First, Become Ashes

by K. M. Szpara

“Go,” he says, lips resuming their quiet motion. His blue eyes open. “Now.”

  If I look at Lilian, I’ll remember that this might not work. I want it to work, so I obey. Forward, I urge my feet. Look not at the fence but through it. Look to the park beyond, as if the iron doesn’t exist. At the last minute, I close my eyes and hold my breath, tense the muscles in my shoulders and back. Be small, so small. Small enough to fit between the pickets.

  I walk forward, then stop. Open my eyes. Turn.

  “Holy shit.” I’m on the other side of the fence. I watch as Lilian walks through, cringing as she passes through the bars like they’re an illusion.

  Lark passes through quickly, then stumbles and sways drunkenly. I reach out just as his dead weight slumps into my arms. Slowly, I lower him to his knees. “Are you okay?” I look for the answer in his eyes as they flutter open. He nods, and I get the sense that he couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

  “I’m fine,” Lark mumbles as he finds the earth with his hands. Leaves crunch loudly beneath his palms.

  “Are you sure? Did the wards—I don’t know—hurt you or something? I don’t know how magic works.”

  Lark pushes off the ground and rests on his heels. I let go, suddenly mindful of how long I’ve been holding him. I can still feel my arm around his back, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of the old tee shirt. He smells fresh, like laundry detergent.

  After a slow, deep breath, he says, “I’m fine.” Brushes the dirt and leaves off his borrowed jeans, off his palms. He stands without my help. “Nova set those wards up herself—they’ve protected us for thirty years. They’re strong. I shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

  Worry crosses his face as he passes in front of me, heading off into the woods. Lilian and I walk silently behind him, looking where he looks, pretending to understand why he chooses some paths over others, until we spill out into the crumbling remains of a parking lot. Cracked concrete slabs peek up like tombstones, memorializing where minivans full of families used to park. Grass grows between cobblestones. Tree branches rustle, the wind rushes against my ears. It is so quiet here. Eerie. If I close my eyes, I can hear the laughter of children long grown up—the only ones who might remember visiting this place when it was a zoo.

  We pass between two pavilions, through gates with empty ticket windows, emerging onto concrete under dark skies. A slight breeze lifts three limp banners into the air, where they hang from tall metal poles. They look handmade, like kids crafted them in art class. The only word I catch, as we pass, is FELLOWSHIP. What did this place look like when it was full? When a couple hundred people lived here—when there was magic?

  Lark doesn’t stop to gawk. He storms down a long road, not waiting for me as I linger in front of a one-story mansion with busted windows and dark stains on the steps. Is this where it happened? Is this where he was taken?

  “Come on!”

  Lilian’s hiss drags me back, pulls my feet forward. I run to catch up with her and with Lark. He waits in front of a locked gate—but not an impassable one, like the fence that surrounds Druid Hill. Iron spikes twisted and shaped like branches in a marsh, with metal cranes perched on top, wings spread as if taking off, too beautiful to stop anyone.

  The lock is shiny and new, probably attached by a federal agent or investigator. “Can you open it?” I ask.

  Lark holds his hand to his mouth and whispers, then closes his fist around the lock and yanks. Nothing happens. Lil and I exchange a look, a promise not to ask if it worked. I know there’s no magic inside me, but I wish with all my heart for him to open the lock. I close my eyes and push good vibes his way. As much of my yearning as my heart can pump. Work, please work.

  Lark yanks on the lock again, but it doesn’t budge. Without explanation, he says, “We’ll have to climb over.” He speaks slowly, as if the notion disgusts him. I want to tell him it’s okay. I believe him. But I don’t think he cares what I think. He doesn’t need my validation. I’m an outsider. In the end, neither of us comments.

  We let him help us over, one at a time, but don’t watch as he scales it on his own. I don’t even feel like I should be here. I’m watching him face something immense and personal, something I couldn’t ever ask him to share with me. I don’t want him to hold back on our account, but I’m sure he is.

  As we continue, I can’t help but notice the places the Fellowship built over the zoo, like exposed layers of an archaeological site. Signs that once pointed toward animal areas now designate sleeping quarters, artisan workshops, and ritual spaces. Big open pools for penguins and polar bears are now lined with chairs and rock circles. Walking past repurposed concession stands and empty exhibits, it feels apocalyptic. Like the animals, caretakers, and visitors were driven away by a zombie horde.

