The Elementals

Prologue

THE city that housed fire was black, and the illumination of the fire’s surging brilliance did not extinguish the depth of the shadows. Darkness, alive and threatening, swept across the valley and the worn stone walls of the fortress at its center. Its dark fingertips crept along the cliff and jagged rock of the mountain with its shadow towering over the city.

At the city’s core, the citadel huddled among the crumbling buildings. Inside the citadel was a castle made of stone from the surrounding structures. The power of the citizens kept the torches ablaze in the dim-lit streets. The mountains rose on the city’s northern and southern borders, and the cliff rested to the east. Stones, fallen from the city walls, bruised the ground. The snow buried the wounds.

Stone houses clustered across the valley. Heavy blankets draped over the shutterless windows to keep out the cold. The doors needed to be replaced after every storm. The roofs wept frozen tears.

Soldiers marched through the mountain pass. Two of them dragged the body of a man. The arms of the men hung at their sides as they labored toward the dark city. The sentry sent a burst of flames into the air. The guards below opened the gate, allowing the soldiers to pass through the walls of the citadel.

The tired feet of the soldiers met the stone steps of the castle as servants opened the heavy wooden door from the inside. The soldiers walked into the ante room and through the doorway to the central chamber.

Within the central chamber was a wide expanse of cracked stone floor, and at the end of the broken stone mass, their leader, Hephaestus, sat on a stone throne. He stared at the men as they entered. He watched as the two soldiers dragged their prisoner.

The long body of the man on the throne hunched forward so that his pale face jutted out while the rest of his body lay hidden in the black folds of his clothes which blended into the dark stone. His long red cloak draped down like a trail of blood. His arms spread to the arms of the throne, and his hands clutched them. His golden-brown eyes fastened on the body of the man being dragged as the soldiers came closer.

Perditus stood at the side of the throne. His pale face and black hair matched that of his leader, but his eyes were gray, like storm clouds or the smoke of a rising fire. He wasn’t yet fifteen years old. He would be in a matter of days, but the hours were heavy in this place, and time crept by slowly.

Perditus clenched his hands into fists. His head tilted to the floor, but his eyes strained upwards. He, too, focused on the man the soldiers held between them.

Sores and open wounds, thinly frosted over, covered the man’s body. The assault had been the outcome of the dragging. Perditus wondered if they had dragged him all the way from his home despite the cries of those around him who dared not suffer the consequences of fighting back.

Perditus knew what the man was and knew why he had been brought to Omega Ray—so that Hephaestus could play with him as a cat does with a mouse.

Soldiers stepped to the side to avoid the direct gaze of the man on the throne. The two soldiers who held the prisoner remained in the center. One of them averted his eyes, but the other stared straight into the eyes of his leader.

He stood holding one arm of the prisoner. He was shorter in stature than the other soldiers, but his body was broad. He bore the partial weight of the other man with ease. He could have effortlessly held the man slung across his shoulders, but he wanted to drag him from the top of the mountain, across the snow, through the uneven ground of the city, and the stone of the fortress floor.

In contrast to the pale face of his leader, this man’s skin was a reddish-brown. Right at the base of his jaw-bone, near the ear, he had a deep red birthmark.

The pale-faced leader turned to the red-faced soldier.

This is not what I asked you to do, Hephaestus said.

The red-faced man did not avert his eyes.

I understand that, Sir. But our given task proved once again impossible, he said. Instead, we have brought this man. We found him near Lumina on Dustpath Road. He’s a Water Elemental.

An offering, thought Perditus, so as to divert Hephaestus from thoughts of punishment.

Slowly Hephaestus’s shoulders relaxed, and his body curled back against the throne.

Is that so? I thought we would have gotten them all by now. Is he alive?

Yes. The red-faced man kicked the man he had been dragging, causing him to issue forth a loud grunt of pain.

Hephaestus placed his hands firmly on the arms of the throne and used them to prop himself up. He stood in front of the man.

What’s your name?

Elias, the man said.

Hephaestus stiffened.

You know him, my lord, the soldier asked.

No. Hephaestus’s eyes turned back to the prisoner. Lift up your head.

Elias did so. Bruises colored the skin around his eyes and along his jaw. His eyes were so swollen, Perditus doubted he could see what was in front of him. But he had seen worse off men find their way through the smoke.

