Oh no, I didn’t bring anything.
Looking around, Daleina saw everyone else had notebooks and textbooks, except her and Revi. She hadn’t thought to grab one; she wasn’t even sure she owned one. She hadn’t checked the desk for supplies. Without even glancing at her, Merecot handed Daleina an extra notebook.
“Thank you,” Daleina whispered.
Merecot ignored her.
“Hey, do you have another extra?” Revi whispered.
“No.”
“Just ‘no’?”
“Shh.” Merecot put her finger to her lips and then pointed at the teacher.
“You can share with me,” Daleina whispered to Revi.
The teacher was, to Daleina’s surprise, a man. She’d expected them all to be female, since only girls were born with an affinity for spirits. He was older, with tufts of white hair, and he shuffled as he paced in front of his desk. Mid-lecture, he didn’t acknowledge the new, late arrivals, and Daleina was grateful for that. It was bad enough to have the other students staring at them. “. . . in the third generation, the queen of Semo worked in concert with the queen of Chell to shrink the eastern mountains, in order to create what would become the northern fields of Chell. Doing so eased the burden here”—he tapped a map on the wall, one that showed all of Renthia—“but forced upheaval in the west. Literal upheaval. This mountain range increased in size by thirty percent. The results would have been catastrophic if the region hadn’t been evacuated . . .”
Daleina focused on the map. She’d never seen such a detailed one of all of Renthia. It showed the five lands: their own Aratay with its vast forests, the mountains of Semo, the farmlands of Chell, icy Elhim, and the island chain of Belene. Beyond the known lands were the untamed wilds, where no humans lived. At the heart of Aratay was their capital, Mittriel, drawn in minute detail, with its interlocking trees and spiraling pathways. The Northeast Academy was, as the name suggested, in the northeast corner of the capital. Other academies were located in other cities, each drawn with as much care.
“Consequences,” the teacher said, thumping his desk. “Every command has consequences, whether it be large like the thrust of the plates of the earth, or small like the life of a butterfly. You must think through all the ramifications before you act, or you will forever be reacting. And reacting poorly. Turn to chapter two, and we will discuss those whose reactions did not bring about the desired effect . . .”
History and politics class ended with the assignment of reading, plus a paper on the relations between Aratay and the neighboring land of Semo for the past fifty years. It was due in three days. Daleina and Revi hurried next to magical theory.
The teacher for magical theory acknowledged the new students by making them stand at the front of the class and answer a barrage of questions: how intelligent are spirits (it varies), can any female develop an affinity for spirits (yes, it can manifest in any family), can anyone with an affinity learn to sense spirits (yes, with proper training), can spirits sense humans (no, but they’re drawn to the use of power), and so on. “Correct, correct, correct,” the teacher, Master Bliara, said. “Now, tell me what happens when a queen dies.”
“Death,” Merecot said.
“Correct. After a queen dies, the spirits are released from her commands and obey only their base instincts, causing upheaval in the land and slaughtering any humans they find. Many years ago, it was discovered that women with affinity, working together, can override these instincts if and only if they issue one specific command. And what is this command that renders the spirits powerless?”
All of them chorused, “Choose!”
“Correct! This command triggers an almost hibernation-like state in the spirits, suspending their powers and their will. They remain in this state for seven days—a boon for us because it allows us time to gather our best heirs in the Queen’s Grove. After seven days, the spirits choose the best heir to be queen and infuse her with enough power to command them all.”
One of the students raised her hand. “But why? I mean, they hate us. Why give one of us more power?”
“Ahh, excellent question, Zie. It’s the wonder of nature, protecting herself, ensuring the continuation of the species. Why does a river fish swim for miles and miles to reach a particular bank to lay her eggs?” The master paused. “That was not rhetorical, students. Marilinara?”
“Because it’s safer there? Or the water is better for baby fish?” Mari glanced around her as if checking to see if anyone else had a better answer. Daleina was glad she hadn’t been chosen to speak. She didn’t want to be singled out on the first day—especially not about fish. “There must be something about that spot that makes it more likely that her offspring will live.”
