The Grove

by J. R. King

  The more Kaleb spoke, the more Rome’s lungs felt as though they were filling with water. There was so much guilt between the two of them he almost couldn’t stand it. Then there was that word: mine. Rome lingered on that word—on the knowledge of what Kaleb wanted—enough to give up the only thing that made him feel whole.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t want to shut you out, but I also don’t know how I’m supposed to let you in. Not like that, not…” He sucked in a breath, rising to almost meet Kaleb’s height. “I’m indebted to you,” Rome said. “There’s no denying that. It’s not why I care about what happens to you though. I care because it’s how I genuinely feel. And I care about how others treat you, too. I care how you treat yourself. It kills me to have to tell you that there may always be this distance between us, but I can only reciprocate so much. I’m not naturally—”

  “Gay?” Kaleb said.

  Rome nodded wordlessly. “I’m not trying to put a wall between us, it’s just one I’ve hit. I can’t even be honest with myself about it because I don’t know how I honestly feel. The doubt alone forces me to question the love I have for a girl that, after tonight, may very well not love me back. For all I know, we might wake up like none of this even happened. If I wake up at all. It’s magic, and no matter how much I try to deny it, it’s felt like magic since the very beginning.

  “And meanwhile, here you are,” Rome said. “You’re someone that I can honestly say I care more about than myself. But by my own definition…” He sighed. “I was taught to follow my heart. I just don’t know what that means right now.”

  Kaleb folded his arms gracefully, coming to recline near the door. The words they had so recklessly shared settled between them like debris. He stared at the floor, the window, his shoes; anything was better than letting his eyes fall on Rome’s face.

  “Then I’m willing to wait,” Kaleb said reluctantly. “As long as it takes for you to figure it out. I won’t promise not to fight for you though. And I won’t guarantee what will happen to anyone who hurts you or tries to come between us. If you’re still with her…” Kaleb bit his lip. “That’s fine. Just know, a part of you will always belong to me.”

  They stood like that for several moments, allowing the shift in their relationship to set in. It had manifested like a strange step into limbo that neither of them had realized they’d taken. Kaleb moved from the wall finally, turning to open the door. “We can talk more tomorrow,” he said. His thoughts resonated more with the idea of ignoring it all, though.

  “I’m not sure there’s going to be a tomorrow.” Rome looked at the clock on Kaleb’s nightstand, eyes turning to the light fading across the sky. “I have to get out there. I’m the one who’s supposed to be performing the spell.”

  Kaleb followed him into the hallway, frowning heavily at Rome’s words. “What do you mean? I thought she was doing it.”

  “I volunteered to take Ariahna’s place.”

  Kaleb walked behind him steadily, forgetting the fact that he’d left his door wide open. Rome appeared listless, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop following his every step. “I don’t understand…”

  “Somebody has to give up their magic for this all to end, and it’s not without its risks. Better me than her, though.”

  Kaleb hummed. He glanced down the corridor, finding the hall empty. “Why don’t I show you what I found then? There’s a shortcut out of the school no one knows about.”

  Rome looked at him curiously. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Kaleb said. “I’ve had a lot of time to explore this place. I know it better than anyone by now. Here, it’s this way.”

  Rome let him lead him to the end of the corridor and around a turn at the back of the hall. There were a handful of dorms down there, but it was otherwise reserved for restrooms, supply closets and showers. He stared at the collection of doors uncertainly. “There’s really a way out back here?”

  “How do you think I’ve been sneaking out after hours? The teachers don’t know about it. Neither does the nosy one.”

  It took Rome a second to realize he meant Shawn.

  Kaleb stopped in front of a door, fingers curling around the handle as he turned to face him. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?” A mischievous smile danced at the edges of his lips.

  Rome nodded. “Sure…” He squinted at Kaleb and his nervous energy. Before he knew what was happening, though, Kaleb had pulled him forward, kissing him fiercely.

  “Forgive me for this,” Kaleb whispered. He ripped open the door before shoving Rome inside. He could hear him tripping over mops and brooms, and presumably nearly knocking over the shelf full of cleaning products. Kaleb had slammed the door shut quicker than Rome could shout, twisting the handle until it busted in his hand. Rome was on the other side in an instant, banging his fist against the jammed door and cursing loudly.

  “Sorry,” Kaleb said, waltzing away from the abandoned hall and back towards the stairs. “You’ll thank me for this later.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  There’s Nowhere to Run

  The yew spiraled towards the heavens, stars peeking through the waning light of the sun. It felt as though the grass were whispering at their ankles, warnings of wrath from the gathering clouds above. Christian gazed up at the massive tree, its thinnest branches swaying lifelessly in the breeze. He trailed each one down to where they dangled near the earth, envisioning the roots meeting them below the surface. “I still can’t believe this is out here. It kind of gives me the creeps.”

  “That’s because this place is a ruin,” Aria said. “It’s all that remains of what once was.”

