The Harbinger

by Candace Wondrak

  Smoothing down her kinky locks, Faith rolled out of bed and followed Light to the door after putting on her boots. As Light opened it, she was greeted by a scowling Tarnel. His eyes flicked from Light to her as he muttered, “I don’t want to know, but as far as Frey is concerned, I picked you up in the hall.” He started walking, his armor not making a sound, even though it was metal. Faith was kind of envious. She wanted armor like that.

  Light was beside him, leaving Faith to walk a few steps behind. She didn’t mind. Her face would give it away. She wasn’t good at lying, not about important things. Not about things that could possibly cause the collapse of entire civilizations. What kind of eighteen-year-old was ready for that kind of responsibility? She wasn’t a superhero. She was just Faith.

  “What’s the situation?” Light asked, sounding normal. A much better fibber than her, though that wasn’t always something to be proud of.

  “The Court did not tell me,” Tarnel replied as they turned into another hall. “All I know is that it was urgent enough to drag the girl to them as soon as possible. Frey normally doesn’t look happy, but this morning, I’d truly hate to be on the receiving end of his glare.” He glanced back at her. “If it’s about whatever’s going on between you two, I know nothing. If it isn’t about that, I haven’t an idea what the emergency could be.”

  The Ageless Blade. It had to be about the sword.

  Faith and Light kept quiet the rest of the way. When they stood before the wide set of doors that the Court sat behind, Tarnel simply said, “Good luck.” He didn’t even move to open the door, fearing a glimpse of the angry Frey, clearly.

  She went in first, not knowing whether or not Light planned on coming in at all. Would it look suspicious if they came in together? They did nothing last night, except kiss. A whole lot of kissing, so much kissing that if he were Human, she would have a nasty case of stubble burn on her face and neck. Hopefully there were no hickeys. She didn’t remember any sucking taking place.

  The Court members were not sitting in their thrones like they usually were. They stood in a circle, talking quietly amongst themselves. The dark-haired one wore her usual headdress, chains hanging over her face, matching the numerous piercings in her ears. Her gown was black, a stark contrast to the castle itself. It was lined with some kind of grey fur, looking extremely soft. Ophelia’s light hair was pinned up in a mess of waves, her light pink dress tight on her thin, tall body. The jewels that always sat on her chest and fingers remained. Faith doubted she ever took them off. Lastly, the final Elf of the Court—Frey?—wore something that looked like it was taken straight out of Earth’s Middle Ages, with boots up to his knees and velvet everywhere.

  When none of them looked in her general direction, Faith coughed loudly.

  Frey was the first to whirl onto her, stepping off the marble that the thrones sat on to stand at her level, his eyes as demanding as his sneering voice, “You. Surely it was of your doing.”

  “Uh,” Faith spoke, praying that she wasn’t being utterly obvious, “what are you trying to pin on me?”

  “We’ve received word that the Ageless Blade,” Ophelia said in a breathy wisp of a voice, “is missing.” Her tight gown had a train, and it splayed behind her as she moved to Frey’s side. She set a hand on his arm. “Faith had no idea where it was. And her shock after hearing about being the Harbinger was genuine. There is no possible way that—”

  “That she took it?” Frey finished, hands clasped behind his back. “Or that she sent her friends to get it? Perhaps the males are not missing; perhaps they are hiding out in the forest somewhere, with the Blade, and—”

  The third Elf sighed as she sat on her throne, bored and uninterested. “Do you hear yourself, Frey? Paranoia does not suit you.” She crossed her ankles, her legs extremely long. Faith was a little jealous of that.

  “Ah, I suppose it’s the wrong time to interject?” Light spoke, drawing all attention to himself as he strolled through the door.

  Faith frowned to herself. Having Light here didn’t look good, and a quick glance to Frey only proved her theory.

  Frey scoffed, “No. By all means, tell us how you did it, hunter.”

  “I did nothing,” Light rebuffed him. “We did nothing.”

