Page 23

Prayers

The Superiors

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P rayers.

The Superiors can hear them all. It’s their job to filter and focus on the ones they deem important.

Goosebumps skitter across Evelyn’s arms from prayers for Evangeline’s recovery but there’s nothing the Earth Superior can do.

Prayers, in the end, are meaningless. But Zeala will never know.

“Two dragons left. Shall we consider stepping in sooner?” Frank has paced around the Circle for nearly two days in a trance. Hot light blasts through the stained-glass windows, illuminating his umber skin wrapped regally in his maroon tunic and black pants. His brows indicate his moods since his mouth is lost in his hefty, ivory beard. He occasionally looks at the floating bubble, while the others do in their own versions: Evelyn with disdain, Wyatt with pity, and Amelia with exhaustion. The biggest question they’ve faced now is how have some Spirit Users maintained their strength—if not more—while others have withered into sickness?

Evelyn gingerly twirls a dark lock with her finger and crosses her ankles. Her gray, silk dress hugs loosely around her waist, exposing her whole back while leaving no room for her chest to be seen, just as she likes it.

“Why? We agreed to see it through to the end. That’s two dragons left,” she notes. She grabs another strand and twines her hair together absently.

“You’ve lost your spirit and love for Zeala,” Frank sighs.

Evelyn looks down at the strands she tangled. “Maybe.”

“I didn’t think it’d look this bad already,” Amelia whispers. She stares at Evelyn, but she doesn’t return the gaze and keeps her eyes low on her hair. Her mouth is tight across her face, suppressing the bitterness pooling on her tongue.

With the constant murders toward humans and dragons, they’ve exhausted their efforts to remain positive.

More prayers have flooded the Superiors’ veins since Alice’s outburst, especially from Garnet citizens—many injured and afraid. Anxiety layers itself on the land, disguised as comfort. People breathe shaky sighs of relief, but agitation is dripping at the tips of their fingers.

Too many deaths and no births yet to undo the despair Zeala now weeps amongst its civilians. Worry has bled from island to island as travelers by train exchange and infect each other with whispers of the future.

Wyatt’s gaze zones into the sphere, watching people struggle with the changes Zeala is experiencing. A young individual attempts to surf as part of their routine, but the waves never come forth. The ocean bubbles menacingly. A family’s garden is ravaged by flies and rodents who have come out of hiding. Vultures no longer inspect dead creatures on lonely roads but instead stalk citizens in busy cities. A coffee shop temporarily shuts down its business until they’re able to successfully produce coffee beans and grounds that don’t turn into soggy clumps.

Amelia frowns. “We receive many prayers now. More than ever. People don’t understand why this is happening.”

“I understand not wanting to cause a panic with our presence, but maybe that’s what everyone needs right now,” Frank says.

“What? Panic?” Wyatt chortles.

Frank grimaces. “No. PRESENCE.”

“Right.” Wyatt clears his throat and straightens up in his seat.

A family of five scream in horror when they discover maggots in their new refrigerator. Amelia looks away to keep herself from gagging at the slimy sight and stares at her colleagues instead. The room continues its hum as noises erupt from the sphere in such a fluid way, like they’re listening to Zealans underwater.

Wyatt stands up and claps his hands together. “The hourglasses.”

Frank gapes at everyone as Evelyn and Amelia rush out of their seats for the door. Wyatt and Frank trail after them with eager smiles.

They can do this. They can make the change that’s needed.

In all their memories they’ve obtained, nothing like this has been attempted.

They leave the Circle and stroll down the hall, each twitching every time another swarm of prayers is absorbed and rolls under their skin. Wyatt fidgets next to Amelia, taking in the revelation that he’s been a Superior long before Amelia was even born. He always finds it funny how aging affects them as deities.

All the halls are white, endless, and feel airless. No one is ever sure how they find their way around, but they always do. Such a thin tower sitting on an isle in the center of the world holds more identical halls than all the warrens and corn mazes that occupy Zeala.

