Hadjia stared at the giggling children in confusion. There were five children, skipping in a circle, chasing each other.

The quiet forest created a verdant and lush backdrop for them as they played, twisting vines and gnarled roots beneath their little feet. A slight fog filled the air, glimmering every now and then with miniature lights. Everything sounded distant to Hadjia, as if heard through glass.

One of them broke away and gazed at Hadjia with wide eyes. Hadjia recoiled. The little girl approached, one hand held out. “Come, Hadjia. Play with us!” Her voice chimed, as if in a dream.

Hadjia found herself following the little girl, stumbling as she tried walking next to her, with uncertain steps, even though Hadjia was never uncertain.

The sound of their playing echoed in her ears.

Such a strange, careless sound.

“Ring around the rosy!” they chanted, joining hands. Their small bodies and childish voices rose louder with the next verse. “The world of ours will fall!”

Inside their circle stood a little girl dressed in white, the hem of her dress falling to her knees. A blindfold crossed her face.

The girl who had pulled Hadjia closer released her hand and darted over, joining the other children as they raced in a circle now, increasing the words with their steps.

“Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .”

“Die!”

All the children stopped as the little girl in the middle pointed with her left hand to a boy with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He instantly tumbled to the ground. After a pause where Hadjia heard nothing, the boy clambered back to his feet. The eyes of the other children followed him.

“No!” Hadjia said. “You are dead. You cannot rise!”

The boy turned to her with a piercing gaze. “It is not me who will die,” he called, puffing out his chest. “It’s you! All of you!”

He reached out his hands and the other children accepted them again. They continued with the song as if the boy had never been chosen. Their words seemed to echo even louder, expanding in the strange, foggy silence of the thick forest.

“Ring around the rosy . . .”

Hadjia’s breath caught. The little girl in the center of the circle now wore a blood-red dress. The blindfold still covered her eyes. Crimson lines dripped down the front, staining it slowly. The blood dripped to the ground. Something cool slid across Hadjia’s palm. When she glanced down, a sticky, smooth liquid crept across them. Blood.

“Ring around a rosy. The world of ours will fall. War! War!”

Hadjia backed away. She scrubbed her hands on her clothes, but the blood didn’t leave. Her breathing turned frantic. The little girl in the blood-red dress turned, her blindfold gone. Her eyes bored into Hadjia’s and her arm started to raise.

Just as the girl’s lips parted, a voice shouted, “What is that? Hadjia? Do you see what I am seeing?”

Hadjia jerked awake.

A swath of forest, with deep emerald green leaves and thick branches towering overhead, was surrounding her. The air felt thick, heavy with a floral scent. She blinked, pulling herself out of a stupor, and gazed around.

Hadjia straightened, clearing the last remnants of sleep from her mind.

The time had come for Renji’s Mukatan already.

Renji was crouched next to Hadjia and peering around the trunk of a sprawling tree. His fine brown hair was saturated with moisture, and his skinny limbs muscular, even for a fourteen-year-old.

On the other side of Renji was Kaneko. She was staring out into the trees, her forehead puckered into deep lines.

“It’s real!” Renji hissed. “It’s a woman.”

“It’s not real,” Kaneko said.

“We can’t both be imagining it!” Kaneko said.

Their quarreling pulled Hadjia to her knees. She peered out into the forest. A glowing light emanated from deep in the forest not far away, the sight of it interrupted only by tree trunks and bushes. The strange light burned a bright white, turning to blue on the edges. Details of a human form appeared around the light.

“It’s a woman,” Hadjia whispered. “See? Look at her hair.”

Strands of long black hair, dark as pitch, tumbled onto the woman’s shoulders in wild disarray. She moved slowly, so slowly it seemed she had to stop and rest in between every step. Her toes dragged in the dirt, leaving soft trails behind her. Although her mouth hung open, she uttered no sound.

Hadjia heard nothing. The light shifted, dimming slightly. The woman came into greater focus.

Her eyes—they were so empty.

Hadjia retreated, slipping behind the cover of a tree. Kaneko and Renji followed.

“What is it?” Renji hissed. “Why is it here?”

Kaneko swallowed, meeting Hadjia’s concerned gaze. “It’s . . .”

All three of them peered around the tree again. The woman had her back to them as she shuffled the opposite way. Her hair swayed around her shoulders, swinging like the folds of her white gown. Behind her, the orb followed, blindingly bright. They retreated again.

“It’s ignoring us, at least,” Kaneko said with a shrug. “But, maybe . . . Maybe it’s a Baja.”

“Baja?” Renji whispered.

“Do you remember the story that Mother told us? The one about restless spirits that wander?” Kaneko asked.

Renji shook his head. Hadjia’s eyes widened.

“Mother said they looked just like that woman. With a light trailing them. Making no sound. Dragging themselves around as if they’re too heavy to bear the weight of their own existence. A Baja. It must be!” Kaneko conjectured.

Renji’s nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes narrowed to slashes. “What does it mean? There’s something you’re not telling me!”

Hadjia pressed her lips together. “Bajas are bad omens,” she murmured.

“Imminent misfortune sometimes follows,” Kaneko said, brushing her comment off.

Always follows, Hadjia wanted to say. But one look from Kaneko sealed her silence, and she bit back her retort.

Hadjia leaned to the side, peering around the tree. The figure had vanished, taking the light with it. There was nothing but the eerie silence of the forest.