  The entire room burst into argument again, and Faith looked upward to the magical sky that rested ten feet above them. It was a light blue, a morning sky, slight traces of pinks and oranges zapping through it. Together, along with the three giant windows that sat behind each throne, the room was full of light.

  “Why would I take the sword,” Faith spoke, practically yelling, stunning them all into silence, “when you were just going to give it to me anyway? There’d be no point. It’d be a waste of time! I didn’t take the sword.” She sounded convincing, because it was true. She didn’t take it. She might’ve woken up and found it, but she didn’t take it.

  But she definitely wasn’t going to tell them that.

  The Elf on her throne nodded. “She is right. A pointless endeavor indeed. The hunter spoke of an Ulen in Ironfey; Faith spoke of Dracon. What if there were others, even Elven, who sought to raise the Dread King?”

  Ophelia froze while Frey glowered at her. “Do not be foolish, Bul’ara. No Elf wishes to see Dracyrus rise.”

  “Why not? The Ulen and Dracon despise each other, yet they were working together. You cannot account for every Elven in the realm.”

  It was Ophelia’s turn to say, “She may be correct. Who else would go through all the trouble to make sure that the Harbinger does not get her weapon? Without the Blade, she is at a gargantuan disadvantage against the Dread King.”

  “Then it must be someone who knows that Faith is the Harbinger,” Bul’ara said.

  “Wait,” Light said, stepping in. “How do we know that the Ageless Blade was taken recently? How often do you send for anything? It might’ve been missing for a while.” He met Faith’s stare, wordlessly saying, we got this.

  Bul’ara nodded. “Another valid point.”

  Frey’s skin practically turned pink with anger, but a commotion just outside the doors made them all stop in their arguing. Each of the Court members drew a weapon; Frey withdrew the sword on his hip while Bul’ara and Ophelia each held a dagger in their hands. Light steadily aimed his bow.

  Faith listened to Tarnel’s words of chastisement, and then it hit her like a brick. A wall of bricks. An entire tower of bricks. As the doors burst open, Faith ran between the Elves and the intruders, saying, “Don’t!”

  A dozen armed soldiers buzzed in the room, their uniforms the same ugly colors as Faith’s jumper. They held very large guns, devoid of any technology, ensuring they would still very much work in the Second. In the center of all the chaos, a woman stood, her expression stone-cold and stern, her hair in a tight bun, her fit body in a pantsuit. Her pistol was not drawn, but it might as well have been.

  It took Faith far too long to say, “Hi, Mom.”

  To say Penelope did not look happy would be the biggest understatement of the year. Her gaze, usually strict and severe, was even more so now. She utterly ignored Faith’s weak greeting and stared at the Court. “The Division has received your report. All relations to Earth are halted as of further notice.” Then, finally, she glanced at her daughter. “I am here to bring the students back.” Behind her the soldiers shifted, looking like burly men and women compared to the tall, thin Elves.

  The I.D. The Infantry Division of the United States, responsible for handling certain special affairs dealing with the races and world that was discovered after the gateways were opened. Ever since she was young, Faith wanted to be a part of it. She wanted to go on hunts, to right otherworldly wrongs, to stop the smuggling and the illegal businesses that profited off the magic of the Second. But now? Now she felt the urge to stay in the Second. To fight the stupid Dread King.

  “You may take them,” Ophelia said with a wave of her hand, though she still gripped the dagger in the other. “But Faith must remain.”
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  Penelope strained a smile. “I don’t think you quite understand where I’m coming from. You tell us you lost half of the class we sent over, kids that we put into your protection, and you expect us to swallow whatever bullshit you feed us and for me to leave my daughter here? I don’t think so.”

  As she went on, Light muttered, “That’s your mother?” He was either in awe or afraid. Probably both.

  “Mom,” Faith tried to explain, “you don’t know the whole story.”

  “I know enough.” Penelope held out her hand to her. “All I need to. I am taking back the ones that are here, and my daughter.” Firm, straight to business. There was no way she would let Faith stay here. Not like this. “Faith. Come here.”

