MY EYES SCAN ACROSS THE CROWD TRYING TO FIND THE SPEAKER. Low voices roll across the crowd, everyone turning to find the origin of the voice. It doesn’t last long. The crowd parts for a boy and a girl. The boy seems around Zak or Sam’s age. He has golden-coloured skin and dark brown eyes and hair. I know I haven’t seen him before. I don’t think he’s a Guardian.

But I’m hardly able to process this when I see the girl. She has straight blond hair and blue eyes and a scar running across her neck. Kyla. What is she doing here?

“Stop,” the boy repeats, “We need to give something to the girl first. We need to give something to an Unmarked."

He makes his way up to the stage. In his hand is a thick book, notes and bookmarks sticking out in places. He reaches the stage and hands me the book before he and Kyla melt back into the crowd.

There is a pause, people looking at each other, uncertain. I glance at the book. Past, Present, Future it reads. My heart jumps. I glance down at the author and I know I’m right. Dan Everett. I had forgotten all about the poem. Pieces of the puzzle put themselves together in my mind.

I glance over at Sam. He looks at me quizzically before glancing down at his hand to bring my attention. In his hand is the note I sent him through Luna. I nod slightly. It’s the book.

The elderly man next to me doesn't seem to notice they attracted my attention somewhere else. He takes in a deep breath and continues.

“Unless anyone has any objections, Darsal will become Marked.”

My heart jumps. Being Marked is to have the branding of the Guardian’s symbol, the shape chickadee in flight with a black band going in a circle around it, behind your ear.

Hair can easily cover the symbol. But I’m not scared of it, more of getting branded.

The elderly man takes a black print from a cushion. I can see the steaming piece of metal sending faint curls of smoke up into the air.

I pull my ear back as he lifts the piece of metal. I take in a deep breath as he presses the steaming metal against my skin. Pain jolts through my body and I suddenly feel cold, before becoming hot and then freezing again. I make a face to mask the pain. The metal leaves my skin. I feel light-headed and things spin, but I stand my ground.

“I declare Darsal as Marked!” and the crowd erupts in cheers.

***

I hear music playing outside. The sound of people singing along and laughing fills the Guardian camp.

I sit in the same leather chair as earlier today. It’s over, I tell myself, You’re a marked Guardian. I can’t help but smile at the thought. I left, but they welcomed me back with open arms.

The pounding in my head doesn’t cease, but the pain behind my ear has drifted away as I squeeze Past, Present, Future in my arms.

The door creaked open. Sam and Zak appear in the doorway. As soon as I got off the wooden stage, I asked them to find me in the library in half an hour.

“Hey Little Miss Marked,” Sam says with a smile.

I open my eyes slowly, smiling.

They both come and sit on the couch, facing me. They look at me expectantly. For a moment I don’t know why. Then I remember why I asked them to come.

I hold the book on my lap, looking across the old cover. It’s frayed in places, but it looks identical to when I was a little girl. My mom only read it to me once, but I remember it well. I couldn’t figure why there weren’t any stories.

“Why are you reading this?” I had asked.

“One day, it might come in really handy,” she had answered, and I never saw the book again.

Until now.

But it doesn't matter anymore.

“I was going to tell you I couldn’t find it, but so many things happened, I forgot,” Sam says.

“Oh yeah. I have a question about that letter you sent Sam,” Zak says, “Who are the Hs?”

I bite my lip. Do I really want him to know? Sam looks up at me as if asking if he should say.

“It’s me. My...my mother’s last name was Hunter,” I finally say.

There is a pause as Zak processes the information. Understanding dawns on his face as everything clicks into place.

“So you knew,” he says, raising his eyebrows until they disappear into his black hair.

I bite my lip, raising my shoulders as my voice goes up an octave, “Maybe?”

I motion for them to come closer. When we sit inches apart, I whisper, “This is our key to the end of this war. Many people might try to stop us, but we need to end it.”

Sam and Zak look at each other.

“That poem in the willow,” I whisper, and they both nod.

I flip through the pages to where one of the many bookmarks is. The smell of ancient paper slips out from within the withered pages. They’re rough to the touch, made with rather thick paper, the edges torn and bent. Written within the margins are notes in multiple colours and handwriting. Someone circled a passage with a purple pen. Written in cursive next to it are the words:

War is inevitable,

its hold like a strangle,

but ending it,

will only take 102,

but I’m counting on you,

to find what is true,

but only Before,

can open that door,

to end the war,

and the threat,

you’ll need, and yet,

Dan Everett.

I know that handwriting anywhere. It’s my mother’s, along with her purple pen. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep the tears from slipping by.

“It’s the same poem as on the tree. And look,” my finger slides down the page to the bottom left corner, “Page one-hundred-and-two. Just like in the poem.”

Zak slowly takes the book from my hands and reads the part that is circled, “Go to the Eastern Desert and find the key to stopping the war that entangles me. But only Before can pull you away from experiencing the same pain all over again. And so you must face it; cherish it; never forget it; for it’s the key who can save both you and me.”

We all look at each other as if wondering if we heard right. The Eastern Desert; we’re going to have to go on the same suicide mission that broke my childhood. But looking at each other here, I somehow know that we’re going to go. This time I will not fail at saving what I love, I tell myself.

“Ready to accomplish the impossible?” Sam says, grinning.

The curtain of innocence has been torn away. I now know just how cruel the world is, but I decide I might as well make the most of it, fighting the worst battles the world will throw at me. And I know I will so Before won’t be something for everyone to hide. Maybe, I think to myself, maybe, one day, the world will be a place where memories of childhood will be something to cherish, and won’t be something that needs to remain hidden.

Ready to accomplish the impossible? Before, I would have thought of it as something unattainable. But now I know it’s only mentally unattainable.

I remember my words back at the Scriptio camp “Do you know what it is to have everything you once believed in broken in a matter of moments? To not be able to believe in anything anymore for the fear of the world turning on you?” But now, I know that not that you can’t. Believing is a choice. One that you’ll make consciously or not, either boxing yourself into only a small part of your mind or letting yourself be free. I think over the words Katlyne said. Believe.

I have to believe that the world can become better. I have to believe that I can reach the end of the world and come back. I have to believe that I will end the war. That we will.

And so I choose to believe.