The Uprising

By Emily Roach and Rebecca Rahme

Kenz is under the reign of an oppressive regime led by those they call the Silencers. The youth of the world, who are born into a life with special abilities, are sent on the run, sometimes by their own parents. Now the young refugees must form a resistance and take down the government.

Adrian is an anxiety-ridden teenager from Earth whose world was turned upside down five years ago, when her family vanished in front of her. Since then, she’s bounced around between foster homes—until now. Her childhood sweetheart has come back and is taking her to a new world. Frightened at the thought, she finds courage in the chance of finding her little sister once again. But she never expected to find herself with the power necessary to lead a war.

Jassyn is the reason that soldiers are afraid to hunt for refugees in the woods. Since the day that she witnessed her family’s massacre, she has been a fighter by every definition. She’s been training herself, honing her body, and turning it into a weapon. Now that Adrian has arrived in Kenz, the war that Jassyn’s family died for, the one that had gone cold, is reignited.

The Uprising is a novel that explores the importance of taking a stand. It’s a book about kids and teenagers taking on an army. And although there are always casualties in war, they cling to the hope that they will see the fall of the Silencers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532061189

Emily Roach

Emily and Rebecca met in their communications program at the University of Ottawa. While they were in very different places in life, Rebecca being a typical young twenty-something and Emily being a young mom, they bonded immediately over their life with sisters and their love of books, pop culture, and social justice issues. Both are working professionals, Rebecca works for the City of Ottawa and Emily works for Canada Post. Outside of their 9-5s, they created the world of Kenz. This magical realm is where people can go to be swept away by adventure and, hopefully, where anyone can find their voice. You can find both authors on Facebook and journey with them on other adventures.

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Hugh Tolan

THE UPRISING

THE UPRISING TRILOGY

EMILY ROACH

AND REBECCA RAHME

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THE UPRISING

Copyright © 2019 Emily Roach and Rebecca Rahme.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6117-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6118-9 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 08/28/2019

CONTENTS

Prologue

Part I Discoveries

Chapter 1 Adrian

Chapter 2 Jassyn

Chapter 3 Adrian

Chapter 4 Jassyn

Chapter 5 Adrian

Chapter 6 Jassyn

Chapter 7 Adrian

Part II Preparations

Chapter 8 Adrian

Chapter 9 Jassyn

Chapter 10 Adrian

Chapter 11 Jassyn

Chapter 12 Adrian

Chapter 13 Jassyn

Chapter 14 Adrian

Chapter 15 Jassyn

Chapter 16 Adrian

Chapter 17 Jassyn

Chapter 18 Adrian

Part III Camp Refuge

Chapter 19 Adrian

Chapter 20 Jassyn

Chapter 21 Adrian

Chapter 22 Jassyn

Chapter 23 Adrian

Chapter 24 Jassyn

Chapter 25 Adrian

Chapter 26 Jassyn

Chapter 27 Adrian

Chapter 28 Jassyn

Chapter 29 Adrian

Chapter 30 Jassyn

Chapter 31 Adrian

Part IV Battleground

Chapter 32 Adrian

Chapter 33 Jassyn

Chapter 34 Adrian

Chapter 35 Jassyn

Chapter 36 Adrian

Epilogue

About The Authors

PROLOGUE

T he fear sets in almost immediately. It is the strangest thing. One minute, she is talking to her mom, and the next she is alone in a very cold and damp hole.

The only thing she still has from home is Josephine, a pink-and-white unicorn, tucked under her arm.

The space trapping her is clearly a hole and not a room because there is no roof and the air feels wet, the way mud does. But the hole is walled with bricks that make it look like a cell—it looks like Rapunzel’s tower but inversed. There is a table along the wall and a chair. On the table is a grey jumpsuit that she somehow knows she is supposed to put on, so she does. It reads Unnatural: Classification Two in big block letters. She is scared.

She wonders where Adrian is; surely her sister would take her home soon. Even though Lex is only three years younger than her sister, whenever she got in trouble, Adrian would be marching next to her to get her out of it. This time feels different, though. This time she feels alone. She knows she is far from home, but she doesn’t know how she knows it. It’s just a feeling, like the creeping burning sensation rolling up her arms.

