“I am leaving,” she shouts, her watery stare fixed on mine. “Also, I don’t regret tearing down your statue. Knowing what I do now, I wish I had burned the entire fucking church down.”
She wrestles against me, our bodies clashing together with the movement. I close my eyes, wanting to savor the contact and her warmth, but my anger is far stronger than any desire of touch—even if being in close proximity with the witch weakens me.
“I saved you,” I say, the final word catching in my throat as I gaze down at her, my breath hitching, and an unexplained sense of grief washes over me. “I let you live.”
“That was beneficial to you, although you won’t tell me why,” she says through gritted teeth, “Do not pretend you have any caring part of you. You are evil. We can have leaders without the elders possessing the powers of all the covens. Things have changed since the last time you were here one hundred and fifty years ago. Humans know better now than to challenge us. Yet this continues, because of you.”
I shake my head, stepping back. “Your generation has been softened by the absence of war, but just because you cannot see the threats, does not mean they are not there. The other kingdoms know of the elders, of us gods, and they fear the witches of Dahryst. If your people show any weakness, they will attack again. I lived through the war,” I shout, my fingers flexing. “Thousands died until there were almost none of you left. This is nothing compared to the loss of life if The Harvest is not completed. The tournament is for your people’s benefit, not my own.”
She scoffs, her nostrils flaring. “You get something from it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. I do not believe you are doing anything out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Enough!” We both pause, my heart pounding as the sun slowly sets. “You will find out how terrible the humans in the other kingdoms are soon enough. You will understand why everything is the way it should be. Now leave,” I command with a growl, “before more of the people who love you die for your recklessness.”
“You are so desperate for me to go, and so threatened by my magic,” she says, then laughs, the sound causing my eye to twitch. “It is amusing to me that a God has such a fragile ego. I was no threat to you, but I am now.”
Swallowing hard, I close the distance between us, her breaths against my chest as her stony stare penetrates mine. “I disagree. You do not understand.”
“I understand more than you realize.” Slowly, she brings her hand to my chest, and my heart races under her touch, my breath catching before I step away. “See? You wear your desires so glaringly. The need for me to leave, and all this punishment. You say it is because of a prophecy, but I know the truth.” Her lips curve. “It is also jealousy. Because you can’t touch, and I can.” Her fingers blacken at the tips as I feel my magic seep through her veins. “I may be alone now, and perhaps I will lose the people I love,” she says, “but you will always be starved of love and affection.”
Clutching her satchel, she heads for the door, pausing before stepping outside. “You did not have to send my sister or Drake into The Harvest. We both know they were not fated to go.” Glancing over her shoulder, her alluring blue eyes meet mine with fierce determination as she says, “You haven’t seen the last of me, Azkiel. Whether it is in life or death, I will make you pay.”
NINETEENCalista
Midnight falls in a haze of crimson as I reach the edge of Sacrifice Road.
My gaze travels the path of the dirt winding through the forest, ladened with the purple petals of Night Blossom, the silver veins in the flowers sparkling under the red moonlight.
As I move through this part of the forest, the chilling realization of how many chosen ones have traversed these very footsteps toward their potential deaths. Now, Ari and Drake will join that number, and unbeknownst to them, so will I.
Even though Azkiel’s words haunt me, nothing will sway me from participating in the Harvest. I refuse to let my sister and Drake face the horrors that will unleash on Tenenocti alone.
I recall the spark of vulnerability in Death’s eyes from when I mentioned going to the Island.
I do not need a discerner to know Azkiel was nervous, and I’m going to find out why. Even if it means embracing the worst parts of myself.
I always knew I was destined for the Darklands, anyway. That fate lingers in me, a constant reminder of my greatest sin—existing. I am rotten from the core, and death touches every breath of my body and soul. It is not just the decay magic that darkens me, but even now, as I watch the chosen ones enter the forest, I am strategizing how to murder all, except two of them.
The group treads carefully over roots and branches, knotted like contorted bones, while the blood moon casts an eerie glow upon them. As they pass, the light from their torches falls upon vipers waiting in the thickets of weeds.
Cloaked in the darkness, I scan each veiled face amongst the crimson-robed chosen in search of Ari and Drake. Yet, I’m unable to distinguish them. When they approach, followed by the elders draped in their finest white robes, I turn away and veer into the blackness that leads to the shore.
