A Leap

“They thought they were finished….” Quaos said dramatically. She was telling the story to Kayli and Edjica, the only children currently in the Magiary, but Aniya and Devrin were listening just as intently. “But then, a miracle happened. Hundreds of seahorses came up and surrounded them to protect them from--” The story was interrupted by a thunderous pounding at the door.
　
“No, don’t stop!” Kayli protested.
　
“I’ll get it,” said Devrin, already on his feet. “If you get interrupted they probably won’t get to bed till midnight. You or Aniya can tell me what happened, later.” He strode down the corridor to the front door. It was storming too hard for him to be able to see anything through the peephole, so he opened the door.
　
The man on the doorstep was not dressed for the weather, and his clothes were soaked and ragged; his face was dirty and sporting ragged stubble, his hair unkempt. Devrin thought he must be a beggar, until he spoke. “Is there a woman named Quaos here?” he asked. His voice had a hint of Sarcish accent, under the desperation.
　
“Possibly,” said Devrin with caution. “Who’s asking?”
　
“My name is Iaedan. Quaos is a friend of mine, and she’s in danger, though she probably doesn’t know it.”
　
　
Devrin studied the man carefully, then nodded. “All right, come in.” He led Iaedan inside.
　
Quaos was just finishing the story. “And she married the prince and they lived happily ever after.”
　
“And then she killed him,” added Iaedan.
　
Quaos gave a bark of a laugh that was cut off when she recognized Iaedan. She stared at him in shock. The children were not amused. “No!” cried Edjica, and Kayli also looked stricken.
　
“Don’t worry, he’s joking,” Aniya assured them. “They loved each other very much and lived happy and peaceful lives, and never had to kill anyone again. Now go to bed.” With only a few token protests, they went.
　
“Iaedan, what have you been…? what are you…? What happened to you?” Quaos asked.
　
“They’re after us,” he told her.
　
“And that explains it all!” said Devrin
　
“It does, actually,” Quaos told him sharply. “How close are they, how many are there, and who’s behind it?”
　
“Close. Lots. King Evrich, who eventually emerged as the demon’s heir.”
　
“Since this is you talking, by ‘lots’ and ‘close’ I assume you mean armies that are about to descend on us at any moment.”
　
“That’s about right,” Iaedan admitted.
　
“We have to go tell Malexandra.” Quaos led Iaedan toward the stairs, but stopped at their foot. “Can you wait down here… just in case?” she asked Aniya and Devrin. They’d never heard her sound scared before, and they agreed anxiously.
　
“Who exactly is coming?” Devrin asked.
　
“Armies, apparently, from Sarca, to arrest Quaos for regicide.”
　
“Right, of course. Well, while we wait to fight off armies by ourselves, what did I miss in the story? I don’t want to die without knowing.”
　
“Fine, it’s not like there’s anything better for us to do. Basically, there was an epic battle, with the girl and the seahorses and all the creatures of good on one side, and all the creatures of evil on the other side. Quaos went into great detail on the descriptions, but I don’t really remember exactly. Anyway, they were losing and then the prince rode in with an army behind him and joined the fight, and they defeated their enemies and got married and lived happily ever after. Until she killed him, if you believe Quaos’s friend,” she added with a smile.
　
“You have to admit, in real life it would be more likely than a happy ending.”
　
“Come on, Devrin, even you’re not that cynical.”
　
“I’m not saying that people killing each other is always more likely than them getting along, but royal marriages don’t tend to work out, if one of the people wasn’t born royal and it’s a love match rather than being political.”
　
“They do sometimes!” snapped Aniya.
　
Devrin was about to continue the debate, until he saw her expression. “I thought you and Skyler were just friends.”
　
“We were! And then we were practically enemies, and now that we’re friends again, well, I don’t think we are just friends.”
　
“I don’t even want to think about giving romantic advice, but you do need to remember that 98% of the country hates you.”
　
　
“I know! I know! I didn’t say there was any way it could possibly work out--” She froze. “He said ‘armies,’ didn’t he?”
　
“Yes… what’s your point?”
