The Last Culling: Book of Sigils, #1

By Rachael Vaughn

Magic belongs to the women. To the men—only death.

 

In the city of Merilaad, any boy displaying magical ability is swiftly executed. Elena, an apprentice mage with powers she resents and a past she'd rather forget, knows it has to be this way—to protect them all. To keep them safe.

 

But when the boy she loves suddenly and unexpectedly develops magical powers, Elena finds herself faced with a dangerous choice—should she report Jascha and sentence him to certain death, or risk everything to keep his abilities hidden?

 

As the two of them struggle with their deadly secret, they uncover more deception, lurking just beneath the surface of their peaceful, idyllic city. Can they reveal the truth before it's too late…or will they plunge Merilaad back into its bloody past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glasswing Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733782715

Rachael Vaughn

Rachael Vaughn is the creative brainchild of a husband-and-wife writing duo. Rachael is the wordsmith of the pair. Her interests encompass all things creative, from mosaics to wood carving, and when she isn't writing she stays busy as a full-time tattoo artist. ​Vaughn acts as the bookends of the writing process. He serves as the team's world-builder and plot developer on the front end, and acts as an editor and proofreader (plus the ultimate voice of reason) on the backside. The couple lives outside of Indianapolis with their daughter and cat, as well as more books than they could possibly read.

Book preview

Prologue

13 YEARS AGO

ELENA

The reek of incense was strong in my nose. I balled my hands into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms and leaving crescent-shaped divots, but I barely felt it. All my attention was focused on the procession slowly filtering in from the back of the room, making its way up the hard-packed dirt aisle toward the dais. I held my breath and shrank back. If I disappeared into the shadow cast by the fluted archway overhead, maybe no one would notice my trembling.

I’d never witnessed a Culling ceremony before, never imagined I ever would. And yet here I was, in the same room where countless boys had died. The waves of shock and helplessness that’d washed over me all morning had finally subsided, leaving me numb and empty.

I felt a presence at either side, my parents’ hands reaching out to grip mine as the procession moved slowly forward. I held on tightly and forced myself to watch. Three mages led the group, two more flanking the slight figure in the center, and two large male guards bringing up the rear. The mages were all elderly women, easily in their late sixties and early seventies by appearance. I only recognized the three in front; they were the heads of the Mage Council, leaders of the city. The other two women were unknown to me, but all had the same carefully expressionless faces.

As the group moved forward, the boy hidden in the center of the clustered women stumbled into view, and my breath caught, forming a hard lump in my throat.

Eli…

My brother shuffled forward, caught in the center of the group, his eyes downcast. I could tell from his halting gait and vacant expression that whatever sedative or spell they’d used—I had no idea how it worked and mages weren’t forthcoming with their secrets—had already been administered. Because if he had been able, he would surely have been fighting for all he was worth.

My father leaned into my left side, his hand cold and clammy in my own. To my right was my mother, standing straight and upright, her face as blank as if it were carved from stone. The only indication that my mother was actually made of flesh and blood was the slight shudder that quivered along our entwined fingers.

Behind us stood my aunt Isa, my mother’s older sister, and our only other living relative. I had the fleeting thought that our family wasn’t big enough to sacrifice a member. There weren’t enough of us to spare.

Nearby stood a collection of my family’s friends and neighbors, come to give support and act as witnesses. I spotted Jascha’s dark head in the crowd and my chest squeezed tight. My brother’s best friend lived just down the road, and I spent nearly as much time at his house as I did at my own. Across the aisle, Jascha’s green eyes met mine, and his mouth moved soundlessly.

"I’m sorry…"

With a sharp inhalation, I tore my eyes away and focused on the procession drawing near, feeling much younger than my ten years.

The mages all stared straight ahead, faces empty, resolutely not making eye contact with anyone in the crowd as they moved down the aisle with singular purpose.

Finally, painfully, my gaze settled on Eli. Surrounded by the group of women and burly guards, he looked far smaller and younger than fourteen, frailer than I’d ever seen him before. His brown hair, only a few shades darker than my own, was lank and greasy. His clothing hung loosely on his wasted frame, his skin pale and sallow. His eyes stared sightlessly at the floor in front of him as his feet shuffled forward, and for a moment, I wished more than anything that he would just look up and meet my gaze. I wanted so badly to see his face, but more than that, I wanted him to see me, to acknowledge me. To know I was there. I stared at him with all my might, but the group just marched past in a swish of skirts and heavy footsteps, and Eli didn’t look up.