  We follow a long winding path through an artificial marsh until it ends at a series of fake caves. Outside, faded signs describe stalactites, bats, and salamanders—but I don’t see the exhibits, only vines and fallen leaves on dirt paths and boulders. Lark stops alongside one, looking over his shoulder at Lilian and me, before reaching his hand through … something. I can’t see and get the impression he doesn’t want me to. But I don’t wonder long. Lark leans into the boulder and it moves, rolling aside to reveal a concealed entrance.

  “This is some secret passage shit,” Lilian says, as she inspects the rock.

  Inside, the Fellowship has lined its walls with bows and arrows, staffs and swords. My eyes are drawn to the whips. A chill slices through me as Lark takes a sword down from its hooks and places it into a long canvas bag. Alongside it, several daggers, their handles inscribed with sigils. A bow and quiver of arrows, several wooden sticks that I swear to god are wands, and a staff that’s taller than Lilian. Well, she is only five feet tall.

  Lark zips up the bag and heads out of the cave. Lil follows. I stop, eyeing the weapons. I don’t know how to wield anything that isn’t made from Styrofoam or wood. It’s hard to believe you’re Strider when your sword weighs half a pound. When I look again, the two of them are gone and I’m left alone with the urge to touch.

  I wrap my fingers around a length of wood with no apparent function, lifting it free from the hooks it lies across. I brandish it like a wand, waiting for light to flare from its tip, a sudden wind to swirl up around me, and a chorus to sing its power. None of that happens, and it hurts. I didn’t really expect to feel the magic, but disappointment knocks the wind out of me.

  I would give almost anything to go home for Christmas with the ability to turn my shitty cousins into toads. To cast a spell that stopped everyone from asking me when I’ll get a real job, marry a nice girl, whether I’ve given any thought to law school. Imagine if the family’s only college dropout was more powerful than any of them.

  I slide the stick into my front pocket and pull my sweater over it, just as Lilian pokes her head back into the cave. “Coming,” I say before she can ask what I’ve been up to. “Where is he?”

  She leads me to another cave, a boulder already pushed aside, exposing its entrance. This one looks less like an actual cave and more like a rock archway leading into darkness—into a tunnel. Murky water surrounds us behind thick plastic walls. The last rays of daylight illuminate algae and detritus. Dead leaves fall from their trees and sink slowly to the exhibit floor, resting like corpses in the Dead Marshes. Beautiful and unsettling.

  A shiver of cold slices through me when I read the sign at the end of the tunnel: ENTER HERE FOR HELLBENDERS. The only way is through a heavy black curtain that crosses the other end of the tunnel.

  “I’m not going in there.” Lilian backs into the shade near the entrance.

  “A hellbender’s just a salamander,” I say, reassuring myself.

  Lilian doesn’t follow, as I slip past the curtain alone into total darkness. “Lark?” I hear shifting and scraping. See the ripple of a shadow in the low light as my eyes adjust. He crouches over his bag, fitting items inside—I can’t make them out. Only hear the gentle clank of
metal on metal. “Do you need any h—” Lark catches my eye, stopping me dead. In his hands, a length of leather with a handle and multiple tails. Gently, he fits it into the bag and pulls the zipper.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “We have one more stop before the road.” Lark marches through the curtain and down the tunnel. I stand alone in the dark, feeling the stolen wand press flat against my torso. Wondering what kind of magic I’m getting myself into.

  13

  LARK / NOW

  I thought I’d feel wicked or rebellious when I entered Nova’s office—we were rarely allowed inside, and never alone. But instead, when I press my hand to the sigil on the door, I feel righteous. Mature. She isn’t here to protect this place and its power, but she trusted me. I will carry on its legacy.

