Arise (After the Reign Book 1)

by CK Dawn

  “Sorry for what, kidnapping me?” Sawyer teased. “I’ve been through worse.”

  “There really is something I want to show you.”

  He looked back toward the portal that was once again showing a glimpse into the Hollow and a disappointed Conor Lane. Sawyer snickered under his breath. “Well then, by all means, lead the way.”

  Laszlo was exactly where Mira expected him to be. Up the hill, plodding along row after row in the vast community garden, she spotted his trusty old red 1955 International Harvester and his floppy sweat-stained straw hat.

  There were younger men and women that gladly shared in the labor of tilling, turning, and seeding. But there was no place the eighty-seven-year-old would rather be than tending to the land, sitting on his open-air knobby-wheeled tractor as it spat, sputtered, and rattled up and down Bremerton’s rows of crops.

  Sweet-smelling pies and delicious-looking candied ginger lemonade had Mira grabbing a handful of the goodies as she passed by. The table at their neighborhood farmer’s market was brimming with delights. It always was that time of year. The glass bottle of lemonade was refreshing and cold. So she grabbed another for Laszlo and made her way out to the field.

  “Mira,” Sawyer whispered with urgency. “Aren’t you going to pay for those?”

  “Pay for them? I harvested and canned all these blueberries last season with Cat.” She waved at Laszlo’s wife while she ate one of the bite-sized confections. The woman and several of the neighborhood kids were picking sugar snap peas. Opening the pods and eating the peas straight from the vine alongside Cat was one of Mira’s favorite memories. “Oh, you mean paper money, don’t you?”

  “Um, yes?” Sawyer’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Bremerton’s part of the mortal realm but it’s more like the Spree than the rest of the world, I guess. I never really thought about it. New York’s different?”

  “Much.”

  “Hmm, I wouldn’t know now would I?” Mira reminded him about how isolated she and Bremerton, Washington were.

  “You mean you don’t have a penthouse apartment made of gold overlooking the vast New York skyline?”

  “Ha, ha.” She tossed him a pie and pointed at him. “You can pay for that later. C’mon, Laszlo’s headed back down this way and he has the thing I want to show you.”

  Walking up the hill toward the field, Mira kept a leisurely pace while Sawyer took everything in. He looked across the street at the old tree-lined cemetery. The hallowed ground had a reverent feel with its moss-covered tombstones and solemn angel statues. Some of the markers were old traditionally engraved stones, massive and elaborate, while thousands more were newer haphazard tombstones created by whatever the Scorch survivors had had on hand. Row after row there were simple sticks tied into crosses or frames digging into the dirt displaying pictures of loved ones, the paper bleached and faded by the sun over the years. The cemetery was filled to the brim. Rows and lines were barely wide enough to walk down anymore, bursting at the seams with far too many graves signifying the millions upon millions that had died all around the world during the fae invasion. “Maybe Bremerton and New York aren’t that different,” Sawyer added.

  “Maybe we’re not.”

  Laszlo spotted Mira. With his red tractor idling up the hill behind him, he was already walking her way down the rows of sweet corn and yellow squash. “Hey there, Sunshine, I didn’t expect you home so soon?” His southern drawl was a welcoming tonic. As he got closer, he cut through the rows careful not to break any precious stems.

  “Sawyer here has a broken-down bike,” Mira shouted over the diesel ladened gurgles of the tractor.

  “Does he now?” Laszlo knew exactly what Mira was after.

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” Sawyer held out his hand as Laszlo stepped out of the last row in the field.

  “Please, call me Laszlo.” Old weathered hands met their younger hard-working counterparts. “Nice to meet you too, son.”

  “Well, you know where it is, Sunshine.” Laszlo patted the center chest pocket of his faded blue overalls. The lucky charm rarely left the man’s side.

  Mira leaned in, reached in his pocket, and grabbed the gold coin. She planted a soft kiss on Laszlo’s cheek and handed him a lemonade.

  “Stay for dinner?” He asked, looking at Mira and Sawyer.

