The Names Our Children Will Know

The Clearing - Draft One

At first, no one could tell where it was coming from. Then the sound abruptly stopped. When it came back, the pitch had changed. Wesson stared around in fright, but Jordan was certain it was Ghost calling them.

"Yes, that's her, but something's wrong," Mark muttered worriedly. "She doesn't do that. Not unless someone's–unless they're hurt."

After agonizing minutes, Jordan pinpointed the sound. They backtracked almost a mile and found themselves at the beginning of a maze of dead forest. They picked the most direct path, shoving dead wood and stone out of the way when they were blocked.

Jordan buzzed nervously ahead, then returned to walk next to Mark, but within a few moments she'd clutch his hand, her face paper white. She would race ahead again when the path allowed.

They came to a tunnel made of dead trees whose interlocking branches prevented them from all collapsing on top of each other. Jordan stopped dead at the entrance of the tunnel, afraid to go back to Mark and Wesson and just as afraid to go on.

She squeaked in fright when Mark appeared directly behind her and called, "Ghost, it's us, come on out."

The dog huffed, refusing to move.

"Fine." Mark sounded exasperated, but there was an edge of worry in his voice. What was his dog guarding?

The first thing they noticed upon entering the tiny clearing was the bodies. Four were piled on one side of the clearing and one form lying curled and broken opposite them, but there was one mangled mass lying right to the side of the entrance in a pool of blood and gore. Mark made Jordan look away. Ghost was in the center of the clearing, her paws and muzzle dyed dark red. She was pacing the length of the clearing, her fur on end and growling softly to herself.

"But... Where's Tessa?" Jordan asked again plaintively. Her voice was soft, almost inaudible.

Mark felt a chill of dread. There had been five plague victims chasing after Tessa and Ghost. There were six still forms lying on the dead forest floor.

There was a lump forming in his throat and now he realized why Ghost had been mourning. All the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't speak, could barely move. All he could do was point mutely to the huddled form across the clearing.

The figure had its back to them, but the pale skin and short black hair were an all too familiar combination. The sleeve of her shirt was torn, as were the wiry muscles underneath. Her trousers were stained with dust and dirt, and Mark could see the single scar that marred Tessa's leg.

Wesson could only whisper, "Oh, gods, no. Please, no..."

Jordan walked slowly forward, her mind numb. That's not Tessa, she thought distantly. She hates sleeping on her side like that. And I've never seen her so still.

She could hear Mark checking the plague victims to see if they were really dead, but it sounded faint, like she was hearing him from another world. Wesson put his hand on her shoulder and said gently, "We'll bury her outside the clearing, okay? That way she'll get a view of the sunset over the river."

Jordan didn't–couldn't–reply. The fact struck home like a hammer blow and she nearly fell to her knees with the shock of it.

Tessa was gone.

The whole world seemed grey and lifeless now. There was no room for sound or light or color or even air in Jordan's world now, not with a sudden wave of grief threatening to sweep her away. She absently brushed a stray lock of hair away from her sister's face. One side of Tessa's head was covered in mostly-dried blood, but it looked like Ghost had tried to lick it away. Hot tears threatened to blind Jordan and her hands had started shaking–shaking like Tessa did when she was panicking and trying to hide it for Jordan's sake, because there was nothing scarier than seeing your older sister break down.

"I'm sorry," Jordan finally managed to whisper. "I'm so sorry, Tessa."

Was it a few seconds or hours later that Mark gently pulled Tessa's body from her arms and carried her still, silent body out of the clearing? Time had stopped for Jordan. Nothing mattered. Who cared if the plague wiped everyone off the face of Bolifecalis? Who cared about some stupid spell book, unless it could bring Tessa back?

A thought struck her as she fought her way through the dead forest. "You sent her to die," Jordan accused Mark.

Mark's voice was quiet, hoarse, and his answer was unexpected. "I know. I'm sorry. It should have been me."

That was too much for Jordan. Tears left tracks in the dirt on her cheeks, and she ran ahead to escape the scene behind her.

When she was out of earshot, Mark glanced down at Tessa's body. "I thought you'd be all right."

It felt like years before Mark could make his way back out into the open by the river again. The shifting shadows were giving Tessa the illusion of life. At one point, Mark actually stopped to check her pulse, but found nothing. Tessa really was gone, and no wishing or hoping would bring her back.

"You've left us in quite a mess, here, Tessa. Your sister is going to hate me for the rest of her life."

There was still no end of the dead forest in sight. Mark wondered how they had gotten through in the first place. Wesson was far ahead of him, and Jordan had disappeared at least an hour ago. Jordan had the senses of a werian to rely on to get out, but Mark and Wesson might have trouble.

Mark was just getting worried when he heard the trickle of the river rushing over worn stones. He carried Tessa in his arms still, worried that she would disappear if he set her down.

When Mark got out into the open, Jordan had already crossed the river again and rescued a blanket from Wesson's pack. "Wrap her in that," she said, fighting tears again.

They made camp quickly, barely speaking to each other. No one wanted to think of what it would mean to leave Tessa behind.

The grave was shallow. Jordan busied herself with trying to catch something for a meal than spend her time staring at the still, cold body of her sister. It didn't help that her imagination was playing tricks on her. It still looked like she was breathing, ever so shallowly.

When they laid Tessa in the grave, Ghost cocked her head and pulled on the blanket to drag Tessa's body out again. Mark was having none of it. "Leave off, Ghost. She's dead, can't you tell?"

Jordan was struggling with a mad desire to laugh, but every few moments a tiny, slightly hysterical giggle would escape her. "Ha-have you checked her pulse? She doesn't look very dead. May-maybe they're just playing a game, r-right? It's just a game!"

Mark looked from his dog to Tessa's still form to Jordan's face. "Jordan, she's gone. There's no heartbeat. She's not breathing. She's gone."

Ghost nudged Tessa's body again and whined. Wesson tried to shoo the huge wolfdog away, but Ghost only snapped at him. She stood up in his face now and barked at the three of them. It clearly meant, "You're too stupid to know what I'm telling you." She pulled the blanket away from Tessa and licked her face. When Wesson finally understood, he nearly dropped what he was holding and scrambled to check Tessa's breathing.

"Mark." Wesson's voice was hushed, urgent.

"What?" Mark rounded on Wesson, exasperation undisguised in his voice.

"She really is breathing."