Cai poked at Peter where he rested, blissfully unaware at the back of Cai's mind after a long day of classes at Ravens' Hall. He wanted to ignore the ravens’ call, but he couldn't. He knew they were still in raven form, and he looked forward cautiously: The prefects had warned more than once about pushing forward too hard and transforming mid-air.
He needn't have worried. They stood on the ground in the middle of a small, grass-filled meadow, circled by pines and oaks with new leaves. Something large and sweetly rotting lay on the edge, just under the trees. The sun was still up, though long shadows of the trees crossed all the way from one end to the other.
A loud caw, challenging Cai, came from just behind him. After they turned, Cai showed Peter an image of Chris, superimposed over the raven before them.
Peter understood. Cai didn't see anything wrong with the carrion now behind them. But Chris was already on such thin ground: Peter didn't know what would happen if he had another infraction of the rules.
Cai gave a loud caw in return, his wings spread wide as if to stop the other raven, ready to fight.
Chris, as a raven, was bigger than Cai, but Peter had no doubt that Cai was fiercer.
However, Chris was insane. How crazy was his raven soul?
Chris stormed at Cai, hopping and leaning forward to peck at him. It didn't matter how Cai pecked back, how Cai's wings beat at him. The raven wouldn't stop.
Cai wasn't scared. He was rarely scared. But he was disturbed. The other raven should have gone away. He wasn't acting normal.
Let me, Peter told him.
Cai didn't want to let go. This was a rival. A rival who was doing the wrong thing, something that would hurt the clan, or at least that was what he understood. With great reluctance he let go, and Peter came forward, transforming into a naked, suddenly cold human in a field. The grass pricked against his bare feet, and the wind raised goose pimples all across his back and up and down his arms.
"Chris," Peter said. "You can't. Let it go."
The raven screamed loudly in frustration, darting forward as if intending to peck Peter's hands.
"No!" Peter yelled. "No! Go back! Back to Ravens' Hall!" He took a few steps toward the raven, yelling and waving his arms.
The raven shivered, and transformed back into Chris. He stayed crouching near the ground, snarling, his eyes not human.
"Chris. Chris! Come back, man," Peter said, worried.
With a croaking growl, Chris raced across the short distance between them, throwing his arms around Peter's thighs and tackling him to the ground.
"Wait, what? Stop!" Peter said, pushing up at Chris.
When Chris threw the first punch, cracking Peter's head back hard into the ground, Peter realized the time was here, now, and the fight was on.
Peter punched Chris back, socking him in the ribs, getting Chris shifted off his legs so he could roll away, his mind calm as his training took over.
Chris struck out with a blindingly fast punch that Peter dodged easily, landing his own on Chris' shoulder, spinning him. He followed up with a kick to Chris' ribs. Before he could close, Chris' fist came out of nowhere and drove him back with a blow to his own shoulder.
Peter thought about raising the warrior glass armor, but quickly discarded it. This wasn't about a safe fight. This was rage and disappointment and finally hitting and hurting as much as they wanted.
This was a brutal dance.
After landing two more good strikes to Chris's chest and ribs, Peter took his own blows, quick and hard, one to his shin and another to his left arm. Just one inch to one side or the other and Chris would have taken out either his knee or his elbow.
As quickly as it came up, Peter's fury drained away. He worked to be more careful, blocking more, not taking as many hits. He realized he was tired, suddenly. His bruises started to make themselves known, up his left side, across his feet. They both breathed harshly in the cool afternoon, panting curses and grunting when forced to. Blood dripped freely from Chris' nose, and the Peter’s cuts from landing on the rough ground stung as sweat crept across them.
Peter held up his hand, intending to take a breather. There was no reason to keep going. They'd both beaten each other up good.
But Chris wouldn't stop. He kept coming at Peter, even as he swayed.
"Dude. Let it go," Peter told him, taking a swing and missing.
"No. You…you," Chris said, growling again. His eyes had never grown fully human.
"Come back with me," Peter said. The shadows had grown longer, darker, while they'd fought.
"Never," Chris said, with another run at Peter.
This time, Peter sidestepped the attack and brought his elbow down with precision on the small of Chris' back, a direct shot to the kidneys.
Chris sprawled on the ground in front of Peter, his eyes closed, his breath even.
Peter wondered if he'd just knocked Chris unconscious. Then decided he didn't care. He wanted to get back to Ravens' Hall, to tend to his wounds there. It was going to be hard enough to fly in this shape.