  Faith hesitated, glancing back to the Court, giving them a sorrowful expression. Though she wanted to stay, she could not go against her mother. “I’m sorry…” She couldn’t even look at Light.

  Ophelia spoke softly, “But you have a duty—”

  “She is eighteen,” Penelope cut in, pulling Faith to her side and shielding her from the stares of the Elven opposite them. “The only duty she has is to graduate the Academy.”

  “Do you not remember your time here, Pen?” Ophelia cocked her head, her beautiful gaze almost overpowering.

  Faith looked to her mother. When she was her age, the field trips to the Second weren’t yet in place. When did her mom come here? She would ask, but even if she waited until she was home, she knew Penelope wouldn’t tell her.

  Penelope shook her head. “We are leaving. Now.” She spun on her heel and stalked out, pushing past Tarnel and the other Elven guards who hurried to the hall after hearing the ruckus. Faith, jostled by the soldiers, couldn’t even see past their wide frames.

  It was probably the last time she’d ever see Light, the last time she’d look at the magical sky above the Court. It was the last time that she’d be in the Second, for after this there was no way her mother or the Division would ever let anyone back into the Second. Unless those kids were found, Earth would cut ties.

  Faith didn’t want to go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Light was stunned. Aghast. Stupefied. His arms loosened, his bow lowered to his side as he looked to the Court members. “You’re just going to let her take Faith?”

  Ophelia answered glumly, quite a switch from her usual airy, breathy tone, “We cannot force her to stay. We do not want a war with all of Humanity. Their numbers vastly overpower ours. It would be unwise to provoke them further.”

  “She’s the Harbinger,” Light said. “She must stay!” He thought about saying she was their only hope against the Dread King, but it was an idiotic thing to say. There was always hope, no matter what the situation.

  If that was true, why did he feel like a part of him was gone? Why did watching her leave make him feel so unbearably miserable?

  Bul’ara looked to Tarnel. “Send extra guards to Springstone.” Yes, because without a Harbinger, they would be in deep trouble if the Dread King rose and wreaked havoc and death upon Alyna.

  Frey shook his head. “Perhaps it is for the best. She was not the Harbinger. I believe this all to be a hyll chase.” He slowly grew calm, calmer than he ever was with Faith in the room. “There is no Harbinger, so we need not concern ourselves with Dracyrus’s rise.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. Stepping away from the Court members, Light spun on his feet and slung his bow onto his back. His feet took him out of the hall fast, past a sighing Tarnel and through the palace. He emerged into the bright daylight, squinting until his eyes adjusted, scanning the green space that surrounded the palace in all directions until the village itself started.

  There.

  Near the stone wall, at the archway. Near where the gatherings were held, where everything changed. The muscular men and women surrounded the students—they must’ve already had them ready to go when Faith’s mother stormed the palace. Light saw Faith hugging her yellow-haired friend.

  The gateway opened, a portal to their world. One by one, each student walked through. Some cried they were so relieved to return home. Faith was the only one who hesitated. She stopped directly before the archway, pausing to look around the palace grounds. Eventually, her eyes must’ve settled on him, though he was too far away.

  Light’s right hand curled into a fist and he raised it in the air. He saw her smile, and then…and then she was gone, and he was alone.

  He had to get her back.

  Luckily, he had an idea, and someone for the job. All he had to do was convince the Court that it was necessary, that it wasn’t a foolish idea. That he wasn’t pushing for it only because he felt something for her.

  Ophelia and Bul’ara were easy to convince. Frey took the longest. Frey took days. Frey also made him lay his bow on the line, meaning that if he went through all this trouble and Faith didn’t turn out to be the Harbinger, he would never hunt again. It was a hard deal, but one Light knew he never would have to act on, for he knew she was the Harbinger. There was no doubt in his mind.

  With the letters sent, it was a game of waiting.

  Light spent his days hunting and trying not to think of her constantly. Her smile, her laugh, her talkativeness. The way she wrinkled her nose and the gleam in her bright, jade eyes. Her lips and the tiny little moans she made when he nipped at her. By the kingdoms new and old, it was difficult.

