by Melle Amade
“Here,” he hands me a pouch that smells of wild flowers and dirt. “Put this,” he motions towards me, “somewhere on your body.”
I shove it in my pocket, looking over at Zan with a frown. Is it just me or is Zaragoza particularly nervous right now? I’ve never seen him like this. I want to give him a hug suddenly and tell him it’s going to be all right. He’s found the solution. I believe in him. But he’s so focused on putting things together and reading and memorizing words that I don’t dare interrupt him.
“Open the window, Zan,” he says. “Once I do the spell, you need to fly, for a while. Think of it like a car battery that needs to be charged. I’m going to cast the spell as you shift into a raven and then you need to stay in raven form for at least an hour.”
“Okay,” I nod. “I can do that.”
He moves in front of me and his lips moves as a low murmur rises from him. I can’t hear the words of the spell and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I know at some point I must shift, but he hasn’t told me to do that yet, so I don’t dare.
I can feel it though.
My skin cools and tingles as frigid shards of energy start to form throughout my body. I know exactly what it’s doing. The spell is cutting off the heat of the dove. My particles are swimming and dancing with a frigid vibration; ice on ice. The strength of the spell grows, glazing my body in ice. Queasy unease moves up from my stomach, entering my head and making it spin. I reach for something to steady myself on and find Zan’s hand. I focus on the coldness. That is what I need, to be raven. Only raven. The dove will always be there, buried inside me.
Warm comfort is the dove.
Ice anger is the raven.
I open my eyes, Zaragoza’s face crinkles in the closest thing I’ve ever seen him come to a smile and suddenly I can understand the words of the spell.
“Keep the rage. The rage will save you. Keep the rage. The rage will save you. Now!”
I inhale sharply and it’s as if his words command my body. I shift, rising as a raven into the air of the library. I want to call out, but this isn’t the time. My body is firm and clear and solid. No blood drips from me to stain the floor. Zan and Zaragoza both look up at me smiling. I dip my head in respect and escape through the window.
Finally, a raven.
13
We assemble in the evening on the training ground at the old zoo for the exhibition of the Ravensgaard. The air is fresh and the sky is bright. Early October in southern California means it’s eighty degrees and a sunny beautiful day. I’m giddy and light, and I’m ready to exhibit my mad flying skills. It’s going to be an awesome day to fly. I am one of them. I am a Ravensgaard. Regardless of whether they like me or not, I belong.
All fear of shifting into a dove is gone. I can feel the magic tying the raven into my bones through and through, and if I still carry a bit of dove inside, that’s my business and nobody else’s. The world doesn’t need to know who I am on the inside.
We line up for inspection in front of El Oso and the Berzerkens. Polaris stares down his nose at us, but I don’t know why. We are perfect. There’s nothing out of place amongst us.
He walks up and down the line in long, slow strides taking his time to inspect each of us. We hold still the entire time, barely daring to take a breath. I can feel the surliness of the Ravensgaard, but they submit. After all, they are sworn to Callum, and he is sworn to Lord Van Arend, who is sworn to El Oso. The Ravensgaard are soldiers and will do as they are commanded.
Polaris stops for a moment in front of me, his nostrils flaring out as a giant breath presses out. The warm air blows against my face, but I don’t flinch from the stale fish smell. I know I got his attention when I tried to attack El Oso yesterday. But I’m not afraid.
I am a Raven.
He returns to his position by El Oso, and we shoot up into the air, transforming within five feet of takeoff. The bright blue sky welcomes us as we sail like a single entity in a diagonal line following our leader. We move in long swaying arcs, breaking off as commanded in the patterns that we rehearsed time and time again. I missed most of the rehearsals, but Callum worked with me this morning to show me exactly what I needed to do. My heart fills with elation as I soar after the raven tail in front of me. We must look amazing. I hope Roman is filming this.
It’d be awesome to watch from the ground and see the wings beating out matching patterns across the sky, filling the air as we rise.
One.
Two.
Three.
Duck.
Tuck.
Roll.
Lift your head.
Spiral.
Flatten out.
The routine plays like a song in my head. I love the feeling that we work as a well-oiled, well-maintained machine, part of something bigger than ourselves and all serving a singular purpose.
The larger group drills don’t take too long. We haven’t had a great deal of time to practice, and although the rest of the Ravensgaard have worked together forever, I’m still new to this. Many of us land; only the best few stay in the air. Aiden joins them, with Callum and Iona flying in to escort him. Their precision flight capabilities are unmatched. They weave intricate patterns around each other, narrowly missing wing tips as they angle and glide and sail in death-defying air tricks. As much as I don’t trust Iona, as much as she gets under my skin, I still find myself applauding as they sail gracefully to the earth and land on their knees in front of El Oso. When did Callum get so good? The Ridder and his elite Ravensgaard are amazing, with Aiden at the center and flanked by Iona and Callum. I may not be that good yet, but one day I will be.
“He was amazing.” I smile at Zan, but she doesn’t look happy. “Is everything okay?”
She shrugs. “Now’s not the time talk about it.”
“I’m here for you,” I say.
