The Marked Girl

by Lindsey Klingele

  Right out his window were trees and fences and houses and ocean, all blurring together and connected by an odd series of black wires that cut through the sky. He had to admit, the sight was almost beautiful. So often in this realm, Cedric had to grapple with confounding mysteries (Who put those black wires there, and for what possible purpose?), but when he stopped trying to puzzle it out, he found this world could be surprisingly interesting to look at. In calm moments, it was breathtaking.

  Cedric turned to Liv and began to study the slight movements she made to control the vehicle. It didn’t take much—just one hand on the wheel, one foot working controls. Much easier than controlling horse-drawn carts, actually. Just as soon as you got used to the speed.

  “What does this do?” he asked, pointing to a lever between the seats that could move between different slots, labeled P, D, and R. Liv smiled and explained, going on to answer more of his questions about various buttons, pulleys, and keys, as well as the GPS on the dash that directed them where to go.

  “Does not seem all that difficult, really,” Cedric said.

  “Nice try. But no way are you driving my car.”

  Cedric shrugged. “What’s this?” He reached over and turned a dial, and suddenly the car was filled with a noise that rolled and pounded through his skull.

  “That’s music!” Liv yelled as she leaned over to twist the dial. The noise level fell instantly.

  “Music? You call that music?”

  Liv shook her head. “Not just music. The Beatles. I’m guessing you’ve never heard of them?”

  “Cannot say that I have,” Cedric countered. “But then again, you have never heard of the Rackling Quartet.”

  “The what?”

  “The most famous and talented group of musicians in our kingdom. My mother had them to play for Emme’s fourteenth birthday feast.” Cedric looked back out the window, smiling at the memory. “It was a surprise. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she came down the grand stairway and the Quartet started up with ‘Love Song in Green,’ and dedicated it to Princess Emmeline. She turned white as a sheet, nearly tripped over her own gown coming down the steps. I teased her about that for a week.”

  Liv smiled, a far-off look in her eyes, as if she, too, could see his memory. Cedric replayed it in his mind, the way his father had taken his sister’s hand and led her through the first dance. He’d later snuck swigs of his father’s wine when no one was looking, and then danced all night with the pretty twin daughters of the aging Duchess Carroll.

  “What did they sound like?” Liv asked.

  Cedric struggled to think how to describe it, the twinkling sounds of the instruments that floated across the airy ballroom, the almost ethereal voice of the singer, a young woman with braids that twisted down almost to her knees. He could just barely make out the melody of the song in his own mind, but he didn’t know enough about musical terms to explain it to Liv.

  “It sounded like summer,” he finally said.

  Liv just nodded, as if she knew exactly what he meant.

  Cedric looked out the window again, but this time, instead of seeing lines of black wire or the endless blue sky, he could only see Emme’s face. The sneaky grin she used to wear when she stole Cedric’s toasted bread right from his plate at the breakfast table. The terror in her eyes just moments before Cedric stepped through the portal. He wondered what she was doing now. Was his family chained up at this moment, dreading whatever future awaited them? Was Emme getting enough to eat for breakfast? Was she missing him?

  “Do you ever think about your brother and sister?” Cedric asked.

  Liv stared straight ahead, her eyes focused on the road. If the sound of his own voice hadn’t still been ringing in his ears, Cedric would have wondered if she’d heard him at all.

  “I try not to,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Something in the set of Liv’s jaw warned him to let it alone, but then he thought of Emme’s face again, and how he would do anything to get back to where she was.

  “But are they not still alive?”

  Liv swallowed. “We were split up after the fire,” she said, her hands gripping the steering wheel. “I suppose I could go through the records at social services, track them down if I wanted. I think my caseworker, Joe, would help me, but . . .”

  Liv paused and bit her lip.

  “Why would you not look for them? If I knew I had family near, and that I could find them . . .” Cedric’s voice warbled off. “You could find them.”

  Liv stared straight ahead. “They probably wouldn’t want me to.”

  “I do not understand. Is this . . . another Earth custom?”

