The Library

The Edge, between Falls Church and Reclamation.

986 ADI

On the other side of the oak desk, the student educator studies her notes. Behind me, next to the door, the teacher watches, probing me with her powers. I sheepishly peek over my shoulder, I didn't get a good look at her when I was brought in. Do I even know her? No. She's new—at least to me. I don't know if that's good or bad. Her face is friendly with even features and smooth white skin. Her black hair falls down on both sides in gentle twists. She wears the official robes of the teachers, intricate white strips of cloth, and a golden belt with gems and filigree. Not surprising. This is a formal matter, after all. I bring my eyes back to the student educator. 

"Hmm," she says, pushing her glasses up her nose, still studying her notes.

I should remain silent. I've already spoken my mind too much during this interrogation. But the question has plagued me since she arrived at the school a few days ago, and here she is now, sitting in front of me. "Why do you have those?" I ask.

She looks up and pulls the glasses from her face. "These?"

I nod.

"They're so I can see."

"I know that," I say, with a joking tone to mask my irritation, but I doubt it will fool the teacher. None of us truly know how much the teachers can sense. All we know for sure is that it is impossible to lie to them. That's why she's here, and it makes me uneasy—but I will do everything in my power to hide that fact from her.

"You ask a good question," says the educator. "I developed far-sightedness when I lived in Twilight. When I came here and learned about the Savior and He gave me my new heart, He came in person from Jerusalem to heal and restore me…"

The creaking of my chair interrupts her as I lean in. "God himself came here?" 

"Yes," she says, showing appreciation for my response.

"Then how could you possibly still have an affliction?"

Her head cocks to the side and she sighs. "He could have healed me, but I asked to keep my far-sightedness as a reminder of how blind I was."

My chair creaks again as I lean back. "Huh," I say, in an upbeat tone that does not match my thoughts. It's dumb that God afflicts us. Even dumber to stay sick. I would think that would be a reminder of how awful He is.

Her eyes narrow. Has my expression given me away, or is the teacher prompting her? "You don't agree with my decision." There is no question in her voice, so I don't respond, even though I should. After a short pause and a glance at her notes, she says, "How old are you, Kathrine?"

"Sixteen. Why?"

"Have you learned so little in all your years?"

My face tightens before I can stop it. Great.

"I don't mean it as an insult," she says.

I can't help but take it as one. I've learned many things in my years. I've absorbed countless lessons and I know full well what she means. The implication is that she was blind and now she sees. I don't agree. I think she's more blind now than ever. She follows God and His teachers blindly, without question. I ask questions—not outwardly, well, most of the time—because it gets me in trouble. That's why I'm in the hot seat today; I let my guard down and asked a question I should have kept to myself. I can still hear it floating in my mind. Aren't you complicit when you stand by and do nothing? My home finance educator clearly understood my meaning, though it was directed at a student, not the teachers. At this point, I've made an adequate case and I believe I'm past any danger of severe correction. All I need to do now is keep my mouth shut for the remainder of the session.

The educator straightens. "You and I are not so different, you know. I thought I knew everything. I questioned the authority of the teachers, I thought they were unloving, and, like you, young Kathrine, I hated them."

My eyes widen. "I don't hate them."

The educator looks to the teacher. I twist to look at her as well. Her disappointed expression sets a fire in my belly. Don't respond. Don't give them any more reason to punish you. But how can I not respond? I need the answer if there is an answer to be had. It is worth the consequence. I twist back and inject curiosity rather than condemnation into my tone. "If there is anything that resembles hatred, it is because they let bad things happen to us. How is this community any better than Twilight?"

The educator looks at me with pity, which will fuel my anger if I let it. Instead, I take my focus off the intention of her expression and consider the beauty of her face and how lovely her raised hair accents her cheeks. The shift of my focus produces a different feeling. One of admiration. That is a much better feeling for the teacher to read. 

"The struggles in Mid-Community cannot be compared to Twilight, I assure you," she says. "I've lived in that horrible place where the blessing of God evaporates on the parched ground."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I have much to learn." My words are truthful and carefully selected. I am sorry that she suffered in Twilight and I do wish to learn—more about Twilight. But I'll do that another time, away from the prying powers of the teacher. 

The educator studies me and looks to the teacher for more insight. Judging by her expression, the teacher has accepted my response. "We're done here for now," she says. "You may go, Kathrine."

