They looked scared.
She thought of the young girl whom they had allowed to live, and swallowed back the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.
“We’re almost there,” Kaneko said. “Mother Sigunta will be pleased that we’ve returned so quickly.”
Before they arrived at the top of the hill where the Red Moon school overlooked the valley, Kaneko caught Hadjia’s arm.
“It’s your turn soon.”
A bubble of excitement rose in Hadjia’s chest.
“Yes. Soon!” she laughed.
Kaneko smiled, but some other emotion lingered in it as well. “Fourteen years old is a very exciting age. You’ll do well, Hadjia. I only hope that Mother Sigunta allows me to go with you.”
“She will,” Hadjia said firmly. “She cares for both of us. There’s no one else I would want there with me.”
Kaneko nodded, seeming pleased.
A yearning to prove herself swelled up inside of Hadjia.
All the training. All the years. All the work and dedication and endless nights would finally pay off. Mother Sigunta would smile upon Hadjia the way she’d soon smile upon Renji. For that, Hadjia had waited all her life. The very idea that it could be upon her soon sent a thrill up her spine.
By the time the trio worked their way up the hill to slip back into Red Moon school, night had started to fall. The sun disappeared into the treetops in the distance, coating the world in an dark gray fog.
Hadjia reached the school first, but paused before going inside to look out over the valley. The wet, marshy land stretched out into what felt like an eternity. She pulled in a deep breath and hauled open the wooden door so the three could enter.
“Congratulations, Renji,” Hadjia said once the heavy door closed behind them.
The front hallway remained empty, almost cavernous in its silence.
All three of them waited, listening while continuing to talk.
“You did well,” agreed Kaneko.
Renji nodded once. “Thank you for coming with me.”
Kaneko smiled at both of them. “Rest, Renji,” she said, touching him gently on the shoulder. “We’re all tired from the long trek and wait. Get some sleep. Things will be even better and brighter in the morning. Tomorrow will be the greatest day of your life.”
“Yes,” Hadjia said with a smile. “You and I will celebrate in style tomorrow after the Gaurava ceremony.”
Kaneko frowned. “You’ll be missed at the ceremony, Hadjia. Everyone here loves you. But soon you’ll be able to attend the ceremonies as a true Red Moon Assassin, just as Renji is now.”
A new light suddenly burned in Renji’s eyes. A strange light, it both frightened and excited Hadjia at the same time.
“Yes,” he breathed. “It will be the best day of my life.”
The three friends split, Renji to his room, Hadjia to hers, and Kaneko somewhere else.
Halfway down the hall, Hadjia stopped to glance back over her shoulder, but Kaneko had already disappeared into the silence. Where she went, Hadjia didn’t know, and she didn’t ask.
Kaneko had her own life and secrets. Even though Kaneko was the closest thing to a sister or a family member Hadjia had, she knew that there were boundaries that no Red Moon Assassin – or hopefully no one – ever crossed. Asking too many questions about life before the Red Moon school was one of those.
Hadjia’s eyes fell on the entryway, where the three of them had just parted, and thought about the morning’s upcoming ceremony.
She’d soon be a Red Moon Assassin herself. Why couldn’t she know what happened there? Mother Sigunta prepared them constantly so they’d never be taken by surprise. Shouldn’t Hadjia prepare for the ceremony? Know what to expect so she wouldn’t be surprised?
Her decision made, she crept silently back down the hall before turning into a darkened anteroom that led into another portion of the school and into the Ceremony Hall.
Taking careful steps, she slipped along the hall’s darkened wall. Windows dotted the room on the right side, spilling late sunlight into the room in the bruised hues of sunset. The Ceremony Hall wasn’t bland, but it wasn’t ornate either. A few paintings here and there. A clean wooden floor. Smokescreens ran along the far left side of the room, set aside until they would be used as partitions for ceremonies.
Ceremonies Hadjia had not yet seen.
When the sound of a scuffle came from outside the room, she froze, her back pressed into the paneled wall. The sound faded and Hadjia let out a long breath.
She knew no one would dare to peer behind any of the smokescreens if she were to hide there overnight, just as no one would monitor her bedroom and whether or not she was in it. At the Red Moon school, obedience was absolute. Sleeping outside of one’s quarters was strictly forbidden, and Mother Sigunta would never approve of an unproven student witnessing the ceremony in the morning. But Hadjia hated surprises even more than she hated fear.
Once Renji’s ceremony ended in the morning and everyone left, Hadjia would be able to sneak away, hopefully before she was spotted. Hadjia ran her fingers along the first smokescreen. The paper was a thin as onion skin on her fingertips. No imperfections.
She moved on to the second one, which was slightly bent in the middle. With careful breaths, she monitored for noises in the hall as she felt it with her fingertips. Her breath caught.
A hole.
She crouched down next to it. The smokescreen fell all the way to the bottom of the floor, but had a little tear near its middle towards the bottom she could peer through this, although just listening to the ceremony might provide her with all the information she needed.
She didn’t dare jostle or reposition any of the smoke screens. Mother Sigunta would notice right away.
She noticed everything.
Exhausted from the day’s long mission, Hadjia curled up in a ball on the floor behind the torn screen, peeking around to make sure that no fabric from her clothing stuck out on the sides. She tucked in close, drawing her tired legs to her chest.
Her mind ran over the day, analyzing it the way Mother Sigunta always taught them to. Renji’s fear. The wide set of his eyes. The hot, humid forest.
She recalled several steps she’d taken where she’d made enough noise for detection. Next time, she’d be more aware.
No matter how hard she tried to distract herself from it, however, a memory of the wide, soulful eyes of the frightened little girl whom they allowed to live haunted her.
What would the girl do now? Whom would she tell?
Hadjia’s throat grew thick. She closed her eyes, burrowing her head farther into her arms. A heaviness fell over her aching muscles and hungry belly, and she let out a long, tired breath, drifting off into the waves of sleep that beckoned to her.
Hadjia awoke only a moment later.
At least, if felt that way.
Suddenly she stood in the same strange place as before, surrounded by the same eerie lush forest as before. The knotted roots of trees broke through the ground, twisting up through the earth as if reaching out to her. Children ran around in a circle, laughing and almost tripping over the vines that hung from the tree branches soaring above them.
Only this time, she couldn’t see the children’s faces.
Hadjia stood outside of the circle, watching the game. It was strange. The children ran around, their tiny hands clasped in white-knuckle grips. They wore masks over their faces. A fox. A lion. A lynx. Each mask seemed to glower at her with a terrible, strange light.
Hadjia followed the children with her eyes as they sang in an eerie, echoing kind of way.
“Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .”
“Die!”
The children all fell, tumbling to the ground.
Hadjia waited, holding her breath in anticipation, but none of the children stirred. Their chests never stirred.
A strange wind swept through the space, tangling Hadjia’s hair. Still she waited, willing them to breathe.