“Ma’am, I’m not going to ask you again. Present all children with Signs in this household or we will be forced to take further action. You won’t like it if we do.”

Hel curled up more tightly into her ball under the armchair. The orphanage children had been lined up in the front hall, and she could see them from where she hid in the living room. There was just enough space between the flap keeping her from sight and the wooden post of the chair to allow her to view the proceedings.

Dylin and Hax stood tall, proud, in their place in the line. They were the biggest boys, and both had been blessed with strong Signs and even stronger Powers. At twelve and thirteen respectively, they were the oldest boys in the orphanage. The other children, ranged from eleven to six, were not so tall and proud. They cowered in their places, fearfully eyeing the Brotherhood soldiers.

Hel knew that Dylin and Hax were just as afraid as the other children. They were prime pickings for the Six’s army and wouldn’t just be cannon fodder; they would be as forcefully indoctrinated as the most willing and able recruit.

But they wanted to protect her and the little ones, so they swaggered and took up space in the way that all children proud of their Signs do. Hopefully it would add to the illusion.

It was Mother who was protecting all of them the most, though. “I have presented to you all the children,” she said calmly. “I don’t know what you want me to do. My Power isn’t producing children out of thin air.”

The short, burly soldier scowled and jostled a scroll of paper in front of her. “Ration reports say you’ve been applying for sixteen shares a week. I count fourteen brats and you. I don’t know if you think we’re idiots, but even the stupidest soldier can count past fifteen.”

Unfazed, Mother said, “Fine, I tried to spare you. You want to see number sixteen? She’s four, and she has the fullpox. You’re welcome to visit her in quarantine.”

Both soldiers hesitated. “She’s four?” the second one asked.

“Four,” Mother replied firmly.

Hel was actually fourteen, almost fifteen, more than old enough to be recruited, and she didn’t have fullpox, but no one was going to argue with Mother. Definitely not just to risk pox. It was a death sentence, and not even the coldest soldier of the Brotherhood would go near enough to put the child out of their misery—if only because they valued their own lives over that of someone who would die soon enough anyway.

“You should have just said that from the start,” the first soldier grumbled, but wasn’t so heartless as the blame Mother for not wanting to admit it. Children were a commodity to the Six and Mother’s livelihood depended on that.

The soldiers began examining the children. Dylin and Hax were certainly going to be recruited when they turned fourteen, the minimum age for joining the Brotherhood. It was clear in the way the soldiers’ eyes greedily took in the electricity that sparked on Dylin’s fingertips and the blades that Hax produced from his arms and back, bone hardening as it grew past the skin. When they were properly trained, they’d be lethal.

Myra and Mira, the eldest twins, would be recruited to the Bureau. Wood sprouted from where Myra stood, easily moldable into buildings and weapons, while stone materialized in Mira’s hands. They would be vital to helping the city, but their Powers would not be particularly useful in combat, making them ideal for Support roles.

The other children displayed their Signs, as most Powers didn’t manifest until eight at the earliest. The youngest, five-year-old Kaja, wouldn’t even start showing Signs until he was six, so the soldiers didn’t even spare him a glance.

“These five,” the short soldier said, pointing at Dylin, Hax, and three others. He handed Mother a contract to sign. When she recalcitrantly refused to take it, he said, “You know the rules. The Six provide for you and the children; you supply the Brotherhood with the strong. If you keep being difficult, I’ll have to report your attempt to lie.”

Hel couldn’t see Mother’s expression, but she snatched the paper and pen out of the soldier’s hand and roughly scribbled her signature at the bottom. The soldier took it, rolled it up, and tucked it away.

“Thank you for your compliance,” he said, though the words rang false. Mother was never truly compliant with recruitment, despite the necessity of it. “Take care to be more respectful. Next time, we might not be so merciful.” So said, the soldiers left for their next destination.

The door closed quietly and Mother turned back to the children. “Alright, that’s over with. You all go play for a little while I make dinner.”

Relieved, all the children scattered except for Dylin and Hax. “Did we do okay?” Hax asked tentatively, the fear in his eyes temporarily abated.

Mother stroked the boys’ heads, gazing at them fondly. “Yes, you did. Thank you for protecting your brothers and sisters. Helena, you can come out now!”

Hel crawled out from under the armchair. It had been exceedingly uncomfortable despite the large gap and how small she was for her age. Still, the burgeoning bruises and scrapes from the tight space were gone just as they formed.

Dylin brightened when he saw her. “Hel! We did it! You’re safe!”

Hel smiled. “You did well,” she said, ruffling his hair. While the younger boys were distracted, she slanted her eyes in Mother’s direction.

Mother nodded. “Boys, go spar, no Powers. Hel, help me in the kitchen.”

Dylin and Hax headed to the backyard, where they could safely practice their forms against each other, and Hel followed Mother.

“This is the last Recruitment Day I can protect you,” Mother said. “You’ll have to leave tonight.”

Hel nodded once in agreement. “I know. Thank you for your help, Mother.”

