by Daryl Banner
Figuring it a lost cause to call after a wild beast, Rone takes to running after her as best as he can. His leg has healed considerably over the months, but he is still unable to put all his weight upon it. He doubts he’ll ever be completely healed. Giant wet leaves slap him in the face as he sprints after her, narrowly avoiding tripping over branches underfoot and trees that appear out of nowhere, daring to smash him in the face.
He hears a howl through the rain. Then another one.
He knows those howls.
Oh, no.
Rone doesn’t care about his pain or discomfort now. He runs at full speed and power, charging after the only creature who means anything to him anymore in this world.
Eerie is his life. Eerie is his companion.
Eerie is his second half.
Eerie is his world.
Without Eerie, he is truly alone. And she depends on him, too. She expects him to be by her side when she is in trouble.
I can’t let her down. Not now. Not after all we’ve been through.
Then, through the noise of the rain, he hears something else. At first, he believes he hallucinates it from some memory that sings to him like a distant ghost. A voice calling to him from his past. A voice of a friend shouting for help. A voice.
A human’s voice.
Shouting.
I hear people shouting.
At once, Rone comes to a stop, finding himself having landed right upon the situation at hand. Eerie stands there in the brush, her one ear folded, ready to pounce. Ahead of them are a family of grey-haired wolves, possibly the same pack of ones who attacked them so many months ago and took Eerie’s ear.
And among the wolves are two human beings.
Two human beings.
Two human beings.
Eerie darts out from the bush, tackling a close-by wolf, who did not see her hidden away. Caught off-guard, the wolf has two seconds of fight in her before its neck is torn out by the giant cat.
Rone’s frightened, astonished eyes search out the humans in the rain and madness ahead of him, and it’s then that he realizes the true danger they’re in. Forget the wolves. When Eerie is through with the vicious pups, she’ll make a finishing dessert of the both of you.
I can’t let that happen.
Yelling at them will be worthless. Communicating to them to hide will only make the hunt a game to Eerie, who won’t understand not to eat them, not when she’s filled with bloodlust.
He’s only one viable option: the same one that saved his life.
Without thinking, Rone plunges his hand into the t-shirt sack still strapped to him, fetches a clump of fruit, then readies his aim. I cannot miss. I cannot miss. I cannot miss. There are people out here. Just like you. People out here in the middle of nowhere. People who may speak your tongue. People whose lives depend on your very throw.
Rone lets loose the fruit. It soars in a perfect arch through the trees and the giant leaves.
And it misses, landing somewhere beyond the wolves.
As Eerie charges another wolf, unbeknownst to the two humans who have wolves of their own to fight, oblivious to the deadly cat at their backs, Rone grabs another fruit from his makeshift satchel and pulls his hand back, aiming for the first boy he can see. He grits his teeth, clenches every muscle in his body, then throws the fruit with all his might.
It explodes over the boy’s chest.
Success.
Without waiting, Rone grabs another fruit and takes aim at the other human, who is atop a wolf. While the first searches around for the source of the airborne object, bewildered, Rone grits his teeth, takes aim, then puts all his remaining strength behind his throw. The fruit soars through the air, rain and leaves slapping it along its flight.
It crashes against the back of the second young man’s head, throwing him off the wolf, who clambers to her feet and races away.
The next moment, Rone’s eyes find his brave, tireless Eerie upon the last remaining wolf he can see. She tears out its neck with her vengeful blades for teeth, wet and bloodied. The two humans, now freed from their own battles, watch her in awe and fear.
I once thought I was alone.
I once thought I would die out here.
I once thought many things …
The danger thwarted, Rone slowly, gently emerges from the brush and brings himself to Eerie’s side. She regards him with little attention, then sneers resentfully at the two juice-covered humans they have discovered.
And for the first time in their life out here in the wild, Rone puts a soothing hand on Eerie’s head. To his surprise, she doesn’t flinch away.
Her fur is soft to the touch and wet from the rain.
