I looked out at the workers dotting the field like black ants. Their heads bowed, so I couldn’t see their faces. I craned my neck to look down. We were quite high. I’d never make it. Biting my swollen lip, I turned from the window and limped after Jones.

Even after this incident, I struggled. During long lectures, my chair became a thousand pointed quills beneath me and my legs would riot, itching to jump and run. On especially bad days, I would slide one hand beneath my desk and pull my bambi skirt up, inch by inch, so the power fan—with its chill hush—cooled the rebellion in my limbs. It was months before I, finally, quieted completely. My wings, the run, the wood panels, the sun were one by one forgotten.

The Student

THE STUDENT

Ten years later, two days before I completed my training at the Schoolhouse, I began to remember. I was seventeen that winter, the year of the Great Drought, and my ambitions consumed me. I’d risen from last in the class to teacher’s pet—Jones’ favorite. I was valedictorian of the seven of us set to graduate—two from Cobane and West Keep, one each from East Keep, Covington and Hannibal. On that particular day, the day it all began, I arrived to class hours before dawn in search of the meeting.

I let myself in and surveyed each corner of the moonlit room. Seeing I was alone, I shut the door carefully behind me—wishing I could lock it. I settled for a firm tug, then, as if in a trance, I moved across the wood floor to the classroom’s only window.

It was small and square, overlooking the village beyond the Schoolhouse gates. As I gazed out, letting my eyes detangle the nappy mat of streets, Jones’ voice warned me. Don’t tarry! Find a seat and read, girl. I grimaced; as always, she was right. But, for once, I ignored her.

Twenty minutes passed. Then, suddenly, a flash of light in the east end of the village caught my eye. I looked quickly, but it was gone. A candle snuffed out, no doubt, to avoid detection. I curled my lips into my mouth and bit down, concentrating on the place the light had flickered a moment before.

Slowly, my eye adjusted, and I saw them. A dozen human shapes, standing in a circle around a central figure as dark as the night. A cluster impossible to detect, unless one knew to look for it. And, as far as I could tell, I was the only one who knew. I’d discovered the pre-dawn meetings last week by pure chance.