Chapter 5 - Circles
July
Walking down the stairs should be easier than climbing.
Gravity and bullshit like that. Well, it is not.
Try rushing down ten floors, with a side of sleep deprivation and the guilt of keeping secrets from the person that matters the most to you—plus the prickling feeling that that person is probably doing the same with you.
Galen didn’t mention he had a meeting with Miss P. today…The thought accompanies me until I lean against the sturdy portal of the building, inhaling with my eyes closed.
Spring is sailing towards Libera’s shores, carrying the smell of blooming almond trees and the excited voices of young Harvesters fantasising about their first crossing to Horigos with a senior Reaper.
The Harvesters became my family when I turned five. Still, I swear I notice kids not older than three running around the corridors, pretending to perform the soul-picking ritual on one another, still unaware of the invisible scars the actual event would leave inside their minds.
Some of us were born and raised here, like Galen. However, a thin strain of our nature still hides in some parts of Horigos, in the veins of mixed-blood beings, children of the forbidden unions between Horigeans and Harvesters that Roden declared illegal at the peak of the Great Famine.
Roden has only a small window of time to find those Harvesters and bring them to Libera before their blood - the very core of our talent that Horigeans hate and desire in equal measure - turns wild and destroys their minds and souls from within.
I’m the living proof, and for some fucking stupid coincidence, I’m the only one who can rip their chest apart and pick their soul before their untrained gift turns them into monsters capable of devouring innocent Horigeans’ souls and Harvesters’.
It’s not a surprise that someone is trying to get to the Rogues before Roden.
I don’t have crisp memories of my life before.
Parents, yes, I had two of those, but their faces are a blurry mush of faded pictures.
All I can remember is their relief—and mine—when Roden sent Popplewish to collect me a few weeks after my talent manifested.
I hope our Writers gave them better memories than the ones they had with me.
“July… Come, join us for a quick debrief.” I forgot that Spring also means that Mr. Tydell takes his post-op talks out in Sagetia’s largest park.
.. Damn it, Galen, it’s all your fault. I was too busy guessing why he kept his meeting a secret to notice I walked right into the circle of Mr. Tydell’s opinion-sharing group.
“Another time, Mr. Tydell,” I say with a stupid smile plastered on my face, pretending I’m searching for someone far away.
“Only for a few minutes. I’m aware you’ve just come back from Cleryce. Our junior students would certainly benefit from your fresh memories.”
I shoot him a quick glare before running my eyes over the faces of the six young Harvesters who sat cross-legged in a circle. I was one of them years ago, losing myself in Popplewish’s words.
“Another time.” I quickly dismiss Alphonse Tydell’s hopeful expression with a shrug, scratching my neck as I slowly retreat.
In the distance, the castle towering over the island like a silent guardian made of stone becomes smaller with every step I take away from Tydell.
Legend says Roden relocated it in one night from Horigos to Libera; the impossibility of such an event makes it an excellent subject for wowing junior students.
I continue walking backwards, keeping my eyes trained on the peaceful image of the castle, when chaos strikes me with the sound of an unexpected question, from a too-well-known and not very welcome voice. “Did you ask him?”
“I’m sorry, what? Who…?” I spin around.
Burnt-orange eyes, long lashes and pink cheeks make me recoil as if facing a hungry badger. “Oh, Lucretia… I didn’t hear you coming…” I wish I had. Or, at least, possess the power to disappear in the blink of an eye to avoid wasting time with her.
A well-rehearsed flick of her hair. “Well, of course not. I’m mastering the art of soft walking. You know I’m in line to be the next Silent End?”
“Yeah, that’s not really a title…” I don’t have time to argue with a child. “What do you want, Lue?” I ask, pretending I don’t know what she’s alluding to. Perhaps she will go away if treated like an annoying fly.
But she curls her fingers under her chin, giving me dreadful puppy eyes. A lion’s cub ready to strike, that’s all I can see. “What did he say? Please don’t leave me hanging, July. My final co-crossing is in a few days, and there’s no better Harvester I can think of to go with me.”
You sneaky little viper. “Oh, that… I didn’t have time to ask Galen, sorry.” A shrug and a fake smile, I’m not giving her more. Galen and I have been granted the chance to accompany junior Reapers and Deleteri before they start solo missions, and Lucretia picked Galen as her designated victim.
She pouts, taking my hand in hers, patting its back. “I hope you’re not procrastinating because you think, well…You know what they say about Harvesters co-crossing—”
“I don’t.”
I do, but I don’t have time to explain that even if they cross the Grace Wards together, they will not fall in love because nothing romantic or magical happens during crossings, just skin and bones stretching and adjusting to the change of dimensions like a mass of dough being reshaped by invisible hands.
However, I do have time to shatter her perfectly curated, inflated ego.
