Though their lips didn’t move, out of the wind came their voices….
Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .
Standing in the middle of the circle was the same little girl, but this time in a crimson dress. This dress fell only to the knees, revealing knobby ankles and dirty feet. The blindfold still covered her eyes, and blood dripped endlessly from her hands, pooling on the grass and roots below.
The dripping never seemed to stop.
The little girl didn’t waver or faint, as if the blood she was losing wasn’t her own. She pointed at Hadjia with her left hand while the chant continued in the background. Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .
Hadjia stepped forward, her feet rustling through the vines and branches. She stepped over a little boy with jet-black hair, navigating carefully around the still bodies until she reached the little girl. In the background, the chant continued to sing. Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall.
Hadjia reached out, pressed the little girl’s hand down to her side, and plucked the blindfold off her face. Then she gasped: The girl looking back at her had the same thin lips and black eyes as she did. The same slender, small bearing. It was as if she was looking into a mirror.
Hadjia blinked, staring at the girl in terrible fear and fascination. She stumbled back, tripping over roots in her scramble to get away. She fell, hitting the back of her legs on a protruding root.
The girl tilted her head back, revealing a bloody slit in her neck, as if a blade had just sliced across it. Blood ran down her skin and chest, trickling into her blood-red dress.
Hadjia screamed and jerked awake.
Sunlight filtered in dappled rays through the windows, illuminating the smokescreens with a grayish hue. Hadjia stared at them, frozen in place on the floor.
No forest. No children singing. No lush vines dripping from the trees.
She stayed there for a full minute. Had she screamed only in her dream? Or had she actually cried out? The room offered a reassuring silence.
Slowly, bit by bit, Hadjia relaxed her muscles. She stayed low and kept an ear trained toward the door.
Renji’s Guarava Ceremony would start soon. Mother Sigunta always began them early. She had much to do during the day.
Hadjia pushed a sweaty strand of hair off her face and slowly straightened up. When a curious pair of eyes met hers from around a nearby wooden column, she nearly screamed again. Instead she swallowed it, and met the dark gaze of a nine-year-old boy named Kim. Her eyes narrowed to slashes.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Watching you.”
“You need to go before it’s not safe.”
“What about you?” He lifted a hand in an implied question, gesturing to her small hiding space. She swallowed.
“Don’t worry about my business. Go. It’s not safe.”
He hesitated. “What if I stay?”
She realized with a stroke of surprise that she wasn’t the only Red Moon student who wanted to witness this historic ceremony. For a moment, she contemplated it.
Would it be so bad if they both stayed? The light came from the other side of the room, meaning the two of them wouldn’t be seen back here. But having him near her only increased the risk of being heard, of being caught, of being killed.
Mother Sigunta tolerated no rebellion.
“You must go,” she whispered, glancing furtively to the door. “You could die. At the very least, Mother will punish you.”
“So could you.”
“That’s my own business.”
He hung his head, diverting his eyes away from her. She couldn’t help but feel that he simply didn’t want to answer her – or meet her eyes. He wasn’t the only student who was afraid of her here at the Red Moon school.
The sound of shuffling at the front of the Ceremony Hall drew both of their attention. Kim snapped his head up and quickly dashed behind another column. Hadjia leaned back, and through the hole in the smokescreen, could just make out two figures conferring quietly near the Red Moon Altar at the top of the room. One of them she knew right away: Mother Sigunta.
The Mother wore a deep red robe, as rich and vibrant as if it were made from freshly spilled blood. There was no mistaking her white-and-gray-streaked hair, or the hooked nose on her sweet face.
Hadjia relaxed. If Mother Sigunta was at the top of the room, she hadn’t yet been seen. A good sign.
She didn’t recognize the person near Mother Sigunta who was wearing a crimson robe and a mask as red as a sunset from which a long nose protruded.
Hadjia’s toes curled at the sight of the grotesque face and twisted sneer on the mask. The low, rumbling tones coming from the mask’s mouth made Hadjia think a man was wearing it.
From the left hand of the masked man hung a golden pendant with an oddly familiar oval-like shape. A flicker of green light came from it as it swayed on his wrist.
Hadjia pressed as close to the smokescreen as she dared, straining to hear. Surely they were having some sort of meeting together before the ceremony. That’s all it was, Hadjia told herself. A simple meeting.
Their voices drifted down the room toward her.
“All this traveling must tire you,” Mother Sigunta said. “Your journey here is long.”
“You fear for me unnecessarily. The world here is like a book, and only through traveling can I read its pages. As you know, I have always been a great reader.”
“They say that someone coming back from a long journey isn’t the same person as the one who left. That kind of thing changes a person. Is it the same for you?”
“Between us, you are the one who never changes, Mother Sigunta. There is no age in your veins. No further wrinkling of your skin. But you need not fear: I continue to have the same ambitions. The ones you have always known me for.”
“Ah. Very good to hear. What reason has brought you back?”
“The prophecies of the Sun and Moon will soon be in motion. It’s time for you to pack and be ready.”
“I’m always ready. I have been for a long time.”
The slightest pause preceded his reply. “It doesn’t look like it. You have been ordering the slaughter of innocent people. That has nothing to do with our plans, and you know it.”
“So you’ve come to judge me,” she snapped. “My children are growing up in a very productive house. It’s not your place to give an unsolicited opinion about the work that I do here. I do it well. Better than anyone else.”
Something cold broke open inside Hadjia, permeating her belly and spreading all the way into her bones. Innocent people? Our plans? What could this mean?
“Rumors spread fast,” said the unknown man. “The myths and legends live on everyone’s lips in this part of the country. These sudden, unexpected deaths are attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
“These so-called ‘innocent’ victims are the test that allow my children to elevate their skills and their status amongst the other assassins. It’s a rite of passage that cannot be underestimated. Have my Shirais ever disappointed you?”
“Let me give you some advice, Mother,” he said, dismissing her question entirely. “The swamps are too silent. In such a permeating stillness, even a breath can make noise. Now, more than ever, we must avoid making any kind of problem. Keep your head down.”
Mother Sigunta released a sharp breath before she said, “I understand. We only have one more.”
From her spot, Hadjia couldn’t tell if it was resignation or annoyance that was coloring her tone.
“Mother – ”
“I insist. It’s for my special girl. Once she finishes her test, I will cease the innocent killings and focus more on our mission. You have my word.”
“Good. Because it deserves to be said that we cannot risk – ”