Antebellum Awakening (18 page)

“Sure,” Michelle said. “I’ll go.”

“I need to work on my homework, and write a paper,” Leda said, giving Camille a perplexed look, as if she still couldn’t figure this situation out, and motioning to the five open books and three scrolls on the table around her. “It’s due tomorrow. I’ll be working on it all night.” Leda turned her back on us as if we didn’t exist anymore.

“Can I meet you there?” I asked, remembering the purpose behind my visit to the library. “I need to look something up.”

“Sure.” Camille shrugged. “We’ll see you there, Bianca,”

I started for the back corner, motivated by the promise of the sweet drink. A collection of maps covering the walls of a quiet little nook soon caught my eye. Most of them had decayed, written with ink on old pieces of leather, showing the boundaries of Antebellum before the Networks formed. I reached out to run my finger along the side of one particular map and heard a deliberate
harrumph
. One of the pesky librarians stood behind me, her arms folded across her chest.

“Sorry,” I whispered, eyeing the
Absolutely No Touching
sign above the map and smiling sheepishly.

Several long skinny drawers lay below the wall maps. I grabbed the tarnished brass knob on the one marked
Western Network
and tugged on it. The librarian, seeing that I gave no further signs of subterfuge or destruction, moved on.

Alone now, I pulled all the maps from the drawer and spread them on the only table in this lonely part of the library. Their burned edges left a smudge of black on my hands, and the rest had aged into a golden yellow. They all showed the vast desert sands of the West. Only four cities really thrived there, aside from the capital Custos. It sat in the middle, a heart for the emptiest Network in Antebellum. There was no map of Custos as a city. Due to the violent changes in weather, Custos evolved constantly, making it almost impossible to peg down. The only stable thing there was the Arck, and even it was built into the red rock mountain.

“There you are,” I whispered as I came across an old, hastily drawn map of the Arck. The lines of the map were so faint I could barely make them out, but I saw what I thought would be Miss Mabel’s chambers. I shuffled to the next scroll and found a few rooms on the floor above Miss Mabel’s. There was no label indicating what they were, but their small size made me think they were the maids’ quarters.

Whenever I decided to go, I would try to transport somewhere near Miss Mabel’s room, but not in it. That much precision would be tricky, as I’d never been to any other part of the Arck before, not to mention the question of my unrefined transportation skills. The risk that I could land at any random point in the Arck and be discovered by a West Guard made me shudder.

Don’t even think about failing,
I told myself with a bolstering exhale.
Just do what you have to do.

I pushed the drawer closed, wincing when it shut with a loud
crack
. Leaving before the librarian could scold me, I walked out into the main aisle and passed Leda’s table. An empty chair remained, her scrolls neatly stacked and her books organized into several clean, even piles the same height. I stared at the vacant seat, puzzled. Didn’t she have a paper to write?

With a shake of my head, I brushed it off. I’d have a private chat with her later. I left the library with the slow simmer of my powers burning inside, always ready, always waiting.

•••

“Come on!” Merrick called over the sound of my gasping breath. “You’re faster than this!”

My legs flew down the dark trail, whizzing past gargantuan tree trunks and blankets of lush moss, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Merrick stayed close on my heels, barely out of breath. He knew he was already pushing me beyond my physical limits. What he didn’t know about was the bubbling volcano of magic raging in my chest, threatening to explode.

Don’t think about Mama. Don’t think about Mama,
I chanted in my head. The memories pressed on me as they always did, but I wouldn’t give them the space they desired.

“Keep it up,” he called. “We’re going farther than yesterday. We have to hit the hill and make it to the top.”

Farther than yesterday,
I thought, switching mantras.
Farther than yesterday.
Yesterday we ran this same route, but a vision of Mama twirling me in the air on my fifth birthday stopped me at the bottom of a hill. No matter how hard I had tried, I couldn’t get past her. She stayed in the air ahead of me, giggling with an apparition of me as a young child. So I’d given up again. I’d turned around and left without an explanation, frustrated, out of breath, and lightheaded. Merrick said nothing about it or my fit from several days before. I sensed he was trying to give me space to work it out, but I wasn’t sure I was even trying.

Farther than yesterday.

Yes. I can do it. I can be stronger than the magic. If I ignore the pain long enough, it’ll go away.

The hill Merrick spoke of appeared in a break of the trees, looming like an ugly monster. I expected to see the glimpses of white, to hear the giggle on the breeze, but nothing met me but silent, quiet air. It was as if the trees themselves waited. High above, in the top of the canopy, a few black streaks painted the tree trunks in thick stripes. The leaves had withered, leaving broken bald spots.

Dragons,
I thought, then leapt a large boulder, tucking my feet beneath me. The nimble movements had become second nature again, although they brought me little joy. I spent too much time fighting the memories to appreciate the inertia of moving across the ground.

The tug on my muscles told me that we’d started up the hill, and I put all my concentration into moving higher. I thought of the ax, how I’d used the magic to give me strength. I tried to turn the powers into my legs, channeling it to make me run faster. Instead of obeying my command, the magic flared, sending a barrage of memories through my mind.
Dancing in the kitchen. A flour fight. Mama humming in the rocking chair.

“No!” I yelled, startled by the intensity of the pain that ripped through me. I grabbed my head, hoping to erase the image of Mama in my mind. “No!”

The magic grew so hot, so fast that I lost almost all control. The edges of my vision went blurry. My heart drummed on the back of my ribs.

“Bianca!” Merrick yelled. “Stop!”

Startled, I skidded across the ground to find a massive claw blocking the trail ahead. The movement of a heavy tail swept my legs from underneath me. I fell to my backside and scrambled back.

“Whoa!”

