The Catalyst

by Helena Coggan

  “Nathaniel and Maria,” he said slowly, “go stand with the class again.”

  They did, albeit hesitantly. Nate’s eyes did not leave Rose’s. She didn’t need David’s skills to know what he was thinking: Be careful.

  “Next fight,” the teacher said in a louder voice, returning to his clipboard, “Tristan Greenlow versus Rosalyn Elmsworth.”

  The class openly gasped now. Rose had just used up a substantial amount of energy fighting Maria: it had been assumed that she had done her fighting for the day. Rose narrowed her eyes. She would have to fight Tristan outgunned and under-strength. Now the teacher was really testing her.

  Tristan walked up, grinning despite the tear tracks still etched onto his face, the teacher whispered something in his ear. Rose stiffened. Okay, now that was unfair. He was making this fight impossible to win.

  “Combat stances.”

  Rose closed her eyes and breathed in. She felt her shield billow into life around her.

  “Ready.”

  She breathed out and opened her eyes.

  “Begin!”

  And the world went dark.

  Utter and complete darkness, so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Only the sound of her own breathing, and murmurs.

  Rearing panic.

  Don’t be afraid of the dark. A stupid saying.

  “What the hell?” she whispered.

  Something hard hit her in the back of the head and she dropped, dazed. Distantly, the class murmured in confusion. The darkness was closing in on her; she was beginning to hyperventilate; she couldn’t fight she couldn’t fight she couldn’t fight —

  The next blow came to her ribs and she gasped in pain, rocking back. Keep your shield intact, said a calm voice in her head, and she poured energy into it, curling into the fetal position. Hold yourself together. Wait —

  Another kick, this time to her spine. She cried out. Surely this was breaking the rules, surely he was only allowed to use magical attacks — but of course the teacher wouldn’t stop him, the teacher had given him every advantage, he wanted Tristan to win this fight —

  The teacher had told him to do this.

  The bastard.

  Someone in the crowd, defiant, yelled desperately, “Come on, Rose!”

  Well, you wouldn’t do it any better, Rose thought savagely, if you couldn’t see your opponent.

  A kick to her leg. Rose poured the pain into keeping the shield together.

  But they can see him.

  It was true. The class wasn’t panicking; they weren’t screaming at the sudden dark, and if Rose had lost her composure then they sure as hell should have done —

  Oh, come on, this is obvious. Stupid, stupid!

  This was an attack on her eyes. He was blinding her with magic. He was blocking her sight; they’d learned it in Healing, oh come on why on earth hadn’t she thought of that before —

  He was attacking her eyes.

  He’d started before her shield went up. He’d gotten within her defenses.

  And that was a mistake.

  Rose pulled all her strength into herself and then directed it all into pushing her shield out from herself in a wall of energy that spread across the entire room — and, more importantly, caught Tristan. She heard it smash him into the concrete, not distracting him enough to break his shield, but certainly enough for his mental attack to waver, which was all Rose needed.

  Vision returned to her abruptly, in a flickering wave of light. She blinked, and was in the classroom again, her heart thundering.

  And Tristan was down.

  His shield had protected him; he was getting to his feet, his face twisted into a snarl.

  He’s stronger than you. You cannot let this become a physical fight.

  Well, not again, anyway.

  She pushed a spike-strike toward his head, but he blocked it and responded with a punch to her head, which she dodged, throwing him off-balance. He was angry now. And that gave her an advantage like nothing else had.

  Destroy him.

  There was blood running down her face. She hit him from the side with a hard block of power and he stumbled. She swept her feet under his ankles, but he was strong and it didn’t move him. She had lost her opportunity to press her attack.

  I just wanted to tell you how much of a bitch I think you are.

  He ran at her. She waited until the last moment and hit him at short range with a blast to the stomach followed by a punch. That made him double up. She didn’t lose a second this time, but kicked him hard in the head. He staggered sideways and she dodged nimbly on limbs with injuries she didn’t feel yet, stepped behind him, grabbed his neck and squeezed.

  Nobody likes you, you know . . . you’re the ugliest girl in the year.

  Aaron’s voice. Tristan’s words.

  The Gospel, laughing.

  Destroy him.

  He couldn’t move, but gasped for air. She didn’t need to tell him anything; he knew the ultimatum.

  Maybe if she squeezed a little harder, he would die.

  Who’d want to be seen with you?

  He dropped to his knees. She moved with him, keeping her grip strong.

  The teacher said sharply, “Rose.”

  She did not let go. Tristan was going blue.

  “Rose!”

  The flash of light came at last and Rose released Tristan, letting him drop. His breaths were wheezy, his blond hair bloodstained.

  Rose turned to the teacher, pushing her hair back and wiping some of the blood out of her eyes.

  “Did I pass, then?” she said coolly.

  He met her gaze narrowly. She noticed his pen was lying on the floor now.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, you did.”

  There was silence in the class now, but for the sound of Tristan trying to breathe.

  “Sir,” said someone in the class nervously, “I think . . . I think he might need an ambulance.”