“Ah, but does the mama fish think to herself, ‘Oh, that riverbed is a delightful place to raise children? It has nice weather. Great schools . . .’ Please, you may laugh at my pun.”
No one laughed. Daleina managed a smile, which seemed to be enough for Master Bliara. She continued on. “No! The mama fish doesn’t think. She doesn’t decide in a rational way, weighing the pros and cons. It’s instinct! The same for the spirits. They act on instinct. Even the intelligent ones are ruled by their instincts. Do not expect them to think like we do. They can be smart, but do not mistake that for human logic. Now . . . what are the two primary instincts that drive the spirits?” The master looked directly at Daleina.
Daleina shrank back, and then squared her shoulders. “To kill humans.”
“And?”
“To . . .” Daleina glanced at Revi and then at Merecot, who was watching her with a faintly amused expression. “Well, fire spirits start and spread fires. Wood spirits grow trees . . .”
“Precisely. To destroy and to create! And what is the problem inherent in those two instincts?” The master continued to look at Daleina expectantly.
Daleina swallowed. Why me? There were plenty of other students in the class, including older students who probably knew exactly what answer Master Bliara was looking for. Daleina hadn’t even seen, much less read, any textbooks yet. “They’re contradictory?”
“Exactly. That is why they crave a queen. As much as they hate us, the spirits need a queen to manage that contradiction and keep them—and our land—balanced. But never be fooled into thinking that needing a queen is the same as wanting a queen. A queen must never forget that the spirits both require and revile her.”
A traitorous thought sneaked into Daleina’s mind: Why would anyone want that kind of life? She squelched it down. Like the spirits themselves, she wasn’t here because of what she wanted. She was here because of what was needed.
“You will each write a ten-page research paper on the positive and negative effects of this unique command, quoting historical sources, as well as speculation on why it’s effective, due by the end of the week.”
Last class of the day was something called survival skills.
Daleina and Revi, as well as Linna, who had missed the earlier classes, found their way down to the practice ring. This was the first class of the day with only the new students. Clustered by the waterfall, they all held their books and notebooks and wondered if they were supposed to sit or stand. Only thirteen out of the original twenty had made it through the entrance exam. Daleina had heard a rumor that one applicant had gone home with a broken leg, another with a concussion, and a third with burns on her hands so bad that her fingers looked shriveled. Daleina realized she’d been lucky to pick the path she did and find the other girls.
“I can light a fire with sticks and string,” Linna said. “If that’s on the syllabus, I’ll help you. Do either of you know any other survival skills?”
“I can recognize a few edible plants,” Daleina offered. She knew more than a few. Living in the outer forest, she had to scavenge for a lot. It was one of her primary tasks for Mistress Baria, finding the correct herbs for the hedgewitch’s charms and meals.
“I don’t know anything useful,” Revi said. “Oh, w
ait, yes, I have the secret ability to mock anything and anyone who threatens me.”
“A terrifying power,” Daleina said solemnly. “Use it wisely.”
Leaves rustled behind them, and the students turned in time to see a wolf trot out from between the manicured trees.
A wolf.
Here.
Its pelt was thick, and its muscles were bunched. Stopping at the edge of the trees, it bared its teeth and growled, a low rumble that Daleina felt in the base of her stomach. Her muscles froze. She didn’t run, twitch, or even breathe.
From above, a voice said, “You encounter a wolf in the forest. What do you do?”
Merecot answered first. “Summon an earth spirit to pull it into the ground.”
“Or merely to hold it still,” Mari said, shooting a look at Merecot. “You don’t need to kill the poor thing.”
“The ‘poor thing’ wants to eat us,” Merecot argued. “I say it should be discouraged from thinking humans are lunch. We have enough enemies.”
Another girl raised her hand. “A water spirit could wash away the ground under its feet. Make it difficult for the wolf to chase us.”