Suddenly, a light blinds her, and a slew of images painfully flash through her mind. She recognizes all the images, not because she’s seen them before but because she’s heard of them. She sees Ashlin, a strong one who knots her purple hair in a low bun. She sees the barn where Ashlin lives with Aries. She sees the scary ones who wear black and white and never any colour.

When the images have passed, she swallows hard, the way actors do in movies, and she pulls up the sleeves of her jumpsuit with her small hands. At the sight of the green lines swirling up her arms, she knows exactly where she is.

She jumps when the rope ladder flies down next to her, but when she looks up, she isn’t scared. Because she knows exactly who it is. In fact, she was sketching her right before she got lost.

Hello, Kennedy, Lex says, looking up at her hero.

PART I

DISCOVERIES

CHAPTER 1

ADRIAN

W alking through the door of a small bar called J’s, I am met with the stench of body odour and stale beer. The floor is sticky and covered in peanut shells that have been out long enough to not crunch under my feet. Almost every customer has a tattoo, and I can actually picture my dad sticking up his nose at the peculiar people. I smile slightly at the image of him.

The guy behind the bar doesn’t even look up as he says, You’re too young.

My confusion is spread plainly across my face, which he would know if he bothered to glance in my direction. I aim for a polite response. I haven’t asked for anything yet.

I hold out the ID that I bought last year from a senior with ratty brown hair and green eyes similar to my own. It works well enough to keep my cig stock high, and it doesn’t usually bother any bartenders.

Where did you even get this? he grumbles, grabbing the driver’s license out of my hand. He barely looks old enough to be a bartender. In fact he barely looks any older than me. His brown eyes laugh at a joke that I’m apparently not privy to. In a red flannel shirt that has seen better days and with messy hair, he is undeniably handsome. He smiles in a friendly way, so I smile back. Mine feels fake.

I try, Listen, I can use this card at another bar—or I can bring you the business.

I see, and you think it’s fair to ask me to put my bar on the line because you’re thirsty?

"Your bar?" I ask, shocked that someone who looks my age somehow owns a bar. I didn’t actually mean to say it, but it’s too late now.

Not that it’s any of your business, but it was my dad’s, he explains.

I visibly feel guilty for him. I know what it’s like to lose someone and have to explain it to a stranger who feels as if they are entitled to know about your life.

Don’t be sorry. Just get out, he barks, wearing a mean grin.

I glare at him. There’s no need to be an ass.

He scoffs at my accusation, picks up my fake and cuts it in half, before tossing it in the garbage behind him. Have a good night, Adrian.

He returns his attention to the keg, pretending I’m not even there anymore, and I decide to leave before the jerk calls the cops and I have to shift to another foster home. I’m sure my new family would jump at an excuse to dump me.

Outside, the wind on my face leads me to tug my scarf a little higher and start my walk to the subway swiftly.

When I arrive at my stop, I opt to take the long way back to my apartment. The cold air bites the part of my ankles that shows between my pant legs and my sneakers.

I put a cigarette in my mouth, moistening one end. I play with my lighter until the flame stays lit long enough for me to suck the fumes in, and I breathe them out. It’s not until this point that I realize I never told the bartender my name.

I shake off the event and breathe in another deathly breath. It’s satisfying, seeing the smoke. I know, I know; these sticks will kill me. But in the lights of the city at night and amid the sounds of the horns in the distance, I decide that I don’t care if they infect my lungs. It’s not like cigarettes kill you immediately. I have years before they stop me from breathing. Why should I care now?

Well, maybe that’s the point, and maybe that’s my problem—I don’t care.

They are gone. Ever since they were stolen, I can’t breathe anyway. I put the cigarette back between my lips.

Since I’ve been on my own, I can’t seem to remember how to smile or even how to feel happy. I can’t remember how to feel, period. Happiness, sadness, tiredness, hunger—they are distant memories now. It’s as though the colour has drained from my life and my emotional spectrum is frozen on grey.

I only know one feeling now, and that’s numb. I feel numb when my caseworker asks me how I’m doing. I feel numb when I walk into my crappy room. I feel numb when I suck tar into my lungs.

I realize that, without an ID, this pack might be my last one for a while and I won’t have an excuse to take a break anymore. I try to force my mind to something more pleasant. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of pleasant to choose from.

Inhaling, I instead remember the worst day of my life. It was the damned day that my mom found a lighter in my jacket, when I was fifteen. It was such bullshit. I didn’t even smoke then. Okay, well, I smoked pot with some friends once.

