The City on the Edge

The Edge was trying to recover from the slaughter of the night before. The streets weren’t clear yet, but the survivors were out in numbers, working together to clear both debris and bodies. Heads turned as Ronnie walked by, but it wasn’t her they were staring at. It was Sebastian, who chose to remain dutifully at her side. The morning had brought with it a distinct lack of white coats roaming through the streets, but it didn’t mean the danger was gone.

Quite the opposite, the absence of the White Guard seemed more frighting than their marching patrols.

No one in the Edge was foolish enough to believe that Sloan and the White Guard had retreated after tearing through the streets in such a wave of destruction. Most of them had no idea why the raid had taken place or who was to blame- they could only try to pick up the pieces and mourn their dead.

“Are you sure about this?” Sebastian asked beside her. He’d borrowed one of Malik’s coats, the hood pulled up over his unmistakable hair. “You don’t even know if she’s alive after last night.”

“Maybe not, but I have to at least look.”

“We have to make sure we’re back in time for-”

“I know. We will be.”

Ronnie and Sebastian weaved through the bodies of tired supernaturals. Dust was still thick in the air in small pockets, the ghosts of destroyed businesses and homes. Ronnie did her best to avoid them but more often than not she walked right into them, choking on the particles.

The blood that had coated the streets had long since dried. Little clusters of demons hovered around these spots, some large and some small, doing what they did best - consuming. It was difficult not to feel repulsed watching the demons feed on innocent remains, but at the end of the day, the mess needed to be cleaned. Blood splatters were descended upon the moment a body was moved for burial, hungry mouth and slick tongues lapping up the flakes.

A single pillar of smoke rose over the tops of the wrecked buildings. The closer Ronnie drew to the center of the market, to more apparent the source became. The stench of meat hung in the air- crisp and burnt.

Ronnie turned the corner, entering the main district. It was crowded, packed of weary survivors still covered in dirt from their quick escape last night. The crackling fire in the center of the square did little to overpower the chorus of hollow wails and pleas to the old gods for intervention.

Using her shoulder, Ronnie carefully wedged her way through the crowd. Her dead wasn’t here, but she still needed to see. Sebastian followed behind her, mindful of the mourners, careful not to lose his hood. He kept his face down, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

The funeral pyre was blazing wildly, but contained. The dead were stacked around a raised stone bench as neatly as they could be to preserve their dignity, but there were simply too many of them. Many lay on top of one another, like slabs of meat in a butcher’s shop.

Ronnie locked eyes with the figure on the stone bench. Ignis sat there, one leg drawn up to his chest, his skin glowing with flicker of the flames around him. He controlled the fire, kept it from spreading to the rest of the market. The flames were an extension of his power- with each inhale they wavered and with each exhale they grew.

There was no humor in his expression and no joke on his tongue. He nodded solemnly when he saw her, his face grim. He hadn’t come through the market when he arrived last night to aid her fight. He’d come through the forest. This was his first glimpse at the carnage Sloan had left behind.

The crowd parted suddenly and a woman staggered forward. She choked down gulps of air rapidly, as if her lungs were refusing to function. There was a bundle wrapped up in her arms. Ronnie noticed the tiny fingers that peeked out from under the edge of the blanket. Her throat contracted and she stepped aside, allowing the woman to approach.

She tried to speak, but the words were gargled in tears, stuttering out between chattering teeth. Somehow, Ignis understood. He rose to his feet and held out his arms. The woman squeezed the bundle close to her chest, pressed her lips to the filthy blanket, and handed it over to Ignis.

He took the bundle from her gently, carefully tucking it to his chest as he sat back down. The woman sobbed, great heaves that forced her to double over. The flames caught the blanket, eating at the cloth in a spread of brilliant orange. It fell away from the singed remains of a little girl.

The woman wailed loudly, a banshee scream in the street, and sank to her knees. She watched her child darken in Ignis’ arms, her hair lighting like fuses, burning away in weightless bits of cinder.

Ronnie turned away from her, unable to watch anymore. A whistle met her ears and she craned her head around to the find the source.