He turned and hadn't taken a single step when Cai gave him a warning caw.
Without thinking, Peter raised up the glass armor. He couldn't turn in time to defend himself.
A hard branch from one of the nearby trees crashed down on Peter's spine.
Peter turned in horror. Without the armor, Chris would have broken his back. He struck back, three blows that drove Chris the rest of the way across the meadow and left him collapsed in a heap, truly unconscious this time.
When Peter straightened up, he realized the meadow was strangely quiet. He looked around, but he couldn't see anything different. Chris hadn't hit him in the head; his hearing was just fine—he still heard the wind in the trees and the distant sound of the interstate.
Then he heard it. The far off, heartbreaking caw of a panicked raven.
Cai wasn't with him, enclosed in the armor. He was on the outside.
Peter was alone, miles from Ravens' Hall, trapped, and both vulnerable and invulnerable.
* * *
Peter sat on the cold ground, trying to breathe deeply, trying to calm both of them. The shadows in the meadow had grown darker and the wind smelled of rain.
Cai couldn't hear him, though. Cai, on the other side of the glass armor that protected Peter (too safe, too well) was alone for the first time as well, and continued to make piteous cries, like his world had broken apart, shattered like an egg falling from a high branch and dashing onto the rocks below.
Breathe, Peter said. Warm blankets piled up on their bed, spaghetti sauce over thick worm-like noodles, blue sky. But nothing Peter sent could get through to the panicked raven.
And Peter—Peter couldn't lower the armor. Couldn't get it to drop off his skin. It clung, pricking like feathers, clinging like shadows. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get Cai to stop panicking, and that threat of danger, of loss, kept the armor raised.
Cai, I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. But the glass was impenetrable. Peter couldn't get through, and neither could Cai.
It took Peter a moment to realize that the raven caws he was hearing were now coming from outside. He opened his eyes and raised his head.
A large old raven circled and floated down, white flecking the feathers around its neck, near its eyes. After landing, it shook itself all over like a wet dog, and Prefect Aaron rose in its place.
Peter had never been so glad to see anyone. He stayed seated, though. The evidence of what had happened was obvious, and Peter let the prefect draw his own conclusions, from Chris still crumpled on the ground a few feet away, to the carrion still rotting sweetly, to Peter sitting and guarded.
The prefect walked over to Chris and examined him briefly before coming back and standing over Peter. "He attacked you?"
Peter nodded, but then added, "I fought him, though. At the start. I didn't fly away."
The prefect grunted. "What happened, son?" he asked as he squatted down to face him.
Peter trained his eyes on the prefect's broad chest. Though the prefect was old, his skin wrinkled and weathered, the slight hair on his chest white, his muscles still bunched and slid easily as he reached out.
"I'd stopped Chris. Beat him down. I thought he was unconscious. I turned my back, and he attached again." Peter pushed all his emotions down, trying to remain calm, though he wanted to give in and cry as loudly as Cai was. "My raven soul warned me. It all happened so fast. The armor came up, and—"
"And your raven soul is on the other side," the prefect ended, reaching out and squeezing Peter's shoulder.
Peter barely felt it through the armor. Everything was remote, filtered through glass. "I can't bring it down," he confessed.
The prefect nodded. "You have a choice," he said with a sigh. "You may be able to bring it down yourself, naturally, tomorrow or the next day, if you calm yourself and your raven soul enough. Or you may not be able to. I don't know for certain. Or, you could ask me to bring it down for you. Now—" he held up his hand. "If I bring it down, it will hurt. Much more than you can imagine."
"If I wait, it will hurt more, won't it?" Peter asked through gritted teeth.
"Yes. The longer you wait, the more it grows to be a part of you, melding itself with your bones. After a while, no one would be able to separate you and it. Your raven soul is what keeps it separate."
"And if it's a part of me, my raven soul no longer would be," Peter said with certainty. He remembered Kitridge telling him about how his armor was just another form for his feathers.
"Yes. Your raven soul would die. And then so would you," the prefect said matter-of-factly.
"Take if off me."
"Peter, are you certain? I don't want to hurt you more than is necessary. If you wait until tomorrow morning—"
"No. Do it. Do it now," Peter said. He couldn't stand to hear those piteous caws from Cai. He'd never survive the night.
It would be as bad as if he'd been clipped, or maybe worse, because he should have done something about it.
Peter pushed himself up. The prefect stood with him.
"Are you certain?" the prefect asked.
"Yes."
