by Sara Etienne
“That’s right, Faye.” Rita’s voice was filled with a terrible certainty.
The roaring wave was getting closer now. The water rose up my neck. Leaving salty kisses on my lips.
Rita smiled as she repeated the words of the tarot cards. “‘Only the Harbinger can wash this world clean.’”
I couldn’t get enough air. Frigid fingers squeezed my throat. My breath came in little gasps.
The frothing wave surged up the stairs. The roar shaking my bones. I didn’t try to run. It was too late. It’d been too late since my dad had abandoned me here. Since I’d almost drowned ten years ago. Since I’d first touched that wave.
The water closed over me. Its icy arms holding me under. Its howl blotting out everything else. Until the whole world went quiet.
And I remembered who I was.
30
I STAND ON THE BEACH, staring out at the slate-colored water. The sky mirrors the stormy color, clouds overwhelming the horizon. It’s dry and calm here, but rain slashes the faraway sky, and lightning erupts without any thunder. My feet ache. I’ve been standing here for an hour, ever since I smelled the rain, watching for their canoe.
“Come eat something, little one.” A soft voice calls out behind me, but I ignore it until they go away.
I swear I can hear my parents out there. My father’s scream is tangled up with the seagulls’. I taste their fear on my tongue. The only time I take my eyes off the horizon is to look up at the mountain. Dark figures gather around the great boulder on the peak. The Family . . . who promised that the skies would be clear today. That the sea would be calm.
“Come inside. It’s almost dark.”
No.
“At least eat some soup.”
No.
My father told me he would teach me a new song when he came home. My mother promised that I could have the jaw from the swordfish she speared.
I stand there, waiting. As the storm clears. As night comes. As stars fling themselves across the sky, like debris on the water.
I’m at the top of the tallest pine in the valley. I hug the trunk, my feet braced on the branches, my cheek pressed into the rough bark. A year has passed since I lost my parents, and it’s summer again. Everything smells wild and green, and I can feel the sap running through the trunk. Like blood in my veins. From up here the wind murmurs secrets to me as it pushes me back and forth. Back and forth. I close my eyes. I feel like I’m flying.
Down below, my friend is about halfway up the tree. The boy turns his golden face toward me, his black eyes squinting. “I don’t want to go any higher.”
I shout down at him. “Scared like a field mouse. Squee, squee, squee.”
His face screws up in determination and he keeps climbing. I close my eyes again and fly.
It’s low tide, and the boy and I are collecting mussels. He’s older now. Maybe even a little older than me.
I reach for the basket, but suddenly, the boy takes my hand. His fingers are gritty, but they still feel nice wrapped around mine.
A crease folds his forehead. “They told me that I belong with the Family. That I’m needed to serve The Circle.”
“But my connection is stronger than yours! I can see farther.” I sound petulant, even to myself.
“Maybe.” He’d never actually admit it. “But you’re not thirteen yet.”
“You’ll be bored. Listening to the breeze all day. Endlessly advising strangers. You’ll hate it.”
But we both know that’s not true. The Family is powerful, the gifted ones. They see deeper and farther than everyone else. So we do what they say . . . even when they’re wrong.
The silence sits between us like a third person, eavesdropping. Then I say it. “You can’t leave me. You’re all I have.”
He leans close and kisses me. I feel the cool pebbles under his feet. The sun shining on his dark hair. His heart thudding in his chest.
Then he looks at me, and I see myself in his black eyes. Bright and fearless. “And you’re all I have.”
I stalk away from the village and walk down into the valley. I can’t bear to listen to the Family jabber on about the way of The Circle. Don’t they see how thin the people are? Don’t they hear the babies howling with empty bellies? But all the Family says is that there are times of plenty and times of scarcity. Balance in all things.
I can’t stand to watch the boy up there with them. Nodding his head. Looking solemn.
