The Essence by Kimberly Derting

together as citizens of one country . . . as one people . . . with one language.” I gripped the sides of the wooden stand. “I’m not asking you to forsake your heritage, to turn your back on the traditions you’ve grown up with. What I’m asking is that we, as citizens of Ludania, learn to use language not as a divider, but rather to unite us. To make us whole.
    “On this momentous day, we will continue the process of abolishing the laws that have divided our people for centuries. The students of this school—and schools across our nation—will no longer look upon one another as vendors, servants, counsel, or outcasts, but instead as classmates.” I raised my fist in the air. “This is my pledge to you.”
    For a moment there was silence, and I wondered if I should say something more, if it wasn’t enough of a statement. My heart replaced the words in my throat, choking me with uncertainty and regret.
    Then a rumble went up, moving through the crowd with a life of its own, as cheers and shouts rose to a thunderous roar. Colorful bits of torn paper were thrown, tossed high into the air, and looked very much like feathers as they were carried on the breeze. My heart soared with them, those tiny scraps, and I was certain my skin glowed brighter and burned hotter as I stood there, watching it all.
    As the cries died down, the door to the vehicle opened on the street below, releasing the first of the children who’d been transported for their first day at the Academy. That was when the cries of opposition began.
    Almost louder, it seemed, than the cheers of hope. And they came in every flavor of language: Termani, Parshon, Englaise.
    “Go back to your own schools. . . .”
    “Servants don’t belong here. . . .”
    “You’re not our kind. . . .”
    “Death to the queen!”
    I held my breath, bracing for trouble as I scanned the crowds. I searched face after face, not sure what I expected to find. I could feel both Zafir and Brook right at my back now, as if they too, sensed danger.
    Then I saw the first boy, small and timid-looking, making his way down the sidewalk toward the school. Toward me.
    I moved away from the podium and hovered at the top step. I went down one and then another.
    Brook stopped me. “What are you doing? You can’t go down there now,” she hissed under her breath.
    “It’s okay. He’s afraid.” I met him halfway down the steps, and by the time I did, there were a dozen more children behind him, all wearing varied expressions of eagerness, reticence, hopefulness, and fear. This was all new to them, all frightening and exciting at the same time.
    I knew how they felt.
    I leaned down to the little boy who’d been brave enough to go first. “What’s your name?” I asked, staring into his wide, brown eyes.
    He ducked his head, keeping his gaze averted, and I was reminded once more how things used to be.
    “It’s okay,” I told him. “You’re safe here.”
    Slowly he lifted his chin, until he was eye to eye with me. His voice was just as small as his stature. “Phoenix, Your Majesty. My name’s Phoenix.”
    I rose, and held out my hand for him. “Welcome to the Academy, Phoenix. Glad you could make it.”

     
    The Academy was only my initial stop, but it was the longest of my tour through the city. My day had been rigidly planned, and each stop timed carefully. I would stay here throughout the morning classes so I could assess how the changes were being implemented, and then I would be escorted to Capitol Hall, so I could see how the New Equality was being handled by the city’s officials.
    The first thing I was aware of as I walked through the hallways, was that other than the fact that it was a school, the Academy was nothing like School 33.
    Here, the students were assigned individual storage lockers, a place where they could store their books—books that were new, the pages undamaged and held together by unbroken bindings—rather than lugging them in their