Sequoia felt the sour sting of acid as she swallowed.

  “Seque, do you want this?”

  She tried to imagine what having a trigani seed would be like. She’d sat under the stars with Rue and they’d swapped dreams about which powers would be best. Traditional abilities like wind whisperer, rain caller, and bee speaker had become rarer. Over the last few decades the trees had gifted seeds that would help their children protect themselves from a changing world: Adair’s emotional manipulation, Dad’s discernment.

  Sequoia had never cared much about the actual powers that came with her trigani seed. Nothing was more powerful than belonging. Than knowing who you were and where you fit into the world.

  “I do want this,” she said.

  Dad nodded. “Then tell Grandfather. Wake his tree.”

  He took a step back and made room for her to address the trigani tree. Sequoia stepped into the center of the water offering. She set her feet, toes squishing into the cool mud as she closed her eyes and started to whisper the sacred chant.

  She placed her palms on the tree, the rough bark warm and grainy against her skin. The world around her became smaller and more focused as she chanted.

  “Seque, louder. Show him who you are.”

  Her voice grew as she sang, trying to picture it. Trying to imagine Grandfather giving her a seed. Trying to show him what being a dryad meant to her. What she could offer. The flash drive burned against her chest.

  There was a sharp flash like her flesh was melting into the bark, a searing pain as her soul split and the spirit inside the tree dragged her within. Tingling waves of heat and light brought an amber image into focus like she was in a sepia-filtered photograph.

  Sequoia’s heart thundered somewhere separate from her consciousness.

  This is it.

  She quivered against the coming waves, trembling against a spirit flame that scorched hotter than glowing coals. She could see him now, his eyes so much like Dad’s, the same face, though his bark marks were fully tree now, rough and flaky. His hair hung in wild clumps; leaves twisted through a thick, black mane.

  Grandfather?

  He didn’t smile. You are Sequoia, the half-breed, the girl the ancients despise.

  Sequoia’s soul shuddered, wanting to protest that she was part-dryad, not just a half-breed, but she couldn’t change how Grandfather saw her.

  You seek a trigani seed. I promised your father I would hear you. Grandfather raised an eyebrow. But I did not promise I would trust you.

  I will earn your trust.

  His eyes gleamed unnaturally in the spirit light. You’ve thought a great deal about what gift you’d like from me, what promises I will make. And I see your offering against your chest. It is an irreverent mocking to bring such things here.

  Illustration by Daniel Bitton

  Sequoia’s insides twisted. You don’t understand. I’ve brought proof of who started the fire. The humans are to blame.

  Bah! Grandfather howled. You think the ancients do not know this? That your father doesn’t know this?

  Sequoia stiffened. The point is, I can prove it. I’ve gathered records from the police, hacked the mayor’s emails. The fire didn’t come from a lightning strike. I can make the humans liste——

  Like the humans listened about you not cheating on your schoolwork? Grandfather’s eyebrows shot skyward. They won’t listen to a dryad, and certainly not a half-breed like you.

  Sequoia swallowed, hope crumbling. She’d been naive. I—I just wanted …

  A trigani seed. Grandfather wrinkled his nose, as if the idea made him sick. I don’t want your proof that humans have malice. The ancients know this. I wanted proof of your loyalty. I’ve waited so long to see it. His lips thinned. Apparently, I must wait still.

  But I can show this to others, put it online, and—

  And yet you haven’t. You knew the humans were guilty, claim to have proof of it, and yet you did nothing. How telling.

  Sequoia didn’t answer. He was right, and a numbness spread through her chest as he went on.

  I see the scars on your arm, the scores you make in your bark, the pain rejection has caused you. You wish to be accepted. You desire to belong. Whoever does that has your loyalty.

  Sequoia moved to tug on her sleeves, but she was spirit and couldn’t tug anything physical. Her soul was bare. Heat flushed.

  Grandfather’s lips twitched. But I can make use of you still. If you promise to protect this forest from harm, I will be able to gift you a seed.

