With the power of the six clans at her side, she led the battle against the clan so powerful it was spinning out of control. But as well intended as the banshee’s circle was, it was incomplete, unstable, broken by design.
As the battle went on, the members of the circle lost more and more of their self-control. Their very sanity. The banshee’s circle blew through the defenses of their enemies, but when they had rounded up the last of the rebellious clan and made their king kneel, the last semblance of control slipped through their fingers.
The good protectors erected a barrier, never to be seen through.
The slithering sisters hissed a curse to bind the shield, independent of any anchor.
The creatures of the night spoke their compelling commands to make the rebels forget who they were.
The howling beasts bit into the rebels, poisoning their blood.
The phantoms healed the bite, transforming the poison to a trace that would forever mark each generation of the rebels.
In their rage, the five kinds bound a joint spell, pouring their abilities into one to erase the rebels from existence.
Only the banshee watched in terror and screamed for the others to stop. But the cruelty of her incomplete circle knew no bounds. The circle went against nature, against life, against decency.
The banshee screamed, aiming to shatter the barrier around the rebels before it enveloped them forever. The joint spell was too strong for her to break through, but she pushed with all her heart, until, combined with the effort of the clan being restrained, a piece of the slithering sisters’ curse ricocheted.
The joint spell took.
Those in the rebel clan woke up with no memory of who they were or of the powers they’d lost.
They went back to life as humans, never knowing they were once much more. Still, they were always drawn to the powered ones, seeking them out on instinct. That was the heritage they were left with.
And the rest of the powered ones? They inherited something as well, from the part of the curse that ricocheted. Since the day of the joint spell, they could never link with those of their own kind.
Only the banshee, the one who fought against the joint spell, inherited the gift to form the link. Not a link with her own, but with one individual from the other five kinds.
And she lived with the pain of knowing that, even if she used this ability, every circle of six would be doomed like that first one. So the banshee and her descendants swore to never let another circle form, because it could be even more destructive than the first.
“Holy crap,” Seff swears under his breath.
“It all rings true, you know,” Awan says heatedly. “If Mason is one of this rebel clan, that would explain why he had a strong instinct. If the story is to be believed, that’s a remnant of him being...”
“A legacy,” I breathe.
In the settling pause, the air between us seems to pulse at my heartbeat.
“I couldn’t bring myself to believe it, but if Seff bit him and Mason was all right, that would be further proof that he’s one of these lost legacies.”
“Because his blood will have traces of the wolf venom anyway, so he might be immune to it somehow,” Seff says, as much to us as to himself while he makes sense of the possibility.
I try to remind myself it’s a long shot, but this story fits like a piece of the puzzle we didn’t know was missing. It explains so much. Why some hunters have a true instinct and others are regular humans. Why the rebel clan wouldn’t even remember their own powers. Why the banshee is the only legacy that can bind herself to the others. It even explains why I couldn’t link myself to Jester. The link can only take place between me and one of each legacy. And I’m already linked to Jean.
I swallow down the lump that feels lodged in my throat. “We need to tell Mason right now. This is proof he belongs with us. Whatever is needed to break this joint spell, we’ll figure it out later.”
“No,” Awan cuts me off. “Don’t you see? He’s with the hunters. If they catch wind of his legacy heritage, they’ll slit his throat. He’s safer not knowing, at least until we find a way to...”
“Free him,” I finish for him.
Awan nods, and an unspoken understanding passes between us with a single look. “Will you help me figure out how to save him?”
“I won’t rest until we do.” I hope my resolve shines through in my tone.
Awan extends an arm to me formally. Shaking hands feels right. It centers me. Gives me purpose. I’m going to find Mason, and we’re going to fix this. We won’t be star-crossed lovers anymore. We’ll belong together. There has to be a way.
When Awan squeezes my hand in a firm handshake, gold explodes all around us. The nearby students gasp and gather around us, but my gaze stays on Awan’s face. I trust him now, same as I do the others.
The flecks of gold dissolve like the droplets of a bursting soap bubble.
“Cool.” Awan examines his hands as if he expects to have grown fur or something. He looks exactly the same, but what do I know? Perhaps he can sense his extended powers already.
