From the Mountain

I am positioned at the far end of the field, not because I am in first place, but because I am left handed. With precision, I pull the string of my bow back, focusing on the red and black target ahead of me…the target that holds my fate in its invisible hands. I focus on the target, becoming one with it as I fill my lungs with the sweet and salty mist of ocean air. But suddenly my concentration is shattered, as if pieces of glass were falling from the sky. The noise I hear is so memorable and frightening that my hands begin to tremble. My heart pounds in my chest and every beat feels like someone is inside of me hitting my ribcage with a hammer.

  I fight not to look up, to see what is making the noise. We are trained to remain motionless, especially during a competition, but I know all too well what is shredding my eardrums into intolerable fragments of mush. My first reaction is a strong desire to run…to find a safe place to hide and curl up into a tight ball…possibly forever. As I struggle to keep still, to focus on the target, the skies above me turn deep black…shadows of something huge blocking out what little sun we have left in the city.

  “Drop your weapons, the Master Sergeant orders, his voice a husky bark. This has never happened before.

  I slowly lower my bow and arrow and tilt my head back as three gigantic purple dragons land on the field behind us, their wings flapping slowly, heads lowered with deep red eyes that dart around like those of a lizard’s. I turn my head to match their movement, dust and patches of grass tearing up around their giant talons. My face is blank, the same expression as all of the competitors, something that has been drilled into us since we were barely out of our mothers’ arms. Three men and a woman…all dressed in black cloaks, gleaming with a violet hue dismount from the enormous dragons. Lavs, of course. I am not sure if I am supposed to know about them, but I do. I can thank Entho for that at least. They casually stroll toward the sidelines.

  “It is Lord Gareth,” someone stammers, a voice so quiet I can barely hear it. I narrow my eyes, straining to see. Could it really be him?

  The crowd parts for the small group, and they approach the sidelines and settle on the far side of the field…so close to me that I can almost make out the details of their faces. The lone woman’s face is hidden, though, by the hood of her cloak. She stands slightly behind the tall man, obviously her superior, a shimmer of coffee colored skin peeking out of her hood – just like darkness falling. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t seem to place her.

  The other two men stand on either side of the couple, faces I have never seen before. One man is tall as well, glaring at us with a nasty sneer, his nose so long it looks out of place on his face. The other man is short and broad with a wide nose and forehead. Both wear the red handled sword of a Destroyer. I shudder at the sight of them, memories flashing through my brain like a flood out of control.

  But it is Siv Gareth I can’t take my eyes off of. He hasn’t changed much in ten years. His hair is still black and glistening, sleeked back from his forehead. His eyes, unmoving steel, dark orbs cut through every human in his path, and his hands fall to the sides of his legs, occasionally stretching out in black leather gloves as if they were sore or cold.

  I know who he is – know more than his name and that he is the leader of the Alliance. I vividly remember him from the play yard at school that day, how he spoke so calmly...as if it were an ordinary field trip we were taking as we were loaded onto dragons and taken away to be killed, slaughtered like animals for food.

  A ball of hate churns my stomach into a gigantic knot as bile rises into my throat. I can taste the poison of it as I think of Canto…of all of the other Light Skins that were killed that day. And all of the days after. My amber eyes turn to him, just to be sure.

  Yes, it really is Siv Gareth. There is no mistaking the memory of his face. The ball of hate intensifies to such a level I no longer know who I am…or what I am about to do. As if someone else has control of me, I deliberately lift my bow and arrow. I turn ever so slightly, smelling the salty wind and grassy field as I perform rote calculations in my mind.

  I bite on my lower lip and furrow my brow, a piece of me registering what I am doing…another piece ignoring it. I aim the arrow directly at Siv Gareth’s heart. It wouldn’t take much to let the arrow go…to watch him fall, slump down into a pile of human waste. I think of the consequences, though…imprisonment for sure. Possibly death. The Final War has ended, and Siv Gareth leads the Alliance…killing him is an unforgiveable crime. Yet, for the past ten years, I have been trained to do nothing more than kill. By his command.

  My mind freezes and my heart turns to ice at the thought of killing him, so cold I begin to shiver. Memories flash through my head and I further narrow my eyes against the glimmering shards of sunlight casting down on his deep black cloak, aiming…aiming…aiming. Aiming at Siv Gareth’s heart.

  And then…

  I pull back my string, releasing the arrow in one swift movement, listening as it hisses through the air. I lower my hands and my bow, and as I do, another thought overrides everything else.

  I never miss my mark.

  Chapter 2