65 – Elisa

“This, my friends, is why we can never let our guard down against the demons,” the Legate said as we finished excavating what remained of the villagers’ bones.

It was a mountain valley like the countless others in the Kushtar range. A few habitations, many pastures, some fields, isolated enough that nobody would notice.

“This abomination,” the Legate continued, pointing at the mountain of bones, “is the work of Augustus and his followers. Men, women, children, all sacrificed on the altar of the vainglorious ambitions of one family.”

Some of my comrades shifted. I knew they had bloodlines, and so did the Legate.

“Remember this when you train, when you investigate, when you teach. Always remember. This is why we fight.”

Excerpt from Life of Lila Erl, by Samir the Architect.

Elisa yearned for the sea. Not the version her mother described, salt, fish, and hard labor, but the one in the stories, where the horizon was a door to idyllic islands and forgotten treasures. Where every wave carried something worth chasing, and someone worth chasing it with. She had watched it every morning since she was old enough to slip away from her mother. Always from the same spot.

From the west of Esmera, follow the path under the cliff until it ends. Climb over the ledge, then under a rock. That was her secret place, with an open view of the sea, and of the city and its harbor from where she would one day depart.

Today was supposed to be that day, but no ship had docked in Esmera since the incident.

She’d waited for so long already, a few more nights wouldn’t change a thing.

She knew the names of the ports on the other side. Vethara. Kator. The Iscari straits, where the current ran so fast that only three ships had ever crossed it and survived. She cared even more for the places whose names didn’t reach the stories.

A wave hit the rocks below, splashing some water on her clothes. She let it. The sea was restless today. Dark and deep. Just how she liked it.

A glance to the horizon. One to the harbor. Nothing.

Elisa stood up. She ducked under the rock, climbed down the ledge, followed the path under the cliff.

The path ran downhill, which meant the city got louder as she descended. Not as loud as usual. Cart wheels on uneven stone, arguments slipping through a window, the smell of gutter running alongside a butcher shop. The streets were narrow. Washing lines crossed overhead, shirts and linens blocking the morning light in strips. She knew every shortcut, every gate left unlatched, every dog that barked and every one that bit.

She lived on an unnamed street, fourth house on the left. The door was open. It was always open in the morning.

Her mother was inside, standing at the table with Elisa’s good jacket folded over her arm. When she saw her, she smiled.

She helped her into the jacket, smoothing the shoulders, checking the buttons.

“Hair,” her mother said.

Elisa sat. Her mother’s fingers were sure, they always were. She didn’t ask about the sea. She knew where Elisa had been.

When she finished she came around to look. Studied her for a moment.

“Good,” she said. Then she picked up her own coat from the hook by the door. “I’ll be at Renner’s until past dark. Close the door behind you. You know where the key is.”

Her mother paused at the threshold. She looked back.

“You’ll tell me tonight,” she said. “I trust you to make the right choice.”

“Tonight,” Elisa said.

Then she was gone.

Elisa sat. It was always the same. Then she stood. She closed the door behind her and locked it. Today she would choose her class. She had waited fifteen years for that.

The city changed as she went. The streets widened. She kept in the middle of the road.

The class office sat at the junction between the main street and the harbor. Everyone knew where it was, and everyone came here once in their lives.

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She passed the docks on the way. A deckhand sat on a crate with nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass.

There was a short queue. She joined it.

Three groups ahead of her. In front of her, a boy standing between his parents. He was her age. Everyone got their class on the day of their fifteenth birthday. Waiting longer was technically allowed, but who could resist?

Clean jacket. Good boots. He was reading something, lips moving slightly. Nervous, she realized. Same as her.

Though not for the same reasons.

What if the class she wanted wasn’t offered? What if the sea wasn’t there? Class selection tended to go the way of the applicant, but sometimes it didn’t. And maybe today was such a time.

The family ahead moved forward. Two groups now.

The boy glanced back. Caught her looking.

“You’re alone?” he asked.

She almost didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Yes.”

He turned back around.

The queue moved.

The wait felt long, though she knew it wasn’t. The process was short. A few minutes per person.

Soon, it was the boy’s turn. He entered the office.

Another family had joined the queue behind her.

The boy exited with a smile on his face. Their eyes met. “Good luck,” he said.

Luck? She thought, straightening her back.

She smiled back. “Don’t need it.” And entered the class office.