“Hello?” I call out, walking forward. “My name is Sky Knightly. I—”
“Be a dear, and pass me that book on the table, won’t you?” comes an old, gruff voice.
I grab the book next to me, then walk forward, through the stacks of shelves until I come upon a man on a ladder. Blue robes fall from his shoulders. A long gray beard grows from his chin, reaching down to his belt. A monocle sits on one of his dark beady eyes. His face is full of lines, showing a lifetime of history. More than a lifetime.
He holds out his arm, not looking at me, and, realizing what he wants, I hand him the book. He studies the spine carefully. “Ah, that’s the one. Thank you, my dear.” He slides the book into an open spot on the shelf, then descends the ladder and holds out his hand. “I am Master Orcael. But you may call me simply Orcael.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Orcael. I'm Sky. Sky Knightly.”
“Would you care to join me for tea, Sky?”
I shrug. “That sounds nice, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to help you reorganize the library, or Master Vane will throw a fit.”
Orcael waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t you worry about him. You are here to assist me, and I need assistance with tea.”
I chuckle and follow him to a table, where a pot is positioned over a glowing blue talisman. I grab two nearby cups and pour us each a drink. Orcael breathes in the steam from his tee deeply, and sighs with satisfaction. “Now that is a good cup of tea. I will show you how to make one, in time. The process is very specific. A lost art, really.”
I smile and sip the hot liquid. It warms my mouth and fills me with a fresh minty taste.
“Now,” says Orcael, tapping a pen decorated with dragonstone against the table. “to business. What do you know of The Valarata?”
“Um… nothing,” I say sheepishly.
He frowns, bushy gray eyebrows pushing together like a puppy. “Oh, that will not do. That will not do at all.” He pauses, composing himself, then begins in a more singsong voice. “The Valarata is an ancient poem. It chronicles the battle between Val and Nir before the Wall of Light was created. It is, to date, the most complete account on the matter. I, however, intend to write something even more thorough.” His eyes beam with excitement. “The only way, of course, is to compile information from a variety of sources. There have been many different accounts, many different extrapolations from historians. I intend to combine them into one volume. But, I am getting ahead of myself. First, we must go back to the Valarata. It is special for many reasons. One in particular interests me. It is the oldest, and in truth only legitimate, record of the Mask of Nir.”
I’ve never head of the mask, and it peeks my interest. Orcael must notice my curiosity, because he smiles and continues. “You see, it is said that Nir did not defeat Val the first time. Nor the second. Nor even the third. Again and again he lost, but each time he had a secret weapon. His mask, which allowed him to travel back in time, to repeat his war with Val over and over, until he decided to trick his brother and create the Wall of Light. When Nir died, the Valarata says his mask was buried with his corpse in the Dragon Graveyard. A place only found in stories.” He pauses, voice growing serious. “The poem says one more thing. It says the mask was smooth and faceless, and if found, it could be used again. One final time.”
Something tugs at my mind. A memory I do not have.
“You… you wish to find this mask?” I ask.
He nods, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Most say it is a myth. But if not… imagine the implications? A way to travel through time, even if it is only once. The possibilities are endless.” Then he shrugs. “And if the mask is but a tale, I will still write the most comprehensive account of Nir ever told. You shall help me. You will scour this library, and move all books even remotely connected to the Valarata into one section, as per the new cataloging system. This should appease Master Vane and help me with my mission all at once.”
I smile, taking another sip of the tea. “This seems important to you. Personal, I mean.”
He glances down, eyes suddenly heavy. “Like most, I grew up hearing tales of Nir, and yet, I know so little about him. I want to know more. I want to know the truth. It is something I have wanted since I was little, I suppose.”
I set my tea down, scanning the stacks. “Where do I begin?”
The next day we are given a new challenge in the training yard. “Today,” says Master Vane as he paces before us, snow crunching under his boots. “We will focus on Beckoning. Whoever summons the largest manifestation of their Spirit by the end of the day, gets the talisman.” He glances at Raven and Landon. They are both tied with four talisman, and this exercise will finally decide our Squad leader if one of them prevails.
