SOFI
I couldn’t make sense of anything. The Council was in chaos, their reaction to proof of the reality of magic not, disturbingly, unlike my own had been. But the blind fervor, that was different. The cheering, the shouting, it all swirled in my head, a cacophony of sound. Next to me, Darja was frantic as well, gesturing wildly and pleading nonsensically—something about souls, I couldn’t quite understand—and up at the front of the crowd stood my father, a triumphant light shining in his eyes. In the midst of all the pandemonium a stalk of corn waved in the gentle breeze, tassel shining and leaves unfurled to the sun as if it had been growing there for months rather than minutes.
My breath caught at the sight, no different than the magic we had been performing for weeks, but my former sense of triumph and excitement shriveled in the face of the blind elation of the Council members.
They don’t understand.
For a moment I believed the thought was my own, until Darja repeated it, her hands raised as if to grip my shoulders before sliding ineffectually through my skin.
“They don’t understand,” she repeated. “You don’t understand,” and her face was so distraught it snapped me back to awareness. Gathering my wits, I pushed through to the front of the crowd.
“Sofi, you came.” My mother’s face lit at the sight of me. “Did you see?” She gestured at the corn, but the joy in her expression faltered as she took in my face. I ignored her though, pushing toward my father.
He hadn’t seen me yet, but my steps halted as Eliise Tam stepped up beside him at the pulpit. She was quickly joined by the rest of the Council, who clustered around them, some shaking hands with Henri and Marleen, others hesitantly reaching out to touch the stalk of corn.
Eliise spoke quietly to my father for a moment, before turning to the gathered group and raising her voice.
“As you all know, Vaikesti’s sesquicentennial celebration falls on Midsummer Day this year. Our committees have been working hard all year on the plans for the festival, which has promised to be the biggest event in Vaikesti history. It is nothing less than a miracle,” she said, her clear voice at odds with her stooped form, “that our magic has returned to us now, on the threshold of such an important and historic celebration. I am thinking that we should not waste this opportunity that has been laid before us.”
My gut twisted uneasily.
“I agree,” said another woman, a Council member I knew by sight if not by name. “It’s the perfect opportunity to demonstrate what we’ve found to the entire town. Perhaps we could do something large scale? A demonstration of some sort?”
“Yes,” my mother chimed in, looking excited. “What about the blessings? The blessings over the fields have always been a traditional Midsummer ritual. What if we add spells in this year? Make a spectacle of it?”
The others were nodding, and I began to feel sick.
“Perfect,” my father said with a smile of approval, running his hands over the thick binder of pages. “This year, our blessings will be more than prayer and hope. This year, we leave nothing to chance.”
“Everyone can be involved,” another man put in, his fingers caressing the silky leaves of the corn stalk. “Imagine what we could do to the crop fields if everyone participated.”
“Sofi,” Darja gasped, and my blood turned to ice in my veins at the mental image of the entire town out in the fields, using broken magic to curse our crops. What would it do to the townspeople? To my family? My friends?
I heard Darja’s words in my head again. Their souls. It’s…damaging them. It’s killing them. My horror rose, choking me. I couldn’t even tell if the feeling was all my own or if Darja’s emotions were leaking through our bond. Beside me she flickered, as if she was too distraught to be able to control herself.
“No!” Heads turned to face me before I realized I’d spoken, and my feet carried me up to the dais. I focused my beseeching gaze on my father and the other Council members.
“You can’t do this, you have to stop. You don’t understand what you’re doing—”
“Sofi? What are you saying?” My mother’s face pinched with worry.
I ignored her.
“That book. It’s not meant to be used that way; it’s—” but I stumbled, unsure of what to say. I had to stop this, but I had no idea how to start.
“What would you know about any of this?” my father cut in. His voice was calm and cool, and my face flushed with anger.
“More than you do,” I snapped. “Those words aren’t meant to be read by the living.” I pointed to Henri and Marleen, who still stood to the side, faces strangely blank. How long would they even live like that? “You’re hurting people. You can’t let this get out of hand.”
Though things had gotten out of hand a long time ago, I knew.
Eliise stepped closer, eyebrows raised questioningly, but my father waved her back, indicating he would just be a moment. Beside me, Darja still flickered, her mouth forming words I could only half hear.
“I don’t know what ideas that boy, that…võõras…has been putting in your head,” my father said coldly, “but this is none of your concern. If you’ve decided to turn your back on your people, you can’t expect—”
“Sofi,” my mother cut in anxiously, placing a soothing hand on my arm, “why don’t we talk about this later. We can all go home after—”
I pushed her hand away, trying to block out Darja’s distracting form as she struggled to stabilize herself, phasing in and out first to my left, then behind my father, then by my side again, her voice crackling in agitation as if through a faulty telephone connection. “You have to…don’t let them…I can’t…”
Around me, the other Council members were whispering, a concerned undercurrent of low voices distracting me further.
I ground my teeth and tried to focus on my father, my blood pressure rising until I could feel my heart beating in my ears. “I haven’t turned my back on my people,” I ground out, “but you have to listen to me. Magic doesn’t work the way you think it does. You—”
“Honey,” my mother tried again. “You don’t have to worry, we have a plan. I know this is new and scary, but we’re all going to work through it together at the celebration.”
My father was speaking over her, “—completely inappropriate. You don’t know the first thing about the sacrifice that we—”
“Have to go—” Darja snarled by my shoulder, then phased out again.
“Dammit!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the clearing, and in the silence that followed I turned and grabbed the stalk of corn, ripping it from the ground with a harsh yank. Clumps of dirt showered from the healthy rootball as I spun, brandishing it first at my father, then at the openmouthed Council members who stared aghast as if I had just defaced a sacred monument.
“Is this worth your lives?” I yelled, my skin tingling as anger and stress bubbled up through me and overflowed, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. “Would you kill for this?” I shook the plant harder, and my mother stepped back. “Because you already have.” I whirled again, toward my father, and my face twisted into a snarl. “And you think I don’t know about sacrifice.”
At that moment, Darja phased in by his side, whatever she’d been saying coming in half-formed words I couldn’t understand, and I turned on her before I could stop myself.
“Darja, stop.”
She phased out again, leaving behind the empty air I knew was all anyone else had seen all along, and I realized my mistake.
My mother went deathly pale, and the angry expression on my father’s face faded in an instant, leaving behind a strange blankness that set alarm bells ringing in my head.
An instant later Darja was back, her voice low but clear.
“Let’s go.”
I dropped the broken stalk of corn at my father’s feet, turned, and ran.