“There you are,” Lala says, tugging on my arm. “I’ve been looking for you. The ceremony is about to begin.”
That gets my attention. The last thing I want is for the Paladins to look disapprovingly at our clan because I was late. The two of us hurry up the last rise to the top of the mountain. Here, tall spikes of rock rise into the night like claws. Lila tells me all about Jaton and her wedding plans as we pass through one of the stone archways into the circular amphitheater.
The ancient, seated arena remains intact from long ago, but some of the decorative pillars have fallen into crumbled ruins. Despite the hundreds of clansfolk cramming inside, a reverence permeates the air.
There’s only one reason for it. The pool at the center. Its water casts an iridescent blue through the amphitheater, shrouding everything in its pale glow. My steps falter when I spot something I only heard Storyteller tell tales of.
“Is that what I think it is?” I ask Lila, my breath catching.
“Yes, those are the Seeing Stones,” she says nodding. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”
“Like they’ve been made from magic,” I muse. “And there must be a hundred stones scattered about in that pool.”
The oval rocks glow white as if they’ve caught the starlight that twinkles above us.
Just seeing them makes my world seem brighter and stronger. It’s as if nothing could stop my dream of being needed and useful to my clan from becoming reality. I blink twice, pulling myself together. No, tonight is about escaping the constricting rules. Forging my own path. Being with Tor and fleeing from a terrible match.
That’s what I want, right?
“Place your torch along the perimeter,” a Sentry interrupts my thoughts. “Then head to the steps marked with your clan’s symbol.”
Lila shows me where to dig my torch into the outer circle’s dirt with the others, and we find a seat on the cold stone bench.
The glow from the pool illuminates Lila’s face. It makes her hair look like the sea at night rather than chestnut brown. A flower she must have grabbed on her way up the mountain is tucked behind her ear. A look of yearning flits across her face.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing to be selected to be an apprentice?” she says. “Are you hoping to get picked?”
“It would be a great honor, but I don’t think I’m qualified to rule the island.” I bite my lip and touch the bundle hidden beneath my skirt. I’m chosen, I couldn’t be with Tor. “If you were picked, you and Jaton couldn’t be together. The Paladins take a vow of celibacy.”
“True. I don’t think I could live without him.” She sighs dramatically and then focuses on me. “Which reminds me. How are you doing? Did you and Balder have a chance to talk?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t great.”
“I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and the Magic will pick you tonight. That would fix everything.”
Except it wouldn’t. It would only complicate matters. Even though it’s comforting to know she understands how I’m feeling, it only makes saying goodbye to her and my family worse.
I search the area for Tor, needing to look into his eyes and see if he’s still onboard for running away. My stomach twists and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I finally spot him in the midst of a jungle of green tunics on the opposite side of the amphitheater with the Forester Clan.
He’s in the back row, elbows propped on his knees and head buried in his hands like he’s being tortured. What is he thinking? Is he changing his mind about running away?
“I wish this were already over,” I mutter. Or maybe I don’t want it to even begin.
“But this is history in the making,” Lila reminds me. “Storyteller said it’s been seventy years since they chose the last Paladin apprentices. Oh! Speaking of Storyteller, he’s coming!”
Sure enough, he mounts the stone platform next to the pool with painstaking slowness. He lifts his staff into the air to catch the crowd’s attention. Some clansfolk believe Storyteller is one of the original settlers of Eden centuries ago, which just adds to his mysteriousness.
“Greetings, clansfolk!” Storyteller’s voice echoes over the cold breeze. His wrinkled skin glows in the firelight. “Tonight the Paladins will select their apprentices to carry on Eden’s glorious future. Before we begin, I will tell you one tale. The tale of the Lillian Tree.”
Silence rushes across the courtyard as fast as the wind flies across the sea. Even though I’ve heard this tale many times, I lean forward, drawn into the song of his words.
“In the time when the world was young, the Lillian Tree grew on the Magic’s Isle of Eden,” he continues, rubbing his long gray beard in thoughtfulness. “The tree drank from the Pool of Eternity, so when humans ate its fruit, it gave them incredible powers and healed their sickness.
“Yet the Magic saw how mankind was drawn to evil, and with these great abilities, the Magic feared they would destroy the world. So the Magic banned humans from the isle and sank the tree beneath Earth’s surface until it vanished.
“But then the world fell into darkness and sickness. In his great wisdom, our Maker searched the world for a safe haven and, in doing so, discovered the Isle of Eden. He gathered the chosen ones to leave the dying world and settle on this island. Our salvation from the Hollowing came from the Lillian plants, which flourish on the soil where the Lillian Tree once grew. They have healed us time and again, keeping us alive when the Hollowing came.
“The Maker put the five Paladins in charge of ruling the clans and protecting the isle. Tonight symbolizes another generation chosen to safeguard Eden and the Lillian plants.”
I wait for Storyteller to say more. Like how did the Maker find this island and why were our ancestors chosen to come? Why does he think the Lillian plants are dying?
Instead, he sits down, signaling the end of the story. He’s replaced by the five figures who stride onto the platform, black robes swooping behind them, hoods masking their faces. The wind howls through the jagged rock spires surrounding us and dread tangles in my stomach.
These are the Paladins. They pull back their hoods and drop their robes to the ground. A servant rushes to gather them up. The two women look like they belong in a fairy tale with long flowing hair and gowns that look like they were spun from pearls and sprinkled with stardust. They look significantly younger than the three men who look just as regal in their velvety black garments lined with silver strands.