They offer to help track the deer, but it’s almost winter, and most of the herds have moved on. They say they can reach into the earth and help find more roots and nuts. Or watch for good weather for fishing. Since they’re so good at that.
Why don’t they do something? They can change things! I know they can . . . because I did it. Even if it was just an accident. I pull a handful of dried cranberries out of my bag and see if I can make it happen a second time.
Winter is coming, bringing the hungry cold, but I still feel summer in the cranberries. All those bright hot days glowing just under the wrinkled, maroon skin. I think of warm rains and the sun warming up the bogs. Of children splashing through the muddy water, popping ripe fruit into their mouths. Then I open my hand. The cranberries are plump and red, as if they’ve just been picked. I bite down on one and let the bittersweet juice burst on my tongue.
All year, since the boy’s been gone, I’ve felt my power growing. Now I understand what the Family can do. Now I’m ready to be one of them.
The boy and I climb up the mountain. I look over at him, walking next to me, and I realize that he’s not a boy anymore. Even if I still call him that. He’s grown taller than me and his shoulders stretch wide. The shadow of a beard darkens his cheeks and I shiver, thinking of the scratch of it against my skin. It’s one of those scarce, perfect days away from the rest of our Family. Just the two of us.
I hum and hold the boy’s hand, tight in mine. This makes us slower when we come to logs or rocks in the path. We have to work as a single, awkward creature, each of us with one free hand to steady ourselves as we climb over. But I won’t let go.
When we’re almost at the top, he gives me one of his rare grins. “Race you!”
And he breaks away, running up the path.
“Cheater!” I take off after him. Even though he has a lead . . . even though I fall and skin my knee, I still win. But just barely.
At the top of the mountain, we cling to each other, trying to breathe through our laughter. Collapsing near the immense, black boulder. Then it’s my turn to smile.
“Race you?” I say, putting my hand against the pockmarked boulder, speckled with rust. Inviting him into our own private game. Even though I’ve touched it a hundred times, the shock of its age stuns me. It’s so old. Older than The Circle. Older than humans. Older than this world.
Touching the iron rock, I see it falling through space. It shoots past planets and comets and suns, until it finally slams into Earth. In an instant I see mountains crumble. Great sheets of ice bully their way across the land. Seas rise and fall.
When my people found the boulder, it changed everything. They’d already had a connection with the world around them. They could read the first shifts of summer into fall or the signs that showed water was close by. And some could see more than others.
But with the metal stone, the strong seers became stronger. Through it they saw the orbits of the planets. Understood the pull of the moon against the ocean. Learned to track the cycles of days and years. And they grew to worship the perpetual ebb and flow they saw there and called it The Circle.
Then some of my people found they didn’t need the boulder. Even without the stone, some of us could look inside a person and see their secrets. Some of us could touch a drop of water and feel the cold grip of the ocean. Some of us were born listening to the stars.
We became the Family.
This rock came from the beginning of time, and my people used it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But that was an old story. And I want a new
one.
A restless energy jitters through my body as I think of what we could see through this stone. Not just what has happened. Or is happening. But all that is to come. The Family is capable of so many things. But the rules of The Circle hold us back. Make us turn away from our people.
“Race you?” I repeat my challenge to him, cringing at the eagerness that betrays how badly I want this.
His forehead creases. It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. “You know we can’t look into the future. It’s forbidden.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Why? Why is it forbidden? We hold so much power. But still, we’re shackled by the narrow ways of The Circle. What good is seeing the pattern beneath the universe if we can only use it to point the way? Why can’t we change it? Why can’t we look ahead and see what shape the future will take? Think about all the good we could do. Think about the tragedies we could prevent. Think about my parents!” I’m yelling now, and the wind rips the words out of my mouth, carrying them out across the water.
He puts his hand to my cheek, sharing my pain. He looks down at the beach glittering wet below us. Finally he nods. “You go first.”