While all her attention is upon the boys in the distance, Rone gives her a merry, proud, appraising look. “That’s my Sweet, Sweet Girl,” he sings to her.
When he finally brings his eyes up to the boys whose lives they just saved, his heart skips a beat.
Bafflement clouds his face.
His eyes go wide, unblinking.
It can’t be.
It isn’t.
My eyes are lying to me.
His hand freezes on Eerie’s head, forgotten.
A similar look of astonishment turns the face of one of the boys to stone—a boy with wet, messy brown hair and knowing eyes, a boy with a familiar shape, with a modest amount of muscle about his slender arms and lean figure …
A boy who’s just short a sleeveless red hoodie.
The two, their environment ignored, come toward one another, slowly, uncertainly, dumbstruck. Neither seem to know what to say, if their eyes are betraying them, if this is just some trick of the forest.
Only when they are standing directly in front of each other do tears finally find their eyes. “I thought I’d lost you,” breathes Rone. “I thought … I thought I was alone out here. I thought …”
“Not anymore,” answers Anwick Lesser of the ninth.
The two crash into each other in a tight embrace, united at last. The world around them melts away. The pain of countless days of suffering and journeying and surviving swells into the greatest joy Rone Tinpassage has ever known.
And even after all that’s passed, it seems Rone’s journey has only just begun.
0257 Arrow
Arrow sits on the edge of the bed on which Anwick’s mother only days ago occupied when she learned of her sons’ deaths.
He hasn’t moved a muscle in three hours, but for an arm to feed himself and his mouth to talk.
“So what exactly happened …?” asks Iranda from the doorway.
The Broadmore boy and the pleasure boy sit on either side of him, Athan still holding the empty bowl of soup Arrow just downed. Auleen is in the living room outside worrying over baby Rip in her arms, Ivy next to her with a bottle. Pratganth and a few others are outside in the yard, their muffled voices snaking into the room through the paper-thin walls as they discuss Arrow’s latest finding.
If it can be called that.
“He learned the charm’s purpose,” explains Athan softly.
“Oh, did he?”
“Yes. That big metal thing in the backyard is apparently a sort of teleportation charm. I never knew those existed,” Athan admits.
“A teleportal?” Iranda puts a hand to her chest, astonished. “To where?”
Auleen pays attention from the other room, her eyes alert. Ivy lifts her head, too, her soft eyes meeting Arrow’s. He doesn’t even have the strength to give her any look except his most deadpan.
“It’s a portal to the Lifted City, just so happens,” Athan answers. He gives Arrow a rueful glance at his side. “Though I’m afraid he isn’t sure where, specifically, in the City.”
Iranda shakes her head in wonder. “This … This is huge.”
“But you see what it did to him,” Athan goes on. “He’s—”
“Sick.”
The single word comes from Ivy. Heads turn to acknowledge her sudden contribution to the conversation, after having b
een silent for so long. She eyes a few of them, then turns shy at once, giving her attention to the baby instead of the room.
Athan sighs. “We have no means to take others through the charm. At least, not yet. That’s a whole other puzzle Arrow will need to work out in time.”
“And if it has any similar effect on us as it’s had on him,” Auleen notes from the living room next to Ivy, the baby sound asleep against her chest, “we can’t reasonably teleport ourselves up there. We’ll all be doubled over in agony for days before we can even move our feet. Poor thing.” She frowns at Arrow and shakes her head.
Arrow has had just about enough pity for a lifetime in the space of the past few days since he’s returned from his short stint in the sky. The way there significantly weakened him and made him want to turn out his stomach, but he was able to get around well enough. The way back—which followed too soon after his arrival—was ten times worse and left him incapacitated for over forty hours.
He’s wracked his brain over and over on what could’ve caused such a significantly stronger adverse reaction on his return trip. Was it something he did differently? Did he misuse the charm? Did the big metal thing punish him for crossing charming languages?
“Let him rest,” Auleen calls out from the other room. “He needs his rest. Really, we’ve heard enough. He needs his space to think.”