  Calvin and Lilian hesitate on the threshold, beyond plastic yellow tape; I hold my shoulders back and head high, defying their doubt. Press my pierced tongue against the roof of my mouth and relish the feeling of hard metal. Remind myself that discipline nurtures power, even in the unsure. I stride over to an old wooden cabinet—heart racing with hope—and pull its doors open, gripping the splintering wood as I scan the emptied desk and tables, usually cluttered with books and papers. Only a few items remain: a carved wooden paperweight, teacup, and spoon. Cool relief floods my body as I see several sets of keys hanging from dulled hooks. The last thing I want is some FOE having control over my body.

  I take one of the leather harnesses from within the cabinet and slip my arms through the straps, wrapping the hanging ends around my waist and buckling it. Tightening and loosening where necessary. This one isn’t mine, but it will do, and it feels good to outfit myself for the journey ahead. The worn leather stretches and slides nicely over my shoulders and across my back as I flex. I slide my fingers through the delicate key chains, where they hang, and lift them free before lowering them carefully into a small pocket along my waist.

  The old floorboards creak as the braver of the outsiders approaches me—which, I’m not sure, and I don’t check. Don’t have time. Rapidly, I read the labels on vials and hand-drawn maps and sigils, fitting what I can into my harness.

  “You need any help?” It’s Calvin I see when I turn around. It was him in the cave too, watching me pack knives and scourges. His face appears calm and genuine, but I can’t help wondering why he’s so quick to offer help.

  Across the room, Lilian’s reading the few titles that remain on Nova’s private bookshelf. She shouldn’t be doing that. “No,” I tell Calvin, trying not to sound annoyed. They don’t know any better. “Not in here, anyway.” I press forward with open palms, ushering the two of them out, as an undisturbed expanse of wall catches my eye. The groove ever so slightly worn into the panel where it slipped open to reveal her safe. Kane and I used to joke about what Nova might keep in there: sweets, dangerous potions, a monster. She barely let us look at it, much less in it. I shouldn’t want to know—anything she locked up should stay that way. I brush my hand against my crotch in reminder of my own dedication.

  Dedication to what?

  The question hits me like the first swing of a paddle: hard and jarring. Throwing me off my feet. Nova’s not here anymore. Those FOEs locked her up. I’m the only one left who can carry on. I am the cause. What if there’s something inside this safe that could help me? That Nova would’ve shown me before my quarter century, anyway?

  I point Calvin and Lilian down to the path before ducking back into Nova’s office. My fingers slide into the groove right where hers did, prying the wood paneling back. With my hand to my lips, I speak, “Open.” I press my palm to the cool metal surface. It doesn’t budge. Damn. Must be advanced magic.

  I fit the panel back into place, throw the canvas bag over my shoulder, and jog to catch up with Calvin and Lilian. They wait for me by the locked gate. Facing it, and the long walk back to the fence, with a bag weighed down by steel and leather, I find myself surprisingly glad for their company. Even if they are outsiders. We climb over the small gate one at a time, finagling the heavy bag up and over.

  I’m the last one out, my feet slamming against the pavement. When I rise, I see him, coming up the path toward the commune gates—not fifty feet from the outsiders. Kane. Long black hair hanging loose around his arms. A sweatshirt zipped up to his neck. Lips parted as if my name is waiting on them.

  I push between the outsiders and run to him—almost run into him. I stop short, only feet away. Rest my weight on my toes, but don’t spring into his arms, not yet. My breath comes ragged and desperate. When I left Kane earlier, I was prepared to risk everything to save him, the person he was before he left us. Is that person here, now? Did he manage to throw off the bonds of corruption?

  Has he come back?

  “You’re here,” I say, daring to smile. I can’t hide the note of hope in my voice, even though the emotion bleeds my magic.

  “Yeah.” He looks over his shoulder, worried, then at Calvin and Lilian, who stand whispering behind me. “Who’re they?”

  “Outsiders. They offered to help me on my quest. One of them has a car. But now that you’re here…” Kane looks over his shoulder again, and I try to catch what he’s looking for. “Are you here with someone?” He seems off. “How’d you get out?”

  “Lark…”

  He doesn’t have to finish. I see them coming up the path in the distance. A FOE dressed in a black-and-white suit with short brown hair. The one that calls herself Agent Miller. I draw in a breath, but her stench invades my nostrils. The sickening scent of rot. My mouth fills with the saliva that comes before vomit, but I swallow hard. “You’re here with them,” I whisper.