“You’ll always have my help,” Mother said. “It’s the least I can do for our last hope.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Hel disregarded Mother’s words and turned to the counter to begin chopping carrots for the night’s stew.

Once dinner was simmering the pot, thickened and almost ready to be served, Mother turned back to Hel. “Do you have your things packed?”

“I’m as ready to go as ever.”

Mother’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Do you have it?”

“Of course,” Hel replied mildly. “I carry it everywhere.”

“Show me.”

Caught in her lie, Hel averted her eyes guiltily and said nothing. Mother sighed. “Helena, I can’t tell you how important it is that you keep it on you at all times. If it gets into the wrong—”

“Mother,” Hel said as sharply as she dared, “I know. I know. But it’s heavy. It hurts. I don’t see why I have to bear it. It’s a terrible burden.”

The matron’s eyes softened. “I know, Hel. But it’s yours and always has been, and as terrible as the burden is, only you can carry it. I promise it will make sense someday.”

“You and your prophecies,” Hel muttered sullenly. Mother only smiled.

“Go put it on, Helena.”

Hel did as told, climbing the stairs to the second floor. In her small dormitory, she rifled through her knapsack, already packed for the journey ahead, and pulled out the thin star-made necklace. The pendant hanging firmly in the center shined a dull, dark emerald, but when she clasped the chain around her neck, there was an immediate tug in her chest and the emerald lightened from within. A green fire lit within the jewel, a soft glow on her breastbone, before banking itself and turning dull into bright.

The uncomfortable tug remained, a slight pull whenever she took a breath, but Mother was right. It was her burden, her birthright. She should never have stopped wearing it.

Dinner was hearty and filling and soon the children were drowsy with the warmth of hot food. Mother sent them all to bed except for Dylin and Hax. Hel sat with them in the living room, knapsack at her feet and a large black dog sitting to her right.

Hax was the first to realize what this meant. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Hel said. “I’m almost fifteen now, and Recruitment Day is over. I have to leave, get out while I can.”

“But… what about Lyka?” Dylin asked, eyes on the furry beast. “Will you be taking her?”

Hel laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about? Not me leaving, but me taking the dog?”

Dylin looked away, cheeks red. “That’s not true,” he mumbled.

Mother interjected then. “Lyka came with Helena as a puppy,” she reminded Dylin firmly. “They’re partners, and it would be wrong to separate them. They’re as bonded as a mother and child.”

Lyka turned her soulful blue eyes on Hel. So light they were almost white, they gave the half-wolf an old, ghostly gaze. Hel nodded in agreement and patted Lyka’s head once before the dog trotted over to Dylin and nuzzled her wet nose into his bare thigh, startling a yelp of surprise from him.

“We’ll come back and visit sometimes,” Hel started. “Not often, but—”

“No, you will not,” Mother scolded. “You will never return.”

Hel hadn’t been aware of this and turned surprised eyes on the matron. However, Mother’s stance was firm and brooked no argument. She wanted to object but knew that the point was futile. This was Mother’s domain and if Hel came back when told not to, she would receive a welcoming so cold that it would ruin her good memories of the place.

No, if Mother wanted her to stay away, she would, despite her reluctance. No one tried Mother’s temper and was left undamaged.

“Alright,” Hel said.

“Never?” Hax asked, eyes wide and pleading.

“You won’t be here much longer,” Mother told him. “Next Recruitment Day, you’ll be joining the Brotherhood.”

Hax’s eyes hardened. “I don’t want to.”

“But you will. This is how it’s done in Darktown, and the hard truth is that you were born here and so destined to serve the Six.”

Hel wasn’t born in Darktown, though if the Brotherhood knew of her Powers, that would have been ignored. Mother said Hel had a future greater than could be fulfilled in Darktown and since her gods-given Power was foreknowledge, Hel could not argue.

She touched the gem hidden by her high-collared shirt, felt the warmth, and quickly recoiled, hand dropping to her lap in haste.

“It’s getting late,” Mother announced. “Say your goodbyes, boys. Helena needs to leave before shift change.”

Hel stood and gave both Dylin and Hax long, drawn-out hugs. While the boys saying goodbye to Lyka, Mother approached her and placed her hands on Hel’s shoulders.

“You will do fine,” Mother said. “The fates have foreseen it. You will do great things, and both god and people will thank you for it.”

But why does it have to hurt? Hel wondered but didn’t ask.

“Thank you for your help, Mother,” Hel said instead.

Mother’s eyes twinkled. “It was a pleasure and honor to help you on your path, Helena. May the gods see you to your destiny.”

With a last embrace, Hel was released from Mother’s tight grip and went to collect her knapsack. Lyka licked Dylin and Hax’s faces one more time before trotting up to Hel’s side and giving her a quiet woof.

“May the gods be with you,” Hel said with a bow.

“And so with you,” Mother and the boys replied, bowing in turn.

Hel opened the front door, stepped outside, and with Lyka padding alongside her softly, they headed for the only road out of Darktown.

Next Chapter: Chapter One