  “I don’t know...I don’t want Mordecai to worry.” Mira was reluctant to answer, not wanting to speak for Sawyer and his usual evening plans.

  “Not a problem. Hazel’s visiting from the Spree and made her famous rosemary potatoes and sage stuffed fried turkey. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sending one of those witchy messages to him real quick. She’s right down the row there gathering the sage. Sawyer, how about you? Can I tempt you with a down-home meal, Southern and Spree style?”

  “If those blueberry pies are any indication of what dinner’s like, count me in.”

  “My man!” Laszlo slapped his hands together in a single clap. “Well alright, excellent. You two go help set the table? And I’ll talk to Hazel.”

  “Sounds good, Laszlo. See you at dinner.”

  “Save me a seat, Sunshine?”

  “Always.”

  Before Mira and Sayer could even make it down the hill, Hazel’s magic was meandering down the road ahead of them. The green wisps of smoke looked like water flowing in a creek. Slithering and gliding through the air, the magic seeped up to the portal and into Crimson Hollow.

  “I’ve seen those green trails of magic all over the Spree. Is that--?”

  “The message that’ll find Mordecai and tell him we’re staying for dinner? Yeah.”

  “Woah.”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Mira held up the gold coin and tossed it to him.

  Strings of Edison Bulbs pinned from each neighbors’ house came to a pinnacle above the long farmhouse table and illuminated Sawyer’s wide-eyed stare. “It does what!?” He was seated on the long bench near one end of the table across from Mira in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

  “It brings mechanical and electrical objects to life.” Mira took a bite of the fried turkey on her plate.

  “No way.” Looking at the deceivingly simple gold coin, Sawyer turned it in his hand.

  She had a devious smirk on her face. She knew he’d see it in action soon enough. One of the neighbors had already brought out the large communal jukebox on a rolling dolly before joining them at the table. Music during dessert was a tradition, and the newest guest always got to pick the first song.

  Conversations were flowing up and down the table as mounds of food were passed around. Friends and family were chatting away, discussing everything from last year's bumper crop to arguing about who told the best of the worst dad jokes.

  Laszlo was giving their Spree host and chef a hard time about being a witch named Hazel. He amused himself every time he pointed it out. Hazel always ribbed him back with an exaggerated mocking southern drawl and an impersonation of the larger than life eighty-seven-year-old’s mannerisms. It was all in good fun.

  Once all the courses had been served, Mira helped Laszlo and Cat bring out dessert, their incredible Southern pecan pie drizzled with lavender caramel from the Spree.

  “I think it’s time for some music. Sawyer, would you do the honors?” Laszlo pointed to the coin in his hand.

  Still unsure of its magic, Sawyer got up, looked at the retro jukebox with the chord tucked neatly away with no outlet in sight, and looked back at Laszlo.

  “Just give it a couple gentle taps for luck first.” Laszlo mimed the action in the air as Sawyer walked over to the jukebox. “Then, dealer’s choice.”

  “No Country!” Hazel mocked, using her southern drawl impersonation and the table erupted in laughter.

  A smirk crossed over Sawyer's face as he looked down at the music selection and found what he wanted. Tapping the coin on the glass twice, he laid it on the jukebox and hit S10 on the panel of white buttons. Blue, pink, and green lights came to life and
illuminated the machine’s grand arch. The sound of record albums being shuffled started then stopped and the speakers picked up the unique static of a needle as it started its glide across the vinyl.

  Spinning and spinning, Mira got caught up in the pause before the music, listening to the record go round. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. The line from Walt Whitman’s poem popped in her head as she thought about the pieces of art, of history, recorded on those vinyl disks, frozen in time. She wondered if she would ever be able to put her mark on the world.

  The familiar twang of Sweet Home Alabama started playing and the table erupted in more laughter and applause of approval at Sawyer’s southern rock and country music choice.

  “My man!” Laszlo shook his hand as they sat back down.

  Mira knew Sawyer had just made a friend for life. She had to admit, it was pretty perfect.

  “Oh my God. Cat, this is the best pie I’ve ever had.”

  “You haven’t had Laszlo’s maple bacon bourbon pecan pie yet. It’s out of this world.”