  “What once was can always be again,” Johnny said. “You do realize the history here is rich beyond comprehension? No one even knows where this tree came from. Some speculate that it’s not a tree at all, but rather a divine being. Others believe it’s how all witches gained their power; a blessing from the earth to those first few deserving mortals. It’s said to have been around for so long that it predates the Grove. Those who brought it here were thought to have belonged to a secret order tasked with preserving it,” he said. “I’m envious that its essence runs in your veins.”

  The moon slipped greedily through the branches, dancing in rays across their forms. Johnny stared at the darkening expression on Ariahna’s face. “My apologies,” he said gruffly.

  They moved around the trunk, clearing debris and piles of leaves gathered on the forest floor in preparation. They made quick work of it, even fashioning a makeshift table out of an old tree stump. Johnny moved between them, gesturing to points around the tree. “First, you’ll want to draw a protective circle to encompass yourselves and the yew.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Mark this symbol in the dirt with the salt.”

  Aria took the drawing, eyeing the narrow star surrounded by three wide circles. “A seven pointed star again. Is this to keep the Artisan away? He shouldn’t have any connection to me.”

  “That’s part of it,” he said. His gaze was heavy where it rested on her worried eyes. “It will allow you to release the magic from your body and place it within something else. It’s a manipulation of spirit, just not in the same sense.”

  She nodded reluctantly, setting to work outlining the symbol against the moist earth. Salt poured easily from one of the bags he had brought, leaving thick white lines on the soil (which the others were careful not to disturb).

  Christian stood at Johnny’s side, watching her work. He could tell they were thinking the same thing. “You don’t intend to let her do this, do you?” he asked. He noted the quick flash of surprise in Johnny’s dark eyes. “I’m curious as to why you’re helping us then?”

  One arm hooked around Christian’s shoulders, guiding him towards the thin line of trees and out of earshot. “I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion, but I suggest you keep it to yourself. I have no intention of stopping her.”

  Christian scowled. “But you don
’t want her to do it either.”

  Johnny’s stare was deep. “Wanting something and acting on it are not the same thing. She’s making a choice I have nothing to do with. We might have the ability, but neither of us has the right to change the outcome of tonight. Remember that.”

  The sound of Johnny’s footsteps retreating hit Christian in a strange place. The seriousness of his tone left little doubt in his mind. This might be the last time Ariahna did magic, or drew breath. He had known that, yet somehow, it hadn’t felt real until this moment.

  “I think we’re ready,” she said.

  Christian turned to see her standing in front of the crude table they had constructed, a pit forming in his stomach. The various ingredients sat on its surface, along with a large, ornate goblet. The wand sat innocently beside it.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Rome?”

  “We’ve been over this,” Aria said.

  Christian sighed. “And I still don’t get why you feel like you have to be the one to do it,” he said. “It’s suicide.”

  “Christian… Give me the satchel.”

  He held the fabric tight in his grasp, feeling the fangs against his palm. “We should wait for him,” he said.

  Kaleb moved through the trees then, startling them. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not going to be an option.”

  “Where is he?” Christian asked.

  “I locked him in a closet.”

  Ariahna looked aghast.

  “Don’t worry,” Kaleb said. “He’s comfortable there.”

  Aria watched him enter the circle, eyeing the bag containing his teeth with disgust. “So why are you here?”

  Kaleb sauntered up beside her, granting her an apathetic stare. “I was told this unfortunate stump needed to absorb somebody’s magic. It just so happens I have some to spare.”

  Ariahna shook her head, fitting him with her sternest expression. “I’m not going to allow you to do that.”

  “I think I missed the part where I asked for your permission.”

  She sighed. “You’re too important, and whether you like it or not, the fact that you have magic is what has given you the opportunity to affect change. You know the way things are isn’t fair, or right, and most of all that it isn’t working. We need a better world, and you are our best shot at getting it. Please, don’t throw that away.”

  Kaleb softened his stare, gazing at her almost compassionately. “This was something I never asked for, never wanted, and the one thing which has made my life an ongoing, unavoidable hell. If I can get rid of it, I am going to, and none of you are going to stop me.”

  “So you don’t care then,” she said, “about everyone that you could help, the countless lives you might change?”

  Kaleb closed his eyes, summoning a level of patience typically reserved for long debates with his father. When he had collected himself adequately, he looked at her again. “If I strip myself of this poison, I just may have a chance of redemption among my people. They might hear me for once, see me, and allow me to bring about the change you so desperately hope for. It would be as if I was reborn in their eyes, and I have no doubt your little witches’ committee would be indebted to me for restoring this symbol of your heritage. It’s better than waiting for something to happen. It’s taking action. And in my experience, taking action is what actually gets things done.”

  Ariahna frowned at him. “And if you die?”

  “If I die, I’ll be memorialized as a hero, among my people and yours. My clan will revere me for cleansing myself, and doing what my father never could: sentencing me to death.” He smiled gravely, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. “Martyrs make for better heroes anyways. Nobody wants to badmouth you after you’re dead.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Johnny said. “Now if everyone is done arguing, how about we begin?” He turned to Kaleb. “You’ll have to recite the spell first. Are you ready?”