Frank leads the way and stops short at two pristine white double doors with golden, round knobs. The slim line that separates the doors barely blasts the ray of light of what lies beyond the door. Evelyn goes into the room of shattering glass and returns in a few seconds holding a twenty-inch hourglass with red sand and a white, worn, wooden structure.

“This will work, right?” She glances at the hourglass, seeing how much life Mildred’s sand has before her time runs out—whenever that is.

“I think so,” Amelia replies. She’s used to seeing every Zealan’s hourglass in that room they contain them. For every death, their hourglass shatters instantly. They keep the doors to that room closed for that reason.

“Hmm.” Evelyn launches the hourglass straight into the floor, breaking the wood into pieces and smashing the glass. For a moment, the red debris lies on the white, marble floor, but soon it transforms into silver goo and disintegrates. Everyone looks at each other yet again for someone to say something.

“Is she . . . you know,” Amelia whispers, faintly holding her neck. Her chest is sweaty from the nauseating feeling of killing someone. If Mildred died, her followers will still carry out her vision.

They rush back to the Circle, their billowing robes and sleeves swooshing through the air. The bubble in the center pans to Mildred underground in an abandoned tunnel that once used to be part of the worldwide subway system. She’s kneeling beside a little girl laughing at a picture book.

Frank strokes his beard and starts his pacing. “What punishment is the Light playing on us?”

Wyatt shrugs with a saunter back to his seat before plopping down. “We shall see if I can even go down for Wave Riding Season. If I can, I wonder how the Light will silence me then.”

Amelia stares at the giant bubble, watching spectators meet up for Wave Riding Season, and wooden docks being installed at the edge of the island in Central Park. Vendors roll their wagons in for the big day and create signs of their prices. Higher-tech vendors set up their electronics to project a hologram of their products like the latest smartphone to capture the highest quality shots of flying dragons.

The world is doing its best to stay upbeat, but the Superiors can only see doom lurking above them, invisible but always there.

“They should cease this event,” Evelyn says. “It would be gratifying to bring Zealans together for an event to abate their worries, but if Mildred has plans based on what we’ve observed, we will not be able to stop her.”

Frank continues pacing. With how uncomfortable the chairs are, no one blames him. He grumbles to himself, but eventually stops in mid-pace with a firm jaw that loosens.

“Wave Riding Season will send Zeala over the edge if there’s a mass murder of dragons,” he says. “We need to be ready for that time to come.”

Amelia rolls her shoulders and tries to stretch her neck, constantly readjusting herself in the seat and wondering if she should stand, too.

“Then we should warn people,” Wyatt suggests. “Pay the people the visit they’ve been praying for. I was already planning on going down there, but what’s the harm in all of us going now while we still can before it gets worse?”

A smile crosses Amelia’s face. “We’re going down? To Zeala?”

“Yes.” Wyatt returns the smile.

“Good ol’ mighty Superior, yes. Let us go. NOW,” Frank urges. He outstretches his hands for Amelia and Wyatt to grab. They each give one parting look at Evelyn, still sulking in her seat with a scowl carved into her timeless face.

“Fine,” she whispers. She gets up and begrudgingly joins hands with everyone.

They concentrate on transporting themselves hundreds of miles below where they stand. It’s been a while since they’ve visited the soils of Zeala as one, so they want to make their appearance together rather than separately.

As they summon the energy to take themselves from the tower, their visions are cut by a bright, penetrating glow engulfing the room. They break their hands away and step back to shield themselves from the glaring light.

All vision is lost between the four, but one striking nerve pinches them. The feeling that keeps some awake at night. The dread that creeps over when it becomes a matter of life and death. The threat that delivers on a special promise unfavorable to the recipient. The darkness that debilitates people from moving.

The light with no source dims until it sucks and snaps away within the tight air in front of them. The Superiors see each other after their eyes have adjusted.

“Was that—?” Amelia gasps.

“The Light seems to have other plans for us,” Evelyn mumbles.

“We cannot even violate the Code of Superiors if we wanted to.” Frank’s mouth drops. “My goodness, what kind of binding agreement are we in?”

Evelyn frowns, the apprehension is clear on her statuesque face. “One that prioritizes the world ending first before we act.”