　
“Armies aren’t going to march through the capital of Majardea, right under Skyler’s nose, and knock on the front door. They’ll come across open country and arrive around back.”
　
They rushed through the house. Aniya reached the back door an instant before Devrin, and flung it open.
　
Iaedan had not been exaggerating. A full army stood facing the building. The rain and wind didn’t seem to faze them in the slightest. A single, armored man rode forward, holding up a scrap of white cloth that was nearly blown out of his grasp.
　
“Turn over the criminal, Quaos of Sarca, and we will leave you in peace!”
　
Devrin thought of trying to stall, pretending not to know who they were talking about or saying they didn’t have the authority. He glanced at Aniya. She gave the slightest shake of her head, turned to the soldier, and said, “Hell no!”
　
The man rode back to join the other men in front of the house. He said something, and they rushed towards the Magiary.
　
Before they could reach it, a shimmery, transparent wall sprung up around the building. The army hesitated. One of the soldiers touched it, tentatively, then tried to ride through it. It stopped him as surely as if it were made of stone.
　
“Let’s go see what the plan is,” Devrin said, and they closed the door and went upstairs.
　
A strong wind blew through the room when Devrin opened the door to the top of Malexandra’s tower, and he saw to his surprise that despite the weather, one of the large windows was flung open. Malexandra faced it, concentrating intently on something, and Quaos stood on the window ledge, facing outwards. Drops of rain battered her and flew past her into the room, but no one seemed to notice. Iaedan was asleep in an armchair in the corner, and they could sense the sleeping spell laid over him.
　
“…can’t let innocent people take the blame for what I did!” Quaos was screaming into the storm.
　
“No!” cried Aniya, and before Devrin even realized what was happening, Quaos leapt.
　
They rushed to the window. They could barely see Quaos’s crumpled figure through the storm, but it was clear that she wasn’t moving. The shimmering wall disappeared as Malexandra joined them at the window, but the army stayed where it was.
　
“How could you let her…?” Aniya demanded.
　
Oddly, Malexandra smiled. “Surely you can’t think I would have let her kill herself.”
　
“But… she jumped.”
　
“Breaking a fall is one of the easiest things to do, magically, you know that. And Quaos is a good enough actor to play dead quite convincingly. We just need to take her inside before they decide they want her drawn and quartered, or some such thing.”
　
Devrin began to laugh rather hysterically, and a tear rolled down his face, and he rushed to the stairs. Aniya and Malexandra hurried after them.
　
Malexandra stopped them at the back door. “Wait here. If either of you go outside, you might give it away.”
　
Devrin would have protested, if he hadn’t known she was right. Aniya took a tentative step to follow Malexandra outside, but Devrin grabbed her arm. “Do you really want to risk her life on your ability to act as though she’s dead?” His voice was not his usual sarcastic tone but something darker, and Aniya stayed inside.
　
They waited tensely, both aware that Malexandra was facing down an army who would quite possibly insist on taking Quaos’s “body.” She wasn’t dead, but that could only mean she wasn’t dead yet.
　
Finally, the door opened. A gust of wind and a shower of rain flew in their faces, and then Malexandra came in, Quaos floating at her side, looking dead.
　
As soon as the door closed, she popped up and jumped down to the ground. Relief flooded over Devrin and Aniya. “We thought you were dead!” Aniya said.
　
“I’m sor-” Quaos began, but before she could finish her sentence Devrin embraced her fiercely, and kissed her. It might not have been best of kisses, since Quaos was drenched and shivering, and her near death was on both their minds, but it lasted a long time. Aniya stared at them, then fled. Malexandra had already slipped away.
　
“I thought I’d lost you,” Devrin said finally. “I didn’t even know there was anything to lose, not like that.”
　
“That makes me even more glad that I’m not really dead.”
　
“Was it horrible? They could have killed you.”
　
Quaos nodded. “I would have jumped for real, if I’d had to. I’m just glad I didn’t.”

