That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction

by A. M. Lalonde

  “Yorick’s,” Marcel said.

  Lucian didn’t say a word, only scoffed at their destination. Haven held back a grin, while Marcel scowled at Lucian’s back. He’d never approved of Marcel’s friends.

  Stonewalls towered overhead as they passed through the open gates. The large wooden doors, held together with metal straps, lay against the wall, two guards standing against each, giving the passing royals a nod as they went.

  Haven tapped her heels lightly against her mare’s sides. She trotted up beside Lucian, unable to hide the mischief that danced behind her eyes.

  “Shall we make this interesting?” she asked. Excitement bubbled in her chest.

  Marcel was quick to join. “Interesting?”

  Lucian spared her a curious glance.

  “Yes.” Haven grinned. “First to Yorick’s is the winner. Whoever comes in last must muck the stalls when we return.”

  Lucian’s face twisted in disgust while Marcel beamed. “A race! Excellent idea, sister.”

  “I hope you can keep up!” Haven urged her mare forward, snapping her leather reins and digging her heels into the horse’s sides. The mare whinnied and took off at a gallop, her pace jumping quickly into a sprint.

  Wind rushed against her face, and tore at her hair and clothes. Haven laughed, her heart beating wildly as she glanced over her shoulder. Marcel was on her heels, his black stallion’s nose huffing at her tail. Lucian brought up the rear. She could win this.

  Turning back in her saddle, Haven whipped the reins, urging her mare around a narrow turn. Stone shops and homes passed by in a blur. Towns folk leaped out of the way as she rode, dodging pedestrians and carts left in the street. She raced faster and faster, her heart racing with her. Turning hard, she directed her mare into the city center, laughing all the while.

  When they’d made it to midtown, Marcel and Lucian were still behind, but gaining fast. She needed a short cut, some way to get ahead of the game. She wrinkled her nose – she would not be stuck mucking stalls tonight.

  A narrow, dirt path between short stone homes with wooden roofs came into view. She grinned, bracing herself in her saddle. She could make it. Jerking her reigns up, Haven urged her mare from the cobblestone streets, and into the alley. The clop of hooves quieted.

  She emerged on the other side, Marcel on her tail, but Lucian nowhere in sight.

  “Let’s go girl!” Haven called down to her mare, grinning as she caught Marcel’s wild amber gaze over her shoulder. He winked. He thought he was going to win. Haven couldn’t allow that.

  Pushing back to the street, Haven weaved between carts. A shadow passed above, and the white belly of Lucian’s stallion flew overhead. He hit hard, inches away from Haven’s gray mare. Blue skies, how could he have gotten the jump on them?

  “That’s the best you can do?” Lucian called to Marcel.

  “I’ll show you the best I can do!” Marcel laughed, the snap of his reins barely audible above the wind in her ears.

  Turning into an open square, a brass church bell rang to their right. Haven reached to cover her ears, vision blurring, and skull aching. Her horse startled, its hooves digging into the street. Her heart fell to her stomach as a large black dog jumped into their path. Haven grabbed for the reigns, but they slipped from her grasp. The mare whinnied and reared. The air whooshed from her lungs. Haven sailed through the air; flying from the horse’s back.

  Haven barely had time to gasp. The blue sky spun overhead, white clouds above. Her body hit the ground hard, her head cracking off the stone. The clambering of hooves echoed across the street. Her ears rang and she blinked slowly at the clouds. Blood welled in her hair. The whole world spun. Hooves clapped near, steady and insistent, sending pebbles flying through the air. Someone screamed, and then there was blinding pain.

  Her world went dark.

  Dizzy blurs of color came to life. Whispers sprung all around. Pounding in her head grew louder and louder until she squeezed her eyes shut, keeping out the light. What had happened? Slowly the hammering ceased. She blinked, light turning to color, and color to shape. Her entire body ached, and her head swam.

  Warm arms encircled her, cradling her and rocking back and forth. Something wet amassed on her forehead and cheek, while soft, warm drops hit her hair.