“I’m doomed!” Renji suddenly wailed. “I will not succeed.”

“Hush. Your fate isn’t determined by a Baja,” Kaneko said. “You decide it yourself. You know what to do. Focus. Focus on what needs to be done.”

Renji closed his eyes. “Fulfill the Mukatan.”

“Yes. Make the Mother proud.”

Hadjia reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can do it, Renji.”

Kaneko peered around the other side of the tree, then retreated, eyes wide. “He’s here! He just stepped outside,” Kaneko hissed, so quietly Hadjia almost couldn’t hear it. Renji and Hadjia leaned in closer. All the color left Renji’s face.

“You know what to do, Renji,” Kaneko said, retreating fully behind the tree. She unsheathed her knife. It was a simple, double-edged thing with folded steel and a spiral handle for a better grip. Renji nodded, his face all rigid lines and flaring nostrils.

“The Mother will be exceedingly pleased with your work once this house is taken care of,” Kaneko continued. “Remember — leave as little trace as possible. You’ve been trained and passed on the goats. It’s no different here. Humans are the same as animals.”

“Animals,” he murmured. After this utterance, Renji glanced to Hadjia.

She felt a little curl of pleasure. Although younger than Kaneko, she’d killed more than anyone in the Red Moon School. If Renji should look to anyone, it was her. She nodded once.

“We can’t help you, Renji,” she said. “You must do this on your own.”

“I don’t expect it.”

“One stroke. Here.” Hadjia pointed to her neck, withdrew her own knife, and had it in her palm almost before he’d registered what happened. “Turn the point of the blade down. The blood will fill their chest faster. Cut from the side for them to bleed faster. Down the front to stop them from screaming.”

She stuck the knife into the soft, rotting layer of a nearby tree. It went in at a smooth angle. Renji stared at it, his fingers twitching. She met his gaze.

“They’ll only feel pain for a short time,” Hadjia promised.

“I am not one-hit-Hadjia,” he fretted. “What if the knife misses?”

“You don’t have to be Hadjia. Make the Mother proud, and that is enough,” Kaneko said.

For some reason, Kaneko’s words made Renji’s shoulders relax back.

“He is outside, around the front of the house, and sitting down,” Kaneko said. “Now, Renji, is your chance to prove your worth to Mother and the Red Moon School.”

He drew in a deep breath through his nose, palmed his knife, and stood. As soon as he left the safety of the dense woods, Kaneko and Hadjia crouched next to each other, watching from its depths. With their slight bodies, short-cropped hair, and slender frames, they could have been mistaken for sisters. The only difference between them was that Hadjia had dark eyes, while Kaneko’s were blue.

“Think he can do it?” Kaneko asked.

“He must.”

They watched from the tree line, following Renji’s quiet progression along the side of the house. From inside, the tinny clatter of pots and pans rang through the air. A little girl said something and then shrieked with laughter. Only shadows shifted through the windows in the faltering twilight. Renji peered around the corner of the house. The man hadn’t moved. He rested in a chair, staring out, his back to them.

This would be almost too simple.

After taking a long breath, Renji sprang into action. The man’s head jerked up, and he only had time to register Renji’s presence before the knife, with a sharp crack, slammed into his neck with terrifying force.

The man’s limbs flailed as he gurgled. Renji drove the knife deeper without a sound before pulling the weapon from the wound and forcing the man to the ground. The man’s flailing eventually slowed, subsiding into mere twitches. The wound spilled crimson blood, flowing down his chest with bubbling gurgles. Renji didn’t even take time to clean his knife before disappearing inside the home.

Kaneko and Hadjia slipped out of the forest, moving silently along the ground until they made it to the door. Ignoring the man’s body, they too darted inside.

From the looks of it, Renji had already neutralized the woman. She lay glassy-eyed and gasping for air on a dirt floor.

A shadow disappeared into the back. Kaneko nodded to Renji. Hadjia followed him. A little cry drew them toward the disappearing shadow. They pursued the sound and stumbled upon Renji standing in the middle of a small room littered with toys belonging to a small child. On the floor lay a doll. The little girl reached for it, her eyes wide and filled with tears. Her lip quivered. Renji hesitated, blood dripping down his blade and over his knuckles.

With a guttural cry, he drew his arm back and advanced. Kaneko reached out, grabbing his shoulder. She shook her head once.

“No.” She gestured to the little girl, who shrank away into the corner. “She is too young. Still innocent.”

The little girl’s tremors increased. Her entire body shook as she stepped farther into the corner, trying to fit her little body in the awkward space. The metallic smell of blood filled the room, easing Hadjia’s nerves. It was the smell of accomplishment, approval. She glanced at the droplets of blood littering the floor and lifted her eyes to Renji, who trembled almost as much as the little girl.

“Well done,” Hadjia said. “Mother will be pleased.”

The fear left his eyes. He blinked. “The woman?”

“Gone.”

Kaneko pulled him back, thwarting his advance toward the little girl. “Leave the girl to her nightmare. We must return and report to Mother that you have passed your Mukatan. Come, Renji. Leave this behind you. There is nothing here for you now.”

He passed through the doorway leading out first, his shoulders falling back. Kaneko followed. Hadjia, who was last, glanced back to see the little girl. She was standing there, a thumb in her mouth, and a tear trailing down her face.