The Wind Maiden

By Dan Klinefelter

No Matter How Fast You Are, Some Things You Can't Outrun...

Thea loves to run.

Theadne Adir has a gift for speed. It’s the seventeen-year-old’s ticket off Qalon, the war-torn, dust-bowl of a planet she calls home. When she’s a star – track sports are big in the Sarall Supremacy – she can finally pamper her hard-working mom and get her little brother, Joss, the medical care he desperately needs.

When the Supremacy’s war kills Thea’s plans, her way out is shut until a chance encounter leads Thea on a race out of her scarred but familiar life and into the arms of an enemy not at all what they seem. With the help of an alien prince and some unlikely allies, Thea finds herself running not for medals, but for the future of Qalon and the soul of a downtrodden people.

From a theater’s catacombs to a nightmarish wilderness to the top of the tallest building on the planet, the struggle for Qalon coincides with Thea’s own struggle to accept that the lie her teacher told her just might be true: that she – Theadne Adir – is the living incarnation of Qalon’s greatest legend, the Wind Maiden.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Klinefelter
• Release date: May 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301921621

Dan Klinefelter

Dan discovered his love for words at a young age, a love rarely reflected in his report cards. Today, he works as a paramedic, and in the past has been everything from a radio DJ, a newspaper reporter, and an ordained minister. He lives in Steger, IL with his wife, Kristy, his youngest son, and a menagerie of critters to make Noah proud. He spends most of his free time writing, and sometimes that even includes putting something on paper. This is his first novel.

Book preview

THE WIND MAIDEN

By Dan Klinefelter

Copyright 2013 Dan Klinefelter

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you are reading this book did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you, please return it to Smashwords.com. Thank you for respecting this work.

For Kristy

TABLE OF CONTENTS

theadne adir

the twenty-five

city of tears

martyr’s bridge

the winds of destiny

the maiden reborn

the butcher of bralotod

talus of raal

the anguish

denizens of the shadows

ba’chi

the children of melu

rendezvous at daybreak

the qalonian

push-button war

mt. resplendent

a season too late

the great promise of the supremacy

the florec spire

the war at home

the river east fighting rebels

the vole trap

my life at war

the long road ahead

ASCENSION DAY PREVIEW

⸶ 1 ⸷

Theadne Adir

Thea loved to run.

Running gave her hope, and you didn’t find a lot of that in the Pit, the rundown neighborhood where Thea lived with her mom and her brother. Running kept her in shape, gave her confidence, and fueled her dreams of someday becoming a star.

Mostly, though, she loved it because she was fast – damned fast – and it gave her a shot at making it off this backwater planet.

Even now, as the broken walls and piles of shattered sandstone of the empty lot zipped past her periphery, she felt the pure joy of the moment. It didn’t matter that she trained in a dump or that her shoes were more holes than hide. It didn’t matter that martial law had canceled all meets for the past season. Even the war itself didn’t matter. Right now running did.

She turned a corner and waved at Joss. He waved back but kept his attention on the stopwatch he held. He wasn’t just her little brother: he was her trainer, too. Or the closest she had to one.

One more lap, she thought, and she’d get Joss back home. Her mom wouldn’t like that she had him out at all, much less –

The thought disappeared as her left leg struck a chunk of loose concrete, and she tumbled through the air. She rolled with the fall to bleed off the impact, then hopped to her feet again and walked it off. Not the first skinned knee she’d ever had. Certainly not the last.

Thea!

Joss sprang up and scuttled halfway across the yard with a quickness that belied his appearance, but Thea waved him off. Bad enough he had talked her into letting him come here to watch her practice, he didn’t need to exert himself rushing to her side. Resting his arms on those cheap wooden crutches and standing in the dusty ruins of a former residential block, he looked like a phantom with the surgical mask that covered his face as his hair danced in the scant breeze.

Are you okay? He asked as he slipped off his mask.

Put that back on right now, she said. Joss complied. She didn’t mean to snap, but the putrid air of the Pit messed with even healthy lungs. When she reached him, she ran a hand through his hair and brushed it from his face. He’d make a fine-looking man someday, Thea thought. If he ever got the chance.

I meant to do that, Thea said.

