while Kayle and Kamilé both stared at her in stunned bewilderment, “why don’t you read it aloud?”

“Oh…okay. Um. Kayle. I am writing to let you know that I am finally able to come home and that I am heading to Kocha right away. I should arrive after midday on the day of the Gathering and I will meet you in your library. I hope you are well, and I hope my children are safe. Please tell them that I love them and I will be with them soon. Best wishes, Pilori.”

Do you HEAR her? Everan seethed. We’re nothing to her, just an afterthought, she doesn’t even care! We aren’t her children, she’s not our mother, we are NOT going to see her—

Everan, we have to! said Kamilé. She’s finally home, we have to see her!

Why? She isn’t our mother, said Everan mercilessly. We’ve been alone longer than we’ve been with her. If she wanted us she shouldn’t have gone wandering off with her new husband and forgotten about us!

But—but she—

“Kamilé? Everan?” said Kayle gently.

They turned back to him, Everan wary, Kamilé miserable and confused.

“I’m going to meet her,” he told them. “And I’m going to offer her a room here. And if you like, I’ll come and find you when she arrives, so you can speak with her. But before I do…well, maybe it’s time you told me why she left, and where she’s been. Would you, please?”

Kamilé looked to Everan, biting her lip. Go ahead, he said, waving an angry hand in Kayle’s direction. Go on, tell him what she did. See if HE thinks she still deserves to call herself our mother.

His tone frightened her, and she edged away from him, crawling over to Kayle instead. Kayle opened his arms, and Kamilé climbed onto his lap, hugging him tightly around the neck. “She got married,” she said, resigned.

“And…?” Kayle prompted.

“And…I dunno. He was nice, and she liked him, but we didn’t, ‘cause he was a stranger, and he was part human like her, and they were going to have new babies that were theirs and Mama wouldn’t love us anymore. That’s what Everan said. But when I asked Mama, she said it wasn’t true, and that she was gonna marry him anyway. And then she did. She was gonna make us go but we ran away. And then…when we checked, later, she was gone. She went on some trip.”

“A trip? Did she go to meet his parents?”

“Um. Yeah. Everan says that’s it. She said she had to go, that it was really important, and she was gonna bring us, but we didn’t want to. She said she wouldn’t be gone long. But she never came back….”

“And you never heard anything? You never found out where she was?”

Kamilé shook her head.

“But…I don’t understand,” said Kayle. “Surely she must have told you something. She wouldn’t just leave, she’s lived here her entire life….”

“I don’t understand either,” Marli interrupted, speaking in an undertone into Kayle’s ear. “Why was it so important to meet his parents? Couldn’t she just have waited for them to come back?”

Kayle shook his head. “No…a marriage here isn’t a real marriage until all of the living parents bless it. If it’s not done before season’s end, the marriage is void, and you’re basically living in sin.”

Marli snorted. “Pleasant,” she muttered. “Why didn’t they just come to the wedding?”

“They were supposed to. Hers did. I know they were invited. She said they weren’t answering the letters and that she’d been trying to get them to visit for months.”

“So she absolutely had to leave without them?”

“If she didn’t want her marriage to fall apart and her husband to be disowned. Her parents wouldn’t have been too happy either. It’s a long trip, if she didn’t get started right away she might not have made it in time.” He turned back to the twins. “So you two have no idea where she’s been?”

Kamilé shook her head. “I guess she moved away,” she said sadly. “We didn’t think she was ever coming back.”

“Well, I—that can’t be right. We’ll see about this, okay?”

“Okay….” Kamilé was rapidly losing enthusiasm at the idea of seeing Pilori again. Everan’s anger was one thing, but Kayle’s disbelief was simply devastating: it meant that even adults couldn’t understand why she had abandoned them, which meant that there was no good reason at all. She buried her face in Kayle’s shirt, breathing in his comforting smell: old parchment, ink, warm cotton, and a faint hint of spice from his favorite tea. He had always smelled the same, even when they were babies and he was playing with them and reading to them on this same faded rug in the library.

“You won’t leave us,” she said. “Will you, Kayle?”

“Of course not, sweet girl,” he promised her, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere, and if I were I’d never leave you behind. We’re family.”

The words were meant to comfort her, she knew, but instead they brought tears to her eyes. A long time ago, Pilori had told her the very same thing. I miss my mom, she wailed to Everan. Our real mom.

Well, she’s dead, said Everan bluntly. He was still furious, and in no mood to be sympathetic. It’s too bad, SHE would never have run off and left us all alone….

She did leave us, Kamilé sniffled. Just like everybody else.

That wasn’t her fault! he retorted. People can’t help dying, Kamilé!

Kamilé wanted to snap back at him, but the sudden pang of grief at his words overwhelmed her. She started to cry, her tears soaking into Kayle’s clothes.

“Hey….” Kayle hugged her tightly, rubbing her back in small circles. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Come on. Everything’s going to be fine….”

“Kayle,” Marli whispered to him—ignorant, perhaps, of the fact that Kamilé and Everan could hear her anyway. “Why don’t you take Kamilé, and let me talk to Everan?”

“Talk…? Okay,” said Kayle. He was clearly confused, but he stood up regardless, offering a formal hand to Kamilé. “Want to help me shelve some books?”

“Yeah!”

“Then hop on.”

He turned around, and Kamilé jumped onto the chair and clambered onto his back. He hoisted her up onto his shoulders for extra height. “Let’s go!” she said, pointing forward like a sailor in sight of land, and the two of them set off.

And once again, Everan was left alone with Marli.

I don’t want to talk to you, he told her at once, in a preemptive attempt to stop the conversation before it had a chance to start. I want you to leave us alone.

Well, that’s too bad, Marli snapped. What is wrong with you? Why are you being so mean to her?

How did you—I wasn’t talking to you! said Everan in outrage. How could you hear what we were saying?

Please, she snorted. It sounded like you were both shouting in my ear. Remind me how to teach you two to shield.

Shield? What are you talking about?

But Marli ignored him. Everan, why are you being like this? I know you’re mad at your mother, but Kamilé—

She’s not our mother! Everan nearly screamed at her. She abandoned us, she ran off somewhere to have her own kids and forgot all about us—I REMEMBER our real mother, she LOVED us, she would never have done that, Pilori doesn’t DESERVE to be called our mother!

Wait—you remember? Marli repeated, her eyebrows raising. That isn’t possible. She died when you were born. How could you remember her?

I remember everything, said Everan impatiently. I saw her, she…. He paused then, casting a suspicious look in her direction. How do YOU know when she died?

Marli sighed. Isn’t it obvious, Everan? She was a Chosen, and so are you and—

She was a CHOSEN? He gaped at her in disbelief. Really?

I…yes, she confirmed, though she watched him with wary eyes as she spoke. And when Chosen die, they’re reincarnated. Which means—

I know what it means. He looked away, his heart sinking. It means I killed her. I knew I did.

What? Everan, you didn’t kill her. Her soul—

Left her body, and went into mine, Everan said wearily. I know what reincarnation means. She died because I was born.

Both of you, Marli corrected, but gently. Everan, it wasn’t your fault. She knew it would happen. It happens with every Chosen….

I knew I did something, he said miserably. I remember, she was holding me, and she was talking to someone, and she said my name, and then…and then she just….

That’s just how it works, said Marli softly. It was nothing you did.

Everan shook his head, rubbing his arm with one hand. How did you know her? he asked her. You weren’t old enough….

I didn’t. But I heard stories. My mother met her once. When she and my sister and I were traveling, she used to tell us all the Chosen stories and make us remember all their names.

And…what…. He had to look away as he asked; he almost couldn’t bear to hear the answer, as foolish as it was to be afraid. What was her name? My mother’s?

Marli hesitated for a long time; she clearly did not know what to say. But then, finally, she told him. Sera, she said. Sera Haenir. After the forest.

The elfin forest? Everan frowned, puzzled. What are you talking about?

Not this one, she said. The forest where I used to live. It used to be part of an old elfin kingdom called Esëria. I knew lots of girls named Sera.

Oh, he said. Why would my mother be named after something from your country?

Long story, she said, waving this question aside. I’ll tell you another time. But Everan…. Look. This woman—Pilori? How long were you living with her?

Since we were born, said Everan. She was our mother’s midwife. She said our mother asked her to take care of us.

So that’s…that’s a long time, Everan. I know you don’t want to hear this, but she basically IS your mother.

She doesn’t get to be our mother, he growled. She doesn’t deserve it. And she obviously doesn’t want to, we’re not her blood, I bet she was happy to be rid of us—

You don’t know that, Everan, Marli said sternly. You don’t know what happened. Why don’t you give her a chance to explain, at least?

Because she’ll just make up some lie, and Kamilé will believe it, and—

Are you saying Kamilé’s not smart enough to tell a lie from the truth?

I…. He could not, in good conscience, agree. She just…she doesn’t need that. It’s better to keep her away.

You’re not allowed to make that decision, Marli informed him. Kamilé needs to make that choice for herself.

I’ve been making decisions for her all our lives! Everan shot back. I’ve been the one taking care of her because SHE was off with her new husband!

Well, Kamilé is old enough to choose on her own now. And if you stop her from seeing her, she’ll always wonder what your mother might have said, and she’ll come to resent you for it.

I—she won’t— The room seemed suddenly too small, with too little air; the sudden fear pressed tight around his chest, forcing his heart to pound against his ribs. How could she have known what he most feared from this? She’s not our mother, she isn’t! She doesn’t count….

Blood doesn’t matter, Everan, said Marli. One day you’ll see. It’s not the people who are bound to you—it’s the ones who choose to stay by your side. Where I’m from, our families are made from our friends, our lovers, our companions, anyone that loves us and supports us. Our blood can only be given that honor if they deserve it.

So does that mean I don’t have to listen to you, even if we’re “cousins”? he said scathingly.

No, she snapped. You should listen to me because I know what I’m talking about. This woman was all you had for a mother for a long time, just like Kayle is the closest you have to a brother now. I say listen to her excuse for this. If it’s not good enough, then you never have to see her or speak to her again. But if it is, you get a mother again.

I…I don’t need a mother, I….

Well, Kamilé does, Marli assured him. She’s growing up, and soon she’ll be a woman. She needs other women in her life. Unless you’re prepared to deal with that all by yourself?

No, muttered Everan, feeling his face grow hot. But she…it doesn’t matter. It will never be the same.

Well, regardless, you should respect Kamilé’s feelings on this. That’s all I wanted to say. She shrugged, as if the whole conversation meant nothing, and walked away. Oh, and by the way, she called over her shoulder, running away after your birthday won’t change anything. I’ll just have to hunt you down.

We…weren’t…. She had left him speechless—how could she have known? You stay away from her! he yelled angrily at her back as she disappeared into the next room. Just leave us alone!

Marli did not bother to respond.

Everan kicked at the pack lying abandoned on the floor, muttering venomous curses to himself. He hated Marli, hated her for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, for changing everything, for delivering ultimatums, for insisting that she knew better than he…and what he hated most was the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that she might be right. Not just about Chosen things, but about everything….

She doesn’t know, he promised himself, for perhaps the hundredth time over the past few days. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. We’ll be fine. We just have to get away from here….

Kamilé, he thought next. I need to talk to Kamilé.

He could have spoken to her from there; as far as he knew, they had no problem communicating over the roughly hundred-meter distance that they had ever strayed from one another. But he held back, and instead walked on silent feet into the southeast wing next door, following the little tug in his mind that told her where, and how far away, Kamilé was.

The southeast wing was a twisted, cluttered beehive of a room, packed with narrow isles of shelves interspersed with tiny open spaces just large enough for a chair or desk or table, and, in one spot, a rarely-used fireplace and a couple of chairs. Walkways crisscrossed overhead with no semblance of order, as chaotic and disorganized as overlapping tree branches, accessible by a narrow stair that curled around a fat pillar in the middle of the room.

Everan could hear Kayle’s long, heavy strides moving down one of the walkways, with Kamilé’s tiny feet pattering along in his wake. They sounded as if they were having fun, so he sat down with his back against a bookshelf, pulled out a book at random, and started to read, though most of his attention was focused on the sounds he heard from upstairs.

“Now look at this,” Kayle was telling her. “Look at all these numbers and symbols, there’s so many! It’s ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous!” Kamilé repeated amidst a fit of laughter.

“It is. But look, if we take it one at a time—”

“But I can’t read it!”

“It’s okay, I’ll help. The first two symbols are for, hmm, south and east. What do you think that means?”

“It’s where we are, silly! South is that way and east is that way, see?”

“Right, right! So it means the southeast wing. And then this little number here, 2, what do you think that could be?”

“Umm…maybe….”

“Oh, you know what? I bet that’s the level it’s on.”

“Oh! We’re there right now, Kayle!”

“Are we? Great! So it’s on this floor…now where could it be? I bet this number here means the section…where’s section seven, Kamilé?”

“Umm, umm…there! Over there!”

“Let’s go! Oop, careful.” The tiny footsteps staggered; the large ones paused. Then they began again in earnest. “Look, there’s a number seven on this shelf!”

“We’re here!”

“We found it! Now which bookcase is it?”

“I dunno. Is there a number?”

“There is. It’s a three. Quick! Where’s the third one?”

“I…umm…here!”

“Oh, wow, you’re fast! But it’s still…there are two more numbers, I don’t know…what do you think?”

“Oh! I know that one! It’s a two!”

“Oh, yes! So then that’s….”

“Is that a row of books?”

“I think so! Or a shelf, I bet, since they’re divided up in different sections. Shelf two…this last number, then….”

“Look, Kayle, look! There’s an empty place!”

“A spot? Really? Where?”

“Right there!”

“Can you help me count? Just to make sure?”

“Okay! One, two, three….”

Kamilé might not have known what Kayle was doing, but Everan did, and he was grateful for it. It would, of course, prove futile—she would forget everything that she had learned almost immediately. But each time, he secretly hoped that something would stick.

They finished before long, and as soon as Kayle headed downstairs, Kamilé darted ahead of him and ran to where Everan was hidden. But she skidded to a halt a few feet away from him, and hesitated, scuffing her heel against the floor.

Are you still mad at me? She bit her lip as she watched him from beneath her eyelashes.

I was never mad, he told her. Well, not at you.

Oh, she said, relieved. Well, me an’ Kayle talked, and…I mean, it’s hard ‘cause Pilori left us, and that hurt a lot, but she…she still….

Everan was not one for gestures of affection. When Kamilé hugged him, he merely tolerated it until she was distracted; he offered physical signs of endearment only when hard-pressed and when there was no other way to comfort her. And words, he always felt, were useless: Pilori had always told them she loved them and cared about them, but she had clearly lied, whereas he and Kamilé could feel what the other felt in a real and tangible way. There was never any question of how he felt about anything, especially about her.

But today, he reached out and took her hand, offering her the warmest smile he could muster. It’s okay, he promised her. I get it. It’s hard. But you know what? When she shows up, I’ll let you decide if we see her or not.

Wh—me? Really?

Yes—you. He tapped her on the nose, making her giggle and duck away. I don’t care either way, but it’s important to you. So you pick.

But I…I don’t know, Everan. The thought of making a decision without Everan’s input clearly terrified her. I mean, she…I miss her, I want a mom, but she left us….

I want a mom. The words struck Everan like a blow across the face.

You don’t have to decide now, he heard himself tell her. You can decide later. Just pick whatever feels right.

That seemed to soothe her, and she smiled and said no more of it. But her words echoed in his head and refused to be silenced.

I want a mom, he heard over and over again as he followed Kamilé on her search for Kayle and Marli. I want a mom. I want a mom. I want a mom.

And if Marli was right, she would need one, and soon. There was too much in her life about to change….

He hated Pilori more than he had ever hated anyone, but even so, he found himself hoping that Kamilé would choose to speak with her when she arrived. I hope you’re what she needs, he told her in his mind. I hope you’re everything she wants. I hope you can be her mother again, and a better one this time. I hope you have a good excuse for what you did. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his skin. And gods help you if you don’t.

6: Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

On the morning of the Gathering, Kayle awoke with a yawn and rolled over, stretching luxuriously. It took his sleepy brain a long time to realize that the sheets beside him were empty. He blinked at the cold other half of the bed, confused.

“Marli?” he called stupidly, hoping that she was hiding somewhere, or in the next room.

But she was, it seemed, long gone.

 

At that moment, Marli sat perched on the edge of a sofa in the sitting room of Elder Carn, clutching a cup of tea with both hands.

She could not have said what had inspired her to come here on today of all days, when by rights Carn and the other Elders should have been busy from dawn until long after dark. Nor could she have said why he had even let her in, and two hours before sunup no less, with no more objection than a sigh of resignation. She had steeled herself for a confrontation, for an argument, for a door slammed in her face, but now, presented with such amicable politeness, she did not know how to proceed.

Carn sat across from her, stirring cream into his own tea. “Can I offer you anything to eat?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t really care for the food here. Where I come from it’s very different.”

She expected Carn to take the bait, but he just smiled and nodded. “There should be plenty at the Gathering that you’ll enjoy.” He turned to the window, taking a peaceful sip of tea. “It’s looking to be a lovely day for it.”

Marli huffed and smacked her own teacup down onto the table. “All right,” she said. “I didn’t come here for small talk.”

“Oh?” He did not so much as raise an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

“I think you know.”

“I can guess,” he admitted. “But I don’t know what you hope to accomplish.”

“A good deal,” Marli told him. “But that sort of depends on you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” She wished she still had the dagger her father had given her. If she had, this might have been a very different sort of conversation. “I heard about your daughter the other day. Nara’ï ana Zildjia é—I mean….” She said the words, and made the little gesture at the heart to accompany them, before realizing what she was doing. “Ah…my condolences.”

“Thank you,” said Carn, a little sadly. “But it was a very long time ago.”

“Oh? How long ago, exactly?”

“A long time,” he repeated. “A decade or more.”

“Would you say…eleven years?” she prodded. “Exactly eleven?”

“I don’t think so…I don’t know why you would think that.” He looked her right in the eyes, cold and calculating. “Or why you would come to my home and torment me with it if that was what you believed.”

Despite herself, Marli felt a quick pang of guilt. Don’t forget why you’re here, she told herself sternly. “My mother knew her, you know,” she told him. “She used to tell me all sorts of stories about her.”

“Well, I don’t see how that could be possible. My daughter didn’t travel much, and certainly not to other countries. I did not even believe that was possible.”

“Well, you’ve met me. I’m proof.”

“Yes,” he said serenely, “but nobody really believes you.”

“Oh. I had no idea.” She shrugged. “It’s probably for the best. People like that just don’t understand it, do they? Not like us.”

Carn said nothing. He merely stared at her over his tea, his expression inscrutable.

“But you and I know better,” Marli insisted. “We know that there are other places. How else would I know about Sera?” She leaned forward, watching his face closely for any flicker of change. “Sera Haenir,” she said. “Right? She’d have the same family name as you.”

Carn may as well have been carved from stone for all the emotion he showed. “I should hope so. That’s the name they carved above her grave.”

“Oh, save it,” Marli snapped. “Half my family’s dead, you don’t hear me using it as a weapon—”

“My entire family is gone,” he said bitterly. “My parents, my siblings, my wife, my child, her child—and I am in no mood to be reminded of that, Marli, so if you’d kindly—”

“Her children are not dead!” She could not believe he had the audacity to lie to her like this. “You have family still, and they need you! Or did you forget?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was icy. “Sera died in childbirth, and her daughter with her. Anyone old enough to remember will tell you.”

“Oh, for—” She had to stop herself forcibly from uttering a string of foreign curse words. “Was your mother a Chosen or not?”

“She was.” He frowned at his tea, then sipped it. “Nobody ever really believed that she was, though. Kilio and Tara were twins, so she, their child, was an abomination, and why would the gods choose someone like that? When I and my brothers and sisters were born, all of us completely ordinary, everyone began to suspect that the Chosen were fading away, and my mother was the last. You cannot imagine the disappointment and condemnation that I felt directed toward me even as a young child. And when my mother died, and no one emerged to take her place, everybody was sure. The Chosen are gone, Marli. They are never coming back.”

“Why are you lying about this?” she demanded. “Even to me?”

“I’m not,” he said simply. “The Chosen truly are gone, Marli. Even if a new one was ever born, what does it matter if no one believes? As long as he or she remains invisible, the Chosen will never be forced to do whatever it is that Chosen do. That’s just how it has to be.”

“Ah.” Marli finally understood what he was doing. In his own incredibly misguided way, he believed that he was protecting them. “Carn, you do understand that’s not how it works, right? It won’t help them.”

“It will keep attention away from them. They draw too much already—they don’t need any more. It will only lead to trouble. If they would just keep out of the public eye…. I try to keep Srai away from them, but—”

“And you think it helps to keep them in the dark?”

“They are not.” Thankfully, Carn had abandoned all pretense of ignorance. “Of course they know what they are, how could they not?”

“Everan does,” Marli countered. “But not Kamilé! What, did you think they were just born knowing everything? You think they would just remember what they are and what they were supposed to do from one of their past lives?”

Carn shifted uncomfortably; clearly, this was exactly what he thought. “So why haven’t you told them?”

“Me? What Do I know? You’re their grandfather, the Chosen were your mother and daughter—”

“And yet you know more than I do,” he said. “Don’t you? I know who you are, Marli. I knew as soon as I saw you. You’re from that—that place, where Sera went. And that means you have Chosen blood. Otherwise, how could you have possibly gotten here?”

Marli raised her hands in surrender. “You caught me,” she said. “I’m of the Inachi line. The blood is weaker, but it’s there, same as with you. But I’m just their cousin. You’re the only real family they have left.”

“Marli, do you honestly think I haven’t tried to act like family?” Carn demanded of her. “Do you really think I have never tried to help them?”

“Yes,” she said in exasperation. “Why else would you make that stupid law?”

“To protect them. If people knew what to look for, they’d figure out who they are. The longer everyone stays in the dark, the safer they’ll be. Or so I thought.”

“Well, it doesn’t work that way,” said Marli impatiently. “You know how it works? One day, when they’re old enough, the gods will take them from you, just like they took your daughter. And if they’re caught unawares, and don’t know how to protect themselves, then they’ll end up just like her. Do you know what happened to her, Carn?”

He bowed his head, his shoulders hunching. “She told me,” he said wearily. “But…I thought….”

“They have to know. And I’ll be the one to tell them. But you have to stop the Elders from turning everyone against them.”

“But I can’t—Marli, I had nothing to do with that! I don’t know what it is….”

“I do. It’s very simple. Kamilé and Everan are different. They may look like elves, but they are not elves. Nor are they human, or dwarven, or anything else that you people could identify. They are Chosen, and that is another race altogether. But if people don’t know what they are, all they see is a couple of elfin kids with something clearly wrong and strange about them. They don’t know what they are looking at, and that scares them, and they lash out. My dad told me once that hatred is never just hatred. There’s always something behind it, like fear, or love, or wounded pride. And this time, it’s fear.”

“Then are you saying…if people knew…?”

“If people knew who they were, they would change their minds completely,” Marli promised him. “It would be like those feelings never existed. They’ll love them, and worship them, and claim they never said a word against them. Anyone who follows the Path of the Seven is born and bred to love them.”

“The…the path of the…?”

“I mean our faith.” She rolled her eyes. “Our gods. Yours as well as mine. Kamilé and Everan were born to serve them here on earth, and true believers will feel a call in their blood to come to their aid. At least that’s what the stories say.” And any who raise a hand to them shall be cursed. “So are you going to tell them or not?”

“Tell…the Elders? Marli, they won’t believe me.” He gestured to his home with a bitter laugh. “They think I’m senile, that I’m going mad with grief. That’s why I’m here right now, because they think that I’m too distraught by the anniversary of my daughter’s death to be of any use. And maybe I did go mad, for awhile. But there is no way that they will listen to a word I say.”

