Spark (Legends of the Shifters) (2 page)

He
set down the horse’s hoof and walked over to me. “What’s
this?” he asked, grasping the hot mug in his cold fingers.

“
Hot
chocolate. Elna gave it to me, but I thought that you could use
warming up more than I could.”

He
cupped his hands around it to warm them and took a small sip, handing
it back to me. “Thank you.”

“
How's
your morning been so far?” I asked, taking my first sip of the
drink. It’s wonderful flavor rolled over my tongue and warmed
me from the inside out.

He
waved his hand around, gesturing to the run-down, drafty state of the
barn. “As good as ever.”

I
smiled pityingly at him, and sat on a stray chair that was placed
next to a rickety table, taking another sip from the steaming mug. I
had a few minutes to spare before I had to get back.

Ayon
started working again. I watched silently as he finished with the
mare's hooves and moved on to brushing her coat. Dust flew off her
back in clouds and she nickered happily.

As
he brushed, he said, “You know, I haven’t forgotten your
birthday. I’m just waiting for the celebration after your trial
to give you the gift.”

Assuming
that I live through the trial
,
I thought to myself. I hated that my birthday was on the trial day
itself, which always fell on a Monday. Had it only waited one more
day, I'd have another week before my time was up.

“
You
don’t have to give me anything,” I said, knowing how poor
we all were. Gifts were rare in the orphanage, just about as much as
hot chocolate.

“
I
know,” he told me. “But I wanted to.”

I
opened my mouth to argue, but was silenced by the bell ringing in the
distance. Time had flown by faster than I would have liked.

I
looked at the big gray building, barely visible in the pale light and
through the snow. “I’d better go,” I said. “My
trial won’t be long after breakfast.”

He
nodded to me. “Go ahead. I’ll be there, watching.”
He continued to work on the mare as I left.

I
tried to run in the knee-deep snow, but couldn't manage to accelerate
beyond a walking pace. Once I got to the stairs, I carefully climbed
them. They were small and steep and the compacted snow didn’t
help much. The covered porch finally offered my shoes a grip on the
cement. I hastily opened the door to the main entrance and walked in,
cold air billowing inside the small amount of time the door was ajar.

I
heard a great deal of chatter coming from the girls’ dining
room. That meant that I was late. Madam Grant would be harsh with me.

I
peeked into the room and saw that Madam Grant was currently scolding
a girl next to her, probably for her table manners. I tried to sneak
to my seat at the end of the table. Unfortunately, Madam Grant
noticed. “Ivy?! Where have you been?"

I
grimaced. “At the stables, Ma’am,” I answered
honestly.

The
other girls averted their eyes, even the girl that I had laid the
blanket over earlier.

Madam
Grant's sharp eyes pierced into me. “And would you mind telling
me why you were at the stables? You most certainly don’t need a
horse to get to the Arena of Trials.”

“
I
was, um...visiting a friend,” I said nervously.

She
took in a deep breath, her mouth barely opening past a stern line. I
knew the scolding was about to come. “Friendship is discouraged
here, Ivy, especially with young men. You’ve known that since
you could talk. We don’t even know if you’ll live through
your trial yet.”

I
lowered my head, my face feeling hot. Although I wanted to make it
clear that Ayon and I were
just
friends, I knew not to argue
with her. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, hoping that she
would move on.

She
gave a curt nod. “Seeing as this
is
your last day here, I will let this
slide. But mark my words; tardiness is not acceptable in the real
world.”

I sat
down, still tense, and began to force down my food. This was not only
my last day, but my last meal before I had to get to the arena.

The
custom for orphans and wards who are due for their trial is for them
to pack up all their belongings, just in case they die.
Then, their caretakers won’t have to bother with it. As for me,
all my things were already in the trunk at the end of my bed. We
orphan girls kept it that way, hoping, longing for the day that
someone will take us in. Regrettably, no one in Forlander really had
enough food to feed another mouth. Except for the noblewoman in the
castle farther down the mountain...but we never saw or heard much
from her. She already had a son and a daughter, and was too old to
think about adopting anyway.

The
breakfast porridge was bland and had the expected taste of ash. Some
of the younger, newer girls had already turned their noses up to it
and pushed their bowls away, but I had to keep my strength up. I
forced it down.

Elna
was perfect proof of how the kingdoms' system didn’t work.

Once
I had scavenged through the burnt bits to find any other edible
morsels, Madam Grant noticed I was done and excused me by saying, “Go
ahead and get ready for your trial. You should be at the arena in an
hour to register.”

I
nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” I said for the third time.

I
left the table, but I was already ready for the trial. I didn’t
have anything that I had to bring. Perhaps Madam Grant was taking
pity on me, if she had any pity in the first place. Maybe she thought
that I wouldn’t survive. It was true that I was small and thin,
but did I really seem that weak?