My Feet Have Never Touched the Ground

I was born in a tree, I’ve lived my entire life in the trees, and I always expected I would die in a tree as well. Back when I was young you could look out above the canopy and see nothing but an ocean of treetops, all the way to the horizon. Those days are long gone, of course. Nowadays, those of us that are left are squished into living in the little patch of forest that’s left. Once you get past the homes on the outer edges, you can see the edge of the trees. And beneath--nothing. Dirt and cows don’t count.
　
Though I personally have never climbed down to the ground, plenty of us have. I just never had the inclination. This is the most beautiful place in the world; nothing could be better, so why would I ever want to leave it? We have everything we need up here--food, shelter--don’t think we just sleep on branches, we have homes, or did, before the trees supporting them were felled, clothing, medicine, entertainment, and of course, anything we don’t have--metal and such--can always be brought up.
　
Even most of us who do leave the trees agree that it’s much better up here. The first time people I knew went was when I was a teenager, and a few of my friends went for a short vacation. They tried to convince me to come, but I wouldn’t, and when they returned, they told me I hadn’t missed out on much. Sure, it was different, and there were some interesting things, like how the ground doesn’t move at all beneath your feet--but there general conclusion was that though it might be an okay place to visit, you wouldn’t want to live there.
　
It was my sister, Maerilla, who said that. She lives down there now, married to some farmer who bought land that was once part of the forest. She says its all for the best, for her, since if she hadn’t been driven down she’d never have met the love of her life and given birth to her three beautiful children. I say that if they really were fated to be together, he could have climbed up here. Nothing, nothing is worth this destruction.
　
We didn’t even notice, at first. When the forest is so thick you can walk across the canopy, what’s a few trees here and there? Then it wasn’t a few trees, but it was still far off, the edge of the forest. It was only the edge of our world that was crumbling. The edge moved inwards. And it will continue to move inwards, and even the tiny remnant of my home will be gone.
　
The people below tell us to just come down. They say they’re being reasonable, that they’ll give us land, or pay us a portion of the filthy blood money they get from their damned lumber. Many of us, I’m sad to say, have. And I expect most of the rest will, eventually. Or all of us, even--if the trees are brought down, we will be brought down with them.
　
I think most of the people will leave, before that point. I won’t. I will stay here until I am clinging to the branches of the very last tree, and when the tree falls, I will still be in it. Perhaps they will think my death unfortunate. Perhaps they won’t care. I will be dead, it will hardly matter to me.
　
Maerilla comes up to visit me. She tells me that I will of course be welcome to live with her, that they have an extra room. She says they are planting an orchard. I just barely resist pushing her down to the ground. An orchard. “Why the hell do you need an orchard?” I demand, screaming. “There are already real trees right here!”
　
“But they’re not fruit trees; they’re not profitable,” she fumbles to explain.
　
“If they’re not fruit trees, then what did you eat for the twenty-four years you lived in them?” I lower my voice and try to be reasonable. “Look, Maerilla, the edge of the forest borders your home. You could stop this; just buy a little more of the land and use the trees that are already growing as your orchard.”
　
“I’ll talk to Doyn about it,” Maerilla promises, and I know that’s the most she’ll agree to.
　
She leaves, and I sit there imagining the conversation. “I know she’s crazy, but she’s my sister, and it’s important to her,” Maerilla says. I don’t know Doyn well enough to guess his reply, but I know enough about people to know it will be negative.
　
So I’m not surprised when, the next time Maerilla visits me, she tells me it’s not going to happen. And since by this point, there’s only me and a few other families still up here, I’m not any more surprised at the news that what’s left of the forest is to be razed. “I love you,” I tell Maerilla, and cry, because I don’t actually want to die.
　
“Why can’t you just come live with us?” Maerilla begs. “You’ve never even been there; you can’t know you won’t like it!”
　
But I do, so I prepare to die with my home.
　
And I would have, if I hadn’t came up with the plan. It’s less than a week before the inferno, and of the few of us left up here, I‘m the only one who doesn‘t plan to leave. Maerilla comes up one last time to plead with me, and that’s when I see it.
　
“Buy the land,” I tell her, “And I’ll work for you until it’s paid back.”
　
She doesn’t think much of the idea, but she knows it’s the only possibility of preventing my death, so she goes home excitedly, and comes back the next day waving a land deed. The agreement is, I owe them five years work, or the equivalent in money, and then the deed will be transferred to me and I’m free to return to the trees.
　
So, for the first time ever, I climb down. It’s as horrible as I expected, life on the ground--no, worse. But I keep up my part of the deal, working the miserable dirt, sustained only by the knowledge that at least a bit of my forest is still there, and I will return to it.