  Haven blinked harder, pulling from the blur in her mind. The street was crowded with people, horses and worried faces. Stone buildings rose behind them, circling the square like sentinels watching over them.

  Lucian stood nearby, his back facing her and hands gripping his hair.

  “Why, why, why?” Lucian repeated over and over. His voice broke.

  Why was her brother so distressed? Worry flooded her chest. What had happened? Had someone been hurt? They’d just been playing a game.

  She blinked the haze from her eyes.

  Her fingers twitched to life, gently resting on the arm that circled her waist. The arms stiffened, and pulled back abruptly.

  “Haven?” Marcel gasped. He looked down upon her with blood shot amber eyes, and a tear tracked face. Her brows furrowed. Why was he crying? Haven blinked back at him slowly, her lips curving into a frown. “Haven, you’re alive?” Marcel gripped her tightly, his arms crushing her shoulders and ribs.

  Haven gasped in pain, her abdomen burning. His hold loosened quickly. “Marcel?” she croaked. Her mouth and lips were dry. “What’s going on?”

  The trot of hooves nearby slowed, and someone shouted as they pushed through the crowd.

  “Haven!” her mother cried. Townsfolk parted to let the queen through. Denica emerged wide-eyed in the empty space surrounding them. She closed the gap between the crowd and the royals, collapsing by Haven’s side. Her hands flew to Haven’s cheeks, fingers sweeping hair from her face, and then holding her steady. Haven’s eyes stung and she blinked back tears.

  “My Haven!” Denica’s blue eyes held hers. Long brown hair brushed Haven’s cheeks and she smiled. She was so beautiful; angular features over olive skin. “Are you alright?”

  “What happened?” her father’s deep voice bellowed.

  Haven glanced up to find Keane towering over Lucian, who cowered under the intense gaze of the king.

  “We-we were riding and–” Lucian stammered, brows furrowing, eyes welled with tears. King Keane cut him off with a growl.

  “What were you thinking? How could you bring your thirteen-year-old sister on a crazed race through the city?” the king snapped. He narrowed his gaze.

  Haven glanced between her mother and Marcel. Both of them tried to shield her from her father’s rage.

  Their horses clicked the ground with their hooves. Suddenly, Haven remembered what had happened. Wind rushed against her skin as they raced the streets, the mare’s sides heaving beneath her thighs as they ran. Then, a church bell rang and a dog ran into the street. She’d been thrown from its back, leaving her to be trampled by her brothers.

  “How am I alive?” Haven murmured. Her eyes widened. Specks of blood dirtied Lucian’s white stallion. How was this possible?

  Denica shook her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “We need to get Haven back to the castle,” the queen said. Marcel nodded and hoisted Haven from the ground. Her head spun and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He carried Haven away from her father’s shouts, and Lucian’s stammered explanations. Denica followed close behind, murmuring reassurances until they deposed her in a cart.

  When Haven returned to the castle, she wasn’t allowed to walk, let alone part from Marcel. Her brother didn’t leave her side, carrying her from the courtyard to the infirmary, staying with her even when the doctors and nurses tried to shoo him away. He held her hand, whispering to her that she’d be okay all the while.

  But Haven still didn’t understand. How could she possibly be alive? She’d been trampled. No person could survive that, and yet she hadn’t a scratch on her. Only her bloody dress could prove she’d been maimed.

  The doctors soon left, the nur
ses following, utterly puzzled looks hovering on their faces. Haven watched and listened, her brows pulled together. Even as they shut the door and spoke to her mother in the hall, she sat up and stuck her ear against the wall.

  “She should be dead,” a doctor said.

  “It’s a miracle she isn’t,” Denica snapped back.

  “It isn’t a miracle, Lady Queen.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Haven’s gaze found her brother’s. He stared back with the same amber eyes, worry clouding his normally happy expression.

  “I’m saying, she isn’t normal,” the doctor continued, his voice raised. Not normal? How?

  “Keep your voice down!” her mother hissed.