And I do. I put both hands on the boulder, on the iron stone forged when time began, and make the tiniest push into the future. An ant zooms across the rock. It’s almost funny. Then the boy goes, pushing deeper. He watches the moss grow as the sun and moon chase each other through the sky. Then me. Frost shimmers on the boulder and ice rims the bay. Then him. Back and forth. Back and forth.
It’s a rush, seeing what no one else has ever seen. And we get caught up in the game. Pushing deeper through the years. Huge boats ride the waves. Strange people and creatures rush across the land. We shove forward in time. Testing our limits.
Then comes the vision. Black-slicked oceans. Rotting carcasses. The obliteration of everything.
I pull my hand away and grab the boy’s. I can’t describe it to him, but he sees the image burned into my mind. Looking out over the water, all I can see is destruction.
“I have to stop it.” And with those words, I become the Harbinger.
31
SCREAMS REVERBERATED in my mind, ripping me from the memories. There was something more. Something that I couldn’t—that I didn’t want to—remember.
I opened my eyes, and I was no longer on the mountaintop. Or in that ancient valley. I was back in the dimly lit library. Rita still looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. Dr. Mordoch still clutched the empty whiskey bottle in her hand. But the water was gone, leaving flotsam from a different time in its wake.
It’d only taken seconds. All those memories exploding in my brain. Another lifetime of experiences that’d been buried for ten years, ever since my parents had taken me to see the lunar eclipse. Ever since I’d touched that first wave. Dead parents. The boy whose talisman I’d given to Kel. A vision of the future that was now the present. And the screaming . . . “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? You remember being the Harbinger.” Rita’s voice was triumphant. “After your vision on the mountain, you said that The Circle was failing us. You told us that we couldn’t leave the future in the hands of the mindless masses. Your vision of a dying Earth proved that, right?”
It was like looking at old photos of myself when I was a kid. I didn’t always remember the moment the flash went off, but I knew I’d been there. Once Rita described the scene, I knew I had said all those things. When the others in the Family heard of my vision, they were devastated. They’d trusted in the ways of The Circle for so long, but now they agreed that we needed to do something. Well, all of them but the boy. As usual he was full of caution and warning.
In truth, I think the rest of them liked the idea of a more powerful Family. One that would change the course of the world. So I forged the talismans from the great boulder on the mountain, marking them not with The Circle, but with the new symbol of The Path. We agreed that as a Family we would be stronger. It might take all of us to prevent the vision from becoming reality. We would use our power and the power of our people to fix this world. And I would lead the way.
“You told us it would work. We sacrificed everything. Our power. Our lives. The Circle. All because of your vision. Your Path.” Rita’s voice was hard, her face twisted with her torment. “And he tried to stop you then, like he’ll try to stop you now. He fought against you all those years ago, and now you’ve given him the power to do it again.”
Yes. The boy had taken some persuading. I tried not to think about what I’d done to him. Or what he, as Kel, might do to me. But I’d done what I had to do. And we’d begun the ritual, a phenomenon that would take thousands of years to complete. First, the Family had locked their power deep within the iron. Then, I’d cut their throats, so each of them would stay safe inside the talismans. We couldn’t go forward in time, but we could wait it out.
But someone needed to be able to know when the time of the vision was drawing near. Someone needed to be first, to dig up the talismans and choose new bodies for the Family to inhabit. So I became part of the ocean. Passing the millennia on the rise and fall of the tide.
“The night we started this, when our people gathered to sing about our bravery and sacrifice, I thought I’d be an avenging angel and right the world. But, it wasn’t like that . . .” Rita’s face was possessed, and I saw what all those years out of time had done to her. “Now you must finish this so I can be free. So we all can.”
What went wrong? How did Rita’s talisman get separated from the others? The screaming of that still-forgotten memory tore at my mind again, and I put my hands on my head, trying to make it stop.
