Antebellum Awakening (23 page)

I fell down into the blackness that transportation brings, where the pressure made me feel alive and the rush of air was so painful I screamed. The darkness won, claiming me as her own.

Color of Goodbye

M
iss Mabel sent me to Letum Wood.

After disentangling myself and clumps of my hair from a pile of brambles, I stumbled through the trees to find the lights of Chatham Castle glowing in the distance.

“Just get inside,” I whispered to myself. “I’ll think about it all later.”

I had to focus. I needed to get inside without a Guardian detecting me. I skirted the back hedge and dodged a pair of Guardians walking their rounds by ducking behind a sculpture of some forgotten High Priest. They had passed by me, unaware of my presence, when a low bugle broke the quiet night. My eyes jerked up to the castle, suddenly aware of how many Guardians stood at the top of the Wall.

The bugle was an ancient calling system used in times of war or distress. It could be heard across the entire Network, calling every Coven Leader to Chatham Castle. I headed for the Wall at a jog. A familiar head of curly blonde hair waited at the top.

“Camille!” I called, running up the stairs. “What’s going on?”

Camille threw herself into my arms with a cry.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pulling away to study me. “You look so pale. Is that blood in your hair?”

“No, I’m fine," I said, gesturing to the lower bailey below. “What’s going on?”

Brecken stood behind her in his half-armor, holding onto the hilt of his sword with a white-knuckle grip. His eyes darted around the Wall and the high bailey, barking orders to the occasional Guardian.

“They just sounded the bugle,” Camille said. “We’re waiting for the High Priestess to come out now.”

“Leda?” I asked. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know!” Camille wailed, wringing her hands. “I was out here and—”

“Camille! Bianca!” Leda called from halfway up the stairs with Michelle at her heels. “Did we miss anything?”

“Not yet,” I said.

Leda gave me a dark look, but I saw the relief behind it.

“All right?” she asked quietly, glancing at my head. I touched it with my left hand and a few spots of blood came away on my fingertips. I nodded once.

“Bad feeling?” I asked.

“I guess we can see why.”

A small group of witches gathered in the bailey below us. Their voices echoed off the Wall, making the crowd seem twice as big. Every now and then a new witch would transport in with mussed hair, wearing a robe and a sleepy expression.

Tiberius walked amongst the Guardians at the front gate, eyeing every witch that entered. Protectors were probably hiding in plain sight, wearing casual clothes and having transformed small details of their face. A bulbous nose, thick eyebrows, and a new hair color made them a totally different witch. As masters of disguise, they blended in flawlessly. I wondered if Merrick was with them when the second bugle sounded. It came from the second-tallest turret, where the scarlet and gold Central Network flag flapped in the wind.

“One more,” Leda said. “One more call and the High Priestess will come out.”

All of us remained silent, absorbing the currents of tension running through the walls. Even Camille didn’t speak as she grabbed my hand and waited with wide eyes. Snippets of conversation below filtered up to us.

“Must be bad news.”

“Think the High Priestess is okay?”

“I’ll bet something happened in the Borderlands.”

“Perhaps the war has finally begun.”

The ringing tones of the third bugle seemed to take forever to come, and when they did, even longer to finish. The High Priestess stepped out the main doors and stood at the edge of the first floor. Most leaders spoke from the balcony three stories higher, but Mildred insisted on standing amongst the witches, elevating herself only enough to be seen.

From this distance, the High Priestess looked every inch a leader and a witch without fear. She held her head high, her shoulders squared. I wondered if her knees ever trembled, or if she too feared the things she couldn’t control. Miss Mabel’s words came back to me.

I wouldn’t pass on the pleasure of killing her for the world.

“Witches of the Central Network,” the High Priestess called. Her voice projected over the bailey and the crowd of Coven Leaders, carried by a special incantation. “I have ill tidings to bring you tonight. We have just received word that Almack, the High Priest of the Western Network, has passed from this life.”

Camille clenched my hand. I returned the gesture, recalling again the long, mournful wails in the Western Network. I didn’t have to force a concerned look.

“Almack’s life was one of leadership and service. He brought peace and prosperity to a constantly restless Network. The West shall mourn the loss of his company.”

So will all of Antebellum when we go to war.

“In order to commemorate his life, we pay tribute tonight.”

Four archers stepped forward, Merrick amongst them, reminding me that for all the time we spent together, I knew very little about him. Flaming arrows blazed to life from their bows, burning with a bright white center. White, the color of mourning, of passing. The color of goodbye. A lump rose in my throat, remembering Mama’s funeral and the crowd of white gathered around her grave. As one, the archers leaned back and tilted their arrows at the ready.

I leaned in toward Leda.

“Why would the High Priestess order the bugle to announce Almack’s death tonight?” I asked in a whisper so quiet only she would hear. “It will only alarm the Network.”

“If the West is smart they’ll attack immediately,” she whispered. “Use the element of surprise. The High Priestess will meet with the Coven Leaders once this is complete to prepare.”

“Then why would she honor a witch she doesn’t know?” I asked. The Mansfeld Pact bound us to never deal with another Network’s business. Most leaders had met each other but that was all. Only Ambassadors were allowed to cross borders, and even then only on invitation in case of a diplomatic need or question.

“It’s a sign of respect,” Leda said. “Maybe even a defiant stance, really. Mildred may be trying to send a message to Dane.”

Tiberius called out a command in the Guardians language, drawing my attention back to the bailey. He stood just behind the High Priestess now, his burly body dwarfing her. The shadows behind him shifted just a little, and I saw Papa. Despite the distance, his eyes connected with mine. Knowing he was close gave me courage.