“Begin,” he roars. As usual, he doesn’t provide any instruction, to suss out the naturally gifted from those who are not.
For the first time, I get to see everyone’s Spirit. Well, almost everyone’s. Bix summons one so small, none but Master Vane get a glimpse. Zev beckons a small beetle, about the size of his hand. He looks displeased with his accomplishment, but it’s the best he can do. Mabel conjures a pale blue fish that glides around her arm. It stretches from her wrist to her elbow, bigger than Zev’s Spirit, but not by much. Enzo is the next to find success. He summons an elephant, about half his height, and beams proudly. I beckon Umi, and find that I cannot make him as large as when I faced off against the Fenrial or Pike, but I come close. He stands as tall as me, wings shielding me from the sun. Raven nods approvingly in my direction. Landon smirks smugly, and outdoes us all. A golden light flashes before him, solidifying into a tiger twice as tall as Umi. Black stripes streak across his golden-red fur, and he shimmers like a flickering flame.
Master Vane nods, impressed, then turns to Raven.
She is the last to go. Sheepishly, she holds up her hands, raw from a night of scrubbing dishes, and reveals a small black bird. A raven.
Vane sighs, a disappointed look on his face, and gestures to Landon. “Well, it appears…”
As he talks, I run up to Raven and whisper at her. “I know what you’re doing.”
She looks shocked, caught in something embarrassing. “I…”
“My little brother Kyle did the same thing in sixth grade. He was the best in the class in math. So good the other kids started teasing him. Nerd, they called him. Loser. And day by day, Kyle’s math grade began to fall. Not because he was struggling with the subject matter. But because he was tired of being bullied. He let those little bastards get their way. Let them make him smaller, dumber. But I wouldn’t have it. I told him he had every right to be the best at math in his class. I told him he had every right to be all he was.” I pause. “Then I sat in for the next few classes, and I made sure Kyle answered all the questions I knew he could, and I made sure the other kids left him alone. And day by day, Kyle’s math grade went up.”
I grab Raven’s hand, and stare fiercely into her eyes. “You have every right to be all you are, Raven. Don’t let those little bastards get their way. Don’t let them make you small.”
I let her go then, my breath heavy from the intensity of the moment.
Raven stares at her hand, at the bird symbol on her wrist. Then she looks up, eyes small but ferocious. She throws up her arms.
And in the sky a shadow forms, so large it blocks out the sun.
Landon gasps, gazing at the giant bird hovering above us. The others look on in awe. At the sharp claws that glint in the light. At the dark wings that beat like a heart.
Master Vane crosses his arms, grinning. He glances at me knowingly, then walks up to Raven and raises her arm in the air. “Listen closely, Ashlings. This is your leader!”
Everyone but Landon cheers.
Master Vane excuses us early and says we may have the next three days to rest in honor of our leader. Raven and I are included in this, and excused from our punishment during this time. I hit the baths first, to wash away the muck and sweat, and by the time I return
to our quarters, everyone is settled in and chatting, while Ashpaw runs around playing with a ball of yarn that wasn’t there before.
“My sister is getting married tomorrow,” says Mabel, as she brushes her thick red hair. “You’re all welcome to come.”
Landon, who stills seems annoyed at losing, scoffs. “Your sister just happens to be getting married during the three days we have free?”
Mabel smacks his shoulder with the brush. “We have kept in touch with letters. I heard Ashlings got time off after getting a Squad leader. I thought the next few days might be free, and now I can confirm it. The wedding will happen, and I will get to see my sister as a bride, thank you very much.”
She puts down her brush and walks over to me and Raven by the door. Her tone is softer now. “You two may come as well, if you’d like.”
I glance at Raven, leaving it up to her.
“Fine,” she says, shrugging. “Sounds interesting.”
