Petrified

“I bet she’s going to be a necromancer, just like that wicked grandmother of hers.” I hear as I overtake the gossiping hags in front of me, making sure to jostle a shoulder in my passing. They gasp when they see me, expectedly. Fighting the urge to turn around and spook them with my wiggling fingers, I press on to Ancestral Hall. I can’t be late to my own birthday party, no matter how much I’m dreading it.

Shrieks of terror followed by familiar giggles flood my ears. I smile.

“It’s not polite to speak ill of the petrified, Mabel.” Safaa’s sweet voice rings out. One half of my entire world.

“And it’s not polite to use your abilities on your elders!” the hag screeches.

“Shall I ask my mother which is worse?” The empty threat shut her up. Safaa’s mom works on the council, and no one wants their interference, even Safaa.

The other half of my world manifests next to me, hands shoved in his pockets, looking down at me with a goofy smile. “Happy birthday kid.”

“Thanks Arlo.” Rolling my eyes at the absurd nickname, and that he was acknowledging my birthday. I turn eighteen years old today, not only marking a year since I lost my grandmother, but also the day for my biggest fear. As for the nickname, it’s guilty on two accounts. The first being I’m now an adult, secondly, and the most important, the same age as Arlo. If I was still a kid, so was he, but I’d get a gentle jab to the arm for pointing that out.

For everyone else this day was coveted, but for me it felt like the procession to the gallows. Her solitary statue flashes in my mind's eye, eternal wrinkles and all. I feel the warmth of Safaa’s hand slip into mine, the pressure of her assuring me everything will be okay. The towering marble building shining in the sun makes my stomach churn. I must’ve put my lead boots on this morning because I couldn't take another step. My arm lifts and tugs with Safaa’s persistence, but my legs won’t budge.

“Come on kid, time waits for no one.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“Shh,” Arlo looks around at the mass of people flooding past us, excitement plastered on their smug faces as they ascend the marble steps. “Don't say that around this lot. Hired ears live in even the smallest cracks of the town.”

It wasn’t necessarily a crime to speak ill of the ceremony, but it was to not participate in it. So, the council tended to keep tabs on anyone who didn’t practically worship the whole ordeal. What was there to worship, though? Me destroying the last of my family? Or maybe me gaining an ability that will get me sent out to the outskirts, like it did her? I hated this day, but not as much as I did the enablers chattering about finding the best seats.

The street was emptying, the hesitant population of the outskirts the last to trudge up the stairs leading into Ancestral Hall. Balling my hands into fists, I take a deep breath and conjure all the courage my parents passed down to me. I don’t remember them that well anymore, but from stories Grandma Mae told me, they were the bravest there ever was. They fought the most feared monsters in the wiles, the place beyond the outskirts, a direction most won’t even look in. Those were my parents. Their blood ran in my veins. I could do anything, even smash the thing closest to my heart in front of the entire town. I hoped I could, at least.

My two best friends loop their arms in mine, practically dragging me up the stairs and through the looming doors that sit open, warmly welcoming me to my doom. Reminiscent of a place mentioned deep below our feet in a book long banned; The outskirts didn’t only contain outcast people.

The warmth of a group hug settles deep into my bones, Safaa’s reassuring words wrapping around me after her arms drop away. I watch them scurry away and into the heightened rows around the amphitheater. I want to follow them as I always have, but not today. It’s officially my turn, and the burly man walking towards me reminds me of that. I recognized him immediately. He escorts the ascender. His voice is like a whisper over my pounding heart, beating at my ribs to escape.

“Name?”

“Aina Brar.” I hold my head up high and maintain eye contact when the meaning behind the name strikes him.

“I see…damn shame. This way then.” I follow behind as he walks into a dimly lit hallway. We stop and he pulls a lever, a holographic screen appearing in the air in front of him. I can only see the edges of it from around his shoulders, and don’t quite care to shuffle around to see more. I just want this over with. His reaction was rather kind to me, because yeah, it was a damn shame. Someone should have gone out there to the wiles, and brought their premature bodies back, petrified or not. But unfortunately, since their magic was trapped in their decomposed bodies, it went back to the earth, not the community. Anyone who doesn’t petrify of old age, the council neglects. Therefore causing the town to practically shun their families in return, a grand gesture of thanks for the safety of the town, outskirts, and possibly even the wiles from the vicious monsters that lurk out there in the dense wood.