A forest dragon stared at me with a lowered head and narrowed, darting eyes. Hot, steamy breaths blasted through the already sultry air. I barely registered Merrick stepping in front of me, his eyes averted to the trail.

“Don’t look at it!” he commanded. “Transport back to Chatham Castle right now.”

But I was looking at the dragon, and it worked no spell over me. The creature shook his black, angular head, the wide chasms of his nostrils widening and closing. He had a familiar tint of blue running through his body.

“Merrick, this is the same one from before,” I murmured.

The dragon looked from Merrick to me, the heat emanating off his body in long waves. His eyes had constricted, making his long face look suspicious and uneasy. He shifted, stamping his feet.

“Just go. You can’t know that,” Merrick said, his eyes flickering up toward the dragon and then away again. He was right. I couldn’t know that.

“Are they all violent?” I asked. “Because, if it is the same dragon, he hasn’t hurt me yet.”

Despite the danger I was flirting with by looking a forest dragon in the eye, I still admired the sleek, beautiful creature that lived in the deep shadows. As if he understood what I said, the dragon snarled and snapped his jaw, glaring at me in undisguised malice.

“Guess they are,” I whispered, pushing back a little farther.

The dragon tramped about the brush, his footfalls shaking the ground. Merrick fell to his knees; I had to grab onto a tree branch to stay upright. The forest dragon tilted his long head back and shot a blast of fire into the air, setting flame to the verdant canopy above.

“Go!” Merrick yelled. “Transport back to the Forgotten Gardens.”

Frightened into action, I obeyed, landing flat on my back with a heavy thud. Merrick appeared a few seconds after me, landing in an easy crouch. My hands trembled at my sides and my stomach felt queasy. I sat on the crumbling edge of the fountain wall and drew in a deep breath. This encounter with the forest dragon hadn’t been as sedate as the first. Perhaps they were creatures I should invest a healthy amount of fear toward.

Merrick pushed his sandy blonde hair out of his troubled eyes. He stared at the ground, setting his hands on his thighs. His jaw was tight again, angled with tension and worry.

“What is it?” I asked, wiping off the moisture on my forehead with the back of my hand. Merrick looked back to the forest, then to me. He shook his head.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why are they here? They must be coming out for a reason. Forest dragons don’t just start interacting with witches, especially after centuries. They hate witches.”

The edge in his tone sent a little shiver down my spine.

“I didn’t even know they were real until a few weeks ago,” I said quietly.

His face dropped into a frown.

“I’ll talk to Sanna about it out later,” he said, returning to his usual intense focus. “Come on, let’s pair some footwork drills combined with attacks and blocks. Grab the two rock buckets and follow me.”

The Monster

T
he next day came and went without incident. Merrick and I didn’t speak about the dragon, and I was glad. Too much lay heavy on my mind already.

After a grueling morning workout carrying heavy stones to the top of the second-tallest turret, reviewing the same footwork a mind-numbing number of times, and using my wooden sword to spar with Merrick, I joined Camille and Michelle on their weekly trip into Chatham City.

Camille had dressed up in a pale pink dress with ivory lace and a small string of fake pearls, her hair pulled into a sweet, fluffy ponytail that rested on her left shoulder in long ringlets. I probably looked bland in my long-sleeved green dress. I’d been hoping to hide the ugly bruises from my lack of sword skills. My hair fluttered around my shoulders as usual.

“I just love going shopping in Chatham City,” Camille said with a happy smile as we walked along the straight-as-an-arrow road that led from the castle to the gates of the town. “I’m almost out of caramels, so we’ll stop at Miss Holly’s Candy Shop first. Then we’ll go get a few ribbons for my ball gown at the dressmakers.”

Camille’s prattle faded away and I let it, peering into the darkness of Letum Wood on either side of us. Was the dragon watching from deep within the forest? A few witches on horseback passed us with a nod. Two young boys, obviously Guardian hopefuls by the way they loitered around the gate, stared with open mouths as Camille sashayed by with near-poetic grace. If she noticed them, she gave no sign.

Chatham City was an old, soot-stained world with steep gables and cobblestone streets. Torches stood at intervals along the roads, which teemed with people and stray dogs. Despite the questionable puddles, stench of burned coffee, and occasional piles of refuse, Chatham City had an endearing personality. Whether it was the constant hum of life, the tall brick houses with flower pots and white shutters, or the scrollboys on every corner trying to sell the latest
Chatham Chatterer
, I couldn’t tell.

“Did Leda pass her Political History test?” Michelle asked as we passed under the soaring arch and into Chatham City. A few Guardians waved to us. When one winked at Camille, she shot him a haughty look, but a pleased little smile danced on her lips once he was far behind us.

“I think so,” I said. “She started her next class already.”

Leda had politely informed me that morning that she’d prefer putting a fork in her eye to visiting Chatham City, so we left her behind, dutifully working away in the library.

We picked our way carefully through the streets, avoiding the horses that clopped by within inches of us. The air smelled of pastries and burning wood. A walking merchant tried to shove a pile of scarves into my face, pleading with me to buy, but I ducked away. Camille ignored the low whistle of a few homeless grubs.

“Oh,” she said, coming to a stop near a blacksmith shop. “What’s going on here?”

A sea of people loomed in front of us, crowding around one man standing on a platform at the street corner. The queue took up the entire road, blocking the horses and carriages that wanted by. A couple of frustrated drivers hollered, but no one paid them any heed.

“Our Protectors will soon be dying under his command if we don’t do something about it!” shouted the man on the platform, his face reddening from the effort. I recognized him in an instant.

“Clive,” I muttered with a grim purse of my lips. The angry little dragon in my heart roared to life, instantly on guard. A thick Chatham City accent started to burn through Clive’s words, although I didn’t recall hearing it when he spoke to Jansson in the library. “It’s one of his rallies to get signatures against Papa.”