“Not even if you convince Srai first? She is your cousin, right?”

“She is my sister’s grandchild. She barely considers me family at all.”

“But she shares your family name!”

“That’s how family names work, Marli. Out of any couple there is a person who is higher-born, and theirs is the name that the couple keeps.”

“But she has Chosen blood.”

“Three generations removed. She may boast of it, but if she does have it, it’s weak.”

“Hmm.” He may have had a point; he had Chosen blood as well, but it didn’t seem to be doing him much good. He may have been healthy at the age of sixty-four, which was far better than most in Ametris could hope to accomplish, but otherwise he seemed perfectly normal. “Still, if she knew who they were….”

“It might not make a difference. But I could try and talk with her. I do worry how the twins will handle all the sudden attention….”

“I’ll talk to them. Just…not today. I promised Everan I’d wait until tomorrow. He wanted to tell Kamilé himself.”

Carn sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe he hasn’t already. I know he knows, he’s incredibly bright….”

Marli snorted. Incredibly bright was an understatement. She would have gone with too clever for his own good. “He’s known all along, I think. He just thought that Kamilé was better off not knowing, just like you. And he also knew all about you, Carn.” She scowled at him. “Now how could that be if you’ve been pretending all this time that you have no family at all?”

“There was a time when I tried to take care of them,” he said wearily. “But I left it too late. I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t in the best state of mind after my daughter’s death, so when the midwife offered to take them I let her without a second thought. It was a long time before I felt I was ready to take on that responsibility, and by then they were settled in with Pilori, and she was doing a wonderful job with them. I’d been helping her a little, sending her money, so I just kept on with that instead….”

“And you never visited? You never even let them know they had a grandfather?”

He shrugged. “I saw them often when they were little. But they were…they didn’t seem to like me.” Imagine that, Marli thought irritably to herself. “And Pilori and I talked, and…I thought it was safer if they didn’t know me. If anyone found out they were related to the Chosen in any way, they would start to suspect. But I’m ready for them to know now. I want them to know. I would never have done any of this if I’d known it wouldn’t help them….”

Marli pursed her lips, but said nothing. It seemed to her that Kamilé and Everan might have been better off without him after all—he was too indecisive about all of this, and had been far too eager to give them away. “And where was their father through all of this?” she asked him. “Do you know who he is?”

Carn gave a derisive scoff. “Of course I knew him,” he said, clearly taking great offense at the question. “This isn’t your country, where teenage girls run about taking any lover they can find. I knew him well. I gave him my blessing to marry her. He was a good man.”

“Was? Is he dead then?”

“I…I think he must be.” He pressed his steepled fingers to his lips, frowning at the empty air. “Ryistin disappeared when she was three months pregnant. Sera seemed to know where he went, she was inconsolable, she was convinced that he was dead, but she wouldn’t tell me anything…. I don’t understand it. They were so happy, he was so excited to be a father…I don’t know what could have happened…. It wasn’t that he didn’t know, either. He knew everything, who she was, what she’d been through, who her children might be, that she might die giving birth to them…. I urged Sera to be more cautious, but she said that she loved him, and that people in love shared everything, that each trusted the other to love them regardless….” He shook his head, his back bowed and his shoulders hunched under the weight of his grief. “Sera was crying for him as she was giving birth. She knew he was dead, but she was calling for him all the same. And for her mother too…. But all she had was me. And look what good that did her.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t even help her children….”

“You can,” Marli promised him. Despite herself, she pitied him, and she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him any longer. “We’ll help them together, all right? You work on the Elders, and I’ll work on them. I’ll teach them everything I can, I’ll tell them everything….”

“I hope you do.” As he ran a hand through his thinning hair, he looked, for one strange moment, exactly like Kayle, who did the same thing when he was stressed. “My mother told me once that she felt truly blessed that none of her children were Chosen. I thought she felt that way because she was able to live long enough to see us grow, but when I had my own child, I understood the true reason….

“My Sera was…she would have been thirty this year, you are too young to have known her anyway, but you would have been just as charmed by her as everyone else was. She was beautiful, and sweet, and happy, and everyone she knew worshipped her even without knowing what she was. When she came of age, I had men calling every day claiming that they were in love with her and asking for her hand. But before she could marry, she disappeared…the gods took her to that wretched place and kept her from me for a full year. And when she came back, she was a broken woman. She never smiled, she didn’t speak to anyone, she broke off her engagement and all her ties, she barely ever left this house…. I liked Ryistin, and she loved him, but that wasn’t why I chose him. I chose him because he was the first person to make her smile in years. I thought she would never smile again….”

He looked up at Marli, his eyes old and weary and full of sadness. “Teach them all you can, Marli,” he told her. “Help them be ready for this. Don’t let them end up like my daughter.”

 

Strangely, later, as she was walking back to the library in the faint pre-dawn light, the words that stuck with Marli most were not Carn’s last.

She said that she loved him, and that people in love shared everything…that each trusted the other to love them regardless….

He could not possibly have meant it as a rebuke; he did not know Marli well enough, he did not know her life or her feelings or her thoughts. But it felt that way all the same.

Marli had never been in love before—and she knew that she hadn’t, because her mother and sister and father had all taken great pains to describe what love was and what it meant to her. The advice from her mother, who had been a bit of a cynic before her father had softened her heart, had seemed the easiest to follow at first: logical, straightforward, practical, and depressing.

“Love isn’t lust, Marli,” she had warned her daughter at the cusp of womanhood. “Lust is like hunger or thirst: it’s a drive, a want, but it doesn’t last forever. But for a woman, it’s easy to mistake for love. Not your own lust, but your partner’s. For most people, lust is easy, but love is hard. There are a hundred thousand men who would love to be with you for a night, but only a rare few who would want to be with you every night for the rest of your life, no matter how old or sick or ugly you get. You, my love, have a soft little heart, not like your sister, and you’ll never be tricked by your own body, but you must learn to control your emotions just like you control your magic, and temper them with logic. If a man says he loves you, think of what he stands to gain before you trust him. You are an Inachi, worth your weight in silver. You must be cautious always.”

Her older sister, however, had scorned their mother’s advice. She was a wild young woman, headstrong and careless; she was also beautiful, and fully aware of it. Boys were chasing her long before she was even interested in them. Her philosophy on the matter was a popular one in Marli’s culture. “Yeah, maybe Mom’s right, if you want to get married,” she had told Marli, shuddering in disgust at the thought. “But we can’t get married until we can stop running away from everyone, so why worry about it? You’re pretty and smart, if you’d just be a little more confident you could have anyone you wanted. And then when you get bored of them, or when they make you mad, you can just get another. It’s not like we’re going to be here that long anyway. And who knows? Maybe you won’t get tired of one. That’s all love is, you know—you just find someone you want to spend some time with, and one night becomes a few weeks, then a few years, then a few decades, maybe. And it’s not like anyone knows for sure when they’ve found the perfect person. People split up sometimes after being married for ten or twenty years. Even Mom and Dad might’ve gotten tired of each other eventually. That’s why I’m never getting married. I don’t need a dumb ring to chain me to someone I might not even like in a few years.”

But her father’s counsel had made the most sense by far. “It’s a very special thing to love and be loved, princess,” he’d told her. “It happens to most of us at least once a lifetime, but we are always very lucky to have it, and very blessed. There is nothing like it in the world. You can connect with another person soul-to-soul, give your heart away and care for the heart of another in return, be completely yourself, the best you that you can be, without worrying what anyone else thinks. You change, too, but for the better: instead of thinking, How can this person be of use to me? you start to think, What can I do to make this person happy? And you want to do whatever that is, no matter what it takes, because you love them, and that love is making you better. That other person, your treasure, is the only one that matters—until you have children, that is.” And he had tweaked her nose and made her giggle.

Marli had been very young when her father had told her that, six or seven at the oldest; it hadn’t been long afterward that he’d been killed. She remembered it well even now, but back then, her only understanding of his words had been a vague theory that a real marriage involved literally tearing one’s heart out, with magic of course, and swapping it for the heart of one’s true love. Then, she guessed, someone sewed the newlyweds up again, and each spent the rest of his or her lives watching over the other, in case the heart should falter. This theory had explained all the talk of “heartache” and “broken hearts”, but it hadn’t done much to embolden her in the pursuit of her “treasure”, as her father had often called her mother.

Now, however, her father’s words were the ones that had stuck. Her mother and sister hadn’t been wrong, really, not in her native land, but here things were different: a couple would never dream of touching each other before the wedding night, as a pregnancy out of wedlock would bring shame and humiliation upon them both, and the Ametrisans knew of no way to be together without the chance of conception. So when a man said he loved a woman, he almost certainly meant it, as he had nothing at all to gain by pretending. There was no trickery or lying, not for sex or for money or political power, for no one here had any idea who she was.

But that was what Marli had always expected, what she had been watching for. Without any reason for caution, only her own doubts and fears stood in her way. And she had never been in love before; she wouldn’t have known how to put them aside even if she’d wanted to. She didn’t know what it felt like, how to spot it, how to prove that it was real.

People in love share everything….

But she couldn’t; it was impossible. Even if anyone did love her, they wouldn’t any longer if they knew who she was, or what she was, or where she was from. And they certainly wouldn’t if they knew all the things that she had done. In her native land it was different, it was kill-or-be-killed, especially for those who moved constantly from place to place like her and her mother and her sister. But here…how could any of them ever understand? They hated Kamilé and Everan just for stealing, and carrying a knife for protection—what would they think if they knew how many people Marli had killed, and several of them in cold blood and unprovoked?

Yet in the end, she reasoned with herself, did it really matter who she had been? She had changed when she’d arrived in Ametris, become a completely different person, taken on a new identity. Why did anyone need to know who she had been? What business was it of theirs? She was Marli the schoolteacher now, and Professor Marli had never killed anyone, or left Ametris, or done anything exciting at all. And Marli Inachi was not about to do anything to sabotage her alter-ego. Perhaps it was best to step back and let her old self be buried, act as if it had never happened….

There was no reason, however, that the father of Marli the schoolteacher could not have given her the same advice. It was good advice, she thought, regardless of where a person was from, and she intended to follow it. What can I do to make this person happy? Her father’s words were on her mind as she slipped back into the library.

When Kayle emerged from his bedroom, yawning and stretching and disheveled, Marli was waiting for him, perched on the edge of his enormous desk. As he approached, she held out her gift to him: a heavy wooden case, sprinkled with a fine layer of dust.

“What’s this?” he asked her—but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he already knew.

“A gift.” She opened the lid, showing him his stringed instrument and the bow that came with it, all of it cleaned and dusted and polished. “I wanted to hear you play.”

Kayle smiled as he lifted the instrument gingerly from its velvet cushioning. “My mom was teaching me,” he confided in her. “She said it never leaves you. Not really.”

“Go on, then,” Marli encouraged him.

Kayle leaned in and startled her by pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. Then, still smiling, he tucked the instrument under his chin and began to play. 

7: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 

When Kamilé awoke, it was still dark, and Everan was nowhere in sight. Everan? she thought sleepily, projecting her call in all directions.

I’m up here, he called back, and she heard a soft knock against a branch somewhere above the woven branches and leaves that formed their roof. Come up, Kamilé, come see….

She crawled out of bed, shivering and yawning, and edged out onto the nearest branch, bracing her feet against the trunk and pulling herself higher. Everan was only a few branches up, sitting peacefully in the crook of a branch where it met the trunk and staring up at the sky. Kamilé climbed up and sat beside him, blinking at the sky as well. It was less than an hour until dawn, but the ink-blue cloud of mist was punctured overhead by a radiant silver glow that seemed to take up half the sky over their heads, spreading outward from a core of pure white so bright that their sleepy eyes had to squint against its light.

The moon is so bright tonight, said Everan. Isn’t it beautiful?

Yeah. It is. She reached up and touched the crescent-shaped scar on her forehead. Do you think it really looks like this?

I don’t know, he admitted. Probably. It must look like a jewel, like a diamond or a crystal, but glowing like a lantern.

D’you think it’s on fire?

No, I don’t think so. I don’t know how it would stay alight….

Maybe it’s magic, said Kamilé happily. Like in the stories. Maybe a Chosen put it up there a long time ago and made it shine.

Maybe. Everan seemed in too good a mood to bother with logic.

They sat there for a long time, watching the mist change as the sun crept over the distant horizon. From the east came first a faint pink glow, then hazy circles of butter and mint and peach, then, as the sky lightened to a glorious silver-cerulean, streaks of gold and orange and every vibrant shade in between, slicing through the mist and falling upon the leaves around them like the long thin fingers of a sun god, reaching through the silvery miasma to touch them with their warmth.

Happy birthday, Kamé, said Everan, and put an arm around her shoulders in a fond embrace.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and hugged him around the waist, smiling. Happy birthday, she replied, and held onto him tightly as they watched the sunrise together.

When the colors finally faded from the sky, leaving only a dome of pale yellow mist overhead, the twins grabbed their things—Everan his bag, Kamilé her boots—and dropped down to the forest floor. They marched west, heading toward the river.

It was a beautiful morning in the forest. The night had not been long, and any lingering coolness left behind was soon swept away by the warm southerly breeze and the intense light of the summer sun. Soon every inch of the mist was glowing like sparkling motes of gold dust, latching onto newly-budded leaves and tree branches until every living thing that they saw looked newer and brighter and touched by magic. It was midsummer day, the most sacred of elfin holy days, and even the trees and plants and animals seemed to know it: the wildflowers were all in bloom, the birds were singing in beautiful harmonies, and there was not a dead branch or brown leaf in sight.

It was too hot and too humid for Everan, and he was soon sweating and panting as he tried to keep up with Kamilé, who loved the brightness and the heat and never seemed to tire of it. She would skip ahead, laughing aloud in delight, sniffing every flower and trying to touch every animal that came near her—then, seeing him falling behind, double back and drag him along, offering encouragement all the way.

It’s not far, Everan, and we can swim, it won’t be so hot then, I bet the water will be nice and cold…. Come on, Everan! It’s so pretty today, isn’t it? The forest is so happy! It knows it’s our birthday, I bet, it’s being this nice just for us….

This he highly doubted, but he let her believe what she would: it was hardly less idiotic than what anyone else believed. He followed her in peaceful silence, content to watch her be happy, and intervene only if he could improve it.

When they reached their usual swimming spot, Everan paused, but Kamilé pulled him further downriver. Not here, she said, I want to go this way.

What? Why? There’s nothing that way but the waterfall.

I just wanna see! Please?

He sighed, but it was her birthday. All right, he said.

Yes! She placed her foot against the nearest tree and began to climb. C’mon!

Where the Great Tree met the river, the roots were so huge that climbing them was like climbing a mountain: ascending almost straight upward, seeking hand- and footholds in the cracks between the bark until it was possible to clamber onto the highest point, the crest of the root, where it met the trunk of the Great Tree. From there the next one over wasn’t too far, and if one were skilled enough, one could hop from one to the next until the gaps between became too large. Then it was back down into the tangle again, through and under and over a labyrinth of interlocking roots with the behemoth of the Great Tree to their left as their only guide.

Then, at last, the roots began to clear away, and to descend: when they looked down now, instead of a dizzying drop to the earth, they saw water, near enough to see their reflections flying across the water as they jumped. But the water was deeper now, and moving fast through the dangling roots, preparing for its leap over the falls.

And then, after a short climb, they reached the apex of the falls, where all that could be seen before them and below them was empty air.

The falls were as old as Ametris itself, a crescent-shape cliff rising high above the southern forest, supported by the thick, tangled roots of the Great Tree that wove in and out of the rock and earth. The river, twice as wide and twice as fast as before, surged out into the empty air and plunged downward, meeting the lake five hundred feet below with enough force to crush a man like solid rock. The lake bubbled and frothed treacherously around the base of the falls, but as it spread outward the water calmed, and at the southern edge, where the edge of the lake was split by two smaller rivers, the water was slow and tranquil again. But here, at the crest of the falls, the water was broiling madly with frothy white foam and spray, creating a noise so deafening that it seemed likely to shake the teeth out of their skulls.

Everan clung to something solid and would not move out of the shade of the foliage, but Kamilé moved past him in a trance, and wandered further down the root, as wide as a street in the square, until it narrowed severely and dipped back into the water. There she stopped, at the edge of their world, staring out at the forest to the south as the wind whipped her hair around her face.

Kamilé, no—come back! Everan pleaded; just the sight of her made him feel sick. Please, you’ll fall….

But she wasn’t listening. She craned her neck to see further still, keeping perfect balance even with the wind and the percussive force of the water against the root beneath her.

I don’t understand, she said. In my dream I could see everything. I could see the ocean, Everan, and it was so bright and pretty and clear. But now I see all the water flying up, and the lake, and some trees, and then the mist covers everything, and that’s it….

That’s because it was a dream, he said, closing his eyes to combat the vertigo. You couldn’t see the ocean anyway. We’re not high enough and it’s too far. It must be three hundred miles away. Now would you please come down?

But she wouldn’t—at least, not for a long time. And when she did, it was with great reluctance, looking back over her shoulder every few steps. Everan was so relieved when she came within his reach that he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her closer in. He could have hugged her in his relief, if she’d wanted, but her mind was a thousand miles away. She drifted back down the root, then headed northward again, her reflection frowning up at her from the dark water.

What’s wrong? he asked her, once they were far enough away from the falls that the noise was no more than a dull roar in the background.

Oh, nothing, she said with a sullen little shrug. I just…I don’t know. That dream was real, Everan, I know it was, but when I was actually there, everything was different….

That’s because it wasn’t real, he insisted, but nicely; he had never seen her in such a pensive mood. I think we’d remember if all of that happened, wouldn’t we?

He expected a smile, or at least a softening of her stony expression, but she only shook her head. No, she told him. It was REAL. I know it was. Maybe it didn’t HAPPEN, but…it was a different kind of real. Like someone was trying to tell me something.

Someone? Not just your brain?

No, like a person. Another person. D’you remember when I asked you to tell me the story about how Kilio and Tara got their magic weapons? And you said—

—that I didn’t know it, he completed. And I didn’t remember telling it to you.

But I KNEW it, Everan. I knew the story. I could see it in my head. I wasn’t just imagining it, I know I wasn’t, I’m not as good at making up stories as you are. It was REAL. It really happened. And I could see it.

But Kamilé, it…. He huffed in frustration as he clambered over a root with somewhat less grace than his twin. That’s the thing—it can’t be real. There’s no such thing as magic bows and swords. And it’s impossible for a bow to be made from dragon teeth and dragon scales, because dragons don’t exist. And nobody fights with two swords, they just use one.

Kamilé sighed, but made no protest—not because she believed him, but because she didn’t know how to express the way she felt. When he was younger, he often assumed that this meant he won the argument, and gloated in his debating prowess, but now he knew better. So he waited patiently for her to find the words, even if he knew that his reasoning was the only one based in logic.

It’s just… she finally told him. It’s just that everything feels…different, today. Or since that dream. Right after I had it, Kayle told us about Pilori, and I…it felt like…like things are different now. But I don’t want anything to change, Everan. She stopped and reached for his hand, the distress and worry clear in her wide silver eyes. I want everything to stay just like this, forever.

She couldn’t have possibly known it, but those words crushed him, because he wanted that for her too, more than anything. But everything would have to change for her, and soon…even if it was not the way that he wanted. He wished that he could reassure her, that he could somehow stop time and make today last forever as his gift to her. But he could not. Teaching moment, he reminded himself firmly. This is a teaching moment. I’m her older brother, and we don’t have a mom or dad, so I’m all she’s got for a parent and I have to act like it. He did not know if he was older than her, truly, but he liked to imagine that he was.

So, instead of lying to her, he came as close to the truth as he dared. Kamilé…it can’t, he said, as gently as he could. That isn’t the way life works. Everything has to change. We’re not ten anymore, we’re eleven, and life won’t be the same for us now that we’re a little older…. It’s not a bad thing, though. It could be a nice change. D’you still want to go see the ocean?

Yeah….

Well, that’s different, isn’t it? It’ll take us a week or two to get there, and that will be different every day. And then we may want to go somewhere else, somewhere new…and who knows? We might never end up back here. Not if we don’t want to. Or we might only come back when we’re grown up, and then we’ll live a completely different life. But we NEED to live a different life. Do you honestly like this? Being hungry all the time and stealing all the things we need, and not living in a real house?

I…yeah, she mumbled, though she did not sound certain at all. I like it…it’s an adventure….

No, it’s not, he told her. It’s pathetic, and it’s exhausting. We shouldn’t have to live like this. If we’re not fitting in here, then we can try another city, or a little friendly town. And if those people still don’t like us, then we can live out in the forest. We can grow our own food, or find it, and we can make a tent and sleep in that. It might not be any easier, but at least we can see new things, and new places. THAT’S a real adventure.

She paused on top of a root, but did not reply; she merely scuffed it with her heel, staring down into the water.

I’m here for you, Kamilé, he promised her. Remember? Blood to blood. He held up his left hand and showed her the faint white scar across his palm. We made a pact, didn’t we? That we’d always be together. We share blood, not just because we’re family, but because your blood’s in me and mine’s in you. See? He took her right hand and spread her fingers, tracing them over the matching scar on her own palm. Then he held her hand tightly in his, pressing their palms together, until the two scars lined up exactly. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you dream. I’m not leaving you behind. Blood to blood….

Blood to blood, she agreed, and gave his hand a little squeeze.

Right. But…we don’t have anything here for us, Kamé, he said quietly. We don’t have anything keeping us here. And I know you think Kayle is family, and Pilori, but they both have their own lives to live. Kayle wants to get married and have kids of his own, and then he won’t have time for us. And Pilori…. She’d just leave us again. But it doesn’t even matter, because we don’t need her anymore. We’ve made it this far without needing parents, and now we’re just too big for them. We need to make a life of our own. And she would grow older, and find someone else to care for her, and once married, would make a life on her own, without him, and he would be gone from her life…. But he would deal with that when it came. We need to find a place that’s right for us, and people that like us, and see if we could live better somewhere else, without stealing people’s food from their houses like mice, or—

Everan?

The tone of her mental voice caught his attention at once: it was both confused and hesitant, with just a hint of fear. What? he asked her at once. What is it?

I…I thought I saw…. She pointed into the water.

Saw what? He climbed onto the root on which she stood, peering into the black water beneath their feet. I don’t see any—

Then it passed underneath them: something white and fast, darting by just under the water’s surface, far bigger than any fish they had ever seen.

Kamilé cried out in surprise and clung to Everan, who froze where he stood, honing his senses as he looked at the water around them. His ears strained for any sound, his nose for even the faintest scent, and his eyes, as sharp and piercing as those of a bird of prey, scanned the water for any subtle change.

Then something white burst out of the water at their feet, something with huge bulging eyes and a fishtail so powerful it seemed to cleave through the water as it moved. Kamilé screamed and clutched at him, and Everan, already trying to move her out of the way, stumbled and lost his balance, and fell….

“Whoops! Careful!”

Two hands pressed against his back just as his boots slipped off the surface of the root, stopping his fall with a jolt. They gave a firm push in a sudden surge of force, and he felt himself plunging forward this time, just far enough for him to find the root with his feet and regain his balance. Kamilé grabbed his arms and helped to pull him up, clinging to him tightly as she looked from one side of the root to the other, her eyes so wide that he could see the whites around the edges.