  “No. It’s . . .” Liv swallowed, and for a while she didn’t speak. Then she sighed, and her story flowed out of her as if a dam had broken. “I used to be afraid of the dark when I was a kid. It was pretty bad, actually. My older brother, Peter, he used to watch these horror movies late at night in his room, ones with killer dolls and evil leprechauns. Definitely not kid-appropriate. And I used to sneak into his room at night and watch them with him, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I started having these nightmares, and every morning I would tell myself that I would stop watching, but every night I was, like, compelled to go back for more. I had to watch what Peter was watching, you know?”

  Liv shook her head a little and smiled. Still she kept her eyes locked straight ahead, and in the intense sunshine coming in through the car’s front window they looked more golden than green-brown.

  “Anyway, I developed this terrible fear of the dark. I started keeping a flashlight in my nightstand, just in case I had to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

  Cedric tried to picture a younger version of Liv, vulnerable and afraid. It was difficult to do.

  “One night, I got up and grabbed for the flashlight, but it wouldn’t turn on. The batteries were dead. So I went into my closet and opened up this secret shoe box of stuff I had, just, you know, old arrowheads and junk like that.”

  Cedric didn’t know, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I had this old lighter of Peter’s, one he had from his Boy Scout days. I used it to light a candle that I could take with me to the bathroom. I know it sounds dumb, but it helped. The flame was like this weapon I had against the dark. So I went to the bathroom with my candle and put it on the counter next to the sink. When I was done, I raced back to my bedroom and jumped into bed. I didn’t remember that the candle was still in the bathroom. I just . . . fell asleep.”

  Liv stopped and took a shaky breath, eyes never veering from the road.

  “When I woke up, it was dark and my room was filled with smoke. I could barely breathe, and I was so terrified I kept inhaling these huge lungfuls of ash. I cried out for my parents, but it was Peter who came into my room. He had Maisy, and he pushed open the window and dropped us out of it. That’s when the fire reached my bedroom door. I could feel the heat from the flames from where I was sitting on the grass outside.

  “Peter didn’t have any choice but to jump through the window. He took Maisy and me each by the hand and led us to the street. The fire trucks appeared moments after, and I remember how happy I was to see them. How sure I was that they would put out the fire in my room, and then my parents would come out the front door and join us.

  “They did put out the fire. But my parents never came outside. It wasn’t until I was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital that I remembered the candle.”

  Cedric had stayed completely silent throughout Liv’s story. Toward the end, her voice sounded scratchy and harsh, as though she was trying not to cry. As though she were still choking on ash. He struggled to think of something to say, but nothing felt appropriate. “Liv, I am so sorry—”

  She cut him off with a wave of the hand. “It was a long time ago. But every time I think of Peter and Maisy, all I can think of is how I ruined their lives, ruined everything.”

  “You were ju
st a child.”

  “A child who killed our parents, even if it was an accident. How could they ever forgive me for that? I don’t think I’d be able to forgive someone for that. In fact, I know I couldn’t.”

  Cedric waited again. He wanted to reach out and take Liv’s hand, but both of hers were clutched tight against the steering wheel. Her eyes didn’t waver from the road. “I don’t know what I’d say if I saw them again. I don’t know if I’d want to hear what they have to say to me.”

  After a moment, Liv finally turned her head and looked at Cedric. Her eyes caught the glare of the sun, which was lowering itself past Cedric’s window, and lit up bright. He could see moisture border the edges of her eyes, but not a single tear fell.

  “I’ve never told anyone that story before,” she said. “Not even Shannon.”

  Cedric’s mind raced as he tried to think of what to say. He finally just settled on the first thing that occurred to him. “Why tell me?”

  Liv paused before turning her attention back to the road. “I don’t know. I really don’t,” she whispered.

  THE RULES OF THE UNIVERSE

  The campus of UC San Diego was much bigger than Liv had anticipated. It took them at least a half hour before they were able to track down the history building, a squat, brick structure with patches of old vines clinging to its front wall.

