Lanterns In The Sky
P.S. Malcolm
Copyright © 2018 by Pagan Malcolm
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Mithlia Karnik and Aimee Bounds
The Parliament House
www.parliamenthousepress.com
For Ashley M, who told me to keep writing.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Lucy Needs Your Help
The Parliament House
Prologue
A pair of boots, complemented by the pitter-patter of bare feet, echoed through the empty, glimmering corridor. Hair rose on the fair skin of the brunette girl as a chill settled upon her. She wore fighting leathers and wielded a dagger. The chill on her skin was battered by a single, naked flame, flickering on the torch she held. It eradicated every shadow cast off the marble columns and towering archways surrounding them.
"Hurry! They're catching up!” she insisted. Her other hand pulled a blonde girl in a lacy white nightgown along with her.
The girl in the leathers tried the nearest door— white and wooden with intricate gold detailing. The door handle simply rattled in its socket.
"Who is? What's going on?” the other girl asked, her voice trembling. She shivered in her nightgown and brushed her hair from her eyes. Unlike the first girl, she hadn't been expecting this—any of this—and had been safely tucked away in her quarters until the other girl had barged in to whisk her away.
The brunette turned to the blonde and looked her firmly in the eye.
"There isn't time to explain,” she said darkly. Her severe words struck like ice, and all warmth seeped from the other girl's chest as dread roped around her lungs.
The girl in the leathers tried the next door, which creaked open. They both hurried inside.
Looking around, the girl in the leathers remembered the first time she'd set foot in this room. It had been a much happier time. Now, the library looked as dark and dreary as she felt—books sat in their cases, watching tragedy unfold before them.
Three levels high, with bookshelves just as tall, the library was the most impressive part of the palace. But at night, it was a dark, forbidding maze, hiding secret passageways everywhere.
Those passageways would be the key to their survival.
The girl in the leathers tugged hard on a particular book, sitting in a particular bookcase, and the adjacent shelves began to slide away, revealing a tunnel.
"Do you trust me?” she asked, turning to the other girl, who frowned.
"Of course I do—"
"Well don't. Don't trust anybody. Just run."
Frozen, the other girl struggled to make sense of the situation. Then, almost as though she remembered who she was, her authority started to thaw through the ice that had encased her, and a hard glare appeared on her face.
"I don't understand—"
"There is no time! You must go!"
She hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was run from the unknown, without a single reason why.
The girl in the leathers gritted her teeth. Knots formed in her stomach at the thought of what would happen if the other girl didn't hurry up, and she cried,
"Go now!"
At last, the other girl caved and ducked into the secret passageway. The girl in the leathers watched her run until voices echoed through the corridor outside, followed by heavy footsteps. Her stomach twisted, and she quickly yanked on the book once more. The bookshelf groaned as it slid back into place, trapping the blonde in the dark unknown with a loud, final echo.
One
The snip, snip, snip of scissors cut through fabric—an all-too-familiar sound to my ears.
I hated it.
If Valarie could sense the disapproval rolling off my tensed shoulders, she didn't show it. In fact, she didn't show much of anything these days—whether it be emotions or anything else to indicate that she was fine. Her dark, shadowy eyes and sickly, pale skin clearly showed that she wasn't.
I tapped my pen on the desk and tried to concentrate on my studies. Usually, the sound of her working didn't bother me. We'd done this every week, every year, since ninth grade, when her maman had taken her to a big fashion show in Paris. While there, she'd discovered her passion for sewing. Her first piece had been a pair of sequined shorts, and her next had been a pair of denim jeans. By the end of the year, she'd made an entire wardrobe of original designs. To say she was good at it was an understatement.
But today... it just got to me.
I let my gaze drift from my neatly handwritten study notes to the chaotic mess of fabric and threads on her floor. Her sketchbook sat off to the side, full of designs. She used to draw at least one a week. But I'd seen that stupid lilac dress—her latest sketch—for months now, and the next page was still empty.
"Val?” I said, and she looked up at me.
Her normally green eyes seemed devoid of colour, and her face— mainly under her eyes—was caked in makeup. Like she was trying to paint an exterior worthy for the public. She may have had everyone else fooled, but she hadn’t fooled me.
"How's your dress going?” I asked lightly, and eyed the scraps lying around her. The lilac dress in her sketchbook was a pretty little ruffled dress, with silver flowers embroidered on the side. But the scraps of fabric littering the floor were the complete opposite… shades of deep red and slate grey.
"I'm not working on that,” she mumbled quietly. I looked at her and grimaced. I really looked at her, almost through her—past the makeup and the edgy clothes she'd been wearing of late. Something had changed inside of her in the past few months.