Yeah, right. She could hear the smile. The mask muffled his voice, making him sound older than his twelve years. It suited him, smart as he was. And wise. It pained her to see him suffer. Almost since birth, Joss had fought a losing battle against Farrant’s Disease, a genetic respiratory condition that essentially made his lungs as brittle and inflexible as dried paper. Even minor exertion could lay him up for days. No cure existed, only treatments, and most of those they couldn’t afford. Farrant’s Disease was rare and almost always fatal. Joss knew he wouldn’t make it out of his teens. Maybe that was why he clung to life so tightly.

You plan to do that tomorrow? Joss asked. Maybe, yeah, she said. Right over the finish line. It’ll be my signature move: I’ll call it the ‘Joss’.

I expect royalties if you’re going to use my name.

Uh-oh. Do I need to get an advocate? Thea asked.

Couldn’t hurt.

Come on, Thea laughed. Let’s get you home so Mom doesn’t flip.

Thea helped Joss squeeze through a gap in the brick and stone. She could have squeezed through as well, but she’d noticed a piece of rebar or something sticking out of the brick just above her reach. She couldn’t ignore the temptation and leaped up, grabbing onto the metal. Hoisting herself with ease, she scaled upward, improvising footholds from the irregularities in the wall. It rose no more than four meters high, and she reached the top in no time. She stood at the crest and looked down at Joss, who stood scanning the top of the wall for her.

Hey, Monkey! Joss called out to her, his eyes alive with delight. He lived vicariously through her, and Thea tried not to disappoint.

Hey, Shorty. Think I can make it?

No! You’ll bust your head open.

Will not! He had a point, though. It would be just her luck to twist her ankle or something the day before her big meet. The war made the City Musine even more dangerous than usual. The intermittent bombing stayed mostly on the other side of the river, but martial law had curtailed all unimportant activities for the safety of its beloved citizens. Or so they said. School officials citywide had canceled the track season as a result. Luckily for Thea, the restrictions had softened in the past few weeks. Somehow, the athletic board had gotten permission to hold a citywide meet, and just in time, too.

At seventeen, Thea had almost finished school. This season marked Thea’s last chance to make a name for herself. She wouldn’t miss any race because of a rash decision, no matter how much it would impress her brother. She shimmied down the street side of the wall and let go just a meter from the ground, allowing herself to drop the rest of the way. She couldn’t stick the landing, however, and smacked the ground hard with her butt.

Nice move. Definitely a ‘ten’. Joss laughed, and Thea let him. He held out the end of one of his crutches, and Thea grabbed it. She pulled herself up without putting any of her weight on the crutch.

Thanks, She said. They walked to the corner and waited for a transport. Thea would just as soon jog it, but with Joss by her side, they’d have to get a ride back. She hated public transports. Then again, she could fill a warehouse with everything she hated about the Pit.

You looked good today, Joss offered. That’s the fastest I’ve seen you.

Yeah?

You should slow it down a little in the beginning, though. Pace yourself. There’s going to be a lot of nervous energy out there tomorrow, people pushing themselves too hard early. Take advantage. Turn it all on at the end when everyone else is spent. Thea could see the transport in the distance and prepared to flag it down. There were no automatic stops in the Pit.

You think so? From any other twelve-year-old that statement would warrant a pat on the head and a that’s nice, sweetie, but Joss knew his stuff, and Thea knew enough to listen.

You’re going to win tomorrow, Joss said. I can feel it.

I’ll let you wear my medal.

Okay.

As usual, the transport ignored the stop, so Thea ran a few meters ahead and jumped into the street, far enough ahead to give it time to stop. The air screamed with the squeal of brakes and gaseous hiss of hydraulics as the transport ground to a halt so close to Thea that she could reach out and touch it. Joss toddled over to the entryway and waited for her. She slipped in front of him and crouched down, allowing Joss to climb onto her back. Thea climbed the steps as Joss slipped the pass card into the reader, a routine they’d perfected through repetition, and they took two seats near the back. She set Joss down in the seat as she always did and as always, pretended to sit on him. As usual, he giggled ferociously and pushed her away. She plopped into the seat next to him as the transport creaked into motion.

The battered streets of Tennapit Heights, known more readily – and accurately – as the Pit, didn’t offer much of a view. Boarded windows and empty lots were pretty much all that remained of a once thriving neighborhood. A few essential businesses still stood, hidden behind barred doorways and signaled only by unassuming bilingual signs that seemed to say, Come in if you must, otherwise, beat it.

I wish I could come see you tomorrow, Joss said.