I glance around of the large crowds of shifters. Dad is at a distance, watching the crowd. There’s no way he’s letting me go to any of these events alone.
I turn my eyes back to the dais. Lord Van Arend sits in the High Seat next to El Oso. They make a show of being equals, Lord Van Arend, El Oso, and Lady Heather, all lined up on the dais as the rulers of the three Muiderkrings, but it’s clear they’re not. Everyone knows El Oso is in control. I wonder whatever happened to Muiderkring North or if there ever was one. Whatever happened, now they’re just these three, and they rule all the shifters. But even in the way El Oso positions himself in the middle, it’s clear he’s the ruler.
Lord Van Arend and Lady Heather bow to him as he stands and takes the stage.
“My people,” El Oso says. “We are coming upon a time of transition. The elders are giving away to the younger.” He nods his head toward Aiden and motions towards the Berzerkens who must have younger people in their midst.
There are no people from Muiderkring East here. I wonder about Heather’s people and why she must be here so far away from them.
“And as we move forward into the future, we must remember the past but also do away with those things from the past that no longer serve us. We do not wish to shut the door on the past, but we do not wish to live with it hanging over our heads and our hearts into eternity. There have been some grave crimes committed here at the heart of this Muiderkring in the last month. And, these crimes cannot go unpunished.”
Zan’s fingers grip my hands.
“What is he talking about? What’s happening?” I ask as a large group of Berzerkens move onto the stage.
Lord Van Arend’s face is blank as he sits there. Whatever is about to happen, he knows what it is, and he’s agreed to it. My gaze flies to Aiden and Callum, but whatever they’re thinking, there’s no sign of it in their eyes. They are quiet, serious, and staring straight ahead. It’s only through the clenching of Callum’s fists that I can see his silent anger.
“There,” says Roman, pointing off to the side.
Polaris comes forward leading Zaragoza. He is back in his medieval smock, his hair
wild and loose, his pointed nose sniffing at the air but held high.
“No.” The word is a whisper.
“Whenever a law is broken, there must be a punishment,” El Oso commands. “That is also the law. For rebelling against the High Seat of Topanga and Muiderkring West, Murtagh has been taken into custody, and justice will be metered out upon him appropriately.”
Iona tenses at this but says nothing. Her jaw becomes a grim, tight white line.
“But there were other crimes committed against the law and Muiderkring West also. Against the High seat. And those crimes must be punished.”
“What crimes are they talking about?” My voice is low against the roaring in my ears. “What crimes are they talking about?”
But neither Roman nor Zan will meet my gaze. They both stare straight ahead at the small shrunken man who now stands on the platform before El Oso, Lord Van Arend, and Lady Heather.
El Oso stands, takes a deep breath, and pauses before the crowd. His face is pale white. I don’t know if it’s because of what he is about to do, or if it’s because of his illness that he’s trying so desperately to hide, an illness that looks as if it might take him away from us and Aiden before too long. El Oso towers over Zaragoza, but the small man doesn’t mind. He stares out towards the crowd, directly at me.
This is my fault.
Even before El Oso says the words, I know what he has been found guilty of. I can’t block my ears. I can’t get away from the truth that is crashing down on me as I sit there stunned, silent, and gripping Roman’s and Zan’s fingers, so tight I think they might explode.
“Zaragoza,” El Oso begins. “You have been found guilty of performing a Bloedhart ceremony outside of the bounds of the Order. It is unsanctioned. It was unallowable, and yet you did this regardless with full knowledge that the actions you were taking were in direct disobedience to the Order.”
I want to stand up and scream to stop him, to stop the words that I know are leading everybody forward. But now it’s Roman and Zan’s turn to hold me back.
“Do not move.” Zan’s voice is a low growl coming out of her throat.
“But he broke the law for me,” I say. “That’s my Bloedhart ceremony they’re talking about.”
“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Roman says. His lips are a pale red line gashing across his face.
“For having broken the law against the Order…” El Oso says, and his voice booms across the silent crowd. “You are hereby sentenced to death, Zaragoza. The crimes you have committed include; revealing the shifter world to a suspected human, performing the Bloedhart ceremony on a suspected human, which is equal to performing in the Bloedhart ceremony on an un-pedigreed shifter, and hiding the shifter from the High Seat until the shifter became a threat to the safety of the High Seat.”
“We did that,” I say. “That is everything that we did.”
Roman and Zan look as horrified as I feel. My stomach tightens and twists in deep knots.
“They’re going to kill him,” Zan breathes.
“It’s not possible,” I say. “It’s not possible.”
Roman is gripping my shoulders, his arm tightly held around me. “Don’t move,” he says.
“For these crimes.” El Oso surveys the crowd as he announces the final sentencing for Zaragoza. “You will be executed.”
My body lurches forward. Tears stream down Zan’s face, and Roman clutches us both. Callum and Aiden stare at attention, their clenched fists the only sign of their angst. I want to let a wail scream up from my guts, but I slam my hand over my mouth.
“Don’t say a word.” Roman’s words are low and tight in my ear. “If you defend him at all, they will question you, too.”
“They are making an example of him.” Zan sniffs. Her tears drip warmth onto my fingers.