The pale thing that had startled them was floating peaceably in the water in front of them, watching them as curiously as they watched it. But it was no creature, they soon realized: it was a person, if an impossibly strange one. He—for it was almost certainly a he—had skin so pale as to be translucent and a spiked mop of yellow hair, both with a faint green tinge to them. He was naked, at least from the waist up, so they could see that he was round-shouldered and slender, but with subtle and powerful muscles beneath his skin. His face appeared human, but his eyes were enormous, and had no pupil or whites: they were bright yellow globes in his head, like polished amber marbles as large as walnuts, lidless and staring and curious. As they looked at him, he smiled, revealing uneven rows of small sharp teeth, like a predatory fish.

“Hello,” he said. His voice quavered and burbled, as if he were still submerged under the water. The huge yellow fishtail moved through the water again, just behind him, and they realized at last that he was the one controlling it. 

Kamilé and Everan were too shocked to do anything but stare. Mermaid, thought Everan numbly, no, a merman—though he had never in his life imagined that they’d look so strange. Or so huge: he may have been narrow in frame, but his torso was taller than that of most grown men, and his tail, from waist to fins, was easily seven or eight feet long.

Behind them was another one, the one that had caught Everan as he’d fallen, but this one was clearly female. Her tail and her eyes were both matching shades of brilliant ruby-red, and her long hair, bound by ropes of pearls and beads, was the color of seaweed, and looked just as stringy and slimy. There was no denying that she was beautiful, just as the male was handsome, but in an eerie way that made them want to take several steps back. She waved and smiled as they looked at her, but kept her full lips closed, and was all the prettier for it.

“Are you all right?” she asked them. Her voice, too, sounded as if it were bubbling up from deep underwater, melodic, but distorted. “Did we frighten you?”

Kamilé was too busy gaping at her open-mouthed to think to answer; Everan had to nudge her hard with his elbow. “I…uh…no,” she stammered. “Are you a mermaid?”

“Yes,” she said, with a little lyrical burble of laughter. “And what manner of creature are you?”

“I…we’re elves. We live in Kocha, it’s that way….”

“Oh! Little elves!” She beamed in delight, then promptly ducked her head underwater and shouted with surprising violence, releasing a torrent of bubbles. Neither of them could make out the words, but in a few seconds, as if in response, a blur of white and pale blue swam to her side and breached the water.

It was another merman, but a much more reassuring specimen: a bit broader of waist and shoulder, with pale blonde hair and eyes the color of pale blue ice, he looked more human than any of the others. His tail, which matched his eyes looked like a small iceberg bobbing beneath the surface as it moved back and forth, slowly, to keep his head above the water.

“Hello,” he said. “I am Italis, the leader of these merfolk. It is a pleasure to be in your beautiful forest.” He gave a short bow to Kamilé, then to Everan. “Saya. Saiyön.”

“No, it’s…my name’s Kamilé,” Kamilé protested. She had never heard the honorifics before, at least not directed at her. “And he’s Everan.”

“I am delighted to meet you, truly,” he told them, and to their surprise, he sounded sincere. His voice, too, sounded a bit distorted, but he seemed to be making an active effort to keep his words clear and sharp despite it. “Would one of you mind telling me where we are? I’m afraid we’re a bit lost.”

“Oh…we’re west of Kocha,” Kamilé said. “It’s maybe a mile that way, on the other side of the Great Tree.”

“Ah. A mile? That doesn’t seem too far. Although…many with me are a little unsteady on their feet. Is it an easy journey? Is the way clear?”

“Um, well, there’s a path….”

“A path? Wonderful. Would it be too much trouble for you to show us where it is? We’ve been swimming around lost since dawn.”

“Oh. Um.” Everan protested, but quietly, as he had no logical reason, only nervousness and a general antipathy toward all people, and in the end Kamilé chose to ignore him. “Okay. Follow me!”

She hopped onto the next root and wove her way through the tangle once more, with Everan following as close behind her as he could. She seemed very pleased with herself about being a guide to the merpeople, and did not lack in enthusiasm; every few seconds, she would look back and see the merpeople darting through the water beneath her, laugh in exhilaration, and push herself to move faster. If she had been anyone less coordinated, or with poorer balance, she would have fallen, but Kamilé was born to climb and was by nature stronger, faster, and more graceful than most in the midst of an athletic challenge. When she reached solid ground, she nearly outran the fastest of the merpeople, even with their powerful tails. But before long they reached the edge of the path, and the race was done.

The leader, Italis, poked his head out of the water. “Is this the path?” he called to the bank.

“Yes,” Kamilé called back, and the head disappeared. Then, with a surge of water that washed over the silt and clay and tiny plants along the bank, Italis reemerged right at the edge of the water. They watched in fascination as he dragged himself out of the water and onto the bank, the thick muscles in his arms straining with every heave. He stopped only when his fins were clear of the water, then collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving.

One by one, the other merpeople did the same, nearly twoscore of them. Kamilé and Everan watched them closely as they crawled, slowly and painfully, onto the grass and clover, only to collapse in a panting heap once they were completely beached. There were men and women both, most of them fairly young, and a few children: one women even cradled a baby to her breast, a grotesque, whimpering little thing with a tiny tail with scales like glass, a disproportionately large head, and enormous colorless eyes. None of them wore any clothing, though some carried shapeless packs of some unknown slick material on their backs, and many of the women had decorative strands of pearls or beads or colored stones or shells wound around their necks and chests or woven into their hair. Each one had a tail of a different color, and eyes to match: emerald and jade and olive, turquoise and cerulean and seafoam, violet and lavender, ruby and rose, citrine and gold, opal and silver, earth-brown and jet-black. Some had scales that were jewel-bright; others’ were more subdued. But all of the scales glittered in the sunlight, the water droplets shining like diamonds, scattered across their bellies and coating them from their navels (or where their navels should have been) to the edge of their fins as their tails waved slowly through the air.

How are they going to get to Kocha? Kamilé whispered. We can’t carry them, they’re too big!

Don’t be ridiculous, Everan told her. They don’t expect us to carry them. Truth be told, he had no idea what their plan was, and he was not at all comfortable with the uncertainty. Just let them catch their breath first, he said. Then we’ll ask.

But far from catching their breath, the merpeople seemed to grow more exhausted by the second. After only a couple of minutes had passed, most of them were still panting heavily, and some were even wheezing. Kamilé, worried, crept up to Italis, who was lying supine in the grass, grimacing and breathing hard, his eyes staring blankly at the mist through a translucent film.

“Um…excuse me?” she said timidly, and flinched slightly when the film slid back from his eyes as he turned to look at her. “Are you…some of them are…they can’t…shouldn’t you get back into the water?”

“Ah—I’m sorry,” he said at once, propping himself up on one elbow. “I assumed you knew. I did not mean to distress you. We are changing so we may walk with you. But we must be dry first, and it is hard to breathe. Don’t be alarmed. Look, see? Look at the children.”

 Kamilé sat up on her heels to see a young merboy and a little mergirl nearby, both of them younger than she. They were breathing hard, clinging to their mother in confusion and fear, but even as she whispered reassurance to them, something began to happen. It was so subtle that the twins did not even know what was happening at first. But then they saw it: the scales were receding from their bellies, growing smoother and slicker and paler, shrinking inward as the tail and fins shortened and split down the middle. And then, somehow, inexplicably, there were two tiny feet in place of fins, and two pale skinny legs where once there had been a tail. And the children, apparently in no discomfort at all, pushed themselves onto their wobbly new limbs, took a few shaky steps, then began to chase each other around, laughing and shouting at one another in delight, clearly at no loss for breath.

And one by one, the same was happening to the other merpeople: the children first, including the baby, then the women, then the men. The change seemed painless, though judging by the looks on their faces, it must have felt quite strange indeed—but it seemed a relief to them, especially when they could breathe again. They got up one at a time, some strong and steady, others leaning on trees or on each other for support, to test out their new limbs. Their new legs were as pale as snow, with the same greenish tint as the rest of their skin, and were absurdly skinny compared to their torsos, and they were longer than human or elfin legs by a noticeable amount. Kamilé couldn’t stop looking at them. Without the tails, they were roughly the same shape as a human, but they looked so strange, so gangly and pale and narrow-framed. Oddest of all, they were naked, but even though Everan told her not to stare, there was nothing to stare at, or at least nothing worth covering up.

But Italis seemed to think differently. Once on his feet (more quickly than most, and with much more strength and grace) he summoned a pair of short pants made from what looked like woven seaweed and pulled them on, tightening them by a string around the waist. Then he dug up an entire pile of them and passed them around to each of his people, pausing to help someone onto his feet or offer guidance on the subtle art of walking on two legs. The men dressed in pants identical to his; the women pulled dresses of the same material over their heads, short and shapeless and modest. They looked much more normal with clothing on; from the back, at a distance, they might even have passed as human.

When Italis came back their way, Kamilé stared at him as if he were a god. “How did you do that?” she asked eagerly. “Is it magic?”

“Of a sort,” Italis told her. He lifted his wrist and showed her the bracelets he was wearing, half a dozen on each arm. They were simple in construction: smooth rings of jade, varying in hue, with a tiny silver clasp on one side and a small hinge on the other. Each had a small colored stone or gem embedded within the jade. “They were crafted long before the Gift was given, using ancient powers that no one today could ever hope to replicate. All of my people have one, see?” He gestured around, and they saw that he was right: every single one of the merpeople had a bracelet on, even the little baby, who was no less ugly and bulbous now that he had two little legs. “The bracelet knows when we are in danger of suffocating, and before any harm can come to us, it changes us so that we may walk on land. It seems to work for quite some time, although I have never tested it myself.”

“Wow….” Kamilé eyed the bracelets with longing, her fingers twitching; Everan had to tug on her shirt to keep her from snatching at them. They aren’t for you, he reminded her firmly. And they need all of them.

But he has so many of them!

That’s just in case something happens and he needs them. They wouldn’t even work on you, Kamilé, you already have two legs.

But…. She turned away only with the utmost reluctance, crushed and defeated. Aww….

Once all the merpeople were dressed, they drifted around on unsteady feet, looking to Italis for guidance. But he was looking to the twins.

“Shall we?” he asked them.

“Huh?”

“The Gathering. Shall we walk together?”

“Oh….” Kamilé looked to Everan, who merely shrugged. “Okay. I guess. C’mon, it’s this way.”

She and Everan walked up to the path, which was little more than a trail of dirt snaking through the underbrush, and followed it eastward. Italis fell into step behind them, as easily as if he had been born with legs, while the rest of them hobbled and limped and shuffled along in their wake. They moved at a frustratingly slow pace, and were so preoccupied with staring at the forest around them and gaping open-mouthed at the trees and flowers and shrubs that they often bumped into each other or tripped, toppling like a coin rolling across a table.  

“Haven’t they seen trees before?” Kamilé wondered aloud, suppressing a giggle as one merman struggled to disentangle his clothes from a tree branch.

“Many of them haven’t,” Italis told her. “I can’t take all of my people to the Gatherings, because we only have so many bracelets, so every year I have my people choose from among themselves who has performed a deed or service that deserves reward. But obviously, those people change every year, so most of them have never been to a Gathering before, or even left our lake. Our world is very small.”

“Really? But can’t you swim to the ocean?”

“No, we cannot. The mist makes the water too treacherous for us.”

“The water? I thought it was in the sky.”

“It is. It covers Ametris like a dome, and beyond the borders, it falls to the sea to form an impenetrable wall. It goes below the surface as well, and it makes the water so cloudy that we cannot see. Our legends say that there are monsters dwelling in the deeps as well, but on the other side of the mist, along with our sister tribe.”

“Your what?”

“It is another legend of ours. They say that merpeople used to dwell in the ocean, before the war, and that they remain there still—but the mist divides us, so we can never know.”

“Wow. I wish we could look for ‘em…. Kilio and Tara explored the ocean once,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “They found a big city beneath the water, all in ruins.”

“Ah. That would be Adranalï. It was once a large island populated by land-dwellers in ancient times. But it sank beneath the sea and was abandoned, so the merpeople of the ocean claimed it as their own.”

“I—right,” said Kamilé, confused. “And then there was a monster….”

“A kraken. Or a water dragon. Both are ancient monsters of legend.”

“Right….” Kamilé looked to Everan again, biting her lip. How does he know?

He can’t possibly, muttered Everan. No one’s supposed to know about the Chosen. And what was more, though he would never admit it to Kamilé, he had made that story up along with all the others. Could it be possible that it had really happened, and that he simply did not remember reading it? But how could he have read it if all the books with information about the Chosen had been destroyed?

“Do you know much about Kilio and Tara, then?” Italis asked them. “I find them fascinating, and I would love to hear more about them.”

“Oh…no,” said Kamilé. “I mean, we know some stories, but we’re not supposed to tell you. It's against the law to talk about Chosen.”

“Is it?” Italis did not seem very surprised. “We have no such law in my cities. But then, we don’t have much in the way of written histories—all of our stories are passed down to us by our elders, by word of mouth. So you don’t know much about the Chosen? Like where they are, or what they look like?”

“Well, no. There’s only one, but no one knows where he is.”

“He?”

Kamilé shrugged. “I guess it’s a he. I dunno. Nobody does.”

“Really? There’s no one who would know more?”

“Nuh uh. Nobody knows anything about ‘em. Well, maybe Kayle does, he’s real smart. He’s the liberian.”

“Kayle is the librarian? The little boy?”

Kamilé giggled. “No! He isn’t little at all! He’s huge.”

Italis smiled fondly at her, keeping his unsettling teeth hidden safely behind his lips. “I worked with his father before him,” he explained. “But I did meet him when he was a child. So he’s the librarian now? Did his father pass?”

“No, he died. Kayle said he fell by accident.”

“Ah. I’m…sorry to hear that. Did you know him?”

“No. But we know Kayle. He used to let us into the library once his dad was asleep when it was real cold out, so we didn’t freeze.”

“So you didn’t…? What about your own house?”

“We don’t have one.”

“But…surely your parents…?”

Kamilé shook her head. “We don’t have any. We’re orphans.”

Italis was stricken speechless for a moment; for some reason, this news seemed to distress him a little too much. “Where do you sleep?” he finally managed to stammer. “Where do you get food?”

“We just sleep…wherever. In the library a lot, and in soft places. And food is, um….” She hesitated, afraid to admit that they stole to eat, and merely shrugged in answer.

“I see….” Italis looked away, scowling into the forest. “Well, you two have been an enormous help for me today. Maybe there’s something I can do.”

“It’s okay,” mumbled Kamilé, made nervous and confused by Everan’s sudden panic. The last thing he wanted was for someone to meddle in their affairs. “We’re fine.”

“Hmm.” Italis seemed unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

Distract him, Kamilé, Everan hissed. He’s going to get us into even more trouble!

What? How?

I don’t know! Do something cute!

“I…uh…oh! Can you hear that?” Kamilé exclaimed.

“Hear what?” The merman cocked his head, puzzled. He did, Everan noted, have ears, of a sort: two small ridges of flesh surrounding two thin circles of membrane on either side of his head. But he could not possibly hear very well with them.

“It’s music! I hear flutes and stuff, and drums, and I bet there’s singing. Can’t you hear it?”

“I’m afraid I…oh.” His brow, furrowed in concentration, smoothed as his lips curved into a smile. “Oh, that is lovely. I do miss elfin music.”

“Why? Isn’t it the same?”

“Oh, no. Elves and dwarves and humans all have very different music. And as for us, we don’t have many instruments that will work under the water, so we can only sing. Elfin music is my favorite, though. So light and cheerful.”

“I like it, too,” said Kamilé, beaming. “And look, see? Up ahead? You can see the square from here. See all those people?”

“Ah—so it is!” He turned and gestured to his people, stepping aside and waving them ahead. Kamilé and Everan ducked out of the way as well, half-hiding in the foliage as they watched the procession of merpeople, tired and limping and footsore, pass them by. Italis stepped back onto the path only when all of them had passed him by, shooing the two merchildren towards the rest as they ran by.

“Thank you,” he told Kamilé and Everan, and bowed to each of them again, his arms crossed at his waist. Kamilé, feeling uncertain and awkward, bowed back in a similar fashion; Everan ducked further into the shadows and remained there, still and silent. “You have done my people a great service today. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but we would have had a much more difficult journey without you. May I offer you a gift in return?”

“A present?” said Kamilé eagerly. “For our birthday?”

“Ah—is it your birthday?” He smiled as he slipped two bracelets off of his wrist. “Then have a happy birthday, and may your next year be the best one yet.”

He dropped the bracelets into Kamilé’s open hands; she stared at them in wonder, then, with an excited squeak, turned to Everan and showed them to him. Look! she exclaimed. Look, look!

He came to stand beside her, snatching the bracelets swiftly out of her hands before she could put them on. Don’t, he said firmly. Ask him if—

“—they’ll work on us?” Kamilé echoed aloud. Then, on further thought, she added, “Will they turn us into fish?”

“No,” said Italis with a merry laugh. “Not at all. They don’t seem to have any effect at all on land-dwellers. But who knows? Maybe their power will help you when you truly need it.”

Everan, still suspicious, slipped his on first and fastened the clasp. The dark green jade, veined with black and decorated with an onyx orb, felt cool and smooth to the touch, but otherwise he felt nothing. It barely even had any weight to it. Nothing, he told Kamilé. They’re safe. Here, let me help you with yours.

She held out her wrist, and he closed her bracelet around it, this one olive-green with pearl and turquoise veins, bejeweled by a polished opal. She clutched it to her chest and laughed in delight, performing a tiny, happy dance on the spot. A mermaid bracelet, Everan! It’s so pretty! I love it, I love it, I love it!

You know it doesn’t do anything, right? It doesn’t work on us at all.

I don’t care, she insisted. I have a real mermaid bracelet! And you have one too! This is the best day ever, Everan, isn’t it?

It's only just started. Despite himself, he could not help but smile at her delight. Thank him, then. For both of us.

Kamilé was happy to comply. “Thank you!” she told Italis. “We love it!”

“I am glad,” he told them, smiling. “Would the two of you happen to know where I can find your Elders?”

“Oh—yeah,” said Kamilé. “They’re always in the library at the Gathering, so they can talk to all the people coming in.”

“Oh, wonderful. Would you mind showing me how to get in? I can’t seem to remember where to find the entrance.”

“Oh…we shouldn’t,” muttered Kamilé. “We’re not allowed in. The Elders don’t like us.”

“Well, today you will be my personal escorts,” Italis assured her. “The Elders can’t possibly object.”

“But they’re—they’re the Elders,” Kamilé protested. “Of the whole forest!”

“And I am Merchieftain,” he said with a wink and a mischievous grin. “Of all the lakes in Ametris, and the rivers, and the seas. So I have equal say.”

He's right, Everan affirmed. The Head Elder, the Merchieftain, the dwarven Lord, and the human Marquess are all equals by law. Let’s go with him, Kamilé.

What? But the Elders….

He’s on our side, for some reason. Even if they get mad, they can’t do anything, and it’ll be nice to see someone put them in their place. And if he caused an interracial conflict that strained all future relations between the elves and merpeople, well, so be it.

“Okay…” said Kamilé aloud, though her uncertainty was clear. “Let’s go then. I guess.” 

8: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

 

The square was teeming with people as they approached it: crowds and crowds and crowds of them, and each one stranger than the last.

To Kamilé and Everan, the chaos around them was overwhelming: they were very small, and when they found themselves swallowed by the crowd and surrounded by people on all sides they feared that they would never escape. Everywhere they looked, they saw tall people in their best clothes, laughing and chatting and shouting at one another, walking this way or that way, dancing alone or with a group, standing in little knots in the middle of the street and blocking the path. They were so loud to their sensitive ears, all of them trying to be heard over the music and each other, and the smell…. Nearly everyone smelled of soap and scented oils from bathing, and every other woman, regardless of race, had a flower in her hair to match the garlands strung between the buildings. And there were humans, too, mingling in with the Kochan elves and the elves from other parts of the forest, with a rich earthy scent that was incredibly strong, though not unpleasant. They could smell food, too, from the vendors nearby who were handing a piece of whatever they had prepared to anyone who wanted it. But even as hungry as they were, the aromas, layered on top of every other smell permeating the air, only served to make them queasy.

Italis’s presence was a blessing to them: he was very tall and could see over the heads of the crowd, so every once in awhile they would feel his hand at their backs, applying gentle pressure in the direction they had to go. Odd as his touch felt (his skin was much cooler than theirs, and his fingers were slightly webbed with thick sharp fingernails like little claws) they were grateful for it, and relieved when he led them out of the crowds and onto the tall grass of the meadow in front of the library. There were still people here, and a trio of performers playing a lively tune, but it was much easier now to duck around them and run to the library door.

They let Italis lead the way in, pausing in the shadowed doorway to look around for the Elders. But even though they could hear and see strangers upstairs and in the wings to the north and south, the foyer was empty but for Marli and Kayle. Both of them looked up as they entered, and Kayle came over to greet Italis at once.

“Hello—are you the Merchieftain? I’m Kayle, the librarian.” He bowed with his arms crossed at his waist, and Italis, smiling, mirrored the gesture.

“Italis,” he said. “And we have met before, if you recall. When you were just a boy.”

“Oh—really? I didn’t realize you’ve led the merpeople for so long.” Kamilé and Everan could understand his surprise: it was difficult to tell, but Italis did not look older than twenty-five or thirty. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I hope you’re doing…oh.” He looked past Italis as the twins crept out of the shadows, clearly noticing them for the first time. “Hello.”

“Your young friends were kind enough to show my people to the city,” Italis explained. “If not for them we would have been hopelessly lost.”

“Yes, they’re—they’re good kids,” Kayle agreed. But he did not seem happy to see them—in fact, just the opposite. He looked troubled to them, as if they had timed their visit poorly, as well as disconcerted to see them with Italis. In all the time they’d known him, they had never once interfered with the intricate politics involved in his role as the librarian, and they could tell that he did not know how to act toward them while playing his part as a liason for people of importance. “Um…the Elders are expecting you, Italis. Would you like me to show you to the sitting room?”

“No, thank you. I know the way.” The twins were starting to realize that Italis knew the city as well as they did, and had only asked them to guide him as a thin pretext for some unknown motive. “Would it be all right if these children came with me? I want to talk to the Elders about rewarding them properly for their help.”

Uh-oh, thought Kamilé and Everan in unison.

I don’t want to go, Kamilé added in a whisper.  

We can’t. It can’t possibly end well.

They’ll yell at us.

No, he’ll yell at them. Either way, there’s no way we’ll actually get a reward.

Fortunately, Kayle seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “That’s…that’s not the best idea,” he said, his voice barely louder than a mumble. “They should probably stay here. Don’t worry, I’ll look after them—they won’t go far.”

“Thank you,” said Italis, with one last fleeting look at the twins. “Has anything happened recently that I should be aware of?”

“Well….”

They broke off into a conversation about political matters that the twins paid little attention to, Everan because he already knew about the new victims of the red plague and the trade difficulties between the forest and the mountains and other such topics, Kamilé because she did not care. But every minute or two, Kayle would cast an uneasy look in their direction, and Italis would follow his lead, his huge blue eyes unreadable.

“Psst—Kamilé. Everan.”

Marli was hovering behind the desk; she gestured for them to follow and retreated to the doorway of the southeastern wing, where she crouched on the floor in order to be closer to their height.

“What’s wrong with Kayle?” Kamilé asked her at once, speaking for both of them. “Did we do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. He just didn’t expect you to come in so early.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Something had, obviously: Marli looked just as uncomfortable as Kayle, and just as uncertain about how to proceed. She paused for a moment, choosing her words with care.

“We weren’t trying to hide anything from you. I swear we weren’t. We were just hoping for a little more time to sort things out. But….” She sighed, brushing her hair back with her fingers. “Your mother’s here. Pilori. And she…well…she doesn’t look so good. I really think you need to see her.”