Adrian Melody Craig, get your ass down those stairs right now! she cried, and I knew I was in for it. I always liked my name, but I never liked hearing it yelled that way. It was never a good thing.

I looked at Lex, who was sitting on my bed, and I rolled my eyes. She giggled. She was there waiting for her daily story. Include some eccentric details and a world where there is no normal, and a young kid can’t get enough.

I got up to deal with whatever punishment was coming my way.

Wait! I need to ask Mom something, Lex shouted before I reached the door. Her voice was surprisingly stern for a small girl clutching a stuffed unicorn. And I’d rather do that before you and her fight.

She tossed her gel pen and journal aside and made her way past me. I called after her, You’ve got one minute, kiddo. I’m not going to make the angry lady wait.

In that time I picked up her notepad and admired the sketches she was making of the characters from our stories. Not even the full minute had passed when I heard a commotion coming from downstairs.

I cautiously emerged from my room, ready to face the inevitability of whatever trouble I was getting into. In my mind I ran through the possibilities of what my mom could be mad about. Was it that I skipped class on Tuesday? Or was it that I’d lied when I said I wanted a doctor’s appointment for my acne and not for birth control? My stomach dropped inches with every new possibility.

It was like the feeling you get when you’re balancing on the hind legs of a chair at school and for a split second you think you will fall. It was like that, only my split second had endured throughout the years. The official name they gave it was an anxiety disorder, but that was so insufficient. It made it sound so simple, when even I, the one feeling it, couldn’t understand it half the time. I couldn’t tell my mom how hard it was, though, because I knew it would hurt her more than it hurt me. All she knew was that for some reason, some inexplicable reason, her little girl was always pulling away and breaking a rule. Her little girl wasn’t the perfect heroine that she liked to tell stories about.

What’s up, Mom? I asked casually, swinging around the banister of our stairs. I said it as though I wasn’t expecting a furious answer, but once I saw my coat on the hall table, with the lighter placed on top, I knew that I was about to get all hell.

Still, I’ll never get to hear her yell at me and tell me I’m grounded. I will never be able to tell her she’s overreacting. Never. I saw them there, in the hall, as I leaped off the bottom step, but before I hit the ground, my mom was gone. So was my little sister, Alexa—Lex.

I ran to the kitchen to tell my dad what had happened, but he was gone too.

But it was more than being gone. They’d all vanished. One second they were there talking and yelling and making loud noises, and the next they had disappeared. One second I was about to be yelled at, and the next it was silent.

Before that day, my family was so normal. We fought about who had to do the dishes. Lex and I would braid our hair and wrestle and laugh, but we’d also fight and yell—the way sisters do. I couldn’t tell you what my dad did for work. He carried a briefcase, and he had a special work phone that we weren’t supposed to answer. And he wore a tie. I mostly just cared that he came to every one of my track meets and could fix all my toys. My mom was a carpenter, always building things and doing favours for friends. She’d had to stay home that last year because she had an anxiety disorder too and it was getting hard for her again.

We were a normal family. And then something happened to us, and we became the family in the news.

I feel like my mom might be more understanding now, seeing me here, frail as can be, frozen to the bone, smoke turning my pretty pink lungs black. I don’t think she would yell at me for owning a lighter. I know that she would see that I’m slowly killing myself because I may as well be dead.

It’s been two and a half years. The police aren’t trying anymore. Reporters are annoyed that I haven’t changed my story—they were hoping that the scared teen would grow out of the phase, or the shock, or the psychosis, or whatever. But I can’t come out with a truth all of a sudden, because everything I have said is the truth. On January 11, 2013, my family vanished into thin air.

Suddenly, I do not feel part of the night; instead I feel like I am imposing myself on it. I flick my cigarette and twist my foot over it, blowing the last puff of smoke into the air. Turning on my heels, I head back down the street toward the apartment I live in with three other foster kids and two adults that hardly qualify as parents. I walk, head down, until someone runs into me and stops me.

Excuse me, I say. The person grabs onto my shoulders, and my chest flutters in fear. I say, more forcefully, Get your hands off of me.

Adrian, the guy says, in a terrifyingly recognizable voice. Adrian, look at me.