  Some days he spent tracking, trying to find the missing boys. He returned to Ironfey twice, each time finding no trace of them. It would’ve been much easier to convince the Academy to let Faith remain if they hadn’t lost half the class. But what was done was done and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Time crawled by, until one morning Light woke to a pair of bright, intelligent blue eyes, staring at him from across his bedchamber, perched atop the wooden furniture he used to keep his clothes in.

  “So,” his old friend spoke with a toothy grin, “tell me about this girl.”

  Light knew what his friend was about, so he told him most of it. The Harbinger bit, the missing kids bit. The part about kissing her, well, that was something that Light kept to himself. He didn’t want to share those particular memories.

  They were his and his alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Academy sucked. Faith felt like she was pulled in two, like she had left half of herself in the Second. When she woke up, when she sat in classrooms, when she ate dinner with her grandma, even when she went to bed and slept—all she thought about was the Second and the prophecy. The Dread King. Her destiny to fight him until the end. She lived and breathed the Second.

  Christine didn’t make a fuss over her. She didn’t ask too many questions about it either; her mother probably told her all she needed to know: half of her class, all the boys, were missing. The I.D. was swamped with red tape, and Faith doubted that anything would be done. She couldn’t imagine the pain and sorrow the parents of those kids felt.

  Her mother kept a watchful eye on her, even making a point to swing by the apartment and eat dinner with them once or twice a week. It was awkward at first, since neither Faith nor her grandma were used to Penelope’s presence, but they made do with small talk and avoiding the topics of the Second and work altogether. During school, Faith seemed to pass her mother in the hallways a lot more than she used to, to spot her hanging nearby, leaning against a wall, pretending to look at something on a clipboard when she was really babysitting her.

  As if she needed to be babysat.

  Her best friend was another matter. Cara constantly spoke of the Second, of what happened, still in shock. She texted her about it all throughout the night, called her just to vent about how stupid it was that the Elves didn’t try harder to find the missing boys. Faith usually just nodded along, not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to explain it all. Cara didn’t know about the Harbinger stuff, nor did she know about the whole making out with Light thing. It was probably best that it stayed that way. Faith wasn’t one who liked to lie by o
mission, but she couldn’t make herself talk about it.

  Sitting through classes, pretending to be interested in the history of the I.D. and how it worked with the other branches of government was the most difficult thing Faith had to do. Harder than finding someone to print her up a fake identification card and get her Victi four years early. Harder than leaving the Second and Light.

  One day, as a bunch of transfers came through, taking up some of the empty seats, Faith bit the back of her pencil, wondering how Light was, wondering if he thought of her. He’d be proud of her; she’d cut back on her snarky remarks and didn’t act out. She was mastering the art of flying under the radar, even if it was only because she felt out of place.

  In her heart of hearts, she knew it for a fact.

  She was the Harbinger, and this world wasn’t hers.

  And so time went on.

  It was after an excruciatingly long Academy day when she plopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. The pretty Fae newscaster blinked her vibrant eyes as she told the eastern part of the state about the day’s local news. Her phone buzzed, and she checked it.

  Cara, just like all the other times.

  Technology was something she missed when she was in the Second, and apparently she was making up for lost time. Faith had felt like that at first, but now with all this, everything just seemed like wasted potential. Here she was, vegetating, Victi aching.

  A woman scurried through the apartment, slipping through the door and leaving after waving at Faith. Her hair looked ruffled, her clothes ragged. Faith couldn’t help but chuckle as her grandma walked out of her bedroom, holding a sock, chasing after her. But the woman was long gone.

  Catherine glared at Faith with her wrinkled gaze. “Did you have to come home so early? I was finally getting some from Petunia from art class!” She shook the sock at her, adding, “Do you know how long I’ve been wading through those waters?”

  Penelope came from the bathroom, fixing her suit top as she addressed her mother, who clearly didn’t know she was there too, “Hello, mother. I do think that’s a tad inappropriate, don’t you?” She tilted her head, her hair wound as tightly as she was.