“Air spirit,” another said. “Throw it into the air.”
“Or make the spirit push it back.” Another.
Ideas flew around them: making a tree spirit wrap the wolf in vines, creating a hole beneath him, blowing a tree down on him, and setting his fur on fire. As the others talked, the wolf paced back and forth.
Daleina opened her mouth to say that maybe the best thing to do was not to stand in front of it, discussing options, but the others were talking too loudly for her to squeeze in her opinion. She tugged on the sleeve of her closest classmate. “Linna? Revi? Merecot? We should climb, while we can.” But they were all too involved in the discussion.
With her eyes on the wolf, Daleina inched toward a tree. The wolf was watching the students who were talking most animatedly. There was something not right in the way it was behaving. It should have fled, she thought, or attacked. Looking at it, Daleina became more and more convinced that it wasn’t there to prompt a theoretical discussion. “They’re testing us, always, remember? Including right now.” Daleina stepped onto a branch and climbed up onto it. She continued to move slowly, smoothly, as she climbed several branches up, until she was beyond the wolf’s reach, even if it were to rise onto its hind legs. As one of the girls stepped forward to be heard, the wolf snapped. It darted into the group, aiming for the closest girl.
The girls screamed and ran.
Low and fast, the wolf chased them, snapping at their heels.
“Grab my hand!” Daleina called. Leaning over, she reached out. Revi got to her first, and Daleina helped pull her up to the branches. Linna was second.
From one of the circular platforms above, the teacher dropped into the practice ring. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. The wolf halted and then trotted to her side. She scratched between its ears and dug a treat from her pocket.
The girls began to return. “That’s your pet?” Merecot asked.
“Tell me what you learned just now,” the teacher said.
Merecot folded her arms. “Don’t trust teachers with pet wolves.”
Mari raised her arm. “Don’t assume wolves are safe just because they haven’t attacked. We should have already been reacting, instead of having a discussion. Not everyone knew he was your pet.”
“You knew,” the teacher said to Mari, “but you didn’t share that information.”
Many sets of eyes glared at Mari. She stuck her chin out. “It was a lesson,” Mari said. “I didn’t think I was supposed to.” Daleina shook her head, wanting to say they weren’t in competition—they were all here to learn. But she knew that wasn’t exactly true.
“You withheld knowledge,” the teacher said. “And the rest of you posited impractical solutions. You must work with the power you have.”
“It wasn’t impractical,” Merecot argued. “I could have done it.”
“You didn’t,” the teacher said.
“You wouldn’t have liked it if I’d killed your pet.”
To Daleina’s surprise, the teacher didn’t point out the obvious fact: Merecot hadn’t known the wolf was the teacher’s friend, yet she still hadn’t used any power. To be fair, it hadn’t even crossed Daleina’s mind to call on any spirits either. It had all happened fast.
“Today in survival class, you will use the resources you have to evade my wolf. Anything else in the ring is yours to use. But you may not summon any spirits—that class will begin tomorrow.” Letting her words sink in, the teacher met the eyes of each girl. “I would prefer it if you didn’t kill him, just as we would all prefer it if you didn’t wantonly kill anyone or anything. Save yourselves, and do no harm. Let that be your mantra during your years here and beyond. Do no harm.” Last, the teacher met Daleina’s eyes. “You, girl in the tree. You will assist my wolf.”
Daleina gulped. Me again? She didn’t know if it was good or bad that teachers kept calling on her. From the looks of pity the others were shooting her, she guessed bad. “I’m sorry, Master”—she paused, not knowing the teacher’s name—“but I don’t understand.”
“You already showed you can survive. Come down here, and show me you can thrive.” Hands on her hips, the teacher surveyed them all. “You will call me Master Bei. The wolf is Bayn. Come on, girls, look lively. Bayn wants another treat. Rule is: his teeth touch you, and you’re out.”