I look up and see a familiar face. I see hair that I’ve run my fingers through. I see lips that I once kissed. I become aware that the hands on my shoulders were once on my butt as we made out in my parents’ basement. Elliott?

Adrian, he repeats. I hear urgency. We have to talk, now.

I nod, and he opens the door of a nearby building, leading me to a random apartment lobby that is so much nicer than the apartment building I live in.

The chair is tipping, and my stomach plummets.

Elliott, what the hell is going on?

I almost have to question whether or not I spoke out loud because he doesn’t answer me or even show signs of hearing me. All he does is hustle around the apartment lobby, looking for a clock and peering out the doors. For the first time since my night took a turn toward the most unusual of circumstances, I realize that Elliott seems older. I mean, it makes sense. It has been almost three years, but I feel sad, seeing the patchy stubble growing on his face—sad that I wasn’t there to watch it grow in.

Elliott, did you get into some kind of trouble? What’s going on?

He looks at me and taps his hand on his leg like he is working up the courage to tell me something. It’s the same thing he did before he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore, that he was leaving town and didn’t want to make long distance work. It makes my gut twist to remember it—the first feeling I have had in years.

Is it drugs? I ask.

He laughs and my heart flutters—feeling number two. No, it isn’t drugs.

I must have missed where this was funny, I say, mildly annoyed.

It’s just, you’re one to talk. He nods at the door, as if to remind me that I had been outside. You’re the one who smells like an ashtray.

Damn it. I knew he’d notice.

I’m not talking about tobacco. I roll my eyes. No one’s been around to lecture me for a while, and I am already feeling suffocated by advice. There is never a shortage of advice. I’m talking a—

I know what you’re talking about. He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head. I wish I was on the run from a drug lord. No, wait. Maybe I don’t. I just mean that it would be easier to explain.

I put my back against a wall to remind myself that I’m not going to tip over in my metaphorical chair of anxiety.

I mean, when you hear what I’m about to say, you’ll think I’m crazy, he rambles on. But I’m not crazy. I’m not. And we do not have time for you to not believe that.

Okay. I motion for him to sit down on the bench, and he does, but he sits on the edge of it, like he’s ready to run off. Just say it.

He opens his mouth to speak, but a lady walks into the lobby, looking at us skeptically. I try for a smile, but I think it just makes us look more suspicious.

We remain quiet while she waits for an elevator. As soon as she is in one and the doors close, Elliott speaks up.

You’re an evoker, he blurts out.

I laugh nervously because I don’t get it, but it sounds like a joke, or an accusation. He laughs too, but not like it’s a joke. He laughs like he knows what he’s saying is crazy but also like he thinks it’s true. I mean, what the hell? You can’t just show up on my doorstep, or two streets down from my doorstep, this way and tell me something so nonsensical.

I am about to tell him something that my mom wouldn’t be proud of, but he continues before I get the chance. You’re an evoker, and I’m a traveller.

Elliott, you aren’t making any sense. Was there a nicer way to say that? Oh well.

Oh, he laughs, I know. That’s not even the worst of it. We have to leave now.

Oh, we do? I ask sarcastically. Can I ask where we have to go?

No, he says. I mean, you can ask, but I won’t tell you.

Why not?

You won’t believe me. He steadies his gaze on mine and very seriously says, I’m being called. We have to—

Just take a second to breathe. Take a second to tell me what’s going on. I reach for my phone, because whatever Elliott is on, he seems like he’s losing control. Then I feel guilty that I am about to sell him out.

He looks at me, maybe for the first time tonight. He really looks at me, and I look at him. I hope he doesn’t notice that the numbness has seeped into my pores, making my skin sullen and dull.

His eyes are the same bright blue, and I’m glad, because they are my favourite eyes. They are still the eyes I used to dream about, but, like mine, they now tell a story of long, hard years. I see all the memories, which have been flooding my mind since seeing him, finally flash before his eyes. He seems to soften, but he is still tense.

What I’m saying is true, but for you to believe me, you have to trust me. Can you do that? He looks at me, and I see the boy I trusted with my whole heart when I was fourteen, the same boy who broke it. I nod anyway. He says, Magic is real.

A moment passes before I realize he isn’t going to let go of this delusion. I shake my head. I’m tired of him wasting my time. Doesn’t he know? Hasn’t he heard about everything I’ve been through?