The procession reached the dais and fanned out. The three Council Leaders ascended the platform first and took up central positions in a semicircle. The middle two mages flanked my brother, and the two guards remained in the back, out of the way.

I stared at the bare feet of the women on the dais, dusty and calloused, and then covertly glanced around at the legs of the people surrounding me. Almost all of the other women in the room were barefoot as well. Mages. In fact, I realized, the only shod feet in the audience were those of my parents and myself, and our neighbors across the aisle. Even my aunt’s feet were bare. Isa noticed my attention and I felt her hand grip my shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. Embarrassed, I swiftly returned my gaze to the front.

Eli took the steps up to the dais with an awkward gait, a further demonstration that his body was not entirely under his control, and I felt my mother’s hand tighten around mine, grinding the bones of my fingers together. My brother came to a halt in the center of the ring.

The room was silent as the woman to the left of the dais stepped forward slightly. I recognized her immediately: Atiel Falwin, one of the three leaders of the Mage Council. Though she looked to be in her late sixties, I knew she was immeasurably older. I’d never before seen her in person, but every child learned about the Council Leaders in history lessons at school, and Atiel had been alive during the rebellion over two hundred years before. In spite of this, I thought she looked remarkably ordinary for someone with so much power and knowledge. The woman’s straw-colored hair was heavily streaked with gray, and her eyes were a dull blue, deep lines creasing the corners. Even her clothes were ordinary: a plain dark brown skirt in a rough fabric and a cream blouse, dusty feet peeking out from under the hem. A heavy pit settled in my stomach as I realized this moment—one that would change my life and that of my family so irrevocably—was just another day to these women. Just another task to perform.

Atiel raised her hands as if to hush the already silent crowd. My eyes strayed to my brother and fastened on him as the woman spoke.

Eli Engrad. Age fourteen. Son of Rebekah and Jonathan, brother of Elena. I swallowed hard at the sound of my own name on her lips. Atiel looked out over the crowd as she spoke, her gaze moving restlessly. Her voice was toneless, but pitched loud enough to carry through the crowd.

Subject presented with magical abilities on April twelfth, with a fire spell. Witnessed by his mother, younger sister, and neighbor. Reported to the Mage Council on the morning of April thirteenth.

The recitation of events sounded so clinical and cold, discounting all the fear and emotion that had plagued my household in the two weeks since that horrific afternoon when Eli’s unchecked anger caused him to blast a fireball into the front door.

Extensive testing has confirmed the presence of magical abilities, Atiel continued, and we will now proceed with the Culling on this day, the twenty-seventh of April, at four o’clock in the afternoon.

What had I expected? More, I guess. Something more meaningful than a simple recitation of events. Something to demonstrate to the crowd that Eli was a person, my brother, not someone who simply ceased to matter the moment his powers had developed.

But that was it. Without another word, Atiel reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a thin vial. She stepped forward and dislodged the stopper, then lifted it to Eli’s lips. He raised his head and his hands lifted to wrap around the mage’s and hold the vial steady. The crowd remained silent. I couldn’t even hear my parents breathe as I watched my brother tilt his head back and swallow the contents of the vial. Distantly, I felt my father’s hand slip limply from mine, but my attention was entirely focused on Eli. His pale lips were shiny from the liquid in the vial, but there was nothing in his eyes. He stood a moment longer before he wavered, and the group of mages moved then, gathering close to catch him as he fell.

Chapter 1

PRESENT DAY

ELENA

The bells in the tower high above us began to toll, and I jerked back to the present, abruptly broken from my trance. I opened my eyes in time to see the group of mages begin to move off the dais, and I realized that while I’d been lost in memory, I had missed the entire ceremony. A gift, perhaps, from my traumatized mind.

As the group descended into the aisle, Atiel took the lead, just as she had the first time I had witnessed a Culling ceremony, thirteen years before. Her face, while lined, didn’t appear to have aged a day in the intervening years. Satri and Mara, the other two Council Leaders, followed a step behind her, the limp body of the current sacrifice—a boy who couldn’t be any older than twelve—supported between them.

My eyes, which had remained dry on the day Eli died, filled and overflowed, tears running in rivulets down my cheeks.

As the last of the tolling bells faded into silence, I composed myself and took a deep breath. Surreptitiously, I hid my face and dried my eyes on my sleeve. I then joined the press of women moving out of the hall. Atiel and the other Council mages were nowhere to be seen.