I stand, straighten my school uniform, and turn toward the teacher, keeping my eyes fixed on the door handle and my mind distracted. As I pass by, she stops me with a hand. My eyes rise slightly to meet hers.

"Do you know the scriptures, Kathrine?" The teacher's voice is gentle, but being so close and fearing her ability to see through me causes a visceral reaction that I am unable to control.

"Yes," I say.

Her playful, crooked smile, lifted by the tightening of her cheek, lightens the tense moment. "Quote Psalm 139:16 for me, please."

I recall the memory verse and clear my throat. "Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed," I recite. "And, in your book, they all were written, the days fashioned for me when as yet there were none of them."

Her eyes probe me and the smile fades. "You know that I know because He knows, right?"

My blood chills and my voice trembles. "I haven't done anything."

"It is not what you've done, but what you will do."

"I don't understand. Am I to be corrected now for something I haven't done yet?"

"No. Not correction. I have a demand. When you learn of the secret and you go to uncover it, take Brant with you."

"What Secret?"

"You will know when you hear it."

"Why Brant?"

Her face turns stern. "I will not let you go if you do not take him. Do you understand the terms of our agreement?"

I nod, perplexed by her words.

Her face warms and she gives me her crooked smile again. "Good. Now run along. The bell is about to sound."

# # #

My heart and mind are a whirlwind as I go to my locker. How much do the teachers know? Does God reveal everything to them? Does she know everything I've said and done? No. If she did, I would not have avoided correction. Why the mystery? Why the subterfuge?

Why can't the teachers speak plainly?

The school bell rings when I reach my locker. As I open the thin wooden locker door, all of the doors in the hallway seem to open with it, and students flood out of their classrooms. I pay no attention to them as I pull out my brown coat. It is a Honeywine coat, crafted by Jan Honeywine herself, the envy of my classmates. So is my leather backpack. It's a Cranwell, crafted in New Atlanta. These are my prized possessions. They cost me every coin I've ever made—and I've made a lot of coin for my young age.

"Hey, Kathrine." A face appears over my shoulder as I slide my backpack on. It's Tommy Baker. I lift my chin but say nothing. I'll let him work for a response. "Are you coming with us to the lake after school?"

I give him a look that says, 'Please. I have better things to do.'

"Okay," he says. "I'll leave a spot for you in the carriage if you change your mind."

I put my hand on his chest, knowing full well the impact it has on him, and look him in the eyes. "You're a sweet boy.”

He starts to stutter a response as I close my locker and brush past him. "R-r-right. I'll be just—you know—if you change your mind."

Faces turn toward me as I walk down the hall. Expressions request my attention, but I don't give it. My eyes are fixed on Brant, pulling his jacket out of his locker. I weave past a few students, come up behind him, and wait for him to notice me.

His eyes snap to mine as he pulls his old worn leather backpack out. "Hi, Kathrine. I didn't see you there." Brant is a handsome boy, though his chin is a bit more pointed than I like. His eyes are brown. They match the color of his short hair.

Let's see if he knows something about this secret.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" I prod.

He squints. "I'm sorry. What?"

"The teachers are onto you, you know." I look up and down the hall, pretending to look for them.

He closes his locker. "I don't know what you're talking about, Kathrine."

"The secret," I say, giving him a knowing expression to add to the pressure.

"Oh," he says, "the secret." His tone is sarcastic.

We have to fix that. Perhaps I came on too strong, maybe too eager. "Alright, I say with a shrug, "if you don't want my help." I turn and start to walk away but I only get a few feet.

"What do you know, Kathrine?"

I pause, get control of the excitement forcing itself into my expression, and turn back toward him. "I know that they're watching you and they're probably going to bring you before the student educator."

"What do you know about my secret?" He looks nervous.

I have nothing—but I can't show my cards. How can I get him to confess the secret? My mind races to formulate a plan, but before I can speak, we are interrupted by Craig Peterson.

"I need you, Kath." Craig looks at Brant. "Sorry. This is important."

Brant pushes past us. "Take her. I don't care."

I clutch his backpack strap. "Wait."

He pulls out of my grasp. "What do you want from me, Kathrine?"

"Come with us."

Craig looks at me with panicked eyes. "He can't come. It's a secret."

My mind whispers his words. It's a secret.

"It's okay," I say. "You can trust Brant. Right, Brant?"

The two boys share a suspicious glance.