Basso, still alive save for a few scrapes, waved at her, jerking his head back away from the street. Ronnie gripped Sebastian’s hand and tugged him along, cutting though the mourners.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay, pup,” he said, reaching out to rustle her hair. He turned his sharp eyes to Sebastian, emotion flicking across his face. “He’s uh…with you, huh?”

“Yes.” Ronnie shifted, placing herself between the giant shifter and Sebastian.

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

“It wasn’t planned. Believe me.”

Basso shook his head, beckoning her to follow. “I imagine what happened last night had something to do with him?”

“With us,” Ronnie clarified. “It was Purity, Basso. They’re back.”

Basso growled under his breath, a sound that rumbled around in his chest. “I doubt they ever left, pup.”

He led them to the butcher shop. The door was missing and the front window had been shattered, but the building still stood.

“How’s Valerie?” Ronnie asked.

Basso nodded at the shop. A cloaked woman ambled around inside, gently pushing a broom, wincing occasionally.

“I told her she didn’t have to help clean up, but she feels indebted.”

“Basso,” Ronnie stopped him with a hand on his arm, “I’m looking for someone. A shifter. She has a scar from her eye to her chin. She’s been looking for her daughter.”

Recognition flickered in his eyes. “Seamstress Cora.” He pointed across the street, opposite his shop. “She was still in there last I checked. Did you find her daughter?”

Ronnie heaved a deep sigh. “Yes.”

“Ah. It’s like that.” Basso placed a large hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “If you’re going to deliver bad news, then he should stay here. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Ronnie looked too Sebastian for his answer. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Go do what you need to do.”

She smiled, grateful for his understanding. With a deep breath, she crossed the street to the battered fabric shop. The broken front window was unevenly covered with spare slabs of wood. The door was ajar, the inside dark save for the stream of sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the boards.

The door creaked on its hinges when Ronnie pushed it open. A woman sat on a stool at the counter. She looked up at her, one good eye clear and gold, the other hidden beneath a patch. She and Ronnie shared surprised looks.

“Got on the wrong side of a demon once,” the woman said, gesturing. “Every shifter I meet always wonders why it never healed. That’s why. Venom.”

“Are you Cora?”

She nodded, bracing herself on the counter, sizing Ronnie up. “And you are?”

“My name is Veronica. I’m-”

“A thief. I’ve seen you around before. You live up on the hill,” Cora stated matter of factly. “Well, if you came to loot me, I’m afraid there’s nothing left.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Ronnie shut the door behind her. “It’s about your daughter. Cecily.”

Cora swallowed. “Did you see her somewhere? Is she alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Ronnie began. Cora shook her head as she spoke. “She’s dead.”

“No. No she isn’t. She can’t be.”

“She is-”

“Show me a body!” Cora yelled, her voice thick in her throat. “Can you do that, Veronica?”

Ronnie reached into her pocket and pulled out a red ribbon, white beads woven into the threads. She held it up.

“She asked me to give this to you.”

Cora quieted. She came around the counter, slowly at first, before dashing to where Ronnie stood. She took the ribbon with shaking hands, her fingers running lightly over the beads.

“I made this for her,” Cora whispered, “when she was born. A tradition in our family.” She held it to her nose and inhaled. “Oh.” Her jaw trembled. “I can still smell her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“She gave this to you? Where was she?” Ronnie hesitated. How much could she divulge? Cora grabbed her, claws digging into Ronnie’s shoulders. “Answer me!”

“Sloan’s manor. We were locked up there together.” The words tumbled out.

“Sloan?” Cora hissed his name. “Of course. He’d been watching her the entire day before she vanished.” Cora’s hand clenched around the ribbon. “That monster took my baby.” She eyed Ronnie closely. “Why are you here? How did you get away?”

“It was just chance. Other prisoners were making trouble. I was able to get away during the-”

“And you, what? Left her there?”

Ronnie didn’t answer, struck by the question.

Cora must have sensed it. She honed in on her. “You did, didn’t you? You left Cecily there to die in that place? Di you even try to help her?”

“There wasn’t time to-”

“There is always time to save a life!” Cora shouted, inches from Ronnie’s face. Angry tears welled up in her eyes. “You abandoned her!”

“No, I didn’t. There was time to go back.”

“Get out.” Cora’s voice shook as she stared Ronnie down. “GET OUT!” Her voice thundered in the empty shop.