Saving Souls

“You know you don’t have to do this.”
　
Vie frowned at the older woman. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. Sahrinad is the only home I’ve ever had; do you think I’d leave if I had a choice?”
　
“You’d be safer here than anywhere else,” said Rikimi. “You know how well Sahrinad’s fortified, and nowhere else in the world can you find so many magicians.”
　
“These things are powerful, Rikimi. They’ll break through every defense we have in five minutes, and every being on the island will be dead, magic stolen and souls ripped to shreds. They’re going to get me, there’s no real hope of avoiding it, and I can’t bring them down on everyone else.”
　
“I know. I wanted to be sure you know you’re not being kicked out. This is your choice.” She hesitated. “I’ll miss you, Vie.”
　
Vie forced a grin. “I’d have thought you’d be glad to see me leave.”
　
“Oh, you’ve always been trouble, but never the bad kind, really.”
　
“Until now.”
　
Rikimi gave Vie a stern look, the same look she‘d given Vie so many times over the years. “You know it’s not your fault.”
　
Vie shrugged. “It would be, if I stayed and let Sahrinad be destroyed.”
　
“Knowing what we do, it would be, yes; I’m glad you’re able to take responsibility for that. I just find it difficult to believe that your fate is inevitable.”
　
“Every seer and oracle in Sahrinad’s seen them suck my life force out of me, no matter what course of future they’re seeing. Everything that’s been seen, or heard, or thought of, or prophesied says its unavoidable, whatever I do,” said Vie, her voice tinged with suppressed anger at the unfairness of it. She hesitated. “If it turns out not to be, if I find a way to beat them somehow… I’ll come back.”
　
“You don’t really have any hope,” said Rikimi, mildly surprised.
　
“I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be able to survive if I didn’t have at least the smallest shred of a chance of ever coming back here.”
　
“Well, I’ve never put much faith in prophecies.”
　
That comforted Vie more than anything else had, and she embraced Rikimi awkwardly and stepped onto the ferry.
　
Vie had no idea where to go. She’d been barely more than a child when she came to Sahrinad, and her memories of life outside the island were foggy. It wasn’t so isolated that she didn’t know of the outside world--which countries were where, what the landscape was like, how to get from one place to another. But she didn’t know where she wanted to be, except on Sahrinad.
　
Somewhere isolated, she decided, to limit the damage as much as possible, so when the ferry landed she walked west, away from the nearest town and the roads twisting around it.
　
Vie tried, as she’d been trying, to come up with a way to stop them, but her mind would only show her the fate she knew she couldn’t avoid. They--no one knew what exactly they were, and they had no name--would swoop down on her and steal magic, leaving her weakened but alive, and then her soul, killing her, or worse. She couldn’t hide from them, couldn’t fight them, couldn’t trick them. The most she could hope for was to be their only victim.
　
She passed a stand on the side of the road. She knew she should hurry on so as to avoid risking the person working at it. But she wanted that one last bit of human contact.
　
She needn’t have worried about that. As she approached, it became quite clear that the person selling whatever was being sold was not at all human. The being--Vie couldn’t tell its gender--had aqua skin, shining white antlers, and huge feathery wings. Being from Sahrinad, Vie had of course seen nonhumans before; but this person was different. She somehow felt that it wasn’t just not a human, but wasn’t a mortal at all.
　
“Hello,” Vie said, because she could at least have one last friendly nonhuman interaction before they found her. “What are you selling?”
　
“Whatever I have, or whatever I need…. But from you, I think I will be buying.”
　
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to sell.”
　
“I have seen you in my scrying dish, being devoured by kashiu jalt.”
　
“A lot of people have. Is that what they’re called?”
　
“It’s what I call them. It means soul rippers, in some language or other.”
　
“Do you know how to stop them?” Vie’s heart beat quickly, though she told herself she knew the answer would be negative.
　
“You cannot defend against them, or hide from them.” The being paused. “I wish to buy your soul.”
　
Vie jumped back. “What? But… how? And won’t that kill me?”
　
“No, I will take good care of it for you, and sell it back to you when you’re ready. You can consider it a kind of pawning. As for how, we simply agree on the deal and I will take it from you, very gently.”
　
“Sell it back to me… you mean, once the… soul ripper’s are gone?”
　
“Yes.”
　
It wasn’t that Vie didn’t know better than to sell her soul, but surely selling it was better than having it stolen. “All right,” she agreed. A shimmering white antler touched her forehead, and she felt… something, and then she felt nothing. She was conscious, she felt no pain, or even numbness, just nothing. She could see and hear and touch the world around her, but it could not touch her. Nothing mattered.
　
“I’m sorry, I know it’s rather terrible.” Vie didn’t know whether that was true. It just was.
　
She left, and continued walling, and eventually stopped walking and lied down and did not sleep. The sun was beginning to rise when they came.
　
Had she been able to feel, she would have felt fear, but as it was they simply were there. They picked through her mind and sucked out her magic, and as she felt it draining away she knew it was a good thing she couldn’t feel. When it was gone--when the magic that had been so much of her life was gone--they dug deeper, searching for her soul. Vie squeezed her eyelids together. When she opened them, the sun was up, and they were gone.
　
She walked back to the stand on the side of the road. The being touched his antler to her forehead again, and her soul trickled back in, and she began to cry.
　
“Thank you,” she said, and still crying, headed back to Sahrinad. By the time she stepped off the ferry, she was almost used to feeling again, almost able to deal with the loss of her magic, almost able to believe that she had escaped the inescapable.

Burden

Zandra was my best friend, which says more about the state of my social life than about our friendship. I had other friends, but they were the kind of friendships where, when we hung out, we chatted rather than talked. We knew about each other—what we were doing and who was dating who—but I didn’t know them, and none of them knew me.

I never knew anything about Zandra. I only saw her on Saturdays. Whenever I’d suggested we do something on a different day, she’d said she was busy. I didn’t know what she did with the rest of the week. I didn’t know if she had a job, or a social life, or even what her last name was. But it didn’t matter. Zandra was the only person who understood me.

