“A mix?” I repeat. “You mean like, one parent is Striga, and the other is from a different house? I didn’t even know they allowed that.” Striga are a little creepy in how they discourage marriage outside their own.
“It isn’t allowed at all, but it happens,” replies Hildy. “The heart wants what it wants, you know? And unplanned pregnancies happen, too. When a baby’s involved, the parent has two choices. They can either be shunned from Striga for life, or drop their newborn off at the Wastelands, an isolated school in an even more isolated corner of the Striga realm.”
“You mean, like one of the places left over from King Aethelwulf?” That psychopath was the last King of Antrum to come from the House of Acca. His great contribution to thrax history? Deciding that the best way to fight demons was to cut them off at the source and declare war on Hell itself. Antrum almost fell apart.
“Yes,” replies Lincoln. “The Wastelands were Aethelwulf’s creation, one hundred percent.”
I rub my neck, still trying to understand why Lincoln’s so upset. “So, you’re an orphan who was trained at this school for monopsyches. And what did you learn there, exactly?”
“Mixed kids like me, we end up with special powers. I can merge with another thrax’s mind, which makes me a great bodyguard. That’s what monopsyche means, a bodyguard who can merge their consciousness with someone else’s.” She fidgets with the buttons on her coat. “Look, it’d be easier if I show you.” She stands up and offers Lincoln and I her palms. “May I?”
“Depends,” I reply. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll take you both into my mind to see my memories.”
I rise to my feet. “Hey, if it clears this up, then I’m in.”
“Thanks,” says Hildy. “The things that monopsyches do are hard to explain.” She shakes her head. “And the stuff that I do? Impossible.”
“Fine, I’ll go first,” says Lincoln. He places his palm atop Hildy’s and closes his eyes. Seconds pass before Hildy gives his hand a gentle shake.
“Are you there in my memory?” she asks. “Can you see the school?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Hildy turns to me. For the first time, I can see that her eyes are now all white, no pupils or irises at all. “Your turn, Your Highness.”
I gingerly set my palm onto Hildy’s. Instantly, the chamber around me disappears. I’m left with the sinking feeling that as terrible as the thought of abduction is, I’m about to discover something even more horrible.
# # #
The next thing I know, I stand in a snug underground tunnel lined with skulls, each head held in place with a pair of thigh bones that are folded neatly beneath it. Lincoln stands beside me, as does Hildy. The air is thick with the smell of mold.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“The catacombs of the Wastelands. You’ll see a young version of me come by in a minute. I won’t be able to see you, of course. This is like a replay, not live action.”
A tiny version of Hildy runs down the hallway, all dirty blonde hair in a dirtier white frock. Her mismatched eyes are wild with fear. She cowers behind a pile of skulls, hiding.
The adult-Hildy steps up to her childhood counterpart and stares into her own eyes. “I didn’t want to be trained as a monopsyche.” A muscle twitches by Hildy’s mouth as she speaks. “The whole idea of other people in my head frightened me. Still, I became a Novice-level monopsyche before the age of four.”
“That’s young,” says Lincoln.
“That’s the youngest on record,” counters Hildy. “As a Novice, I can share memories, like we’re doing now. By the age of seven, I was ready become an Apprentice. That was another first in the history of Monopsyches. The Teschio were thrilled.”
“Who are the Teschio?” I ask.
“Our teachers. They’re an odd bunch, as you’ll see.” A dark gleam flashes in her eyes. The Teschio are more than odd, I can tell. Hildy hates them.
I take a tentative step closer to her. “Why do you think they’re so strange?”
“What you said before. King Aethelwulf.” She turns to the wall of skulls and gestures past the whitened heads. “The Wastelands were once a highly populated part of Striga. Aethelwulf wiped out most of the population in one of his purges.” She glances down the long hallway of skulls. “There are miles of them down here. The Teschio would have starved like everyone else if they hadn’t found some way to live off magic. Now, they’re so skeletal, they make ghouls look muscle-bound.”
Footsteps sound down the corridor. Two tall figures draped head-to-toe in shimmering grey cloth step up to the child version of Hildy. These must be the Teschio.
“There’s no point in hiding, Hildegard,” says the first figure.
“I won’t do it.” The young Hildy clutches her skinny arms around her equally-thin legs. “You can’t make me.”