Twigs snag against my skirt as I race closer. Because Death is correct. My time is almost up, and if I don’t leave now, the rest of my family will pay the price.
I pause, taking a moment to catch my breath as I reach a familiar narrow tree. As I trace my finger over the carvings of mine and Drake’s names, memories of our childhood come flooding back. My lips curve into a smile as warmth spreads through my heart, recalling times when we would play in the forest and pretend we had magic before our powers surfaced. We would pretend to be esteemed potioneers, dress painters like those who weave with shadow magic, then build shelters from the dead branches. I would imagine living in my own house, finally being rid of my mother, and being able to do what I want.
However, being an adult is not as free as I’d been led to believe. In fact, it’s awful.
I shake my head, allowing the memories to fade back to the past where they belong. I can’t let sentiment have such a grasp on my emotions, not when I am about to become the monster my mother thinks I am.
Ghostly whispers carry in the wind as I climb higher, careful not to bang the leather satchel filled with clinking vials of potions. A hiss sounds through my teeth as thorns from the vines strangling the gray trunk scrape my palms, drawing blood. I unsheathe the dagger from its casing on my thigh, cut through the thorns blocking my next climb, then replace it.
Squawks sound as I settle on a branch, under a murder of crows sitting upon the higher branches. “It’s Calista,” I say, hoping some of them remember me. They tilt their heads when they see me, curiosity threading in their black eyes. I recognize a few of their distinct features, such as the scar over one of their eyes in the shape of a hook, or the discolored feathers of another.
My heart skips a beat when I find Thorn amongst them. He jumps down two branches, then lands on my shoulder. “Hey, old friend,” I whisper, ruffling his feathers. “I have to go,” I tell my frequent visitor. “So does Arabella. You must not go to our house anymore,” I warn, hoping Thorn understands. “No house,” I reiterate. He has learned some words over the years, picking up the most important ones, like treasure and food.
He caws, then points his beak at Tenenocti. I glance toward the silhouette of the sacred island and take a deep breath as I brace myself for doing something I would’ve never imagined—willingly entering The Harvest.
Slowly, I cast my gaze onto the cloaked chosen ones as they near the end of the path. Two of them emerge out onto the shoreline, and through the maze of branches, I watch Arabella and Drake, the reds of their robes shining under the moonlight.
The rose-pink skirt of Ari’s dress peeks out from the slit in her red robe, a reminder of the girl underneath the sacrifice. Not that the elders care. Most of the town doesn’t. Their cheers are sickening as they rejoice in watching the chosen prepare to set sail.
“Stay here,” I tell Thorn. Carefully, I slide down the side of the tree. A twig snaps underfoot as the group reaches the end of the path, their torches lighting the way. My heart pounds as the reality of what I am about to do settles through my bones.
I follow the group to the shore, hiding within the crowd as they reach the edge of the water. Twelve boats, made from ancient oak—carved with intricate symbols—sit on the bay. Cobwebs glisten under the red hue of the sky, adorning the insides. I can tell they have been sitting in the boathouse for the past ten years. A sense of panic washes over me as I gaze at their tall, bare masts.
I exhale shakily, goosebumps plucking over my arms. I close my eyes briefly, then step out into the gathered crowd.
Keeping my head low and my hood up, I walk toward one boat where one of the veiled women awaits, then stand at the edge of the waters, the waves lapping at my feet.
My heart skips a beat when I spot Arabella next to Drake, tightening her cloak around her body, attempting to hide her shaking. She lifts her veil, tears shining on her cheeks as she looks at the boat, shaking her head. “I can’t,” she says, her voice breaking in parts.
Drake throws back the hood of his cloak, then unveils. “It’s okay,” he promises, but she gulps, then steps back.
Her body wrenches with a sob, her waves poking out under her hood. The beautiful flowers interwoven in the strands are withered, and the symbols painted on her hands in an intricate gold, are smudged. She rubs her eyes, wiping away her tears. I get closer, hiding myself behind three men discussing the tournament, and discern Ari and Drake’s conversation, focusing only on their voices.
“I can’t do it. I don’t want to kill anyone. Nor do I want to die.”
I swallow thickly, looking around for our parents, who are several feet away from Ari and Drake. My father stands just a few paces from my mother. Next to them, Everist stands, his sharp stare fixated on Arabella.