Yeah, me, too. She patted his knee, and Joss clutched her hand, his tiny fingers interlocking hers. She looked at him and returned his smile. Someday she’d get out of here, she swore to herself. Somehow she had to, for Joss’s sake.

Theadne Adir, you’re doing homework? Froeth still does perform miracles, Thea’s mom said as she entered the tiny flat. She had her cleaning kit in one hand and in the other a small plastic bag: dinner. She set the kit by the door and placed the bag on the counter, stopping to give Joss a kiss on the forehead. She knew better than to try to rouse him out of his zone while drawing. Hello, Sweetie.

Joss broke his concentration just enough to throw his arms around his mother in a quick hug, then jumped back into his sketches. Thea closed the math book and hopped to her feet, happy to get away from numbers for a while. She put away her mom’s cleaning kit and glanced over at the counter to see what their mom had brought home. Sandwiches, by the look of the paper-covered triangles her mom pulled from the bag.

Self-serve today, kids. You, too, Mr. Artist. Thea’s mom never coddled Joss. Sick or not, she made him fend for himself. She wanted him strong in spirit, if nothing else, not wallowing in self-pity or getting used to handouts. It had worked, too. Joss rarely got depressed over his condition. He truly believed he would beat it. And looking into that steely-eyed gaze, Thea couldn’t help but feel it, too.

It’s okay, Joss. Don’t get up, Thea said after Joss hadn’t stirred. She plopped his sandwich on her plate, taking great pains to ensure Joss noticed her every move. I’ll give it a good home.

Unhand it, fiend! He shouted in a bad Sarallian accent with as deep a voice as he could muster. He threw a few more furious scribbles onto the page and bounced off the chair. Peering over the counter, he inspected the two sandwiches on Thea’s plate. What’s that one?

They’re all the same, Sweetie, his mother reassured.

Still, he lifted the bread off each specimen and sniffed underneath. Satisfied with his choice, he plopped the sandwich onto the empty plate and sidled over to the table. Thea’s mom corralled the pictures into a neat pile, and the three of them sat down to dinner. Thea knew her mom cherished the brief moments like this one that they were able to spend together. As usual, it wouldn’t last: soon Joss would head off to bed and Mom to job number two. As for Thea, she’d do what she usually did: shower for as long as the hot water lasted, then lie awake in bed dreaming of another life.

Thea scowled at the gray ceiling as she tried to will herself to sleep. Joss slept in the lower bunk, his breathing loud but even. She shifted to her side and stared into the low light of the bedroom. As always, her eyes were pulled to the drawings that lined the walls, Joss Adir originals. Her brother had incredible talent and an even greater imagination. The bedroom walls served as the venue for a miniature, two-dimensional opera of space pirates, muscle-bound warriors, and intrepid explorers. Spaceships and fighting machines and whole armies bowed to her little brother’s command. If he could not be them, he would create them. An entire universe emerged from charcoal and paper, with Joss as its master. Thea dreamed of escaping the Pit someday, but in his own way, Joss already had.

Thea climbed out of bed and leafed through the stack of drawings Joss had done earlier. She recognized the sharp angles of her own figure, her face contorted in concentration, and her limbs flailing with fury along the straightaway of Laisseene Stadium. She flipped the next sketch, and she stood again on the wall that now rose so high that clouds tickled her feet. She looked through the whole stack, each drawing featuring Thea in a different role: athlete, adventurer, warrior. She knew Joss looked up to her, but she’d had no idea how much she meant to him. As she gazed into the eyes of her charcoal doppelgangers, tears welled up in her own.

She turned to the last sketch. Thea stood atop the Florec Spire, the tallest building on Qalon. She had just leaped off, arms outstretched and legs together as if she were diving into a pool. She wore nothing but impossibly long hair that draped around her like a robe. White feathery wings sprang from her ankles. Thea recognized the imagery from a Qalonian legend, and Joss had made her the star.

She put the pictures aside and kissed Joss on the cheek before climbing back into bed. Unable to sleep, she stared at the ceiling less than a meter above her, opened her mind, and let the thoughts flow in, accompanied by the steady rise and fall of her brother’s breath. As she drifted off, she made a decision: she’d save her little brother, no matter what it took.

⸶ 2 ⸷

The Twenty-Five

Thea stared at the clock that hung over the door and willed the hands to speed up. Less than an hour to go before she’d board the transport to Central Musine Induction School and her first meet in ages. After seven agonizing hours, she only had one class left, her least favorite. She usually just skipped it, but if she ditched class on a meet day, she’d get benched. So she sucked it up and prepared for another dreadful dose of Qalonian history.

