Bone Year

Chapter 1 – — Excerpt from The Ashwell Academy Founding Chronicle

Chapter One

“The Cycle has never broken. It only waits. And when it returns, it will demand a healer capable of choosing which lives deserve to be saved.”

— Excerpt from The Ashwell Academy Founding Chronicle

The first time I watched someone die, I didn’t scream. I listened.

I didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything.

It’s strange what the mind chooses to remember. A breath, a final exhale, the creaking of bones. I should be past it by now, but sometimes the memory rises without warning, dragging me back.

Suddenly, I bolt upright in bed to the sound of pounding below me.

It’s not a memory this time. The knocking is real, sharp enough to rattle the floorboards, and it is far too early for the clinic to be open.

I hop out of bed and quickly pull on a sweater and pants, shoving my feet into boots. As I descend the stairs, I decide not to bother taming my long red hair and twist it into a ponytail instead.

I live with my mother and younger sister in the rooms above the village clinic, the one my father started before I was born.

He was the best healer in all of Ironfen, often drawing people from other villages in the Woodlands, many traveled far and wide to see him.

Once we even had a family from the Shorelands make the trek.

It took them an entire month by horse to reach us.

My father died last year, and nothing has felt quite right since.

I jog across the clinic and unlock the front door, pulling it open to find Jace standing there. He holds a freshly baked sweet bun from his parents’ bakery, offering it to me. A smile spreads across his face as he brazenly looks me up and down.

I grab it, take a bite, and wave him inside.

“You don’t have to finish it all at once, Maelis,” he says.

“But it tastes like it was made by an angel,” I say through a mouthful of warm, sugary bread.

He laughs, shaking his head. He has the straight nose and full lower lip of someone who was clearly built to be looked at, and lately I’ve been catching myself doing it. I always tease him like that, because the thing about Jace is that he is an angel. An actual one.

His parents are angels too, the only magical bloodline living permanently in our village.

We get the occasional fae passing through, and the crazy woman who runs the tavern at the edge of town swears has hosted vampires before, but I’ve never seen one myself.

They may rule over all of Valen, but they like to keep to the Shadowlands.

Most magical bloodlines avoid human villages altogether. We don’t have much to offer them, and they probably find us unbearably boring.

Jace moved here about twelve years ago. We were kids then. His father had fallen gravely ill, and after seeing countless healers, they eventually found their way to our clinic. My father was finally able to heal him, and they’ve stayed ever since.

They opened a bakery and settled into the slow rhythm of our village, as if they had been searching for a place like Ironfen all along. My mother welcomed them with open arms. She had been an outsider before she settled in Ironfen, though she doesn’t like to talk about it.

“Are you doing hours with Briana today?” I ask as Jace drops onto one of the cots, already tearing into his pastry.

Briana is my little sister, though calling her little no longer feels right. She’s seventeen now, six years younger than me.

After my father passed, my mother and sister took on most of the clinic hours.

Before that, I was his protégé. From the moment I could walk, I found my way into the clinic, trailing after him, watching, learning, helping wherever I could.

Our family was never wealthy enough for us to attend one of the larger schools, but we had a tutor, along with lessons from our parents at home.

Every day after my studies, I worked in the clinic. Healing always came naturally to me, but since my father’s death, I haven’t been able to treat a single patient.

I freeze the moment someone needs me. The memories crash into me all at once. My hands shake, my chest tightens, and panic steals the air from my lungs. Jace used to be my right hand in the clinic. Now, he helps my sister and mother instead, filling the space I left behind.

“No, I’m off today,” he says, “but I thought you could use a run to clear your head.”

I brush the crumbs from my hands onto my pants, already knowing he won’t let it go.

After he witnessed my first panic attack, when we were trying to help a man that had been impaled by a fallen branch after slipping from his roof, Jace started dragging me outside whenever he could.

Running. Hiking. Long walks through the forest. He swore it would help, that I would find my way back to the clinic in time.

But here we are, almost a year later, and I’m still broken.

I think the runs are just an excuse now, a way for him to stay close.

I’ve always had the feeling Jace wants more than friendship, but I’ve never let it cross that line.

