Young Writers Society

For twelve years this memory lay dormant in the pit of my recollection. Neither I, nor my keeper ever mentioned it again, knowing the penalty that was to pay. I steadily forgot about the girl who looked so disturbed in the sandpit.

After a while I forgot I ever crossed over the top of Fiery Hill.

As time passed by my life went on without question. I, like all the other children in my village wondered meekly about the city. What did it hold? Why was it so forbidden, and who kept it there. We’ve all seen the city from the top of Fiery Hill, but no one ever crossed the borderline between sleepy Sage Barrow and Adwen.

The wind danced through my hair as I ran through the long grass. I sprinted though the trees and jumped over stumps rising in my way. I felt like a deer in the wild, running from an advancing hunter. I’ve been running for a while, but I don’t pant. I have no need to.

Through the forest I crossed to the open meadow leading to the Hill. When I was in the open, I saw my hunter. He was fast and sleek, a shadow between the leaves.

I quickened my pace, smiling ruefully. He’s going to catch me again.

Something along the horizon caught my eye. Forgetting everything I stopped and stared. In a moment I felt something hard hit my side as I was tackled to the ground.

I rolled onto my back, glaring disdainfully at my hunter.

“Got you,” Bevan panted, staring directly into my eyes. He was on top of me, pinning me to the ground.

“Fine,” I said. He got up, and then held out a hand to help me. With a sigh of humility I took it.

He was taller than me. I knew this, but couldn’t help reminding myself. His blonde hair reflected the light of the upcoming sun and his eyes sparkled deep cobalt with pride.

He smiled at the look on my face.

“You don’t have to look so angry,” he said, “I’ve caught you about a million times.”

But he had misread the look on my face. It was one of faint perception. A thick stream of smoke was rising behind Fiery Hill, coiling up into the dawn.

He followed my gaze and shook his head. “We’d better get back Astrid,” he said, taking me by the arm and trying to get me to turn back to the forest.

I smiled, still looking at the stream of smoke. “Want to go look?” I asked him. I knew he was curious too, but extremely wary.

“If we don’t get home now my parents are gonna flay me till sunset,” he said, pulling harder. Looking resentfully at the smoke, I followed. He let go of my arm.

We walked quickly and silently, following our usual route that trailed around the forest instead of through it. We weren’t really allowed in there. It was sacred to the council of Sages, therefore no place for two fifteen year olds.

The Sages were more like the elders of our village. They were respected beyond measure and not to be crossed. When not in the forest they stayed out of villager’s eyes. There was no sight or sound from them, until the echoing of the cherubs, who summoned them upon occasion. Their eyes, unlike those of the villager’s didn’t change color according to their mood, but stayed almost completely white except for the pupils.

I glanced at Bevan, wondering what he was thinking about. I was thinking about the city. As always I wondered what it held that could be so dangerous, so forbidden.

Bevan looked up to meet my gaze, and smiled.

“We’ll never know Astrid,” he said with silent amusement. “They don’t want us to know.”

“I will know,” I said stubbornly.

The village was quiet this early in the morning. Inhabitants of Sage Barrow never stepped out of their houses until the sun has fully risen. We were late today. The dawn light played merrily on the thatched roofs of Sage barrow. A few chickens clucked by on the dirt road, scrounging the ground for dropped seeds. Yew trees lined the path and little flowerbeds were set beside it.

I knew Diya would scold and give me a speech for being out before dawn, but a much worse punishment was in store for Bevan. His father was a retired warrior. He was formidable and strict, only popular for his former glory. These days you could only see him at night, skulking around in the village tavern.

I felt guilty, knowing the fault was mine, but he’d pay the price.

As we neared my house I saw his eyes grow weary. I wanted to give him a word of comfort, but I didn’t know what to say.

“Well, bye then,” he said, a shade of resentment in his eyes.

“See you at association,” I said, giving a feeble wave as he walked down the dirt path to his house.