Soon the woods smelled of wet bark. Our shoes squeaked in the mud. My lungs ached with every intake of cold air. I prayed whatever came next would be inside, ideally somewhere with a fireplace. Jeremiah whistled “Party in the USA,” maybe trying to ease my nerves, break the heavy silence.
He’d gotten through the first chorus when Raeanne said from the front of the line, “I swear to Christ, you musta swallowed the most tone-deaf canary that ever lived.”
He stopped whistling, and the group fell silent again. I didn’t like how edgy everyone was tonight, the way most of them were trying to mask it with false cheerfulness. I wanted to know what they knew.
After a while we came upon a small building. In the dark I couldn’t see much other than walls of weathered shingles. I strained for the roar of the sea, but it was gone. My cheeks were raw, windburned.
Sofia was waiting for us at the wooden door, hands on her knees. Ruth nudged me to the front of the pack.
“To think I once qualified for Boston,” Sofia wheezed.
I startled. Outside of class, the staff rarely brought up their lives before Wisewood. “The marathon?”
She nodded, composing herself.
After one more deep breath, she grabbed the door handle and pushed me into the pitch-black void of the building. I squeaked in protest at the same time the cold room flooded with light. I squinted, trying to adjust to the change.
We were inside what resembled an old schoolhouse. Teacher sat at the head desk at the front of the classroom, hair coiffed, clothes dry. Next to her desk was a tripod with an empty phone mount fixed to the top.
She rose, gesturing to a desk in the middle of the front row. “Please take your seat.”
I glanced over my shoulder. The rest of the IC had filed in behind me.
“Don’t worry about what the others are doing,” Teacher said.
I nodded and walked toward the front of the room, holding her gaze the entire way. I sat in the student’s chair, wooden and hard, and heard my peers slip into their own desks. I didn’t dare look away from those violet eyes until they’d released mine. My muscles twitched, heart palpitated.
Teacher walked up and down the rows, greeting each student with a squeeze of the hand. Some members bowed their heads; others grinned. Gordon approached the tripod, pulled an iPhone from his pocket, and settled it sideways into the mount so the back of the phone was facing us. He tapped the screen a few times, then stepped away, back against the chalkboard, watching the phone.
Fear slithered down my spine. He was recording us.
For the millionth time I wondered what, exactly, Gordon’s job was at Wisewood. Ruth and I taught, Debbie cooked, Sofia healed. Raeanne managed the garden, mowed the lawn, shoveled snow, cared for the land. Sanderson drove the boat, made grocery runs, had a head for plumbing and electric. Jeremiah balanced Wisewood’s books. None of us knew what Gordon did other than hang around Teacher’s office and occasionally disappear on top secret missions.
Teacher returned to the front of the room and waited for the group to settle. I wiggled my toes, still couldn’t feel them.
“Kit, I’m thrilled to welcome you to your q1, the Quest of Judgment.” Teacher sat gracefully atop her desk. She steepled her fingers, brow furrowed. “Why have you been chosen for the IC?” My mouth fell open as I scrambled for an answer. “Why have all of you been chosen?” She peered at the others. “The people in this room have been through the worst of life’s tribulations. You have suffered unimaginable grief, losing the people who mattered most to you via death or rejection, sometimes both. You have been beaten bloody, had your spirits broken. You have lost your battles with addiction.”
I snuck a peek over my shoulder. Most of the students had their heads down, tracing the wood grains of the desks with their fingers, but Raeanne and Sofia were staring at Teacher, unblinking, breath held.
“When I look at your faces, I don’t see victims,” Teacher said. “I see survivors. I see fighters.”
Sanderson beamed at his desk. Ruth nodded. Raeanne whooped.
Teacher began to pace the front of the room, speaking more loudly. “Each of you has the chance to exemplify fearlessness, to assist greatness in others.” She stopped and wrung her hands. “I hope the veterans among you will provide that assistance tonight. I cannot do the work alone. I need every single one of you right now.” She examined us. “We must push forward as one.”
“Hear! Hear!” Sofia said. The others bobbed their heads. I leaned my ears into my shoulders, trying to warm them on Jeremiah’s coat.