  Inside, Liv was surprised by how quiet it was, its halls nearly empty. She looked at a wall clock and saw it was nearly seven p.m.

  “The website said that his office hours end at seven. We have to hurry.” Liv’s voice sounded smaller than usual to her own ears. She felt hollowed out and raw, having spilled her guts to Cedric. Why had she shared that story with him? The lull of the car on the highway, the heat of the sun, the gentle way he’d asked her questions—everything had just flowed out of her. After she’d finished talking, it had felt like waking up from a dream. Was it too late to take those words back? What could he possibly think of her now that he knew what she’d done?

  To have her deepest secret spoken aloud in the world instead of held tight and safe inside of her was unthinkable, as wrong as wearing her very nerves outside of her skin.

  But still, Liv pushed forward, through the university building’s hallway to Professor Billings’s office. Maybe she could will the conversation away by never thinking of it or acknowledging it again.

  At the professor’s office door, Liv gave one last look to Cedric. He nodded and reached up to knock.

  “Come in,” a voice called out.

  The room was small and warm and cluttered with books. Four bookshelves of various sizes and designs lined the walls, and each was overflowing with large, leather-bound tomes, reference books, paperbacks with cracked spines. They spilled out of their shelves and onto the floor. They covered the cushions of a small love seat and curled around the legs of a worn desk.

  Professor Billings sat at the desk, looking slightly older than the picture on the UC San Diego website. His hair was whiter and his skin more lined, but his dark eyes were bright and vibrant. He carefully placed a bookmark between the pages of his book and set it aside as Liv and Cedric approached his desk.

  “I was beginning to think no one would take advantage of my office hours today,” he said with a smile. He looked them over more carefully and gestured for them to take the two seats in front of his desk. “Sorry, I can’t seem to place you. Are you in my eleven a.m. class?”

  “No,” Cedric said as he sat. “We are not pupils.”

  Liv shot him a quick look. “Well, we are pupils—I mean, students,” she continued for him. “Just not in your class.”

  Professor Billings raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “We’re actually here hoping you could shed some light on a subject we’re interested in learning more about,” Liv added, then cleared her throat, unsure how to begin. “Well, we read that you know a lot about a . . . mythical land called Caelum.”

  “And a set of scrolls that lead there,” Cedric added. He sounded a little too eager, so Liv kicked him gently under the desk.

  “Well,” Professor Billings said with a chuckle. “This is a surprise. I haven’t taught that particular lore in years. It’s fairly obscure, you know.”

  “But you wrote your dissertation on it?”

  Professor Billings’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You certainly have done your research.”

  Liv smiled and gave a half-shrug.

  “Can I ask what brought about your interest? Most students who come see me are here to bargain up their grades, not to hear more about my dissertation subject. And you look . . . very young. Are you freshmen?”

  Cedric shifted in his seat, and Liv shot him a quick side glance.

  “When I said students, I meant . . . high school students, from LA. We’re . . . writing a research paper on ancient myths, and we happened across Caelum online and were really interested in it. But there’s so little information out there, so we thought we’d come straight to the source. . . .” Liv’s voice trailed off, and she wondered if she’d just blown their chances. Why would a college professor care about a stupid high school project?

  Professor Billings studied Liv’s face for a moment, and she squirmed under his gaze. But then his expression cleared and he smiled an easy smile once again.

  “Well, it’s nice to see high school students so interested in the lesser-known historical myths,” he said warmly. “What in particular would you like to know about?”

  “The scrolls,” Cedric cut in.

  Professor Billings nodded. “Well, to understand about the scrolls, you really need a background of the legend. Written accounts of Caelum can be traced back to the early thirteenth century, although its oral history began before that time. It was at its most pervasive around the same era as the Knights of the Round Table and all of that business, sort of medieval Britain’s latent response to . . . sorry, is this boring you?”

  “No,” Cedric said quickly.

  “Well, let me know if I get too dry. I tend to go on sometimes,” he said, smiling and leaning back in his chair. “Anyhow, the legend begins with the once widely held belief that devils roamed the Earth, spreading terror and destruction. Mostly ruining crops and taking firstborn babies, that kind of thing. Some cultures referred to them as evil spirits, or sprites, or wraths.”

