It materializes in the shadows of the woods behind Corian’s kneeling figure. Its eyes, milk-white with hatred, turn on my Shield, and its jaws open. It lunges.
My blood turns to ice. I grip my blades and rush forward.
But it is far too late. The Ghost sinks its teeth into Corian’s shoulder before he can whirl around in time. It throws him off his feet and onto his back in a single move, then dives onto his chest.
Daggers are already in Corian’s hands. He stabs at the Ghost again and again, seeking its vein. I throw myself at the beast with all my strength. It’s enough to force the Ghost’s attention onto me instead of my Shield. I cut its throat with one swing.
I slide to a halt beside Corian and press down on the wound in his shoulder. He shoves me away with a snarl. His body is already trembling, and his lips are tinted blue as if from the cold. He is signing the same words to me again and again.
“Do it. Do it.”
And I know it is over.
If your Shield is bitten by a Ghost, you must cut his throat before he turns. This is the last thing we are taught. It is taught last because none of us want to think about what it means. Because sometimes the things that cut closest to your heart deserve the weight of being last.
Corian looks straight at me. His eyes are bright with unshed tears.
I tighten my grip on my blade and stand over him. The world takes on the blur of a dream. We never break our stare. For a moment, I think I won’t be able to do it.
But my body remembers the motions, even when my mind cannot.
My blade slices through the air. There is a sickening sound, then a sigh.
The forest is still again, and I am the only one left to hear it.
I turn my face up because I cannot bear to look down. Rain beads against the forest canopy. Light rims the leaves in icy gold. It takes me a moment to realize that I am trembling.
As always, I don’t utter a sound. But a heart can grieve in silence, so I sink to my knees beside Corian’s body and allow the tears to come.
NEWAGE
INNER CITY
THE NATION OF MARA
2
When your Shield is killed in battle, it is your duty as a Striker to deliver his uniform to his family.
This is the display of shame we offer for failing to protect each other, and we give it to the family in the hopes that they accept our apology. So on this morning, one week after Corian died, I find myself heading into the heart of Newage’s Inner City, Corian’s sapphire uniform folded into a neat square and tucked safely under my coat.
The drizzle that had fallen during our sweep has now turned into a steady storm soaking the entire nation. Rain undulates in glittering waves across the pavement as I walk, and I pull my collar higher against the wetness. The hat I wear offers scant protection. My hair hangs in dripping black strings against my face, but I don’t bother brushing them aside, as if perhaps I should appear as miserable as I feel. Corian, resembling the sun as he did, had always hated the first heavy rain of winter. It is a cruel irony to deliver his uniform to his family on this day.
The Barra family estate is located at the top of a hill. From the bottom, you can’t even see it—built over the bones of a crumbling temple by the Early Ones, the mansion is fully hedged in by cypress so that onlookers can only catch glimpses of the white stone of its walls through thickets of green.
From this vantage point, I can see the gentle slope of the rest of Newage, the sprawl of estates and apartments and pillared halls protected inside two enormous circles of steel walls. Beyond that radiates the miles of dense shantytowns of the capital’s Outer City, where my mother and all other refugees live. Along the horizon rise the shapes of the Early Ones’ ruins, silhouetted against the stormy sky.
There are twenty large ruins scattered throughout Mara, and most of the other small cities that dot this country are erected upon or around them. Each of them has a name. There is Houndsfang, the ruin of a jagged steel needle jutting up toward the sky at the edge of our cliffs, upon which is set a small city of the same name. There is Morningman, a city built around a conelike structure of metal and concrete covered in rose vines. And so on.
Newage, the capital of Mara, was constructed right on top of the remains of an entire city from the Early Ones. It’s why our streets look cobbled together from two different eras—shards of ancient black steel form the backbone for apartments made of white stone and wood, while cylinders of strange metal act as the buttresses supporting National Hall. The ground of Newage’s Inner City is made of a mysterious dark stone that exists only in other Early ruins. It absorbs heat in the winter, keeping the city warmer than it otherwise would be. And as for the huge steel walls encircling the city … they existed long before Mara did. On top of the walls’ front gates is a mantra engraved by the Early Ones:
We sow the seeds of Infinite Destiny for our children
so that they may rule from this earth to the stars.
Infinite Destiny. It is a phrase that the Karensa Federation believes the Early Ones had meant for them, that they are the children who are destined to inherit their ancient empire. I just stare out at the city and wonder why the Early Ones left it all behind. They must have built the walls thousands of years ago to protect their city from something—but whatever that was, the walls must not have worked.
I don’t know why we think they will save us from the Federation’s Ghosts, just like how I don’t know why I thought I could protect my Shield. I don’t even know if I can protect my mother now. My position as a Striker pays me enough to bring her money in the Outer City every couple of weeks. What now, without Corian to stand up for me? Will the Firstblade even allow a Basean like me to stay?
The Barra family knows the instant I arrive at the estate’s front gate why I’m here—they had received the Firstblade’s handwritten letter of condolence days ago. The two guards standing at the entrance don’t even bother to ask my name or purpose. I just stand there, silent and soaked, swaying on grief-exhausted legs, Corian’s folded uniform tucked under my arm, until the guards disappear behind the side doors and open the gate for me.
The storm mutes all the sounds in the Barra courtyard. My mother’s entire neighborhood in the Outer City could fit in this space alone. I listen to the faint squelch of wet stone under my boots as the guards lead me toward the glowing windows of the estate’s front hall. The dripping trees, the fog of my breath in the damp air, the front gate carved with the Early phrase DEO OPTIMO MAXIMO … all of it feels like a dream.
I’ve been here only once, the summer when Corian first chose me as his Shield. He and I had shaken hands solemnly, then lazed under the green canopy of these same trees, stripped down to our short sleeves, our mouths sticky with sweet grapes plucked from the vines.
“If you could go anywhere in the world,” he asked me then, his face turned toward the horizon, “where would you go?”
“Basea,” I signed without hesitation.
“It’s probably different now, you know,” he signed gently in return. “After the Federation took over.” There was no malice or pity in his expression, just a grave truth. “It’s not the home you remember.”
“I know. I’m just curious.” I looked back at him. “Why does it matter to you?”