  “Just tell me where to sign…”

  Johnny cleared his throat. “Everyone repeat after me, then.

  “Three circles cast beneath the moon,

  We now invoke our magic boon.

  East, South, West, North,

  To do my bidding, I call thee forth.

  In humblest graces I invite,

  The mighty Winds, on this, a sacred night.”

  The words flowed from their mouths in unison. A sudden gust swept through the clearing, circling them where they stood.

  “Read from this passage,” Johnny said, handing him the aged tome. “And add each item to the goblet as you do.”

  He accepted the book with steady hands, staring at the dated scrawl on the page. Kaleb retrieved the harpy’s claw from the table, dipping it into the cup of lake water and letting it sink. “Snatched from my breast, on the wings of those flying women, I beg the wind children to take what I no longer claim as my own.” He unraveled the chunk of root, holding it in the cloth resting in the palm of his hand. “What was bound shall be broken. Given, returned. Gifted, relinquished. I surrender my born ability. Spirit, release me.” The root slipped into the water with a splash, and the metal rang out.

  “Keep going,” Johnny said.

  Kaleb opened the pouch, withdrawing the bloody fang without comment. He was already near the point of becoming ill. “Draw, with all the strength of my foe, that which endangers me to them. Plague me no longer with neither power, nor higher wisdom, nor immunity to the passage of time. In the light of that which I have created, I make myself as mortal man. A creature of non-permanence. An echo of the haunting ghost which has struggled to remain.”

  The moonlight dimmed in the woods as clouds drifted across the sky. Kaleb stood in that consuming darkness, encircled by the phantom laughter of the wind. He touched the jar swirling with fog. “The Wind has given its breath, and I surrender my own to make real my wish.” He popped the top off, hovering above the lip of the cup. “Guardians, grant this desire. With the will of the wind we command in the night, steal the essence of a witch, and set the scales right.”

  The jar was tipped, and its ethereal remains washed over the contents of the chalice. A hiss rattled through the trees, shaking branches and sending small critters running to their hiding places. Kaleb lifted the smoking goblet, bringing the metal to his lips. He took a sip and recoiled, coughing on the bitter tang of the elixir. “How much of this am I supposed to drink?”

  “All of it,” Johnny said.

  He raised it warily to try again, hacking so hard that Ariahna had to take the goblet from him so he wouldn’t spill. Kaleb gripped the wooden table, feeling his throat constrict. “I can’t,” he said. As he said it, a peculiar glow began to emanate from him. The energy shifted around his form as he moved, and he watched as it began to drift towards the dormant tree. Kaleb took another swig then, setting the chalice on the stump as his stomach convulsed. He could taste his heartbeat, and there had to be something wrong in that. He cried out wretchedly, tears burning like fire in his eyes.

  Christian stood at his side, watching as the wand began to rattle against the wood. A cold wind cut through the clearing, and the yew tree let out a groan. He stared from the trembling wand on the table to the heavy, swaying branches above them. Despite the energy leaving Kaleb’s body, the yew seemed to be in distress. A figure drew his eye to the edge of the trees then. It was only a shadow at first, standing among the forest; an outline, darker than the darkness itself. The leaves in the distance shifted, and in a strip of moonlight, Christian could just make out the silver hair and the awful pallor of its skin.

  “Guys…”

  The tree squealed horridly against the force of the wind, and when a crack sounded in the treetop, Christian was quick to pull Ariahna out of the way. The branch hit the ground with a thud, splitting in two as the others braced themselves.

  “No, no! You shall not harm it further.”

  The Artisan moved towards the group, disappearing and reconstituting in flashes too quick for the eye to se
e. He stood outside the circles, wailing in grief. “Do not sully it!”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Johnny said. “Finish it!”

  The Artisan howled wildly, voice disappearing beneath the sound of the storm. Rain began to pelt the earth, as cold as a mountain stream and just as biting. It worked to wash away their only line of defense, rapidly dissolving the lines of salt.

  The next few moments hung in the air, a disorderly sequence of events somehow leading up to the chalice reaching Christian’s lips. Johnny and Ariahna had both fallen victim to the mercy of the Artisan (a ghoul that had once again situated itself inside of Kaleb’s skin). A single hand held Johnny by the throat, another keeping Aria suspended in mid-air. He was killing her, forcefully removing her magic, and with it, her ability to break the curse. She had tried rushing for the wand – a valiant effort for someone whose screams could now be heard over the sound of thunder rolling through the wood.

  Christian hoped he wouldn’t remember these last moments. Not the burning of every drop or the bravery it had taken him to start. It was a split-second decision, and not one he could have explained if given the chance. He had never chosen the wellbeing of another over himself before. He’d never been taught to. Yet in that moment, he understood simply, that love was everything. And it didn’t matter that the words had never left his lips, only that his actions stood to prove what he’d felt all along. He spent those last seconds thinking about how life had been both a blessing and a curse. How fate could strike without warning, never mind reason, and sweep us off our feet when we least expect it. It had no beginning or end, he thought. What it did have, was meaning.

  Epilogue