It wasn’t that we spent our time having deep conversations, because we didn’t. But Zandra lived in the moment, and when I was with her the world seemed different somehow. Every passing butterfly was a miracle, and even the most insignificant chitchat was imbued with soul.

One day—it was a Tuesday—I got home very late, and surprised a burglar. I stood in my doorway, shocked at this invasion of my home. The burglar dropped my TV, pulled out a gun, and shot me.

The bullet hit my leg. I collapsed, and he rushed past me out of my house.

I was screaming. One of my neighbors must have heard my screams, or the gunshot, and called the police. My face was soaked in tears of pain when the ambulance finally arrived.

At the hospital, the doctor told me that the bullet hadn’t quite hit the bone, but was still in my leg and would need to be removed. I would be fine, they assured me.

The painkillers were beginning to set in by then, so my leg didn’t hurt as much, but I felt betrayed by the world at the invasion of my home by the burglar and of my body by the bullet. I didn’t think I would be fine.

The operation was successful. All my friends stopped by the hospital to give their condolences and express their shock. All except Zandra, and again I felt betrayed. So what if it wasn’t a Saturday? So what if she was busy? I was in the hospital recovering from being shot!

On Saturday, she did come, sneaking into my room without waiting for visiting hours.

“Hi,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” said Zandra.

I shrugged. “Life sucks.”

Zandra studied me carefully. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure.”

She sat down in a chair. “Once, people caused each other a great deal of pain.”

“They still do,” I interrupted, gesturing towards me leg.

“Yes, of course, but once there was twice as much pain in the world. I don’t know if twice as many bad things happened, or if each grievance suffered then was felt twice as much. Either way, the world is only half as cruel now as it once was.”

“It must have been pretty bad back then,” I said.

“It was. People were hurt, and saw their friends hurt, and were miserable. They say we are given no more than we can bear, but then why are there so many suicides? There were even more then than now. The whole world was in despair.”

“So what happened?”

“It was a small thing, in the grand scheme of the world. No one ever knew about it, ever knew about it, even. There was a girl. She had suffered no great tragedy but for living among the horrors of the world. She saw the pain around her, and knew she had to stop it.

“She went off in search of… she didn’t even know what. An evil to defeat? A last thread of hope to unleash into the world? She traveled far and wide, never knowing what she was looking for.

“Until she found it.” Zandra paused and stared off into the distance.

“What was it?” I asked impatiently.

"You would call him the devil, perhaps, though that is not quite right. He is not how you would think of him. He was simply a power with a lust for evil, but rather than committing it with his own hand, he stirred the rest of the world to do his work for him.

“How and where the girl found him does not matter. Perhaps he found her, even. However it went, she knew him for what he was. And he was no demon to be defeated, that was quite clear. So she did the only thing she could.”

“What?”

“She made a bargain, of course. A deal with the devil, but she didn’t pledge her soul, and she knew what she was getting into. She couldn’t, of course, completely understand, but she knew.

“The deal was this: She would take on half of the world’s pain, for as long as she chose to.”
I let out a little gasp of astonishment. “But how could she? If the entire world couldn’t handle it, how could the one girl?”

“She just did,” Zandra said sternly. “Maybe she was stronger or more determined, maybe she was simply able to bear more, maybe it was because she took the burden on herself, a willing sacrifice. And of course, no mortal could survive thousands of years of constant pain. So she was given eternal, or at least extended, life, and youth. And… I forgot to mention this part of the deal—she was given one day off every week, to spend free in the world she had saved.”

I would have realized then, of course, had it not been for the painkillers. As it was, I missed the obvious. “Then what happened?”

“Then she kept up her end of the deal, and he kept up his, and the world is only half as bad as it once was. And every Saturday she is free to enjoy the improvement.” Zandra got up. “Get well soon. I’ll see you next week.” She began to leave.

“Wait,” I called. She stopped halfway to the door. “How can you go back to that?”

She didn’t deny it. “How could I not?” she asked, and left.

I was out of the hospital by the next Saturday, walking on crutches but otherwise fine. I was a little worried to see Zandra. I thought that after knowing her story, our friendship would be changed. But she appeared with a handful of brightly colored sharpies and drew her name over most of my cast, acting the same as ever. I realized that that was how she was able to bear half the world’s pain; by living in the moment; and that this was her retreat. So I didn’t dwell on it any more than she did, and I stopped dwelling on my own lingering pain and fear as well.

After a while, I began to wonder if Zandra had really told me that, or if it had just been a painkiller-induced dream. So I asked her if it had really happened. “Maybe,” she said playfully, but I could tell by her tone that she had told me the story. There was no proof that it was true, of course, but I believed it.

