by Cora May
Brin tugged gently at the covers that Chanta still held around her body. She made no movement to drop them, though, and Brin made no move to force her to go anywhere. Chanta’s confusion only deepened.
“Please?” she asked. Her lower maroon lip jutted out just a bit. It was a deliberate movement, but Chanta couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sympathy for her.
That was an aggravating reaction. Brin was such a soft, delicate girl, she clearly knew how to use her own features to manipulate people into doing what she wanted them to do. That wasn’t the aggravating part—Chanta admired people who knew how to use people. That’s the kind of world she grew up in. The aggravating part was that it was working.
She sighed. The noise was a bit forced, causing it to come out in a loud, annoyed, half-growl sound—for which Brin immediately shushed her and looked over at Addy.
Both of the girls studied their roommate for a few moments, silence falling around them. Addy’s breathing continued at a normal pace, seemingly undisturbed by the noise. They waited a few more moments before they turned back to each other.
“Just come with me,” Brin whispered. Her voice dropped even lower than before, as if she was taking extra care. “And keep quiet.”
She turned at that moment. Her feet slipped into her slippers before she walked up to the door. She rested her hand on the knob and turned back, silently beckoning Chanta.
Chanta slowly shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do. She threw back the blankets and slipped her own feet in the pair of slippers that were meant for her. She followed Brin out the door.
As soon as Brin had silently shut the door, she tried to walk down the hall. Chanta stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She spun Brin around.
“What is this about?” she demanded. She kept her voice at a low volume, despite the empty hall lined with closed doors. “I know we’re not supposed to be sneaking around, so I demand to have some answers.”
“If you know that,” Brin argued, “then we better get going quickly.”
She turned away from her.
Chanta watched her walk a few paces down the hall. She looked back at her own closed dorm room. Some part of her was tempted just to turn back and tuck herself back into bed.
But the curious part of her won.
She followed Brin.
The girls walked silently through the dark hallway. Each time they passed a door, Chanta felt insecure about the soft pitter-pattering of her slippers on the stone floor. She had a bad feeling that being caught was not something she would handle well. What would they say if one of the professors caught them out? If another student saw them, would they tattle? She had barely started making any friends, and she didn’t trust any of them not to turn her in. She really shouldn’t have even trusted Brin, she realized. She hadn’t even known the girl for a full weekend yet.
As they tiptoed through the halls, she was too distracted weighing the idea of trust at first. She didn’t realize that she had been down this way, having come from the opposite end, though. She was being walked down the same pathway that Avery had led her out of.
It wasn’t until they passed the door that led to the strange ceremony room that she knew where Brin was taking her. They were going back to the basement. She faltered in her steps as the realization sank in.
Brin looked back at her.
“We’re almost there,” she told her.
“I know,” Chanta said. “Why?”
That was the only word that managed to come out of her mouth, and her feet stopped moving at the same time. Brin turned to fully face her. She turned her head and studied Chanta’s face.
She wasn’t sure why her heart was thumping in her core at that moment. She wasn’t sure why her feet were refusing to move and why her throat suddenly filled with phlegm that was impossible to swallow away.
She was afraid.
That fear was written on her face, and still, Brin did not have a good answer for her.
“You’ll see when we get there,” she told her. “I promise you’re not going to regret it. This is going to be a good thing.”
“What…” she started. She tried to clear her throat away, but even when she spoke again, her words sounded wet. “What’s down there? Why is this a secret?”
“I have help for you,” Brin offered. “Real help. But we’re running late, we have to hurry.”
Brin checked her watch. When she looked back up at Chanta, her face was a mix of strange emotions that were impossible to decipher. Panic and guilt seemed pretty easy to pick out, but so were resignation and sympathy.
She nodded her head in the direction of the basement, beckoning Chanta to continue their path.
“We have to hurry.”
A few seconds ticked by as Brin waited for movement. She checked her watch again.
“Please,” she begged.
The fear resounded in her mind. In her heart. Definitely in her feet. Still, Chanta wasn’t able to deny that sad face, manipulation or not. She forced herself forward. They were nearly there anyway—she might as well find out what it was all about anyway.
What kind of help did Brin think she needed?
They were a few feet from the basement door when the sound of a clock striking midnight sounded. Brin whimpered slightly as she threw the door open and ran down the steps. She wasn’t looking back to make sure that Chanta was following her anymore, she was flying down the stairs regardless. Chanta knew that was her prime opportunity to turn back and run away, but instead, she followed her strange roommate down the spiraling staircase…
Down to the place she had just recently left.
Down to the place where Douglass was kept.
Her heart only kept beating faster and faster with that last realization. She was going to end up like him, she was sure of it. Maybe that was the “help” Brin was bringing her to. Maybe she was about to be locked up for a much, much longer period of time than she was before.
But she hadn’t had any accidents yet. She hadn’t hurt anyone, so how could they know what she needed?
