thoughts, willing herself to glide.
I’m a leaf on the water
, she told herself.
I am a leaf …
Her body started to shake. Then she dropped to the floor as though pushed, twitching and jerking, her colour spiralling through the different shadesof the frequencies. The recruits recoiled in horror. The Councillors stood from their seats, gripping the edge of the table. There was a scorching muzzle flash and Meg shot through the ether like a bullet through water. Lights swirled around her in incandescent webs. She was moving too fast. She was going to break into pieces with the speed. She suddenly hit something, hard, and fell to the ground in a heap.
Meg was no longer cowering beneath the scrutiny of the Council in the Great Hall. She was on her hands and knees, freezing, fingers buried in a fine grey powder. The wind howled, whipping her hair in wild tendrils around her face. She rose to her feet, shielding her eyes against the icy gale. The sky fell down to meet her in an endless stretch of grey. Frozen twigs poked like beard stubble throughout the landscape. She looked at her hands. The tin-coloured powder fell away from her fingers in a disintegrating shadow. Ash. Everything had been reduced to ash. Where was she?
A deep moan climbed over the wail of the wind. It was if the land were weeping. The wind took form and faces birthed from the ether, mouths and eyes gaping. The moaning grew and a profound sadness overwhelmed her. It was her fault—all of it—the sea of ash, the frozen remains of trees, the wailing souls, damned for all eternity. Somehow, she was responsible. “Please, stop,” she sobbed. The tortured faces surrounded her. Teeth flashed, fingers groped through the grey. They clawed at her arms and legs, tore at her robe. She pushed them away but the tormented spirits kept coming.
“I can’t help you!” she cried.
Drawing herself in, Meg conjured an image of the Great Hall and imagined herself there. The hungry souls plundered her consciousness, ripping the image from her mind. She fought back, reaching for the narrow band of light. With a loud whip crack, Meg hurtled forward, tearing away from the graspinghands. Streaking back through the ether, she landed in a windblown mess before the shocked faces of the recruits. The room exploded in telepathic turmoil. A gavel hammered on the table.
“Order!” one of the Councillors demanded.
“What happened?” the silver being practically shouted in her head. When it saw the haunted look in her eyes it collected itself. Searching her face, its own eyes grew wide as it understood. “You … you fell between the frequencies.”
Meg swooned, listing to one side.
“No one has ever returned from between the frequencies in the same form,” the silver being said. “It’s not possible.”
The gavel hammered again. “Order, please!”
“You mustn’t tell a soul,” the silver being instructed her, then prostrated itself before the Council, its face nearly touching the hem of its robe.
Meg did the same, bowing as dramatically as she could given her troubled state.
“Rise,” one of the golden beings ordered. It fastened its unwavering eyes on her. “Did you not feel the call of the Warriors?”
Meg shook her head. This caused a new wave of confusion in the Hall. The Council huddled together, speaking as though she were no longer there. She couldn’t help eavesdropping.
“Is it mute?” one asked.
“Look at its appendage,” one muttered. “It’s the oddest thing.”
“And its shape,” another spoke. “It’s so strange.”
“Is it female?” another asked.
“What about its colour? We’ve never seen a magenta recruit before. Has it been contaminated?”
“It’s so small.”
“What could have caused such an aberration?”
“Why did it leave the room, and where did it go?”
“Who can say?”
“Then what shall we do with it?” one asked.
There was a long pause as the Council members pondered this conundrum.
“It seemed
I’m a leaf on the water
, she told herself.
I am a leaf …
Her body started to shake. Then she dropped to the floor as though pushed, twitching and jerking, her colour spiralling through the different shadesof the frequencies. The recruits recoiled in horror. The Councillors stood from their seats, gripping the edge of the table. There was a scorching muzzle flash and Meg shot through the ether like a bullet through water. Lights swirled around her in incandescent webs. She was moving too fast. She was going to break into pieces with the speed. She suddenly hit something, hard, and fell to the ground in a heap.
Meg was no longer cowering beneath the scrutiny of the Council in the Great Hall. She was on her hands and knees, freezing, fingers buried in a fine grey powder. The wind howled, whipping her hair in wild tendrils around her face. She rose to her feet, shielding her eyes against the icy gale. The sky fell down to meet her in an endless stretch of grey. Frozen twigs poked like beard stubble throughout the landscape. She looked at her hands. The tin-coloured powder fell away from her fingers in a disintegrating shadow. Ash. Everything had been reduced to ash. Where was she?
A deep moan climbed over the wail of the wind. It was if the land were weeping. The wind took form and faces birthed from the ether, mouths and eyes gaping. The moaning grew and a profound sadness overwhelmed her. It was her fault—all of it—the sea of ash, the frozen remains of trees, the wailing souls, damned for all eternity. Somehow, she was responsible. “Please, stop,” she sobbed. The tortured faces surrounded her. Teeth flashed, fingers groped through the grey. They clawed at her arms and legs, tore at her robe. She pushed them away but the tormented spirits kept coming.
“I can’t help you!” she cried.
Drawing herself in, Meg conjured an image of the Great Hall and imagined herself there. The hungry souls plundered her consciousness, ripping the image from her mind. She fought back, reaching for the narrow band of light. With a loud whip crack, Meg hurtled forward, tearing away from the graspinghands. Streaking back through the ether, she landed in a windblown mess before the shocked faces of the recruits. The room exploded in telepathic turmoil. A gavel hammered on the table.
“Order!” one of the Councillors demanded.
“What happened?” the silver being practically shouted in her head. When it saw the haunted look in her eyes it collected itself. Searching her face, its own eyes grew wide as it understood. “You … you fell between the frequencies.”
Meg swooned, listing to one side.
“No one has ever returned from between the frequencies in the same form,” the silver being said. “It’s not possible.”
The gavel hammered again. “Order, please!”
“You mustn’t tell a soul,” the silver being instructed her, then prostrated itself before the Council, its face nearly touching the hem of its robe.
Meg did the same, bowing as dramatically as she could given her troubled state.
“Rise,” one of the golden beings ordered. It fastened its unwavering eyes on her. “Did you not feel the call of the Warriors?”
Meg shook her head. This caused a new wave of confusion in the Hall. The Council huddled together, speaking as though she were no longer there. She couldn’t help eavesdropping.
“Is it mute?” one asked.
“Look at its appendage,” one muttered. “It’s the oddest thing.”
“And its shape,” another spoke. “It’s so strange.”
“Is it female?” another asked.
“What about its colour? We’ve never seen a magenta recruit before. Has it been contaminated?”
“It’s so small.”
“What could have caused such an aberration?”
“Why did it leave the room, and where did it go?”
“Who can say?”
“Then what shall we do with it?” one asked.
There was a long pause as the Council members pondered this conundrum.
“It seemed
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