So life went back to normal. My cast came off. The man who shot me was never caught, but it stopped mattering so much to me. I am, for the most part, very happy, and at least on the days I see her, so is Zandra.

It Must Be a Mistake

I was just walking down the street, minding my own business. I know, that’s what they all say, right? But I really was. In a way, I wish I had done something wrong—mouthed off in class about the government, or hacked into classified documents, or jaywalked in front of a security camera—anything to explain why they took me. But I hadn’t. I was walking home from school, just like every other day of my life, when they jumped out of the van and grabbed me.

They were obviously government agents, in their black uniforms armed with guns and high tech radios and little computers clipped to their belts. Their voices were those of authority as they barked orders- “Hands in the air! Against the wall! Don’t move!” They patted me down and restrained me with the brusqueness of people who did this kind of thing every day, just doing their jobs. The van they shoved me into was grey and unmarked, the kind everyone knows is seen right before the kind of disappearances that aren’t talked about.

I think the man in the back of the van must have been some kind of doctor, but that part is woozy. I vaguely remember him leaning over me, and I know he must have injected me with something, because my panic began to dull and everything went very fuzzy and finally faded to black.

When I woke up I was strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. Everything was still fuzzy, and I still can’t remember that part with any clarity. They questioned me. I can’t remember what they wanted to know. I think that was probably the point of the drug; that I wouldn’t remember afterwards. Except, if they expected I’d be dead…. I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t plan that far ahead yet, at that point. What I do remember of that interrogation was my terror, and confusion—I had no idea what they were talking about, what they wanted from me. I remember trying to explain in a slurred voice that this must be a mistake, and my outraged indignation at the injustice of it all. I remember the feeling of the hot tears on my cheeks as I cried and tried to answer their questions, “I don’t know! I’ve never heard of that! I’ve never met that person! I don’t know anything about any of this! You’re making a mistake, maybe you have me confused with someone; I would never do anything wrong, I’m a good citizen!”

It was true. I was such a good citizen, that I really believed they must be making some horrible mistake. I thought that maybe there was someone who looked like me, or had the same name, that had done something really, really terrible—so bad as to deserve the treatment I’d been getting, and far worse. I imagined their apologies when they realized their mistake. They’d be truly, honestly, sorry; they’d drive me home and explain to everyone that they’d made a horrible error, and I’d been so brave, and they’d eventually caught the real criminal. Maybe they’d give me some kind of compensation—money, or an award, or something to make up for it all. After all, they weren’t bad people, and they were trying to do the right thing, they’d just made a mistake.

Yeah, I really was that naive.

Eventually they either realized I didn’t know anything or decided that whatever I did know, I wasn’t going to tell them, so they injected me again. When I woke up, I was in some kind of warehouse-like building, slumped in a chair. Across the table from me was a young woman maybe five or six years older than me—in her early twenties. I don’t know how I knew she was a prisoner, not an agent, but I knew. She seemed calm and alert, but wary too. I wasn’t muddled like I had been the first time I’d woken up from being drugged, but I was scared and confused and had no idea what was going on. I realized I wasn’t cuffed to the chair, but after looking around I knew better than to try to escape. I was at a table in the middle of the room, and around the edges of the room was a sort of wooden platform, with maybe twenty agents with machine guns standing all around it. So I didn’t try to move.

I studied the woman sitting across from me, the least intimidating figure in the room. Though after watching her silently for a few minutes, I realized she probably was a criminal. It’s not that she seemed like one, but I didn’t think she was just some innocent person picked up off the streets like me. She had this… attitude of not being surprised at anything.

After letting us stare at each other silently for maybe ten minutes, two of the agents came down from the platform and stepped up to the table. One was a kind of rat-like man, and the other was a small woman with cold eyes. The man announced, “Eya Foxgold, you know why you’re here. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Terror filled me, and I began to babble, panicked, “I don’t know why I’m here! I’m innocent, I didn’t do anything, I don’t even know what you think I did but whatever it was I didn’t do it, this is all a huge mistake, I would never do anything!” I couldn’t look at the agents, so I looked at the woman across the table from me. She gave me a sad, cynical kind of smile, like, Do you really think they care? And I knew, then, that they didn’t, so I shut up.

The rat-like agent then turned to her and said in the same way, “Holly Malacrow, you know why you’re here. Do you-”

She interrupted him, mid-sentence. “Yeah, yeah, I know why I’m here. Fuck you too.”

Just a minute ago, I’d been thinking she was a criminal, and now she was confirming it, but it didn’t matter anymore. I liked her, admired her, wished I could be as brave and cool under fire as her, wished at least that we could be friends.