Because
I had nothing to do but think, I decided to go to my favorite place
to do it. It was all the way at the top of the stairs in the clock
tower, where no one ever thinks to go anymore…except for me.
I’m probably the only person who has ever thought of it as a
place of comfort.

I
started the long climb up the stairs, finding the exercise mildly
enjoyable. I liked to feel my legs burning, because in the climate of
our northernmost island, they never got warm. In the summer, the
temperature only gets up to seventy degrees, and that’s just
for three months. Then the temperature gradually drops back down
until it’s below zero again.

The
long stairway was very steep. The ugly peach colored paint was
molding and peeling off the walls, littering the slightly damp wooden
stairs with tiny light-colored specks and drywall.

Before
the stairs ended, I was out of breath. There the clock was, same as
always, rust eating through the devices
and
gears. The clock hasn'
t been working for as long as I can
remember. I found it quite ironic that the clock was stopped, because
just like the clock, our village is stuck in a way of living until
someone finally decides to fix it. The short hand was frozen between
the eleven and the twelve, and the long hand was right above the
nine. Eleven forty-six.

The
only light came through a circular window at the other side of the
room. I sat down on the ground and rested my back against the wall,
watching out the window as heavy snowflakes fell.

Ever
since I was a little girl—and whenever Madam Grant allowed any
of us off the orphanage grounds—I've heard the village boys
bragging to each other. They say things like, “I'm not afraid
of my trial!” or “Monsters don't scare me!”

Whoever
the monsters are, nobody under seventeen knows. We may not even be
fighting. At least, I hope not. From all the deaths, however, it's
probable.

Unlike
those boys, I have had a hard time looking forward to the trial, and
now here it is. It looms over me like a starving predator, and I'm
forced to accept the fact that this could be the day I die.

I
drew my knees up to my chest, staying that way for about fifteen
minutes before I decided that it was time to leave. I wished that I
could procrastinate, but I would get punished for being late. I
walked all the way down the stairs—which was much easier than
going up—and made my way out of the orphanage and into the
blustery day. I could hardly see where I was going.

The
harsh wind was merciless. The snow pelted my face in sheets
.
I shivered and draped my scarf over the bridge of my nose, but
my eyes were defenseless against the frigid temperatures. They stung.
Luckily for me, I knew the way to the arena by heart.

The
arena, where people go in and may never come back out. It had
happened to two girls at the orphanage last year. I count myself
lucky that I didn’t known them very well. I tended to keep to
myself most of the time, and it rewarded me with the lack of tears.

But
today, the tables were turned. I could be one of those girls, and how
many would cry over me?

I
wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or anxious when I finally
spotted the barely visible dome
that surrounded the entire
arena, protecting it from the weather. Nevertheless, I stepped across
the magic threshold and instantly, the snow stopped blinding my
vision. There was a large crowd already gathered around the
entrances. As I walked toward them, I noticed that there were five
participants. Me, two other girls, and two boys. I pushed through the
crowd to get behind them. All the adults were gradually forming a
different line—one that led into the stands.

The
girl in front of me looked back, and sneered in disgust. She looked
like she was born into a wealthy family. I was the opposite of that,
and I hadn’t had the luxury of a bath for days. The other girl
in line and one of the boys both looked like middle-class. The last
boy, who stood in the front, appeared to be as poor as I was. When I
peered closer, he looked kind of familiar. Then, I knew. He was one
of the boys from the orphanage. I had seen him playing outside my
window one day. That was as close as Madam Grant allowed us to be
with each other, and even that was stretching the rules.

I
kept glancing behind me to see if anyone else was coming, but
apparently, I was the last one. It wasn’t unusual to have five
participants. One week, there weren’t any participants. The
most that was ever documented in Forlander was twelve, but only
because it's the only arena on the island.

After
a little while, it was my turn to sign the form. I grabbed the
feather with my right hand, dipped it into the inkwell, and signed my
name. It was the color of blood.

The
woman who sat there, bundled up in a dull woolen sweater and scarf,
explained to me where to go and what to do. She didn't even look at
me as she spoke. She was too busy writing down something on a piece
of parchment.
“
Your
cell is number fourteen. It’s on the right. When it's your
turn, two guards will escort you to the center of the arena. Then,
you may attempt your trial.”

I
winced when she said ‘attempt’, but took a deep breath
and continued to go where she had told me. The rooms were walled with
stone, but the doors were made out of iron bars. A man stood outside
of door number fourteen, and opened it when he saw me. The keys
clanked against the metal.

I
shivered. It felt like I was being put in jail. I stepped in
reluctantly, and waited. I couldn’t hear anything that was
happening in the arena. There was only the heavy breathing of the
guard.

At
about noontime, my stomach growled. I looked out at the guard who
hadn’t even glanced at me for the duration of my stay.

“
Do
we get meals here?” I questioned hopefully.