 

In the southeastern wing, where Kayle and Kamilé had been restocking books only a few days before, there was a small alcove in the living wood that formed the wall, sealed with clay and stone in order to form a little hearth. Why it was there, along with similar structures dotted all around the library, was a mystery: elves did not light fires, not until temperatures dropped below freezing, and even then they would use only wood from fallen trees or branches. But it was there, though cold and empty, and had a sofa and a few cozy chairs gathered cozily around it.

In one of those chairs sat Pilori, wrapped in a thick blanket and staring off into space.

Pilori had been very young when she’d first adopted them, only seventeen years old—younger than their own mother, if the stories she had told them were true. She had been an apprentice to her mother at the time, learning how to be a midwife, but that night her mother was needed elsewhere, and she’d had to see to theirs all by herself. She came into their mother’s house that night nervous and young and scared, and left it much the same, but with two children who needed her in her arms.

Looking at her now, however, they could see almost no trace of the young, pretty woman that had left them six years ago. Pilori, at the age of twenty-eight, looked so much older: her hair was thin and brittle and turning silver at the roots, her body was thin and frail, her skin was ashen and touched by faint premature lines around her mouth and eyes. She was shivering even under her blanket, and her eyes were so blank and glazed that they were frightened to approach her.

But she heard them coming, and when she turned and saw them, her entire face transformed. She smiled, and as her eyes brightened, all the weariness and sadness seemed to disappear.

“Kamilé…Everan,” she said hoarsely, and held out her arms to them. “My babies….”

Everan hung back, but Kamilé flew into her embrace without a second thought. Pilori hugged her with bony arms, and Kamilé squeezed back as tightly as she could, burying her face against her shoulder. Her dress was rough and scratchy, and her smell was wrong, but it was still their mother, the woman who had fed them and bathed them and tucked them into bed, and she had been gone far too long.

Pilori’s shaking did not cease; indeed, it seemed to worsen. It was only by looking at her through Everan’s eyes that Kamilé realized that she was crying.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” she asked her. She tried to pull away, but Pilori only held her tighter, making it impossible to squirm out of her grip. “It’s all right….”

But Pilori wasn’t listening. “My little girl,” she whispered. “My baby girl…I’m so sorry, babies, I’m so sorry…. Everan….”

She reached for him as well, but Everan ducked out of her reach, watching her with narrowed eyes. Liar, he hissed. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t have done it….

Marli had been hovering in the background, watching from a distance, but when it looked as if Pilori would never let go, she came over and detached Kamilé gently from her grip. “There, there,” she said soothingly. “It’s all right. Let’s just get this blanket back around you. Do you want to sit in her lap, Kamilé? You can if you’d like.”

Pilori’s dramatically altered appearance was quite alarming to Everan, even if he did feel a sort of vengeful pleasure at it, but Kamilé could not have cared less what she looked like. She climbed up on Pilori’s lap and curled up against her, seeking all the comfort and love that had been stolen from her.

“We missed you, Mama,” she said. “We missed you….”

Don’t drag me into this! Everan protested. I didn’t miss her at all!

Everan, hu-ush…. She looks so sad. And she said she was sorry….

I don’t care! She can’t just come back after all this time and expect us to believe that. It’s just an act, Kamilé, she’s lying to you….

She is not! She would never!

She lied when she said she was coming back! Why wouldn’t she lie again?

Kamilé made to retort, but Pilori interrupted. “What are you two arguing about?” she said. “Stop that, be nice….”

They had been arguing telepathically, but when they were younger, Pilori had always seemed able to tell. She sounded just like she had back then.

“We were…we wanted to know where you were,” Kamilé told her. “You said you’d come back ages ago….”

“I know.” Pilori bit her lip, clearly fighting back more tears. “I know…. I am so sorry. I wanted to come back, but I couldn’t….”

Here we go, said Everan, rolling his eyes. Here come the excuses.

Everan, shut up! “But why?”

“I…it’s….” For some reason, Pilori looked to Marli for help. “I was in Saleeda.” An image of a map flashed into Everan’s head, focused on a tiny dot deep in the northwestern forest, far from any major paths or waterways. “I…I was….”

“She was in quarantine,” said Marli quietly. “For the red plague.”

What?! Before Kamilé had time to resist, Everan yanked her off of Pilori’s lap and pulled her away. “Hey!” she protested, trying to squirm free, but he wouldn’t let her.

Kamilé, NO! The red plague is contagious, she could kill you just by touching you!

What? But she wouldn’t do that….

It’s not on purpose, it’s—

Pilori seemed stunned by Everan’s reaction, but Marli wasted no time intervening. “No, no, no,” she said quickly, and with a firm tug pulled Kamilé and Everan apart. “She doesn’t have it, some people have a natural immunity—including you, by the way. Pilori, maybe you should just…?”

“Ah…okay,” said Pilori, sounding uncertain. Kamilé edged closer to her, and she wrapped her in a tight embrace again, absentmindedly stroking the tangles out of her hair. “Well, I…Tal and I…when we went to see his parents, his father was…sick. We didn’t know what it was at first. He was already in terrible condition, and then his mother caught it too…and we couldn’t leave them, not when they had no one left. I wanted to come back and get the two of you after a week, but…but I waited a little longer, because I couldn’t leave Tal to care for them all on his own. And then one day these people came to the door and said they could help us. They took both of us and his parents to Saleeda, and…and it wasn’t a place for them to heal. It was a place for them to die. And when we tried to leave, they wouldn’t let us, because we’d been infected.

“No one there was clean of the disease—even the people that brought us disappeared right afterward. But the healthier ones guarded us to make sure we didn’t run off. They weren’t even trying to help anyone. Tal wouldn’t leave his parents…but when they passed, we still couldn’t leave…. They didn’t let me go until they were convinced that I was resistant to it. And Kamilé, Everan, I swear I tried every day to get out of there. I swear I sent letters every single day. But they burned them, and I never knew it, and I…I couldn’t….”

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Marli soothed her. “It wasn’t your fault….”

Everan doubted that very much, but he had more pressing questions. Kamilé voiced them for him. “Why’d they let you go? How’d they know you weren’t carrying it?”

Pilori gave a miserable shrug. “Apparently that’s not how it works. If you don’t seem sick, then you can’t spread it even if you have it, and if you don’t show signs of it after a certain amount of time, then it’s not there. They wouldn’t have let me come back otherwise.”

“But it’s…we never heard of this place. There’s people with the red plague all over….”

“Are there?” Pilori looked to Marli for answers. “Still?”

“A few,” Marli told her. “They’ve been asked to leave several times, but they’ve refused. Most of them live a good distance from anyone else. The Elders made a deal with them since they couldn’t make them leave: as long as they are clearly marked when they go out, so that no one touches them accidentally, they can stay.”

“And everyone’s all right with that?”

“Well, no. But most of the victims are children. No one’s willing to take them from their parents.”

“Children? Like who?”

“Well, I don’t know most of them personally…do you know Luci Halida? She was a student of mine before she got sick.”

“I do.” Pilori’s face fell. “I delivered her. Is she…?”

“She’s got some time. She’s lasted a couple of years now. But she isn’t doing very well.”

“Poor little thing….”

Everan still had one more question, so Kamilé tugged on Pilori’s skirt to get her attention. “Where’s…did your….” Even after a year of courtship between him and Pilori, Kamilé and Everan had never figured out what they should call the man she married. “Did your husband stay behind?”

Pilori could not answer, but she didn’t have to. The look on her face said everything. She let her face fall into her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Everan, you made me make her cry, said Kamilé, startled.

You didn’t do it, Kamilé. She’s sad because he died.

He did? Did he get sick?

Must have….

Kamilé wanted to hug Pilori again, to kiss her and make her feel better, but Everan grabbed her wrist and held her back, allowing Marli to comfort her instead. Everan, she’s sad, Kamilé argued. I don’t want her to be sad….

She still abandoned us, Kamilé.

She said she couldn’t leave! And she sent us letters….

So she says. We don’t know that for sure. And she still left without us!

But we didn’t want to go….

And do you remember WHY we didn’t want to go? Because we never wanted her to get married in the first place. She was spending all her time with him, and we were left all alone in the house, don’t you remember?

But you said you’d take care of me….

I shouldn’t have had to! He was trying hard to keep the resentment from his voice, but Kamilé could still hear it, and it hurt. And when she did bring him over, he didn’t like us, did he? We weren’t good enough. He wanted his own kids, and so did she. And where would that have left us?

But she…they loved each other, right? So it was okay to get married….

Yes, it was okay. For them. Not for us. If we forgive her now, she’ll just do it all over again.

But Everan, he died…. She bit her lip, looking helplessly at Pilori. She looks so sad…and I missed her….

She SHOULD be sad! His temper exploded without warning, and his voice filled her head, so loud and angry that it hurt. She LEFT us for SIX YEARS, and she could’ve come home at any time if she would’ve left her stupid husband, but instead she left us to STARVE! We nearly DIED, Kamilé, and she was just GONE, she didn’t even CARE, she—

“Kamilé? What is it?”

Everan’s outburst left Kamilé half-blind, with fiery colors flashing behind her eyes and a ringing sound in her ears; she did not realize that she was hunched over, whimpering and clasping her hands to her ears, until Pilori’s gentle hands took them away. Kamilé reached for her without thinking, just as she had when she was little, and Pilori pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Everan, stop bullying her,” she heard Pilori scold him. “What’s going on? What are you two fighting about?”

“Everan’s still mad at you,” Kamilé mumbled into Pilori’s dress. “But I’m not….”

Pilori looked up at Everan, frowning, but Everan wasn’t listening. He and Marli were watching each other, eyes locked, both of them looking furious. Kamilé couldn’t tell what that was about.

“Kamilé, it’s okay,” Pilori told her. Her hands moved almost subconsciously through Kamilé’s hair, combing out the tangles and braiding it into a long, loose tail behind her head. “Don’t argue with him over this. He’s too stubborn…and besides, he’s got every right to be mad at me.”

“But you were sick….”

“I wasn’t sick, baby. Everyone around me was. I’m okay.” But then she sighed, and Kamilé could tell that she was lying. “The truth is I could have done a lot of things differently. I don’t know how, exactly, but…. Kamilé, I’m not trying to make you come live with me again. I don’t even have a home anymore. I’m not trying to be your mother if you don’t want me to. You’re almost grown now, and I wasn’t there…. But if you’d like me to, then….”

Everan kicked a chair and stormed out of the room.

Everan! Kamilé cried, but he refused to answer. She tried to squirm away from Pilori to give chase…then thought better of it, and changed her mind. Everan was in a black mood, and he scared her a little when he was like this. She waited, ready to run after him, mentally tracking him through the library…then relaxed, relieved, when he stopped. All their lives, they had never strayed more than a few hundred feet from each other, and she was terrified to find out what would happen if too great a distance came between them.

Marli slipped out of the room as well, so quietly that Pilori did not even seem to notice.

Kamilé wrapped her arms around Pilori, sulking. “Everan’s mad at me, I think….”

“No, baby, he’s mad at me,” Pilori assured her, sounding mournful. “It’s all right….” She patted her knee, and Kamilé wriggled onto her lap again, even though she was too big. “Are you having a good birthday? I’m sorry I couldn’t bring a present….”

“Yeah, it’s been great! Look at this bracelet I got! It turns merpeople into humans!”

“Oh, really? It’s beautiful! What else have the two of you been up to?”

“Well….” Kamilé considered telling her that they were planning to leave Kocha, possibly for good, but Everan had wanted her to keep that a secret. “Nothing, really.”

“Have you been taking care of yourselves?” She plucked at Kamilé’s clothes, brushing a bit of dirt off of her pants. “Where did you get these clothes?”

“I, uh…we found ‘em,” she said vaguely. “We’ve been ok, Kayle takes care of us a lot, and he’s good at cooking.”

“It must be nice, not having every meal burnt,” Pilori teased. Kamilé laughed with her: Pilori had never been very skilled in the kitchen, and her food was usually either burnt or undercooked. Truth be told, however, she would have paid dearly to have Pilori’s cooking again: at least they’d had a solid meal once a day, one they hadn’t had to scrounge up for themselves.

But even though it was lying, in a way, Kamilé didn’t have the heart to tell Pilori any of it: the stealing, the hunger, the numerous times they had nearly frozen or starved to death, the animosity from the other elves and the Elders. Instead, under Pilori’s questioning, she made it seem as if they had eaten dinner and stayed the night at Kayle’s every day, instead of just every now and then. She knew it would only hurt her feelings, and she seemed so depressed already…. Kamilé couldn’t bear to wound her further.

It felt incredibly strange to sit with Pilori after so long, and stranger still to protect her. It made her feel as if she were the adult, and Pilori the child. She had only been eleven for a few hours, but she was feeling more grown-up by the minute. And she was quite proud of herself.

 

Kayle showed up after awhile, and after talking with Pilori for a bit, offered to show her to her room so she could rest. At some point while they were talking, Everan slunk back into the room, scowling, but in a much calmer mood. Pilori saw him and asked him a few cheerful questions, carefully phrasing them so all that he had to do was nod or shake his head, and when she said goodbye, he grudgingly allowed her to hug him. She promised to find them later, and kissed them both before she left.

The two of them quit the library soon afterward.

That was nice, said Kamilé tentatively as they passed through the empty foyer. She was nice. When Everan did not respond, she added, Why’d you stop being mad?

Professor Marli yelled at me, he sighed.

What? Really?

Yeah, she’s really nosy. I guess there wasn’t much that Pilori could do. I’m still mad at her, but…It’s up to you. If you can forgive her, then I’ll be nice to her.

Kamilé could tell he was struggling, so she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. Are you okay? she said.

Of course I am. In an instant, he was back to his old curt self, with no patience or tolerance for nonsense. Do you want to go back outside? We’ve already wasted enough time in here.

Kamilé giggled; she’d never thought to hear Everan describe any time spent in the library as a waste. Yes, please! I’m really hungry.

Then let’s go.

 

As soon as they were out of earshot of the twins, Pilori grabbed Kayle’s arm and pulled him aside. “Kayle—how are they doing?” she asked him. “Really?”

Kayle looked down into Pilori’s anxious eyes and hesitated, at a total loss for what to say. How she had made it several dozen leagues south was beyond his understanding: even now she looked frail and ill, like to drop at any moment. He could see her shaking feverishly beneath her blanket. If he told her the truth, he feared that it would break her completely.

So he lied. “They’re fine,” he told her. “I’ve been looking out for them. They’re doing just fine.”

“But they’re so skinny…and dirty…and they should be taller, shouldn’t they? I thought they’d be taller….”

“They’re still growing. And they’re kids. They could eat half the food in the country and still weigh next to nothing.”

“But they have such big appetites…I’m worried they aren’t getting enough….”

“Well, they’ll get plenty today. All they want. Pilori, they’re all right, they really are….”

Pilori did not seem convinced, but by then they were at her room. The guests of Kocha from other villages and other parts of the country would be given rooms on the library’s fourth floor, where there were hundreds of vacant rooms—though only a few would be used, as the rest of the guests would stay with a Kochan family or in a tent under the mist. But Pilori had been friends with his mother since before he was born, which made her family, so he had set aside a room for her in the suite designated for the librarian’s kin. The designers of the library had prepared for a much larger family than his own, so it was easy to find a bedroom identical to his own that had only been unused for one generation and to dust it out in preparation for her visit.

“Kamilé and Everan are fine,” he assured her as he helped her settle in. She did not have much: most of her possessions had been deemed “infected” and had been burned, and all she had was a bit of food and an extra dress. “They’re tough little kids, and you know how Everan is—he’s been taking good care of her.” He kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her tightly, just as she had hugged her children. “So don’t worry about them, all right?”

Pilori’s mind may have been eased somewhat by his words, but he was only made more anxious by the lie. He sought out Marli, whom he had last seen with Pilori in the southeastern wing, but was now nowhere in sight. He finally found her only after a careful search: she was in the northwestern wing on the second floor, a large open space that had long since been converted to a gallery. Paintings lined the walls at even intervals, and the open floor was divided by neat rows of statues or plinths bearing artifacts. There wasn’t much, considering that the library had been building its collection for seven thousand years, and there was even less from before the war, yet those pieces were the ones at which Marli had lingered.

She did not so much as glance at him as he approached, but she seemed to hear him coming. “I know you don’t like these as much,” she told him as he came to stand beside her. “But I do. They’re my favorite. All the Ametrisan paintings after the war are so boring, just trees and flowers and fruit, and ‘experimenting’ with smearing paint over a canvas like a four-year-old, but this…. This is beautiful.”

He had seen the painting a thousand times, but he tried to look at it through her eyes this time. It was a scene of blood and carnage, chaotic and overwhelming, under a dark grey sky that cast the world in shadow. There was so much going on, so much fighting and death, that it made him sick just trying to follow it, but Marli’s face was serene as she studied it.

“Look here,” she said, and pointed to an area in the bottom corner of the painting. “This is what the artist was really trying to capture, I think. This part here. See? That man is a general, he’s their leader, they followed him into the battle because they believed in him, and had faith in him…. And then he died. See how lost they look? And how sad? It’s so detailed, you can really see on their faces what they’re thinking…they’re realizing that they aren’t invincible, and they’re scared, and lost, and alone….”

She looked up at him then, to see his reaction, and noticed his clear discomfort. “I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense to you,” she said. “But that’s because you haven’t lived it. You don’t know what it’s like. Losing a commander…it’s like losing a father. That’s how it feels.” Her fingers reached out to touch the painting, then thought better of it and fell back to her side. “You Ametrisans are lucky, not to know what it’s like to be in a war.”

“Were you ever in a battle, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in faint skepticism. Marli had been fifteen when she’d turned up in Ametris, and that seemed, to him, far too young to have ever been caught up in such an ordeal.

Marli did not answer. Instead, she shrugged, huffed, and took him by the hand. “Come over here,” she said, and pulled him over to a nearby painting. “I found this…look. See? Stars.”

The painting was of an enormous ship with its sails filled with wind, cruising through the ocean under a clear sky. Looking at the sky made Kayle uneasy, for he didn’t recognize any of it: there was the mist, yes, black and thick, but between it and the ship were countless tiny white pinpricks of light, and a silvery orb that took up an entire quadrant of the sky, and streaks of red and orange and green, and an entire area that seemed alight with a ghostly blue glow.

“These are stars,” Marli told him. “These little dots here. There are millions of them, and they glow…. And see, this is the moon. That’s what it really looks like. That’s what all of this looks like, outside the mist.”

“The sky really looks like that? I thought this painting was of a…a dream, or something.”

“Oh, no. This is what it really looks like. Especially out at sea, where there aren’t any other lights for miles and miles. Sometimes they’ll put out all the lanterns on board, and everyone will look up at the stars for hours and hours….”

“It’s…beautiful,” he said doubtfully. “But what’s all of that color?”

“Well…these streaks here? Those are what we call the Flames of the Goddess. No one’s sure what they are, exactly. They’re just part of the stars. But this blue part here, with the white streaks and the dark patches? That’s Zildjia. It’s another world.”

“Another—what? How?”

“It’s the realm of the gods. We’ve always been able to see it. It’s where we go when we die.”

“But it’s huge!” It took up nearly half of the night sky.

“It seems that way because it’s very close. Where I come from, our gods take the form of phoenixes. They’re the only ones who can fly back and forth.”

“What are those?”

“Phoenixes? Well, no one’s ever seen one, but they’re said to be creatures of fire and magic. And they’re immortal. When it’s their time to die, they’re swallowed by flames, and their soul transforms into a winged creature, so they can leave that body behind and find another. And then they are born anew.”

Kayle shivered: he, like every other elf in Ametris, hated and feared fire with all of his being. “Why would you believe something like that?” he asked her.

Marli did not answer. She merely stared wistfully at the painting, with an expression on her face that he knew well: she was homesick again, longing for the place she’d left behind.

“Hey….” He gave her a playful nudge. “What do you say we go to the Gathering? I know you’ve never been before.”

“Really? Don’t you have a lot of work to do?” Even now the Elders and other leaders were hiding in a room nearby, slaving over scrolls and scrolls of numbers and figures that Kayle had written. He was supposed to be there with them now, taking note of any new information and translating his messy handwriting.

But right now, that was the last thing he felt like doing. All he wanted to do was spend time with Marli, to make her happy again so he could see her smile light up her face. And his gift for her was in his breast pocket: he could feel it in there like a heavy stone, and was acutely aware of it at every moment, brushing against his heart with every breath he took.

“Forget it,” he told her. He took his hand in hers, twining her small, warm fingers with his. “We have better things to do.”

“All right,” she said. “Sure.” She smiled up at him, and for a moment he was breathless: he could swear that his heart had skipped a beat.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

9: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine  

 

Outside the library was chaos in all directions: floods of people moving around, growing in size with every passing minute. Everan still found it overwhelming, but Kamilé found it exhilarating: she dove headlong into the crowd, weaving and ducking and pushing through, delighted by the chance to explore something new.

But, of course, every adventurous thought vanished at the smell of food. And there was enough of it to feed even their voracious appetites a thousand times over. The shop owners and stall vendors had given their all to the fare: mushrooms fried and seared and sliced, roasted bean pods that steamed when broken open, seasoned vegetables speared on sticks, potatoes and parsnips cooked in every form imaginable, mounds and mounds of salads, the freshest of summer fruits, breads so diverse and creative that they could only be described as art. And from the other nations came gifts of food that offered even more plentiful bounties: cheese and eggs from the humans, seaweed from the merpeople (who had little else to offer, apart from fish), and strange edible roots and fungi from the dwarves in the mountains. The best cooks of Kocha incorporated the new ingredients into their dishes, giving rise to cakes and pastries, cheese-covered vegetables and grains and mushrooms, seaweed and onions seared in garlic. And then there were the sweets, upon which Kamilé would have gorged herself sick if Everan had let her. Sweetbreads, pies, tarts, fruit soaked in honey and syrup, candied nuts and dried fruits coated in sugar….

In the end they piled a little bit of everything onto two clay plates and, for lack of anywhere better to go, ducked under a table to eat. The tablecloth hid them completely: all they could see of the world was a hundred shoes passing by them as they ate with their fingers. Everan crawled back out and reappeared a few minutes later with two cups of fruit juice mixed with cream, a delicacy Kamilé liked so much that she drank his as well as hers.

Within minutes both plates were sparkling clean: Kamilé took most of the sweets, which Everan gave up willingly, preferring instead to finish the vegetables she’d picked out. They went back for seconds, then thirds, narrowing the courses down to only their favorites, and stopped only when they were so full that they could not force down another bite.

Only then did they venture out again, their stomachs swollen from their feast. They dove into the crowd again, watching the people around them in fascination. Elves were much the same everywhere, but humans were altogether different: they looked almost elfin but not quite, had strange pungent smells floating around them, and dressed in colors that elves did not have, like blue or purple, or considered bad luck to wear, like red and black. Even their music was different, though not unpleasantly so.

They could not find any merpeople, but they did see dwarves, standing a head taller than most as they edged through the crowd. They were not at all what the twins had expected. The men and women were both larger and broader than humans, and their skin had a brownish-red tint to it, as if they had rubbed dirt all over themselves moments before. Their hair was long and silky, worn loose or in ornate braids, and their features were sharp-edged and strong. They were dressed in light leather clothes (which both of them took great care not to touch, as the thought of wearing animal skins made them sick) but still seemed to be suffering in the heat and humidity. The bulk of them seemed to be taking shelter indoors, singing in rich deep voices as they drank flagons of ale and mead. Kamilé and Everan watched them for awhile through a window, fascinated by the odd sight: elves rarely drank any sort of spirits, and when they did they could not be persuaded to remain indoors.

They almost look too small for the room, Everan commented. And they’re way too loud for it. They look like they’re going to break everything in there. I guess they don’t go outside much in the mountains, since it’s so cold….