I wish that was my fate instead of this. I wish I was already in the wiles, animals or monsters eating my body instead of standing here in front of hundreds of people who hate me and my blood, watching as I decide if I’m going to destroy something I love more than anything. My fingers pop in and out of their sockets, the echo of my tapping foot rings down the flickering hallway. I could run, I wouldn’t get far, but when they catch me, they’d send me to the wiles and my precious, beautiful, bloodstone grandmother could rest easy for eternity, like she deserves. I’m happy to be underground where the Mayor's muffled speech about gratitude and ongoing sacrifice could barely be heard over the hammering of my heart. I know the speech by memory though, being the same one since I could remember. Mayor Eaton was a man of tradition, my grandma would say.

A whirring noise under the floor rings out, I jump back. Maybe the universe heard my silent pleas and sent an earthquake to delay the inevitable.

“It’s just locating your family's plot.” He speaks.

“Oh, right.” Well, on with the show it seems. Like a faulty pipe, drips of dread begin filling me up. I’m waist-deep when the door in front of me slides open into the metal wall. I walk forward and enter the room, dim lights flashing on with each step I take. By the time I’m standing in the center of the large room, tears are sliding down my cheeks. One bright spot of light focuses on a single bloodstone statue, just a bit shorter than me.

“Hi, Grandma.” I wipe my tears away with my arm, reach out and slip my fingers into the cold, quartz wrinkled hands that are endlessly reaching out.

I remember watching her settle into the pose she spent the last year in. She was standing in the kitchen, a plate of food clutched in her grasp, bringing me the food I politely declined ten minutes previous.

“You never know when the food will run dry around here, best to never skip a meal. Creates bad habits, anyhow.” She said to me, as her legs slowly turned green, her freckles to red.

I lunged from my chair, sobbing, but she only passed me the plate and told me to eat. I had just gotten the plate from her grasp, hearing the slight clink of crystal on crystal. Just like that, Grandma Mae, the last person on earth whose blood was my blood, would only blink under the glinting sunrays dancing on her statue.

The floor rumbles below my feet, a whirring of gears. I slowly ascend into sunlight, cheering invades my ears, drawing my attention to the crowd that’s coming into view. With a scowling glare, I scan their oblivious, apathetic, gleeful faces looking for the only ones that matter. I spot two sad peas in a pod in the furthest row. Arlo attempts a smile, but it’s very lopsided and weak. Safaa’s face remains neutral with a slight frown I could spot from years of friendship. She was focusing. I realize that the reason I’m not shaking uncontrollably with tears streaming down my face was because of her. She was using her ability to shift my emotions into calmness. It was enough to tone my fears down, but not entirely dampen them. She never fully used her ability, feeling it was wrong to completely alter how someone felt. She mostly used it to soothe people, sometimes minorly inserting fear into deserving people, very rarely though.

I slightly wiggle my fingers at my side, saying hi to them. They wave back, Safaa bringing her hand to her heart and holding it there. Telling me she is with me. I turn my body around, getting a panoramic view of the now bored faces in the crowd surrounding me. This was usually a fun event, some people bet on which ancestor was going to get smashed, everyone else having a plethora of statues to choose from. Not me though. Just me and Grandma Mae in a sea of darkness. The last of the Brar girls.

I have one choice. One person. Rumors follow behind me everywhere, one of them being that my bloodline, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, was cursed to have only one child for eternity because our abilities were always evil. They say we were doomed to die out, and that they couldn’t wait for the day. My grandmother never paid any mind to it, even when I asked if it was true.

“You know my heart better than any, am I evil? Do I wish ill on our neighbors?” She’d always reply to my inquiries of the harsh rumors.

“Of course not.” I’d reply, which ended the conversation. I knew the truth, and if she didn’t care to correct their assumptions, then neither did I.

Once I got older, I realized these people, glaring at me for wasting their time by not smashing the most precious thing to me, were eviler than I could ever be no matter what ability I got, or didn’t get. Neither of Arlo’s parents acquired an ability after their 18th birthday, so they went to till the land in the outskirts. I wouldn’t mind that. The outskirts are home anyways.

Who's to say this is even how we get our abilities? What if we get them no matter what, and this is just a sick show the council puts on. For what, fun? Anyone who hadn’t gone through with the ceremony was banished to the wiles, never to be heard from again. What if they had abilities, and got to keep their statues? The best of both worlds?

I look up to find Arlo shaking his head at me. He could tell what I was thinking, always could. Like a gentle yet jarring jab to the forehead, he clouds my mind, something he wasn’t authorized to do outside of work for the council.

I shake my head free of his power and look down at the sledgehammer dangling in my grasp. I give it a squeeze, hoist it over my head with both hands, “Forgive me,” I whisper. Letting the sledgehammer fly, flipping through the air. Towards the mayor. A shuffle of commotion ensues, a projected shield is glowing in front of the mayor, gasps and whoops filling the stadium, energy pulsing through the crowd. They want a show, they can have one.