I felt off-balance and strangely empty, as if all of my emotions had been wrung out of me. The day had been emotionally taxing enough, but it wasn’t over yet. It was the last Thursday of the month—which meant family dinner night, an uncomfortable event at the best of times.

On the plus side, a trip to my parents’ house also meant a trip to see Jascha. I tried to make a point to stop and see my old friend each month when I saw my parents, even if just for a couple of minutes. He had a way of calming me down, and I definitely needed his relaxing influence that day.

Gathering my sweater tight against the chill of the late April air, I stepped out of the Council Hall and turned north.

The City of Merilaad lay at the base of a large mountain range. Surrounded on three sides by the steep forested slopes of the mountains, and on the fourth side by the ocean, the city boasted both a very beautiful and very secluded setting. Merilaad was entirely self-sufficient, which was a source of great pride amongst our people. Built on a man-made canal system, it was divided into groups of islands that formed individual districts. It could be easily navigated by a series of ferries that ran at regular intervals, as well as multiple boats-for-hire. It was one of the former that carried me away from the Assembly, where the Council Hall and other government buildings were located, toward one of the many outlying residential districts.

The house I had grown up in stood in a small, quiet neighborhood off of one of the feeder canals just east of where it connected to the main canal thoroughfare. The journey was easy, especially by ferry, and yet I only found myself making the trip once a month for the expected family dinner, and seldom more. Spending time with my family was stressful, and while I usually dreaded it, that night I found myself especially reluctant.

Fortunately, the rain that had threatened all day held off as the ferry lumbered through the placid waters of the main thoroughfare. I stood near the railing, gazing out over the neat rows of houses bordering the canal as the boat pulled into the narrow, brackish waters of the residential district. Less than ten minutes later the ferry drifted smoothly into the dock at the base of the hill that led into my parents’ neighborhood. When the ferry finally came to a stop and lowered the ramp, I reluctantly stepped off the platform and started the trek up the hill.

It was a quiet neighborhood, one of the oldest in the city, with large mature trees lining the wide cobblestone streets. I hoisted my bag higher on my shoulder and strolled up the center of the quiet road. The stones had been worn down by hundreds of years of foot and wagon traffic, and the small paving stones were smooth under my bare feet. I didn’t reach for the torrent of power that surged through the ground beneath me, but I knew it was there, and the magical energy made the stones feel warm against my soles as I walked.

As I made my way slowly up the street, a lone figure came into view, moving up the road ahead of me. It was a tall boy with a head of unruly, sandy hair and a school bag thrown across his back. I slowed my steps, not in the mood for conversation. It was only when he turned up the path to a small blue house with white shutters, just down the road from my parents, that I caught sight of his profile and realized I knew him. It was Symon Serald, Jascha’s younger brother.

He’s so tall, I thought with amazement. I tried to make a point of catching up with Jascha when I visited my parents, but Symon was seldom there when I stopped by. He must have grown six inches since I’d last seen him.

How old was he? I had lost track. Jascha was two years older than my brother had been, and Symon had been a surprise baby, born when Jascha was twelve. That made him…I counted in my head…seventeen. Nearly an adult.

Did he have plans for after his birthday? It was expected that a teenager would leave home at eighteen, whether to start an apprenticeship or for further schooling, and I wondered how Jascha was dealing with the thought of his brother leaving the house. As I watched Symon bend and let himself in through the front door, I felt a vague sadness at how the passage of time had altered us all so much, but I tamped it down and hurried up the road.

The house I grew up in was a tall, rambling, two-story structure that desperately needed a new coat of paint. It stood near the top of the hill, tucked off the road behind a wall of overgrown bushes. The house looked exactly the same as it always had: sturdy and lived-in, but a little haphazardly cared for. There was always something to fix or rebuild, but it was never left to fall into too great a state of disrepair.

I pushed past the wandering rose bushes on my way to the front door and hesitated on the stoop. Somehow, I had always felt like a guest in this house, even when I’d lived here; I’d never felt comfortable just walking in, even knowing it was expected of me. I had just lifted my hand to knock when the door swung open.

I thought I heard you. My mother looked at my raised hand, judgment clear on her face. Her dark brown hair, the same shade as mine, was swept back severely and tied in a neat knot behind her head. Come in. She stepped aside and ushered me into the house.

Hi, Mom.