They look like they’re having fun, though, said Kamilé.

Everan rolled his eyes. That’s because they’re drunk.

Oh. What’s that stuff again?

Spirits made from grain. Ale and beer and mead.

Can I try some?

What? Why?

Because I wanna try it! It seems really fun!

It’s a grown-up drink, Kamilé. I can promise you that you won’t like it.

Please?

Everan huffed, but then relented: she would have to learn these things eventually, and there was no better time than now.

Wine and ale were served in much the same fashion as the food: by smiling women with flowers in their hair, out of earthenware jugs (if it was elvish) or wooden casks (if it was human or dwarven). No one seemed to care that they were very young and very small. Everan did not know the difference between wines, so he chose a person at random and procured a small cup filled with dark red wine. He gave it to Kamilé, who gave it a doubtful sniff.

It smells weird. What is it?

Wine. It’s like grape juice with spirits mixed in. Just try a sip, okay? Too much will make you stupid.

She did, fearlessly, but then wrinkled her nose and gagged. Ugh! It’s sour! And hot!

Well, yes. What did you expect?

Why do grown-ups like this? It’s awful….

It tastes different when you’re older. And they like the way it feels. See? He called her attention to the warmth spreading through her from head to foot, like a hot coal radiating heat from her belly.

It’s too hot for this stuff, she complained. But she tried another sip before giving it back, just to be sure. Everan had some too, just to see what it was like, but he didn’t find it quite as repugnant as she; still, even that little bit was enough for him.

Kamilé, her curiosity sated, promptly dragged him back into the crowd. Near the well in the center of the square, they heard music playing, and drew closer to investigate: a handful of players stood in a wide circle cleared away for dancers, playing a lively tune while dozens of elves twirled and skipped and joined hands in an intricate step. Elves loved to dance, and learned many different steps from a young age, but Kamilé and Everan had never known them or even seen them up close.

Kamilé, who was none the worse for the wine other than a little light-headedness, was eager to try the dance after watching a few rounds. And Everan, perhaps swayed by the drink as well, agreed, and found himself dragged into the circle with her. They were not the youngest there, or the smallest, or the clumsiest: in fact, Kamilé picked up the pattern of the dance almost at once, and took Everan’s hand to guide him so he could keep up as well. It was a strange feeling, stepping and turning and swaying in perfect unison with scores of people, children and adults both, the same people who scorned and mocked and rejected them on a daily basis. They passed unnoticed in the crowd, and for as long as they could keep up the step, they knew, for the first time in their lives, what it must feel like to fit in.

But they couldn’t keep up forever. Soon they were both out of breath, and though he tried his best to keep going for Kamilé’s sake, Everan was soon too weary and footsore to continue. He took Kamilé’s hand and slipped out of the dancer’s circle; she came along willingly enough, skipping along to the beat of the music until they could not hear it any longer.

It was long past noon by then, the hottest part of the day. They made for the well, just to have a sip of cool water, but the crowds around it were so thick with others who had the same idea that they gave up and turned back. Instead, they made for the little pond in the meadow in front of the library, hoping that it, at least, was not bombarded with strangers.

As they approached the meadow, they saw what looked like people clustered around the pond and sitting around its edges. Drawing closer, they realized that the people were actually in the water, reclining in it as if it were a bath, and they quickened their step, outraged that visitors to their home could be so rude as to sully a little pond in such a way. But then they saw a huge fishtail shimmer in the sunlight as it rose from the water and realized who it was.

The merpeople looked up, every one of them, as Kamilé and Everan came near: the sight of all those bulging, jewel-bright eyes was deeply unsettling. “Hi,” said Kamilé uncomfortably as they lingered near at the water’s edge. The water was muddied and murky, but they could see the occasional flash beneath the surface as the merpeople’s tails drifted lazily back and forth.

Half of them called pleasant greetings, and one near them gave a wave. She was the one with the infant, who was cradled at her breast now, apparently asleep. “Hello,” she said. “You’re the elf children who helped us earlier, aren’t you?”

“Um. Yes. What’re you all doing in the water? Are your bracelets broken?”

“No,” said the mother with a little chuckle. “We just wanted to take them off for a little while. It’s difficult, walking on two legs, and our little flipper-fins began to hurt, and our skin got so dry. And when our skin is too dry, it’s hard for us to breathe.”

Kamilé made a face as two flaps of skin opened briefly on the side of the woman’s neck, fluttering for a moment before they closed again. Gills, Everan told her, but she did not look very reassured. “Does it help even if you can’t breathe the water?”

“It does. Our skin drinks it in well enough. Yours does the same, you know—but only a tiny bit.”

“Oh.” Kamilé did not know what to say to that, and Everan could provide no answers: he was too busy trying to figure out why the woman was bothering to talk to them at all. “Is that your baby?” she finally said, in lieu of anything more intelligent.

“Yes,” said the woman, and smiled as she lifted the baby’s head a little higher. It fussed a little, then settled against her again, its eyes roving under its translucent eyelids.

“It looks weird,” Kamilé informed her. “Not like our babies.”

Kamilé, that’s rude, Everan reproached her—but the merwoman only laughed.

“Yes, I suppose he is,” she said cheerfully. “But to us your babies look like wrinkled little shrimp. He’s actually very cute, you know—at least, we think he is.”

“Hmm.” Neither of the twins could see it: the thing was simply too bulbous and misshapen, with eyes so big in its skull that it looked like an oversized fly. “Did you lay him in an egg?”

The woman laughed again. “No,” she told her. “I carried her in my belly, just like your mother carried you.”

“Oh…really? Then how—”

Kamilé! Everan hissed. Do NOT ask her how it got out!

I was gonna ask nicely, Everan, I promise!

There is no nice way. They reproduce just like snakes, except after laying a little egg they tuck it into a sac on their stomach until it grows big enough to come out. Like seahorses.

But she said she didn’t lay an egg!

She thought you meant like a bird. Their eggs are different. They’re soft and tiny and don’t have anything to protect them. You’ve seen fish eggs before, haven’t you?

Oh. Well, I just wanted to know.

Now you do. Please don’t ask her about babies anymore.

Kamilé huffed, but dutifully changed the subject. “Is the water nice?” she asked politely. “Is it okay if we put our feet in?”

“Oh, by all means. It feels wonderful on a day like this.”

Everan stayed behind, reluctant to dirty his clothes, but Kamilé shoved her boots in his direction and waded right into the mud until the water was up to her knees. Then, despite Everan’s protests, she sat in the water right next to the merwoman, splattering her clothes with thick mud. But she hardly seemed to care. She chatted happily with the merwoman and her companions, admiring their tails and their eyes and the ornaments woven into their hair, discussing with them the habits and dispositions of the frogs and minnows and insects that frolicked in the water alongside them. She charmed them in minutes, making them laugh and smile and pat her fondly on the head; she even convinced the mother to let her hold the infant for a little while. Everan watched her as the merwoman taught her how to cradle the baby, trying his best to suppress his jealousy. He could never win anyone over like that…his mere presence could poison even Kamilé’s charm. All he ever seemed to do was hold her back.

The merpeople were delightful companions, courteous and kindly and inquisitive, and they spent a happy afternoon explaining together all of the elfin customs and learning the ways of the merpeople in turn. They even taught Kamilé how to sing like they did: no words, no instruments, just haunting mermish voices harmonizing perfectly with one another in a rich and layered melody.

Kamilé was discussing religion with the merpeople as it grew close to sunset. Their own customs involved a heavy focus on the tides and the moon, and a slightly frightening belief that one day the oceans would rise and swallow all the solid land in the world, just as it had Adranalï, the island that Italis had mentioned. But elfin beliefs were very different, and the merpeople found them fascinating.

“…and when you pull up a plant, there’s always one root that’s longer than all the others, right?” Kamilé was telling them. “And no matter how hard you try, you can’t ever pull it up all the way, some part of it breaks off every time. So that root goes really far into the ground, and connects to a bigger one, like one from a tree, and that one connects to all the other roots of all the other trees, and all those connect to the Great Tree, and under the Great Tree is a big root that goes all the way to the deepest part of the world, further than anyone could ever go. And that’s where the gods live, or how their magic gets in the world, or something. Through the trees. Then the trees make fruit and stuff, and we eat it, and so do the animals, and so we’re all connected. That’s why we never, ever, ever hurt a tree, not even to get wood, and we never pick flowers and we never hurt animals.”

“That’s amazing,” said one of the merpeople. “But then how do you build?”

“We just use bricks mostly. And dead wood. I think….” She paused for a moment to check with Everan. “Right. The carpenters find dead wood and chop it up and paint it with this oil stuff, and that keeps it from rotting, and then we can use it. We do that for the bark from the Great Tree too. The wood would be really nice, but the branches never fall down.”

“Really? What about the leaves? Aren’t they supposed to change color and fall down in autumn?”

“Umm, mostly. Lots of them don’t. The Great Tree leaves fall sometimes, but I’ve never seen one change color before. We use ‘em for lots of things, like wrapping up food so it doesn’t go bad, or making clothes that keep off the rain. They’re really tough.”

The merpeople nodded in fascinated appreciation. Everan, deeming that to be a good stopping point, interjected before anyone could speak again.

Kamilé, it’s time to go, he told her. Do you want something to eat before the ceremony?

Oh, yes! She jumped to her feet and climbed out of the pond at once. “We gotta go,” she told the merpeople. “D’you wanna come? The cer’mony’s going to start soon.”

The merpeople agreed, and hastened to find their bracelets and clothes as they eased themselves out of the water. Kamilé waved goodbye and skipped ahead of Everan, skimming through the high grass as if it were not there. He trudged along behind her, grateful that it hadn’t rained in a fortnight: the Elders might panic and call it a drought, but for him it meant only wet nights and muddy afternoons.

The streets were more crowded than ever, but they were one of very few people interested in the food. They piled another plate with their favorite treats and crawled under the same table as before in order to eat in peace. Kamilé ate her portion quickly, then almost immediately grew bored: she lay flat on her stomach on the ground, watching the boots and slippers of the world pass her by.  Then, without warning, her hand darted out, and someone outside jumped and paused, looking around for a few seconds before moving warily onward.

Kamilé! he hissed. What do you think you’re doing?

Messing with people, she said happily. She poked at someone else, a woman, who screamed aloud at her touch and started shouting hysterically about snakes. Huh, said Kamilé, smiling contentedly at the chaos she had sown. Must be a human. Elves know there wouldn’t be any snakes here.

Kamilé, stop that, he scolded her. You’ll get us into trouble.

I will not! See, she’s already going away! She peered out from under the tablecloth with her hand poised to strike, looking exactly like a kitten ready to pounce. I wonder if I can get one of those big dwarves, I bet they won’t even notice—

Cut it out, Kamilé! He grabbed her and pulled her back into the shadows.

No! Let go! She jerked free and hit him hard on the shoulder; he hit her back, indignant, and within seconds it turned into an all-out brawl. Everan fought dirty, with plenty of scratching and biting and hair-pulling, but so did she, and she was stronger than him: she eventually pinned him on his back, just as she always did, and sat on him until he was ready to give in. But he fought her still, trying his best to shove her off, but she caught his hands and pinned them to the ground….

Then two strong arms wrapped around her chest and pulled her off.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Let me go!”

Everan scrambled to his hands and knees, ready to fight—but it was just Marli, who laughed and let her go at once. Kamilé whirled around, indignant, then saw who it was and relaxed.

“Professor Marli, you messed it up,” she complained. “I had him….”

“You were bullying him,” Marli teased. “It wasn’t fair. And was that you making people think there’s a snake around here?”

“No,” said Kamilé innocently. “There was a snake?”

Marli smirked, but did not challenge the lie. “Why don’t you two come out?” she said. “Kayle and I meant to give you something earlier, and we have it now, but he’s too big to fit under here.”

“Really? Is it a present?” Kamilé ducked out from under the table at once, and Everan had no choice but to follow.

Kayle was indeed waiting outside, a smile still lingering on his face from laughing at their antics. He looked slightly tipsy, and he and Marli were both smiling and flushed; they looked as if they were having a good time, and Everan had several good guesses as to why.

“Hey, you two,” he said cheerfully. “Are you having fun?”

“Oh, yes!” Kamilé needed no further prodding to launch into an extensive account of their day so far. Kayle listened with interest, though Everan doubted that he could hear much over the noise of the crowd. Between him, Marli, and the twins, he was the only one without extra-sensitive hearing.

How’s it been, really? a voice said softly in his head. Everan jumped and glared at Marli.

Stop doing that! Get out of my head!

Sorry. I just want to know how you two are after everything that happened this morning.

We’re fine, he said impatiently. You couldn’t have asked like a normal person?

Well, you don’t tell Kamilé everything, so how else am I supposed to get the truth?

You…. Everan selected a few choice swear words and hurled them in her direction. This is none of your business!

That’s where we disagree. Marli looked him over for a second, her eyes bright and sharp. You still hate her, don’t you?

I don’t see why I shouldn’t, Everan snapped.

Maybe because it wasn’t her fault?

Everan snorted. She’s a liar, he said. There was never any place like that. People can’t just lock you up somewhere and wait for you to die.

They do, said Marli. And they did. Ametris isn’t what everyone thinks it is, Everan. Not everyone is happy and healthy and safe and loved by everybody. Wouldn’t you agree?

Once again, Marli had left him speechless—a feat no one in the world so far had been able to duplicate. Everan was still struggling for an answer when she turned away and nudged Kayle.

“Kayle! Show them the thing!”

“Oh! Right.” He dug something out of his pocket and held it out to Kamilé. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!”

It was a little green pouch, like a coin purse, tied with a bit of string. It didn’t look like much, but Kamilé took it with fascination in her eyes.

“Ooh….” She gave the string a tug, but the knot was too tight to budge. “What’s in it? I can’t untie it.”

“Oh—you’re not supposed to,” said Marli quickly. “Don’t. Please.”

Kamilé paused with the string between her teeth, frowning. “Why?” she asked, making no attempt to hide the petulance in her voice.

“Because it’s—this is something from my country,” she explained. “It’s called a bag of luck. It's filled with all sorts of things that could be helpful to you. The hope is that when you’re in trouble, you can open it and find just what you need to get out of it.”

Doubtful, said Everan. We won’t have time to open it if we’re attacked or tied up or something. Here, give it.

Kamilé tossed it high in the air; Everan caught it with unerring precision and began to feel through the cloth, investigating the objects inside.

Lots of tiny round things, he said. They could be anything. There’s a little bottle…a scroll…a wooden rod…oh! And money.

Money? Really?

Yeah…just one coin, though. A copper, I think. He sighed. That’s hardly helpful…that’ll buy us a couple of meals, maybe, if we can find someone who will take it…. But say thank you anyway, okay?

“Um…thank you,” Kamilé said politely to Marli and Kayle. “It’s very nice.” It’s not bad to lie about birthday presents, right, Everan?

No, you’re okay. It would just hurt their feelings if you told them the truth. He slipped their gift into his bag. Besides, it might be useful one day. We’ll break it open later and see what’s in it.

But she said to wait until we’re in trouble!

Kamilé, we’re always in trouble, he reminded her. I don’t see how we could possibly get into more.

“The ceremony’s starting soon,” Kayle told them, craning his neck to see over the crowd. “I can see people heading that way. Want to come with us? You can ride on my back to get a better view, Kamilé.”

“Really? Yes!” She ran up to Kayle and climbed him as she would a tree, settling comfortably with her legs around his hips. “Let’s go!”

Everan doubted that Kayle meant for her to cling to him right at that very moment, but Kayle took it in good humor. “Onward!” he cried, and pointed dramatically into the distance.

“Onward!” Kamilé repeated, and giggled as they wove their way to the crowd. Marli and Everan followed, somewhat less ostentatiously. And, blessedly, Marli made no attempt to talk to him again.

The ceremony took place in the center of the square, around the plaza surrounding the well. It was traditional to have one at every Gathering, every year, and was by all accounts exactly the same each time. But Kamilé and Everan had never been to a Gathering before, and had no idea what to expect. Kamilé guessed that there would be music and special dancers and other theatrical events; Everan argued that it would be very dry indeed, as befitting a ritual in honor of the gods, and would consist of nothing more than several very long prayers.

But as it happened, they were both wrong—and both right.

The four of them found a place at the edge of the crowd, pushed up against a wall where Kayle’s height would not obstruct anyone’s view. Kamilé scrambled onto his shoulders for a better view, and when he closed his eyes, Everan could see the world through hers: the throngs of people, the setting sun dyeing the mist in glowing shades of red and gold and orange, the makeshift stage placed at the far end. They were a good distance away from the stage, but Kamilé’s eyes were very sharp indeed, and when the leaders of the four nations began to file onto the stage, she could see every one of their faces clearly. There was Italis, who had found some nicer clothes to wear, and all seven of the solemn-looking Elders, from Medilii, who had joined three years previously at the startlingly young age of fifteen, to Carn, sixty-four years old and forty years an Elder. Srai stood in front of them, set apart by a sash of pure white tied around her waist. There were also two strangers standing on either side of Italis: a human woman old enough to be their mother, tall and blonde and, though not strictly beautiful, imposing and elegant; and a dwarven man with a short beard and features that looked to be carved in stone.

That’s the dwarven lord, Everan told her when he saw the faces through her eyes. And the human marquis…or I guess marquise, since she’s a woman.

Kamilé had little interest in humans, but the dwarven lord fascinated her. He’s a nice person, she decided. He looks scary, but he’s nice. I like him.

Good, said Everan vaguely. But what are they SAYING?

For Elder Srai had just stepped up and begun to speak. It was, however, impossible to hear a word over the noise: their ears were too overwhelmed by the chatter that surrounded them. They could see Elder Srai gesturing, could see the other leaders waving or nodding in acknowledgement, but could not make out the words.

“What’s she saying?” Kamilé shouted to Kayle.

“She’s just welcoming everyone,” he called back. “It’s the same every year. She thanks everyone for coming, thanks the other races for following our diet, and now she’s introducing the other Elders and leaders.”

But even as he spoke, Srai held up her hands, and the people packed into the plaza fell obediently silent—or as close to silence as was possible. There were still whispers and murmurs, and the occasional cry of a baby or small child. But now the twins could hear her perfectly.

“My people,” she said, her strong voice carrying over the heads of the crowds. “My fellow Ametrisans, my brothers and sisters in peace. Seven thousand years ago, the gods heard our prayers in the midst of a terrible war and descended from the skies to help us. They could have abandoned us. They could have destroyed us. We did not deserve any less. But instead, they gave us peace. Their mist protects us even now: everyone outside it is kept out, and everyone beneath it is blessed with the kindness, compassion, and empathy that we need in order to keep this blessed peace intact.”

The twins snorted derisively in unison. They aren’t nice to US, said Kamilé sullenly.

Hey Kamé, let’s play a game, added Everan, his voice dripping with sarcasm. How many times will we hear the word “peace” from the people who are trying to drive us out of the city?

A million, I bet, she guessed. I hate her.

Me, too.

“It has been seven thousand years since that day,” Srai continued, blissfully unaware of the glares of enmity directed her way by two small children toward the back of the crowd. “That is almost longer than the mind can comprehend. And during that time, there has not been one single war, or murder, or theft, or assault of any kind. We whose souls were poisoned with evil were transformed by the gods into a unified people who share the goal of maintaining this wonderful peace. All races live in harmony, and each year join together to celebrate the Gift, so that it might never be taken from us, so that we will never forget our past sins and how fortunate we are now to be so blessed.”

“Huh…that’s weird,” Kayle muttered.

“What?” asked Marli and Kamilé simultaneously.

Kayle grimaced and looked away; he had clearly not meant for them to hear. “Nothing,” he said. “I just…I don’t remember the last one, but the one before that, they at least gave the Chosen some credit. I didn’t realize the law would cut them out of the Gathering ceremony. I mean, today of all days….”

“They’ve lost their way,” said Marli quietly. “Those poor, misguided fools. They’ll come to regret that….”

Kayle eyed her uneasily, but said nothing; Kamilé looked to Everan, confused, but he could not meet her gaze.

“…and so, my brothers and sisters,” Srai was saying. “Though we may not be the same race, though we may live in opposite ends of the country, we are one, bound together by the Gift. We are one nation, one indivisible land, and we will be an island of peace in this dark and evil world, and show all mortalkind how the gods want us to live. If you will all join hands….”

The people around them began to murmur and turn in place, searching for a hand to grasp. Kamilé reached at once for Everan, but he was his own island, standing still as a statue and glaring off into the distance, and would not respond to her. Marli took her hand instead, flashing her a gentle smile. She reached behind Kayle and wrapped her arm around his waist so she could hold his other hand.

They expected a prayer, a long boring intonation about peace and sin. But instead, the seven Elders and the leaders of the other nations joined hands and lifted their voices in song. Everyone else joined in, group by group, until the shaky, disjointed voices of the few became a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, all rising and falling in harmony. It was a beautiful song: it spoke of a guiding light in the darkness, a beacon that melted every bit of fear and confusion and doubt until only calm remained, and clarity, and love.

Ten thousand people were present that day: mortals from every nation, of every race, of both genders. Ten thousand voices sustained the melody as it filled the air with lyrical sound. In the entire crowd, only three voices did not join in: those of Marli, Kamilé, and Everan. The song was one the twins should have known—one that every child in Ametris learned as a child—but one that they were never taught, and did not know…. And as for Marli, she may have known the words, but she merely stared off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts. It felt strange, and lonely, to stand and watch as everyone around them sang of togetherness and community and loving one another…but then, they had always known that they didn’t belong. All this did was prove that they were right.

When the song finally ended, and Elder Srai raised her arms again for silence, the twins could not help but feel relieved.

“And now together we will ask the gods to grant us one more year of peace. Elders….”

One of the Elders passed something to Elder Carn, who handed it to Srai with great ceremony. It was wrapped in what looked like black velvet, but they could see it glint as she unwrapped it carefully, fold by fold. Then she raised it above her head, and Kamilé gasped in amazement.

It's the Heart! she cried to Everan. The Heart of Ametris!

And so it was. Like a great silver-backed coin, it looked just like Marli’s necklace: black on one side, white on the other, with a drop of opposing color on each side. But even from a distance, it caught the light of the setting sun in a way that was almost hypnotizing; it almost seemed to glow from within. As the crowd murmured in excitement and awe, Everan climbed up on a windowsill and perched precariously at the edge in order to see it with his own eyes. There was something about it that he could not understand, some indefinable quality that seemed to dim and blur the world around it, until it was the only thing in focus, the only thing that made sense. Seeing it made his heart swell and his hair stand on end in a way only a few things did: the most beautiful music, the climax of the most skillfully written book, the view of the sunrise from the edge of the waterfall. The longer he looked at it, the more it seemed to call to him, drawing every one of them toward it like a moth to a flame, helpless with delight, enslaved by their own wonder.

“Gods above,” Elder Srai was praying, “by the power of this symbol of your love, guide us on the path of righteousness and peace for all….”

It's so beautiful, Kamilé whispered. She reached out slowly with one hand, as if to pluck it from Srai’s hands. I love it….

Me, too. He could not explain it. It was just a chunk of metal, no more than a larger version of the necklace he was carrying in his pocket, and yet he knew instinctively that it was much, much more important. This was sacred—crucial, somehow, to the entirety of the world, integral to who he was, bound to the very fabric of his soul. For the first time in his life, he truly believed that the gods were real, and that this was their gift to the world. It almost seemed not to belong to the world around it, as if from another realm….

It was only when Elder Srai finished her prayer that he realized that she was still talking. His fingers strained against the windowsill to hold himself steady as his eyes followed the Heart, which descended, slowly, and came to rest on a pedestal made specially to hold it. There it sat, glowing faintly in the twilight, radiating an air of quiet serenity.