"Yeah," says Brant. He seems more amicable now that it is not his secret I want to delve into.

"See," I say, "You can trust him. Now, where do you want to tell us this secret?" Craig's strong features are frozen and I can almost hear the gears whirring in his head. I put my hand on his chest. "Don't overthink it, Craig." I let my fingers slide down and I play with a button on his vest. I sense him holding his breath.

"Okay," he says. "I'll show you in the science room. Mr. Hallow left me in charge of cleaning up." We follow Craig down the hall. I keep my eyes on his back to avoid eye contact with other students. There's no time for socializing. We move through the crowd of students, each one is wearing a variation of the school uniform. We duck into the science room.

Craig spins around and looks at Brant. "Close the door."

Brant shuts the door behind him.

"Okay," I say, "Looking around the room. "What's the secret?"

Craig locks eyes with me. "You know how we go out and sweep Reclamation?"

"Yeah."

"George and I found a tunnel. It led right into an ancient library filled with the carcasses of old books. In the back, behind a shelf, we found an alcove. It used to be hidden by the bookshelf but age warped the shelf so now you can see the alcove behind it." He stops talking.

I look over my shoulder at the door, then back at Craig. "What?"

"That's it."

I scrunch my face. "That's your big secret? You didn't check the alcove?"

"No."

I compose myself. I've learned that the boys don't like girls who are demanding. Elusive is alluring, demanding is repulsive. "So—what are you going to do now?" I say, feigning confidence in his abilities.

"George had to go on a trip with his parents, and I don't want to wait for him to come back, so I thought you might come with me to check it out. There might be treasure, and you're the one with the gift for turning treasure into coin."

"Well then, let's go treasure hunting," I say, eyes lit.

"I can't tonight."

"How about tomorrow, on our day off?"

"During the day? No thanks."

"How about Brant and I go for you and share the profits from the treasures we find. You'd get all the coin and none of the risk."

Craig squirms.

"You know I won't cheat you," I say. "We have a long-running partnership, I don't want to ruin that—or our friendship." That should get him on the hook.

He gives a stiff nod, letting me know that he isn't completely okay with it.

"Great. Where's the tunnel?"

He stands frozen like a statue.

"Come on, Craig. Where's the tunnel?"

His eyes dart back and forth from me to Brant, then he fishes in his pocket and pulls out a crumpled folded piece of paper. "If you get caught," he says, leveling his eyes at me, "you can say with a clean conscience that I'm not involved—because I'm not. In fact, don't mention me at all. You got me?"

I take the paper and feel it in my fingers.

"You got me, Kath? I'm completely out until the treasures are here, safe and sound."

"You're completely out, Craig. Your name doesn't come up if we're caught. They won't know you're involved."

What a strange game we play.

It is understood that the teachers don't read our minds; they've told us this themselves. They describe their ability as reading our hearts. But we're also told that God knows everything—and if He does—then what is hidden from Him or His servants? He knows all of the secret things we do and He allows them. My heart darkens as I remember what caused me to raise my question to the home finance educator. God knows everything. He knows where my father goes and when he returns home with the smell of sweet rot on his breath and anger in his heart. He knows everything and yet He does nothing to stop him from saying hurtful things to me, to my brothers, and to my mother. Terrible things.

That's why I think He's awful.

"You okay, Kath?"

I blink and bring Craig into focus. "What? Yeah, I'm fine," I say casually. "So—it's settled. Brant and I go tomorrow?"

Brant gives a subtle nod.

"Meet me at Zimmer Creek around six. Okay, Brant?"

He nods again.

That is the end of our secret meeting.

# # #

Brant waits for me at Zimmer Creek, then we use the map to find the tunnel and enter it. At a point where there was a cave-in, we see a dug-out passage with light coming in at the end. The passage leads up and into an ancient library with vaulted ceilings held up by vine-covered pillars. The walls are filled with shelves of deteriorated books. Dirty light floods in from windows above and debris and weathered furniture litter the space.

"Up this way," I say, climbing a set of stone stairs. They lead up to the second level which overlooks the first. The air is still and stale. I wonder if the reclamation teams know about this place. They must. They'd definitely want to use these materials.

Brant points. "There it is." He is pointing to a warped gap running down the side of a tall bookshelf. The light from above illuminates the space behind.

