CHAPTER ONE
Aia’s
heart slammed against her ribs, her chest heaving. She sprinted down the narrow
cobblestone streets, tugging at her silk dress when it tangled with her legs.
She replayed the final five minutes
of her former life. The log hitting Damon. The blood. His smile. What had she
done? She'd ruined everything.
The evening air nipped at her cheeks,
and the coins her mother had slipped into her coin purse clinked loudly in the
still city. The blood-red sunset dared her to continue. Shouting echoed in the
distance. Someone had alerted the Breakers. They’d come for her. They’d be
merciless.
She took the stone steps two at a
time, her dress nearly tripping her again. Her steps pattered in the silence as
she crossed the bridge connecting the base of Mt. Shadow to the rest of the
kingdom. Farther and farther her legs carried her—from her home, the Church,
the palace. But it didn’t matter how far she ran. They’d pursue her.
She threw a glance over her shoulder.
The palace built into the mountain loomed above her, just as menacing, despite
the distance. She couldn’t outrun it. Couldn’t outrun them.
The end of the bridge signaled her
entry into Midtown, even worse than Hightown for someone evading capture.
Houses towered over her, and dozens of windows like little black eyes dotted
the sides. She pressed on.
She had to get off the street, away
from the city. But where to run? Where would they not search for her?
The Ashen Wood. No one went into the
Ashen Wood.
Her wretched dress bunched between
her legs and she stumbled to the cobblestones. After a hasty peek at the road
behind her, she scrambled to her feet and continued.
Hooves hammered against the
cobblestones in the distance. They were coming. She dashed between houses like
an alley cat, the Red Plains at the edge of the city in sight. Almost
there.
She increased her speed, thrashing
through the thick weeds, despising her dress and its clinging folds. The
endless field stretched before her, but she didn’t let up. She yearned for her
beloved longbow and the security it offered. But she'd had no time to grab it
before her parents shoved her from her home.
On and on she ran, her legs jelly.
The stars had emerged in the indigo ceiling by the time she reached the edge of
the legendary forest.
She struggled to slow her breathing,
swallowing with difficulty, as she peered between flaky, ash-covered trees,
searching for a path, a place to conceal herself. It was hopeless. She could
only see a few trees in. She looked over her shoulder at the city. Her home.
Her life of security. Candles appeared in windows, lit one by one, and the
orange glow of torch-bearing Breakers illuminated the sides of buildings. Word
was spreading.
Hands shaking, heart thumping, she
took a step into the forest. As if an invisible wall closed behind her, the
outside world disappeared. No crickets singing. No city noises and shouts of
pursuit. No whispering wind. Nothing but the forest.
Her lifelong secret had been
revealed. Maia Wynnald was a Bender.
CHAPTER
TWO
Cole Balain sat crammed among his
peers on a skinny wooden bench. Sweat trickled down his neck while the Church
filled with more observers.
Alabaster stone sculptures marked
each corner of the vast hall, harmonizing with the white stone walls. A
vaulted, ribbed ceiling stretched deceitfully into the heavens, stained-glass
windows spanning both sides. In the daylight, colors spilled through to offer
undeserved comfort to people who thronged with bright faces to enjoy watching
the will of Mighty be carried out.
Cole alone was sick about it. Sick in
body. Sick to his soul.
But tonight the bloated room glowed
with a different, misplaced comfort. One central flame illuminated the
otherwise dim hall. A massive porcelain crucible held stark white, crackling
flames, which stretched higher and burned brighter than normal fire. A fire
that had one purpose. To Cleanse a Bender.
In front of the flames stood the
woman he’d handed over not an hour ago; her hands bound behind her. She was
trembling, and tears streamed down her pink cheeks. Her tattered brown dress
indicated her rank as lowborn, and she was perhaps in her thirtieth year. Cole
had witnessed it all dozens of times, and his stomach churned the same way
every time.
