[Rowan] The girl at the gate is dead.

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[Rowan's POV, NOT in the book]

I leap to my feet and rush to the doors, eyes fixed through the glass panes as the faint shimmer of blue water is replaced by ruins. Tilting my shoulder, I brace just as the Lightway sighs to a stop and pulls into the REZ. I step forward, a second early, and nearly smack my face into the glass. I’m late.

“Easy, boy.” The Grafter on my right chuckles. He’s got light grey scales covering his core and arms. Despite his rank, his skin is soft and pale, at least compared to most Steels I’ve met. I huff. Being stationed inside the Lightway, sheltered from the elements, has its perks.

I keep my eyes fixed ahead. He doesn’t understand. I was hand-selected out of hundreds by the Golden Lance, the hero of the Prism Spire, leader of the Wardens, to be his apprentice. It helped my chances that I was top of my class and my uncle, a Platinum Grafter, vouched for me. That’s all the more reason that being late to my post, again, could end up with me being reprimanded, or worse. My uncle Dask ingrained in me that I should excel at everything I do, not only for my own merit, but for the esteem of those I serve. Especially after what my father had done.

Glancing down into my brown satchel, I spot the thief of my time. A leather-bound book stares back at me. Even now, I just want to sit on the metal bench to my left and become lost in its pages as the hum of the Aetherus cores drowns out the world. I tighten my jaw. I shouldn’t have stopped at Cinder & Spine this morning. But I couldn’t help it. While cleaning my uncle’s office at the Academy, I discovered an interesting set of papers. They told of the origins of Myths, humans born with the ability to control the elements. It is said that the highest version of them, Cadence, could actually become the element itself. An Aquorus melding into water surfaces in my head.

For the last few months, I have picked up every book I could find about Myths, which is surprisingly few inside the compound walls. But today, the owner of Cinder & Spine, Sable, gave me a dusty old book. It’s supposedly a collection of prisoner entries, eyewitness testimonies, and other stories direct from Myths. She said she had never been able to sell it, and almost forgot she even had it at all.

I snap to my senses as the doors hiss open. Racing down the platform steps, through the Grafter encampment, the REZ wakes as the morning sun rises behind me.

Once leaving the Grafter zone, I break right past the medical and supply tents. The wall on my left is made of rusted cars, boats, and buildings held together by hardened mud. Without those walls, the REZ would be overrun by desperate, hungry, and sick people.

I whip my head forward as hushed voices speak to each other. I nearly clip the shoulders of a tall man in a purple and gold cloak. A crate is nestled in his right arm. Bellevar. My eyes go wide just as we’re about to collide, but then he steps out of the way, as if time were slowed. “Sorry–” I call over my shoulder as I keep going. He steadies the crate and nods at me, golden hair falling over one of his amber eyes.

At the gate, I take over the post. The Iron there sighs and shakes his head. “About rusting time.” He hands me a clipboard and then walks off. I gulp. It’s just the line and me. Mothers. Old men. Children who look like they haven’t eaten in days. Their fate is held in my hands.

One by one, I check their IDs. The line moves quickly, with little to no disturbances. Then, screams erupt. I jolt my head up to catch smoke rising from down the line. A cloak has caught on fire.

“We’re next,” a young man says with a breath. I turn back to him and suppress a gasp. A girl is cradled in his arms. She seems to be a year or two younger than me, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Peeling skin from red sunburns, bleeding lips, and tightly closed eyes. Is she dead? Then I see her slow, shallow breaths. Her time has not come yet, but like most in her state, it will be soon. Fortunately, she made it to the REZ, her best chance at survival.

“ID,” I demand.

Panic strikes his face, though he tenses to tame it. Guilt bubbles in my stomach. He goes on about how their IDs were stolen. I’ve heard these excuses before. Robbed, lost, left them with a family member who will be along soon. He wants me to trust his word. I don’t. Getting a Prism Spire ID is free and simple. But then I pause when he offers to stay outside, if only we let the girl in. That is unusual. One of my uncle’s analogies echoes in my head. A shepherd who doesn’t check every sheep is just holding the gate open for the wolves.

I sigh and lift my hand to point him back the way he came, but stop as eyelashes pull apart and the girl opens her green and glassy eyes. She stares at me with an intensity as if she knows exactly who I am. Her lips move. I don’t catch the words, or do I? Without realising it, I step back.

“I could get arrested,” I hear myself say. “Lose my post. This is–”

“Are you really going to let an innocent girl die?” The young man snaps, the anger breaking through the fear in his voice.

Am I? I shake my head and step aside. “Go on,” I say, low. “If you find your IDs, come back so I can log them.”

The relief of a good deed never comes. I made him beg. I stood here weighing my options, while she ran out of breath. I should have cleared the way the moment I saw her feverish face. If she dies, would it be I who killed her? No, but might as well have. And if word climbs to Lance that his pupil broke the law, I’ll be stripped of the apprenticeship and draw the worst duty a Copper can pull, hauling the dead, for the rest of my life.

Please live. I watch as the young man carries her into the REZ. I pick up my journal. My hand shakes. I call the next person forward.

(continue the story in chapters 1-3 of The First Stone. Get them free here.)

—

You may ask Rowan one of these questions:

1. Are you insane? Why would you risk losing your apprenticeship to read a book?
2. If your uncle taught you a shepherd who doesn’t check every sheep lets in wolves, why did you let the young man and the sick girl through?
3. What did you mean when you said the worst duty a Copper can pull is “hauling the dead”?

Reply with only 1, 2, or 3, and he’ll answer when he can. He has to get back before the Golden Lance notices he’s gone.

~Robert

Disclaimer: this is a copy of the newsletter. Actual subscribers get all the prizes, votes, and exclusives.