We weren’t sure you were going to make it. Dinner’s almost ready. My mother turned and headed into the kitchen. I followed behind.

When I saw what awaited me in the kitchen, my face lit up with my first genuine smile of the day.

Isa! I squealed, hurrying toward my aunt. I didn’t know you were coming!

My aunt turned with a grin, wiping her hands on her flowered apron before gripping me by the shoulders. She pulled me in for a kiss, squeezing me hard as I was enveloped by her comforting scent of warm beeswax and lavender. Then she drew back and held me at arm’s length, peering into my face. She took in my tired eyes and strained smile and her expression sobered. You were there today. It was a statement, not a question. How are you doing, love?

Isa Rellek was my mother’s much older sister. She had come into her magical abilities young, soon after the yearly testing started at age eight. She and my mother had not been close growing up, due in part to their fifteen year age gap, but also as a result of a general clash in personality. Because of their somewhat contentious relationship, I had not seen a lot of Isa while I was growing up, outside of major holidays. But that had changed when my magic manifested shortly after my eighteenth birthday, and I’d found myself having a difficult time adjusting to my new life.

I knew it was a great gift to be granted magical abilities and I was very lucky, as the other mages were fond of reminding me. But once my magic had come in, everything had started happening so fast. Any plans I had for my future were erased. I was immediately subjected to a barrage of testing and questioning to help determine my abilities, and within a day all my belongings had been relocated to a small apartment in the apprentice dormitories. My mentors had been assigned and my lessons began. After that, I’d barely had time to think, let alone adjust to my new life. Despite the fact that I knew I should have felt honored to be one of only a relatively small number of mages, I couldn’t help but feel resentful of the unwelcome disruption to my life, and an uncomfortable guilt nagged at me whenever I’d thought of my brother.

My parents had been no help at all. They’d had a difficult time dealing with the emotions brought to the surface by having a second child present as a mage. Seeing her family struggle, Isa had stepped in and taken me under her wing, insinuating herself back into our lives as though she’d always been there. I didn’t know where I’d be without her.

I’m fine, I started to say, but was cut short when my father wandered into the kitchen.

Hi, sweetheart. My father smiled at me and stooped to drop a kiss on my forehead. Having recently retired from his job as a ferry captain, it was becoming rare to see him without his nose buried in a book, and this was no exception. He held a thick novel in one hand, a finger marking his page. He had a smudge of dirt on his collar and his graying hair was slightly unkempt, as if he’d not looked in a mirror this morning.

I rose up on my toes to return his kiss and murmur a response, but my mother turned from the stove to interrupt.

Out. Out! Everybody go sit down. There are too many people in my kitchen. She flapped her apron in a shooing gesture. You too, she directed at Isa.

I hurriedly led the way into the dining room, where I chose a seat at the table and sank into it. My aunt sat across from me and my father settled in to my left, at the head of the table. His attention was immediately swallowed by his book.

I looked across the table at Isa. Have you heard anything about your friend? My aunt’s friend, Marget, had been out of communication for a little over two weeks, and I knew Isa was growing concerned.

Isa shook her head. It’s not strange that I’d go weeks without speaking with her, she said, but no one else seems to have heard from her either. I’m going to start asking around.

Our conversation was interrupted when my mother came in from the kitchen and began to place dishes on the table. I rose to help, but my mother waved her hand at me dismissively and returned to the kitchen to bring in the rest of the food.

Once my mother was settled into the remaining open seat, I reached out and began to fill my plate with chicken and roasted vegetables. I kept my gaze down on the table, hoping that if I didn’t make eye contact I could avoid the inevitable questions.

So, Elena, what did you do today? The question came from my mother. I winced, but kept my eyes on my plate as I passed the serving bowl to my father.

I…um. Well, I spent the morning at work. There was an expectant pause as my parents waited for me to continue. We've been working on new construction over near the Garden District.

Ever since my magical abilities had come in at age eighteen and I had shown a particular talent for levitating objects, I had been under assignment on various construction projects. Levitation abilities weren’t exactly rare, but they were uncommon enough that I had found myself in high demand. If only I actually liked the work.

I had been granted the title of Levitation Construction Engineer, which had originally felt exciting and important, but I’d quickly come to realize I was little more than a glorified crane. I knew the work was important, but it was a far cry from where I had imagined myself at this point in my life. My three mentors kept telling me that once my last year of training was complete, I would have more responsibilities and more opportunities for projects that might actually interest me. But I had seen the older, established levitation mages work, and they didn’t seem any more excited about their work than I was.