Ronnie backed away, reaching behind her for the door handle. Cora scrutinized her every move, a furious, heartbroken twist marring her face.

Ronnie swallowed. “She wanted me to tell you that she loves you.”

“LEAVE!”

She ducked out of the shop quickly, tugging the door closed behind her. Pity and anger fought in her chest, thumping against her ribs.

She just needs someone to blame, Ronnie told herself.

The sound of wood cracking loudly made her jump. She stepped off the stoop and hurried across the street to the butcher shop. Basso stood in the doorway, watching and listening.

“That didn’t sound good,” he commented when she walked up to meet him.

“Being told you lost a child is never good,” Ronnie responded bitterly. “Where’s Sebastian?”

“Here,” he answered, coming around Basso. “How’d it go?”

“As well as it could have gone, I suppose. Let’s go back home. I don’t want to be late.”

“Be careful out there, pup,” Basso called out after them as they walked away.

Ronnie was relieved to get away from the market. She ached for her people and the suffering they’d endured, but her mind could only take so much distress. Sebastian managed to keep pace with her most of the way home. He dropped his hood down when they reached the front walkway. Lorna waited on the steps, leaning against the post, her foot tapping impatiently. A fresh crown of black and purple flowers sat on her head. She had two more flower crowns hanging from her fingers.

“We aren’t late are we?” Ronnie asked.

Lorna frowned. “You’re just barely on time.” She handed them their crowns. “Sebastian, Malik has asked that you do your part to honor this ritual and wear a crown as well.”

“Of course,” he said, taking it from her.

After the crowns were situated properly with Lorna’s guidance, she led them around to the back of the house. The entire family had gathered around the blossom tree. They stood around a circle of colored stones lain around a mound of fresh dirt. Every head held black and purple flowers and each face bore a somber expression. The children sniffled as they stood obediently next to Hazel. Dalton, Teri, and Tara were cloaked from head to toe, protection from the sun. Malik stood at the tree, a thin dagger in his hand.

“Now that we’re all here,” Malik began when Ronnie and Sebastian joined the group, “we can begin. When Anya passed, we had no time to perform this last rite. We do so now, under the light of a new day. All energy in this life is borrowed. We take power from the world and from the origin, to mold and use, but eventually, we must all give it back.” Malik paused, wiping at his eyes. “Anya has relinquished her place in this world, so now we must help her energy flow to find a new path. Like the origin, we offer flowers. Black for rebirth. Purple for wisdom.”

Rama sniffled. “I don’t want her to go.”

Hazel stroked her head softly. “I know, but she must.”

“It’s okay, Rama,” Malik said gently. “Anya isn’t gone. She is being given new life in another form. We’ll help her to do this by offering her our blood. The blood of those who loved her, to guide her on her new path.”

Malik lifted the dagger and pressed it into his thumb. A bead a red swelled up and he passed the dagger around. Constance helped each of the children prick their finger. When it was his turn, Sebastian held the knife in his hand, hesitant. He looked to Malik for permission. Malik regarded him for a moment before nodding.

Sebastian cut his thumb and passed the blade. Ronnie sliced into her thumb a little deeper than the others, to get blood on her finger before the wound healed.

Malik took his crown of flowers off. He held both up, wiping his blood on a black flower and then a purple one. He kissed the blossoms before carefully placing the flowers on the grave.

“With this offering, Anya will have the support she needs to continue on.”

The children messily wiped their blood on the flowers, tears plopping down to wash it away. They set their crowns down on the dirt, wiping at their eyes and dripping noses. Ronnie and Sebastian placed their crowns down together, the petals touching, nestling down into the dirt.

Malik leaned down to the grave, digging his fingers down into the dirt. His head bowed, Ronnie watched his tears drop into the soft soil.

“Anya Sahira, in front of your family, I release your energy.” His arms lit up, spots of yellow magic floating languidly through the air, multiplying, until they covered the grave like a sparkling layer of golden snow. Malik sucked in a breath and blew, the particles rising up and scattering in the wind like embers rising from a fire, taking the flower crowns with them.

“It’s done,” he breathed.

Hazel reached over and soothed a comforting hand up his arm. “You did well, Malik. It was beautiful.”