The white walls of her bedroom were covered in smiling pictures of us, and my heart ached every time I looked at them. I missed the girl in those pictures—I hadn't seen that girl in months, and she certainly wasn't the girl sitting in front of me now.
Getting up from the desk, I crossed over to her plush bed and peered down at what she was working on.
"May I see what you are making?” I asked slowly, edging closer.
The old Valarie would have rambled endlessly about what designer inspired her, and where she was planning to wear her piece. But this new Valarie was silent, almost soulless. She shrugged and gestured to the shirt she'd stitched together almost absently, like it didn't matter to her. My heart splintered at the sight, and I decided I couldn't take this anymore. This silence… heavy air clouding the room…
"I'm here if you ever want to talk,” I blurted out. I was never good at saying things gently. I had a habit of just getting to the point. It turned out my words weren't appreciated, because Valarie's eyes flashed angrily—the first hint of any emotion I'd seen in months—and she turned, grabbed the shirt, and stuffed it into her bag with all the other fabric scraps.
"I'm fine,” she said coldly, but I heard the crack in her voice. I felt my chest constrict and did my best to mask my disappointment. A wave of awkwardness hit us both. She continued to pack up her things, cle
arly ignoring me, until her pace slowed a little.
"Is my fabric pencil on the desk?” she asked as she rummaged through her sewing kit. I frowned and went over to check, but only my own pens were cluttered upon it.
"Not that I can see,” I replied. She shook her head.
"It must be—I remember using it over there the other night. Can you check the drawers?"
I tugged on the silver knob, and it slid open to reveal a drawer full of clutter. I riffled through the contents, not seeing a fabric pencil… but something else caught my eye.
A Polaroid, of her and a boy posing at a party.
I frowned and gently picked it up. It didn't occur to me for a second that it might be private, perhaps hidden away for a reason—
"Don't touch that!” Valarie snapped, making me jump. I'd only gotten a glimpse of it before I shoved it back and shut the drawer door.
"Sorry,” I said quickly, palms sweating. Who was that person? She'd never told me there was a boy in her life. We were best friends—we told each other everything—and yet she hadn't told me about him. Had that been a recent picture?
Valarie's panic simmered until those sad eyes returned again. She wrapped her arms around her torso and lowered her gaze.
"I'm sorry,” she said finally. "I didn't mean to snap."
I shook my head and let out a slow, shallow breath as I approached her. "It's fine—I shouldn't have pried."
Her gaze lingered on the drawer, and a glimmer appeared in those dull eyes of hers. The first sign of life I'd seen since the incident.
She shook her head, pushing off the floor and trudging to the bed. With a long sigh, she collapsed on it and gave me a wistful glance.
"I know I've been absent with you. And you don't deserve that… but it's just been really hard for me lately."
"You don't have to talk,” I said, crossing to her side. "I was just saying that you could if it was something you wanted…"
She paused, mulling over her thoughts, until finally—
"Do you think I deserve to be happy?"
My eyes widened and I reached out to grasp her tiny hand. It seemed frailer than usual.
"Of course you do,” I replied firmly, giving her hand a squeeze. I pushed a sense of urgency into my words. "Everyone deserves that, Valarie."
She nodded a little, and I could only imagine what must have been going through her mind at that moment. I couldn't imagine what it was like to be in her shoes, having to deal with what had happened to her every single day. But I knew that deep inside of her, a good person existed, and that person deserved all the happiness in the world.
"Thanks,” she said, squeezing my hand back. "I really needed to hear that."
* * *
It hadn't been the counseling session I'd hoped for, but when I left that day, I couldn't help but smile. She'd finally opened up to me a little. It was a step in the right direction.
My smile didn't last long, though. As I headed down the narrow street, I mulled over what she'd asked me.
Do you think I deserve to be happy?
I shook my head, still in shock that those words had crossed her mind. I truly believed what I'd told her—I couldn't really define happiness, but it was such an important feeling. If she wasn't happy… if sewing wasn't making her happy anymore… I worried about the outcome of that. What would it take to bring back the girl I'd once known?
I tried to think of what made me happy. I had my own simple pleasures in life, like reading. But nothing made me happier than surpassing a challenge. I recalled the satisfaction I'd gained from winning a medal for participation in the science fair in sixth grade… though I doubted a medal would do anything to alleviate Valarie’s sadness.
The afternoon sunlight had been traded for twilight, leaving streaks of pink and gold in the sky. It looked gorgeous against the shadowy, distant purple mountains outside of our town.