  Sawyer looked from Cat to Laszlo as if he’d just heard the best thing in his life.

  “Learned from the best, my love. Maybe next week, once I get the wheat harvested and more pecans shelled.” Laszlo promised.

  “I’d be glad to help with that.” Sawyer shoveled a heaping mound of pie into his mouth.

  Mira had a great big smile on her face.

  Sawyer shrugged. “Got to figure out some way to pay you back.” He looked at the gold coin that was going to fix his bike before he turned back to Mira. “I owe you one, truly.”

  4

  Two Can Play That Game

  Where’s Sawyer? The sharp words Mira had asked Conor that morning kept repeating in her head. I’m such a jerk. She thought as she and her new blond escort walked back toward the Spree Mirror at the end of her school day.

  Conor’s welcoming smile had turned down the instant she had asked her question. ‘Sawyer’s off on another assignment I suppose.’ She couldn’t blame him for his snide remark. Maybe giving Conor a chance to take her to school was what Sawyer meant last week when he told her he would find a way to pay her back during dinner in Bremerton.

  Mira hadn’t liked the way Conor made it sound as though she were just another job to Sawyer. She hadn’t meant to blurt the question out, though. She just hadn’t expected to see Conor standing alone in the breakfast hall greeting her with his ‘I’m all yours today’ comment as he flaunted Sawyer’s Mirror ring adorning his finger that morning. The table and room had been empty as though no one had been there at all. Even her uncle had been absent. She thought she would have been thrilled to see Conor replacing Sawyer for once. But admittedly, she wasn’t.

  “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Conor broke their day-long silence as he and Mira neared Hilgrid and her familiar on the cobblestone street.

  “What?” Pulled out of her thoughts, Mira looked at Conor.

  He pointed down at Bast sunning himself in front of the witch’s shop.

  “Oh, ha!” Mira giggled. “Sorry. No, I--”

  “Gods will you look at that? She’s collecting them now!” Finn spat under his breath as he and his friends rushed by. He murmured something else about vile half-breeds and her pets that he knew only Mira’s keen hearing picked up.

  Anger bubbled inside Mira like a volcano ready to blow. She didn’t let it consume her. Instead, she focused and let her instincts guide her, determined to end the elf’s bullying once and for all.

  “Finn Keytris!” She ground to a dead halt and yelled after her tormentor in a commanding voice.

  A collective hush fell over the Spree. Everyone up and down the street seemed to be watching and waiting as though Mira were a full-fledged Horseman about to lay waste to her foe.

  Finn’s gate slowed to a crawl. He and his friends stopped and turned toward her.

  Mira handed a stunned Conor her books. Twirling her hand in the air, she chanted her weave reversal spell, and walked directly toward Finn. She aimed the truth at him and her grievances. “You don’t deserve those.”

  Four of Finn’s braids unraveled under her will.

  Mira took up all the space her small frame allowed. Her presence was fierce. “And I claim my right of challenge.”

  “Your right?!” Finn snapped.

  Finn’s friends backed away.

  Four of his seven golden rings clung to his long white waves like ants dangling on single strands of grass, trapped, and desperate to stay above a raging flood.

  Concerned by what was happening, Mira’s would-be-suitor was about to step forward and try to intervene on her behalf. Hilgrid grabbed Conor’s arm and shook her head. Thinking better of getting between two powerful beings, he complied, and stayed behind.

  “Like it or not, I am fae” Mira continued, her calm voice was like a match striking against Finn’s combustible temper. His threatening glare didn’t intimidate her, not anymore. It drew her closer. She wanted that spark to catch fire, knowing she could snuff it out.

  The woodland elf scoffed. He looked for affirmation and support from his cowering friends. There wasn’t any. His family’s name, high rank and prestige amongst the other castes, even his family’s wealth, and influence were insignificant at that moment. And for the first time in his pampered and privileged life, Finn Keytris was alone.

