Page 10 of Wings of Ebony
Her chin bounces, up and down, up and down, as she mutters something under her breath, her dark linen shift fluttering at her feet. I can’t make out the words, but every eye in the place is on her. Including the Chancellor’s. Two beaming faces from the front rowof the amphitheater appear frozen in time, staring. I’m not even sure they’re breathing. Must be the girl’s parents. They catch me looking and their smiles fade to disgust.
Sigh.The sun beats down, but I slip my hoodie over my head anyway, my hair wilding out from each side. A stick bangs the concrete, popping like gunshots, and gooseprickled memories dance up my skin. The Sorter circles the red-headed girl, tapping a knobby stick taller than the both of them, so thick her hand barely wraps around it. Shetap tap tapsthe ground. You could cut the silence in the arena with a knife.
I crane my neck farther.
The Sorter lady waves her free hand around the girl like she’s feeling the air.
“She’s checking her energy, the vibe she gives off,” someone whispers behind me, but I don’t turn around.
The air itself seems to ripple at the Sorter’s hand movements, the black stones on her wrists glowing orange. Redhead swallows and shrieks as flames ignite from the woman’s fingertips. She waves and waves some more, the fire coming within inches of the girl’s face.
I squint. That lady ain’t bringing no fire anywhere near me. She wanna know my energy? I can just tell her—it’s annoyed, like the rest of me. Is it too late to get out of line? Aasim didn’t say nothing about any of this.
“Hmph.” Old Lady makes a fist and her flames snuff out. Well, that’s a relief she isn’t going to burn her skin off. Stick Lady circles again, her gummy bite bouncing like she’s thinking. Sizing up this girl like I would if I was ’bout to square up.
“Mo’ya na na.”She raises her stick and holds it high beforeslamming into the back of the girl’s thighs. She groans in pain.
Oh heeeeellllll no.
The stick whirs through the air again and slaps the girl in the stomach. She grunts. I know one thing, that lady or nobody else is hittingmewith no damn stick.
I canfeelthe girls behind me staring, hard, like this is the most entrancing shit they’ve ever seen. Something they’ve fantasized about their whole lives: the day they get magic.
After a few more swats with the stick, the Sorter seems satisfied she’s found whatever she was looking for. Then she shoves a thumb into the side of girl’s mouth, pulling it open and looking at the girl’s teeth.
What the hell is this, an auction?! I cannot. She’s not touching my teeth. She’s not touching me period. I’m not being paraded on stage like property. Hell, the fuck, no. I have half a mind to leave. I look around; Patrol is everywhere. Would they even let me?
“Hmph.” The Sorter grunts, but it’s, like, an approving grunt, if there is such a thing. She mutters more words I’ve never heard and I could swear someone behind me snorts. A few more seconds pass, and then she faces the crowd.“Zruki.”
Zruki? The hell is a Zruki?
A burst of applause rings out from the front row and a woman with her hair in an unkempt bun clutches her chest in relief. The man next to her with black-stained fingers presses his forehead to hers. They smile. Must be something good, I guess.
Sorter Lady points a bony finger toward the sign that saysBINDINGand the girl’s pallor returns. It’s only then that I notice the old womanonly hasa thumb and a pointing finger. I gulp. I probablyshould have asked who all these people are, what being Sorted and Bound entails,something.But that would have required talking tohim.
We ain’t talked my entire life. Why start now?
Been figuring shit out on my own all this time.
This ain’t no different.
Sorter Lady gestures for the next person in line and the girl in front of me disappears toward the platform. She’s wearing a crimson dress in a shiny material. Taffeta? Silk? Some shit. She sashays on stage like it’s a dance and the crowdooohsandahhhhs.The elder woman taps her stick at the spot where Crimson Girl is supposed to stand, apparently unimpressed with the flashy entrance. Crimson Girl blushes and hurries to her place, but not before fanning out her arms. Gilded peacock feathers sprout from her collar like her head is set on a pedestal shrouded in gold.
I’m next in line and my sperm donor’s full on smiling now. I don’t want his smiles. I don’t want anything from him… I don’t want…
“Next, daughter of Aasim,” Aasim says.
Idon’twant to be called that.
Aasim says his piece then sits, pride alight in his eyes. The Chancellor’s stare is on me like dead weight. Standing on the platform, I can really see just how wide and deep the theater seating goes. A collage of bright blues, deep rusty oranges, and every hue in the rainbow colors the crowd’s made-up faces and matching ornate hairstyles. My heart flutters a million miles a minute. A woman in the audience with rose-shaped hair folds her arms and I can practically feel the chill from her shade. Glittered strands of hair hang in tendrils around her face, a sharp contrast to the stank eye she’s giving me. Deep red stain colors her lips, dark and glossy… probably sticky…
Sticky like…
Red like…
My throat constricts and a stubby forefinger and thumb beckon me onto the stage. Sorter Lady’s looking away from me as she gestures. I come. My feet are lead, but I come.
Our eyes meet and the chill I felt from Red Lips is as warm as a summer day compared to the ice of this old lady’s stare.