Coming. Safe nest. Blue skies. Soon, Peter told Cai, trying one last time to reassure the crying raven.
But Cai continued not to notice.
"Do it."
What was that smile on the prefect's face? Was he actually happy to do this to Peter and Cai? Glad to have a chance to hurt them?
Then the pain struck. It forced Peter's breath from his chest, too fast and harsh for him to scream.
The prefect didn't touch Peter, merely spread his hands out, then slowly moved down from Peter's shoulders and along the length of his arms.
Sharp nails dragged their way along Peter's skin. He was surprised to find he wasn't bleeding, that his skin wasn't peeling off. But it felt like that, sharp, hot pain scouring every inch of his arms, his chest, his back. It got worse as it moved along, faster, harsher.
The prefect stopped his movements around Peter's waist, but the armor continued to burn with pain, past his hips, through his groin, pain upon pain, leaving Peter gasping and trembling.
Finally the fireball ended, sinking into the ground. Peter felt raw, exposed, shivering with exhaustion, every bruise and ache from his battle with Chris shining brightly, piercing his nerves.
But Cai, Cai was there. Peter enveloped his raven soul tenderly, drawing it close.
Cai didn't seem relieved, though. His feathers stayed ruffled and he pecked and scratched, agitated. He didn't understand how Peter could be so hurt, where he had gone, how he had come back.
He didn't seem to believe that Peter wasn't about to leave again.
Never, Peter told Cai again and again. You and me. Always. Blue sky. Flying together.
Peter would never raise the glass armor again. He'd never take the chance of leaving Cai on the other side. Being separated like that, even for a short while, was more pain than his soul wanted to bear.
Cai hissed at the prefect as he raised Chris up to his feet. Hissed at Peter when he tried to bring Cai forward.
Peter hesitated. They needed to fly home, but Cai didn't trust him, didn't want to work with him, not yet, not now.
"There's a road only a half mile away," the prefect said, putting one of Chris' arms over his shoulder. "A vehicle from the school will be waiting for us." He turned and started walking away, half-carrying, half-dragging Chris.
After the prefect was out of sight, Cai finally stopped cawing and hissing.
Blue skies? Peter asked, though the sky was more dark than light.
Fly away. Far, far, far away, Cai insisted.
As soon as they could, they would, Peter promised both Cai and himself. Then he turned and walked after the prefect, not trusting that Cai would fly them back to Ravens' Hall if he was in charge.
* * *
Peter wasn't really hungry. He hurt everywhere.
Cai was still unsettled, insisting that they run away.
Still, Peter went to the cafeteria after getting cleaned up. He knew his face told the story of what happened, that he'd been in a fight. He also hoped that the way he flinched when someone brushed against him told of his ample punishment; the tearing off of his armor had left all his skin aching and sore. When he finished dinner, he was planning on going back to his room and taking off all his clothes.
Peter took his plate full of stew, potatoes, and garlic bread to a corner, with his back to the wall, watching the doors and the cafeteria. No one tried to catch his eye or come close. Peter wasn't sure if he looked wild still, if Cai was too close to the surface, or if no one wanted to be associated with an obvious troublemaker.
Jesse came and sat silently next to Peter while he was still trying to eat. "Sorry I weren't there to watch your back," he finally said.
Peter gave him a sharp nod. Yes, if Jesse had been there, maybe Chris wouldn't have snuck up on him like that, separating him and Cai…. He pushed back on the thoughts as the memory of the separation made Cai agitated again.
"That bad?" Jesse asked.
"Yes. No. I don't know," Peter said, unable and unwilling to explain.
They didn't say anything more. The rest of the students went on with their dinner. Plates clattered on plastic trays, boys erupted in laughter in another corner, chairs screeched and scraped across the hard tile floor. Each noise made Peter jump, disturbed Cai further.
Peter had finally given up trying to eat and had just picked up his tray when Prefect Aaron came walking in. He saw Peter and looked away.
Peter sat back down, still holding his tray, waiting.
The rest of the noises in the room died, and everyone turned to face the prefect where he stood at the front of the room. Even the kitchen grew quiet.
"I'm sorry to announce that Chris Sycamore has decided to leave Ravens' Hall and return home immediately. Both the school and his parents agree that it's for the best if no one tries to contact him for a bit, to let him adjust to being home first."
Peter and Cai grew very, very still, certain that the prefect was lying.
Chris hadn't gone home. He was a lost boy.