Two Purifiers, a couple, clad in
their sanctimonious ivory robes, stood before the woman. The man had the Book
of Salvation in his open hands. He’d finished reading the famous passage, granting
her soul safe transition to heaven. It was supposedly an honorable duty, passed
down through family lines. But they weren’t the only ones responsible. This
Bender would die because of him.
An adult Bender. Rare. She offered a
glimmer of hope for their kind. It meant she'd managed to survive, have a life,
possibly children. Benders were still far from extinct. Finding an adult meant
more were out there. Most families turned their children in for Cleansing at
the first sign of the gift, following the law. A few hid them. Then some
managed to reach adulthood without being discovered. This poor soul had
remained hidden, hadn’t hurt anyone, had blended in with her neighbors.
But when a suspicious neighbor
jealous of another woman’s apple pie recipe claims she knows a Bender, the
Breakers must investigate. As they did for every absurd reason. Still, no test
existed to identify a Bender. Actual Bending or running from Breakers typically
sealed their fate, and this woman had run. Cole had no choice but to pursue.
She hadn’t struggled, hadn’t pleaded for her life or tried to Bend her way to
freedom. She’d accepted her fate.
Cole hunched over his linked fingers,
elbows resting on his knees, his gaze burning into the woman’s, refusing to
permit himself to look away. He forced himself to observe every moment of the
consequences of his actions.
She didn’t need to die. She could
have chosen a Draining, which would have relieved her of her gift but also
would have left her a fraction of who she had been. He wasn’t sure which was
more horrifying to watch.
Beside the oversized basin of fire
towered a wooden contraption of pulleys and rope. Surely there were easier ways
to go about this, without the use of such ridiculous gear. But, like the white
walls and tall ceilings, it was more symbolic than actually useful. This was a
show for the Church, a grand performance, and every prop enhanced the
theatrics.
The Bender finished repeating the
scripture through trembling lips. The male Purifier secured a strip of fabric across
her eyes, which made the victim whimper more, the sound shredding Cole’s
insides. How kind of them to blindfold her before they tortured her. Who was
the blindfold for? The Bender, to prevent her from seeing the fire and
panicking? Or the audience and the Purifiers, so they might sleep soundly that
night, having avoided seeing the woman’s terrified eyes?
The Church expected Benders to choose
what they deemed the reprieve of Cleansing. To relieve them of their burden. In
the ten years he’d been a Breaker, only twice had a Bender been eager to be
Cleansed. Despicable. Yet he understood their choice since the alternative was
living a life of anxiety.
The torment of sitting through this
ritual never eased. Not that there were many since the war two thousand years
ago. Benders had to be out there somewhere, more than the few they’d captured.
The Emperor prided himself on hounding them to extinction, as each Emperor
before him had, but it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t a trait that could be weeded
out, and even the people knew that. Still, the deep-seated fear plaguing the
kingdom had roots so deep daily accusations flew like pigeons. The terrified
expressions of every Bender he'd watched die would haunt him forever.
He massaged the crystals in the pouch
on his hip. Their rough, uneven shapes and edges had been made smooth over time
from his constant rubbing to calm himself. He blinked, the fire stinging his
steadfast eyes.
Something kicked the back of his
bench. Lenz smirked his approval through his sandy beard; his blond, dingy hair
hung in his malicious eyes and down his neck, curling behind his ears. Not
everyone felt the same about the proceedings as Cole did.
“What
a glorious capture, Lieutenant.” Quinn, sitting beside Lenz, offered his usual
artificial smile, his shaved head giving him the appearance of a plucked
chicken. A brawny, angry plucked chicken.
Cole offered a simple nod and turned
back to face the consequences of his actions. Yes, good job. Another one he
couldn’t save. Their praise jabbed him like insults.
The contraption’s mechanisms moved,
the cogs turned, the pulleys squeaked. It lifted the woman up and over the bowl
of ghastly flames. Its squeaking echoed in the hollow cathedral as it lowered
the woman into the fire. Her screams echoed around the gargantuan room.