The soldiers held Elias, and he could not wipe the dried blood from his lips. His finger moved ever so slightly. He begged, Please, let me leave. I don’t know what this man is talking about. I’m not an Elemental. Tears leaked from the slits surrounded by tortured flesh. I’m just a man. A poor one. But I have a family, a wife and a son. I have to go back to them.

His eyes moved Perditus more than his words. He imagined that the man was found out when he took a drink from his hands absent any lake or stream. But Perditus had no desire to help the man. His sorrow was too sweet and poetic, and Perditus wanted to see what would happen.

Fero, hold out his hand, Hephaestus demanded.

The red-faced man let the prisoner’s arm slump to the ground before roughly grasping his wrist in both hands and stretching his arm out to present his palm to his leader.

Hephaestus’s eyes focused on the hand of the prisoner, and the flesh caught fire.

Elias screamed and tried to pull his hand away, but Fero held it tight. With his hand ablaze, Elias closed his eyes and a mass of water, enough to fill three canteens, hung in the air and splashed down onto his hand, dousing the flames. The skin of his hand was pink, and some of it had burned away, leaving his palm raw and bloodied. The sweat on his brow mixed with the tears running down his face.

Please, stop, he whimpered. His voice was pathetic and desperate. He was a man with everything to lose.

Stand him up! Hephaestus demanded.

Fero and Dirge lifted the Water Elemental to his feet.

Elias stood unsteadily. He tried to touch his hand, thinking that might sooth it, but he flinched as his fingertips touched the burnt skin.

Hephaestus circled him slowly, eyeing him like a vulture considering its next meal. He stopped in front of him.

Make Water dance for me, he ordered.

What? Elias asked, confused by this request. He had been dragged all this way to be a source of entertainment.? It was a cruel joke to be sure.

Hephaestus closed his eyes, and the prisoner’s arm began to tingle with heat.

Wait! Stop! Please! Elias screamed like a man whose body was over the fire.

You know the consequences, Hephaestus said, his voice even and calm. Now, make Water dance for me.

Elias closed his eyes and concentrated. Slowly, a string of water began to twirl in the air in the wide space between the prisoner and the pale-faced man. It was the narrowest stream, without a bank, its source unseen. It spun into an orb and continued to twist in the air. The tiny strings of water twined around each other as Elias focused.

He was an artist in that moment, painting a picture like only he could. He had the eyes of the entire room on the moving water. It was so exceptional and so stunning.

Only Fero was immune to its charms.

It was a perfect watery chrysalis. Elias moved his hands as if molding it, but his flesh never touched it.

Perditus didn’t know what he was thinking, but the prisoner had a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. They weren’t the tears of a man fighting for his life, but a deeper sorrow that had happiness at its core.

Hephaestus gazed at the display like he had found some rare and beautiful animal.

He reached out to touch the watery orb with a trembling hand.

Sir! Fero warned.

Quiet! Hephaestus hissed.

His hand inched closer, the water hitting the light of the torches and reflecting it onto his palm. A breath away from the watery orb, his fingers grazed the cool water. But he flinched away as if afraid to touch it.

Perditus thought he heard a tiny gasp of awe escape his lips.

The Water Elemental opened his eyes wider than before despite the swollen flesh surrounding them, and a powerful jet of water from the core of the orb shot toward Hephaestus with profound speed. Hephaestus turned it to steam before impact.

Elias only meant to distract, not to harm. He knew he couldn’t hurt this man. He turned to run, but Fero’s auburn hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

Elias was on his knees again, struggling beneath the weight of Fero’s hand.

Elias screamed. Smoke issued from his mouth. His insides burned, cooking his organs, filling the room with a rank, meaty scent.

Fero’s eyes widened. A look of despair lighted upon his face. No, he shouted. We need him!

But it was too late. Elias slumped to the ground. Smoke trailed from his lips like a serpent.

Fero, looking at his leader desperately, still held the man’s limp arm.

What do you mean we need him? Hephaestus asked.

Fero continued to look at the dead man with a gaze that made Perditus think that he could stare at the corpse forever.

Hephaestus made a wide circle around the body as if death was a disease he could catch. He sat back upon his throne. Why would I need him?

Fero’s eyes were anchored to the body, but he responded to his leader’s question. The sphere sanctums . . . we have yet to see a Protector. At this, Fero looked up into the eyes of Hephaestus.

The light glanced off his golden eyes, making fire dance in his irises.

Fear in my men? Hephaestus leaned forward in his seat, like a python striking out at its prey.

Fero did not flinch. Not fear, sir, but a barrier that we cannot break, not without a balance of the elements. The doors to the sanctums remain closed to us. A strange haze floats over them.