But when I look at him, every part of my body screams to trust him. I want to throw myself into one of his hugs. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I was hugged. My body lusts to collapse into him.

Instead, I say, Elliott, I think you have to leave.

Please, Bean, you have—

Don’t, I snap, holding my hand up. I hate myself for the way my old nickname affects me. I hate myself for desperately wanting to feed his delusions just to hear him say it again. I hate myself for the feelings of nostalgia and the ache of missing home and anyone from home. I hate him for pushing those feelings into my gut. Don’t call me that.

I’m sorry, Adrian, he says. I don’t believe him.

I really want to believe him about magic being real, though. Who knows—two years ago I might have. I used to believe in magic and dream of worlds with adventures. I told Lex about those worlds in all my stories. My dad would laugh and say that it would do me some good to take an interest in this world and read the news. I would roll my eyes. My mom would tell my dad that it was important to keep dreaming.

Sometimes Elliott would listen to my stories too. He’d lie on the bed next to Lex, and she would cuddle up to him and whatever hoodie he was wearing that day. She would usually drift asleep just before the happy ending, but I wouldn’t stop the story. I would keep telling it, and he would listen.

I used to believe in magic, but then my whole life was turned upside down. I was thrown, alone and scared, into the harsh reality of existence as an orphan, and I quickly discovered how mundane the world is. So I don’t believe in magic anymore. I read the news now. I haven’t remembered a dream in years, and I don’t dream when I’m awake either.

Elliott is looking at me like he expects me to say something, but I’m not going to. I just wish I could be alone. Alone again, alone forever. I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want him here. I can’t stay numb while he is here to remind me what it’s like to feel.

He is standing again, pacing around the apartment lobby, scared, like some wizard is going to Avada Kedavra him into oblivion. I roll my eyes, because he clearly isn’t leaving, and I say, Fine, I’ll play.

What?

I’ll play, I repeat. What’s an evoker?

Someone who evokes feeling.

Yeah, thanks, Merriam-Webster. I roll my eyes again. A lot of people convey feelings. Last week a homeless man tried to tell me he invented Tupperware and that he needed a donation to reboot the company. That evoked a feeling. You seriously sound insane.

I know what it is like to have that said to you, but really. This guy is making no sense. I walk over to where he is standing, having paced over by the elevators. I take a deep breath and look at him sympathetically.

Adrian, he pleads, "think about it. Really, really think. Wouldn’t it make sense? Haven’t you always known that there was something missing?"

Yes, I have always felt displaced, like something is missing, but that doesn’t mean that this makes any sense. I feel a twinge of rage, because he knows—he has always known—I feel that way, like I don’t belong in my skin or in this place. I’ve always felt like something is just slightly off, and I confided that to him.

I look at him, prepared to call him on his game, on using our history against me, but my rage disintegrates. I see him begging me to believe in him, searching for the Adrian he knew a lifetime ago.

But I also see a stranger who hasn’t been a part of my life in its hardest years—some guy who looks like his years haven’t been easy either. I wonder where he has been. I wonder why he is here now. I wonder when he began to lose his mind.

Is there someone I can call for you? I ask, reaching for him.

He pulls his hand away and looks like he is about to get defensive, but then he says, I told you I didn’t have time for this.

And just like that, Elliott vanished.

CHAPTER 2

JASSYN

T hey’re fussing around the barn again, and I don’t have to be there to know why. Clearly goody boy is back, and Ashlin and the others will be fawning over him.

It’s not that I dislike him. I mean, I hardly know the guy. It’s just … Well, have you ever met someone that was irritatingly perfect? The guy isn’t just smart and good-looking, like your average too-good-to-be-true soldier; he’s practically a nobleman.

I’d bet you anything that if the Silencers hadn’t weaseled their way into the offices in Town Square, Elliott would be one of our leaders in the near future. I’d vote for him, but I wouldn’t line up to be his friend. What are the odds that this guy knows how to have any fun? Then again, I forgot how to have fun a long time ago.

Still, I head inside to get the lowdown on his progress. I don’t have to like him to know that this operation is important.

What’s the deal? I ask Braylon as I walk in. Ashlin is cooing over Elliott, and Aries is making both the boys—Braylon and Elliott—a healing remedy.

We did it, he says. We actually found her. We’re just going to recoup, and then he’s going back.