  Kane doesn’t look at me directly. “Agent Miller asked for my help. She needed someone who knows the facilities, including the Anointed’s and Nova’s.”

  “You don’t have to do this.” I grab his forearms, forgoing caution, and pull his body against mine. He feels warm and familiar, not like a monster at all. It’s cruel that I need him so much, that our connection both strengthens our magic and drains it. “Come with me. Please,” I beg, squeezing his arm, pulling and hoping.

  Before he can answer, a familiar voice shouts, “That’s Lark! I see him over there!” It’s Deryn, looking like a dull version of me. Undisciplined, their hair and clothes free-flowing. Not unlike Kane, now …

  “Let’s go.” I turn and Kane’s fingers slip through mine. “Come on, it’s not too late!”

  But Kane doesn’t move. I back up, and he lets me go, unmoving as I retreat toward Calvin and Lilian, even as the FOE Miller approaches with her inhuman eyes—pits so black as to be absent.

  “Run,” I say to the outsiders, and they don’t hesitate. Lilian takes off first, followed by Calvin. “Get to the fence, same way we came. Go!”

  When Miller reaches Kane, I see it. The ripple, the unnatural shiver beneath his skin. A hint of what FOEs look like. Has it come to this? I knew he’d forgotten himself, but has he spent so much time helping evil that he’s become a Force of Evil himself? He didn’t feel like one, but …

  I don’t look back at Kane again. I run, because I cannot bear to see him becoming one of them. But I can’t outrun the image in my head, the twitch of wrong under his skin. I feel nauseous and the smell of decay isn’t helping.

  Ahead, Calvin looks back for me, as he and Lilian navigate the winding path. They disappear into the trees—that means they aren’t too far from the fence. They’ll beat me. They can start the car. Good. I struggle to keep up my pace, to breathe without vomiting.

  “Freeze!” shouts the FOE.

  I can’t. Can’t be near her. Have to keep moving. The path veers into the trees and I follow, jumping the railing that lines the cement as it winds like a snake. I land on my feet, run to the next railing. Jump and land. Miller’s footsteps grow louder behind me. Pounding faster—she’s not hopping the rails, and she stinks.

  I round the last bend and bump into Lilian. “What are you doing?”

  “Running!” Lilian
says, waving the shoes she now holds in her hands.

  They should be in the car by now. They’re not fast enough—never trained like I did. The FOE is going to catch us, unless …

  “Keep going,” I shout, not that I need to. She doesn’t stop.

  But Calvin does. “What are you doing?”

  Together, we watch Miller as she races down the path toward us, suit rumpled, hair hanging in her eyes. “I’m going to stall her. Can you take the weapons?” But he doesn’t answer; her approach paralyzes him. I push the canvas bag into his hands. “Calvin!”

  “Yes! I’ve got it.”

  “Then, go!”

  He struggles to find his grip on the heavy bag before jogging off. I don’t have time to make sure he reaches the fence, or that Lilian is there. I can only trust them at this point. Our lives are in one another’s hands.

  I bring mine to my lips. Speak into them as if I am speaking directly to the FOE Miller. Through my fingers, I watch her approach. Watch Kane trying to keep up. She won’t make it past me, though. None of them will. I pour my words into my palms, feeling my energy swell. Watch Miller pull her weapon from its holster.

  “What are you doing?” Kane shouts, whether at her or me, I can’t tell.

  The FOE slows, only a few dozen feet away now. With one hand, she pushes her sweaty hair from her face. With the other, she raises her gun. I flatten one of my hands against my chest, digging my fingers into the borrowed shirt. Protective magic flows through me, coating me.

  I am not afraid of her outsider weapons.

  “This is your final warning.” The FOE slows to a stop, catches her breath, steadies her aim. “Put down your weapons, get on the ground, and put your hands behind your head.”

  I do not bend to FOEs. I thrust my other hand in her direction, throwing the force of my magic with a bang so loud, my ears fizzle. They hurt. I hurt. I’m hit.

  I wipe trembling fingers through the blood that flows down the side of my arm, look up to see the gun skittering across the path and, as the buzz in my ears quiets, the muffled shouts of Miller and Kane. I have to go.