Arrow glances up at her. The woman next door is so intuitive at times, he wonders if she could be a mind-reader, too. Perhaps it is her Legacy, to know others’ inner emotions. He never bothered all this time to find it out. He knows Iranda has a power that has to do with storms, in that she can only use hers during one.
“Yes,” Iranda agrees, pushing away from the door. “Let’s. Take care of yourself, Arrow. Athan, Edrick, you two look after him.”
The mothers leave, but Ivy lingers in the kitchen, not following them out the door. She lightly wrings her hands as she stands there uncertainly.
Athan looks up at her. “It’s okay, Ivy,” he says softly. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to.”
Athan and Edrick share a glance, then Athan shrugs. “Very well, then.”
“I shall take that bowl,” she decides suddenly, stepping into the room to fetch the emptied bowl from Athan’s hands. Arrow is given a whiff of the soap she used when she last showered not an hour ago as she sweeps past him. As quickly as she’d come, Ivy is back in the kitchen rinsing out the bowl in the sink. The water pressure sounds weak, the pipes struggling to draw water from the underground, or some magical self-refilling water factory made by a powerful Legacy in the past, or wherever it comes.
“She’s a nice girl,” murmurs Edrick thoughtfully. “I do wonder at times why you two haven’t fucked.”
“Edrick,” scolds Athan, wide-eyed.
“Sex is my business,” Edrick states defensively. “The body is a language I happen to understand as easily as we’re speaking right now. That sweet sexy thing in the kitchen wants to spread her legs. Arrow wants to put it in.”
Athan shakes his head. “Sometimes, I swear …”
“Stop being so Lifted. You could get any ass you wanted, too, Athan. You’re hotter than the Red Bolt of Madness.”
Ivy mercifully didn’t hear that comment. Arrow does, and his body tenses under the very mention of it.
Edrick winces. “Too soon? Listen.” He leans over Arrow’s lap to address Athan directly. “You’ve got to suck it up, boy. I know you lost your boo, but that Nickel boy at the pits? You should seriously stick it in him.”
Athan casts his darkened gaze to the floor, glowering.
“Alright, alright, I’ve overstepped.” Edrick spreads his hands in surrender. “I don’t understand boundaries. Do what I do for a living long enough, and every line you’re supposed to recognize blurs.”
“Let’s check on the Bargers and Uptons across the street.” Athan rises off the bed abruptly. “If you need anything, Arrow …”
“I’ll be fine,” Arrow manages to say, then gives a nod to the pair of them. “Thanks, both of you, for your assistance. I appreciate it.”
Edrick leaves first, giving a quick wave to Ivy at the counter. Athan stops at the door and turns around. “Also, Locke keeps going on about the woman from the eighth.” He shrugs. “I … guess he’s having trouble handling all the Greensfolk who are mad about—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Arrow pinches his forehead. Just that effort makes his arm ache, and he drops his hand right back down to the bed. “I will give the Greensfolk a visit. Perhaps tomorrow, if I am able to rise up off this fucking bed.”
Athan bites his lip, makes to say something, then changes his mind. “I’ll … check on you after sunfall.” Then he goes, his departure out the door almost soundless.
Arrow looks up. The only one left in the whole house is Ivy, and she stands at the counter staring at her own hands like they aren’t her own. Arrow watches her for some time, neither of them seeming to breathe.
Listen … comes his father’s voice from some distant memory. Listen, and you’ll hear all you need to hear. Listen, and you’ll know all you need to know. Listen, and you’ll see. With your ears, you will see.
Arrow listens to the murmur of indistinguishable voices outside. A wind is pulling its way into the room through a crack between two boards in the ceiling, which also happen to be two of the steps up the narrow stair, creating a light, playful whistle when the wind pulls outside. The trees in the overgrown backyard are dancing and whispering in the wind, too. The light tinking of a hammer in the distance reaches his ears every few seconds, a smith working on another spear or sword or bow.
Or arrow.
Ivy takes in one breath, then shuts her eyes and lets it out slowly. Her breasts rise when she does so, and it pulls every bit of Arrow’s attention to them.