  Cedric sat up straighter, and Liv wished she could tell him to chill out. The professor didn’t seem to notice, however.

  “According to this particular lore, these creatures have been on this planet in some form or another since its creation. In response to their growing numbers, a group of men banded together and mixed their bloodlines with those of the wraths, in order to incorporate some of their otherworldly strength for the purpose of fighting them—”

  “That’s not true!” Cedric burst out, jumping out of his seat. He bumped against the desk and disrupted some nearby papers as well as a small bronze figurine. The trinket swayed on its stand, coming perilously close to toppling before the professor reached over and steadied it. He looked at Cedric, a bit discomfited.

  “Well, obviously none of it is really true, son.”

  “Sorry,” Liv interrupted. “He gets really excited about . . . ancient myths.” She made a motion for Cedric to sit down, and he reluctantly did.

  “I can understand that, I suppose. After all, these ancient stories are nothing but metaphors for how we live our lives. In this instance, it’s a metaphor for how good men must necessarily become corrupted in some way in order to be strong enough to protect their people. To fight devils, man must become part devil himself. . . . Quite fascinating, really . . .”

  Liv did her best to look fascinated while the professor continued.

  “So with their tainted blood, these mythical men had the strength necessary to fight off the scores of wraths. At first, they acted in secret, but over the centuries, other groups of men joined in the fight against the wraths. Scholars and religious sects, mostly. They wanted to find a w
ay to not only fight the wraths off, but to expel them from this world for good. And then, according to legend, they did. They found a way to send the wraths somewhere . . . else.”

  “Caelum,” Cedric whispered. His tone was hushed, almost reverential.

  Professor Billings nodded. “That’s right. You know the story?”

  “We’d still like to hear it from you, if that’s okay,” Liv said after Cedric didn’t respond. “For our assignment.”

  The professor nodded again and continued. “One particular sect was known as the Knights of Valere, and they were believed to have true mystics in their midst. Sorcerers, you know.”

  “Sorcerers?” Liv asked. “You mean, as in wizards and magic and all that?”

  “You could say that. Myths of sorcerers certainly abounded during that time. Just look at Merlin!”

  “But Merlin’s fictional,” Liv said without thinking. “I mean, I guess all this stuff is fictional . . .” she added, trailing off. But really, she wondered how many other “fictional” things actually fell in the nonfiction category. After everything she’d seen the last two days, anything was possible. For all she knew, the North Pole was real and Santa Claus was up there right now, making presents for all the nice children of Los Angeles. Or holding on to a set of mythical scrolls.

  The professor leaned forward, his words picking up the pace as he continued. “We know that now, but at one time, people really believed these legends were true. The documented accounts of wraths and the superpowered men—who were referred to as Guardians—tapered off around the same time that stories of magic drifted into the stuff of legend. Most historians agree that advancing technology allowed human beings to become more rational, more able to explain the phenomena around us and less likely to write it off as magic.”

  Liv nodded, trying to follow along.

  “There is another theory, however,” the professor continued. “Put forth by, I’ll admit, mostly discredited historians, who believe that magic does exist—that it has existed in some form on Earth since the beginning of time. These historians believe that, centuries ago, around the time the Guardians left Earth, the planet became overwhelmed by magic and developed a negative reaction to it. So it went into a sort of survival mode, you see, by hiding magic or expelling magic when necessary. A type of evolutionary response. It’s called the Quelling Theory. Similar to the way different species evolve and adapt in order to survive, the Earth evolved to get rid of its magic when it became too powerful and too dangerous. The Quelling Theory might explain why the Knights of Valere were able to banish the wraths and Guardians from Earth when they did—the wraths posed a threat to the planet’s existence and had to be expelled. So, when the Knights went looking for the means to banish the wraths, the planet supplied it. They were able to craft a series of scrolls that opened up a portal to another world. And they used that portal to push all the wraths through.”