Then tear them down.

We can’t. My men have tried everything. I exhausted my element trying to burn the doors down. Something is keeping us out.

What?

Above the sanctum doors are the symbols for the elements, all of the elements.

Silence hung in the air.

Go, Hephaestus demanded of the other soldiers.

They left, taking with them the body of Elias.

Only Fero and Perditus remained with their leader.

After the other soldiers had gone, Hephaestus didn’t speak for a long time. Time had never crept slower in Omega Ray.

When he opened his mouth to speak it was like the flames had grown in his eyes. So, you are telling me I need a Water Elemental?

That’s what I’m saying, sir.

That man’s family?

Fero shook his head.

Hephaestus put his head in his hands.

After years of taking Water Elementals to their graves, he needed one. The thought made Perditus smirk.

Fero interrupted the silence. Perditus wondered if silence was one of the few things too heavy for him to bare.

The boy, Fero said, he was taken to Element.

Perditus’s fists tightened when Fero changed the subject. What right did he have to meddle in his joy?

Hephaestus drew his back away from his seat. Are you sure it’s him? It’s been years since he ran away.

Yes, sir. He is the reflection of his father. Should I bring him back?

Perditus cringed.

No, Hephaestus said.

At this, Perditus grinned. His down-turned face hid the smile.

He could be useful in Element, Hephaestus said, He is a brat, but he was always strong in his element. I’ll have my men keep in touch with him. He can be my eyes in that place.

You want me to arrange for that?

Yes, and soon. I don’t want him getting too comfortable, thinking he has escaped me. There’s nothing worse in a man than the thought of ease. It halts progress and self-improvement.

Perditus wondered if Hephaestus had ever suffered a moment of ease in his life. Maybe when he was a baby in his mother’s arms, but Perditus could never imagine him as an innocent or vulnerable child.

He assumed that his cold, pale skin was hard as marble all his life and that the fire had always lived inside him, keeping his rage alive.

Hephaestus wasn’t a person, but a monument. Something that could not be reasoned with and had no reason to be soothed.

What about the sanctums? What do you need us to do? Fero stood with his hands behind his back.

Perditus lifted his head, but neither Fero nor Hephaestus paid him a glance. He was like a shadow, warranting no consideration.

Tell the men to search Mirmina for Water Elementals. I must have left at least one alive.

Fero looked at him without expression. He hadn’t delivered that man all the way from Dustpath to serve as his leader’s plaything. He sought him out. It wasn’t Fero’s cruelty alone that made him drag Elias to Omega Ray. Fero was angry that Elias had made himself so difficult to find. Fero didn’t know that Hephaestus would dismantle his cargo without granting him a mere moment to explain its purpose. Fero had journeyed for years to decipher the secrets of the Sphere Sanctums. How many of those years were dedicated to finding that Water Elemental?

Perditus knew Fero would calm his rage on someone else. He wouldn’t challenge Hephaestus. He couldn’t blame him for his rash act.

Hephaestus twined his fingers together.

Perditus lowered his head. He watched Hephaestus’s shadow upon the floor, and from that shadow came words.

One day, I will get the spheres, and I will out balance everything.

1

The Fountain

SARA curled her legs up so her feet could stay warm beneath the small blanket. Her bed creaked as she turned. Her eyes searched the room. The other girls rested in their beds. Some of them tossed and turned in an effort to get warm. Sara waited and listened to the rain outside. Drops hit her window in a steady rhythm.

The rain reminded her of fear, smoke, tears, and that singular night. She tried to overcome the rain’s hypnotic power, but her eyes were drooping, and her mind was pulling her away.

The room filled with smoke, and the water in Sara’s eyes blurred her vision. Her mother lifted her up. Glass shattered as her father smashed the back window with his elbow. Her mother helped her out the window, just large enough for four-year-old Sara to fit through. She told Sara to run. Crying and shaking, Sara ran from the house. She hid in the overgrowth near the forest and watched as the smoke became heavier and the fire surrounded the little cottage. Rain began to fall.

Thunder woke Sara. She sat up and pulled her blanket to her chin. Lightning flashed, brightening the room. Her eyes searched the space to find the other girls asleep. The thunder had not awoken them, and their tossing had ceased.

Sara tried to get out of bed as quietly as she could, but the bed squealed as she stepped down. She poked her head under the bed and retrieved a kettle full of water. She sat down on the floor and pulled the kettle toward her. Her eyes focused on the water.