Awan doesn’t pay attention to the crowd that has gathered. I hear Mrs. Hatchett asking students to return to their seats, but nobody moves. We follow Awan with our eyes. He stops and kneels in front of Charity, who’s at the edge of her seat.
Her jaw drops, her mouth forming a small ‘o’.
“Give me your hand,” Awan whispers.
Charity tenses at once, like every time attention is drawn to her scarred hands. She shakes her head.
Awan reaches for her with an open palm. “It won’t hurt. I promise.”
The protector jumps out of Awan in a flash of bronze. Awan squeezes Charity’s hand, then nods at the protector.
And the phantom cat leaps into Charity.
She gasps in surprise, her beetle-black eyes wide. Awan runs a finger on every scar the witch hazel net left on her hands. A trail of sparkling bronze follows his finger, and as soon as it dissolves, Charity’s skin shines healthy and unmarked.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, even better than the golden link.
He’s healing her, not for him, not because the scars are ugly, but because they make her unhappy. And all Awan wants is to make her happy.
I feel their emotions through the links until my chest is tight, and a happy tear rolls down my cheek.
When all the scars are gone, the protector leaps out of Charity, does a brief walk with his beefy tail pointing up, a victory lap, and jumps back into Awan.
Everyone claps. The bell may have rung to announce the end of our self-paced reading period, but the junior class continues to whistle and cheer. Charity is crying too, and I get the strong feeling it’s the gesture that did it, not the healing itself.
There’s a breathless pause as she and Awan lock eyes on each other. Then, Charity shortens the distance between them for a kiss. The cheers erupt again, mixed with giggles this time.
I can barely breathe from the emotions flooding into me, some mine, some spilling into me through the five links I’ve formed with my neighbors.
Mrs. Hatchett, the librarian, throws a few faint shields around, all to isolate sound. Though they only last a few seconds without an anchor, they get everyone’s attention. “Quiet down. All six of you, out, now. And you’ll be in detention for a week for this commotion!”
The six of us only shrug and grin at each other, not bothered by that sentence, but we gather our things and exit, leaving curious looks in our wake. Once we’re outside in the corridor, Charity and Awan hand in hand, I notice that one face among us is still glum.
I’m about to comment on Jean’s disdainful look, but she cuts in before I do. “Guys, we shouldn’t be celebrating.”
“Speak for yourself.” Charity seems to have regained her confidence at once.
“Was I the only one who read that story for what it surely is?” Jean looks around, but when no one agrees with her, she adds impatiently, “This is a c
autionary tale. A circle of six is incomplete. A circle of six is broken by design. That’s what the story said.”
“And we’re a circle of six now,” Vanessa catches on.
It was convenient and calming to think my circle could be different. I firmly believed it. But that was when we were in a circle of five.
I get a punch of dread torpedoed at me through each link until it’s hard to pluck out my own emotions from the storm raging inside me. This is exactly what happened to Mom’s circle. Their circle of six grew out of control and caused a war.
And according to that old story, it caused the legacies to turn on others like them.
I exhale slowly. There has to be a way to fight this. We must.
“Okay, guys,” I say in a voice soft like a prayer. “Nobody panic.”
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CONTRIBUTORS
Cover by Andreea-Elena Vraciu (incl. photo, model and font licenses)
Proofread by Jamie Beasley
Formatted using Draft2Digital template Corner Decoration
About the Author
Emilia Zeeland is a Young Adult sci-fi and fantasy writer and author of The STAR Academy series and the Elmwick Academy series.
Her stories include coming-of-age tales, detailed worlds, unimaginable consequences, deep friendships, and romances that sneak up on you. She’s not afraid to push her characters to their limits and give them a depth that firmly plants them in readers’ hearts. In Zeeland’s writing, readers will be transported to another world, where they are not alone, but part of a tightly-knit, perfectly imperfect family.
Behind the Emilia Zeeland pseudonym, Em (as her friends call her) speaks six languages, loves to try on—and, sadly, also buy—dresses, and is a bit of a foodie.
Visit her website at www.emiliazeeland.com
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