Then, slowly, as Srai stepped away from the Heart, the candles began to light: one in every windowsill, one on every surface, one at every corner of every rooftop. The plaza, gradually darkening in the dying light, came alive again, awash in a bright yellow glow. Music started up again from three different places all at once; the people around them began to move around, to cheer and laugh and dance. Even Marli and Kayle were not immune: Kayle set Kamilé down and took Marli’s hand, laughing, and she smiled, released from her pensive state of mind, and followed him into the depths of the crowd.

“Go!” Elder Srai shouted above the sudden maelstrom of sound. She was laughing as she called to them, infected too by the sudden madness that had possessed them all. “Let the real celebration begin! The night has only just begun!”

Kamilé scurried over to Everan, and together they pressed against the wall, watching wide-eyed as the rest of the world went wild. Are they drunk? she asked Everan, sounding worried.

I don’t know, he said. I think so. And then he had to laugh at the madness of it all.

What? Kamilé asked him.

Nothing, I just—it’s funny, he said, still smiling. They’re grown men and women, and they’re acting like such idiots….

Kamilé grinned as she looked around and saw what he meant. Even Kayle, she giggled. He ran off with Marli to go dance. I never saw him dance before!

He laughed again: the Heart had eased a tightness somewhere inside him, washing away anxieties that he had not even known he had. Even trapped in a crowd like this, liable to be trampled at any moment, he could not conjure a single shred of worry or fear.

What do you say we get out of here? he asked Kamilé. And I could give you your present.

Oh! Yes!

He offered his hand, and she took it, following him as he wove his way through the crowd. All around them people danced and laughed and even kissed, caught up in the full-moon fever of midsummer night. Soon enough they would return, and lose themselves in the madness with the others. But there was plenty of time. The night had only just begun. 

10: Chapter Ten

A/N: From this chapter onward, Kamile and Everan's age will be 9 instead of 11. I am going through and changing this throughout the story and will update the past chapters as soon as I can. I came up with their ages arbitrarily when I was not much older than them, and now that I have more experience with what an 11-year-old really acts like, I feel that the age of 9 better suits their characters. Pilori's age will also change: she is now 26 instead of 28. Every other character will remain the same age; for example, Marli is still 15 (believed to be 17) and Kayle is still 19. Please let me know if there is any confusion or if I make a mistake in future chapters. Thanks for reading! ~CRH

Chapter Ten

The woman slipped unnoticed through the dense crowds in the city square of Kocha. Not unseen, not unheard, but unnoticed.

There was nothing about her that helped her blend so seamlessly into the crowd, nothing at all that made her inconspicuous. It was clear that she did not belong: everything about her was not just unlikely for Ametris, but impossible. There was no one like her in that world. No one in Ametris had pale skin with a slight sickly greyish tinge, even when they were not sick. No one in Ametris was capable of crafting, or affording, the ornate black dress embroidered with silver and sewn with tiny jewels and pearls. No one in Ametris had even seen a crown in thousands of years, let alone worn a delicate silver-and-moonstone tiara perched atop their heads.

Yet she remained invisible to the crowd, slipping through their memories like water through their fingers. Every eye that looked upon her slid away without the faintest glimmer of interest. Every person she brushed as she wove her graceful way through the crowd moved politely aside from her, yet made no response to her presence, and showed no recollection of her once she was gone. And if someone happened to sense her as she passed—a slight chill in the air, a prickle on the back of the neck—the feeling was quickly brushed off and forgotten.

Not even the Elders and leaders lingering on the stage seemed to care about her; they did not even pause their conversation as she mounted the steps behind them. They even stepped back to let her pass unmolested between them, talking around and through her as if she were no more than empty air. And even when she stood tall and proud at the edge of the stage, where only minutes before Elder Srai had captured the attention of thousands, no one paid her a second glance.

And when she took the Heart of Ametris in her slim pale fingers and lifted it from its pedestal, not a single look of alarm could be seen, and not a single word of protest could be heard.

Calm and fearless, invisible to the tens of thousands of people around her, the woman smiled with quiet triumph as she lingered on the stage to study every inch of the Heart. Her eyes shone like crimson embers beneath her hair, eyes that burned with such greed and icy malice that even in spite of the spell she had cast upon herself, the few in the crowd that happened to catch a glimpse of them felt their stomachs churn with sudden fear, though they could not have named the cause.

Then she pressed the Heart to her breast and walked away, and no one, not a single soul, knew that she ever was.

-0-

The noise and smells and crowds of the square were overwhelming Kamilé and Everan; when they fled, they put as much distance between them and the other people as possible, stopping only when the noise had faded and the square was no more than a bright smudge of light and buildings and small moving shadows across the meadow. They tucked themselves into a crevasse formed where a root of the Great Tree met the trunk: a little gap that would have been only as wide as a finger on a normal tree, but was here a grassy space large enough to fit an entire house, enclosed by a fifty-foot-high root on one side and the huge behemoth of the Great Tree on another.

It was a peaceful little corner of the world, and one that they knew well: it was within sight of the library door, yet hidden from prying eyes, which had made it an appealing place to play even when they were very small. They had slept here many a night, had camped here during the winter to avoid the snow, had hidden here when the Elders or an angry shopkeeper had chased after them. Pilori had even had her wedding here, and they had climbed onto the root in protest that day and hidden behind it, lying flat on their stomachs and watching in disapproval from above.

Kamilé dragged Everan at once to the furthest corner and sat him down on the grass, giggling madly with excitement. Where’s my present? she sang. What is it? What’d you get me?

Hold on, pleaded Everan, who had to laugh at her enthusiasm. Any other day it would have annoyed him, but today he was simply happy that she was happy. Close your eyes.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes like a toddler, bouncing up and down on her heels. I can’t wait, she said. I can’t wait, I can’t wait….

Still, Everan paused as he reached into his pocket, and checked his bag one more time instead. He had several presents for her, most of which he’d stolen for their upcoming trip, and were more practical than fun: new clothes, some mittens, a heavy warm cloak. He’d also stolen a needle and thread from Kayle and made her a present out of some old scraps of cloth he’d found. But that was before Marli had given him the necklace. He hated to admit it, but he could have never found or made or stolen anything as good as that: there wasn’t even anything as good as that to steal. And what was it she had said? It has strange powers….

He took the necklace out of his pocket and folded it carefully into Kamilé’s hand.

Okay, he said. Now open.

She peeked at her present with one eye—then gasped in delight and held the necklace up by its chain. Oh—oh, Everan! she cried. It’s so pretty! It’s a little Heart of Ametris! It’s so shiny…I love it….

He did not know what to say, but Kamilé didn’t need to hear a word. She leaned in and hugged him tightly, refusing to let him go even when he struggled.

Kamilé—Kamilé, let go, he complained. You’re crushing me. C’mon…. Don’t you want me to help you put it on?

Oh! Yes! She released him at last, shoving the necklace into his hands and beaming with delight as he reached out to fasten it around her neck. It took him a minute or two, struggling with the unfamiliar latch—though Kamilé’s happy dancing and bouncing did not help—but when he finally fixed it and pulled away, the look of amazement and joy on her face was worth it.

She held it in her palm and stared at it as if hypnotized. It was, he was pleased to see, just long enough to be hidden under her clothes without being long enough to get caught on something and choke her.

Oh, it’s so pretty, she kept saying. Everan, d’you think it’s magic too?

What? Magic?

Yeah—like the real Heart!

It isn’t magic, Kamilé, he said patiently. It’s just a piece of metal.

No, it was magic, she informed him. I could tell. It made everybody happy, and it made me feel really strange…I liked it though. And now I have one! She pressed the medallion between her palms and swayed happily back and forth.

And I got you something else, he told her. I made it for you before I…um, found it. The necklace. He dug the gift out of his bag: it was a stuffed dog made of bits of discarded cloth, with button eyes and floppy ears. Or at least, he had intended it to look like a dog, though he had never seen one in person. D’you want it?

Oh! A toy animal! She snatched the dog up at once and held him to her heart. I love him, Everan! You really made this all by yourself?

Yeah, it wasn’t hard. I’m glad you like him.

I LOVE him, she repeated emphatically. I need to pick out a name for him—Everan, he’s so cute! I always wanted one!

I know. He had watched her watch other little girls playing for years, and had felt her sadness and envy at the sight of their dolls and toys. No one else has a dog, though, you’ll be the only one and everyone will be jealous. Of that he was certain: dogs were human pets, used to hunt other animals, and roved wild in packs in the foothills of the northern mountain. But they had no place in the forest, as the elves did not need them and had no meat to feed them.

Kamilé looked up at a sudden thought, pausing in the act of raining kisses onto the dog’s nose and ears. Everan, it isn’t fair, she said, distressed. You got me two things, and I only got you one thing….

It doesn’t matter, he assured her. I’m sure I’ll love it.

But it isn’t as good, she mumbled. Mine’s never as good….

Yes, they are, he insisted. They’re always perfect. And they were, in their own way: little things, like polished stones and feathers and, once, a gleaming piece of glass that she had plucked from the riverbed. Once she had stolen a book from the library, but he’d made her put it back. Her gifts were never very useful, but they meant a lot to her, so he kept them all: they were tucked safely into his bag even now. What is it?

Well…. She floundered for a moment, feeling suddenly shy, then jumped up and darted toward the library. He had to smile at the sight of her crawling under a bush to reach the present she’d hidden: she had no idea that he’d already seen it in her mind a thousand times, and knew exactly what it was.

Close your eyes! she called from a distance. He hid his face obediently in his hands and made no attempts to look, even when he heard her rustling through the grass as she returned. It was only when she said Okay—open! that he lifted his head again.

She held a wooden flute in her outstretched palms, a brightly polished thing only slightly scratched and worn from its time beneath the bush. He took it and rolled the smooth instrument between his fingers until he found the best part: a symbol etched clumsily into the wood next to the mouthpiece. His name. He had known it was there, but seeing it in reality still made his throat tighten.

Kamilé, this is amazing! he said, and there was no need to fake enthusiasm. Did you carve this yourself?

I did your name, she said proudly. Kayle showed me how to write it. Did I do it right?

I…. He had to pause and think about it, laughing at himself as he did. I don’t know. I’ve never seen it written before. It was a strange thought, but true: Pilori had not been able to read or write, and no one, not even he himself, had ever had any reason to write his name in his presence. But there was no doubt that this was his name. He traced the four interlocking characters with his fingertip. Eh-veh-err-ahn. This is right, he told Kamilé. This is perfect.

She beamed and laughed at his praise. I know you like music, she told him. And I know you’d be good at playing it, I always see you watching other people, so I got you this so you could play. Can you play it?

I don’t know. I’ll try. He put it to his lips and blew. It made an odd breathy screech, but when he blew a little harder, and adjusted the position of the instrument, the note rang out sweet and clear. He played with it a little more, testing different combinations to see which notes they made, and played a little trill of notes while Kamilé watched in delight….

Then an odd chill brushed against his back like a puff of cold wind, setting the hairs on the back of his neck on end. Kamilé felt it too: she looked up at once, like an animal perking its ears at a slight sound, and sucked in a startled breath.

Everan…? she whispered.

Everan looked around at once, his hand snapping out at the sound of terror in her voice and fumbling beneath his shirt for Marli’s knife strapped to his belt.

Someone was walking toward them in the dark, someone very tall and very quiet, who even now made no attempt to announce him- or herself. The person was wearing black, blending in almost seamlessly to the night—an alarming sign in and of itself, as only humans in mourning wore black. The moving shadow paused a short way from the library door and seemed to look around; then it turned away, moving straight toward them with a fluid feline prowl.

Everan climbed to his feet at once, pulling Kamilé up with him. Stay behind me, he warned her.

Everan, who is that? Make them go away…. Her hands reached out and clung to his sleeve.

He shook her off with an impatient huff. Just stay behind me! he hissed. And stay quiet.

The stranger closed the distance between them with long quick strides, becoming more visible with every step. It was, they realized, a human woman: they could see her outline in the light of the lanterns across the meadow. Her pale legs flashed with every step as her skirt was brushed aside; her bare shoulders and neck seemed to gleam in the darkness, as well as her long thin hands. Her dress was sewn with tiny beads or gems that glimmered faintly in the light; something atop her head reflected the light as well, some sort of metal-and-crystal construction that balanced atop her long chestnut-colored hair. When she was a stone’s throw away, they looked upon her face and were startled by the beauty in her full dark lips and elegant features. But her eyes….

Her eyes shone like crimson embers beneath her hair, burning with greed and icy malice.

-0-

The very instant that the Heart had come to rest on its pedestal, a madness took hold of every man, woman, and child in the square, and everywhere Marli looked, she saw only chaos. But it was the best kind of chaos: the wine was flowing, the food was plentiful, the music was lively and sweet, and everyone was dancing and laughing and enjoying themselves to the point of debauchery. She even saw couples sneaking into alleyways and secluded crevices to kiss and pet each other like besotted teenagers. This was the closest Ametris had ever come to the sort of celebrations held by her own people: for the first time in a long time, she almost felt at home.

So when Kayle took her hands and pulled her into a dance, she didn’t give it a second thought. She pushed aside reason and caution and lived the way her own people did, the way she’d feared to live from the moment she set foot in Ametris: she chased her every impulse and lust, chasing the highs of drink and music and the excitement of forbidden touches, doing whatever tempted her. With reckless abandon, she drank and danced and sang with all the rest of them, and never gave a thought to what she would regret the next morning.

Kayle was a clumsy man at the best of times, all arms and legs and too tall for his own good, but he was, she was pleasantly surprised to discover, an excellent dancer. With his hands at her waist, she barely had to know the steps at all: she only had to follow along, and trust him to guide her correctly. With every dance, his hands grew more daring, finding more and more excuses to touch more of her skin; each time the music started again and they drew together for another dance, he pulled her a little closer, until they were pressed into a tight embrace.

And she let it happen—not because all the reasons and excuses that had stopped her for the past two years had suddenly disappeared, not because he had finally earned her trust, but because she liked the way his hands felt against her back, the way his skin felt beneath her own fingers, the warmth and smell and sight of him. She had never been this close to anyone before, not in this way, not with such a vibrant electricity in the air; she had never felt her heart race and soar at an innocent touch that, in the heat of the moment, no longer felt innocent at all. It was a new thrill, and she chased it like all of the others, pushing it further and further in the hopes that it would never stop.

Even when Kayle stopped in the middle of a dance and took her hand, pushing his way through the crowd with her in tow, she still made no effort to stop him—even though she could guess where he was going and what he wanted, and had never once stopped to think if that was what she wanted too. It had never mattered before, and, for different reasons, it did not matter now: she was too overwhelmed by the excitement of it all, too drunk on music and wine and the longing for what she had believed she could not have, to put an end to it all so suddenly.

Kayle led her, as she’d known he would, toward the library—but stopped at the edge of the meadow, just far enough from the festivities so that they had a little privacy and darkness. It was much quieter too, here where the street ended: the music was in the background now, just soft enough to allow her to hear the chirping insects in the grass and the slight rustle of the wind in the trees.

“I got you something,” he said, still laughing and out of breath. He started to search his pockets and pat clumsily at his clothes. “I have—it’s—oh.” He pulled something from the pocket over his breast with a drunken giggle. “I got you a present.”

“Really?” she laughed. “Is it my birthday already?”

“Hah—I don’t know,” he grinned. “Is it? No, it’s—it’s my mothers, but I want you to have it.”

And he held it up for her to see.

It was one of his mother’s necklaces, the one she’d seen him take from the jewelry box, but she had not caught more than a glimpse of it at the time. She was astonished to see how beautiful it was: a silver pendant on a silver chain, cut in the shape of a teardrop and set with blue stones that shone brilliantly even in the dim light from the distant lanterns.

“Kayle, it’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly. “But it’s—I can’t—”

“I want you to have it,” he repeated stubbornly. “I don’t know what happened to yours, but you can wear this one instead.”

He lifted his hands to fasten it securely around her neck. His fingers lingered there for a moment, and his eyes watched her as she took it in her hand and studied it, almost as if he were waiting for something.

“It’s lovely,” she told him as she looked up again. “I—”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

It was the first time in her life that she had ever been kissed, and the sensation of it left her winded and stunned, as if she’d been struck in the head and had yet to feel the pain. His lips merely brushed hers at first, then pressed against them, but then his hand snaked into her hair and pulled her closer, and he drew deep, coaxing her mouth open with his. Their lips locked together, again and again, soft and sweet and warm and tasting of wine and strawberries.

Somehow, her body knew what to do, even if she didn’t. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and her arms reached out and wrapped around his neck, pressing against his back to draw him closer. His own arms fell to her waist, and she melted against him, until his warmth burned through her like fire, until his heartbeat pounded so wildly against her skin that she mistook it for her own.

She could not have said how long it lasted, how long they stood there embracing in the darkness. All she knew was that when he finally put his hand to her cheek and pulled away with one last soft touch of his lips on hers, she tried weakly to stop him from pulling away: something inside her had turned cold and empty, and pleaded that it wanted more, that it had not been long enough.

He withdrew, however, only the tiniest bit; his arms still held her close, his face lingering so close to hers that she could feel his breath wash over her skin as he looked into her eyes.

“Marli, I’m in love with you,” he said.

And in the space of an instant, all the magic drained away from the world.

“What?” She pulled away, staring at him in disbelief. “No you aren’t!”

“I—but I—” He blinked at her, dumbstruck: this was clearly not the answer he had expected. “I am, Marli. I love you.”

“You can’t!” Something inside of her was panicking, fueling her anger with fear—though why, she could not have said. “You don’t even know me!”

“Of course I do! You’re my best friend, Marli, I—”

“You know nothing about me!” she protested shrilly. “You don’t even know where I’m from, or—or my family name—or my birthday! You don’t know anything about me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured her. “Those things aren’t important.”

“Of course they’re import—!”

“That’s not what I mean, Marli! I mean they don’t matter! It’s you that I love, not your name or your past or whatever—”

“Those things are part of who I am!” she nearly shouted at him. “If you knew—if you had even the slightest idea, you—”

“Then tell me,” he insisted. “Why can’t you just tell me? I never asked, I never pressured you, but you know I’ve wondered, you know you can trust me—”

“No,” she snapped. “I can’t.”

The wounded look on his face nearly stopped her there; she wanted to take it back immediately, to snatch back the words and ease the pain in his eyes. But it was true. She had to make him understand.

“Kayle,” she told him, “if you knew me—if you really knew who I am, and where I’m from, and all the things that I’ve done, you wouldn’t love me anymore. You wouldn’t even like me. You wouldn’t even believe me.”

“That’s not true, Marli. It isn’t. I don’t care about those things, it can’t possibly change how I feel about you….”

“It will.” Far from anger, all she felt now was resignation and despair, pressing against her heart like a leaden weight. “I know it will.”

“All right then—try me,” he challenged her. “Go on, tell me anything.”

“I can’t!” Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes; she forced them back, but she could hear them in her voice as they closed around her throat and threatened to choke her. “You’d never understand, you’d just hate me, or think I was crazy—I never told you because you’re all I have, Kayle. I didn’t want to drive you away….”

“Marli, you’re all I have,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any family or anyone that I’m very close to. You’re the only person I can really trust. And I thought you trusted me too….” He could not hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I do,” she protested. “With—with everything else. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. But it’s not even about trust, Kayle, it’s that I know exactly what you’ll think of me, and I never wanted that to happen—”

“No, it is about trust,” he said angrily. “That’s exactly what trust is. So you’re from some weird family in some weird place where you ran around doing gods know what. So what? Who cares? It’s you that I love. You’re the one I can stay up all night talking to, and spend every day with, and never get tired of. You’re the one that makes me laugh, and—and feel alive, for once. The day you came into my life was…it was the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re exciting, Marli, you’re fun, and when you talk about all of these different places and stories I—I want to go on adventures like that with you. I’ve never felt that way before.”

“You just like me because I’m different,” she shot back at him. “Not because of me.”

“That is you!” he said in exasperation. “Marli, I know you, I know how you are, and that’s what I love—you. I don’t care where you’re from or what you used to be like, I don’t. You make me happy. That should be all that counts.”

She could not look at him; she turned away, clutching her head in her hands. “You don’t understand,” she said miserably. “You don’t understand….”

“Then tell me! Explain this to me, please! Because it sounds to me like you’re just making excuses so you can turn it back around on me—so you don’t have to admit that you don’t feel the same way.”

“I’m not!” she yelled, incensed. “I’m just—oh, gods.”

These last words she spoke no louder than a whisper, her eyes widening, her muscles stiffening in sudden fear. For as she’d looked up at Kayle, she’d seen, behind him, a flickering orange glow along the grass at the base of the Great Tree, growing every moment—a garish light that she knew all too well….

“What?” Kayle whirled around in alarm. “Eäyo! The library!”

Marli had no time for expletives. She set off at a run, deaf to Kayle calling after her in panic, squinting to make out the shadowy figures moving around behind the flames….

Then a blinding orange light flashed through the air: a soaring comet of fire and burning air that arched through the sky and exploded against the lower foliage of the Great Tree, high above her head. Even as she watched, her mouth gaping in disbelief, a concussive force rocked the earth beneath her, piercing her eardrums like knives and knocking her flat on her face. She scrambled onto hands and knees, coughing as the air scorched her throat, and looked around at a world she no longer recognized—a hellscape closing around her, a madman’s dream of the forest that she knew.

The fire along the grass had spread flaming fingers in every direction, clawing hungrily at the dry grass and up the bark of the Great Tree. And up above, the very sky itself seemed to be burning: the smoke was spreading like a second haze of mist enveloping the world, and in front of the fire, glowing orange and bloodred through the mist like a burning halo, she could see the branches outlined in black as they burned. Ash and embers and flaming chunks of wood rained down upon the world like fire arrows in a siege. The air was thick with smoke and torn by the screams of the people in the distant square. Even now, Marli knew, they would be standing helpless and trapped amid the tinderbox buildings, pointing up at the Great Tree as it burned and wailing in despair….

She staggered back to her feet, her eyes watering as they peered into the flames. The shadows were still there, moving back and forth but making no attempt to escape. And they wouldn’t, she knew—for flames this hot that burned this fast could come only from powerful magic, and magic never harmed its caster. Whoever it was believed that they had nothing at all to fear.

But they obviously had not known about Marli.

Her own palms tingled as she ran flat-out in the direction of the flames, dodging burning wreckage even as it crashed in front of her. Magic rose to the surface of her skin for the first time in years, prickling at her and sending a surge of energy through her limbs like an electric shock.

“MARLI!” Kayle was screaming from somewhere behind her. “MARLI, NO!”

But nothing could have stopped her in that moment. He was just a commoner, another bleating lamb balking in the face of danger. But she was not like him; she was Marli the schoolteacher no more. She was Marli Inachi, of noble birth and stature, and the blood of heroes and Chosen ran through her veins. She was one of the most talented magiä in this world and in her own, even at her young age, blessed with unparalleled power and skill. She was the protector of Ametris, sent to this world by the gods themselves to guard these people.

And they would know what a mistake they had made before she destroyed them.

-0-

Everan pushed Kamilé backward with one hand until her back was pressed against the bark of the Great Tree. Tell her to stay back, he ordered her as he moved between her and the woman.

But Kamilé could not speak; terror was coursing through her veins, cold and harsh and sickening, and she could do nothing more than cower behind him and tremble. Everan, who is that? she whispered. She’s scaring me…her EYES….

Tell her, Kamilé! he barked.

Kamilé flinched at the brusque snap in his voice, but obeyed him all the same. “S-…Stay back!” she cried, her voice thin and wavering in the darkness.