The agent said, in an authoritative yet somehow mocking tone, “Holly Malacrow, you are being given the honor of ridding this county of a traitorous piece of scum!” He held up a gun, not the machine gun he was armed with but a smaller one. “You understand that if you try anything stupid, you’ll be gunned down by my colleagues. Now you can shoot her, or shoot yourself.” He smirked, and looked me over, and I could feel him imagining my dead body slumping onto the floor. He handed Holly the gun.

She looked me in the eyes, and raised the gun, and I knew I was about to die. I’d never see my family or friends again, never sit down in my desk at school, never have the chance to… so many things. I’d be one of those people who just disappear, and everyone knows what happened to them but nobody talks about it for fear of joining them. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to spend my last moment on earth as a coward, so I met her gaze head on.

“Make it worth it,” she said, and before I could comprehend, she raised the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

I don’t know why they let me go. I think they must have known, probably all along, that I was innocent. Was I just a trap for her? But no, the agent really had expected her to kill me. But they could have killed me too. I’ll never know why they didn’t. I was injected again, and as I slid off into unconsciousness I assumed it was a lethal poison this time. I can’t begin to describe how shocked I was when I woke up on the sidewalk sometime later.

I managed to get home. I’d been missing for a day. My parents were frantic, and demanded an explanation. “I don’t know, I don’t feel good,” I mumbled, still bleary from the drugs. I went to sleep, and when I woke up the next day I said I had no idea what had happened, and I must have gotten really sick and collapsed somewhere. Well, I couldn’t tell the truth. Everybody knows you can’t talk about that kind of thing.

I think about Holly Malacrow a lot. I’d thought she must have been a criminal, but I think now that she was actually a rebel. Before, I would have said it’s the same thing, but I don’t think that anymore. The whole thing wasn’t just a mistake, and if the government really does things that horrible—and now that I’ve been thinking about it, I know they do; not everyone who’s disappeared deserved it, and some of their laws are just ridiculous when you actually think about them—then maybe it’s right to rebel against them.

I want to find Holly’s family, or friends, or whoever her people were, and tell them what happened. I have to be careful to do it without raising suspicion, but I have some ideas. I think they’ll be rebels too, and I’m going to join them. Because what I think about most of all was that last thing she said, “Make it worth it.” And I will.

Crumbling

My arms ache from holding the metal pole into the pit of fire. I look around at the others each at their own pit of fire around the small area beneath the cliff. None of them seem to be having trouble. We were taught how to do this, to make these new weapons, but I must not have been paying as much attention as I should have, because mine is falling apart, bits of burning metal crumbling onto the stone at my feet.

“Turn it!” Dagnem yells, running over to me. I do, or try to. “Lift it higher in the flames and turn it!” I try, but it's heavy and it just seems to collapse faster. “Just don’t let the handle drop away!” But just then it does, and the whole thing is ruined.

“Can’t you do anything right?” he scolds. I try to defend myself, but he ignores it. “You’re going to burn the whole place down.”

I know he’s right, but the way he’s scolding me pisses me off, so I say “I’m not the one who did that.” Because Dagnem’s wife has a little magic, but she didn’t know it at first, and burnt down the last place we stayed.

He starts to scream at me, so I turn and walk away and start to walk up the trail into the cliffs. I know better, it’s dangerous, but I really, really need to get away. The trail is steep and rocky, and with each step I take a tiny rockslide falls on me, pouring dust in my face and pebbles in my shoes. Though at first I’d been walking fast, to burn off my anger and get as far away as I could as quickly as possible, the terrain slowed me to a crawl.

Finally I sit and rest for a little. I’m far enough up to have a good view, but it’s suddenly lost on me as I see two figures coming up the cliff. I assume it’s Dagnem and one of the others, to bring me back down, but as they come a little closer I realize it’s Thone and Adark. Thone is two years younger than me, and I’ve known him since childhood; we’re friends, and I’m not really surprised to see him. Adark is a year older than me, and I don’t know him as well as I’d like. He’s a good fighter and respected by everyone in our company, and I’m, well, not. I’m rather embarrassed for him to see me running away from the camp, soaked in sweat and dust, and my humiliation is compounded when I realize they were probably sent to bring me back.

But once they reach me, Thone smiles and says, “We got permission for all three of us to go on up ahead and scout the cave at the top.”

“What cave?” I ask.

Adark replies, “There’s rumored to be a cave up there, and a portal in it that the enemy is coming through.”

“And so he wants the three of us to go up there and confront them on our own?” And now I sound like a coward as well.

“Better for only three of us to be killed than everyone,” Adark says, but he smiles comfortingly and adds, “But he doesn’t actually believe it. And they mean to catch up soon.”