  Mira continued walking toward him. “You are the vile one! You are cruel, not kind, quick to judge anyone you consider beneath you as less than.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mira saw Professor Mary Bradbury join Hilgrid on the street. The two were elbowing each other enthusiastically. Then, keeping their hands low and out of view from most onlookers, they gave each other a fist bump as they aimed prideful smiles at Mira.

  Mira’s spine straightened. “You lack compassion, humility, and empathy.” With a wave of her hand, Mira released a fifth braid from Finn’s hair. “You’re not strong. You are weak, preying on those you find timid and meek. And you are unworthy to be named champion of such trials. Tell me I’m wrong!” She knew he couldn’t lie. If she was right, he just might lose his golden tokens he treasured so much.

  Finn stood there, dumbfounded, unable to speak. He wasn’t used to anyone standing up to him, let alone someone he considered feeble like Mira. The entire Spree seemed to be waiting for his response. Only his deafening silence answered them. The truth had been laid bare.

  Clink, clang, ching. The chime of metal hitting the cobblestones below broke the eerie quiet as five of his golden rings slipped from his hair and fell to the ground one by one.

  Giving the gold bands a fleeting glance, Mira left them where they lay to collect dust and grime, insignificant, just like the shallow boy in front of her. She scoffed back at Finn, turned on her heels, and walked away.

  Finn’s posture slumped as he looked down at his lost trophies. His friends tugged him toward the portal, making a hasty retreat to Fae.

  “Wow,” Conor whispered as Mira rejoined him in front of Hilgrid’s shop. “I can’t believe it. You’re a badass.”

  “I can’t believe I did that.” Mira took a deep breath and slowed her racing heart. Eventually, she and Conor started making their way back to the Mirror.

  “Believe it.” Professor Bradbury yelled after them. As Mira entered the portal, she and Hilgrid were grinning from ear to ear at her.

  Mira smiled back at them in thanks before leaving the Spree behind and stepping into Crimson Hollow.

  “No I really mean it, you’re a badass.” Conor rambled on about what she’d done.

  “Thanks.” Mira had to laugh. She wasn’t used to so much praise being lavished on her. The problem was the person she most wanted to share her prideful moment with, wasn’t there. Looking around the Hollow for Sawyer, she found Bean walking straight at her instead.

  “Hey, uh, I think this is for you.” The dusk blood was scratching his head holding an intricate golden box with a small note attached. “
It’s written in Elvish but I think I recognized your name. It poofed onto my bar out of thin air just before you guys came through the portal.” Bean put the box in Mira’s hand.

  The elegant design was formed from gold. Scrollwork of interwoven metal leaves and vines created a cage of sorts, tied shut with a teal satin bow. She could almost see inside of it. The square of crisp white linen paper was handwritten in Elvish just as Bean had thought.

  Before opening the box, she read the note out loud for Bean’s and Conor’s benefits. “Mira Etain-Tice, These rightfully belong to you with a most humble apology from Finn Keytris. Please consider this our formal invitation to join the Elvin Trials. Sincerely, the Elvin Caste.” Nervous butterflies started swirling in her stomach. She didn’t have to guess what was inside.

  Tugging on the ribbon, she untied it, and lifted the gold-hinged top. There inside were five golden rings...Finn’s golden rings.

  “Woah.” Conor gasped.

  “Looks like somebody had a good day today. Huh huh?” Bean nudged her shoulder.

  “I did, actually.” Mira threaded the teal ribbon through the rings and tied them all together. Not sure what she wanted to do with them, she tucked them into the front pocket of her jeans.

  “So, uh, how about that coffee date?” Conor asked, not caring that Bean was still standing there. “How does tomorrow night sound? Say six o’clock?”

  Mira was speechless. After feeling so good about confronting Finn, she’d forgotten all about wanting Conor to ask her out.

  The gorgeous blond beamed at her. “Say yes, Mira.”

  Mira walked down into the subterranean and unfamiliar part of Crimson Hollow. At the end of the dark hallway, she found her destination and entered. She stood directly behind her target. “Where were you today?”

  “Hey.” For a moment, Sawyer seemed caught off-guard at seeing her down there.

  “I asked Bean where I could find you.”