Chapter Two

Rowan Kline Zorida

TWO DAYS BEFORE

The rain only worsens. It pelts against my back in an erratic pattern as I walk back through the dense forest. I find comfort in the way rain drowns out all other sounds.

When the rain comes, the people tend to go away. The sound of everyday life fades, and I’m left to my thoughts. It is a dangerous place to be, yet I constantly find myself getting tangled in the twists and turns.

My boots are thick with mud by the time I reach the spring.

I am either here or with Oakley. I live with my grandparents, but it feels wrong for me to be there.

It is their home, not mine. They should not be forced to raise another child. I know that my presence is somewhat burdensome, despite their constant reassurance to the contrary.

They are loving people, but I can’t find it in me to force myself into their lives more than I have to. Instead, I slink off to the forest and find the same spring I’ve escaped to for years.

There is a small grove of willow trees in the middle of the forest, and a pool of water waits underneath them. The willows act as a wall, keeping the rest of the world out. The pond is roughly 20 feet wide, with boulders surrounding it.

The waters are cold and biting, a perfect relief from the heat that worsens every headache that pounds into my skull.

I strip off my armlets, boots, and shirt, not bothering with my pants, then step into the pond. The cold water makes me flinch. I adjust quickly, ambling to the deeper center of the water. Even in the deepest section, my feet barely leave the stone floor.

I let my face go under the surface, and immediately feel the relaxation of muscles I wasn’t aware were tense.

Water feels like a portal to a land only I can walk through. A place that only houses me and my thoughts. No excess noise, no overwhelming feelings, just the water.

I break the surface, reminding myself to breathe. I take deep breaths, lie on my back, and let myself float.

I close my eyes, letting pictures flash through my mind as they always do.

Memories dance, pictures of racing through the trees, taking new routes through the forest, Oakley almost winning.

Oakley is the kind of girl who lets the first thing that comes to mind tumble out of her lips, the second it does. She lets her face display her emotions proudly. I don’t understand how she is always smiling, but she is.

She’s like the sun, shining bright all day in the sky, giving warmth to all that can find her. Even when she isn't around, you can see her light reflecting off people like the moon. People like me.

The moon is nothing like the sun; without it, the moon doesn’t shine. It is nothing more than a rock in the sky, visible to none.

Oakley is as confusing to me as she is beautiful. She is a good distraction, my favorite puzzle to piece together. We are opposites; When all I want to do is leave, she begs me for just a few more minutes to ensure she gets to every person, looks at every booth, and climbs every tree.

Her face is the model of joy. A wide smile with full lips and almond eyes that are a pale green, mirroring her bright spirit, with freckles lightly scattered around her sun-kissed cheeks, all framed by her long, dark hair.

Every inch of her screams friendly, where there is light, there is life, and Oakley is just that.

Light.

I flip over once again, fully submerging my body under the frigid waters. I run my hands over the rocks on the spring floor. The water drowns out the endless chaos that daily life brings.

I let myself close my eyes, lying in the water, silence my only company. I let myself drift, time becoming irrelevant. Sanity finds me once again, and I let myself feel it.

A long, drawn-out series of bells brings me back to the present. My heart stops. My eyes snap open, and I spring from the water. I am surprised to see the moon in the sky, hanging there coldly. I lost track of time.

I mumble a series of curses under my breath, hurriedly grabbing my armlets and my shirt, slipping on my boots once more. I don't waste a second, my shirt in one hand, and a clump of metal in the other. And then, I run.

I have five minutes. Cardlem is a kingdom that claims to believe in freedom, or so they say. We have laws and basic rules, just like any other. However, Candorless has one law that the rest of the kingdom does not.

We call it curfew. When the sun dips below the horizon, you only have a few minutes to admire the stars before they sound the bell. You have five minutes to get inside your house and lock your doors when you hear it. Then, the night patrol comes. The night patrol's task is to ensure no citizens are out after dark. They reason that most crimes take place at night.

Being enveloped in darkness lowers the chances of being caught and held accountable. It gives most criminals confidence, and it’s the night guard's job to steal that from them. Even if that’s true, I’m convinced there’s more to why the law was established.

It’s effective, and crime rates have dropped, but it's a sinister solution. The punishment for breaking this law is death. People disappear without explanation. But it wasn’t considered murder if it was by the hands of the patrol.

I’m not going to be the next disappearance. I pick up my feet faster. My clothes feel wrong, and my pants are heavy with the water that they hold. The fabric rubs against my skin, causing chafing on my legs. It steals my attention, slowing me enough to irritate me.

I pull my wet shirt over my head to cover my scars as I reach the forest line. I pull my armlets back to distract myself from my discomfort and growing panic.

