Evangeline Preview

 

I.

 

In my forest,

I am queen.

No, I am more,

I am empress,

I am goddess.

The forest has never

thrown me out,

never been cruel.

Even in the snow,

and the heavy rain,

it still cares for me—

it grows my food,

and my bedding;

the canopy shades me.

If only I didn’t need the robbers

to protect me too.

Protection

from silence,

from solace.

The things I crave,

yet fear.

Always,

fear wins.

So I stay.

“Eva,”

a voice calls.

I turn,

knowing it is Alaric.

“They’re back,” he says.

“I do not care,” I say.

I turn back

to face my mountains

and my trees.

There are so many

mountains and trees in Adraria,

but these ones

are mine.

“Please come,”

Alaric says.

“I know you do not care for it,

but it is how we survive.”

“You,” I say.

I do not see,

but sense,

Alaric’s jaw tighten.

“You eat the same food as us,

from the same spoils,”

he says.

I sigh,

because he is right.

But I don’t like to lose arguments

that touch my conscience.

“I do not want to see it,”

I say. “I do not want

to see it all.

The theft.

It’s abhorrent.”

“Abhorrent!” He scoffs.

“Fine, Eva.

It’s abhorrent.

Please, come, then,

to stand by me

and judge me

while we lay claim

as they divvy it up.

You like to judge us,

don’t you?”

He is smiling,

I can tell.

My eyebrows draw together.

My mind is so often conflicted

between what is right

and what is wrong.

Robbers steal.

But is not my sin

equal to that?

Worse?

I wish I could ask

someone who knows.

But no one does.

I sigh again.

“I will come.”

I turn and find I was right—

Alaric smiles at me,

as if he has won.

As we walk to the camp,

I think of how young

I was

when I first found my robbers.

I was fourteen then.

I already knew

how to curtsy and bow,

how to eat properly

and speak properly.

How to sew and dance.

I like that those things

don’t matter here.

I like that here,

there are no rules

and rigidity.

I am not told how I must behave,

but can simply be

myself.

It is a small comfort.

We enter camp

and I cannot help but smile.

When I stand on the hilltop,

I resent my robbers,

but they are not a bad lot.

Not all of them, anyway.

I see Aldred,

who is like a bear.

He is big and strong

and covered in dark hair,

but he is kinder than a kiss beneath it.

Ever since I first came to them,

he has called me Raven,

because of my hair,

which is wild and curly

and black as pitch.

Beside him is Emmett,

holding up some stolen treasure

with a grin.

Emmett has too many grins,

and they all mean mischief.

Beneath them

is only more mischief.

To be irritating,

he calls me Crow.

There is Thomas,

who is so young still,

practicing with his bow.

Ivan is helping to divvy the load,

but keeps one eye on his young brother.

Before they came to us,

they were all each other had

left.
Their parents died of the illness

that swept the country many winters past.

I always feel my heart ache for them,

for I lost mine

to the same.

“Crow,” calls Emmett,

and I ignore him.

“Oh, come now, Crow!

You’re not still upset

about that little jest this morning?”

It was not a little jest.

He called me a child

in front of everyone;

acted out the way I speak,

the way I walk.

He made fun of me,

and I will not forgive him

so easily.

“You shouldn’t hold grudges

as you do,” Alaric says.

“You should not give unwanted advice,

as you do,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow at me,

as he so often does,

as if I confuse him

or am a riddle to be solved.

“Cast your lot,” I say,

waving him away.

“Claim what you want.

Why did you waste your time

coming to get me?”

They always do this,

my robbers.

If there was something

someone wants to keep,

they must claim it quickly.

For soon,

anything we cannot eat,

or that cannot keep us warm

in the winter,

will be sold for something that can.

Occasionally,

Alaric finds books

and scrolls

among the things most robbers

think valueless.

Alaric is one of the few

who can read

and write,

and enjoys doing so,

whenever he has the chance.

“I knew you’d be off sulking,”

he says,

“And I didn’t want you

to stay up there all night,

mind in the sky.

You do that sometimes.

Forget the rest of us are down here

waiting for you.”

It is a sweet thought,

like a candied syrup

covering a ruby apple.

It looks irresistible

in the window of the candy shop—

but once you bite into it,

you only feel sick.

Alaric may fancy himself

a person who cares for me,

without realizing he is a person

who cares for everyone.

When storms fell trees,

when illness steals souls,

when men you cannot rob,

cannot even plead with,

come to ravage the delicate walls

of your protected world—

it is better if you have less

for them to take.

I will not allow myself

to be one of Alaric’s

inevitable losses.

I will not allow myself to be anyone’s.

And no matter what this boy,

with his soft eyes

and softer heart says,

I am only a shadow

living among these men.

If I were to stay on my cliff side

for an eternity,

they would not be waiting

when I came down.

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