Proctor, the head Paladin, steps forward. He has a long, slender face, and his skin looks paper-thin and sunken over razor-sharp eyes. He raises his right arm, and someone blows a ram’s horn.
“The Selection Ceremony has begun,” he says. “A new group must be chosen and trained to take our places before the loss of the Lillian plant takes all of our lives. We will call upon the Magic to choose our apprentices.”
Proctor nods to Archmage, the Magician of the Paladins. Like all the magicians, his head is shaved, and he’s wearing a black robe tied at the waist with a silver rope. His skin is oddly pale. He must rarely go outside. He raises his staff, and the glass ball on its end glows like embers.
“Magic,” Archmage calls to the air in a shaky voice, “choose Eden’s future leaders through these Seeing Stones.”
I stare at the pool, expecting something to happen. Nothing does.
“The pool is ready,” Prophetess, the third Paladin, announces in a singsong voice. Her hair is black as ink, and she’s wearing a flowing dress as white as sand. “The Seeing Stones will make their choice.”
I recognize the fourth Paladin right away. Healer is the only Paladin to ever enter our clan, visiting us twice in the past. With her smooth brown hair and unwrinkled skin, she looks younger than either of my parents, even though, according to my mother, she’s far older than them.
“All who are of the age between eighteen and twenty-eight step forward,” Healer calls out.
At those words, my heart stops. A gasp of surprise ripples across the crowd at the age choices. Slowly, I rise to my feet and glance over at my family to my right. Father offers me an encouraging smile but Mother’s forehead is scrunched in worry lines.
“Maybe I lied,” Lila whispers to me, standing. “I don’t want to get chosen.”
“Don’t worry.” I give her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure both of us will be back out tending the Lillian fields in the morning.”
But as we pick our way through the crowd, my words haunt me. What will my family think when they can’t find me after the ceremony? It will break their hearts.
“You will each grab a stone,” Healer continues, her face perfectly serene. “If it glows after you’ve taken it out of the water, you have been selected. If not, place the stone into the basket.”
The group presses around the pool’s edge, bodies shoulder to shoulder. One by one, hands slip into the water, fingers closing around smooth stones, only for them to lift them out of the water to watch the stones turn black. I swallow and shuffle closer. Is the Magic really here, choosing each of us? What if none of the stones glow?
Gradually, the crowd thins as people pull out stones that turn black. Some laugh it off, pretending they never cared. Others leave with slumped shoulders, disappointment written on their faces. A few don’t move at all, staring numbly at their cold black rock cupped in their palms as if hoping it will magically start glowing again.
When I reach the edge of the pool, there’s a commotion on the other side. A crowd has formed around two people holding iridescent rocks. I gasp. So the Magic is here choosing. One is a tall man with shaven hair, rich brown eyes, and olive colored skin. He’s wearing the long brown robe from the Magician Clan.
The second person isn’t a surprise. It’s Amala. She’s just a few years older than me, but I remember her from the Academy. She was always smart and had a regal air to her. Tonight, her green eyes seem even sharper than usual, and her black hair and dark skin blend in with the night.
The crowd shifts again, parting to allow Rune to strut up to the pool’s edge. A single strap is slung over his shoulder, crossing his bare chest. A dagger is lashed to his belt. But the weapon isn’t what shocks me. It’s how he’s flaunting those strange markings that run up and down his arms and across his chest, never seeming to have a beginning or end. Yet despite these strange features, he isn’t considered a freak by his clan. Why is that?
I touch my strand of white hair and then my palms. Could I be proud of my healing abilities and strange marking like he obviously is of his?
Rune holds his arms in the air as if wanting everyone to watch him pick his stone. I roll my eyes. Of course, he’s going to make a full production of this. Two years my senior at the Academy, I had a mild crush on him until I realized how self-absorbed he was.
A group sitting behind him begins to chant his name, “Rune! Rune! Rune!” and he pumps his arms to their beat.
Show off. There’s no way he’ll be selected.
He scoops his hand into the water and plucks out a stone. Immediately, it burns bright. My mouth drops open as he throws his hands into the air and puffs out his chest. His muscles glisten from the blue reflection of the pool. The Sentries behind him cheer and beat their clubs against the stone benches.
Rune? A Paladin? I don’t see it. Being an apprentice to the Paladins will only deepen his obnoxious pride. He spots me staring at him—well, more like glaring—and grins.
I cross my arms and glower back.
Three stones are glowing. I’m assuming that means there are two stones left so it will total five, the same number as the Paladins. Nearly everyone has picked a stone, but I hang back. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m waiting for Tor. It’s silly because it’s not like I can wish for the stone to start glowing or stop it, but I guess if I knew he wasn’t going to be picked, then I could be okay if I didn’t either.
I spot him, moving up to the pool’s edge, slow and easy, as if he were waiting for me as well. At least that’s what I hope. He pauses briefly to give me a hard stare, lips pressed together. Resolute.
My heart skitters to a stop. I want to run and push him away from the water because deep down, I know he’ll be chosen. He’s never been like the other clansfolk. His words hold power. There’s always something in his voice and gaze that pierces the soul and commands to be obeyed.
My mouth opens to call his name. To tell him not to pick a stone, but only breathless air escapes me. He plunges his hand into the pool’s depth and pulls out an onyx stone. A breath of relief escapes me. He hasn’t been selected. We can still find a way to be together.
Then a flicker courses over his pebble like lightning cutting across the sea.
It begins to glow.
The Paladins’ faces light up, smiling. They hoped he’d be chosen, I realize. Maybe everyone was.
Except me.
My heart burns like it has been left exposed on the white sands at midday. Tor is no longer mine. He now belongs to Eden.