Not because he isn’t attractive. At six feet tall with short silvery-blond hair and wings that catch the light like brushed silver, he is painfully so.

I don’t want to ruin what we have, and I know he won’t be here forever.

He’s too talented to stay in a place like this.

I don’t want to be the one left hurting when he leaves.

“Sounds great, but let’s walk for the first thirty minutes or so until my food settles,” I say.

He nods, already on his feet and heading for the door.

“Maelis, where are you going?” Briana asks as she descends the stairs into the clinic, her blonde hair still a mess of waves as she prepares to start her morning checklist before opening for patients.

“A run. I’ll see you tonight,” I say.

I’m halfway out the door when she calls, “Tonight, but—”

I don’t turn back. I don’t feel like explaining myself. After our run, I already know where I’m going.

My father’s office.

It’s next door to the clinic, untouched by everyone but me since his death. My mother can’t bring herself to go inside. Some days, she can barely look at me at all after the incident. It’s fine. I don’t want to look at her either after that night.

I need something to fill my time. Something to keep my hands busy and my thoughts quiet. Going through my father’s things has become my way of doing that. His books. His journals. His patient records. Each page feels like a thread still tying him to this world, tying him to me.

It’s how I keep him close, how I hold on a little longer.

And it’s the only place I know where no one will bother me.

“Come on, Mae, cheer up. Look how beautiful it is this morning. The sun’s shining. The air is fresh. You’re alive,” Jace says, teasing as he nudges me while we walk.

I glance up at him and let my lips quirk on one side. A half smile is all I can manage. I’ve been in such a rut lately, and I know I need to pull myself out of it. I don’t know how yet.

“So, have you heard anything from Ashwell?” I ask, changing the subject. A small, selfish part of me hopes he hasn’t.

Ashwell Academy of Medicine and Alchemy is the most elite school for healers. I had never even heard of it before Jace, which makes sense considering they don’t accept humans. They train magical bloodlines to become Veilguards, and getting in is nearly impossible.

Jace talks about it like it’s more a myth than a school. No one knows where it’s located. Some don’t even believe it exists. The way he describes it, it sounds more like a secret society than an academy. Still, it’s his dream to get in.

He’s applied every year for the last three years and never hears a word.

I asked him once how he applies if no one knows where the school is.

He explained it’s magic. You send your application with a spell, and it finds its way on its own.

I asked what happens if it finds its way into the school’s toilet instead, but he didn’t appreciate the question. I appreciated it enough for both of us.

“I haven’t heard anything,” he says, shoulders slumping.

Feeling guilty, I think maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.

“It’s been one hundred and sixteen years since the last cycle. Maybe they stopped training Veilguards. If the cycles are over, it wouldn’t be needed anymore,” I say, kicking a loose rock off the cobblestone road.

“That sounds like a very human thing to say.” Jace says without looking over at me. “As long as there are people walking the earth, the cycles will continue. Balance is a necessity.”

The cycle comes every hundred years like clockwork, according to history. A constant written into records older than Valen itself. Still, it’s hard for most humans to truly grasp what that means. Our lives are too short, blinks in the grand scheme of things compared to other bloodlines.

Most of us will never witness a cycle firsthand, and any humans who did are long gone now, their stories reduced to ink on aging pages and fading warnings no one takes seriously anymore.

“Ashwell would be lucky to have you. They don’t know what they’re doing if they think you’re not a good fit. Maybe they want to see more clinic hours with the magic-blessed bloodlines like you instead of humans,” I say, tucking a stray copper strand behind my ear.

Veilguards are the most elite battlefield healers in the world, trained to heal both humans and magical races.

According to the history books, they’re what keep the world from tipping over the edge each cycle.

Without them, we wouldn’t stand a chance against the twisted creatures that emerge from the fissures when the balance begins to falter.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Jace says, “but I don’t know enough to say what their criteria is or how anyone is chosen. My parents say the school itself is like a living entity. It has its own magical core that chooses its students.”

It sounds unsettling, but maybe that’s the human in me talking.

“Ashwell, you magical asshole, you don’t know what you’re missing!” I shout into the trees as we reach the outskirts of the village, the forest enveloping us.

Jace’s head snaps toward me, blue eyes wide with shock before he breaks into laughter.