‘Thank you,” says Mabel, nodding quickly. “It will be an honor to have you there.” Then she returns to her bed and starts braiding her hair. I wonder if that was an apology of sorts. It’s not enough, but it is a start.
I head to my bed, excited to get a proper night’s rest, when I see it. I point at the gray sack on my sheets. “What’s that?” I ask.
Enzo glances at the bag. “It was here before, when we arrived.”
“We thought it was yours,” says Zev wearily.
I take a step forward, and open the top of the sack with my hand. What lies inside makes my blood run cold. I turn away, vomiting onto the floor.
“What in all the worlds?” barks Landon, jumping to his feet.
I try to stop the retching. To stop the tears pouring down my face.
But I cannot control my sorrow, my rage, my fear. The emotions overwhelm me, make me their plaything.
When I have emptied my stomach, I collapse at the side of my bed, crying into the sheets. Someone touches me on the shoulder. It is Raven, her small hand a comforting feeling.
“What’s wrong?” asks Mable, voice concerned.
I cannot speak. Because to say it will make it real, and it cannot be real. It cannot.
Landon steps forward and unfurls the bag, letting the contents spill out. “Oh,” he says simply.
Zev sees the package and bends over, vomiting as I did. Mabel clutches her mouth, gasping, and Enzo shakes his head in disbelief, retreating back to his bed. Bix drops his gaze, eyes dark.
Sprawled over the bed, is a pile of bones. They are delicate, brittle things, and little more than a handful. They are a child’s bones. And with them lies a blue blanket. The blanket I used to wrap Kara in. The blanket she was swaddled in the night she was taken.
Twenty-Four
Memories Of Gray
I cry well into the night. At some point, I pass out from exhaustion. The next morning, I wake in the midday—because for once we have no training—and I take the little sack out into the courtyard and bury the bones under a pale white tree.
The rest of my squad follows me and watches as I dig a small hole in the snow with my bare hands, as I lay down the little bones and cover them with earth, as I clutch the blanket tightly to my heart.
As the tears fall down my cheeks.
My squad mates do not ask me questions, and for that I am grateful. Bix brings over a sword—I am not sure from where—and lays it near the grave. “So they may have protection in the world beyond,” he says, by way of explanation. Mabel leans toward me and whispers the prayers of her people. Zev recites a passage from one of his books. And so I return to the earth, my goodly home. They do not know who I bury, or why even I truly grieve, but they have seen the bones of a child, and they share in my sadness.
I stay there for hours, my body numb to the cold. Skip warned me this would happen, but I did not believe it at first, and later I had forgotten— made myself forget, I think. But the truth has come to crush me once again, to reopen wounds that were just beginning to heal.
The others leave one by one. And for a fleeting moment I think of Kaden. I wish he was here. He alone would understand my pain.
Raven is the last to stay. She shows no signs of being affected by the cold, though I know she must be freezing. "These are the bones of your daughter, aren't they?"
I look up at her in surprise, but then remember I told her the truth of why I am here when she helped me pass the first test. I nod, the cracks in my heart deepening.
“She loved you,” Raven says. “And if she had the chance to grow older and to know you better, I think she would have loved you even more.” She takes my hand then, gently, and leads me back inside the fortress. I am grateful, for otherwise I may have never returned.
It isn’t until the next day that Mabel once again brings up the wedding. “There will be drinks. People to dance with,” she says with a beaten down sort of cheerfulness.
“I’ll go,” I say quickly, because I need to go, need to keep myself preoccupied and away from the dark thoughts that forever take up residence in my mind. The rest agree to go as well, and we pack that night. Zev asks me about the sack of bones and I confess a small part of the truth. It was the remains of a loved one. I don’t know how it got here. As I lay in bed, the sorrow and heartache strong within me, Ashpaw crawls under the blankets next to me and snuggles against my chin. As he purrs, the sadness feels a little lighter, the guilt a little smaller, until finally I fall asleep.
We leave the next morning before the sun has risen, riding through the darkness carrying torches. Mabel and Landon lead the group, their heads bent together as they talk quietly, casting glances at Raven and me when they think we aren’t looking, their expressions hidden in shadows.