I glanced up, only to find my father smiling sympathetically. Is it getting any easier?

Oh, it's easy enough. It's just not…interesting. I’m still mostly just moving around building materials. My voice dropped to a mumble, the way it always did when I talked about work.

My mother raised an eyebrow. Will that change once your training is over?

I looked back down at my plate and fervently wished I was anywhere but here. I mean, they say I'll get more responsibility. I'm just not entirely sure what that means. A lot of the established mages seem to be doing work similar to what I am.

My mother sniffed, and I looked up to see her grimace. It just seems like such a waste.

Rebekah… Isa said, laying a hand on her sister’s arm, a gentle warning in her voice.

My mother shook her off. Really, though. You were going to start at the Academy. You were going to be a teacher. She looked to my father as if for help, but he kept his attention carefully focused on his plate. She's always wanted to be a teacher. She frowned at me. You've been talking about that for years. And now, your magic changes all of that? Mages can't be teachers?

I sighed. I had been an apprentice for five years. It felt like I was in an endless loop with my mother, doomed to listen to the same complaints every time we were together. I didn’t know why they even insisted I come to these monthly dinners if we were just going to rehash my failings each time. It never got easier, no matter how many times we had this conversation. That's just not where my talents lie.

How would you know? They never even let you try.

I shot a pleading look across the table to Isa, hoping the message on my face was clear. Help me!

Levitation is a rare ability, Rebekah, and Elena is very strong. Her help is needed on the construction teams. She won't be doing manual labor forever, Isa said, though I wasn’t sure if her words were aimed at my mother or at me.

My mother rolled her eyes and went back to her dinner. I still say it's a waste.

I wished I could disappear. Truthfully, I agreed with her. This was never what I had wanted, and the idea of my future in levitation made me feel stifled and tired. But even when we agreed, we were still at odds.

Silence descended over the table as we all focused on our food. As the moment stretched, my clenched muscles began to relax minutely. Maybe the worst of it was over, and we could make it through the rest of the evening like civilized people.

When my father looked up and gave me a tentative smile, I knew I couldn’t be that lucky.

Did you spend the whole day at work today? he asked, innocently attempting to restart the conversation.

I concentrated on taking as long as possible to chew the food in my mouth. I swallowed and then took a long drink of water. I put down my water glass and steeled myself to meet my father’s eyes. I—

I didn’t get anything else out before—to my dismay—my throat closed and my eyes filled with tears. Not now! Why couldn’t I control my emotions? Belatedly, I affected a coughing fit and raised my napkin to cover my watering eyes.

Isa stepped in smoothly. Elena had to attend a Culling ceremony this afternoon, she said. The silence that followed this pronouncement was absolute, broken only by the sounds of cutlery scraping on china as Isa continued to eat, feigning ignorance of the reaction her words had caused.

No one seemed inclined to respond to this statement, so without meeting anyone’s eyes I replaced my napkin on my lap and studiously returned to eating my dinner. It couldn’t get any worse at this point, and at least it was finally out in the open. We all ate our dinners in silence, but I caught my aunt looking at my parents with exasperation, as if trying to mentally encourage them to make some kind of conversation.

But what could they possibly say? Eli was essentially a forbidden topic in the house. He hadn’t even been gone a week before his room had been completely redecorated, his entire existence practically erased. I knew my mother still had a photo of my brother in her bedside table, but I’d never even seen her look at it.

Once everyone had finished eating, my mother started clearing dishes off the table and taking them into the kitchen without a word to the rest of the family. I glanced between my father and Isa, unsure if I should help or remain where I was. Discomfort kept me in my chair, and eventually my mother returned with what appeared to be a rhubarb pie and a pot of tea. She began pouring the tea into china cups and handing them around the table, and as the silence started to grow oppressive, I began to fidget. Finally I could take it no longer.

I saw Symon Serald on my way here, I said, tossing my words into the silence like stones cast into a still pool of water. I hoped the ripples would be minimal.

Oh yes? my father responded, looking relieved.

Symon… Isa said. He’s the brother of that boy you were friends with? Down the road?

Yes, Jascha. I see him every once in a while, when I come here for dinner. I was careful not to mention my brother, but I could feel his name hanging in the air all around us. I cringed, hoping I hadn’t misstepped again.

