Buried

by Emma Shelford

  But what would I unleash in the process? What do the spirits plan, once they have human bodies to control? And what of those bodies, stolen from the people who once owned them? How many lives are my answers worth?

  I am silent with indecision, but the spirit is satisfied that I haven’t said no.

  “We will speak again soon. Let the ritual take place, and everything will become clear, son of earth. We look forward to it.”

  Within seconds, the earth lauvan collapse into themselves, then swirl peacefully around the wristband. I stare at the leather for a moment, then sigh and put it back into my pocket. Again, I have nothing but questions. And now, I must decide what I value more: answers, or innocent lives.

  ***

  I walk slowly back to my office, lost in thought. My classes are finished for today, and I have a meeting to attend at Potestas tonight. My satchel collected, I meander to my car. A student says hello in passing, but the greeting barely registers. I only come to myself when I turn the key in my car’s ignition and the engine roars to life.

  Right. The Potestas meeting tonight. I need to be on my toes. The invitation―which arrived in my inbox yesterday―was sparse on details but assured me that I didn’t want to miss this gathering. Surely, it’s too soon for the ceremony to bring the spirits to Earth? Either way, I need to be there, to find out what is happening, and to stop events if they get out of hand.

  Assuming I want to stop the ritual. My stomach twists with the thought of the answers promised me. I stamp on the accelerator in frustration and pass a dawdling minivan ahead.

  The cupcake shop is closed at this time, and I slip inside the unlocked entrance and through the secret door to Potestas’ headquarters. A barrage of sound assaults my ears when I enter. The entire membership of the organization must be here tonight. Every couch and chair is occupied, it’s standing-room only in the kitchen, and throngs line the hallways. The anticipation in the air is palpable, and they all chat eagerly to their neighbors.

  I hear my name from nearby and rake my eyes across the crowd until I spot Esme, a slight acquaintance from a few days prior. I took her form when Alejandro and I snuck into headquarters to search the library. I hope she never finds that out.

  Esme’s fleshy cheeks quiver with excitement below her dyed black locks. Her fire-engine red mouth opens to greet me.

  “Merry, dear, so glad you could make it.”

  “Hello, Esme. It’s busy tonight.”

  “Yes, everyone is so thrilled that the ritual will take place soon. And all thanks to you! I hear your diving expedition went swimmingly.” She nudges my side and I give her the grin she expects for her double-entendre.

  “It did. Now we have the grail. Is there any impediment to holding the ceremony right now?”

  I’m certainly not advocating rushing things, but I need to know what else must happen. How long do I have to stop events from unfolding? How long do I have to decide what I want?

  Esme’s brow wrinkles in thought.

  “I think there’s one more thing, but I can’t recall. March should let us know tonight.”

  I nod, but before I can say any more, the doors to the central meeting room open wide. March and Anna stand against either door and greet people as they file inside. I am reminded of a priest greeting his flock, and I wonder at the power March wields with these people. They love her and are willing to follow her questionable decisions. How far can she push them?

  I follow Esme to the entrance. While she enthusiastically greets March as she passes, I try to tread in the middle to avoid contact with either Anna or March. Anna gives me a glance and a nod, which I return. March, however, gazes at me after Esme enters the room. Her look is curious, searching. There’s a hint of a confused smile, as if she knows something I don’t, but isn’t certain about it. She gives no indication that she suspects my hand in the burying of the grail. I nod, and she slowly gives one in return before her attention is diverted to the next member.

  I take a seat near the back and wait until all are seated. Anna slips past once the room is full and takes a seat near the front. March closes the doors with a soft thump, and the chattering crowd grows still. She paces down the corridor with measured steps, confident in the silence. At the front, she turns to face us with a smile and open arms.

  “Welcome, my friends. And thank you for coming here tonight, to this very special meeting. This is an exciting time to be a member of Potestas. We are so close to achieving our goals.” She raises her hand and holds her thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart. “This close. Can you feel it?”

  A murmur of agreement ripples through the audience. The faces that surround me are rapt, their eyes fixed on March. She continues her speech.

  “But tonight, we must decide something very important. The first ritual will allow three of our members to unite with their spirit traveler.” Noises of consternation float in the air. March raises her hand. “Don’t worry, everyone will have their turn. This is what we’ve worked so hard for, after all. Tonight, we must choose the lucky three who will be first. I would like those who wish to be the ground-breaking pioneers, to carve a path into the future for the rest of us, to come forward. Anna will take your names, and then we will do a draw.”

  March steps back to indicate that she is finished speaking. Clothes rustle and feet thud as nearly a third of the crowd files into the aisle. The volunteers glow with anticipation. Those who are still seated vary in their expressions. Some look curious, some uneasy, and some whisper to their neighbors with looks of fearful longing.

