Prologue
Prologue
The forest of Amaranth was not the best place for a stroll, not even during the day. Tales of missing people and attacks by hidden creatures served as a warning to anyone who wished to go there, making its deepest areas virtually unexplored. And even if they had stuck to the well-trodden paths, venturing in after sunset was decidedly ill-advised.
And yet, there they were.
Five students walked in a single file along the path, each holding a small flashlight to illuminate their way. The canopy of trees grew increasingly dense above them, reducing the moonlight that managed to filter through the branches as they pushed forward.
Leading the line was a tall, slender boy with platinum blond hair and skin as pale as the moon hidden behind the foliage. He moved slowly yet with a decisive step, holding his flashlight straight to light the path, his gaze focused. He seemed so confident, and at the same time so out of place, with his aristocratic air and pale blue clothes that stood out in the night.
Behind him, Jules Arden advanced with the same confidence, but far less grace. His dark hair was tied in a low ponytail, his eyes intent on searching for something in the dark, while a tanned girl with long honey-blond hair and a canary-yellow dress clung to his arm with a frightened look. Jules moved heedless of her presence, yet kept her pace, as if that proximity had become part of their shared language.
“What are we still missing?” a trembling voice uttered behind them.
The girl released her grip on his arm and pulled a list from her pocket. She illuminated it with her flashlight without stopping. “Uhm, morning dew collected, dandelion in my backpack... Snake scales, got those too... Nightflower leaves? Do you have them, Peter?” she asked one of the two boys bringing up the rear.
Another voice behind her answered almost imperceptibly, “No, Oscar has them.”
“Perfect,” she declared, continuing to walk with her eyes fixed on her notes. “Only the Fireflower is left—AH!”
She let out a small shriek as she lost her balance and pitched forward.
Jules whipped around and caught her just in time.
The boy leading the line turned around and glared at her. “Watch your step, Cardillo. If you ruin an ingredient, you’re going back to find it again on your own,” he said in a frosty tone.
Then he looked at Jules. “And you, Arden, keep an eye on your little girlfriend and her coordination issues. Thank you.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” the latter snapped back, helping the girl beside him back onto her feet. “Are you alright, Mary?” he finally asked in a softer tone.
She nodded and murmured a faint “Sorry, Jules.”
The boy offered her his arm and aimed the flashlight forward once more. The leader had already resumed walking and was several paces ahead of them.
Jules shook his head, making no comment on their companion’s behavior, and turned back to his friend.
“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly, “in this darkness, it can happen...”
“Are you two going to stop chirping?” the voice ahead reprimanded them, without turning around or slowing down.
Jules sighed. Marisol grabbed the offered arm, and they resumed their walk.
“I don’t get why they put us in a group with him,” the girl whispered bitterly, “or why he gets to be in charge.”
Jules smiled. “Technically, he’s not in charge; he’s just clearing the way. If something attacks us, he’ll be the first one to go down.”
“Ah, what a dream!” Marisol replied, delighted.
Jules had the distinct impression that the boy was about to reply when he saw him freeze on the spot. He stopped walking too and held back Marisol, who didn’t seem to have picked up on the clues.
Oscar and Peter, behind them, bumped right into him.
“What’s happening? Why did we stop all of a sudden?” Marisol asked.
The boy in front raised an arm, gesturing for silence.
Jules didn’t utter a word, and when Marisol went to open her mouth, he squeezed her hand and shook his head no. As annoying as he found him, he trusted Blanchard’s intuition. Whatever he had noticed, they could be close to the last ingredient on the list… or to a deadly danger.
Suddenly, the lights of all the flashlights began to flicker until they went out completely.
The boy didn’t move an inch. Then he turned to look at them.
“We’re close,” he said firmly. “Stay here. You, Arden, come with me.”
Jules looked at him, perplexed, while Marisol began to protest; but the other boy was already walking again, and Jules had no intention of letting him go alone. He let go of the girl’s hand, offering a reassuring “Wait for us here. It’s better if you stay in a safe zone in case we need help.”