“You’re the only one who can end this, Faye. After all those years as part of the sea, the Harbinger chose you to finish the ritual. Even as a little girl you had an uncanny sense of the world around you. But you were so young . . . just a child. All those new memories, all that power. You didn’t even know what to do with it. So I showed you The Path, told you where the talismans were buried, how to rid the world of this blight. Then I brought you to the ocean on the night of power. It should’ve worked. I should’ve been freed from this decaying world. But she interfered.” Rita spun on Dr. Mordoch, who still cowered near the desk.
“I’m sorry.” Dr. Mordoch hugged the whiskey bottle to her chest as she sank to the floor. Her eyes pleaded with me. “I just wanted to help you.”
I still didn’t like her, but I knew what it was like to be trapped in your own private hell. Sidestepping Rita, I reached down to help Dr. Mordoch.
“Faye, your hands—” Dr. Mordoch’s strangled voice rang out in alarm.
A faint silver glow radiated from them as we touched. An ugly blur of malice and arrogance and fear poured through Dr. Mordoch’s fingers into my thoughts. Seeing how the years of obsession had warped her, I pulled my hand away as soon as Dr. Mordoch was standing. Trying to hide my repulsion.
Rita’s face twisted with disgust. “She’s served her purpose, Faye. She got you back here. You might as well get rid of her.”
I looked at Dr. Mordoch again—her frayed robe, her crumpled face framed by limp scraps of hair. The efficient headmistress had been stripped away, leaving nothing but weakness. The contempt must’ve shown on my face, because her hand struck out, slapping me. Hard across the jaw.
“You ungrateful bitch.” Dr. Mordoch swayed uneasily, backing away toward the far wall. Then she lost all composure. “I sacrificed my entire life for you. I saved you. Don’t you remember? I saved you from the ocean.”
“That’s what happens when you show them pity.” Rita’s words were warm in my ear. “It was the same way with my parents. They turn on you. Now that you understand what you are, Faye, you have a choice to make. This world is teetering on the brink. You can join the maggots and allow Dr. M. to numb you into one of them. They’ll consume the Earth, but at least then you won’t have any more pesky visions. Or—”
She stepped between me and Dr. Mordoch again, her eyes burnin
g. “Or you can do exactly what you dreamed of doing. You can save the world. You can wash it clean. This is your Path, Faye. Take it.”
A warm pulse of power fed off Rita’s words. I thought about the heady intimacy of being inside Kel’s memories. The strength I’d felt as I’d merged with the wooden door in Solitary. Even now, I could feel the forest surrounding Holbrook, the wooden beams holding up the Compass Rose. I trembled with their energy. Finally part of something bigger than myself.
“Faye, you’re not stable. I know you, maybe even better than your parents. Maybe even better than yourself.” Dr. Mordoch’s voice cracked as she tried to regain control of the situation. “You’ve never been well. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep. We’ll pretend this never happened.”
Dr. Mordoch, my parents, the Cooperative, they all wanted me to be normal. Wanted me to hide my strangeness, to keep quiet and make nice. But I was so much better than that.
Rage flowed through me, and the wind rose, buffeting the trees outside. The silver glow around my hands grew into a bright flare, and power coursed just beneath my skin.
“Know me? You think you know me?” I yelled at the woman who had taken me away from my purpose. “You don’t know me. I am the Harbinger.”
When I said the words out loud, I knew how right they were. Maybe I’d always known. I am the Harbinger. I grabbed the lamp from the desk. Electricity snaked through it, hissing like a wild animal. I coaxed the power out of the socket, letting it build up around me like a storm cloud. It was delicious, and I wondered how I’d ever survived without this charged euphoria.
Reaching out into the air, I wrenched aside electrons and ions, forcing a path between me and Dr. Mordoch. A silvery bolt shot across the room, slamming into her chest.
Dr. Mordoch screamed as she was blasted against the wall, smashing into the shelves in a hailstorm of books. The smell of burnt hair filled the room. The shock jolted through me as well, and Dr. Mordoch’s cries joined the screaming in my head. That one last, terrible memory fighting to surface.
