Pink and orange tangled in thin wisps as the sun set above the clan walls. A crowd thickened around the fire in anticipation for the Selection Ceremony. Each month at the full moon, the Storyteller would travel to each clan and weave a tale of Eden’s past over the bonfire. But tonight would be different. Tonight, we’d climb Sacred Mountain.
The air filled with the smoky scent of burning wood, and buzzed with chatter debating how the Paladins would be selecting their Apprentices. All I could worry about was the bundle tied to my waist under my tunic.
And if I would actually use it.
I stared at my palms, remembering Mother’s words when I first realized how different I was from the other Clansfolk. I was six.
“You are special,” she had said. “I’ve always believed that. You are destined to do something wonderful. When the time’s right, you’ll know what to do.”
Had she said those words only because she wanted me to feel better? Or had there been truth to them?
Here I was, eleven years later, and I knew less about who I was or what I wanted from my life. Our Clanmaster mounted the speaking platform, interrupting my thoughts, and waved his arms to gain everyone’s attention.
Once the crowd quieted, he said, “Take a torch and follow the path up to Sacred Mountain. The gates have been opened for us to enter.”
Torches were passed out, and I took my place in line next to Father and Mother. Charise hooked up with two of her friends and moved to the front of the clan’s entrance, gossiping nonstop.
“There you are.” Father handed me my torch. “I was worried you got lost.”
A buzz of energy pulsed through the area as the Clansfolk chatted excitedly. But beneath it all, I knew they were eyeing me. They wondered, and maybe even expected, for me to be selected tonight because of my uncanny expertise at healing.
That I was special.
A snarled vine of fear worked its way through my stomach as we hiked up Sacred Mountain. Tonight, I’d lose either way.
If the Magic didn’t choose me, I’d be a disappointment for my clan.
If I was selected, I’d be giving up on my chance to run away with Tor.
I clutched my bamboo torch, smooth under my sweaty palms.
Soon we came to Stone Gate, opened specifically for tonight. The ancient gate was one of the few remaining structures built by the island’s natives. The Maker had restored it to indicate the base of Sacred Mountain, but the natives’ markings and designs etched into its surface still survived as if yearning to tell their forgotten story.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon, leaving behind red-gold flames that licked the mountainside. Sentries moved up and down our line, lighting our torches until we made a stream of fire coiling up the mountain like a fiery dragon.
Storyteller began singing a haunting tune. It was one we had learned at the Academy, but altered somewhat to include tonight’s occasion. Chills ran up my spine as I listened to my Clansfolk join in.
Sacred Mountain we climb
To gather and seek the Magic’s will.
The world fell
Cities raged
Snowy ashes scattered the ground.
We survived
Awoken from darkness
To reclaim and rebuild a world
Free of evil and tortures.
Yet
The Finger of Death still roams.
We must survive the gloom of night
As sunbeams break flames
Across the ocean in the morn
We are reborn to this Eden.
I inched closer to Father. “What was the world like before it had fallen?” I asked him.
“I don’t know much of the old world,” he said. “But I do know there was lots of hate and war.”
“Do you think we are that different from our ancestors?” I kicked at a rock on the path.
“I have to believe we are,” Father said. “Otherwise, we’re going to end up making the same mistakes that those before us did.”
“Sometimes when I look out into the ocean, I wonder if there are others who survived the Death like we did. There must be, don’t you think?”
“No,” Father said. “Eden is a sacred island. There are no other places where the Lillian plants grow. I’m sure the rest of humanity has died out.”
I bite my lip, unconvinced. If we could prove there were others, and that they lived through the Death, perhaps there were ways to survive that we didn’t know about. Maybe we wouldn’t be forced to depend on the Lillian plants, always living in fear that some storm or Wilder or disease would destroy them.
My thoughts were interrupted as I crested the top of Sacred Mountain. Its center sunk into a rocky landscape with jagged cliffs and boulders scattered about. It lay desolate compared to the lushness of the island below. The ancient buildings from the island’s original natives still remained, including the stone amphitheater, which would hold the ceremony tonight.
Built on one of the cliffs, the Monastery’s white walls glowed under the moonlight and the pointed golden peaks glittered like a hundred suns. Wooden staircases with twisted railings connected each level of the Monastery so that one could travel along the cliffs with ease. All the buildings had rectangular windows which were also decorated with the same twisted wooden designs around their frames. It was all so ornate and completely magical compared to our simple huts in the Cultivator Clan.
Slightly out of breath, I paused to let the others pass me and gazed back down the mountain. In one swoop, I could see all of Eden and the small outer island of the Sentry Clan.
Father sidled next to me and pointed to the ocean. “See there,” he said.
“The sunset? It’s perfect.”
“No. The Palace.” I followed his hand to the Palace built on the northern cliffs. Its square layers stacked on each other gleaming white in a similar style to the Monastery. “That’s where the Paladins live and so will their new Apprentices.”
I could’ve stood there all night, taking in the view. The clans had been built on the isle like five points of a star with paths connecting them together. In their center, sat the Academy. I’d never seen our island this way, and it was like seeing my home in a whole new way.
I could make out the band of snowy white beaches that bordered my Cultivator Clan and the wide open fields and pastures on the other side. Warmth spread through me as I recognized each field and barn.
Next to us grew the evergreen forest where Tor’s Forester Clan lived. On the far side, on its own little island, sat the Sentry Clan. I imagined I could see their black flags flapping from their turrets. Then back around the island’s curve, the Weaver Clan had settled in the darker bogs of the lowlands. Finally, directly below Sacred Mountain in the rises of the hill country lived the Keeper Clan. As the skyline streamed out its last rays, the clans sank into the darkness of night.
But then a sense of dread, I allowed myself to turn and stare out at the other side of Sacred Mountain. Where the jungles, dangerous and untamed, sprawled out. The untamed lands.
I rubbed my sweaty palms over my torch, needing to touch something familiar. I wanted to believe I was strong enough to survive, but deep down I didn’t think I had the strength or the courage to face the unknown. I had become too good at hiding, closeting myself within a cage of my own. Just the thought of leaving my home—leaving it all—sent a stab into my stomach.
The choices lay before me.
I didn’t want either of them.