Five minutes after the bell, her teacher still hadn’t come in. Thea had chewed all but a thin nub off the eraser on her pencil and set the classroom door on fire with her stare when the short but sturdy frame of Ven Derus, her history teacher, crossed the threshold. He looked late thirties at least, maybe fortyish. He wore a checkered fasten-down shirt with more pens shoved into the breast pocket than one person could need in a lifetime. Hair of melancholy brown slumped across his head in a haphazard mess, and uneven bangs menaced his thick eyebrows. He practically begged his students to make fun of him.

When is a planet not a planet? He had barely entered the room before speaking. Anyone?

No one responded – big surprise. No one liked history to begin with, and the dull drone of Mr. Derus did nothing to change that.

When is a planet not a planet? Class? Still nothing. He walked over to the far corner where his desk sat and pulled out a textbook. He held it at arm’s length and let it drop on the desk with a thud. Mr. Derus seemed angry today. Usually, he didn’t seem anything.

Now that most everyone’s awake, when is a planet not a planet? Again, no one offered themselves up. Thea prayed he wouldn’t call on her because she had no idea what he meant.

Okay, he began again, his voice coated with the mechanical sweetness of sarcasm. "Let’s start with something a little easier. Who can tell me the name of our planet?"

The word Qalon limped across the room in a low murmur. Thea focused on the dawdling second hand of the clock.

Okay. Can we expand on that? ‘Qalon’ is just a name. He turned to the blackboard and scribbled the word Qalon in squeaky white dust, adding, in a vertical row underneath, the numbers one through five. There are seven planets in our solar system. What makes this one special? No one bit, so he patted his hands against the sides of his brown pants, jingling the keys and loose change in his pockets. It signaled to alert ears his intention to call on someone.

Taren. Relieved not to hear the familiar cadence of her own name, Thea resumed her clock sentry. Taren wiped drool from the corner of his mouth as he awoke to his.

Taren, tell me something about Qalon. Anything. Give us one thing that makes Qalon stand out from the other worlds.

It’s a dump. A ripple of laughter accompanied the observation.

Okay. No, that’s good. There are no wrong answers. It is a dump. I won’t disagree with that. He added that observation to the blackboard next to the number one. But can we expand on that? Why is it a dump? Is it the environment? The economy? Is it because they make you sit through history class?

How about the fact that my brother’s dying and no one’s willing to do anything to help him? Thea thought. She had a long list of reasons to hate this rock. Neither it nor anything living on it ever gave a damn about her or her family. Why should she care about it? All she could do was get out, make a name for herself as an athlete, and hope to come back for her mom and Joss. Beyond that, Qalon could burn for all she cared.

Express permission to pick on something, even just a planet, seemed to galvanize the class, and the responses flowed toward the front of the classroom in a slow trickle which built up momentum with each put down. Mr. Derus ensnared each one and secured them onto the blackboard until he could no longer squeeze them on.

Okay. Good, very good, Mr. Derus said, dropping the chalk onto the narrow shelf below the blackboard. He rubbed the dust off his hands. His eyes danced, and he almost seemed out of breath. He seemed excited, not by the quality of the responses he got, but by the fact that he had gotten any at all. When you taught induction school in the Pit, you took the victories as they came.

Can we expand on anything of these? We have some good points here. What about this double-standard? What do we mean by that? Mr. Derus always peppered his lectures with questions. Today’s queries carried an inflection of hope, hope he might actually get a response.

Somewhere near the back of the room, an arm quivered into the air like a newborn rommet taking its first steps. Mr. Derus did not hesitate. Go ahead Miri.

So, my dad, you know, he drives for this guy up in Pelon, and I mean this place is huge. It’s like a castle or something. It’s not just that, though. My dad says this guy does stuff, bad stuff. Things that would get folks like us sent away for life. But the CPs, and everyone else for that matter, they just look the other way. And he’s not the only one, my dad says.

Okay, good. Let me ask you, Miri, this... person your father works for, is he Qalonian?

Yeah, right, someone snorted amid a ripple of bitter laughter.

Good, good. That’s fine, Mr. Derus said. Speak up. Why did you scoff at that?