  Anna stands at the front with a pen and a stack of index cards. On each one she writes a name as the hopefuls come forward, then drops it into a large glass bowl that sits on the marble pedestal. March stands to one side and gazes at her flock with an inscrutable look. Once all have given their names and been seated once more, Anna places the last card in the bowl and takes her seat. Neither she nor March wrote her own name on a card for the bowl, and I wonder why. March is a smart woman, as evidenced by her business acumen and her handling of this organization. She must have calculated the risks involved with this spirit possession and decided she was willing to wait for her powers, if it meant others could test the process first. No one is as successful as her without a certain level of caution and an eye for evaluating risk. She must be fond enough of Anna to tell her to wait as well, although Anna doesn’t look happy about it. She vacillates between throwing March disgruntled looks and staring longingly at the bowl of names.

  March steps forward, and the hushed room becomes completely silent. The man beside me might even be holding his breath.

  “Three volunteers will be chosen tonight. Three fortunate souls will gain the power of their dreams in the upcoming ritual. Three members of our organization will be the first to usher in the new era.” March lifts her hand to the bowl. “Without further ado, I will select the names. After the meeting, please come forward and I will instruct you in the preparations you need for the ritual.”

  March plunges her hand into the bowl of names and selects an index card with strong fingers. She reads it swiftly, then looks up at the room.

  “Thomas Ober.”

  “Yes!” A middle-aged man in the front leaps to his feet. The crowd claps and whistles. Those who did not put their names in clap with genuine enthusiasm. Those who did shift their eyes from Thomas to the bowl and sit on the edge of their seats, anxious for March to draw another name.

  March reaches into the bowl before the applause finishes and extracts another name.

  “Esme Rotari.”

  Esme jumps up with more vigor than I expected from someone of her age and stature. She throws her hands in the air and whoops. Those around her laugh and clap at her joy.

  The applause is much shorter this time. The focus is on March’s hand in the bowl. She fishes around for a moment, then pulls out one last card. The silence is absolute.

  “Ben Hart.”

  Ben rises with a blissful look on his face as
two-thirds of the crowd erupts with applause. The other third, those who were not selected, slowly put their hands together in sad imitations of clapping. Their doleful faces make me wonder what their stories are, what pushed them into joining Potestas with a promise of power to be gained. What are they escaping? What wrongs need to be put right in their lives?

  March raises her hand for quiet. Ben sits and the audience hushes.

  “Congratulations, Thomas, Esme, and Ben.” She smiles at each with beneficence and they beam back at her. “You will truly be pioneers in our brave new world. But the rest of you, your time will come. I am as anxious as any to join with my spirit traveler, and we will continue to hold rituals until everyone who wishes it is connected. There is so much good we will do once we are all joined. Our combined powers will be great enough to meet the injustices of the world head-on. Potestas will be a beacon of light.”

  March pauses for a moment, and the crowd leans forward to hear her next words.

  “There is one more thing we need for the ritual, one more thing we haven’t collected. It’s why I haven’t yet set a date for the ritual. We are currently searching for a person with an exceptionally strong aura. Arnold and Anna have special amulets that allow them to sense someone with this requirement, and it’s only a matter of time before one is revealed. Once we have found a suitable candidate, the ritual will take place. Unfortunately, the aura of this person will need to be stripped away to open the spirit world, which will cause the person to pass away.”

  Pass away? I stare at March in shock and revulsion. She’s speaking of human sacrifice, couched in a palatable euphemism. It’s been many centuries since I’ve been party to a human sacrifice, and I didn’t care for it then. How can March justify this atrocity to herself? There are a few mutterings from the crowd, but most wait to hear what March has to say next, perhaps hoping that she will ease any guilt they might feel.

  “However, only one person will be enough for many, many rituals. It’s regrettable, but this sacrifice is for a much greater cause. The powers we will have will allow us to change the world, for the better. One life will be taken, but so many lives will be saved.”

  For the greater good? I’ve heard that line many times in my life, and it’s always a slippery slope. I don’t deny that sometimes it’s true, but the line between acceptable and not is very hard to see, and it’s easy to justify any action with enough talk.

  Most in the crowd seem outwardly mollified by March’s words, although there are a few sideways glances between neighbors. March wraps up the meeting with words of parting and waves the three volunteers forward. The rest shuffle out of the room. I stay in my seat until the crowds disperse.

  I have my answer, now. I can’t allow this ritual to proceed. I could possibly stand aside while the members of Potestas willingly allow themselves to be possessed, but I draw a line in the sand at murdering an innocent. If I don’t step in, no one else will, by the looks of it. It doesn’t matter what answers the spirits have for me. I must stop them.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Dreaming

  I stretch my aching back and think longingly of massaging the knots out of my lauvan tonight, when no one is looking. My host family in the village goes to bed early and leaves me time on my own before the banked fire. I might be young, but hard work affects me the same as any other.

  “Pick up the pace, Merlin,” my druid master Orin calls from behind me.

  “A moment’s rest, that’s all I took,” I mutter back, but I bend to pick up a bundle of branches for the bonfire.

  “We have much to do before the ceremony,” Orin says. “We must all do our share.” He moves off to oversee another group of students toiling to fill a cart with wood. My friend Pert puffs up beside me.