“Do you believe it?”

He shrugs. “If it isn’t, I get a nice walk in better company than the people below; if it is we should be able to find out without being seen and sneak back down to raise the alarm.”

I hope I’m not blushing at being called better company than the people below—considering what they’re like, that really doesn’t mean much. The trail grows steeper as we continue up the cliff. By the time we’re near the top, I’m too exhausted to even climb over a few largish rocks blocking the steep path. To my surprise, Adark and Thone are equally worn out, though they didn’t get the chance to rest as I had. I push the largest rock over and it rolls down the edge of the cliff. Thone casts a spell to hold the rest of the disintegrating stone in place; it barely works, but we do manage to get over it, and we’re at the top of the path.

The rest of the walk to the cave is easy, a wide path curving gently around the side of the mountain. We’re almost at the cave when we see them—two large men in the uniform of the Stetenthian army. Adark steps forward to challenge them. I want to do something, to fight them or speak to them or run back down the mountain, but my legs are frozen in place. It doesn’t matter. As soon as they see us, they turn and run back the way they came. Adark grabs my arm and the three of us give chase. We enter the cave just in time to see the two men disappear through a shimmery surface on the wall of the cave—the portal.

I’ve never seen anything like it before. I approach it to take a closer look, but Adark puts a hand on my arm. “Those were just scouts. The rest of their army could come through any moment,” he says gravely.

“What should we do?” Thone addresses the question generally, but he’s really asking Adark, who’s even better at planning our strategy than he is at fighting.

“We’ll go back and warn everyone, and then decide what to do,” he responds.

“Should one of us wait here?” I ask. “So we’ll have a warning if the whole army does start pouring out of the portal?”

Thone nods. “I could do it,” he volunteers, though he seems decidedly unhappy with the prospect.

“No, I should do it, I’m the most dispensable,” I argue. “It’s not like I’m any use anywhere else.”

“Don’t say that,” Adark tells me. “You’re one of the best with magic; and to have any hope of winning this war we’ll need to make more use of it.” Anyway, all three of us will go. If the army comes through, anyone who stays wouldn’t live long enough to give warning.”

By the time we get to the top of the cliff, the rest of the company is just reaching the top of the trail. “You might not want to come any further,” I warn, and we explain about the truth of the rumor.

Dagnem shakes his head. “We’ve made arrangements; we need to get to the top of the mountain.” So we take the path going in the opposite direction of the cave. It’s not a difficult path, but it does grow so narrow we have to walk single file. Thone and Adark have moved up to the front of the group, but I somehow (of course) got caught at the very end. It doesn’t take long to reach the peak of the mountain. We stand there for a bit, wondering what we are waiting for, until suddenly a boat, propelled by magic, floats through the air to hover a few feet above us. Dagnem, who is closest to it, takes hold of a short metal ladder hanging from the edge and climbs into the boat. He’s just made it into the boat when the ladder and the railing it is attached to break halfway off the boat. They speak in worried voices, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, and then Adark spells the ladder back into place. It is very broken, and I can see that he’s having to concentrate intensely. People slowly, too slowly, climb on.

About half of them are on the boat when I first see Stetenthian warriors making their way up the path. I yell for them to hurry, and they do, and soon everyone is on board but me and Adark. “Go!” I tell him. “I’ll hold the spell.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t abandon you; I won’t.”

“Don’t be stupid!” The Stetenthians are nearly upon us. “You have to much information to be captured. You might want to help me but you swore an oath to protect our country!”

He knows I’m right, but I can see he doesn’t like it. I cast the spell, and he reluctantly makes his way up the ladder. It’s a difficult spell, not one I could do while climbing the ladder, or that anyone could do from on the boat, so I know I’m doomed.

A tear rolls down my face as the ladder and railing crash to the ground. I don’t regret what I’ve done, but I don’t want to be captured and tortured or killed.

And then a handle is in front of my face, the handle of the weapon I couldn’t manage to forge. I grab it, but I know that if I wasn’t even strong enough to hold it up into the fire, I won’t be able to pull myself into the boat.

But I have a greater desperation now, and I do manage to hang on as I’m pulled up onto the deck. It was Adark who had pulled me up, and I saw that the weapon had been sharpened and he’d been holding onto the blade; his hands were bleeding.

“Your hands,” I say stupidly.

“They’ll heal. You saved my life.”

Someone hands him a rag and he tries clumsily to bandage his hands. I take it and do it for him. “You saved mine.” I think about how agonizing it must have been to pull me up by the sharp edge of a blade, and then, without thinking, I kiss him. He kisses me back, and I’m glad to have survived.