He still lives at home? my aunt asked, her brows raised in surprise.

I let out a slow breath and relaxed infinitesimally when my mother picked up the thread of the conversation.

Yes, their parents both died a few years ago, she explained. Jascha must have been in his early twenties at the time. He was in an apprenticeship program, but Symon was only ten, so Jascha moved back home to take care of his brother.

Isa made a sympathetic noise. That’s quite a responsibility to take on, she murmured.

He’s done a good job with that boy, my mother said with grudging respect. Symon and Jascha are both very polite and hard working.

I blinked at the rare compliment.

Symon must be nearly an adult by now, my aunt said. What do you think Jascha will do once he moves out? Do you think he’ll move away too?

I was surprised by how sad the thought made me. There was a certain amount of isolation that came with being a mage. Between work and training there was precious little time left for cultivating friendships. There weren’t any other mages my age with levitation abilities, so I found myself with acquaintances rather than real friends. Jascha was probably the closest friend I had, and I only saw him once a month at most. And yet his presence lent a comforting stability to my rapidly changing life. He reminded me of better times, when I knew who I was. If he moved away, it would feel like losing one more anchor to a life I had any control over.

Symon is seventeen, my mother responded, helping herself to a second piece of pie. She offered another slice to my father, but he waved her away. I believe his birthday is in the fall, so I imagine he’ll either be off to start an apprenticeship or to the Academy for the winter quarter. She shrugged. I can’t imagine Jascha will stay in the house for long. He works all the way on the other side of the city, so I don’t know why he’d stay here if he didn’t need to. It wouldn’t be hard to sell the house. They’ve kept it up quite nicely.

I sighed inwardly. The idea of anyone other than Jascha living in that house made me unaccountably sad, and I hoped we wouldn’t drift even further apart when I didn’t have the excuse of family dinners to stop by and visit him.

The stilted conversation continued on for a while as the topics moved from my mother’s seamstress business to my father’s latest reading material, until I finally felt that I had stayed long enough that it wouldn’t be offensive to excuse myself. I drained the last of my tea and stifled a yawn.

I really do think I should head back, I said, setting my teacup down on its saucer. It’s been a long day and I’m very tired. It wasn’t a lie; I was exhausted. The morning seemed as if it had happened a lifetime ago, and I felt as if I had experienced more emotions over the course of the day than my body was equipped to handle.

My parents rose and escorted me to the door. My father bent to hug me first, and as he looked at me his attention seemed focused for the first time that evening. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and a sad smile. Don’t be a stranger, he said, ruffling my hair. It was the same thing he said every time I left.

Okay, Dad. Love you, I said.

My mother did not hug me, but instead gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. We’ll see you next month, then?

I nodded and paused. I desperately wanted to say something, wanted to find the right words that would get through my mother’s hard exterior. But I didn’t have them, and wasn’t sure I ever had. Next month. Good night, Mom, I said, my shoulders drooping.

Isa was last, and the two of us embraced tightly, my aunt’s hand stroking my hair. If my parents always made me feel like a child who couldn’t ever do anything right, Isa made me feel warm and safe in the arms of someone who loved me.

It’ll be all right, she said softly in my ear. I’ll see you tomorrow for training, okay?

I nodded against her shoulder, and with a last squeeze, she let go and turned to the door. It was shiny and dark; the burned out wood panel in the middle—the only evidence of my brother’s magic—had been replaced years ago and not a single trace of him remained. I stepped out onto the porch and did not look back as I heard the door snick shut behind me.

Dusk was falling as I made my way down the hill. The rain that threatened earlier had cleared, and the sky was brightly streaked with reds and oranges that deepened into purples as they met the horizon. I took a deep breath and held it in my lungs, relieved to be out of the stifling atmosphere of my parents’ house.

As I walked down the path, I couldn’t help but reflect that my mother was right. I was wasting my life. No, I was allowing others to waste it for me. While I was still an apprentice my options

Reviews for The Last Culling

[Alexandre Kristjansson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is a wonderful addition to YA magical books; but with a real world feel of danger. You really don’t even know something truly evil IS happening (you suspect it only) until the middle of the book. You know that something tragic and cruelly unfair is happening; but the insidious evil just isn’t obvious ala Lord Voldemort. I really wish Scribd had both books in the series and other Rachael Vaughn books. It’s such a shame that people are missing out on some really fantastic characters and the beauty of friendship and love in this book!