I look in. "There's definitely a space behind this thing. Help me break it apart." We position ourselves and pull on the shelf with all of our strength. It shifts. A few book covers fall and crack on the stone floor. "Again," I say, giving Brant a look of determination. We pull and the shelf structure gives way. Brant grips my arm, pulls, and shields me with his body.

CRACK!

He holds me tight and his face is fierce. I've never seen him like this. It's nice. Sort of gallant. When the sound subsides and the dust settles, I pull away and dust off my pea coat. Then we both peer into the alcove. It goes in about ten feet. There are no stairs, no doors … no treasures. "That's disappointing," I say. "Some secret."

"Maybe there's something in here that isn't hidden behind an old shelf." Brant scans the upper floor as he walks to the stone banister. "There's debris of old furniture. Maybe we'll find something useful."

I join him at the banister and look down. There's probably something in the debris, but that's a lot of work. I wanted a secret place, a place untouched, a place with treasures ripe to be plucked from shelves and tabletops.

What a waste of time.

I'm not digging through dirty debris to find a few trinkets. I'll get Craig and George to do it. "Let's go," I say, trying to suppress the annoyed expression forcing its way to my face. No one responds favorably when I let my annoyance show. Calm confidence, that's how I get what I want.

Brant's face scrunches. "We have the whole day. Why leave now?" He looks determined. He wants to stay in this dirty place, and I have no leverage to convince him otherwise.

I'll go with it for now. It will make him happy—and it might give me future leverage with him. "I guess it makes sense to look around," I say, faking excitement.

He smiles. It's a nice one. I don't think I've ever seen him smile.

We explore the second floor and find a few curious items. There is a chair that might look nice when cleaned and restored, a statue of an eagle catching a fish, and a metal box. The box is empty, but its rusty texture makes it special. We don't have rust in the cities. It's because there are no electrolytes in the rainwater—and something else I can't remember. So the metal box will fetch a fair price. I'm glad we stayed. 

But I don't have time to enjoy the discovery.

We're interrupted by echoing laughter. It's coming from below, and getting louder. Brant's strong hand grips my bicep and he pulls me back, away from the banister. I start to speak, but he puts a finger across his lips and stares at me intently.

THUMP.

Laughter and talking fill the room, and we melt into a dark recess in the wall. At this angle, I can see two of the laughing people. They are wearing the clothes of the ancients, which is a good indication that they're twilights. It never occurred to me that we would run into twilights in the Reclamation Zone. That is a miscalculation I won't likely repeat.

CLATTER. CLANG!

They move around on the first floor, laughing, banging, and talking.

"Where is he?" says one.

"He'll be here, don't worry," says another.

Who might they be looking for in Reclamation? My mind is alive with questions. Twilights rarely come into the Reclamation Zone because it's heavily guarded by the police and often monitored by the teachers and their angels. Whoever they're meeting, he must be important.

One of the men speaks. I can't hear him, but I do hear a response from another man just below us. "Whaaat?" he says, annoyed. Suddenly, there's a flurry of fevered whispers.

Did they notice us? I crouch down and Brant follows my lead.

"Over here," says one in a forceful whisper.

I freeze, breathless. A loud growling sound reverberates, and the men start laughing.

"Look what we have. It's a wild beast."

I crawl across the dusty stone floor to the banister. Through the spaces between its spindles, I can see them, five men, closing in around a crouched lioness. "Aren't you a pretty kitty," says one, sliding a sword out of its sheath. The others have weapons drawn. I've never seen so many weapons. "You guys ever had cat meat?" says the man with the sword as he stalks the scared lioness.

"They're going to hurt her," I whisper.

"That's not the worst part," says Brant.

Beyond the lion, from our angle, I detect movement in a dark cubby. Is that a cub? Where are the teachers? Where are the angels? Why don't they stop this?

The lioness hisses and growls louder as the men close in. She is no match for them. I can't let them do this. I can't let them hurt her. I look around on the floor for something to throw, something that will distract them so the lioness and her cub can escape. My fingers wrap around a chunk of something that fell from the vaulted ceiling long ago.

Brant's eyes are two small brown islands in seas of white. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting them," I whisper.

I start to rise but he holds me down. "Are you nuts?" he whispers.

I struggle in his grip. "Stop it. They'll go investigate, and we can get out of here."

"There are five of them," he says. "They only need one to investigate a sound. The others will keep doing what they're doing."

"We can't just let them kill her and her cub."

