Recurve

“Wicker, but to his friends, Wick.”

Words floated through me from a dream that wasn’t a dream, after all. My reality shattered with those words, and I felt something in me crack open, a shell that had been holding me together, keeping me from who I was meant to be. A flash of light behind my eyes, a pink burst of color that left me gasping. Left me with nothing but the truth of my dream.

“Wicker, kill the baby first, and the girl last.”

Chapter 8

Fainting was not something I thought would ever happen to me, but there I was, flat out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The expression “two worlds colliding” never had more meaning.

Next to me, Granite crouched, his mouth moving, but I heard nothing. Could see nothing but that moment in my dream—no, my memory—where the Sylph stole Bram’s wind and stopped his heart.

Wicker had killed my baby brother. I sat up, and the closely gathered Enders gave me room.

“Lark, what happened?”

A slow boiling rage, like the burn of the summer sun as it heats the flesh, crept through me, a thousand times hotter than when my mother had been insulted. This was the rage of justice coming home to roost. “Where’s the Sylph?”

Granite looked over my shoulder and I twisted to see Ash standing there, shaking his head. “Why?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

The room around me swirled and someone grabbed at my arms, but I jerked away from them and ran to where the weapons were kept. I yanked a spear down, it wasn’t mine, but it would do.

“You can’t kill another Ender, Lark! It’s a death sentence!”

“I don’t care, let me go!” I fought against the hands on my arms, the fingers prying mine off the shaft of the spear. “Let me go!”

Granite gripped my arms hard. “What did you see, Lark? You looked at him, and your eyes fogged over. We thought . . . he’d done something to you.”

A scream worked its way up my throat, bursting out in a mix of rage and pain, grief and regret. The dream was real; it had been real all along. Something inside me had broken open, to reveal that I wasn’t the kind, sweet planter girl I’d always thought. What I knew instinctively was blood lust roared through me and I fought those who would keep me from killing Wicker.

Punching and kicking, I jerked my body hard, yanking someone with me. I wasn’t even seeing faces as I did all I could to free myself. “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him!” My words, my voice, but it was like watching a play being acted out in front of me. Ash had my arms pinned behind my back and Granite was yelling in my face, slapping me to get my attention.

“Lark, stop! Have you gone mad? Your father will send you away. He’ll banish you!” Slap, slap, slap. Which only enraged me further. That crack inside me opened a little more for just a moment, and then Ash was dragging me, his arms hooked under mine, my back pressed against his chest.

“Let me go, you bastard.” I threw my head back, trying to connect with his nose. He dodged me, and I tried another tactic, dropping my weight to the floor and then spun to one side. Ash stumbled over me and ended up on top of me, holding me to the floor. With a grunt, he raised his right hand up and let fly with a punch that stunned me.

But not for long. I heaved him off, thrusting and twisting my hip, shoving him from me with my long legs.

“Battle it out,” Granite said and I didn’t understand, didn’t care. Ash was in front of me and I wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of him.

He spit a wad of blood and saliva that hit the floor with a wet splat; maybe I had managed to connect a blow. “Come on, little cuckoo, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I swung wildly at him, my fists missing as Ash kept dodging out of my way, which only sent me deeper into my rage.

And then he hit me again, and again. Fast as a cobra, he slid toward me in a crouch, and delivered a sharp jab to my left side, stunning me for just a second. He moved to step back out of range and I brought my right hand down on his left shoulder as hard as I could.

Something cracked under my hand and I didn’t know if it was him or me. I couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t think of anything except that he stood between Wicker and me. The fight, and it really wasn’t much of a fight, lasted only another two minutes. With a roar, Ash tackled me and we tumbled backward into the pool.

The water whooshed over my head, filled my ears, nose, and mouth as I fought against his hands that held me under. We hit the bottom and I kicked off, shooting to the surface where I sucked in a lungful of air, gasping and coughing out the last of the water.

Ash surfaced a few feet away, water dripping down his face, his eyes watching me carefully. “Done?”

The water had snapped me out of whatever madness had dug into my soul. Wicker was gone. I would have to find another way to get to him. I wiped my face with my left hand. “Done.”

We swam to the edge of the pool and Granite offered me his hand. I gave him my right hand, and then whimpered. It hadn’t been Ash who had cracked under the blow. The bones in my hand protested Granite grabbing them.

“Thought I heard a crack.” He slid his hand up over my wrist and yanked me out of the water. “You going to tell me what that was all about?”

I sniffed and smoothed my hair back from my face. Ash stood to one side of me and with him there, listening, I couldn’t find my voice so I shook my head.

I knew what they would say if I told them Wicker had killed Bram. I knew from experience that people would say I was crazy. But this time, I didn’t doubt myself. In the past I’d always doubted, I’d thought I was crazy.