  It was Maria. Rose looked at her in surprise. She wasn’t meeting Rose’s eyes. She was staring at Tristan with an expression of something close to fear. Was she still afraid of him? He wouldn’t harm them for a long time now. She didn’t need to be afraid.

  Destroy him.

  “Yes,” said the teacher, “yes, he might. Go get the nurse.”

  Maria ran, casting a frightened glance back at Rose as she left. Nate followed her. There was a new wariness in his gaze.

  They weren’t afraid of Tristan. They were afraid of her.

  For the first time, Rose began to wonder whether she might have gone too far.

  The class was looking at her like Nate had done, like people sometimes looked at her father: almost afraid, guarded, suspicious. Rose watched them file out, and was about to follow them when the teacher’s hand on her shoulder held her back. She stood with him as the nurse came and took Tristan away. There were sirens outside.

  After the sirens faded, there was silence for a few seconds.

  Then the teacher said quietly, “Rose, exactly what did your father teach you?”

  “To stand up for myself.”

  He raised an eyebrow. He looked almost shaken.

  “Rose. That wasn’t standing up for yourself. You almost killed that boy.”

  “I know.”

  “Rose, did your father ever teach you when to stop?”

  He was shaken.

  “No. If someone is trying to kill me, I kill them first. That’s the way it works.”

  He looked at her in astonishment.

  “Rose, do you realize what you’re saying?”

  Yes. I chose to harm him. I chose it freely.

  Oh, bloody hell.

  “Of course I understand, sir.”

  “No. No, you don’t. Rose, have you ever killed someone?”

  “No.”

  “No, you haven’t. Could you kill someone?”

  There was another long silence.

  “I think I just proved that, sir,” Rose said quietly.

 
; The teacher put his face in his hands.

  “Go to Serena Mitchell,” he said tiredly. “Tell her it’s time.”

  Serena’s office was empty when Rose arrived. The sign on the door said that she would be back in five minutes, so Rose sat in a chair and waited, feeling the blood dry on her face and the wounds in her leg and chest begin to throb. She had not realized that she was badly hurt: now she thought maybe she had cracked a rib. The teacher had not offered to heal her, and Rose doubted that she could heal herself in her condition.

  She thought of Natalie Greenlow. They would have called her by now, told her that her son was in the hospital, and she would be happy at first, happy because she would think it was Aaron, and they had found him, and he was safe, if injured, and not dead. And then they would tell her that it was Tristan who had been hospitalized. And then her heart would lurch and she would be terrified, terrified that her remaining safe child had been nearly killed — nearly killed by someone in his own class, no less. She would see danger everywhere, and Rose’s father would be under suspicion again, and Rose —

  The creak of the door announced Mitchell’s arrival. Her expression flickered only slightly when she saw Rose’s bruised, bloody state. Rose turned slowly to look at her. Every movement sent a throb of pain through her head.

  “I see. Did you decide to come, or did they finally run out of patience?”

  Rose said nothing. Eventually, Mitchell closed the door behind her and sat down.

  Rose said emotionlessly, “He said it was time.”

  Mitchell considered her carefully.

  “Whom did you fight?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “What sort of state are they in now?”

  Rose didn’t think it worth answering.

  “There were ambulances outside the school ten minutes ago. Was that you?”

  Rose nodded.

  “I see,” Mitchell said again.

  There was a pause.

  “So your Combat teacher sent you, did he?”

  Rose nodded again, and winced. The wound in the back of her head was still bleeding; she could feel the warm, slow run of blood in her hair.

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “No.”

  Mitchell nodded, seemingly to herself. “All right then.”

  Another pause.

  “Rose, are you aware that you are the most skilled fighter of your age that we have ever taught?”

  Rose did not reply. Well, of course she was. She had been raised a fighter. Most of the others were just starting out.

  “So you will understand that — given your reluctance — we have been obliged, in your case, to speed up the required processes somewhat.”

  Rose tilted her head slightly. “What exactly do you mean?”

  Mitchell seemed to breathe in slightly more deeply than normal.

  She said, “Rosalyn, on behalf of the Angelic Parliament of Great Britain and Ireland, I hereby inform you that you have been chosen to perform your civic duty as a member of the armed forces of this country in the post of private of the Third Royal Battalion.”

  Rose stared at her for a few seconds. Then she started laughing. She laughed so hard that her voice cracked and split and for a few seconds she thought that she was going to cry. She could feel Mitchell’s bewildered eyes on her.

  “You can’t do this to me,” she said, still smiling. “I’m underage. I’m not even sixteen yet. You can’t put me into the army.”

  “You do not have a choice,” Mitchell said stonily. “Perhaps, if you had been a little more receptive to the idea of being a soldier, later in life . . .”

  “So you’re conscripting me.”

  “I am not conscripting anyone.”

  “Oh, listen to yourself,” Rose said, grinning. “This was your idea, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t you at least have waited until I was of age?”

  “Circumstances . . . change,” Mitchell said. “London needs new soldiers.”

  Rose’s focus sharpened. “You’re saying the city is under attack?”

  “Not from without, no.”

  “But from within — Ashkind insurgent groups, you mean? Old War armies?”