The woman paused, so close to them now that they could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Then she bared her bright white teeth in a smile, and Kamilé shuddered and recoiled at the sight. There was something menacing about that smile…and those eyes…. They were not like the red eyes of the young mermaid they had met earlier that day. They were deep crimson, the color of blood, and seemed to glow like flickering flames in the night.

“Cute,” she said, her voice low and soft. Even the sound of it made Kamilé’s stomach plummet with dread. She jerked her chin to one side. “Now come with me, little children. Quietly, if you please.”

Kamilé looked uncertainly to Everan, praying with all she had that he would not make her go. But his clenched jaw and furrowed brow made it clear that the woman was out of her mind to expect any such thing. He shook his head, once, hard and fast.

“Come with me,” the woman repeated. Her voice was clear, her words perfectly enunciated, and there was something in her tone that told Kamilé that she was used to being obeyed without question. “Be good children, and nobody has to get hurt.”

Everan drew a knife from somewhere beneath his shirt. The blade snapped out so quickly, and was so long and wickedly sharp, that Kamilé could not help but squeak in terror. It was not his usual knife, but a different one, a better one, decorated with silver wire and a blue jewel at the end of the handle. He leveled it at the woman with both hands, his eyes as hard and cold as ice. Kamilé had seen that look before: it was icy and calculating and utterly without mercy, and chilled the hearts of adults and children alike. If the woman had even a grain of sense, if she was anything like every other person they had ever known, she would back away at once, or be killed.

But she did not back away. Instead, she threw back her head and laughed.

“How delightful!” she said in amusement. “Look at that, a real knife! Oh, you poor, sweet child…you have no idea who I am, do you? You have no idea what I will do to you.” Yet the smile still remained on her lips, part patronizing, part triumphant, as if they were playing right into her hands. “Put your little toy away before one of us gets hurt, child—and I assure you it won’t be me.”

Everan planted his feet firmly against the ground, his hands steady as he pointed the knife at her chest. But the woman only laughed, and took a step closer.

Then, for the first time in their lives, Everan spoke.

“Get away from us!”

The voice was so high and hoarse and harsh, so very unlike the one she had grown up hearing in her head, that if she hadn’t seen his lips move, she would not have believed that it had come from him. She gaped at him in amazement—and in fear. If Everan could talk all along, and only bothered now….

Everan? she whimpered. She wanted more than anything for him to tell her that they were all right, that they were not in danger at all, that this was a bad dream and she would wake up soon.

Don’t move, Kamilé, he said quietly. Don’t say a word.

It was the most terrifying thing he could have said.

The woman blinked in surprise at Everan’s outburst—then spread her lips in a supercilious little smile. “I warn you, boy,” she said softly. “I am Tyrranen, daughter of Qent and Ilah, the last sorceress and queen of all Sirtema. And I will not be denied. When I see what I want….”

 It all happened so quickly. One moment she was standing a good distance away from them, calm and still; then she blurred into a flash of black cloth and grey skin, and her hand was grabbing Kamilé’s hair and pulling hard, her long sharp nails digging into her scalp.

“…I take it,” whispered her voice in Kamilé’s ear.

Kamilé screamed and struggled, shoving at the woman’s stomach and scratching at her arm. Everan, just as stunned by the woman’s unnaturally fast movement as Kamilé, whirled around at the sound of her cry and lunged at the woman with his knife. Kamilé felt the impact jar the woman’s arm, heard her scream in pain, felt her other hand lash out….

Then a shock of pain shot up Kamilé’s left arm, a cold tearing pressure that forced an even louder scream from her throat. She thrashed so badly that the woman let go of her and pushed her away, knocking her off balance and sending her crashing to the ground. She clutched at her arm and curled into a ball in the grass, sobbing piteously—

But then, as quickly as it had come, the pain faded to a dull throb. And only then did she realize that it wasn’t coming from her.

Everan!

He was on his back on the ground next to his abandoned dagger, writhing and jerking uncontrollably, his jaw clenched against the pain that she could no longer feel. His right hand was clutching his left wrist so hard that his fingers had turned white, trying to stop the horrible black stain spreading from his fingertips and palm, sending spidery tendrils through the veins on the back of his hand….

She gave a strangled cry and scrambled toward him on all fours—but before she could reach him, his voice shouted in her head.

Stay back, Kamilé! Stay away—

She realized, then, why her own pain had disappeared: he was shutting her out, pulling his mind away from hers in order to protect her. When he spoke, the connection widened, and she could feel his pain, and the wild, desperate terror that he was trying so hard to hide from her. He had never been frightened of anything in his life….

You have to run, he told her. Call for help—go—

No, she wailed. I won’t leave without you….

GO! he yelled at her. Go get help—find Marli— He stopped short, blocking his mind from hers, but she still heard the silent keening scream tearing through his head. His mouth opened, but it wouldn’t leave—all that came out was a rasping rush of air.

The blackness was spreading past his wrist, snaking down the blood vessels in his arm, as if his blood had turned to tar. His fingers were now blackened beyond recognition, rigid and shriveled and burned. It looked as if the life were being leeched out of him, killing him inch by inch.

…you have to get away, he told her. She just touched me, that’s all she did—go, run, scream, DO SOMETHING—I’ll hold her off—

She didn’t want to leave him—she would not have left his side for anything, even if the sorceress herself tried to tear her away. But she was terrified to the point of panic, and every time she had ever been scared, Everan had very calmly and firmly told her what to do, and she had obeyed him without question. He had protected her for too long for her to doubt him now.

So, without thinking, she pushed herself to her feet and ran blindly toward the library, toward the square, toward someone, anyone, that could help—

With a roar of sound and a flash of light, two pincers of fire raced along the grass on either side of her, higher than she was tall. She shrieked and skidded to a halt as the two walls of flame crashed together in front of her in a shower of sparks and liquid fire.

She backed away, then whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. A ring of fire now surrounded them all, her and Everan and the sorceress. It was licking at the bark of the Great Tree, spreading up the trunk with alarming speed, turning their little pocket of the world into an inferno.

And the sorceress was just standing there, laughing…. Kamilé did not make the connection in her mind until she saw what she had pulled from a fold of her dress. In her hand, balanced between long sharp fingernails, she held the Heart of Ametris.

The world seemed to grind to a halt for a moment—all of it, the fire and Everan and the distant screams of the elves who had seen the flames—as she saw the Heart in the sorceress’s grasp, glowing faintly red from the heat of whatever evil spell she had cast. Suddenly, inexplicably, that was all that mattered.

“That isn’t yours,” she said, as an irrational burst of anger clawed its way up her throat. “Give it back!”

“It is mine,” said the woman. She sounded quite calm; she did not even seem to notice the flames. It appeared that Everan had not hurt her at all. “Everything in this world is mine. I could crush every last one of you beneath my feet if I chose.” She was still smiling, even after everything she’d done, smiling in such smug triumph that Kamilé wanted nothing more than to knock her teeth out. “Would you like to see, little girl? Watch….”

“No!” Kamilé screamed as the sorceress raised her arm, holding the Heart over her head. “Just leave us alone!”

In that instant, she thought, with a sickening pang of terror, that the sorceress was going to hurt Everan again, and there could be nothing worse in the entire world than watching helplessly while he suffered. But instead, she did something far, far worse.

Even as she saw it, Kamilé could not understand what was happening. The Heart seemed to glow a violent red-orange, the color of flame, until the brightness of it made her eyes water—and then, with a deafening roar that shook the ground and knocked her onto her back, a burst of flame shot upward, a smoldering writhing ball of flame, and soared high in a steep arch, setting the mist alight with garish red-and-orange light as it passed….

As she crawled back onto her feet, she saw the branches of the Great Tree silhouetted for a brief instant in the light of the flames, dark black shadows against the burning clouds of mist. Then the ball of flame crashed into them in a shower of sparks and embers, raining chunks of burning wood upon the world. They fell like meteors from the sky, crashing into the square, the meadow, the forest….

Kamilé could feel herself screaming, but could not hear herself over the sound of the explosions and the branches as thick as her waist crashing into the forest around her. She screamed even louder as a hunk of burning wood larger than she was hurtled from the sky and landed on the ground right in front of her, bursting into a thousand splinters and embers. A few of the splinters hit her as she flung up her arms instinctively to protect her face.

Even then, the sorceress did not so much as flinch. She walked calmly among the wreckage and the flames as if the world was still as dark and cool and calm as it had been before she came.

At the sight of the sorceress walking toward her, Kamilé lost her head completely. “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US?!” Kamilé shrieked at her. “STOP IT, STOP IT, JUST LEAVE US ALONE—” Everan, get UP, Everan please, get up, help me, PLEASE—

Everan was staring up at the burning sky, fighting for each breath, still clutching at his wrist even though the blackness had spread far past it: it slipped down his arm and pooled in the crook of his elbow, seeping from his shriveled fingers down the back of his hand and into his palm. Her own heart pounded in sympathy with his, which fluttered rapidly in his chest like a wounded bird. She could see the reflection of the flames in his glassy eyes.

But at the sound of her screaming, his eyes snapped into focus, and he rolled over and staggered, slowly, painfully, to his feet. The sorceress was focused on Kamilé, and did not seem to see or hear him as he grabbed the dagger with his trembling right hand and lunged—

The sorceress whirled around and stepped aside, grabbing his arm as he stumbled. There was a flurry of motion as they fought; Kamilé’s heart leapt when the sorceress screamed, but then she slapped him hard across the face, and then she felt the same cold pain tearing at his cheek as he fell twitching to the ground, his hands clutching at the spot where she had touched him.

The woman slammed her heel into his side, then kicked him, over and over and over again. Kamilé heard his muted cries of pain and felt the heels of her boots slam into his flesh, slice through his skin, crack his bones like dry twigs.

She heard herself screaming, felt herself flying across the smoldering grass, before she had even a moment to think. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” she shrieked as she leapt at the woman. “STOP IT! GET AWAY!”

The woman shoved her aside, but her cold touch did nothing at all to Kamilé, who was possessed with a rage hotter than the flames around her and would not be deterred. She lunged at the sorceress again, grabbing at her hair, latching her arms around her neck.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” she yelled as she kicked and punched and bit and scratched with every bit of strength that she had, paying no heed to any blow she received in turn.  “I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU—!”

“ENOUGH!”

A cold hand closed around her throat, choking the air from her lungs. She struggled and clawed and kicked as she felt her feet rising off the ground, but to no avail: the woman’s arm swung wide, and Kamilé felt herself flying through the air, tumbling fast to the ground—

Her back and head smacked against the trunk of the Great Tree, driving every last bit of air from her chest. She collapsed in a broken heap on the grass, twitching and shaking, struggling to breathe with lungs that no longer seemed to work. There was no pain, but it felt as if something huge and heavy had slammed into her chest, and her vision was fading in and out of darkness, no matter how hard she tried to focus….

She could feel Everan’s panic, his fear for her, his fury. She could feel his sudden surge of strength as he thrashed on his back like an overturned insect, lashing out at the sorceress with the knife he still had clutched in his stiff fingers. Whatever he did must have worked, because she heard the sorceress scream—but then she kicked Everan again, hard, and he crumpled once more. Kamilé could see him huddled on the ground, coughing and gasping for breath, his silver iris slowly flooding with inky blackness as the taint spread across his eye. Despite the flames, he was shivering uncontrollably; his blood felt like ice water in his veins. Kamilé felt his heart beat at an incredible speed, but weakly, fighting against the corruption that was now spreading across his chest….

He’s going to die. The thought came to her almost as if a stranger had spoken it calmly in her ear; she felt strangely detached, as if she were watching this in a dream, waiting patiently until it was time to wake up. He’s dying and so am I. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, fleeting and insubstantial, slipping from her grasp no matter how hard she tried to cling to them.

“I—have had—enough of you,” she heard the sorceress snarl at Everan. “You ugly whining scheming little bastard—”

Everan was in agony, using every shred of strength he had left just to suck in each breath. And yet, to Kamilé’s bewildered amazement, he somehow found the power to raise himself onto one elbow and meet the sorceress’s eyes with that icy glare that had sickened the hearts of a hundred grown men and women. He spat a mouthful of blood and blackened bile onto the hem of the woman’s dress.

“Go to hell,” he hissed.

At this, the sorceress’s lips curved into a twisted smile, and Kamilé heard her laugh in bitter amusement even as the arm holding the Heart began to rise.

“Little boy,” she said, “trust me—you know nothing of hell. Not yet.”

And the Heart began to glow with an eerie light, a miasma of purple and black.

“No!” Kamilé shouted, reaching out with one feeble hand as she tried to drag herself across the grass. “NO!”

A tongue of purple flame lashed out like a whip and pierced Everan through the chest.

The fire consumed him in an instant; he had no time to move, no time to think. His mouth opened, and Kamilé heard him scream, but whether it was in her head or in reality, she did not, could not know. She shrieked with him as the agony twisted into her heart, carving into her chest, scorching her from head to toe, reaching out blindly to pull him out of the darkness….

Then a flash of light, and he was gone. There was nothing left but empty air.

Kamilé’s cries of torment died in her throat as the pain itself faded away. She stared in disbelief at the grass where he had, just moments before, been lying: it was rising again, innocent and unsullied, as if he had never laid a finger on it.

“Everan?” she whispered, with her tongue and with her mind.

There was no reply: only an endless void, a vast emptiness where he had once been. He was gone.

The pain hit her like a blow from a stone fist, slamming into her stomach and knocking her breathless to the ground. It felt as if someone had clutched at her insides with a hand as hard and cold as ice and torn and ripped and yanked a gaping hole into her heart, her lungs, her very soul. She could feel everything she was, everything she would ever be, bleeding out into the chasm where he had once been. She pressed her hands to her heart to hold herself together and was surprised to find her skin still intact, showing no sign at all that she was broken.

“Everan,” she wailed, though he was no longer there to hear. “Everan….”

“Oh, shut up.”

Kamilé looked around, blinking, and stared open-mouthed at the sorceress. For a moment she could not remember who she was or what she was doing here, wreathed in flame and smoke like some dark god.

Then, unbidden, unexpected, the truth leaked from her lips.

“You killed him.”

The sorceress eyed her in cold disdain. “And?” she snapped.

Kamilé could only gape at her. “You killed him,” she cried. “You killed Everan….”

The sorceress gave a short, humorless laugh and turned away. “Worthless,” she said. “I thought he’d put up more of a fight….”

And she started to walk away. Kamilé watched her go in utter incomprehension; a sudden insanity gripped her, a notion to run after her and pull her back, to fall down on her knees before her.

“Give him back!” she called after her. “Please….” She started to sob, curled up alone amidst the flames. “Please give him back…please…I need him….”

The sorceress turned back, pausing just long enough to give her a look of utter loathing. “Pathetic,” she snarled. “How disheartening.” She lifted her right arm, showing Kamilé the Heart still resting between her fingers; Kamilé had nearly forgotten all about it. Then, to her amazement, the woman tossed the Heart onto the grass in front of her.

“Take it,” she said, sounding resigned—yet cruel amusement danced in her crimson eyes all the same. “This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? So keep it.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I hope it was worth it.”

Kamilé looked at the Heart, then at her, then at the Heart again. Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “Why?” she whispered. “Why…?”

The woman gave a lazy shrug. “I came here for the treasures of this world,” she said. “The Heart of Ametris, and the Chosen. Both proved to be…unsatisfying. As did this world. These mindless soft-skulled chattel were a waste of my time—as were you, little Chosen. I expected much better from you.”

Kamilé could not believe what she was hearing. “You—you thought—” The words choked her, tasting like bile and blood in her throat, like the blackness that had devoured Everan. “I’m not the Chosen!” she nearly screamed at the woman. “Everan isn’t either! We—I’m not—you’re crazy, you’re evil—” Her words seemed to strangle her from within, burning like the tears that stung her eyes; she bowed her head, overwhelmed by grief. “It wasn’t us,” she sobbed. “It wasn’t us….”

At this, the sorceress merely chuckled quietly to herself. She turned her back to Kamilé, and for a moment, she thought that the sorceress would abandon her here without another word. But then she heard her voice, low and soft beneath the roaring flames.

“You I think I’ll leave alive. But when we meet again, girl, you’d best not disappoint me.”

She lifted a hand without looking back, and Kamilé watched through blurred eyes as an orange flame burst into life above her cupped fingers. Then there was a flash of light, a distant rumble….

Tyrranen, last of the sorcerers and queen of all Sirtema, looked up as her magic struck a heavy branch high overhead, then followed it with her eyes as it fell. She watched in faint amusement as the little girl screamed and threw up one arm in a pathetic attempt to shield herself.

The branch crashed down upon her with so much force that it shattered on impact. The leafy end caught fire at once, a slow fuse ticking down to the girl’s demise.

Tyrranen watched her coldly until her fingers ceased to twitch. Then she turned and strode fearlessly through the fire, disappearing into the darkness beyond it.

This world deserved the flames: it had served her only as a waste of time. As had the twin Chosen. Real gods, she thought to herself, were so much harder to kill.

 

11: Chapter Eleven

A/N: To all my readers: thank you. It means so much to me to see you engaged in and entertained by my book. All I've wanted for a long time is to have this book published so I can share it with as many people as possible. This is a great start, and I'm very grateful to you all. 

Without further ado, Chapter Eleven. Thanks for reading!

~CRH

Chapter Eleven

The flames were licking at the library door by the time Marli reached them, spreading in an arch from the groove in the trunk where she had spotted the silhouette of a person amongst the flames. There was no way around them, so she ran faster, pushing off the ground at the last moment in a flying leap. The flames licked at her legs, and she winced as she felt them blister, but when her feet hit solid ground she ignored the pain and kept going. It’ll fade. I’ll heal. Don’t stop now.

The ground here was littered with burning debris, whose flames she could barely see through the thick, acrid smoke. She pressed her sleeve to her mouth and breathed through the cloth, casting watering eyes around herself. Marli was too well-trained to panic in the midst of such a crisis—and yet the logical, mechanical part of her that had taken over still had its doubts. This is suicide, she thought. They could be standing right in front of me and I wouldn’t even see them….

 Marli had not used magic at all since the day she had come to Ametris, apart from a few halfhearted and exhausting attempts at tiny spells. Magic was weaker here, more difficult, harder to control: even a simple thing like shielding herself from the rain required enormous concentration and left her breathless and sweating.

But now, with her heart racing wildly and adrenaline pumping through her veins, the magic flowed like liquid lightning down her arms and pooled in her fingertips without conscious thought. Energy surged through her, sharpening her wits and bringing strength to every muscle; she felt invincible, unstoppable, with such a massive reservoir of power building inside of her.

Oh, yes, she thought, sparing one precious moment to savor the sensation. I haven’t felt this good in years. She had been worried, when her magic had faltered at her first attempts, that she had lost her powers somehow, or forgotten how to use them. But her magic was a part of her, an integral piece of her soul; it could never leave her, and she would never let it dwindle again.

But it was still not as strong as it had once been, and would not be as easy to manipulate. So, rather than aiming for precision, she raised her hand, summoned the magic, and moved both of her arms in a complicated motion: a wave, a sweep, a twist of her wrists, and then a forceful push into the empty air.

Out of her palms burst a concussive blast of wind that shot straight forward, spiraling like a vortex. She spread her hands, and the wind raced howling in every direction, chasing every bit of the smoke away. Half of the flames were extinguished at once by the gale—but in the light of the embers that remained, she looked around and realized that she was alone. The shadow in the flames had disappeared. There were no magiä, no Ametrisans, no one at all….

And then she spotted the tiny arm protruding from the debris.

“Oh, gods! Oh, no—oh, no—!”

Even as she fell to her knees beside the shattered branch and waved away the lingering smoke, a sinking feeling in her stomach told her who it was, though she begged and pleaded to all the gods by name that she was wrong. Let it be someone else, anyone, please, just not her….

But the gods were too cruel, or perhaps too apathetic, to listen. The child was Kamilé: she lay facedown and limp in the heart of the flames, badly injured and frighteningly still.

Marli could not help it: she groaned aloud in horror and in grief. She had come to love the twins just as Kayle had, as a little brother and sister, and seeing her crushed beneath a branch thicker than she was tall, seeing her skin burned and blackened and her hair half-burned away, her nose filling with the horrible stench of charred hair and flesh….

Marli set her shoulder against the biggest fragment of the branch and shoved with all the strength that she could muster. When it refused to budge even then, she pushed even harder, digging her heels into the blackened grass. Come on, come ON, she hissed to herself. We have to get out of here…. Her magic sprang to her fingertips to aid her unconscious wish, and this time, when she pushed, the branch began to move, cracking and groaning and creaking as the magic pulverized it from within.

Once the branch was gone, Marli grabbed Kamilé beneath her arms and pulled her free of the rest of the wreckage. She saw burns spreading across every inch of skin that the branch had not covered, and her back was a mess of blood and torn clothing; she had to fight to keep from being sick. But as she scooped the little girl up and cradled in her arms—surprised by her lightness, as if her bones were hollow like a bird’s—she felt a slight rise and fall of the chest, and a tiny, struggling pulse at the neck. She was alive.

She’ll heal, she told herself over and over again as she staggered to her feet with Kamilé in her arms. I can heal her. She’ll be fine. As long as she’s alive, she’ll be all right….

The smoke was back, but Marli lowered her head and ran straight through it, cradling Kamilé’s head safely against her breast. She found a gap in the flames and hurtled through it, hunching slightly to shield the little girl from the worst of the heat.

Almost there, she whispered to Kamilé in her mind, though Kamilé’s thoughts were dark and silent. Almost there….

“Marli!”

Kayle sprinted out of the clouds of smoke, coughing and choking. “Is that…is she…?” His eyes were wild and scared as he pointed to Kamilé.

“She’ll be fine!” Marli yelled over the deafening roar of the flames, over the crashes and the distant screams. “We have to get out of here! Come on!”

She turned to the library, to the door still wreathed in flames, but Kayle grabbed her arm and jerked her back.

“No!” he shouted. “This way, it’s too dangerous, we have to go—”

He was on the verge of panic, she realized, and he had no idea what to do—nothing in his life had prepared him for any of this. He did not understand how deadly these magic fueled flames could be; he did not understand that without the protection of the Great Tree’s magic, they could never hope to escape or outrun the fire. It would follow them, it would jump rivers and tear through trees like dry twigs as it hunted them down, and when it found them, it would turn their bones to ash.

“We have to get to the library!” she told him. “We have to get everyone in there, it’s the only safe place!”

“But the whole place is on fire! The branches—”

“It doesn’t matter!” The door was right there, she could quench the flames or ignore them if she had to—if he would just stop panicking and listen— “The Great Tree will protect us, we have to—

The ground bucked beneath them; a deafening roar knocked them off their feet. Marli fell to one knee to keep her balance, tightening her grip around Kamilé’s tiny frame. Kayle hit the ground hard, but climbed back to his feet at once, coughing and clutching at his ears.

Then, seemingly on instinct, he looked up—and at the sight of him turning rigid, his eyes widening and his pupils shrinking to pinpoints, she was unable to help herself from following his gaze.

The debris from the explosion was falling from the sky like burning rain, falling from so high up that they could see it plummeting toward them. Screaming meteors of burning wood, splinters of bark the size of their heads, ashes and embers and showers of spark and flame….

Marli shouted in alarm and threw up a hand, summoning the magic to shield them.

“Look out!” shouted Kayle. He dove at her and crashed into her with all his weight, knocking her and Kamilé to the ground. The impact drove the breath from Marli’s lungs; her head smacked against the ground so hard that the world darkened around her to a series of blinking, multicolored lights. She could still feel Kamilé, half-tucked under one arm, but her head was spinning, and when she told her body to move, it would not obey.