"I don't want you to get hurt." He looks at me with intense eyes, then pulls them away to peer down at the men.

"We have to do something, Brant."

He starts crawling backward toward the dark shadows and recesses of the wall, dragging me with him. I can't break free of his iron grip. At the wall, he says. "Stay here," with a shove of his finger. "I mean it, Kathrine. Don't. Move."

I give a sheepish nod and he quickly turns. I watch him follow the wall, keeping in the shadows. When he gets as far as the men, he pulls away from the wall and moves to the banister. What is he doing?!

He calls down. "Do not harm that animal. Take your weapons and go."

There is a murmur from the men, but it is drowned out by the growl of the frightened lioness. I crawl toward the banister as the voice of the one with the sword rises strong in defiance. "Go back to your momma, child." He doesn't look at Brant. His eyes are still fixed on the lioness.

Brant starts to climb down the stone staircase. "You're not in Twilight, gentlemen. The rules are different here and you know it." I can't believe how calm Brant sounds. Is this why the teacher made me bring him? To protect me? No, that can't be it. They could have done that themselves. Why send a boy?

"I am aware of the rules," says the man with the sword, moving in a way I've never seen—almost like a dance.

Another man meets Brant at the bottom of the stairs with something that looks like a club. Brant has to look up at him, but his tone makes him seem taller and stronger than the man. "If you strike me here, the angels will avenge me."

The man with the club freezes. This brings a quick response from the man with the sword. "You're a coward, Blaine. Ixnael has never been wrong and I'll prove it." He lifts his blade. "Blessed are you, Oh, Lord our God. I thank you for this life and for the food we are about to eat." Before I can process the words, the sword cuts into the neck of the lioness. She attempts to lunge forward but instead falls into a heap onto the dirty, tiled floor.

No! My gut tightens and I grip my mouth.

Brant pushes past the man at the bottom of the stairs and goes to the body of the lioness. The man with the sword towers over Brant. "You think you know things," says the man. "You think you're protected." He crouches down near Brant and I can barely hear him as he says, "Your world is about to shatter."

Brant's eyes rise from the animal and look at the man with a startling intensity. "If God doesn't avenge you for this, I will."

The man laughs. "You can try, boy. You can certainly try. In fact, I encourage it. We could do it right now if you like."

Brant continues to stare at the man.

He won't do it; will he? I scan the large space, first and second floor. Where is the teacher? She knows. Why doesn't she stop this? I tremble as Brant rises. "Strike this body down," he says, "and I am forever in the love of God. Your fate, however, will hang in the balance."

The man leans down and puts his face close to Brant's, "I don't believe what you believe."

Is he going to kill him? I try to stand, but my legs lack strength. Please, please, please, God don't let him kill him.

My body locks up as a voice below yells, "Enough!" It is deep, and all five men respond by standing at attention. Is he their commander? He comes into view below me and I can hardly believe my eyes. I've only ever seen this posture on the pages of ancient books. He wears the most spectacular metal garment I've ever seen. It is a war garment, dark blue with gold trim. "You have come for a reward, have you not? It would be a pity if you were to squander it to teach this impudent boy a lesson."

The five stand, unmoving.

"You'll find the chest on your way back. Take it and return to your outpost."

"Yes, sir," they all say in unison.

As they start to leave, he adds, "Take the animal with you. You must eat it. That is the law."

"Yes, sir," they say, less in unison. Brant backs away as the men grapple with the lioness and carry her away with them.

"Are you alright, boy?"

Brant's voice is still confident and unwavering. "Who are you?" he says, chin lifted and defiant.

"A better question is, who are you? This was a private meeting. It was agreed."

I rise up, revealing myself. Brant's eyes grow wide. "The teachers sent us," I say, working hard to hide the warble in my voice.

The man doesn't look at me. "This is breaking protocol," he says. "You must be very important to them." 

What a strange reply. What does our importance have to do with anything?

He turns and looks up at me. "What is your name, child?"

Child? I take offense and almost choose not to answer, but that's not how I get what I want. I'll give him this and see where it goes. "Kathrine," I say with resolve.

A smile rises on his dark and handsome face. "Now that makes sense."

"Makes sense? Why? I'm not anybody."

"Not yet," he says with another smile.

His words rattle me. What does he mean, 'not yet?'