One last drawn-out ring of the bell, and I skid to a stop.

It’s too late. I am officially breaking curfew.

I close my eyes and hear the nightwatch run throughout the village streets just a few yards away. I slow my breathing. My heart beats faster.

My mind goes a million miles a minute, but my body remains frozen.

The night guard comprises a couple dozen creatures, much faster than any man, and more powerful. They are most commonly known as sembiars. They have long limbs, are around the size of a horse when on all fours, and double that when on their back limbs.

They are covered in barely visible scaly skin marred by burns and brandings. Sembiars have incredible hearing, a good sense of smell, but they only have thermal vision; hunting skills have been enhanced through years of genetic modification.

They are designed to be lethal, and want us to know it. We are taught about their destructive potential as kids, and carry that knowledge with us as we grow. We are told to follow the law and avoid the creatures at all costs.

Panic floods my system, and my vision flashes in bright, painful colors, despite the darkness that coats everything around me. The distressing scenarios pound into my head, and I desperately try to block them out.

Would the sembiars find me? Entertain themselves by slowly picking me apart, peeling my skin off like parchment paper? Would they make me watch as they…

Stop it.

I force my head to stop spinning, and I reach my hand out, touching it against the rough bark of a tree, attempting to ground myself.

You have to live, remember? You promised Kiki you would buy her cinnabuns.

I reach up, grabbing a branch as quietly as I can. I hardly let myself breathe.

I pull myself higher, grabbing branch after branch. My palms are calloused, yet still feel raw as I climb. The branches are getting thinner. One breaks under my weight, tumbling down before clattering to the ground. I freeze, before turning and pressing my back into the tree trunk. My breathing is heavy, but steady.

I’m just over fifty feet off the floor. Winded and cold, I gulp down air as shivers rack my body. Winds thrash angrily, still raging from the earlier storm.

A different kind of shiver runs down my spine as I watch a negligible figure creep down the pathway of a street near Oakley's house—another person who broke curfew. My heart refuses to work. A flash of darkness crawls over to the figure. Fast.

Run. By the gods, run into a random person's house.

A pained realization stabs through my ribs. Most would have their doors locked. My head spins as the sembiar races towards what I assume is a man, based on what I can see from my viewpoint. A piercing screech slices through the air, painful, borderline agonizing. My eyes refuse to close as I watch the boy run faster, desperate in what I know will be his last moments. I clench my jaw and wait, fighting the impulse to let my lip quiver.

Bright hues of purple and green slice through my vision. I see in spots, my ears torturing me with a prolonged, high-pitched ringing.

I watch solemnly as the sembiar goes on its hind legs. It reaches its long arms out, silencing the boy's last scream with a painful twist of his neck. It pauses for a moment, holding up the corpse.

The sembiar drags the limp body of the boy through the street by his neck.

A twisted dog, bringing its latest kill to its cave.

I don’t cry. I hold this burden deep in my chest and try to force it out of my mind.

Instead, it replays, again and again, regardless of my attempts to stop it. Yet I stare blank-faced, watching the creature bring its kill back to whatever hell it crawled from.

Another shriek sounds, and I flinch, looking down at the sembiar now at the base of the tree I'm using as refuge.

I cling to the trunk, watching as it claws at the base.

There is nothing I can do but sit and hope it can't reach me. I watch it struggle, letting out starved cries of frustration.

I try to stop my own shaking, but I can’t. If I die, it will be at my own hand; I won't let some demon do it for me.

In a moment, another is doing the same as the first. I close my eyes and tilt my head towards the stars. I find comfort in them, but not enough to stop my spiral.

I stay that way, looking at the stars, refusing to look below me. Breathing becomes a fragmented memory that I can only recall in pieces. I question if this will be how I die, my only hope being that the sembiars struggle getting more than a few inches off the floor. Minutes stretch into hours, and each one feels like days.

After a night pinned up in the tree, ignoring the twists in my stomach, the sunlight seeps through the branches surrounding me.

Nothing is audible, yet the sembiars look like something is squirming around in their heads. They take off in the same direction, leaving me and the sun alone.

I allow a full breath to fill my lungs for the first time since nightfall.

I don't move for at least half an hour after the monsters leave, anxiety getting the best of me. I don’t allow myself to feel relief for more than a second before making my way down the tree.

When my feet find the floor again, I shake, and my legs only work halfway right. I walk through the forest alone, before quietly slipping back into my grandparents' house. I doubt they noticed my absence, sleeping at early hours; they wouldn't have known I never came home.

I escaped the night guard.

And that information will stay disclosed with me. As far as everyone else knew, it never happened. I intend to keep it that way.