Light had crested over the eastern ridge but the sun had yet to rise above the horizon. The sky was as red as Kelsey’s hair, strew around his collar and half over his shoulder as he woke, slow to make sense of the early dawn. Milo sat up, rubbing his face and looking around the bunk. The women were lucky. They had private quarters, more or less. They had three other bunkmates in designated cubicles. The men shared a long hall. No matter, all the women were still asleep. He might have been too if he wasn’t halfway through his third year and waking before dawn hadn’t become part of his usual habit.
He scooted the blanket aside, Kelsey unmoving despite the creak of the wooden bed frame. She was beautiful in her sleep, her face softer and her spirit gentle. Kelsey wasn’t as hard or tough as she seemed. They’d spent the better part of the night together, curled close and whispering between delicate slow kisses and wonderous little hums of joy amid restrained giggles. And to see her so happy made Milo’s heart swell and soar. It wasn’t often she smiled when scowling was easier. When her brother made certain she had a reason to be sour in the first place.
Milo pulled on his boots, wondering if the reason she’d taken to the barracks easier than he had, was because of her brother. They’d never seen eye to eye on anything. Still, despite the thousand worries he had over her, she was one of the best. She scored almost as high as he did on most exams, and her healing ability was faster than some of the veterans who specialized in field medicine. Not that she had any interest in it. She wanted to lead the charge and earn her spot among the archers posted high on the wall.
In an hour or two, she’d be up and headed for breakfast. Meanwhile, he needed to hurry and get into place before Makler saw where he’d come from. That was a conversation he didn’t want any part of and would do almost anything to avoid. The Resistance had a strict policy about fraternizing with the opposite sex. And sneaking out of the women’s barracks was a good way to catch more than an earful about those policies. Milo cringed at the thought, pushing the front door open and heading straight for the posts along the wall.
He wasted no time with the cafeteria and grabbed a small box of food from the supply office. It wasn’t half as bad as everyone made it out to be, but then again not everyone had to suffer through holidays with Brendan Filch and his dad’s horrible casseroles. Milo peeled back the lid, chuckling to himself as he scooped up the cold vegetables. Brendan wasn’t too bad of a soldier and was probably stronger from stomaching his dad’s cooking all those years. And for all those years they were neighbors, it was a shame they never thought to send them meals.
“Sir,” a tall, broad man interrupted near the gate, “we have night reports.”
“About what?” Milo asked around the lump of food stuffed in his cheek.
“Razen activity,” he frowned.
“Where are they?”
“Hours out, at most. We sighted them from the tower.”
“Start the rotation.”
“Yes, sir.” The man gave a salute and was on his way as fast as the wind.
Milo choked down another spoonful of food and tossed the rest in the trash. He’d waited so long for this moment, and yet it didn’t seem entirely real. Even as the high bell rang, too soon for most, it felt like a drill. By the time he made it to his station point, his sword not fully positioned to his hip, and the quiver he’d propped in the corner was steadily slipping down, the entire line of morning rotation soldiers went eerily silent. Milo looked down the line, then up, and then to the sky where everyone was staring.
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White flakes, mingling with black and gray fell in slow twirls, drifting like feathers. Like snow. Sunrise had barely come and the fires were warming the air faster than daybreak. Lukas set a hand on Milo’s shoulder and gave him a nod. Milo sucked in a breath and adjusted his sword, drawing it out. Lukas called down one end of the line and Brendan called up the other, shouting the orders to ready.
“Stay ready, they’ll be here in an hour, at most,” Milo warned. Lukas and Brendan offered a nod and moved down to their respective stations. Milo looked back at the wall guarding Bethany. Somewhere amid its slitted windows, Kelsey was keeping watch over them. And Makler was nowhere to be seen.
For an hour and a half, there was nothing. No movement in the field ahead to the north, no birds, no bells, no sounds from inside the walls. This was the first real command Milo had taken and the first real call he’d made. And he was wrong. An hour? How optimistic. He slumped down in his wooden folding chair and tossed a hand through his short hair. It was already messy but the sweat from how close the fires were made it worse. Then it came, the first sound of the morning. And it sent the sort of chill up through his back that made him want to contort and turn himself away, covering his ears.
It was creaking like wood twisting around itself and splintering as it wound too tight. Then came a wicked pop, crack!, and an explosion of fracturing trees sang out around them. His heart hadn’t stopped but it felt like it did. Milo stared out across the field as the trees over the ridge of the hill withered into black thorny brambles. And despite all the noise, they all remained intact as their leaves browned and fell to the ground. They were dead. Every last one.
Milo’s eyes narrowed. He’d never seen anything like it and hadn’t heard any stories about such a thing either. Stepping out of his station onto the grass, he squinted through the sunlight at the dead forest. Something felt wrong. He stole a glance at his hands, burning and itching and tingling in the worst ways. The glow around them was spreading up his arms. With a quick shake, his sleeves fell down over his fingers, hiding the aura. But the taste of metal in his mouth was stronger than ever. Something was very wrong.
Time was slowing. He looked at his men, the soldiers he commanded, and saw the youth in their faces. They were children, just like him, and they were standing on a battlefield with a year’s worth of training on average. Makler had faith it was enough, but, in the dawning light of day, Milo wasn’t as sure. As he wheeled his attention back around, daring to wander farther into the field, a shade rose among the trees and trickled down the hill. As it passed over the grass, the tall blades wilted and withered and turned to dust.
Gasps filled the air as soldiers stumbled and staggered back, scrambling off the ground. They were ready for many things. Enemies with incredible abilities, archers, shields, cavalry, and all sorts of foot soldiers, but nothing had prepared them for this. For a shade to cast across the ground and kill everything it touched. If they had once believed they stood a chance, their hopes died there on the field with the grass. Then, like a dog on a leash, it stopped and pulled back. Breathless, Milo turned to Lukas. His friend stared out, fear painted over him and his hands trembling. He looked over, eyes as wide as saucers and his head shaking in a slow rhythmic sway.
Lukas’s mouth opened to say something but the words never came out, drowned by the cacophony of thunder, like war drums booming from the sky. The ground and air trembled in fear and the waves shook through Milo and Lukas, and every person lined up along the wall. Grabbing hold of the stone post to steady himself, Milo’s brows furrowed and he snatched Lukas by the collar, dragging him in.
“Find Michael, and get him out of here,” he hissed under his breath.
“You want me to abandon my post?” Lukas whispered back.
“I want you to save my brother.” Milo stared into his dark eyes, not as a commanding officer, but as his friend. “Please, I promised I’d protect him. Get him out, and I’ll come back for both of you.”
“Right.” Lukas nodded. “Don’t die.”
“It’d take a miracle to kill me.” He smiled, but it was lost too soon as he looked back at the barren field. At the top of the hill amid the twisted trees, a line formed. Full of white uniforms and glittering sun medallions—a mockery to the midnight they brought down on so many. Then, from behind the wall of wicked white and masks of shining gold, came horses and riders with accents of red. And there they stood like sentries, waiting for orders. Waiting for the world to start moving again.