“I’m going to follow her,” Rama cried, chasing after the glowing orbs dispersing across the field. The other children followed after her.

“I’ll watch them,” Constance volunteered, running across the field to keep the children close.

“I need to go sit. This old body isn’t what it used to be.” Hazel shuffled off to the house, Lorna helping her up the back stairs.

Ronnie watched the children run in circles beneath the particles, heads up, tracking where they went. Death was beautiful for witches. Shifters didn’t have these burial rites. When they died, they were nourishment for another. The cycle of life. There was no rebirth for them in a shower of glowing orbs carrying their spirit away. Why didn’t they have these traditions?

“Ronnie.”

She turned her head, meeting Malik’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Jack is coming by this morning.”

“Probably to try and recruit me for Alukorra’s rebellion.”

“Well, if you won’t, I will.”

Her brow furrowed. “You will?”

Malik tilted his head back, staring up a few lingering orbs. “Yes. I’ve been up all night thinking about it. About how unprepared we were when Sloan came for Anya, and then just a day later when he came for the rest of us.” Malik shook his head. “I know how you feel about him,” he nodded at Sebastian, “and maybe he’s different, but the rest of them, they will hurt us. They’ve already proven it. Purity is back and that terrifies me, Ronnie. I keep thinking about what’s going to happen to our family the next time they show up. Who’s going to get hurt next?”

“Malik…”

“I should have learned my lesson with Gloria. You were right before. She was a mistake. I thought she was a human capable of being someone I could love, but she taught me something valuable instead- trusting them always leads to hurt. I was a fool then, I was fool for thinking they’d leave us be all the way out here. I won’t be made a fool anymore. I have a family to protect.”

Ronnie remembered the way Malik had moved around the house like a dead man after discovering that he was nothing more than an adventurous dare for Gloria, a curiosity to be explored before she retreated to her marble walls to gossip with her friends about the poor witch she’d found. Her father, a guardsman stationed at the Cage, was sent back to the Marble City shortly after. Ronnie still hoped to this day that it was because of Gloria, that maybe her actions with Malik had disgraced her family, that she hung her head in shame.

“You plan on joining the rebellion because of all of this?” she asked, trying to imagine Malik taking orders from Alukorra, clothed in black like all the others.

“I plan on joining because I can’t let what happened to Anya go unanswered. I don’t know what Sloan did to her, but I know he won’t stop.” Malik scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion heavy on his features. “I was up all night thinking about her and what she would do in my place.” He stared at her, a firmness to his brow. “Anya would want to make sure that her tragedy is never repeated. Maybe this is all revenge. Maybe the rebellion will fail. I have no idea what will happen if I join them, but I do what will happen if I do nothing.”

A figure, bright and dark all at once appeared at the crest of the hill, coming toward them swiftly. Ronnie caught the glare of apple red hair. Jack spotted them behind the house and cut across the field.

Malik sighed. “This is the time to make a choice, Ronnie. He’s coming for an answer. I already know what side I’m going to be on.”

He tucked the dagger into his belt, planted a kiss on Ronnie’s forehead, and strode across the field to meet Jack.

Last night, Sebastian had tried to convince her to join the rebellion, and now here was Malik, her older brother of bond, deciding that he would join as well, not a doubt in his mind.

She turned to watch Malik and Jack talk while they approached the house. He weight of Sebastian’s hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. She looked at him, at the light smile on his lips, and knew that he would be at her side no matter what she chose.

Maybe Malik was right. Sloan and Purity would continue to cause pain and suffering across the Edge for as long as they were allowed. They had declared together that the world would be changing, and that only the supernaturals who fell in line would be spared, whatever that meant. The humans had made their choice. Sloan had made his move- he’d attacked the Edge in hopes of killing her, instead discovering that she had the key to the vault.

Yes, Sloan had made his move and had already set in motion the plans for his next one. As Jack approached the house, a curious, hopeful smile on his face, Ronnie braced herself, her mind alight with Sebastian, Lorna, her family and the violet fairy holding the very course of the world in her tiny hands. She thought of her father.

Ronnie stepped forward and met Jack halfway. If a war was coming, then she knew exactly what side she wanted to be on.