Shadelings

chapter three

Ashlyn

Spells fly around awry, and the thousands of training dummies suffer from them. Some kids are carted out on stretchers to the infirmary after accidentally being hit in the crossfire. The gymnasium is huge, divided in the middle between magic and weapons training. The room divider was only put down when more people came in; I’ve been here all morning. There’s a library off to the side, and I want to explore it. I want to learn. But I need to work on my magic first.

“Uyi obi,” I whisper, waving my hand at a dummy across from me. It burns from the inside, turns ashen— right where the heart would be, if it were a human. “Igbawa.” Stuffing explodes from the dummy’s chest in little bits, a hole burned all the way through its chest. On a person, it would mean death.

I bite my lip, shut my eyes. That— that was fine, but was it enough? I want to make Sammy proud— be a good person, be a dragon rider like he was before I was born. Sammy, my big brother, was missing for more than two weeks before I left our home with only a note in case he came back to see. He didn’t abandon me, right? No. No. He would never. Not him. He wouldn’t abandon me like Mom and Dad… They thought I was too meek, too kind, too… not evil. I was never good enough to be their child, to be anything.

People glare at me. Every time I walked down the street in Altshof, someone would cross to the other side. I had people push me around in school so much that I just stayed at home. I look around and know that people can see it— the green and gray tints in my pale skin, faded but not enough to hide what I am. My black hoodie and faded jeans don’t cover everything. They can see me. I want to hide. I need to hide.

I am a necromancer, but I’m not a rebel. I’m an aspiring dragon rider, but I look like the enemy. I am the enemy, even though I don’t want to be. I can see it in the way everyone looks at me— the hatred. The eraser class will want to kill me, not accept me. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m wrong, wrong, wrong. I won’t make it. I can’t. I’m too weak, too fragile; I’m an abomination.

People are looking at me. Gods, I need to hide.

I hear a slight pop, under the radar, but I know that sound. I whip my head around to see the eraser head, Constance Dreamweaver. She’s the face of the dragon riders that fought in the rebellion. Against me. My kind. My parents fought against her. She can see it in me. I know she can. Gods, I shouldn’t even be here.

“Hi,” she says with a wide grin. Can’t she see it? “I’m Constance! I really like that spell you just did, but did you know you can do it on ten people in a different spell?” She bounces on her feet, bloodshot eyes open wide; one of her eyes rolls off to the side. Her dress is extravagant and beautiful but crinkled. She seems excited, not hateful. I don’t understand.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. My throat is tight. I breathe, pause, and try again. “H-h-h-h-hi. I-I-I-I’m,” I pause, shut my eyes tight. Gods, I can’t even speak. Pathetic. The letters bounce around in my throat, but they won’t string together no matter how hard I try. “Ashlyn,” I slur, finally jumbling the alphabet together. “Th-thanks.”

I would say more; I want to. But I just… I can’t. I can’t. Damn it.

“Ashlyn, breathe,” she says. She loses her grin, tries to look concerned, but it’s fake; I can tell because she’s still bouncing, quivering with excitement. I try to smile, but it’s about as fake as her concern. “It’s okay!” She turns and points at a group of dummies. “Aru aja.” I raise my eyebrows. Bite the dust? The dummies explode; afterwards, they still burn. Ash litters the floor. “The trick is to infuse it with fire magic.”

I blush, cough. “I-I-I’m-I’m not… I’m not so good at the, uh, the elements. I know air a-a-and, w-w-well, wa-wat-water a l-little, but… nothing else.” I wish I could figure out the elements. I think it’s because I’m a necromancer. We aren’t connected to nature, to the world. It’s not easy to draw upon the elements, when their essence is in nature. I try so hard, constantly, but I’m not good enough. I’m barely a good enough necromancer, too. I can’t raise the dead, and I have a hard time contacting spirits. Spells. That’s me. All spells.