Her heart slowly came back down to a normal beat, and her feet started to slow. She still followed Brin down the stairs. She had one last realization: She should have already hurt someone. The actions happened when she was afraid. They matched whatever she felt strongly—it was like a defense of some sort. Bad things happened when she was angry or scared or annoyed. She had felt all three of those, yet no one was being hurt. No one was bleeding or bruised or fighting off the air that was beating them up.
Instead of all that, she felt like she was being pulled toward the basement, toward whatever Brin wanted her to see. From the very beginning, against her better judgement, against her entire will, she had followed her new roommate to get to a place she never wanted to be again. And whatever usually happened to the people who scared her was suddenly working against her, leading her into the situation rather than away from it.
The girls got to the bottom of the steps. Brin continued further into the basement, but Chanta halted. She had to be on alert for herself since her usual force wasn’t going to be there for her. She looked around the big stone walls and immediately saw the “help.”
Two boys stood in the middle of the room. One of them was bigger, and he was off to the side. He wasn’t looking at anyone but kept his eyes trained on his own feet. The other boy, the skinnier one, stood with his arms crossed over his chest and seemed to be looking down at both of the girls with an attitude.
Chanta realized her mouth was open and snapped it closed.
She took a few steps into the basement, following behind Brin but keeping a few feet between her and everyone else.
The skinny boy nodded in what looked like approval, but in a condescending way.
“I didn’t think you’d bring her,” he said, addressing Brin.
“I decided you were right,” she said. “Not about the unique thing—or at least not about me. But about her. She deserves to know what’s really g
oing on with her. She deserves to know if she’s a Communicator or not.”
The boy chuckled.
“You deserve to know, too, don’t you?” he scoffed at her. “You’re not much different than the other students, like I said.”
Brin wanted to argue. Chanta heard the breath she took as she prepared to do just that, but the boy turned away from her then to focus solely on Chanta.
“Unlike you,” he told her. “Chanta, is it? A strange name. Do you know there’s only one other person in history that I’ve ever heard of called Chanta? It means ‘the siren’s pull’ in an ancient language. The language has been dead since it was born. Funny thing, isn’t it? It’s because it’s the language of the Anam. I think that’s the first thing about you that scared everyone in this school—Prisanni included. No one in your family knows what’s going on with you, so scared they lock you away in a room with the bare essentials, but somehow you have a name that belongs in a dead language? Someone has always known what you are.”
“My mother named me after my grandmother or something,” she said. “She didn’t know what it meant. She just thought it was pretty.”
“I take it that was your father’s mother?” the boy asked. “Probably his great, great grandmother, more likely. He probably told your mother strange stories about her.”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, somewhat defensively. “I’ve never known anyone on my dad’s side. He died before I was born, and my mother never talked about it. She married some other guy, and for a while, I had a stepdad. But he left us. Because of me, I guess. Just up and walked away one day, leaving my mom and his son to deal with me. He didn’t even look back.”
She stopped short and glared at him, snapping her mouth shut again. She wasn’t sure why she was telling him her entire life story. Maybe it was because he seemed to already know enough to make his own judgements about her, and his judgements were clearly misguided. If she was going to be judged, then she would be judged based on facts. Not the story he filled in for himself.
He grinned back at her like he knew her through and through already. She felt violated by that smile somehow.
Brin looked back at her.
“This is Creggor,” she introduced them. “He’s obviously a slimy snake. I’m sorry about that.”
“Why did you bring me here, then?” she challenged. Her anger was returning, and she was going to direct it all at the girl who dragged her out of bed.
“She brought you here to help you,” Creggor answered for her.
“Yeah, I’m really getting sick of hearing that. I don’t need help like everyone seems to think I do. I’m actually just fine on my own.”
“Actually, that’s probably far truer than you realize. You’re one of the most powerful students here. The problem is,” Creggor said, pausing for a moment as he looked straight into her eyes. Chanta felt like he was trying to lock onto something inside of her, and once again, she felt violated. “The problem is, you don’t know it. You don’t understand who you are yet.”
“And I suppose you’re going to tell me who I am? You’re going to solve the mystery that is me, starting with my name. Great. I can’t wait.”
Creggor laughed.
“No,” he stated. “I’m not telling you any of that. You’ll figure it out in good time.”
Chanta’s brow rose.
“So what good are you, then?”
Creggor started walking toward her—and she backed up in response. He stopped approaching her, veering to the left instead. He started pacing back and forth. She wondered if he was trying to find the right words to say to her. He didn’t seem like the type to get flustered, though, so that seemed strange to her.
She waited patiently. Brin waited, too, but she seemed far less patient. She looked back at Chanta, an apology almost touching her face. She didn’t like these boys just as much as Chanta didn’t. Neither of them said a word, though, until Creggor seemed ready. The other boy, the fat one, waited just where he stood, still as a statue looming over them.
What a goon, Chanta thought.