  Clicks echoed in the hall and their voices retreated. Marcel stood from his chair at her bedside and crossed the small room. Taking the thick maroon curtains in hand, he slung them shut. They billowed against the window, propped slightly open to allow a breeze. The warm afternoon light died, shrouding them in darkness broken only by the candles at her bedside.

  “You should get some rest,” he said.

  Haven nodded, slipping back beneath the thin, white sheet. Marcel sat by the window, his gaze locked on the only door.

  She watched the creases of his face. What was he thinking? Did he think her an aberration? If even the doctor said she wasn’t normal, could he be right? Haven shook her head and pulled the soft silk to her chin. She closed her eyes and wallowed in silence.

  A knock at the door startled her from sleep. Haven blinked into the dim light. Red settled over her skin and lit the fiery ends of her curls. Those weren’t her usual curtains.

  Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she peered around the infirmary. Marcel dozed beside her in a chair, his face tilted back to the ceiling. The candles at her bedside dripped wax over the small wooden table, leaving a pile on the floor.

  Two more raps on the door.

  “Come in,” Haven said quietly, clearing her throat. She glanced from the door to her brother, hoping she wouldn’t wake him.

  Prince Emeril of Salander cracked the door, peeking in with tentative blue-green eyes. Haven started in surprise. What was the Prince doing here? Glancing at her brother, she motioned him in anyway.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Princess,” he said, glancing between her and the sleeping Marcel. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  Hardly fifteen, the prince was as handsome as Astrid had said, with tan skin, rich brown hair, and startlingly beautiful eyes. He smiled as she motioned for him to sit, and kept quiet as he pulled up a chair.

  “I’m fine,” she said, both surprised and confused to find that to be true. Though she must have suffered multiple bone breaks and contusions, here she was, perfectly fine after a restful afternoon.

  “You had quite the fall,” Emeril said, shifting to get comfortable.

  Haven shrugged. “So they tell me.”

  “Did you win at least?”

  “Excuse me?” Haven blinked in confusion.

  “The race. Did you win?”

  Haven couldn’t help the smile that leaped to her face. “Of course.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Emeril chuckled quietly.

  When his laugh died, Haven glanced awkwardly around the room, unsure what to say next. Haven had hardly been alone with the prince since they were children. She’d always been fond of their time together, but it had been years since they were frequent playmates. What should she say to an old friend she didn’t quite know anymore?

  “How is Salander?” she asked when the silence became too much to bear.

  Emeril shrugged and leaned back in his seat, dropping his heel on his knee. “The same as it’s always been. If you come visit again, you could see for yourself.”

  Haven quirked an eyebrow, unsure if this was an invitation, or simply the statement from an old friend. She didn’t get to ask. The infirmary door swung open, cracking off the stone wall, and in came her mother.

  Denica parted her lips to speak, but paused by the door, her widened gaze on Emeril. She glanced between the two before nodding politely to the prince, a mischievous smile at her lips.

  “Prince Emeril,” she said. “How good of you to visit Haven.”

  “Of course,” he said, standing to bow to her mother.

  “I do need to speak with my daughter, and son,” her mother continued, hesitating by the door. Marcel had snapped awake at her loud entrance. He blinked blearily back and forth at everyone in the room; most likely wondering when they’d all come in.

  “Certainly.” Emeril nodded, giving Haven one last smile before saying his goodbyes.

  Once he was gone, Denica snapped the shades open, flooding the room in bright evening light. Haven winced and squinted into the sun dying behind the distant mountains. Denica replaced the prince on his chair, her skirts rustling as she crossed one leg over the other. Marcel collected himself enough to join Haven in her curious, but confused look.

  “What is it, Mother?” Marcel asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

  “There’s something I need to tell Haven. You should know as well, Marcel.” Denica paused, avoiding both of their gazes by watching the sun.

  “Well, what is it?” Marcel prodded, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Do you remember when you were little, Haven, you fell into the river in the mountains at our summer home?” Denica asked, her brilliant hazel eyes lit with the fire of the sun. She looked at both of her children. “You nearly drowned in the deep waters. Marcel fished you from the river and dragged you ashore.”