Please, please, please, she whispered.

Lightning flashed again, and for a moment, her face was reflected in the water. She never saw herself properly before. The orphanage had no mirrors. She wondered if she had grown to look like her mother. She was fourteen, yet shorter than other girls her age. Her mother was tall and slender, her movements fluid like the power she possessed.

She concentrated on the water.

Come on, come on.

But the water didn’t move. It didn’t ripple.

Sara closed her eyes. Her mother’s eyes were hazel, and her hair was light brown. Her voice was even and soft. Her father’s eyes were green, and his smile made her feel at ease. Sara drew their faces in her mind’s eye. She struggled to remember who they were, but being so young, she remembered only warm embraces, gentle words, sometimes harsh words, but more so the gentle ones.

Opening her eyes, she turned her attention back to the water. She glanced toward the window as lightning lit the glass.

Drop. Splash.

Water seeped over the edge of the kettle as ripples drifted from the center.

Sara focused more closely, hoping to send the water spilling again. But as she focused, a drop of water landed into the pot, causing the water to ripple and spill over the edge.

She looked up. Another drop of water dislodged from the ceiling and dropped down into the pot.

Sara sighed. She pushed the kettle back under the bed. She got her blanket and used it to mop up the water that had spilled. It was no use. The water continued to leak from the ceiling. The old pot could catch the drops, she thought. But that would only make the water in the kettle splash, causing more of a mess. Sara would go without dinner if Ms. Fiora discovered she took the kettle from the kitchen.

She crawled back into bed, carrying the wet blanket with her. She spread the blanket over the end of the bed to allow it to dry. Reaching under the mattress, she retrieved a necklace. The necklace had a blue gemstone in the shape of a raindrop hanging from a delicate woven cord. She clenched the gemstone in her fist and, colder than before, she tried to go back to sleep.

BLANKETS rustled against sheets as Sara awoke. The other girls were making their beds. She got up quickly to make her own. Taking the damp blanket from the end of the bed, she placed it over the sheets and smoothed out the dank wrinkles. As she bent over the bed, patting down the blanket, she caught the faint scent of rain.

Years ago, she overheard her father and mother as they talked in their dining room. Peering from behind the paneled wall, Sara watched her parents. Her mother sat at the small, pine dinner table, and her father stood across from her. He rubbed his forehead.

I should go with you, she said. I can reason with him.

No, Sara needs you, and I have to protect both of you. He won’t stop until he’s killed us all.

Her mother knitted her brow. I don’t understand.

No one can understand the mind of a madman.

Sara?

Sara was leaning over the bed. She turned her head. Miranda raked through her long hair with an old comb. The teeth of the comb were missing in places. It’s time to eat. You’re not getting sick, are you?

No, I was thinking.

About what?

Sara sighed as she smoothed down the hem of her blanket and turned to take her dress out of the small drawer beside her bed.

My mother. I don’t want to forget her face.

I don’t remember my mother’s face, Miranda said. But she had long hair. I used to brush it for her and curl up in it at night. This was her comb. She held it up for Sara to see.

Miranda was twelve years old, but she was tall and thin. She combed her hair all day, and she flinched when any of the older girls offered to braid it for her.

The girls had their chores. The older girls helped in the kitchen and laundered the clothes and sheets, while the younger girls cleaned the floors and washed the dishes.

In addition to scrubbing floors, Sara walked to the market every three days. She used to go alone, but her thoughts brought her to her parents, their powers, and the question of why she lacked their gifts. She asked Ms. Fiora if Miranda could accompany her on the long walks into town.

The market lay in the center of town. Buildings sprawled around the market square. The school of Element sat on a hill, above the buildings. Its ivy-covered, stone walls stood stark against the pale sky. Element was where Elementals went to train. Elementals could manipulate and call the elements. Sara hoped to be an Elemental and to harness the power her parents had.

To block the sun, woven cloths covered the tops of the stands in the square. Various smells accosted market-goers, but the most prominent was the odor of dust and feathers.

Elementals stood between stands and performed tricks. A huge crowd surrounded the Wind Elementals, who played with the autumn leaves, making them swirl and dance. A Fire Elemental sent rings of flame into the air. He was middle-aged and had a scar going from under his ear, along his jaw, and down his neck. People made wide circles around him, giving him narrowed-eyed glances as they passed.