He caught up with the boy in a few quick strides, saying between steps, “At least wait for me!” but received no answer.
Jules raised a hand in front of him, palm facing upward, and conjured a small orb of fire that lit up the surrounding area with a golden glow.
Blanchard looked up toward the sky.
“What is it?” Jules asked.
“Do I really need to explain it to you? You’re wasting energy, and you’re making us visible to predators.”
“Do you want me to put it out?”
“Do whatever you want. I have no problem fighting, and if this is the only way to keep you from tripping over your own feet...”
Jules huffed. He had a strong urge to slap him, but it was definitely not the time. He shrank the orb further without extinguishing it completely and stepped up beside his partner. They advanced silently along the path, the rustle of the grass beneath their feet the only sign of their passing.
“Blanchard,” Jules said. He never knew what to call him, what with the double surname and all. If they ever became friends, he could just call him Antoine. But that didn’t seem very likely. He turned to look at him. He hadn’t answered, but Jules knew he was listening. “Why did you only bring me?”
The other boy sighed. “First of all, watch where you step, please.”
“That doesn’t sound like an answer to what I asked.”
“I’m not trying to kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I think you should,” Jules surprised himself by smiling. “Fight me while you can, before I snatch the top academic spot from you.”
“That will never happen,” the other said absentmindedly, brushing aside a plant with particularly tall leaves with the tips of his fingers. “In any case, I don’t want to kill you, but I don’t want to die either,” Blanchard concluded.
Around them, the leaves were growing larger and denser, encroaching onto the path with their bluish-green hues. Tiny colorful fireflies seemed to follow them.
Jules found himself wondering what the difference was between a pink firefly and a yellow firefly. Maybe he would look it up in a zoology book. He wondered if there were chapters on the Blanchard Gauthiers. He laughed to himself before focusing back on the conversation.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that compared to the hopeless cases we left back there, you presumably won’t get me killed. Or at least, that’s what I thought until five minutes ago...”
Blanchard Gauthier: a rare species of stuck-up white fairies, known for their bad tempers and encyclopedic knowledge of everything. Their secret weapon is sarcasm, with which they mortally wound their victims.
Jules burst out laughing to himself, and Antoine glanced at him with a look of disgust. “I should have brought the clumsy female; at least she seems sane,” he muttered, making Jules burst into an even louder laugh.
They continued for a few steps until they caught sight of a bright red glow coming from behind the gnarled trunk of a tree several meters away, where the path was no longer marked.
Jules took a step onto the tall grass, but Antoine stopped him with a hand.
Then he took a piece of fluorescent string and secured it to the outermost branch of the tree beside him, tying it with a tight double knot.
“Don’t run, and stay close to me,” he said calmly.
When Jules passed him again, ignoring his instructions, he heard him mutter something. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sounded like an insult.
Antoine continued to tie strings to the next three trees and nearly reached the flower.
Jules was already there, standing motionless before the spectacle. The other drew his wand, staring at a spot to their left, his eyebrows furrowed. Too late. A shadow leaped from that exact spot and pounced on Jules, scratching him. Instantly, they noticed five pairs of glowing eyes staring at them from behind the vegetation.
“Damn it,” Antoine whispered.
Jules grabbed the little creature biting his neck and threw it aside; a spurt of blood covered his hands and shoulder.
“You get the flower, I’ll handle them,” he said confidently, enlarging the light orb.
Antoine nodded and approached the object of their search. It was beautiful.
The scarlet orchid emitted an intense red light; delicate golden veins striped its petals, merging at the center from which a warm white light emanated. The stem was covered in red thorns, the tips of the tiny leaves the same warm color.
Antoine flicked his wand, and the flower was enveloped in a sphere of smoky darkness that obscured its light. Following that, a cube of translucent energy surrounded it. A third flick of the wand, and the stem was severed.