  Haven started. What? How could that be? She shook her head. She had no memory of nearly drowning, though she certainly remembered the trip. Marcel bit his lip and shifted again, making her wonder where her mother was going with this.

  “You weren’t breathing when we got to you.” Denica raised her brows. “You didn’t breathe for many minutes. We thought you were dead. You had no heartbeat. Your chest didn’t rise and fall–” she paused, her voice catching.

  Haven reached out to her mother and took her hand. Denica smiled and took a deep breath. Haven didn’t know where Denica was going with this, but it had her mother close to tears.

  “Well, now we think you were dead, Haven. Your father and I always knew there was something strange about that incident. You came back to life, and continued on as if nothing had happened. You had no memory of it. You’ve never been ill, even as a baby. We thought the blue skies had blessed you, and certainly they have, but not in quite the way we thought.”

  “What are you saying, Mother?” Haven asked, heart pounding in her ears.

  “I’m saying, my daughter…” Denica gripped Haven’s hand tightly. “You can’t be killed. You were covered in blood and so broken. You should be dead, but again you are not. I don’t know how this is possible, and yet it is.”

  “Haven is immortal?” Marcel stared at Denica with wide eyes.

  “That is what we think.” Her mother nodded.

  Immortal? But how was that possible? Haven stared at her mother for several moments before her gaze fell to her own hands. Resting against white silk sheets, her olive skin stood out. But if they were right, she could cut these palms, and yes, they would bleed, but she would eventually heal. How was any of this possible? How had she been trampled, yet hours later felt completely fine? How had her bones been broken and mended? Her wounds were no longer even scars.

  Her eyes stung, and Haven blinked back tears.

  “What am I, Mother?” Haven held Denica’s blue gaze.

  “I don’t know, my Haven.” Denica smiled ruefully and squeezed Haven’s fingers. “But you are still my daughter, a princess of Rythern, and a daughter to the King. Your immortality will be your grace, as you have always been mine.”

  If you enjoyed The Birth of the Immortal Queen, you can continue Haven’s story of Sword and Sorcery at www.katherinebogle.com

  —ABOUT THE AUTHOR—

  Katherine Bogle's debut young adult novel,
Haven, came second in the World's Best Story contest 2015. She currently resides in Saint John, New Brunswick with her partner in crime, and plethora of cats.

  EMERALD EYE

  S. McPherson

  I stare out at the expanse of snow-capped mountain peaks, stretching across the horizon. The golden sun sinks behind them, bathing everything in red and gold. A cool breeze skates towards me, ruffling the strands of hair that have slipped from my loose braid. Nivarum: no place is more isolated…more peaceful than here…at least, until now.

  From this mountain crest, I look below, spying the plumes of thick smoke gorging the air, the raging orange flames cutting through it like blades. I hear the cries of my people; some wail, desperate for mercy, while still others scream in fury. Nivarum is burning.

  King Nicolai is here and as always he will take no prisoners. He will tear this place apart until he finds it: The Emerald Eye. That which will grant him immortality, good fortune and even has the ability to show him his future. King Nicolai believes we, the Nivarums, keep the Eye, a gem, locked in a cave hidden within the mountains. The king doesn’t realise that the Emerald Eye is a living, breathing thing. My name is Irina Drakarkus and I am the Emerald Eye. I come from a long line of them. The gift, the burden, falling to the next in line and now only myself and my sister, two years younger, remain.

  For months King Nicolai has hunted me, destroying lands both near and far but my people have sworn allegiance, fought in my stead. Even when I begged them to let me go, to let me fight, they refused. There was no telling what the king would do with my gifts. The magic I use to heal the sick, help crops grow through mounds of sodden snow and make daylight last just a moment longer before the biting wind of the mountains screams through us. Though then, I help the fires burn hotter and ask the winds to sing around us. I have never used my talents for evil, but I do not doubt that I could nor that King Nicolai would ask it. Nay, demand it.

  I hear snow crunch beneath heavy boots and know Rawn stands behind me. I turn and meet his grim stare. His black locks fall forwards, in stark contrast to his pale skin and his eyes are as grey and brooding as swollen storm clouds.