Everybody knows Lonnies got no rights, Miri answered. Lonnie was a derogatory term for Qalonians coined by some Sarallian or other years ago. Some Qalonians had taken to adopting the word themselves in order remove its power. Thea didn’t think the idea would stick. Nothing Qalonians did ever seemed to stick.

Good, Miri. But why is that? Again no one responded, but not due to apathy – nobody knew the answer. Undeterred, Mr. Derus launched into his lecture. Thea rarely paid attention and took comfort in the fact that hardly anyone else in her class did, either. But today Mr. Derus seemed to snatch the attention of even the most hardcore slackers, and Thea felt like the only one who didn’t get the point.

Before the Sarall Supremacy, Mr. Derus began, Qalon was fractured and turbulent. Over the centuries grew three mighty nations locked in battle: The Moran, the Telloq Empire, and the largest country on Qalon: Musine. The people of Musine were farmers, mostly, long adapted to the hot and arid conditions of the Northern Continent. The natives tamed the brutal land, and Musine thrived. Technological advances improved farming, and great cities sprang up. The City Musine became Qalon’s first great metropolis, and others soon followed. Musine’s golden age bred envy among her rivals, and soon the entire world descended into conflict.

Of all the Great Nations of Qalon, the Supremacy chose to contact Musine. The aliens promoted peace, flaunted their technology, and promised to help put an end to Qalon’s constant warfare. The Qalonians stood in awe of their alien benefactors. Each nation wanted the Supremacy’s favor, and they expended what they could to purchase the visitors’ goodwill. The struggle continued for years, an arms race of alien intellect, with the participants so fierce and dogged, the competitors only realized too late the consequences of their thirst for power.

Soon the technical advisors of the Supremacy began influencing – and ultimately directing – state policy. The three great powers bathed in the warm waters of prosperity until they realized they had sacrificed control of their own affairs. The Moran lashed out at their now unwanted guests with a flurry of rage, slaughtering half of the alien delegation to their country. The Supremacy, with a calculated calm, retaliated in kind, and once they had finished, no Morani – man, woman, or child – remained.

Claiming the need for security and peace, they seized control of Qalon, forming a planet-wide territorial government. Old borders shattered and new lines forged, with no regard for history or culture. The alien superpower pledged peace, prosperity, and a new golden age for Qalon. They called it the Great Promise of the Supremacy, and the frightened, bewildered nations accepted it. And perhaps some believed it.

Seventy years later, and what do we have to show for it? A bridge, the ugliest building on the planet, and a lot of broken promises. Mr. Derus paused. He seemed exhausted. He had won over the class, at least for today. And he refused to let go.

So what’s so good about it? The sudden break in the silence felt like a slap across the room. Oh, come on, now, we were doing so well. There must be something good about life on this rock, right?

No one responded, and the thigh patting began. Thea gloomed at the clock. She couldn’t see any way this would wrap up in time.

Theadne.

So far away in her own head that she didn’t hear the word, she still felt its heaviness on her. She looked away from the clock, and her teacher’s enthusiastic stare confirmed her fears.

Thea, he repeated. She opened her mouth in the hopes something intelligible would fall out, but she didn’t need to. Stand up. Better yet, come on up here.

What? Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and her cheeks caught fire. She sat in the back and kept her head low for a reason, not to be paraded in front of her peers.

Come on, it’s okay. She stood up. The longer she resisted, the longer this would take. She walked down the center aisle toward the front of the class, the weight of twenty-two stares hindering her steps. She reached the front and faced the blackboard. Mr. Derus placed a hand on her shoulder and eased her in a circle until she faced the class. She avoided eye contact at all costs, but she could only see herself. The ratty shoes, the scars on her shins, and her pale thighs. The shorts she wore were too short (not to show off her legs, but because she had outgrown them) and nestled against her boy-like hips, and the tight t-shirt with the grease stains and uneven shoulders flaunted the inadequacies of her chest. Much taller than average, she now felt like a lumbering giant in front of a frightened group of villagers.

So what do we have here, class? All of you know Theadne, but what is she? Thea wanted to cut a hole in the floor and crawl in and hide. Be nice. What is she? She’s a girl, a student. An athlete? He put the upward inflection on that last one and turned to Thea for confirmation. Thea nodded and stared down at the floor. She wanted to cry right about now.

An athlete. Good. But what makes her special? What makes any of us special for that matter? Some laughs came, but not as many as Thea would have thought. Maybe everyone else sensed the same strange vibe. She traversed the floor with her eyes, her arms in a cross along her chest and her hands gripping her shoulders. She channeled her embarrassment into rage toward the teacher that had put her up here. He had better hope they got out on time, so help her, she promised.