  Regency.

  “You will see,” Mitchell said, standing up. “Your ceremony will take place tomorrow. I doubt you will see your home or your family again for a long time after that, so if I were you I would do my best to say good-bye now.”

  She left, closing the door behind her. Rose gave it thirty seconds before following her out. She found her way to the nearest bathroom, ran the taps and dipped her head in the water, washing the blood from her face and wounds. When she was perfectly clean again, she stared at herself in the mirror.

  What did she look like?

  An objective observer might conclude that she had been beaten up. Fifteen-year-olds were not the most common aggressors, after all, and fifteen-year-old girls least of all. The water in the sink was a pinkish red and she was pale and cold and her hair was near black with water and blood.

  She didn’t look like a monster.

  She didn’t look like someone who had chosen to be evil.

  She didn’t look like someone who did these kinds of things.

  She walked out of the bathroom and out of the school, to the nearest train station. She waited for the District line, found an empty carriage, sat down and started to cry. She cried for a very, very long time. She cried until the train reached the end of the line and started to go back again. No one came into the carriage. No one asked her what was wrong. She did not know what she would have replied if they had.

  “Hello, Dad,” she said quietly. Her voice was still hoarse. The Department was bustling with staff in their usual state of near panic, and no one glanced at her twice except him. He was sitting in front of his computer, and she had walked up behind him with all the stealth and silence that her worn-out state would allow.

  “Rose! Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  Rose studied his face carefully. The exact layout of the slight lines on his face, the shape and depth of color of his eyes, the way he smiled, the tiny gray hair just behind his right temple. She seared it into the wall of her mind and promised herself never, ever to forget.

  Then she told him.

  He sat there for a very long time.

  “No,” he said.

  “Dad —”

  “No.”

  “Dad, be reasonable.”

  “I’m going to —”

  “You can’t.”

  “I’ll find —”

  “No. Dad. That won’t help me. It’s too late.”

  He didn’t say anything after that, and when he did move it was to get up and walk toward Terrian.

  “I won’t be coming back for a few days,” he said. His heart was breaking in his voice.

  She went over to James and told him and said good-bye and smiled before he could say anything. Then she went back over to her father. He walked away with her to the door. James was up on his feet by now, and he ran over to them and he took her hand and he looked at her, and he said, “Rose, I —”

  And then he fell silent. Rose couldn’t see anything in his eyes. After a pause, he hugged her awkwardly.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said. “Please — don’t die out there. And e-mail me. You’ll be allowed to do that, won’t you?”

  She smiled. “Yes, James. I’ll miss you too.”

  He pulled back, and looked at her as if he wanted to say something else, but then he stopped himself and simply gave a little wave.

  “Stay in touch,” he said, weakly.

  Rose nodded. And then she walked away.

  When evening fell, David and Rose were sitting together at the table. The cuts on her face were healing, with the help of magic. She was resting her head on his shoulder. They were planning.

  “I won’t let them do this. I am not going to let them do this. They can’t take you away from me.”

  Rose didn’t say anything. David ha
d been repeating this like a mantra for the past hour. His voice was growing slowly more anguished.

  “Promise me,” he said, “that you won’t let yourself be hurt.”

  “I won’t really have any control over that, Dad. And anyway, maybe it would be good if I got injured. I can be like James. You can draft me into the Department.”

  His face twisted. “I don’t care. I want you to stay safe, do you hear me? And I want you — I need you to stay hidden, do you understand? I don’t think I could live with myself if —”

  “No,” she said angrily. “I won’t be found out. This is the army, for Ichor’s sake. They have secret places. Secure, soundproofed rooms. I can do this. I’ll find a way.” She knew he couldn’t quite believe her, so in lieu of a stronger argument, she said it again. “I won’t be found out, Dad.”

  He swallowed. Rose waited, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest.

  “I’ll be okay, Dad,” she said gently. “I’m nearly sixteen. I’ll be an adult in a few months. I can look after myself. We have the Internet, don’t we?”

  “Yes, but that’s monitored. I won’t be able to tell you about anything important. We have to . . .” His voice trailed off and then came back with a vengeance. “Can’t we do anything?”

  “I don’t technically work for you. You can’t override them. If they have the Department of Education’s approval, and they do, they’re within their rights to do this.” She smiled. It hurt. “I’m sure you’ll cope.”

  David turned his head to look at her.

  “What about Nate? Aren’t you going to say good-bye to him? And Maria?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “Why not? They’re your friends. They’ll miss you.”

  “They’ll cope. They don’t need me.”

  “Oh, no, Rose, don’t think that!” He hugged her to him, rocking her back and forth like he had when she was a toddler. “No, Rose.” His voice grew soft and pained. “Don’t you ever, ever think that.”

  There was a long, long silence.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Rose?”

  “I love you.”

  “I know. I love you too, Rose.”

  She waited until he was asleep and then left the house, taking the Tube to Loren’s flat. When she arrived there, he was gone. Maybe he had just packed up and left. Maybe he had had to relocate, and there was a note hidden somewhere among the decrepit furniture and the remains of the plastic bags she had brought the food in.