As the other girls scattered around the practice ring, Daleina climbed down the tree and cautiously approached Master Bei and Bayn. The wolf watched her with yellow eyes. Daleina had seen enough wolves on the forest floor to know this wasn’t a wolf-dog hybrid. This was pure wolf. Keeping her distance but trying not to look as if she were keeping her distance, Daleina approached their teacher. She stopped several yards away.
Master Bei’s lips quirked, as if this amused her. “Bayn is well trained. Keep him safe and help him hunt.”
“You want me to hunt the other students?” Daleina wondered if Master Bei was really a teacher, or if this was another test of some kind, to see whether she was gullible enough to turn on her new classmates. “I can’t do that.” The other students weren’t her enemies, right? Or was she utterly naïve?
“You will, if you want to pass this class. And if you don’t pass, you don’t stay.”
CHAPTER 5
Daleina held her hand out, palm up, as if the sleek, muscled, rather-hungry-looking wolf were just a skittish puppy. The wolf ignored her. Daleina put her hand down. “Okay, Bayn, um, we need to find the other students. A lot of them will have climbed trees. So, um, you use your nose, and I’ll use my eyes, and we’ll search, all right?” Daleina glanced at Master Bei. “How much does he understand me?”
“Completely, or so I’ve found. He’s a highly intelligent animal. More so than most of the students I’ve seen pass through here, that’s for sure.”
Daleina nodded. She felt as if she were on the verge of embarrassing herself spectacularly. Worse, if she failed or refused to try, she could be kicked out of the academy without finishing a day. She’d have to go back to her parents and Arin and tell them she’d washed out after a single afternoon. Her mother would act pleased, going on and on about how dangerous it was anyway. Her father wouldn’t say anything but would shoot her looks that were both sympathetic and disappointed. And Arin would be crushed. She’d look at Daleina as if Daleina had ripped apart her favorite dress and drowned her doll. “Follow me,” she told the wolf.
At a jog, she plunged into the grove of trees in the center of the practice ring. Here was where the trees were tallest, the best choice for climbing to safety. As soon as she entered, she slowed. The wolf’s paws were silent on the path, and Daleina switched to walking silently as well, stepping over twigs and dried leaves and tiptoeing across moss and roots. All kids from the outer villages learned to walk through the woods quietly.
Kids from cities . . . did not.
>
She and the wolf heard two tromping through the underbrush, loudly, ahead of them. “Go get them, Bayn.” The wolf darted forward, and she followed, arriving in time to see him nip at the heels of first one, then the other girl. Both of them shrieked, even though he didn’t break skin.
In a nearby tree, Daleina spotted a flash of red—there, another student. The girl was puffing as she climbed higher, slowly and painfully. The scrawny tree bent and swayed as the girl climbed. She must have chosen it because of all the easy branches that jutted ladderlike from the trunk, but the trunk was too pliable. If she climbed much higher, the tree would bow beneath her weight. She seemed to realize that, though, and stopped climbing. An idea began to form in Daleina’s head.
Circling the tree, the wolf looked up at the girl.
“Be ready,” Daleina told the wolf. She scurried up a nearby tree, scrambling from branch to branch, keeping to the side of the trunk away from the other student, out of sight. Soon, she’d climbed higher than the student. When she was even with the top of the scrawny tree, Daleina stopped and gauged the distance. She was reasonably sure the tree was healthy enough not to snap. If it bent slowly . . . This could work, she thought. Or it could be a painful disaster. Question was: How badly did she want to stay in the academy?
Do it, Daleina told herself.
Jumping off her tree, she landed on the scrawny tree. It bent under her weight, bowing. Clinging to the tip, Daleina rode the tree downward. The other girl screamed and hugged the trunk as it dipped toward the ground—and the wolf.
The wolf nipped lightly at the girl’s leg, not leaving a mark, and then howled.
Gotcha.
She began climbing down the trunk. The lower she got, the more the trunk lifted back into the air, until Daleina reached the other student. “Sorry,” Daleina told her. “Did the wolf hurt you?”
The other student shook her head without saying anything.
The Queen of Blood Page 6