That’s excellent. Maybe now we will have a chance to make some changes around here, I say, already planning the way I would organize my troops to storm Town Square.

What do you mean? Braylon asks.

I don’t have a problem with Braylon. He’s good like Elliott, but he’s more independent; I don’t feel like he’ll run away from a fight because Ashlin says so.

I just think we could maybe make some advances toward getting off the barn and starting to end the war, I answer.

Do you think we’re ready for that? Maybe that’s why I like him: he asks the hard questions and says it like it is, but he doesn’t put you on the defensive.

I don’t know if we are, I reply truthfully. But how else will we ever know?

Always ready for a fight, aren’t you? Ashlin pipes up.

I just mean maybe the time is close for us to do something about the Silencers, I say honestly. Unless you’re fine with the way we’re living. If that’s what you call this.

If you have a problem with it—

Then what? I challenge. Go on, Ashlin—tell me to leave. Let’s see how strong your resistance is without my help.

Her cheeks flare to a colour almost as warm as her purple hair. I think I might be the only one that can get her this worked up. Except for Jensky, but he’s not around nearly enough to keep her on her toes.

Aries cuts in before this conversation has the chance to escalate. Jassyn, can you please gather a crew to collect some herbs from the forest? We’re running low on sanitatum and pugna. If you see some berries, grab them, and I’ll make a spread too.

Sure, Aries, I say, allowing her to come to the defence of her wife. I get ready to make a last retort, but Elliott cuts me off.

Not today. Please, Jassyn. Adrian will be here in a few hours, and the last thing she’ll need is a food shortage, he begs.

I know he means that the last thing he wants is for her to see dissension in the ranks. Kenz forbid she might make up her mind about the way Ashlin runs things.

You know, Elliott, I say, lowering my voice so Ashlin won’t get involved any further, you’ll only be able to keep the truth from her for so long. Don’t you think she should know?

Know what? he asks. Know that you don’t like our leader?

I have no problem with her, just the way she runs from a fight. And it’s not just me, and you know it. He starts to walk away, but I catch his arm. Besides, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re going to want to tell her the truth about her sister.

She’ll know what she needs to know, he answers.

If the guy I loved kept something that pivotal about one of my brothers quiet … I shake my head, unable to fathom what I’d do to him.

It was a direct order.

I’m sure that will make her feel so much better, I retort. Mission over girl?

Jassyn, it’s the mission over everything. It almost surprises me. I’ve heard him talk about this Adrian like she personally placed the silver Star in the sky. I always thought you would get that.

Me?

Oh, come on, you’re more headstrong about the mission than any of us.

The mission and Ashlin’s orders are two different things, I explain. I won’t put anything before bringing down the government, but I won’t put Ashlin’s personal judgment over my friends.

Friends? he mocks, and I am so irritated that it hurts me. Look, just get to gathering and keep your nose out of our business, he says.

With a roll of my eyes and an disingenuous soldier salute, I’m on my way to start my gathering. Walking down the field, I catch Alida and Darhea, my number twos, and drag them along.

Can you come over here with that knife? I ask Darhea, eyeing down a branch full of pugna leaves.

What’s an evoker anyway? she wonders out loud while handing me the blade and whisking the blue strands of hair away from her eyes. I mean, I get the whole power and all, but what use is it to us if she knows when I’m pissed?

I don’t know. I think of my brother Cayden. What did his power really mean? If you ask me, she won’t be any use unless we whip her ass into shape.

Well, Ashlin did prophesize her contribution to the end of the war. Alida shrugs. Maybe someone who gives a damn about the rest of us might actually matter.

Sometimes I’m not sure about Alida. Granted, I know she’d fight to the death for the cause, and I know she’d win, because I trained her, but can she make up her own mind? And who’s her lion, Ashlin or me?

Darhea too, for that matter. They’re both sheep. Sheep trained in the highest forms of combat, but sheep nonetheless.

Now there’s an image.

I walk to another group of trees, hoping to score some berries, and am pleasantly surprised to find little red balls covering a tree. I start hacking away at the branches and end up clearing enough to see the trunk of the tree, to which is taped a poster.

Come out, come out wherever you are—

You can run, Unnatural, but we will find you.

I stare at the words of the parchment. It’s government parchment with the Silencers’ insignia pasted at the top. Ironic, really.

Look at this, I call