Six bullets. Five lives. One life remains.
Listen.
“I know you’re ill,” murmurs Ivy suddenly.
Arrow stirs, then lifts his eyes to hers. She is still staring at her hands. He waits for her to say more.
She takes another breath—her breasts rising, falling—and then she says, “But maybe you will have the strength to join us for dinner. We had a healthy crop of orange-root and cabbage. From the parts of the Greens not affected by the disease,” she adds with a slight turn of her head—but not enough of a turn to face him. “Sisters blessed us.”
“Ivy …”
“I’ll keep aside a less seasoned serving for you.” She still won’t look at him. It’s like she didn’t even hear him. “So that it settles better in your stomach.”
“Ivy …”
“Dinner’s served at seven.” And then she departs the house.
After she goes, Arrow closes his eyes, alone. You asked for this, he’d tell himself if he had the energy to even do that. You treat her like she’s the dead that won’t die, pesky and grotesque and haunting.
Except Ivy is none of those things. She isn’t pesky. She’s half-Privileged and doesn’t belong here. She certainly isn’t grotesque by any stretch of the word. Ivy is easily the most beautiful woman Arrow has ever seen. And she isn’t—
Well, perhaps she does haunt me. Arrow listens. Tink, tink, tink. A whoosh of wind. Whistling. The beating of his heart.
Beating of his heart. Beating of his heart. Beating of his heart.
0258 Tide
“I’m gonna take a piss.”
Tide Wellport glowers, annoyed, as the big muscled idiot named Ranklin stomps his way across the room, pushes into the bathroom, then slaps the door shut at his back. Those remaining in the main room are then subjected to the muffled sounds of Ranklin relieving himself in a bowl of water.
The not-self-proclaimed “Slum King” Chole, sitting across from Tide, is clad in his usual threadbare jeans and simple off-white tunic that make his fiery hair and freckles shine. Ever ready to cut the tension in any room, the utterly unkingly young man gives a smirk to the others. “I suppose the music of pis
s isn’t anyone’s favorite in here, is it?”
“Mmm,” moans the sultry, voluptuous woman named Mira by his side with the unnaturally cherry red hair and curvy breasts, which spill halfway out of her too-tight green top. “Perhaps you ought to have named these quarters the Pissery instead of the Ferns.”
“Aye, if I were cleverer,” agrees Chole. He glances over at Tide and shoots him a wink, to which Tide frowns, uncertain why he’s being given said wink.
“Really, if you were cleverer, you’d have called this the Pollen or the—” A sneeze. “—the Plugged Nose,” chimes in the nearly seven-foot-tall muscled boy of sixteen who squats on a chair in the corner of the room, his voice being the evidence of his ever-stuffed-up nose. “I can’t stand it in here.”
“There’s a reason you don’t work in the Greens,” notes Chole, which makes Mira snort. “You wouldn’t last a day.”
“Neither a second,” the big boy agrees, then sneezes again. His name is Jonan. “Screw these … damned ferns.”
Tide’s eyes wander about the room. Indeed, King Chole’s head of operations looks more like a greenhouse than a proper King’s Keep. All over the low-ceilinged room, there are potted plants, both hanging and on the ground, as well as small trees that grow through the floorboards and cut through the roof, their branches webbing over the ceiling with vines, flowers, and giant leaves dangling. Every piece of furniture is built from wood, too, some of them glossed by chemical, some of them as raw and natural as if they were cut from the Greens forests a day ago.
It’s not a wonder that his headquarters looks built completely of plants and weeds, for it is apparently something to do with Chole’s Legacy. It is in plants.
But Tide’s never seen him perform. He wonders if Chole is shy about his ability. The first time Tide attended one of these meeting, it was Mira who saw the look on his face, leaned in, and said, “Chole grew this whole building by himself.” Tide frowned at that, looking all around, wondering how the fuck long that would’ve taken, even with a Legacy guiding you. It didn’t make any sense to him.