Zev and Bix take the middle, and somehow Zev has managed to figure out how to ride while reading under torchlight. His horse seems to know what to do without much guidance from the distracted bookworm. Bix, on the other hand, is all present. His horse is huge, the size of a small house to accommodate his giant body, and he looks ready to gallop into battle rather than attend a country wedding.
We must seem an odd sight to any passerby, a mismatched band, all wearing our gray weathered training robes, fur cloaks draped over our shoulders to keep us warm. Wolf fur for most of us. Boxen fur for Bix, due to his size.
We left the snow and truest cold on the Cliff, but there's still a nip in the air this early in the morning. Our breath still turns to mist in the air.
I'm used to mornings such as these. Too early for rest of the world. Not just from Ash training, but from back home too. Fire shifts that last three days, with calls at all hours. Some of my favorite memories are being with my crew in the middle of the night, coming back to the station from a call where we helped someone. The streets empty, the sky full of stars. There's a place by the train tracks where you can see what Blake called the nightly Zombie apocalypse. Every night around midnight all the homeless would shuffle down the old train tracks like a mob of zombies. It was eerie, but also kind of beautiful in its way. I never knew where they were going, how coordinated it was, or if was just their time to own the small California town without worry or harassment. We let them be, and they did their thing.
The world is a different beast at night. In some strange way, the fading of the sun and the light of moon and stars reveals more secrets than it hides, showing the shadow side of the world we live in. I've always preferred the night.
The sun has its perks, however, and as it rises, it brings warmth and brighter moods. The road we travel has begun to widen and become more populated with other travelers. One man, guiding a donkey and dressed in rags, spits at my horse as he passes by, fury in his eyes.
“What was that about?” I ask, as the man disappears behind us.
“Those of Ash are not well liked,” Raven says. She rides to my right, her spine straight, her posture and form perfect. She looks as if she was born on a horse. She also looks pissed.
“The service we provide—that of slaying dragon
s past the Wall—is not one readily felt by most common folk," Raven says. "They blame us for their high taxes, disparage us for the goods they must send off to the Cliff.”
I sigh. "That doesn't sound all that different from my job back home. People are only grateful for fire fighters when they need us, but no one ever wants to need someone like us. And the funding is never there."
She raises an eyebrow at me. “And what crime did you commit to be placed in such a position?”
“Crime?” I shake my head, smiling. “No. I chose the work.”
Her jaw drops. Eyes go wide. "You chose this voluntarily?"
"I did. I wanted a job where I could help people. And… " I pause, not sure how this will sound. "I've always been drawn to fires. There's something in the flames that calls to me."
She nods as if this is the most normal thing in the world to say, and then her mask returns, hiding her emotions. Once again I wonder… What must her life have been like to make her this hard so young? What happened to make her a Broken One?
I resolve to ask her, because though she can be hard to talk to, she's the closest thing I have to a friend here, and I think she needs me as much as I need her. “Raven, what—”
“There was, there was, a maiden most fair,” Bix breaks out into song, his voice booming over my own. “And I did, I did, show her most care.” No one else seems to know the words, but this doesn't stop the big man from fluctuating off key at the top of his lungs in a jagged rhythm that makes me smile despite myself. Soon enough, we’re all clapping along, roaring out a word here and there. And my talk with Raven is forgotten.
It’s midday and ten songs later by the time we arrive in town, but the excitement in our group is not diminished by the long and dusty ride. My body has toughened up since this training began. I thought I was in decent shape as a fire fighter. After all, we have to wear fifty pound gear while battling infernos on a regular basis. But this is a whole other level. Hours and hours, day after day, training all day, studying all night, rinse and repeat. Without the luxuries of home that I'd taken for granted, like cell phones and televisions and air conditioning and heaters. I never knew how much free time I had, even with three kids, until now. This is the first day in weeks we’ve been allowed more than a few hours off.
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