The rest of the students stayed just as still. Peter realized they knew the prefect lied as well. No one would try to contact Chris. And if someone did, like Thomas, he'd get bland emails in response, letters that would actually originate from Ravens' Hall, until Thomas gave up.
The prefect continued with more lies that Peter didn't bother listening to. He knew he had to be careful, so very careful, or he'd be "lost" as well.
After the prefect left, Jesse put his hand on Peter's arm.
"Ow," Peter said, flinching. It hurt worse, now, than it had.
"What happened?" Jesse asked as he removed his hand.
Peter just shook his head.
"You know he ain't gone home, right?" Jesse hissed.
"Not here," Peter hissed back, looking around. Had anyone heard them?
Jesse sat back. "Yeah. Not here." He was silent for another long moment before he said, "Look. I got some stuff to get together. And you look like half-baked death. Tomorrow, okay?"
Something was off in what Jesse was saying, but Peter just nodded. "Tomorrow," he agreed.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there today," Jesse added as they climbed the stairs together, Peter moving stiffly and slowly. All he wanted was to strip everything from his skin and collapse.
"Same here," Peter admitted.
"Night, Petie-Peter," Jesse said when they reached his floor.
"Night, Jesse," Peter said, smiling once before he dragged himself up the stairs and finally to his room.
While he stripped off his shirt, Peter finally realized what was bothering him. Jesse had been lying when he'd said something. Not about being sorry, but about tomorrow.
Jesse wouldn't be there tomorrow. He was leaving tonight.
With a groan, Peter pulled his shirt back on.
Cai ignored him, tucking his head under his wing, already intent on going back to sleep. He thought they should leave Jesse alone.
Peter rested against the doorframe for a moment, his eyes closed. Bed sounded so good right now, despite how the covers would grate on his skin.
He shook himself. He had to go find Jesse. Now.
The halls were already emptying out, no students left, but still Peter made a show of knocking at Jesse's door, then pretending to hear him say, "Come in."
The room was empty, the balcony door open. Most of Jesse's things were still there. His pack was gone, and his good boots. Had Jesse hiked out, left himself a stash, then flown back? Then repeated that, walking the stash out farther and father?
Peter didn't know. He just wished Jesse well, truly far and away from Ravens' Hall. He didn't know if Jesse could escape them, if anyone could. He closed the balcony door almost all the way, leaving just a crack that a clever raven could push open if necessary, just in case.
As Peter was leaving, he called out, "'Night, Jesse!" still pretending that Jesse was there.
When he turned around, he jumped, startled. Tisha, the hall monitor, was leaning against the wall opposite him. She wore a comfortable-looking, long sleep T and sweats, her orange monitor sash hanging from one shoulder down to her other hip.
"He ain't in there, is he?" she accused.
Peter crossed the hall to where Tisha stood. "He was friends with Chris. You know. The guy who left today."
Tisha looked down at the floor. "Is he what happened to you?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Peter said. He didn't know what kind of trouble he'd get into if he admitted to fighting.
"Look, if your friend's gone, you need to report it. You know there are wolves out there. Coyots. Foxes. Lots of critters who wouldn't mind a bit of raven fricassee."
"He's had a really rough day," Peter said, still stalling Tisha, still not saying anything that was untrue. "Leave him alone."
"It's my job to report things like this. I'll catch hell if I don't."
"It's my job to watch his back," Peter said, though that wasn't strictly true.
Jesse had never asked for that. Just to watch for charms and spells.
With that thought, Peter turned and looked at the door. Was there something more on Jesse's door? Something that had alerted Tisha? But he needed Cai's help for that, and Cai didn't want anything to do with Peter still.
"I gotta report him."
"Please, don't," Peter said. "Give him until the morning."
Peter closed his eyes and swayed with exhaustion. He realized what he'd just said.
Run, Jesse, run. Fly hard and fast.
Tisha gave him an odd grin. "Hell, no. Reporting him might get me out of monitor duty for the rest of my life. If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known, ya know."
Peter knew she lied—she'd been watching Jesse, waiting for something like this.
He had still betrayed his one friend.
He watched Tisha go down the hall away from him, wishing he could stop her. The only way would be to fight her. Reason wouldn't work.
But he couldn't fight her. Couldn't risk being declared a rogue himself.
He couldn't save Jesse. That had never been his fate.
With his heart aching and as sore as his body, Peter finally dragged himself back up the stairs and tumbled into bed, his exhaustion overriding his fears, at least for the time being.