Something crashed to the earth so hard that it shook her bones; she heard a strangled yell that might have been Kayle’s. But then her heavy eyelids drifted downward, and all she saw was darkness, and all she heard was silence.

 

The memory of the fire had branded itself indelibly into the minds of the survivors, a glimpse of the hell they now believed in that had, in a matter of hours, destroyed everything they knew.

Very few of them could have said how it all started. For most of them, the nightmare began with the screams of the crowds at the edge of the square, the ones who had seen the fire coming and were pushing against the rest, fighting tooth and nail to get away. The rest of the crowd had realized, if not what was happening, at the very least that they needed to escape—but the realization had come slowly, and there were too many of them, far too many, to be freed so swiftly from such a small area. The very edges of the crowd were forced to fly to the north and south, around the edges of the square, and retreat to the trees unhindered.

But many, many of them were trapped by the masses of screaming, struggling people, caught in a sluggish tide of bodies that they were unable to escape. And they were the ones who died in droves: trampled by their fellows, knocked with brutal force against the walls of the houses…and penned in the square by the flames.

The fire was truly a scourge from hell itself, a relentless creature with a hunger that all the world could not have satisfied. It was deep red, veined by flashes of orange and yellow, but burned as if white-hot, and turned wood and bone and skin to ash in a matter of seconds. Several of those trapped by it tried to beat it out with blankets or douse it with water from the well, only to be snared by the blaze and collapse from the force of the waves of heat that preceded the fire by a hundred meters. The flames simply could not be stopped. And in their rapacious lust, they consumed the houses of the square faster than the people could flee, as if the squat wood-and-clay homes were constructed of flimsy curtains of dead leaves. The fire spread from roof to roof with unnatural speed, dancing through the empty air as if cast by the fingertips of a vengeful deity—just as it spread up the trunk of the Great Tree, eating away at the object of the elves’ worship and adoration with vicious greed….

Then the bottom of the canopy of the Great Tree caught alight, signaling the impending death of dozens. For the fire weakened the branches with savage ease and sent them tumbling, one after the other, to the earth below—where the branches, the smallest of which was as thick around as a full-grown man and at least twice as long, crashed into houses, trees, and people with explosive force. Most of those hit died on impact, or were impaled by the spikes of wood that flew outward from the shattered branches—and more was the pity for them if they did not, for their suffering was merely prolonged before they died, bleeding out or suffocating in the thick clouds of smoke or falling prey to the devouring flames that soon overtook them.

Honor and bravery were the first principles to fall prey to the blaze, compassion and pity following close behind. A man’s first instinct became to protect himself above all others, even if it meant shoving another mortal being between him and the approaching flames; he might, if he remembered, drag his family along, or turn back for them if he forgot them, but all others were left to their own fates. The wounded were left behind, often trampled underfoot; the screams of those trapped under branches or in their homes were paid no heed; men, women, and children alike were abandoned in the rush, forced to secure their own survival or perish. Every one of them, to a man, turned into a savage animal, believing himself to be worth thousands of his own kind; he became monsters, unrecognizable to himself or those around him.

And the fire burned on, gaining speed and strength as it devoured them by the handful, as if some vengeful god far above them had seen their selfish actions and had renewed its determination to destroy them all.

The square was soon burned to ashes, every scrap of the buildings and homes lost to the blaze. And from there, the fire surged eastward, then to the south, carried forth by a sadistic breeze; it chased down the runners, lighting the grass beneath their feet like a torch, and carved a path of raw destruction through the trees. And those who fled pushed onward in despair, knowing deep in their hearts that the fire would never stop….

But then a miracle occurred—a gesture of mercy from the angry heavens. Without warning, without so much as a rumble of thunder as a preface, the sky opened over the forest. And it began to rain.

At first, it seemed that even the pounding deluge could do nothing to stop the fire. Many of those who fled saw the rain dissipate in clouds of steam over the flames, evaporated instantaneously by the blazing heat. But the relentless flood of water soon took its toll, and stopped the flames in their tracks, though they flared higher than ever, forming a sweeping wall that stretched from horizon to horizon and seemed to devour the mist itself in its furious onslaught….

Yet the fire approached no further, and the people managed to gain some distance from it. They hardly realized it at first, intent only upon escaping the fire as quickly as possible—but then they felt the heat of the fire receding, and the first drops of rain strike their face, and they understood. Many of them fell to their knees in gratitude, sobbing and praising the gods aloud…and many more collapsed on the spot, aware of nothing save that the air was cool and moist and that they could stop running at last.

The fire continued to burn long into the night, lighting the sky aflame with hellish hues and thick, choking clouds of smoke. But the rain poured harder than ever, showing no signs at all of ceasing—and under its persistent battering, the flames began, inch by inch, to recede.

At last, in the hour before dawn, the glare of orange and yellow on the horizon began to fade. But the pink tint of dawn never replaced it—for, as far as the Ametrisans could tell, the sun never rose on the forest that day. Instead there was only the dark grey haze of the storm, drowning the forest in thick curtains of raindrops that, tainted by the clouds of smoke, were stained dark as charcoal and left black stains like tear streaks wherever they struck. So, too, were the streams and brooks and ponds amongst the trees poisoned, turning black as soot from the ash in the air and in the rain and the bits of charred wood that still fell, with muffled crashes, to the earth. And when the wind began to blow, it carried with it a flurry of ash and soot that congealed in the eyes, mouth, and lungs of any who breathed it in and polluted the air with the horrible smell of burning wood and flesh.

Thus was the forest that the survivors saw before them as the weak grey light of the distant sun heralded the beginning of a new day.

 

 

Marli awoke with a jerk and a startled gasp, wrenching herself free from the grasp of a horrible dream. She had seen a world flooded with ash that rained from the sky, ash everywhere, clinging to every twig of every barren tree and choking the life from the people who rooted through it like animals, searching for bones and scraps of forgotten treasures, their mouths covered by cloth masks to shield them from the poisons in the air and water….

She opened her eyes, and for a long, confusing moment, she wondered if she were trapped inside another dream. She was lying on her side in a narrow bed with rough sheets, and the room she saw looked completely unfamiliar. It seemed to be grown out of a living tree, like the buildings of her homeland, but this was still Ametris: she could feel in the air, could almost taste it on her tongue.

So it had to be the library—but if it was, it was like no other room she had seen before. It looked more like a dormitory than anything else: a long room with a dozen rows of beds along each wall, low-ceilinged and dimly lit. And each and every bed held a wounded elf or human.

The fire, she remembered, and sat upright at once. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her boots.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A small elfin woman hurried over in a flurry of agitation. Marli guessed, from the rough unbleached tunic splattered with blood that she wore to protect her clothes, that she was a healer—or a “fixer”, as the Ametrisans would say.

The woman pushed her back onto the bed with a firm hand on her shoulder. “You can’t get up,” she scolded her. “You need to stay in bed, you’re badly hurt…or you were….” She eyed Marli’s bandages uncertainly. She must have seen, at one point, how unnaturally quickly Marli was healing.

“I feel fine,” Marli insisted. “Great.”

And it was no lie. Her magic, newly reawakened, had permeated every inch of her body as she’d slept, healing not just her scrapes and burns and bruises, but all the tiny pains as well, the soreness and muscle cramps and minor irritations that most people carried around all day, but simply ignored. Without them, she felt as strong and energetic as she had ever been. Her magic had been dormant too long; she had not realized how depressed and restless she’d become over the past two years without even noticing the change. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” said the woman with a bite of irritation. “I don’t remember, I’ve been doing too much to keep track of every single person’s every little cut and burn and who needs what….”

Marli suppressed a snort with difficulty; the least these people could do was write these things down to make it easier for their healers. “What day is it?”

“It’s the evening after midsummer.” The woman’s face twisted. “The day…the day after….”

She could not finish. She did not need to. The fire. Her dream had been closer to reality than she’d known. “How many?” 

The woman did not need to ask what she meant. “I don’t know,” she said, wringing her tunic with hands that she could not keep from shaking. “Hundreds, must be, judging by what the families say, but they might’ve just gone missing. Lots of people just took off and ran, and some’ve already found their way back, so maybe the rest…I don’t know. And there’s hundreds more wounded….”

“They don’t know how many are dead? No one’s looked for bodies?”

“No,” said the woman, horrified. “Why would we? We can’t bury them, it’s all ash and rain out there….

To keep them from the elements, Marli might have said. To give their families some peace. To let them mourn. To save the ones that might not be dead yet. To find everyone who ran and bring them back here, where it’s safe. But these people would never understand. They were completely unprepared for such a disaster, and too afraid to do anything more than panic and hide from the ugly truth.

A full day. Her mind flashed to Kamilé, and to Kayle. “There were two people with me,” she said. “A man and a little girl. Do you know where they are?”

“No,” huffed the little healer. “I can’t keep track of everyone’s families and stories and demands. I see a wound, I treat it. I don’t know what more you expect from me.”

The woman’s stress leaked through her words; she seemed one provocation short of a total breakdown. Marli did not blame her. Not a single soul in Ametris would be able to handle the strain and heartbreak of treating a hundred different wounded at once—especially not someone who, she was beginning to suspect, was pulled up here by the Ametrisan leaders and had never dressed a wound in her life.

“The man with me was the librarian,” Marli told her. Everyone in Kocha knew Kayle. “Do you know where he is?”

“The librarian? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is that the one who has all the books? I don’t know where he is either. Now lay down. I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Sayamasë,” said Marli meekly, using her best Ametrisan courtesy.

But as soon as the woman was out of sight, Marli sat up and slid her feet into her boots. She got up and crept on silent feet out into the hall, averting her eyes from the bandaged, feverish wounded who shared her room.

As soon as she stuck her head out into the corridor, she realized where she was: deep in the heart of the maze of dormitories and corridors that comprised the library’s fourth floor. The entire floor had been abandoned and closed off for longer than anyone in Kocha could recall. It was a dark, gloomy rabbit warren of a place, built in ancient times to hold a full garrison of soldiers; almost every room was a bedroom, some twice the size of the one in which she had awoken, some just big enough to hold a single narrow bed. Kayle had shown her around here once, intending to frighten her, but the place just made her sad. The magic of the Great Tree had kept everything very well preserved, but the perfectly made beds and little night tables and hollow staring fireplaces were still coated in a thick layer of dust, and the pitch-black air seemed thirsty for the light of Kayle’s lantern, the first bit of brightness that had touched it in many a long year.

Now, however, the rooms were filled with light and movement and noise. But it was no cheerier than before, for each room she passed had a wounded person in every bed. There seemed to be no semblance of order whatsoever: people with minor scrapes and sprains, alert and talking clearly, lay side-by-side with those so grievously wounded that Marli could not see how they were still alive (and guessed, judging by the distracted state of the healers, that many of them were not. And for every healer there were dozens of wounded to treat. Marli was not at all surprised to see how chaotic and unorganized everything was, to see the general lack of hygiene, to see human healers treating elves and vice versa. But it did disappoint her, and frustrate her to no end, for all of this seemed common sense to her.

She tore off the bandages as she walked down the corridor and abandoned them in a pile of soiled linens blocking a doorway. Her wounds looked days old already, and the bandages served no other purpose at this point but to make her look like an injured person trying to escape. The trick, she had learned long ago, was to look as if she belonged, to move confidently and at a reasonable speed like a woman on a mission. If she could manage that, then all that was left was the matter of finding the way out.

But that, thankfully, turned out to be easier than she’d feared. The fourth floor was enormous, yes, and she was unfamiliar with it, yes, but the powers in charge had filled only the rooms nearest to the stairs that led to the library main, which she knew were carved into the southernmost wall. Her infallible internal compass pointed her to them without difficulty.

Maybe it made her a horrible person, an uncaring emotionless monster of a mortal, but despite the pained bloodless faces that she had seen, despite the devastating tragedy that had just struck the closest thing she had to a home, despite the threat of an unknown magi causing impossible amounts of chaos and destruction in Ametris…despite all that, all her thoughts were of Kayle, and only Kayle. Nothing else mattered but him. It was not that she didn’t care, though after growing up in the shadow of violence and death as she had, these things no longer upset her; it was not that she had forgotten about Kamilé or Everan or the magi who had caused all of this. It was more a sense of plummeting blindly through empty air, of feeling her way around a pitch-black room, of staring at a thousand shards of broken glass that had to be put back together and not even knowing where to begin. She needed Kayle. She could not sort any of this out without him. She needed his help to find out where they stood, make a plan…because the thought of facing this on her own made her want to scream. 

Most of the library was as quiet and empty as it always was. But the ground floor was a hive of frantic activity—yet the mood was somehow subdued and hushed, just as it had been upstairs. The fear and grief was nearly palpable in the air, clearly visible in the drawn, pale faces of everyone she passed. Many were bandaged, even more lying on the floor beneath a blanket in a state of shock; most were huddled somewhere out of the way, alone or in small groups, clinging wordlessly to what family they had left and sobbing unashamedly over those that were lost.

Once again, there was no order, no plan, no one offering any sort of leadership to these poor lost souls. These people had been doomed from the start. Without a strong community effort headed by a good leader, they would be condemned to wither away in this library, never coming close to regaining the lives and homes that they’d had before.

She didn’t see Kayle anywhere, even after checking for him in every populated room. She did not know what he would be like in this sort of crisis, if he’d be assisting these people in any way he could or huddling broken in the corner with the rest of them. They did not know each other well enough to say. And to think he’d believed himself in love with her….

Oh, gods. Everything he’d said to her came back to her in a rush, along with everything she’d said to him. It had all been true, was still true, but could she have been any crueler? What if he’d been hurt? Or worse? The Ametrisans around her were stunned and terrified because they had believed themselves and their loved ones to be invincible, only to be proven wrong in the most horrific way possible. Marli had realized at the age of six, when her father had been murdered in front of her eyes, that she, and anyone around her, could be taken by the gods in an instant. But it didn’t make it easier. And if she lost her only friend now, when she needed him most….

She burst into Kayle’s bedroom without knocking, and for a moment her eyes saw what her heart wanted them to see: a living, breathing, healthy man sitting in the chair beside his bed and reading a book, a man who looked up at her and smiled. But then she blinked, and a very different image presented itself, one that took her a long time to comprehend.

The chair beside Kayle’s bed was indeed occupied, but by a woman, with no book and no smile. Kayle himself lay on his stomach in his bed, with only his face visible above the half-dozen blankets tucked around him. Marli could tell immediately that something was wrong with him. He never lay like that, and he never looked like that: he was so pale, and still, and barely breathing, and his face looked like a mask shaped from wax….

“Oh,” said the woman in the chair. “Hello, Marli.” She sounded disappointed.

Marli tore her eyes from Kayle and gave the woman her attention for the first time. To her surprise, she recognized Elder Medilii. It made as little sense to see her there as it would her own sister, who was a world away and most likely long dead. Medilii was young, yes, of an age with Kayle, but surely they had use for her anyway in such a trying time. And of all the places to hide away….

“Why…?” Her throat was dry; she swallowed hard, then tried again. “Is Kayle…?”

Medilii shook her head, her expression bleak. Marli stared at her in disbelief as her stomach sank and the room began to spin.

“A branch fell on him,” said Medilii. Marli saw her pretty brown eyes fill with tears before she hid them behind her hands. “It broke his back. There’s nothing anyone can do, even Elder Carn….”

Marli could remember in vivid detail what had happened. Just as she’d tried to shield the three of them with magic, Kayle had panicked and pushed her aside. The wreckage that would have fallen on her had crushed him instead, leaving her unconscious, but with only minor scrapes and bruises. If the fool had just left her alone, they could have all been just fine….

That’s not fair, she reminded herself. He was just trying to protect you. He didn’t know you knew magic. How would he ever have guessed that? He didn’t know. It was one of the many things he never knew about her. He hadn’t known her at all….

“I—I know you must hate me,” Medilii choked out, distracting Marli from her spiraling thoughts. “I’m sorry—it’s just—I couldn’t leave him alone like this. Not when he…when he might not….”

Marli cut her off; she could not bear to let her finish. “Hate you?” she repeated, bewildered. “Why would I hate you?”

“I….” Medilii looked up, her nose pink and her eyes shot with red. “He never told you?”

She had thought that she could feel no worse than she already did. She had been wrong. “No.”

“Kayle and I….” Medilii wiped her eyes as she looked at Kayle, and a burble of hysterical laughter broke unexpectedly through her lips. “We were in love once, when we were both fifteen. We were going to be married.”

Marli backed into the side of the bed, sitting at its edge when she felt it against the back of her thighs. She never once took her eyes off of the Elder. The youngest Elder in hundreds of years, the most beautiful elfin woman in Ametris, had been in love with Kayle…may still be in love with Kayle…. How could he even look at Marli with such a lovely creature in his grasp?

“And I…and we…I loved him, Marli,” Medilii told her, sounding unreasonably defensive. “We were in love. We were engaged. I thought we’d spend forever together. Otherwise….” She blushed bright red, and Marli realized what it was she was trying to say. Ametrisans only became this uncomfortable over one subject. “But then it—we—he wasn’t the same. His father died, and he was…it was like I couldn’t reach him anymore. He wouldn’t even speak to me. And I’d just become an Elder, and I couldn’t do both…there’s a reason half of the Elders aren’t married….”

Marli could not believe her ears. “You broke up with him because his father died?”

“No! I—I tried my best to—it just wasn’t—”

“So you did it because he was sad that his father died.”

“No—it wasn’t just sadness, Marli, it was—he wasn’t himself anymore, it was like he was dead inside—”

“Not sad, then,” said Marli. “Just depressed.” She had never been more furious in her life. “And he slept with you?”

Medilii winced, as if even hearing the words was too crass for her sensitive ears to bear. “I…we…we were going to be married…we didn’t think it was wrong if we’d be married soon, and if we were careful….”

Medilii had missed her point completely. Marli was not condemning the act; she was commenting on Kayle’s poor choice in women. “What are you even doing here?” she snapped.

“I….” She could see the woman quailing visibly beneath her seething anger. “I know that you’re…that he’s with you now. I just missed him. And when I heard he was hurt…I—I always thought we’d be together again someday. I never thought….”

Marli knew exactly what she thought. She was so racked by guilt over taking a man who was not her husband to bed that she was fighting hard to rectify her mistake before anyone could find out. Ametrisans did not lie, so finding another man was out of the question, and she was too lonely to live out her days alone. Her only choice was to marry Kayle, to prove to herself and everyone else that she was no harlot, that she hadn’t made a mistake.

But Kayle, sick and hurt as much as he was, did not deserve her misguided “love”; as far as Marli was concerned, Medilii had missed her last chance long ago. He’s in love with me now, she thought fiercely, and I will never let anyone treat him like that again.

“Get out,” she snarled at Medilii.

“But I—”

“Get. Out.”

Marli was three years younger than the Elder, and at least six inches shorter. Yet still the woman quailed under her gaze, and could not meet her eyes as she ducked around Marli and fled the room. Marli huffed in disgust and turned back to Kayle.

He did not look well at all, even with the blankets covering most of him—and when she pulled them back, she saw the rest of him was no better. The healer who had treated him had not bothered to bandage his back, and Marli could see every inch of the crimson and purple bruises that covered him in sickly swollen blotches from shoulder to waist. His skin was hot to the touch, and sweating profusely.

Marli’s fingers skimmed down his spine, tracing each disc of bone with a feather-light touch. When she found the break, she winced: it was a jagged ridge protruding from beneath his skin so pronouncedly that she was surprised that it didn’t tear through his flesh like parchment.

She could have used her magic to get a better idea of the scope of the injury, but she didn’t bother; she had seen something like this before. There was no cure that any Ametrisan could offer, no way to treat him or ease his pain. If he survived the night, he had only a slim chance of living through the rest of the week; if he made it that far, he would almost certainly never walk again. It would be a horrible life, enduring constant agony and left immobile from the waist down; it would almost be a mercy to kill him now, before he had a chance to suffer.

But Marli was not an Ametrisan, and she was not ready to give up on him yet. She wasted not a single second to ask herself whether it was possible or whether it was wise. She simply rested her fingertips on his back and let the magic flow.

Her magic burned white-hot as it gathered at her fingertips and soaked into Kayle’s skin; his veins and vessels, large and small, glowed at the point of contact as her magic coursed through his blood. There was no question at all of the magic hurting him or being rejected by his system—in fact, his body drank up the white sparks faster than she could produce them. As it spread through his veins, it healed everything in its path, and Marli watched the bruises dull shade by shade as the broken vessels repaired themselves and reabsorbed or replenished the lost blood.

Part of her mind followed the magic as it spread its iridescent tendrils into his body, and she closed her eyes as her thoughts followed each tiny thread. She could feel the magic working, could feel his muscles relax as they healed and were freed from pain. If she focused on the break in his spine, her magic would gather there, and heal that wound and only that wound. But, grievous thought it was, it might not be the only injury that was keeping him bedridden, and more than anything, she wanted him to be alert and awake, talking and laughing and walking around, as he had at the Gathering that seemed so long ago. So she summoned all the magic that she possessed and pushed it forcefully into him, every bit that she had to give, and let it pump through his veins unheeded to heal anything it came across. It would gather in the areas that were hurt the worst and needed the most healing, but it would heal any minor wound it passed along the way, and any energy not expended would rush to some other bruise or scrape or torn muscle that needed repairing.

Even as her magic drained into him, she watched it working beneath his skin. His bruises faded to green and yellow before disappearing completely; his broken skin sealed itself seamlessly back together; color rose to his cheeks once more as his burning skin cooled beneath her fingers. His spine molded itself into a new shape like clay beneath an artist’s hand, and Marli guided the pieces, gently, into place with her mind as they straightened, touched, and rejoined. The skin around it, inflamed and swollen, was slowly reduced to its original color and texture, and all the blood he had lost was replicated in a crimson tide that poured in from a score of different places around his body.

Marli sank back as her strength ebbed, pulling the last few strains of magic back into her own body. She had not given him everything—it was nearly impossible, and would leave her dead if she somehow managed it—but she had given him all that she could spare. And as she surveyed her work, she felt the tension in her heart ease as she realized that it had been more than enough. Kayle was sleeping easily now, looking healthy and free of pain as his chest rose and fell slowly with each deep breath. She touched the bottom of his foot and felt him twitch in response. Everything was healed, and when Kayle awoke, he would be just fine.

The exhaustion snuck up on her and heaped onto her all at once, weighing on her bones like molten lead. Hunger clawed at her belly, sharp and sudden. Her vision was slightly blurred, but her other senses seemed to be heightened, and she caught a whiff of a beautiful smell that she had not noticed before. She turned toward it and was surprised to find a bowl of vegetable stew, a loaf of bread, and a pitcher of clear water resting on Kayle’s nightstand, placed there, perhaps, by someone who still carried a feeble hope that he would wake up of his own accord during the night and want something to eat. All of it was stone-cold, but Marli’s mouth watered at the sight of it all the same, and she barely tasted the food as she drank the stew straight from the bowl and tore into the bread like a feral dog. The water pitcher she half-drained, leaving a fair amount for Kayle, who would no doubt want it when he woke up: he was severely dehydrated, and hunger and thirst were among the very short list of things that magic could not alleviate.

Mostly sated, her stomach swollen and comfortably full, Marli rested her elbows on her knees and watched Kayle from beneath heavy eyelids. He would wake soon, she told herself, once he felt up to it; he was tired, that was all, and he needed a little more sleep. She would have liked to sit up and wait for him to open his eyes, to be there to greet him when he woke, but she was so tired…. She felt herself leaning forward, resting her head on her arms, closing her eyes, but was powerless to stop it. So she stopped trying, and instead allowed the sound of Kayle’s strong, steady heartbeat lull her into a deep and peaceful sleep.