“You’re completely nuts,” he says, “and it’s why I love you.”

I stick out my tongue to avoid dwelling on the feelings swelling in my chest. It must mean the warm-up is over. We both start jogging down the path stretched out ahead.

We run until we reach the river then follow the water for a few miles. By the time we finally slow to a stop, I’m thoroughly sweaty and panting, my lungs burning with each breath. I’m exhausted enough that my mind has gone blissfully quiet.

All I can focus on is the fire in my lungs and the ache in my legs.

I walk over to the rapids and brace myself against a smooth rock, bending down to scoop a handful of ice-cold water into my mouth. Jace splashes his face before straightening with a satisfied breath.

We move a few steps away from the river and collapse onto our backs beneath a broad tree, staring up through the leaves as they sway in the breeze overhead. I let my eyes close, letting the steady rhythm of my heartbeat slow while we rest, knowing we’ll have to make the same run back soon.

“If you get into Ashwell, I don’t know what I’ll do around here without you. These runs won’t be the same,” I say, staring up at the wisps of sunlight streaming through the branches overhead.

“You’d never make it this far without me,” he says. “You’d stop halfway and call it a victory.”

I snort. “I would stop halfway and call it self-care.”

“Lying in the dirt gasping for air is not self-care.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d be gasping,” I say, reaching over to jab him.

He laughs, “You despise exercise.”

“I tolerate it. There’s a difference.”

“Come here.”

He lifts his arm and tugs me closer, and I settle against him, my head resting on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, grounding in a way nothing else seems to be lately.

“I won’t get in,” he says, “so you don’t have to worry about it. If I were meant to be a Veilguard, they would’ve accepted me three years ago when I first applied.”

Gods, it’s moments like this that test me, standing on that thin, dangerous line between what we are and what we could be. One shift, one kiss, one choice away from everything changing.

“Maybe they’re slow,” I murmur.

“Or maybe they’re smart enough to see I don’t belong there,” he says, his hand tracing slowly along my back.

I pull back enough to look at him. “That’s not true.”

“But either way, we need to get you back to treating patients. You have the talent. One day, you’ll be even better than your father was. You’re only twenty-three and are already as good as he ever was. Talent like yours shouldn’t be wasted.”

His fingers hook gently under my chin, tipping my face up until I meet his gaze. “Maelis Rose, you’re destined for greatness. This is just a small bump in the road.” He taps my nose then leans back against the ground as if he hasn’t unraveled me.

I stare up at the canopy above us, my mind drifting.

I don’t feel destined for anything right now. Maybe I used to. But my father’s death… That night changed everything.

A loud crack echoes through the trees, sharp enough to be heard over the rapids. We both sit up at the same time, scanning the forest.

In nearly a year of running out here, we’ve never seen anyone. The occasional squirrel or rabbit, but never someone from the village.

There’s a man standing in the brush ahead of us.

Jace is on his feet instantly, offering me a hand and pulling me up beside him. The man stands at an odd angle, one shoulder slumped lower than the other, his head tilted sharply to the side.

Something about him prickles my skin.

“Do you think he’s hurt?” I ask.

At the sound of my voice, the man turns.

His head jerks first, snapping toward us, followed by his arm twitching as if his body can’t quite agree on how to move. He sways, unsteady, then stills.

“There’s blood on his shirt,” Jace says quietly.

We start toward him anyway, old instinct and training drilled into us since childhood, taking over.

“Hey,” Jace calls out as we near the edge of the clearing, “do you need help?”

The man’s head whips fully toward us, and now we’re close enough to see his face.

I suck in a sharp breath.

Something is very wrong.

His mouth hangs open at an unnatural angle, froth bubbling along his lips. The skin on one side of his face looks raw, slick, as if it’s been stripped away or burned clean off. His eyes are wide but unfocused, darting around.

“What’s wrong with him?” I whisper.

My pulse pounds in my ears. Gods, maybe he was burned or fell or is delirious.

I draw in a breath to speak, and the man explodes into motion.

One second he’s swaying in the brush, the next he’s sprinting straight at us, feet stomping into the earth. His movements are erratic, his limbs pumping hard like his body is being driven by something else entirely.

“Run!”