“I do.”
“Furthermore, will you hold the practices of this order in confidence and not betray its members, secrets, or powers to any dark force that may exist in this world?”
“I will,” I say.
Balthazar raises the spear to my throat so quickly, I gasp. “Swear to me now, child.” His face is stern, and his eyes gleam with a fierce light.
“I swear,” I finish.
Balthazar drops the staff to his side. “Jessamine Grace, daughter of Alexander and Cora, welcome to the League of Ravens.” He raises one hand in front of my face and makes an intricate motion in the air.
A shock runs through my body.
I see a silver ship with a billowing sail, rocking gently on the sea . . .
A white raven pecking at a ravished corpse on a hillside.
Creatures with ghoulish faces burned by fire.
And a giant of a man, swinging a shining sword above his head.
As quickly as it comes, the vision is over. I shake my head, disoriented.
“They are glimpses of our past,” Balthazar explains. “Something you will now carry forever. In times of great peril, you will never be alone.”
He steps back two paces. “All hail!” he proclaims, and bangs the staff to the floor three times, sending a shudder down my spine.
The serious faces from a moment ago are now all smiles. Balthazar reaches out and takes my hand. “Welcome to the order, Jess.”
Jess. It is the first time he has used my pet name.
“Thank you,” I say, surprised, still reeling from the vision. “I’m honored.”
“I am glad you are with us,” Gabriel says. His words are a comfort, but his eyes are dark. He looks weary beyond his years. Will this happen to me, also?
Emily grasps my hand. Her touch is so light, I almost don’t feel it. “We’re best mates now. Yeah?”
I smile, and feel a tickle at my throat. I touch it, and when I draw my hand away, a smear of blood darkens my fingertip.
Emily looks at me and shrugs. “Just a scratch,” she says.
CHAPTER NINE
Power Revealed
I am now a member of the League of Ravens.
I swore to it. Upon penalty of death.
I feel a bond with Mother and Father that I have never known before. They went through this same initiation. How I wish to ask Mother what she felt at the time. What did she think? Was she frightened? What adventures did she and Father share?
I will write to her soon, I promise myself, for there is so much more I want to know.
Over the next several days, Balthazar teaches me how to use the lash. We are in the back garden, where a broken-down carriage sits. One of its wheels is cracked, and the spokes are either bent or missing. Brambles and vines run wild back here, looking as if they might rise up and strangle the entire house. The air is cool, but with my cloak and gloves, I am warm and flushed. Emily has lent me a few things to wear, but they are rather small and uncomfortable.
“Grip the handle lightly,” Balthazar says for the second time. “Raise your arm above your head. Now strike!”
I lash out at the dressmaker’s form that he has furnished for practice. I walk a few steps and peer at the damage. The spiked ends of the whip have torn the roughspun cloth, shredding it in places. I can’t imagine what it would do to a real body. And then it hits me: that is why I am doing this. The enemy we fight is real. This lash is meant to kill. Before I have a chance to obsess on this further, Balthazar congratulates me.
“Better,” he says. “That’s better, Jess. You will find that the lash has a few tricks of its own, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“When it is used in battle, it knows the touch of evil, and works to defeat it.”
Good, I think. I’ll need all the help I can get.
We work on my stance next, feet planted apart, eyes and ears alert.
And then the most curious thing happens.
Balthazar seems to be in several places at once, disappearing in an instant and then reappearing. I know he is not really disappearing, but within the blink of an eye, he is in front of me and then behind me. Now he is at my side.
“Just a touch of glamour,” he says. “It will sharpen your senses.”
“What is glamour?”
“It is the art of illusion, something all of my race are gifted with.”
He is now standing on my other side. I didn’t even see him move.
“Try to strike,” he orders me. “Anticipate my movements.”
I grip the handle of the lash as he appears several feet away. I strike out, but too late. Now he is behind me. I can sense him. I turn quickly, but my feet are swept out from under me. I’m falling, but before I hit the ground, I regain my balance, spin on my heel, and lash out with the whip, which tangles around Balthazar’s ankle.
“There’s the spirit!” he encourages me. “Well done.”
I snap the lash back and the thongs unfurl from his boot. I feel beads of sweat on my face. It is unseemly for a lady to sweat. Says who? I think, and turn quickly, lashing out at the dressmaker’s form again.