What do we mean when we say we take pride in something? No one in the class responded. Thea, what do we mean by that?

Why was he asking all these inane questions? It means to be proud of something, I guess. She answered in a voice so small it could have passed through the eye of a needle without touching the edges.

Good, but what does that mean?

I don’t know. She hadn’t had much experience with pride. Sure, she had talent – a talent that so far had accomplished nothing. Maybe in a few hours she’d know pride, certainly joy and relief. For now, though, hope, disappointment, and regret were the big three that were always there for her.

That’s okay, he said with surprising gentleness. He turned toward the class. Take a look at her, a good look. Observe her: the lean, wiry frame of a mountaineer, the toned musculature of a warrior. Notice the tough skin of a farmer and the eyes, the piercing, penetrating gaze of the hunter. So what is she? It’s written all over her, class. Qalonian, right? That’s what she is. On top of young woman, athlete, and so on, she is above all else a Qalonian. She carries with her, we all do for that matter...You know what, stand up. Everybody, stand up. No one complied.

All of you, on your feet! His voice evinced a force and command Thea had rarely heard in any Qalonian, much less her teacher. In an instant, everyone stood.

Good. Very good. We all carry with us in our genetic makeup the entire history of Qalon. Everyone that’s ever played a part here, is a part of us. And when we’re gone, our children, and their children, will carry us and all who came before with them. What’s so good about that? Why is that important? What makes being Qalonian something to be proud of? Taren, what makes you proud to be a Qalonian?

I’m not, Taren answered with a snort. Usually, laughter would have greeted that comment, but now nobody stirred.

That’s too bad, Derus responded with a steely gaze on Taren, the words naked and raw. Taren squirmed under the weight of his teacher’s eyes until Mr. Derus turned from him, his manner once again animated.

That’s what they want, of course, the Supremacy. They want us to forget, forget who we are, where we come from. They want us to know only them, as our protectors, as our saviors. They can burn our books and raze our monuments, but our history, our past, is safely locked away, hidden in each one of us. We carry it with us at every moment, here...

With the tips of the first two fingers of his left hand, he tapped Thea’s temple.

...and here. He moved the same two fingers to Thea’s chest and placed them gently on the square of her sternum. His voice rose in force and volume.

They write our school books and rewrite our public records. They hijack our resources and dictate our lives. They destroy our borders and rename our cities. Even our own Musine, the once great capital of a great nation, is now ‘Taldorot’. They want to take away our history because they know that only from the lessons of history can we see the injustice stacked upon us, only from our shared past can we unite as one under the banner of Qalon, only from the exploits of our great heroes can we find the strength to–

Thea jolted and in her mind felt like she’d jumped halfway across the room as the crisp peel of the bell assaulted her eardrums. As her heart rate returned to normal, she tried to refocus on what Mr. Derus had said. He’d stopped speaking and now looked down at his shoes, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Strength to what? Resist? Fight back? To say something like that was treason.

He spoke again, his voice softer now and distant. Though the school day had ended, not a soul had gathered their things or had so much as looked over to the door, not even Thea. For the briefest of instants, she had forgotten all about the race.

Thank you, Theadne, you may return to your seat. She did. "What I’m trying to tell you is this, class: be proud. Be proud of yourselves as individuals, and be proud as a race. People will try to beat you down, to exploit you in the name of superiority. But no matter what, never forget who you are or where you come from. We have seen dark days as a planet, as a people, and darker ones lie ahead. But whatever happens, never forget that you are Qalonian. And you are proud. And they can never take that away from you.

Class dismissed.

He stood still for a moment, then without ceremony, grabbed his bag and left the room, the first time he’d ever gone before his students. The class stood in silence until the spell wore off and the room slowly emptied in a wash of shouts and laughter. Thea considered her teacher’s words, his passion, and after promising herself she’d think about it later, darted through the halls to catch the track team’s shuttle.

She needn’t have hurried. Only Rhial, the team captain, Jian, who specialized in the field events, and Ms. Breen, one of the newer assistant coaches Thea didn’t know very well had arrived before her. She saw no sign of the shuttle. She took up sentry next to the fieldhouse, an old storage shed behind the school with busted windows and doors that no longer locked. Thea leaned against the formed metal of