“Cries
of fear, not pain,” the male Purifier bellowed. “Children, don’t look away.”
Parents encouraged their children to
watch, and some children wiggled eagerly in their seats.
The flames licked at her peasant
dress. Her screams turned back into whimpers and sobs, confirming the
Purifier’s explanation. Her pleas filled Cole's ears, blocking out any other
sounds as if he were underwater.
Cole continued to rub the stones, his
eyes never leaving the woman, despite his profound desire to escape her
anguish. This stood as his penance. His heart sank as the blindfold slipped
down the woman’s face. Her eyes darted about in terror, desperation. She stared
into the flames lapping at her feet. The fire accepted her, its fingers pulling
her inside as the contraption lowered her to be fully consumed.
The Kaz fire transformed from
traditional flames to smoke-like tendrils, churning around her like a snake,
her terrified face becoming obscured by a white veil until it enveloped her in
the cyclone.
Cole broke his stare briefly to
observe his peers. Some leaned forward in their seats, eager to witness the
evil leach out of her. Others sat back with pursed lips; satisfied. A couple of
new recruits appeared to be struggling between enthusiasm and nausea. He turned
his focus again to the terror before him, rolling the two stones in his pouch.
A whistling sound reverberated
through the obnoxious room while the smoke thrust into her nostrils and mouth
until it disappeared. Gasps echoed from first-time audience members. The smoke
remained inside the woman until her eyes rolled back and her head dropped and
hung limp. A sigh-like whisper swept the room. The once-white smoke oozed black
as coal from her lips, nose, and ears. It flowed and bubbled out of her,
evaporating before it hit the floor. It was over.
“Another
soul has been Cleansed and accepted by our glorious Mighty.” The female
Purifier wiped a tear and hugged her spouse.
A few people cheered. Cole clenched
his rocks, digging them into his palms to suppress the urge to turn around and
deck Lenz, who whooped and hollered while encouraging a few newbies to do the
same. Quinn would always remain silent but with a contented smile. Cole wasn’t
sure which annoyed him more.
He remained seated while the torches
along the walls were re-lit. They restored the usual orange glow but didn’t
eliminate any of the horror embedded in the walls, columns, and vaulted
ceilings from years of publicly-celebrated torment. Just as abhorrent.
The audience stood, making their way
from the Church and back home or back to whatever duties had been set aside.
Breakers wearing the same black leather tunics and gold belt Cole wore headed
for the palace and the Breakers’ Corridors.
Cole made his way from the pews, the
clenching of his gut refusing to let up. Commander Endrin stopped him with a
hand on his shoulder, as he did after every Cleansing or Draining.
“Another
quick apprehension, Cole.” His golden mustache hid his mouth, but his warm eyes
revealed pride. “Your kingdom thanks you.”
Cole offered a brisk nod to his
hulking superior and continued toward the door while the Emperor approached the
commander. Emperor Stephan, King of Tharien and Emperor of Dyel. As feared as
he was respected. At times, Cole couldn’t be sure who ran Dyel, the Church or
the Emperor. Before Cole was too far away to hear, the Emperor’s words reached
him.
“Let
it circulate that this woman was poisoning food on open carts.”
A fire spread through Cole’s veins,
and he tightened his grip on his stones. This was nothing new. If a Bender
hadn’t caused a stir themselves, Emperor Stephan was sure to order it done. The
Emperor could always be counted on to assure tax monies continued to pour into
his coffers, whatever it took.
“Yes,
sir.” Commander Endrin bowed.
“And
see to it a few citizens become ill. I can’t have anyone doubting. Those vile
Symps are everywhere, intent on my undoing.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Cole once again headed for the exit,
eager to escape this temple of death. Before he’d slipped through the doors, a
young man, around his fifteenth year, burst through.
“Bender!”
The highborn boy panted and caught his breath. “There’s a Bender loose, and
she’s attacked someone!”
Cole felt gutted. Another one had
been identified. So soon. Would she be worth saving?