He reaches into his pocket and slides a silver coin out. It's larger than the coins we use for buying and selling. "Here," he says, turning and offering it to Brant. "Give this to her." He turns and walks to a dark exit on the far wall without looking at me again. My body trembles without permission. The last thing he says before disappearing into the darkness is, "Consider it a gift—from Luna." Then, he's gone.

Brant and I stare at each other, speechless, as the sound of the man's departure echoes out of the dark opening.

Brant speaks first. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

I walk along the banister. "I don't know. I have no idea what he's talking about."

"Did the teachers send you?" he asks.

"Sort of, but not like I was implying. The teacher said that I would learn a secret and that I had to bring you."

He glares. "Are you serious?! The teachers know about this, and you didn't tell me?"

I start to make my way down the stone stairs. "Don't act indignant. God knows everything, so the teachers know." I say this with a confidence I didn't have before I recited that memory verse yesterday—and, particularly, after what has happened here.

"We don't know that for sure."

"It doesn't matter," I say, taking the stairs quickly. "You're upset about the wrong things."

"Oh? And what things should I be upset about?"

"This!" I say, swinging my arm over the banister. "They know. They let this happen. Does that not make your blood boil?" He looks confused as I continue down the stairs. "The teachers let those men kill her—that poor lion. And what were they doing here in Reclamation? Why did the teachers allow it at all? If I were you, I'd be asking those questions."

"No," he says.

"What?"

"No," he says more forcefully. "I don't question the Almighty. If he allowed this, it is for a greater good."

"Greater good," I spit. "You've seen what I've seen—the horrible things they allow to happen, even in Mid-Community."

"People do what they do … and the teachers teach."

"Well, I don't like their lessons—or the curse."

His voice and expression soften. "I don't either. Sometimes. But I appreciate the lesson being taught here." He looks at the blood-smeared tiles as though realizing something profound.

"And what lesson is that, Brant?"

"That free will is a gift that comes with a cost."

"We can still have free will and the protection of the teachers. The two do not have to be exclusive."

"I'm not saying they are. I know they aren't. While you were destined to come here, and they honored your free will, they made you bring me. That's how they work. They guide us."

"They should walk with us like a parent walks with a child. This violence is unacceptable. Aren't they complicit for allowing it?" 

These are the words that brought me into the student educator's office yesterday. How strange.

"You're missing something profound here," says Brant.

"Am I? Please, enlighten me," I say with a tone that is not as confrontational as the words themselves.

"Someone has asked God to take you into the darkness. Your name meant something to that man—the one who commanded the others."

"I'm sure it was nothing."

"There is also the fact that we were not supposed to be here. The man spoke of rules and protocol. If they have an agreement with the teachers, the rules were broken—for you."

"For me? I'm not anybody."

"Not yet."

I look at the floor, painfully aware that my worried expression is on display for him.

"Kathrine, the lesson is this. You were destined to face them because of your free will, but the teacher made sure you didn't face them alone. That is what they do."

My eyes snap to his. "Why? What do you think would have happened? Do you think they would have taken me?"

"I think you would have gone with them. Willingly."

Willingly? My breath leaves me, threatening not to return. Is it true? Would I go into Twilight? 

"But I'm here," he says.

My breath catches in my throat and I wait for the emotion to quell. "Yes," I say at last. "You're here."

"They knew I would not let the darkness take you. I won't. I promise. You're never alone."

I can't breathe. Why is this so emotional for me? I don't have time to process his words.

"Look," he says, pointing. In the recesses, hidden behind some wood debris, the little lion cub looks out at us. Brant says, "Hey there, little cub."

The cub growls.

I straighten myself as his eyes are focused on the cub.

Brant holds a hand out to him. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I couldn't save your mother."

The cub growls.

"He's wild," I say. "We should probably leave him."

Brant walks forward slowly, not heeding my warning. "It's gonna be okay. You're safe now."

The cub's growling continues.

"This is not a good idea, Brant. Wild animals can't understand us."

"He knows the law. I don't think he wants to live in the darkness. Right, little guy?" he says. "You're a good one. I know it." He crouches down and reaches out. The cub's brow rises and he stops growling. Brants slides his hand under its furry chin. The cub pulls back and cowers. The growling becomes more fierce.

"Just leave him. He'll be fine," I say.

Brant tries to reason with the cub again, but it crouches in its hole threateningly. Every attempt to move toward it produces a growl and a hiss.