Four women surrounded the archers, wearing white robes and holding burning candles. A mournful chant came from their lips, belted out in tones of reckless grief, consuming the crowd, the bailey, the Network. The arrows continued to burn. The arms of the archers were slick with sweat, their muscles trembling.

Then the singing stopped and the arrows flew, one at a time in each direction, soaring into the black night. The faces of the Guardians on the Wall flashed in the passing lights of the arrows.

The terrible silence of the bailey seemed to roll.

“What now?” Camille asked, her voice faint. “What happens now?”

No one answered.

•••

By mutual, silent understanding, all four of us silently piled the pillows onto the floor and lay near each other in the Witchery that night. I was grateful to be close to them instead of in the apartment, alone. Papa was already gone, shuffled into meetings in the Royal Hall that would last through the night. Camille held my hand as we stared at the ceiling. Michelle curled up on her other side on the edge of the nest we’d made. Leda lay to my right, silent, her eyes staring at one fixed spot on the ceiling.

“I guess we’ll go to war now,” Leda said, breaking the silence. Camille sucked in a sharp breath. My own thoughts strayed to Papa and Tiberius and Merrick. What would it mean for them?

“Everything will be okay,” I said, but my voice sounded wooden.

“I have five brothers,” Michelle whispered. “I hope they won’t have to fight.”

My heart twisted for her. Camille reached over and took Michelle’s hand. We continued to stare at the ceiling as if the answers were written there. Camille dropped into sleep first. Michelle followed with her husky, quiet snores, leaving just Leda and I behind.

“Your feet are cut up,” she whispered, curled up on her side and facing the window, her back to me. “You hurt yourself wherever you went.”

“Yes.”

She fell silent, and I offered nothing more. Several angry scratches crossed my feet and toes. A scrape decorated the side of my shin from the fall down the Arck and a cut from hitting my head against Miss Mabel’s wall bled a little above my ear, but overall I was unscathed.

“What is going to happen now, Bianca?” Leda asked, and I thought I heard a note of fear in her voice.

“Can’t you see that far?” I asked, turning to look at her back. The old seams in her nightdress from home had started to fray, barely holding together. I wondered if coming from a family that could barely afford clothes made her feel small in the judgmental world of politics.

“I won’t let myself,” she said.

The moonlight spilled across Leda’s figure. I studied her white-blonde hair, then turned to look at the ceiling again.

“Do you have that much control over the curse now?” I asked in surprise. “To prevent yourself from seeing certain outcomes?”

Her shoulders tightened. “Maybe . . . I don’t know. I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

Her hasty retreat from the conversation startled me. Leda pulled the light blanket from her waist to cover her head and tucked into a little ball. Minutes later her breathing evened out.

I turned back to stare at the ceiling. My thoughts lingered on the echo of the bugle and the chilling words that struck my heart.

We’ll go to war.

They haunted me into my dreams.

The Dragons Are Out

C
hatham Castle held her collective breath the next morning, waiting to see what news would come from the West. The
Chatham Chatterer
updated every fifteen minutes with a new article.
Guardians on Guard in the Borderlands! Almack’s Dead, Thousands Mourn. Will the High Priestess Announce Our New High Priest?

The obnoxious headlines never stopped, so I shoved the scroll out of sight. Merrick sent me a message canceling our lesson just as the sun crested the forest, and I was glad. I wouldn’t have been able to focus.

I pulled on a light blue dress and headed out of the turret toward the Royal Hall with my hair in a braid, hoping to catch some gossip on my way to talk to the High Priestess. I didn’t know if she’d hear me, but I had to try. Now that an ominous threat of war hung over the Network, my fear for Papa tripled. Would they try to get rid of him as soon as possible? Could the High Priestess stop them?

The Guardians at the grand stairs cast me a suspicious glance when I walked into the Royal Hall, but they let me pass when they recognized me. Chatham Castle teemed with nervous bodies.

That was too easy,
I thought.

“You may not go in!” Donald chirped as I neared the High Priestess’s office. The door closed with a quiet click. “She’s meeting with Council Member Jansson right now. What are you doing here anyway? No one is supposed to be in the Royal Hall.”

“Council Member Jansson, you say?”

“Yes.” Donald’s desk sat outside the office today, practically in front of the double doors. He kept adjusting his legs in little squirms, looking as if he were ready to get comfortable there. I’d have to play this very carefully.

“Oh, that’s all right,” I said in a breathless tone. “I’m just so glad I found you. Fina is having a problem in the kitchen. She’s concerned about . . . er . . . a few letters she’s received since last night.”

“Fina is a capable woman. She’s never needed my help before.”

“The letters are from the local farmers that are distressed about the war. She’s so busy coordinating food for all the unexpected guests that she just can’t deal with it on her own.”

He didn’t even look up.

“She’ll work it out. I’m not to leave.”

I glared at him and bit my bottom lip.

“B-but she sent me for you, specifically,” I said, trying to infuse panic in my voice. “She must respond immediately, or . . . or—”

He looked up, his long face expectant, like a horse waiting for his oats.

“Or what?”

“They won’t send food any longer."

His eyes tapered in a suspicious glare. “They must send food. They are under contract.”

I shrugged. “I agree. But they are refusing. They want to keep the food for their villages and families if there’s going to be a war. Not to mention the water shortage that’s already hitting the fields.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “A food crisis on top of all that’s already happening! What a shame.”

He simmered on it for a second, his face pinching together. I cast a nervous glance at the door. This had to hurry or I’d miss the whole meeting!