He reached out his hand to grab it. The solid, transparent cube revealed the dark, restless mist moving inside. He gripped it in one hand and turned around.
Behind him, Jules was fighting six darkbats. Their small, furry bodies could have looked like adorable plush hamsters if not for their large wings and sharp claws. He kept summoning flashes of ligh, powerful enough to hit them and drive them back, but not enough to truly harm them. They faltered and returned to the attack continuously, swirling around him.
Antoine rolled his eyes to the sky again. It was the second time in a matter of minutes.
“Done. Let’s go,” he said dismissively. He waved his wand, casting an invisible spell that sent them all tumbling to the ground.
“Blanchard!” Jules shouted, outraged.
The latter met him with an icy stare.
“What? They’re alive, calm down. Or was I not even supposed to stun them because you sympathize with the little brats?”
Jules clenched his fists. “It’s their home.”
“Indeed, and I was magnanimous enough not to kill them. Hurrah for me. Now stop whining and let’s go before they wake up.”
Jules opened his mouth to speak, but the other pointed his wand directly at him. “And lower your voice,” he articulated slowly. Then, seeing that he remained motionless, he grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him away through the tall grass. His grip was firmer and more decisive than Marisol’s, yet somehow gentler.
Around him, the landscape seemed to spin, and little by little, the outlines of the surrounding plants grew blurry, as if he were inside a watercolor painted on paper that was far too wet. They retraced the direction the other had marked with the glowing ties, which Ant-no, Blanchard, was now retrieving one by one without letting go of the sleeve...the sleeve?Jules’s hand.When had he grabbed his hand?He couldn’t say. But a part of him was glad to be guided, because his steps were uncertain and he was no longer sure which way to go. The lights seemed double, and when they finally reached the path back, the gravel beneath his feet felt too hard, too real. As if he had passed from a dream into reality. Yet, everything still had the hazy outlines of a dream.
And in that dream, there was a blond angel dragging him along. Or a fairy? He couldn’t tell. Why was everything so strange?
Jules registered this thought absently when the other stopped to look at him.
“What... what is it now?” he asked uncertainly. His own voice sounded slurred, but the sounds were muffled too, and he couldn’t tell for sure.
Antoine reached out a hand and stroked his neck. Jules couldn’t suppress a shiver, his eyes locked onto his.
Then he saw his companion’s fingers soaked in blood. They both stared at them.
Antoine let go of his hand and pulled out his wand. “This is going to hurt a little,” was all he said, and before Jules had time to react, a sudden burning sensation flooded his skin and part of his shoulder. It was an intense pain, yet dulled by the feeling of unreality that pervaded him. He felt something leaving his skin as Antoine’s wand emitted a thin beam of light directly onto it, and a part of him thought,maybe I should defend myself. But he met Antoine’s gaze, which made him change his mind.
In a matter of seconds, he felt nothing anymore, and a gentle warmth spread across the wound.
He blinked a couple of times. The world had stopped spinning, and the person in front of him was neither an angel nor a fairy. He was the usual stuck-up, know-it-all classmate.
He ran a hand over his neck, which was now dry. Then, he stared at the other with a questioning look.
“The poison was entering your bloodstream. I removed it,” he said dryly.
Jules didn’t know what to say. Should he thank him?
Blanchard must have noticed, because he added irritably, “I didn’t do it for you. If you were to get sick or worse because of this assignment, the group’s grade would drop, and consequently, mine would too.”
“Okay,” Jules said. He didn’t know whether to believe him, and he still wondered which was his true mask: the kindness or the arrogance. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Let’s go,” Antoine declared, then set off again.
They continued in silence, a few paces apart from each other.
They were almost back to their starting point when they heard a scream.
Peter.
Jules turned in his direction.
Behind him, he heard a tired voice complaining.
“What did I do wrong to be placed in a group of idiots for this task?”
But he ignored him and ran forward.