Sara noticed him before when she went to the market. In that mysterious way that people can feel the eyes of others on them, she felt his eyes bore into her back when she turned away from him. She bit her lip.

Sara, there he is again, Miranda said, Do you think he works for Hephaestus?

I don’t know. Sara peered at him from over her shoulder.

He sure looks scary enough.

Sara turned away from the Fire Elemental. At one of the stands, the merchant sold paper and charcoal. Sara jingled the money in her dress pocket as she stared at the paper.

She forced her eyes away from the paper merchant and walked to the stand that sold eggs and chickens. The chickens were frantic in their cages, causing loose feathers to fly into the air as they moved. The uproarious clucking of the distraught chickens, fighting in vain to be free of their cages, made this stand the loudest in the market. The merchant smiled as Sara approached. He was a calm man among chaos, with a pleasant smile on his face as the feathers of the chickens rested on his shoulders. Sara tried not to look at the struggling chickens.

Half a dozen eggs, please. She held out the money. She memorized how many sparklings she needed.

Aren’t you one of the little girls from Ocean’s Light? Half a dozen doesn’t seem like enough to feed all of you.

Ms. Fiora likes eggs in the mornings.

Sara’s eyes drifted to the paper and charcoal.

I see you’re always staring at that paper, he said with a wink.

I’m saving up for it.

I didn’t know you were given an allowance?

Sara looked away.

The merchant handed her the eggs. Sara placed them one by one in the basket and covered them with a woolen cloth. She was careful not to let the eggs break. The girls whispered a story about a girl who used to live in the home. She tripped on the way from the market. The eggs cracked on the cobblestone path. After Ms. Fiora was done with her, the girl ran away from the orphanage and never returned.

On the road back, Sara took one coin from her pocket, knelt down, and slipped the coin into her shoe. Miranda combed her hair and hummed to herself as she skipped along the path.

She stopped and turned around. Aren’t you always the one who says Ms. Fiora will be mad if we’re late? Her hands were on her hips.

I thought something got into my shoe. Sara stood.

Just shake it out.

It’s fine now. You’re right. Let’s go.

When Sara and Miranda returned, Mari, one of the older girls, was crying on the steps in front of the house. Rosaleen, the nurse comforted her. You’ll see your father again. He’s waiting among the Aethers in the heavens.

Sara and Miranda bowed their heads and climbed the steps to the door. Sara looked back at Mari before she stepped inside.

Ms. Fiora stood in her office, gazing upon the decorative box that rested upon the mantel. The girls believed Ms. Fiora kept the ashes of her late husband in that box.

Sara handed the money in her pocket to Ms. Fiora. Ms. Fiora stood tall, her shoulders back, and eyes at a constant downward tilt. Her dress was freshly ironed, the white collar pressed firmly down. Sara’s skin tingled as Ms. Fiora counted the coins.

Prices are still up, I see.

While the other girls did their chores, Sara returned to the bedroom. She took the coin from her shoe and opened her drawer. Inside, under an old handkerchief, was another coin. She placed the second coin under the handkerchief and closed the drawer.

Weeks ago, she returned with fewer loaves of bread, telling Ms. Fiora she didn’t have enough money for the extra loaves. The next time Sara went to the market, Ms. Fiora had given her extra sparklings for the bread. Sara could have taken all the extra coins, but decided that would be too risky.

That night, the wind beat against the window above Sara’s bed. She thought of Mari who lost her father. She wondered what happened to him, if he died like her parents. She waited with her hands up to her chin clenching the raindrop necklace until she heard the gentle snoring of the other girls and felt confident they were asleep. She slinked down to floor, placed the necklace back under the mattress, and pulled the kettle of water from beneath the bed.

She stared into the water until her eyes hurt and clouds covered the dim light of the moon. Too dark to see, Sara replaced the kettle and climbed back into bed. She retrieved the necklace, and holding it, went to sleep.

HER mother woke her in the dead of the night. Her face was pink. Beads of sweat patterned her forehead. A strange and surprisingly loud sound came from outside, a crackling that roared. The fire surrounded the house on all sides. Her father tried desperately to put out the flames that filled the cottage. He drenched the flames with water flowing from his fingertips, but they would not go out.

We have to get her out! her father shouted.

Her mother ran, carrying Sara to the back of the cottage. Her father broke a small window. Her mother ripped the necklace with the teardrop gem from her neck and gave it to Sara.

Always keep it close, my love.

Her father extinguished the flames outside the window. Hurry, he said. I don’t know how long I can hold them back. Her mother placed her through the broken window. Run, baby, and don’t look back.