I cover her hand with mine, patting it like her with mine, and croon, “I’m truly sorry, Lue, but I believe you’re strong enough to understand that - maybe - a Deleteri leader just doesn’t want to co-cross because he has more urgent matters to care about.
I’m sure you can pick someone less…Just someone less.
” I step back to enjoy the friendly mask dropping from her face.
She starts sobbing. Oh, she is good. If I don’t say something now, she won’t let me go, especially when we both spot a small group of girls walking towards us.
No. I can’t deal with her court of geese.
I grab her shoulders, ignoring the sickening whiff of honey and strawberry wafting from her entire body. “Hey, I’m not saying he refused. But he could. So, just be prepared.” My lips drop into a lopsided smile.
Galen has already declined, but Lucretia is known to be extremely moody.
When she opens her mouth to argue, I let her go and retreat as fast as possible. “I’ll talk to him. Again. Tonight. Promise.” I mark each word with a step away from her narcissistic aura.
“One day, I could be the one deciding your next mission!” she yells at me. Amazing how quickly she’s recovered her stone-cold expression to hide her defeated look from her friends.
I zip up my leather jacket to my chin and pull the hood over my head.
I don’t need to be stopped by whoever needs second-hand books or just wants to be seen talking to a senior Reaper.
Something rattles in my jacket as I speed up.
I distractedly touch my fingers to the object inside my left pocket, hardly suppressing a laugh—hideous heart-shaped sunglasses.
Somehow, Galen must have sneaked them in there.
They are atrocious, but they will do the trick and disguise my face.
It’s almost lunchtime when I rest my back against my bedroom door.
I close my eyes and send the glasses flying over what I hope is the bed. I need a moment before facing the mess Galen and I made last night, which is - no doubt - still waiting for me like a loyal cat with scabs—you have to take care of its stinky fur because that is probably your fault.
I wait for the sour stench of rancid leftovers and wine to kick me in the nose…
“You didn’t…” I mouth as I open my right eye first before pushing away from the door in disbelief. There are no books or empty bottles on the floor, and the clothes I threw on a chair last night are now neatly folded on top of my chest of drawers.
“I didn’t even know I had fresh bed sheets!” I exclaim, inhaling the fresh scent of cotton in my room.
A good chunk of Libera’s population would fall at Galen’s feet like overripe plums. I’ve heard so many people praising the tiny silver accents in his left eye, his shiny curls, and perfect skin, as well as his gentle hands and hypnotising voice.
But if only they knew him the way I do—he is so much more than that.
I rub a hand across my face, trying to banish the earlier image of Galen stripping in Popplewish’s corridor. I see why people around us think he’s untouchable. How can they understand who we are when we’re the first ones not knowing what’s between us?
It’d be so easy if I could give it a name.
Shit! Overwhelmed by Galen’s way of saying sorry, I completely forgot I had left the envelope with my next assignment on my desk. Please, please be there…
I hurl myself across the room. My desk looks exactly the same as it did this morning, but with all the objects rearranged tidily. An empty candle jar filled with potpourri, my laptop, pens, and a pile of books, which I thought was wise to start reading simultaneously.
“I swear there was a banana peel here…” I look around, tapping a finger on my bottom lip.
I shrug, giving up the search, and sit down as exhausted as if I’ve just finished a marathon. The corner of an envelope pops out from under a book about Horigeans’ habits and how to look and live like them.
The surprise and worry on Galen’s face earlier this morning were genuine; he didn’t see the assignment, but better safe than sorry.
Besides, I don’t even know where Roden is sending me this time.
Before rushing to Miss P., I only had time to look at the date of my next jump, thirteen days before our birthday.
At this point, I genuinely hope they’ve picked a nice place.
We can’t choose where to go, and all our targets are selected based on our personal experience, age, skills and personalities.
When I’m not dealing with Rogues, I turn my attention to those Nistarei whose time to repay Roden has expired.
The image of the young woman with the green dress comes knocking at my brain’s door and runs away before I can understand why.
Popplewish says that every soul can be helpful and has something to give. And I repeat this to myself when I reap a soul and leave behind a walking puppet ready for the Fields. Their souls can still be recycled, even if this is not the correct term or a word I’d use in front of anyone.
I slide my finger under the sticky top of the envelope, and my heart speeds up.
I requested, for once, to be assigned to someone who at least tried to use what Roden gave them in the best way possible.
I do not want to share my experience during Tydell’s circles, but I need to understand why other Reapers find it so exciting to harvest an almost sinless soul.
Where does their need to mourn afterwards come from?
Why, even the Deleteri, who don’t see or touch those souls but only guide the empty vessels towards the Fields, prefer to be left alone for some time after a mission?
There have been days when Galen disappeared to deal with his personal demons.
But if I ask him to help me forget all those burnt chests and empty eyes, he will always set aside whatever pain he’s feeling to hold me in his arms for as many nights as I need.