"Okay," Brant finally says. "I accept your answer, but I'll return to check on you." He rises and backs away.

"Let's go back, Brant. Let's leave this place." I tug on his arm.

The two of us leave the way we entered, going back through the tunnel to the area near Zimmer Creek.

When we emerge from the tunnel, I hold out my hand to Brant. "Let's see it."

"See what?"

"The coin."

He draws it out of his pocket and I pluck it from his fingers. Embossed upon the surface of the coin are gears, like the inner workings of a clock, but the gears are odd. They don't match up. There is no logical connection between them. Along the edge of one half of the coin are tiny bumps. I run my finger across them and the coin clicks.

"There's something inside," I say.

Brant listens. "Do you think there is a clockwork mechanism inside this minted coin?"

"How is that possible?" I say. "Who could put a clock mechanism inside a coin? I don't believe even our finest craftsmen have that ability."

"Well, then," says Brant, "whoever made this has abilities we don't."

"Do you think it was made by the angels?"

"Let's ask the teachers."

"Are you kidding? I'm not showing them this unless they ask."

"They'll surely ask, Kathrine. Don't think for a second they'll let you keep that thing."

"We'll see about that," I say. "Come on. Let's get back."

Brants stops me. "I think we're being followed."

I look back at the concrete entrance to the tunnel covered in grass. The lion cub is crouching just inside, staring at us.

"You have a new friend," I say, with an elbow.

"My mother isn't likely to let me keep it. 'It won't stay that size,' she'll say. Lions grow up.'"

We stand, staring at the timid thing. Will it follow us?

"Come on. Let's go," I say, "If he follows us, I'm sure someone will take him in. It doesn't have to be you."

We head back, looking over our shoulders a few times along the way. The lion cub follows at a distance. As we get to the first neighborhood house in Mid-Community and we see all of the people and pets moving about on the street and in the yards, Brant turns to look at me. His eyes are only on me briefly. I turn to see what has caught his attention. A few paces behind us is the teacher—the one from the student educator's office. Has she come for the coin? I'll wait for her to ask. I'm not offering it.

She turns and calls to the lion. "Come here, boy. It's okay." He comes out from behind a bush and trots up beside her. "This little guy will need a home." She looks over her shoulder at Brant.

"My mom won't allow it," he says.

As the teacher scratches the fur on the back of the cub's neck, I feel a startling rise of anger. Her affection toward the cub reminds me of the lack of love she showed toward his mother. That cub wouldn't need a home if she hadn't let his mother die. It's wrong. Without my permission, a word escapes my lips. "Why?" I say, barely audibly.

The teacher stands. "That is quite a question."

"You don't have to answer it," I say, hoping to stop what I've put in motion.

"Everything that has breath has free will. That lioness chose to leave the protection we offer. She was on her way into Twilight, along with this little guy."

"So—she deserved to die?"

The teacher gives a crooked smile. "You are shrewd. God will use that. But your thoughts and heart are misguided." She steps closer. A shiver quakes in my gut. "Like the animals, you are pulled by the desires of the flesh. Learn the lesson the lioness could not learn."

I know this lesson. It's not the first time I've heard it—but it's different this time—in light of the things Brant said.

"Where was her protector?" says the teacher, rhetorically. "He was present within her very instinct, an instinct changed during the renewal, when fear was bound, but even though she knew the blessing and the safety it offers, she chose a path toward darkness. And God accepted her decision. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Kathrine?"

My mind puts the pieces together. Like the lioness, those who choose darkness hurt their children. I see my father's angry face in my mind's eye. The darkness is taking me because of him. He's leading me into it. If I go into the darkness, God will accept my decision. I shudder at the thought.

The teacher speaks as though reading my mind. "You have been given a protector. You are not alone." My mind whispers his name. Brant. My protector. The teacher's gaze is at first scrutinizing, then something else—something ... lovely.

"I have prayed for you," she says.

I have been wrong about the teachers—and about God. This realization fills me with emotion, but I battle it with everything that is within me. I won't break down in front of Brant. I correct my poise. "Thank you for the lesson, teacher. May I go now?"

With her permission, I leave them. I walk upright, offering a smile to the people on the street and the people in their yards. I carry myself with dignity and confidence all the way to my home. I give a kind greeting to my mother and aunt as I enter the house and climb the stairs to my room.

Only when the door to my room is shut, do I cry. Uncontrollably.