  I— Sequoia hesitated. Grandfather hadn’t been impressed with her information or her inaction, but he was offering her a seed anyway? Dad’s words from earlier speared her heart; dryads were cunning. They were loyal to the trees because they gifted them power—but dryads were trees, and so the trees must also be cunning.

  Grandfather’s lips split into a knowing grin. I read your soul and what you think is true. There is often a motivating factor behind every gift.

  And you’ll share yours?

  Grandfather’s smile faded. Perhaps because you are a half-breed I should not expect you to understand. Another wave of angry heat rippled through Sequoia, but Grandfather continued as if he hadn’t insulted her. I speak plainly. Your trigani seed will give you the hope of your heart. You will belong with our kind … but it will also poison any human that comes near it. His voice twisted as he went on. It is a costly gift, draining much magic, but I would happily bestow it to punish those who burned our forest. Those who—

  My mother? Sequoia’s voice trembled. What would happen to her?

  If you went home to her, she would die. Accepting this seed means you belong to us. He turned his back, waved a hand, and brought up two images: Mom and Dad circled in smoke. Loyalty can be measured through actions. By what you choose to do. He waved his hand again, brightening Dad’s image. Your father reminded me that humans revere sacrifice. Your mother would be your sacrifice to the dryads. Your proof of loyalty.

  That isn’t proof of loyalty. Sequoia willed strength into her voice. That’s proof I’m capable of betrayal.

  A thoughtful twist on my words. Grandfather smirked. But the choice remains. Every half-breed before you has made their peace with one world or the other.

  Sequoia knew he was right. She hadn’t been the first half-breed to grow up between worlds. She’d seen an older gentleman with faint bark marks at the Walter Bay Market, minding his own business. She knew of two elderly women who had chosen the forest, magic darkening their bark marks to almost the same shade as the full-blooded dryads they’d chosen to stay with.

  But Sequoia had been raised to believe she could live on both sides of the border. Why would her father say she was a bridge if that future wasn’t possible?

  Your thoughts wander. Grandfather’s voice turned scolding. Choose wisely. This offer won’t return.

  As he spoke, a cold chill snaked through Sequoia. There was no way out of this. The ancients had thought of everything and made their point plain. Sequoia wasn’t clever enough, wasn’t dryad enough, unless she became one of them. And becoming one of them meant she’d have to cut out the human part of herself—including her mother. Somewhere distant, Sequoia’s heart thudded, every pounding beat filling her with anger. Grandfather had seen her pain, her struggle to fit in, and had used it against her. The ancient dryads weren’t just cunning. They were cruel. Fury balled inside her. You are asking me to become a murderer. There must be anoth——

  There is not. Grandfather’s voice was fierce.

  Then … I reject your offer.

  Vicious half-breed! Grandfather’s face twisted, the familiarity in his eyes evaporating as he advanced on her. Traitor! His eyes were red now, his teeth narrowing into sharp points, long amber fingernails clawing at her retreating consciousness. Sequoia tried to fade back out, but the angry eyes yanked her in, branding her mind with the images of Grandmother and her bark blistering in the fire. Of the hundreds of others cooked to cinders.

  These are the crimes of the world you choose.

  Sequoia’s mind flailed, searching for a way out, but Grandfather only opened himself further, forcing Sequoia to burn in the ache for his wife and the friends he’d lost. She suffocated under his hurt.

  His hate.

  You will never belong. In this forest—or anywhere else!

  He shoved her, her spirit finally thrown from the tree and into her body. She yelped as the momentum rocketed her backward, and she landed with a sickening squelch into the mud. Her hair fell over her face, and through grime-coated tangles, she glimpsed the flash drive, smoking and sizzling beside her. A numbness spread through her chest as she suppressed a sob. Grandfather truly hadn’t cared about the information inside the drive. Had never cared for her …

  “Seque?” Dad’s voice came from behind as a whisper.