Sara ran. She tripped. She glanced toward the house. She expected her parents to climb through after her, but the flames rose in front of the window.

Sara felt warm tears rushing from her eyes aided by grief and smoke. A laugh resounded in the distance, and the fire rose from the cottage as the tears blurred Sara’s vision. She did as her mother said and hid behind a wild shrub not far from her home.

The smoke rose and twisted in the night air. A cold, stiff rain fell, putting out the fire, but it was too late. The smoke smothered Sara’s parents before the fire ever reached them.

Strong hands lifted her from among the leaves.

MARI was absent from breakfast the next morning. Sara stared into her bowl as Miranda talked and combed her hair. After breakfast, Sara carted the tray of bowls and dishes to the kitchen.

She rolled up the sleeves of her dress and dipped the first plate into the basin of water. Taking the bar of hard soap, she rubbed it between the palms of her hands. The soap would not lather. Sara stopped and put down the soap.

Faint sobs came from the back of the kitchen.

She dried her hands on the worn old dish rag and walked in the direction of the sobbing. Behind the large pots and sacks of potatoes on the floor was Mari.

Sara knelt down, took the handkerchief from her dress pocket, and gave it to Mari.

Mari looked up. Her sobs quieted. Embarrassment overcame her sadness for a moment. She took the cloth from Sara and wiped the tears off her cheeks.

Thank you.

Sara got up to return to the dishes.

Wait. Stay with me for a little while.

Sara knelt beside Mari. Do you want some breakfast? Sara asked. I think there’s still some porridge left over.

Mari shook her head. Her hand gripped the worn cloth.

Silence hung in the air for some time.

Sara struggled for words as if the silence would destroy them both had she not found them.

What happened to your father?

Mari glared at her.

Sara looked down at her hands.

My father, Mari started. Her voice was softer than her glare. My father died. More tears leaked from her eyes. He was a soldier for the Resistance. Hephaestus’s men killed him. I got the letter yesterday.

Sara was aware that Hephaestus was the Fire Elemental everyone in Mirmina feared, but she knew very little of what he had done. Her parents had sheltered her from it.

The messenger gave me this. Mari held up a silver band for Sara to see. The band was large enough to be worn around the arm. When he was alive, my father wore this as a symbol of his allegiance to the Resistance and to the protection of Mirmina. She balled up the material and threw the silver band across the room.

Was your father an Elemental?

No. She sobbed. He was just a man, but Hephaestus killed him like a beast.

Sara fought for something to say. My parents died too. I was with them when it happened, but I don’t remember much. I dream about it sometimes, but I forget the details in the morning.

Tears dripped into Mari’s hands.

Sara touched her arm. I’m sorry. No one can say anything to make you feel right again. I just wanted you to know you aren’t alone. Everyone here lost somebody.

Mari stabbed her with her eyes. My grief is cheap. That’s what you’re saying.

Sara shook her head. She stood. I don’t know what I’m saying. Please, forgive me.

Sara left the kitchen. She might get into trouble for leaving the dishes unwashed, but she failed to sooth Mari. What was I thinking telling her her grief was on an assembly line?

A crash came from the kitchen. Sara ran back inside.

A basket lay on its side. Cracked shells and egg guts littered the floor.

What happened here? Ms. Fiora stormed into the room.

Sara looked to Mari. Mari’s lips trembled.

It was me, Sara blurted out. I broke the eggs.

Ms. Fiora grabbed her arm. What happened, girl?

I slipped, backed into the shelf. The basket fell. I tried to catch it, but…

You know what eggs cost. Ms. Fiora pulled Sara out of the kitchen and dragged her to the anteroom where the girls read and played jacks and dice. The girls stopped their activities and looked up at Sara and Ms. Fiora.

Ms. Fiora left the room.

Sara, what— Miranda stopped and sank back into the crowd.

Ms. Fiora returned with the switch. Palms up.

Sara slowly offered her hands.

Ms. Fiora snapped the switch across her palms. The pain stung and left heat. Ms. Fiora continued to strike her hands. Sara’s palms burned and itched, but she held her hands out.

Mari ran into the room. Sara thought she would speak up and tell Ms. Fiora that what Sara told her was a lie. Mari was the one who broke the eggs. Don’t say anything, Sara thought. Ms. Fiora will finish with me. But if you say anything, she’ll snap your palms and give me double for lying. But Mari bit her tongue. Her eyes