Zaragoza stares at me, his eyes digging a wormhole into my head, and I can hear his words louder than anything he could ever say to me now. Five hundred years later, we are watching him be executed exactly as his wife was executed.
He will be the martyr.
Polaris steps forward, a jagged sword held point down, shines in his hands.
“Last words!” Zan chokes out. “He’s allowed last words.”
El Oso growls, but raises a hand to still Polaris. “Zaragoza, have you any final words?”
Zaragoza nods and gives Zan a bittersweet smile. Her face streams with tears. Then, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, Zaragoza speaks. “All the words that the world needs from me have already been said. But in case you did not hear them, I will make this proclamation now. Here. And, if any of you forget it, one day you will remember. The Order will fall. No one is safe. No one is above the others. This regime that rules us with fascist laws will be no more. And it will happen sooner than you think.”
Salty tears stream down my face and into the corners of my mouth. I want to look away, but I can’t. I must see this brutality. This reality. It is happening right in front of me. Polaris raises the blade. With a single flash of silver against the bright autumn light, he slices through Zaragoza’s neck.
The blade is sharp.
Zaragoza’s head doesn’t move, his black eyes staring right at me. A thin red line appears across his neck and then, as if in slow motion, his head tumbles forward.
Blood spurts from his severed neck as his body tilts sideways and falls to the ground. Not a single shifter makes a sound. There’s a slight gasp from Zan and me, but the crowd is dead silent.
He knew our secrets.
And died for them.
Nobody here knew him as well as we did. In the last month, this man saved my life, helped my mother and was the only person who could help Lord Van Arend. Now he is dead.
He’s been removed because he used his heart instead of blind obedience to the Order. Because he used his head instead of blind repetition of the Order’s stance. Because he was willing to do something for someone else. For these things, he has died, and he’s never coming back.
He’s gone.
Zan and I sink against each other, and both of us fall into Roman’s embrace.
14
Roman has taken Zan home and I should have left the manor by now, but I can’t. I’m sitting in the library staring at the pile of books. Just earlier today I was here, with Zaragoza. He fixed me. He saved my life. Not just from the Order, but from the biology that was destroying me. I can’t move.
He’s gone.
After five hundred years of struggle and survival he is wiped out by El Oso. How is that even possible? How does one man, one beast, get that much power? The ability to kill a powerful warlock who was helping a Muiderkring lord. He killed him in front of a crowd and no one stopped him.
I did nothing.
Footsteps startle me out of my reverie. Aiden enters the library, his face bleak as he wanders to the book table. “I heard he did the binding spell,” Aiden says, his fingers trailing over the books.
I nod blinking back tears.
Aiden sinks into one of the massive leather sofas as a groan escapes him. He leans forward, head in his hands. I sit across from him, wanting to comfort him, but don’t move. “He did it.” Aiden’s eyes, full of torment, raise to look at me. “I was so terrified he wouldn’t be able to fix you.”
“Fix me? There’s nothing wrong with me.” I say. “There wasn’t anything wrong with me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.
“I think you did,” I say, because in my heart I can see he’s still Lord of the manor judging me because I’m part Passief and that’s probably never going to change. That’s what he was born to. And he will have his own prejudices against the Passiefs just like he has prejudices against the servants. Prejudices he can’t even see. They are ingrained in him.
His shoulders sag. “Shae, please understand I just want everybody to be safe. That’s my job, to keep the people in Muiderkring West safe. And, if I don’t even know how you turn into two animals and how one of those
is a Passief, how can I keep you safe?”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ll never be a dove again.” My stomach sinks at the thought. I’ll never get that back. It’s gone.
“It’s better this way,” he says.
I wish I could believe him. But there’s been so much loss, Zaragoza, my dove self. “Your dad?” I ask.
Aiden shakes his head. “Without Zaragoza, he’ll probably never be cured. I don’t know why my father can’t control the storm inside him.”
“Is it just the storm?” I ask gingerly.
“I think so,” Aiden looks unsure. “He says it’s the pain driving him to drink. They numb the electric shocks. He says he’s sick from the storm trapped inside him.”
“Oh no,” I murmur. I knew this was happening, but I’ve been so caught up in my own issues, I haven’t been there for him.
“Now Zaragoza’s gone,” his voice croaks out. “I don’t know what to do.”
I stare helplessly at him because, I don’t have any answers. I don’t know what to do either. My mom won’t have her meds. But, I do know one thing.
I move from my couch and sit next to him, putting my hands on his shoulders, pressing some sense of calmness and warmth into him, or trying to. He raises his grief-stricken face to me a storm darkens his eyes. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” I say. “We’re all here to help.”
“But I am the Heir,” he says.
“I know,” I smile. “And, no one’s going to forget that. But, there’s not been a single Lord that has sat on a Kortsrijk, or any other throne, that hasn’t had a team of knights or Ridders or advisors or whatever you want to call them sitting around the table supporting him. So,” I say and I bring my face in close to make sure he’s listening, “stop being alone.”
His eyes are staring hard in mine. The storm is still dark, but his hand reaches up to clasp mine. Warmth moves through my hand and into every dark recess of my body.
He leans towards me and my heart races.