“You’ve been told you’re a Communicator,” Creggor stated. “She gave you the stone, didn’t she? A beautiful baby blue Celestite. You should be wearing it around your neck at all times, just so you know. No matter what, let them believe that that is where your power is coming from. Let them believe that they’ve sold you their lie one hundred and fifty percent. Got it?”
He stopped his pacing to look at her. A challenge was posed in his face. A challenge to deny him.
She wouldn’t get very far with that, she understood.
“Got it,” she replied.
“In every class, during every meal, every hall you walk down,” he listed. “Wear it in your sleep. Any accidental surge, you blame on the Celestite stone they gave you. Understood?”
“Got it,” she repeated, somewhat annoyed. She felt like he was treating her like a child now. “Make them believe I believe.”
Creggor smiled at her.
“You don’t believe them, do you?” he asked. “Never did, huh?”
She fell quiet, though. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being right, even if he was.
“You’re right to question it,” he continued when it was clear she wouldn’t respond. “A little piece of advice—always question things around this place. Don’t fall into the same happy illusion that most of the students here are under. Brin, here, included.”
“Excuse me?” Brin interjected. “I’m under no such illusion.”
Creggor didn’t have any response for that, save for a dry chuckle. Chanta spared a glance toward Brin, whose face clearly displayed the offense she took from that. Chanta couldn’t help but agree with Creggor, though. She had known from the start that something was up with this place, something not quite right. No one had been completely truthful with her—at least, not the professors. When she thought of Fenneck and Addy and, yes, even Brin, she knew that none of them had been lying to her. But that didn’t mean they knew the truth. She wasn’t the only one who was being kept in the dark.
That fact didn’t make her trust these two boys any more than she had when she walked into the basement.
“Is this where you take all the new students to tell them the truth, then?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. “This is where I take a very fortunate few. I’ve taken your other roommate, Addelai, down here about a month after she had been attending classes.”
Brin didn’t look all too happy to hear that, Chanta noted, but she stayed quiet. It was clear that Creggor didn’t think too highly of her. He didn’t want to pay her any attention at all. This meeting was meant for only Creggor and herself, and Brin was only meant to be the facilitator.
“Okay,” Chanta challenged, “then tell me the truth. I’d like to go back to bed, so if we could speed this along… I’ve had a very long week, you know.”
“And longer ones ahead of you,” Creggor promised in a vaguely threatening way. She couldn’t tell if he was threatening her specifically, though, or if he was perhaps trying to warn her of some other threat. “This school is meant to train us all to harness our abilities and use them in ways to help the world. That’s what we’ve been told, right?”
Chanta thought about it for a moment and then decided to nod her head. It was basically what Prisanni had promised her mother when they had first met. In a way.
“So, the first step is to give us our stones, and then to introduce us into the history of this place and give us a class schedule. Seems pretty simple from there. We attend those classes, get good grades, graduate, and then we go off to college somewhere.”
“Do we?” Chanta asked timidly. Somehow, she hadn’t thought about life after this place. She hadn’t wondered about college—had, in fact, lost that dream a long time ago. It seemed so mundane to talk about it now like regular high school students would. This place seemed like something out of an entirely different world, too—it didn’t seem right for there to
be something so normal afterward.
“Why wouldn’t we?” he asked. “This place is a high school. Sure, it’s a special one for special kids like us, but it’s still a high school. That’s what we’re told, too, by the professors that teach us our normal classes. That we’re preparing for college. How many of us, though, actually go to college?”
He posed the question to both Chanta and Brin and looked back and forth between the two of them. He was waiting for an answer. He wouldn’t move on until he had one, but Chanta didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know any of the students, past or present, well enough to talk about the idea of any of them going to college. So she looked over at Brin and waited for her to answer.
It took an awfully long time, but Brin finally settled on something to say.
“I guess I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any of them going to college,” she admitted. “I certainly have never seen a college application or a scholarship reward or people buying textbooks…”
“So where do you think they go?” he asked.
Again, Chanta only looked over at Brin.
“I…” she began, but her word trailed off. She was clearly trying to come up with a good explanation, and she was racking the depths of her brain to find it. “I don’t really know, I guess. It seems plausible enough that some of them do go off to college, but maybe some of them find opportunities to use their abilities in the real world. Maybe they’ve found ways to improve human society.”
Creggor scrunched his face and nodded, as if he was truly considering what she said. Chanta knew the consideration was fake, though. He obviously already had his own opinions formed on the subject.
“That could be true. It seems logical enough. Once they’ve all learned how to control their abilities, why not release them out onto the real world, right?” he asked, as if he supported her idea. “But then… why do I hear their thoughts still, from time to time?”
Chanta gasped. It was a tiny sound. She was almost sure no one heard it, thankfully.
He was a mind reader… What were they called? Oh, she couldn’t think of the word or the stone, but did it even matter? He had probably already been in her thoughts, forwards and backwards.