  Sequoia didn’t look up. How could she tell him? How could she admit what she’d done? What she’d chosen? She’d be forced to live in the human world now, forever banished from her dryad side.

  Slowly, she stood, hugging her arms to her chest, and keeping her eyes on the dirt.

  “Seque, it’s okay.” He kicked the flash drive and stepped closer, not even sounding angry that she’d violated a sacred space. He held out a hand. “It’s not you—”

  “Adair was right,” she whispered, backing away. “I will be banished. Grandfather gave me a choice, but I—I couldn’t … Why did you make me hear it from him?”

  Dad stepped closer. She could feel the weight of his gaze, and from the corner of her eye she watched his hand touch Grandfather’s tree lightly, then pull away. “I was selfish. I knew what you kept on that drive. I also knew it wouldn’t change anything. But I hoped your bringing it would help Grandfather see what having someone who understands both sides could …”

  Sequoia closed her eyes.

  “I had hoped he’d change his mind,” Dad rasped. “There are few dryads who recognize what you are capable of. You could be a bridge—”

  “How can I be a bridge, if I can’t come here?” Sequoia spun to face him, hair flying, voice tight. “I am banished because I won’t betray the human part of myself. And it’s not like the humans will accept me, either. I’m not a bridge. I’m a raft stuck in a river between worlds and I’m sinking.”

  She ripped back her sleeve, the grass weave tearing, as she exposed the five thin scars from where she’d cut herself after every failed summoning. “I’m sinking because I will never be accepted anywhere!”

  Dad stared at her, eyes drifting to the scars and then back to her face. “Does it matter if I accept you?” he spoke quietly. “If your mother accepts you?”

  Sequoia didn’t answer, staring down at the scars and wondering how she’d manage to make the sixth one tonight. Her throat closed and she yanked the torn sleeve back.

  Dad’s brow knit, but there was a softness in his expression. He took a breath. “Others can lie, Seque, but you know I speak the truth. I love you, and I would never leave you alone. I wanted to tell you about the trailer, but I sent you to Grandfather because I still hoped he would—”

  “The trailer?” She remembered the clothes, the scattered cardboard boxes, and it clicked. He hadn’t misplaced the ceremonial supplies. He’d been packing. “You’re moving?”

  “No child should ever be banished from coming home.”

  “You shouldn’t have to leave for me.” Sequoia’s voice trembled as she nodded to the trees. “This is your home.”

  He touched her arm, and this time Sequoia gazed into his eyes. He said, “You are my home, Seque.”

  Her anger melted.

  “I wish Grandfather,” he continued, “could see what I see when I look at you. Such strength.” He pulled his leather band from his neck, held the seed in his right hand and cupped it into hers. “But Grandfather is not the only dryad who can offer you a trigani seed.”

  Sequoia pulled away. “You can’t—”

  “I can.” Dad held her hand tight and jutted his chin. “I have every right to give a trigani seed to my daughter. Bonded to my blood, born of my blood. You can take this.”

  She searched her mind, hardly daring it to be true. But it had to be because Dad had spoken it. “But you’ll be exiled. It’s cheating. It’s—”

  “Dryads are clever, Seque.” Dad’s lips twitched into a small smile. “The ancients left the door open because they didn’t think I’d use it. Sacrifice is a human characteristic.” He folded her fingers around the seed, pressed her palm shut. “The seed is yours. It should always have been yours.” He let go.

  And like a broken dam, dryad magic flooded Sequoia. The trigani seed rooted, tingling, and burning through her body as it opened her mind, expanding outward.

  It was stronger than she had ever imagined—dryad magic that ignited her awareness of the world. It exploded to include the ancients in the Balanos Forest, the dryads wandering sacred land, and farther, past the border, where the protestors still stood with their angry signs.

  She felt a steady stream of magic draining from the seed, pulling on the trees. She had to control it.

  She urged herself to cut ties, to pull the truth tethers back. Her mind pounded under the weight, but as she brought the tethers closer, smaller truths touched and drew flame.