“This is disgraceful!” I scream, my chest heaving with words I've been forbidden to say. Men in uniforms are jumping the barrier and running to me, but still I scream. “You all are monsters for supporting this! I bet the wiles are full of people with glorious magic, better than any of you will ever have, because they didn’t smash their decedent loved ones to get it!” My throat is raw with emotion, hot tears burning my cheeks as I’m thrown to the ground, my face crunches under a rough boot. My shoulder burns as my arms are bound behind my back, but like a wild animal, rabid with truth, I carry on through the blood pouring from my nose. “They used to honor their dead! They buried them in the ground and honored them, with words on stone! The books are full of stories about it!” I’m screaming, the sound gurgling through the blood on my lips. My voice reverberates off of a containment bubble, pleas of sense falling on the only knowing ears, my own.

I wake up in dense woods, crisp wind bellowing across my skin, tingles running down my spine like I’m being watched. I stumble to my feet and take not two steps before an arrow whizzes passed my face. Whispers are flooding my ears. Hushed voices crowding me in, when a familiar voice, one I hadn’t heard since I was a child said, “Capture, not kill.”

“You’re not the boss, not out here. The wiles listen to no man, so why should we.” A deep voice retorts, then a sharp sting blooms across my neck. I bring my hand up, feeling the warmth between my fingers, coating my chest. I reach for my head, but it plummets too quickly to my feet for me to catch.

Sweat is beading at my temple, my heart racing as the jeers from the crowd wash over me.

“Smash the damn thing!” a man in the front row barks.

“The hell are you waiting for? I have chores!” from somewhere deeper in the mass of people.

I look down and see the sledgehammer swaying in my hand. My eyes find Arlo, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. I’m surprised he’s still conscious after that.

I'm furious he used his ability on me, showed me my future and the wiles, taking my choice away. I get why he did it, to save me, someone he loves, but I wanted to save someone I love too. And now I can't. I know my grandmother would rather be shattered into a million pieces than see me banished to the wiles, my head departed from my body, but still, my fingers loosen around the sledgehammer.

The familiar voice enters my mind. It was aged and hardened, but the lilt of soothing sweetness that lulled me to sleep was still there, hidden underneath the rasp of surviving the wiles. It’s a voice that haunted my dreams for years, waking up in a cold sweat, calling for a mother that was supposed to be one with the earth. What was my long-dead mother doing in the wiles? Letting me live thirteen years with a cloud of shame hanging over me, that didn’t belong to me? It belonged to my parents. They were the monster hunters who never returned, I was just the child they left behind. Abandoned to be ridiculed, loathed, and feared, just for existing.

Being the product of a long line of waifs outcast to the outskirts for our abilities, I clutched the wooden handle tightly with both hands, bringing it over my head, and let loose prayers to my long-shattered ancestors for the most robust, iniquitous powers the town of Everrock had ever seen.

A man shouted from the seats, rousing a chorus of berates for me to hurry up. I ignored them. I squandered my sadness and despair, now all that was left was bargaining. I sent silent pleas to all the bygone banished Brars. Pleas of forgiveness, strength, revenge.

“Bless me, Grandma, I have business in the wiles.” I whisper, swinging the large head of the hammer down. Watching cracks splinter from head to toe, then she crumbles at my feet, my tears collapsing with her.

No one cheers for me, like they had for every other ceremony. My friends don’t cheer, which I appreciate. But the rest of the townsfolk have no idea how I felt about the ceremony. That this was the worst moment of my entire life. They weren’t being silent out of respect for my loss, they were being silent for fear of what I gained. Murmurs begin to break out. Crude accusations being thrown at me, vile names, pleadings to send me and my evil ability away.

Mrs. Rowe, Safaa’s mom, stands up and calms the crowd while I look at a chunk of bloodstone crystal near my foot. I want to scoop it up, take a piece of Grandma Mae with me. Safaa could make it into a fine necklace, if I asked. But hundreds of eyes were on me. I could blink wrong and set this crowd into a riot. My fingers begin itching, tingling, vibrating, and the piece of my grandmother thuds against my palm. I quickly close my hand.

“Banish her! Don’t you see her fingers twitching?” A woman wails.

“Everyone, please calm down. Aina will be staying in the assessment center until her preliminary in a fortnight. Abilities take time to come in, I assure you there is no danger. Right, Aina?” She turns to me, her projected voice reaching me from across the arena.

“From me? Certainly not.” I say, a coy smile on my face as I hide my sparking fingers behind my back, eager to do some damage. Not yet anyway. I have business in the wiles first.