I'd lived in Lorelei my entire life—one of two towns situated in the country of Ersarence. Ersarence was a tiny, often overlooked country nestled between Austria, Czechia, and Slovakia. Those who had heard of it—or were at least familiar with the multitudes of farmlands it seemed to consist of—knew it was also one of the most Westernized countries in Europe, as it was favoured by a small group of British settlers. The culture was heavily influenced by its neighbouring countries, and the architecture harkened back to the French revolution. So the streets tended to be narrow and filled with Renaissance and Baroque architecture.
However, unlike the crowded streets of France, we still had a lot of greenery in our little town. The outskirts of the town were abundant with hills and sloped landscapes, where the richer residents of Lorelei lived in their opulent homes, enjoying their stunning views. My own house was up in that area, and Valarie's house was a good forty-minute walk from mine, but I knew a shortcut. It was past the school, and past Chrissy DeLane's manor, which was a tall gothic building and one of the oldest historical buildings in town.
Generations of the DeLane family had lived there, until a few years ago, when the manor caught fire and Chrissy’s parents tragically passed away, leaving Chrissy and her brother Kale as the sole inheritors. There were plenty of similar buildings on the street, with backyards opening onto a clearing of white wildflowers. There had been talk for years and years of building a park in the area, but they never did.
I slipped between the yards of two houses, heading for that clearing.
I had a hidden route that I took every day to school—a running track through the forest which sheltered the upper-class neighbourhoods, known only to those who lived there. I loved walking through it, and I'd done so a thousand times. I'd never run into any trouble—in fact, most of the time no one was on the path.
As a result, I had my guard down, which was my first mistake.
The soft hills of the massive clearing sloped upwards into the birch and hazel trees. As I walked, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My younger sister, Kyra, was pestering me about dinner and telling me to come home. I was busy texting her back when a strange sensation came over me. I slowly looked up, feeling my spine tingle.
Looking around, I frowned. There were just yards and yards of trees… but I could have sworn someone was watching me.
For the first time ever while taking this route, I felt an unrest develop in my chest, and my heart began to beat faster. Pulling my lips into a firm line, I told myself to get a grip and quickened my pace.
Then I heard the heavy crunch of footsteps on my left. My head whipped in that direction, but still, I saw nothing.
I turned myself fully to face the woods, muscles tense, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was.
Relax, I thought to myself. It's probably just a hare.
But despite my logical thinking, a shiver ran down my spine, chilling me to the core. With one last sweeping gaze, I tore my eyes away and continued walking. I went to type out the last of my text, but noticed my screen had a strange glare on it. At first, I thought it was the auto-brightness adjusting on my phone. But then I realised it was a reflection… from above me.
My heart dropped, and I looked up at the sky.
Then I saw it— a bright light, plummeting towards me, too fast for me to react. It collided with my forehead, and everything went black.
Two
"Hey! Hey, wake up!"
Someone was shaking me. When I first opened my eyes, everything blurred together. I blinked to adjust them to the night sky. I could hear crickets chirping somewhere. Hovering over me was the face of a boy with emerald eyes and brown hair. I stared at him, my mind scrambled, pain throbbing in my temple. Between that and my momentary amnesia, I couldn't really concentrate on much else.
"Are you okay?” he asked in a smooth voice, his brow furrowed in concern. "Do you need me to call someone?"
I slowly sat up, which prompted the pounding in my head to intensify. I hissed and raised a hand to my forehead.
"What… happened?” I groaned, trying to recall the moments before
I'd blacked out.
He rocked back on his feet to give me some space. Still crouching, he folded his arms as he said, "You tell me."
I shook my head, thinking hard. It came back to me in pieces. I remembered the dread I had felt… the light…
"I was hit… I think,” I told him as my memories slowly came together, but I wasn't sure. My head swam, and the throbbing pain in my head was distracting me.
"By who?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
I shook my head again. It sounded stupid, but I was certain of what I saw.
"It wasn't a who… it was a light."
The boy frowned, his mouth twisting. "A light?"
I realised he was sceptical of me, but I didn't particularly care what he thought—I was more concerned about what had knocked me down. My gaze scanned the now dark clearing, but I didn't see any lights, nor any objects that could give off light. There was nothing except the dark outlines of tall grass and wildflowers bristling in the breeze. Nothing to support my case.
The boy rose to his feet.
"Here,” he said, offering me a hand. His firm grasp was warm and strong, and he pulled me up. I nodded thankfully, but he continued to frown at me, refolding his arms.
"Are you sure you're okay? You don't seem… entirely with it."
I offered him a tight smile that didn't do much to change his stance.
"I'm fine. I promise,” I told him. Judging by his wary gaze, he probably already thought I was crazy. I realised that there wasn't any reason to involve a complete stranger in my strange dilemma. I took a good look at him, noting his black leather jacket in particular, and then realized he seemed familiar. I had to think hard for a moment, but my mind was starting to clear now.
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