  Adair was afraid of her and the change she could bring to the forest. Rue felt guilty for missing the ceremony but had worried her family would have been ostracized if she supported Sequoia. Henry had been rude because he was trying to impress his friends—he’d been bullied before. And Mason’s father had beaten him, forcing him to come to the protests.

  She tugged on the truth tethers again, but they didn’t budge, instead tying fast to a new understanding. People had a reason for their way of being, and taking the time to learn their truth—that was the way to empathy, to forgiveness, to peace. No one could force truth. They had to see it, to feel it, before they could change. The seed sputtered dangerously.

  Sequoia yanked the tethers harder, and this time they obeyed, but as she wrenched the last one in, it crossed Dad.

  She flinched as his truth blazed. Every time she’d silently chided him, he’d heard. He’d known she thought him selfish and scared for not building a new world with his gift. For not forcing the truth on others. He’d known her pain, and it had hurt him too. Hurt him badly enough to try something dryads considered unforgivable. He’d conserved the magic in his trigani seed, not because he was scared or selfish, but because he intended to save the strongest magic for her.

  Guilt bubbled up Sequoia’s throat. “Dad, I—I didn’t understand. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” His face was paler now, and even in the moonlight it was clear his bark marks had faded. But Sequoia’s marks pulsated deep bronze, a shade she would never be able to blend with foundation. The old Sequoia would have been worried about how to lighten the marks for school, figuring a way to taper off the magic. But the new Sequoia knew those marks were important.

  They were supposed to stand out.

  Sequoia’s throat thickened as one last powerful truth pounded through her half-breed heart. She would never belong in the same way everyone else did—she wasn’t meant to. And trying to be anything other than what she was wasted the gift Dad had given her.

  She couldn’t change what she was, but she could change the world around her. Bit by bit. Truth by truth. Through the gifts both parents had given her: sacrifice, understanding, and unconditional love.

  Sequoia took a step toward Dad, knees still trembling under the new weight of her magic. She would learn how to wield this power. After all, she had Dad to help her.

  “I’m so proud to be your father.” Dad’s eyes flashed in the dim light and he nodded to the wildflowers growing amid the ash. “I get to watch you change this ugly world into something better. A new tree must grow, Seque. Your tree must grow.”

  And because he was Dad, Sequoia knew he spoke the truth.

  The Year in the Contests

  Every year brings exciting growth and new changes to the Contests. In 2020, despite the global pandemic—or maybe in part because of it—we had a booming year!

  LAST YEAR’S ANTHOLOGY

  We released Volume 36 to huge success, and the trade reviews were excellent. Publishers Weekly reviewed it in their “Best Books” column and highlighted stories by Michael Gardner, Katie Livingston, Leah Ning, F. J. Bergmann, Storm Humbert, and David A. Elsensohn, declaring “Genre enthusiasts should take note.”

  Kirkus reviewers urged, “Don’t overlook these wonderful short fiction reads being released this month.”

  Library Journal highlighted some authors and said, “With stories ranging from sf to fantasy, as well as some genre mash-ups, this collection offers something for both adults and teens to enjoy.”

  After reading Volume 36, the Tangent Online reviewer was “amazed that there are so many talented writers and artists out there.”

  And Midwest Book Review called the anthology “An inherently interesting and impressively entertaining volume that is quite literally the ‘Best of the Best’ in the current field of science fiction and fantasy … especially and unreservedly recommended.”

  Past volumes continue to stack up awards. Volume 35 won the Foreword Indies 2019 Silver Award in science fiction, the New York City Big Book Award for anthology, the Benjamin Franklin Gold Award in science fiction and fantasy, and also the Critters Readers’ Poll Award for best anthology of the year.

  Though the awards season has barely begun for Volume 36, it has already won the New York City Big Book Award in fantasy.

  In fact, last year’s anthology was so popular, DreamForge Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction published an interview with Illustrators’ Contest Coordinating Judge and artist, Echo Chernik, about her stunning cover art and the Contest.