Red is for Remembrance by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online

he's still not sure how much he can trust him.
    "Look," Brick says, interrupting Shell's thoughts. He points up at the sky. Despite the early hour, the moon has made its appearance, just above the barren trees. A pale grayish sliver, approaching first quarter. "It's waxing," Brick says. 'A good time to wish for something."
    'And what should we wish for?" Shell asks.
    "What else but peace?" Brick says.
    "Peace," Shell repeats in agreement.
    "Peace will set us free." Brick picks up a couple rocks from the ground, a stark white one with a flat surface and
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    the other with a pointed end. Using the point, he scratches across the surface of the flat white rock, creating a five-pointed star surrounded by a circle. "It's a pentacle," Brick says. "Each point represents something different-- earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. The circle is for the spirit's endless love." He flips the rock and draws another star, taking his time with each point.
    "See," Brick says, "when you draw it like this, from left to right, it empowers you to make something happen-- to bring about change . . , good change."
    'Are you a witch?" Shell asks, trying to remember where he's seen the symbol before, wondering where he's heard about pentacle invocation.
    Brick nods. "Don't tell anyone, though. I'm not sure how the elders would like it. Rain caught me doing a soap spell once with tea leaves and a hand-rolled candle. She flipped out and went to Mason. Some people are afraid of what they don't know, you know. They don't understand how peaceful Wicca really is."
    Shell agrees. He picks up a couple rocks and does the same, drawing a pentacle across the surface and silently praying for peace.
    55

Shell
    In the kitchen, the female campers prepare the evening meal-- chicken drumsticks, pickled beets, and mashed potatoes. There are candles and lanterns placed on the table and countertops for extra light, and the fireplace is blazing for added warmth. Shell stands in front of it, rubbing his palms together, feeling the heat of the fire against his face. "Hungry?" Daisy asks him.
     
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    Shell nods, his stomach growling from the mere smell of the cooking. He glances over at the stove where Daisy checks the doneness of a potato with her fork. Though the cabins themselves are pretty primitive, they do have some amenities, like heat and electricity supplied by a generator, and a well for water. Still, they conserve whenever they can so as not to be wasteful.
    Shell jumps suddenly, feeling a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around to find Clay right behind him.
    "Sorry" Clay says. "I didn't mean to startle you. Do you have a second? We need to talk."
    Shell nods, following Clay into the living room area, just behind the kitchen. Clay takes a seat on the thick, velvety plum-purple carpet Rain brought back from the trading field last month; it's a perfectly good oriental piece with barely any wear and no stains to speak of. She apparently traded it for a pair of aquamarine earrings and a handmade rolling pin that Mason crafted himself.
    "We're going out tonight," Clay says.
    "Where?" She'll asks.
    Instead of answering, Clay gestures for Shell to have a seat. Shell surveys the room for his options-- a patched-up beanbag chair, an iron park bench, and on the rug opposite Clay. He opts for the bench, figuring that, from the graveness of Clay's present demeanor, he could use the extra stability
    "The only reason I'm telling you ahead of time is because I don't want you to become alarmed right in the midst of things and upset the other campers; I need them on my side tonight."
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    "How would I upset them?" Shell asks. He reaches into his pocket to hold the rock he scratched earlier, the one with the pentacle. He grips it hard, soaking up the natural energy willing inner peace.
    "You're still fairly new here," Clay explains. "You're still learning about our community . . .
    growing into our world of peace." He pauses a moment to admire the crackling of the fire and the