  “It’s a lot of work,” Pert says. “But think of what we might achieve. We could hear spirits tonight. For the first time in fourteen years!”

  “Yes, if you are gullible.” I shuffle the branches in my arms and trudge to the cart.

  “You don’t believe in the spirits?” Pert says.

  “No. Why should I? I’ve never heard or seen anything like that.” Surely if spirits were real, I would have seen something with the lauvan, but there has never been a sign. I nudge Pert with my shoulder. “I think those who claim to have heard spirits ate too much belladonna.”

  Pert laughs but sobers when Orin speaks behind us.

  “You have a skeptic’s mind, Merlin. It will keep you careful in life but take care not to let it override every situation. As for the spirits, they are indeed real. Where do you think those with the ability to sense storms, hear answers in the rain, and feel fire without burning came from? Those with special abilities are the descendants of spirits from long ago.”

  A quick retort dies on my lips as I ponder his words, but I dismiss my questions quickly. Orin is wise, but he can’t see what I do.

  “I’ll haul wood for the fire, but I’ll believe in spirits when I hear them.”

  Orin nods his head.

  “I expect nothing else.” He waves at the cart. “When this is full, please take a meal to the guards for the prisoner.”

  “Who’s the prisoner?” Pert asks.

  “A slave who disobeyed. We need a sacrifice for the ceremony tomorrow, so he will fulfill that role.”

  Orin walks away to shout at two students who wrestle with an oversized log. I turn to Pert.

  “Did you know we were killing someone for this?”

  Pert shrugs.

  “No. But if it brings us closer to the spirits… And the slave would have been punished, in any event.”

  “Not with death.” I gaze with consideration at Pert until he squirms.

  “What do you want to do about it? The ceremony must go on―”

  “Must it?”

  “Yes, it must. This is our big chance to contact the spirit world once more! The moon is in the right phase, everything is prepared. And the masters think it is fine, so it must be all right.”

  I gaze at Pert with narrowed eyes. He had never struck me as a mindless sheep until now. My respect for him flickers. I’ve thought lately about whether the path to become a druid is the one I want to follow to completion. I wonder if today I have finally made up my mind. To follow orders blindly is not in my nature.

  My stomach clenches at the thought of leaving. For two whole years I’ve had food, shelter, friends, purpose. Can I truly throw that all away? What will I do? Where will I go?

  But I can’t be party to murder in cold blood, especially for such a ridiculous goal. I am done here, but I can’t let the others know. They will not take kindly to me deserting my studies, nor to what I plan to do before I go. I grin at Pert.

  “You’re right, of course. Come, perhaps we can sneak some cheese when we collect the guard’s meals.”

  ***

  The village is silent under the full moon. I open the door of my host family’s cottage with care and slip out of the gap. Behind me on the hearth lie three wooden dolls I fashioned out of wood using my knife and lauvan skills before I left. It’s a poor thanks for the care and hospitality they have shown me, but their three little daughters will hopefully enjoy the presents.

  I walk noiselessly past silent cottages toward the druids’ compound. A sack rubs uncomfortably on my back, and my harp inside digs into my shoulder. I can’t leave without it, though, as it is the only way I can think of to earn my bread.

  The bright moon illuminates one nodding guard in front of the door to a thatched windowless hut. I lower my sack to the ground and approach the man on soundless feet. I’m within three steps when he finally startles awake and surges to his feet. I close the distance and grab any lauvan I can reach, especially near his throat. As I hoped, his yell for help is no more than a hoarse whisper.

  He is quick and lunges for me to pin me to the ground. I twist in his grasp, but he holds me tightly with his weight. I thrust my fingers into his strands in a panic, desperate to release myself from my trap.


  To my intense relief and surprise, the man’s eyes roll back, and he slumps onto me. I push him off with distaste and rise with shaking legs.

  The door of the hut is latched shut on the outside. When I swing it open, the darkness within moves.

  “Who is there?” a ragged voice whispers.

  “Do you want to die tomorrow?” I whisper back. “If not, the door is open. Make your escape. I am.”

  The slave emerges. He’s a big man, but too thin for his frame. He shivers in his dirty woolen tunic and glances around the clearing with the eyes of a hunted animal.

  I wrestle the guard out of his coat and hand it to the slave. A loaf of bread from my bag also makes its way into his hands.

  “I’m going east, to find a ship to Britain,” I say. “You’re welcome to accompany me if you wish. Or go your own way.”

  The man nods slowly, his face a mess of expressions. Fear, curiosity, confusion, and hope play in his eyes.

  “I will come with you, if you will have me.”

  I grin and pat him on the shoulder.

  “Come. On to our next adventure.”

  CHAPTER IX

  It’s a beautiful afternoon, all blue skies and brisk breezes, so I decide to do my thinking and planning from a mountaintop. Nothing opens my mind more freely than immersion in the forest and a deep grounding with the Earth. I could be doing something more concrete toward my goal of stopping human sacrifice, but starting out with a solid plan is important.