by Deb E Howell
Leaving yet another small town behind, Jonas swung from Chino’s back and punched a tree.
Things were not going well. They had zigzagged through every town that lay roughly between Brurun and Duffirk, the capital of Turhmos. Jonas suspected that was where Braph was, but there was no telling for sure, and he could just as easily hide in a small town if he found the right one. Granted, small town folk were more likely to talk and be suspicious of the kind of activity Braph got up to, but it wasn’t impossible. It was just as likely Braph could find the kind of community that would rally round him, protect him from the likes of Jonas and his companions. If that was the case, they might never find them.
As he had every other time, Jonas wiped the thought from his mind. He knew Braph. His brother wasn’t the kind of man who could garner that kind of support.
But so far they had turned up no results. Not even a possible sighting. Just nothing.
Jonas punched the tree again. Bark and blood flew: his skin wasn’t impenetrable.
“Hey, Jonas.” Hisham slid from his horse and went to grab Jonas’ arm. But Jonas just swung even faster and harder – too fast for the Karan. The tree creaked, and pain shot up his arm. He folded over, cradling the limb and shaking out his hand, all the while cursing and stamping.
“That’s not helping, my friend,” said Hisham, placing a hand on Jonas’ back. “We’re doin’ the best we can.”
Jonas took a moment to breathe through his curses. Then he straightened, stretching and clenching the injured hand. He’d scraped his knuckles good and jarred his bones, but nothing was broken. He looked at Hisham, thinking he would just agree with his friend, climb back on his horse, and they would carry on. But when he looked up, all he wanted to do was punch something – someone – else, and Hisham didn’t deserve it.
Jonas turned away, striding several frustrated paces, muttering, cursing Braph, cursing Turhmos, cursing himself for leaving Llew, cursing Llew for not just letting him be and staying put inside where she was safe, cursing Lord Tovias for not having an estate secure against Braph . . . He walked away from and back to Hisham several times, muttering and cursing, muttering and cursing. And finally stopped in front of his friend and puffed out a deep breath.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s not enough. Braph can fly.”
* * *
Llew stumbled forward, trying to keep down the bread and apple she’d had for lunch. She was struggling. Her stomach was in her throat and its contents insisted on tickling her tonsils. Biting her lips closed and clutching her belly, she staggered on until she could hold off no longer. Collapsing to hands and knees, she allowed her lunch to evacuate. The cattle in the next paddock looked on nervously.
Llew couldn’t understand. She’d been doing fine, running and feeling great ever since leaving the ivory-barked tree, but as soon as she’d caught a whiff of the cattle on the air, her stomach had grown queasy. She’d visited a beef farm in Cheer hundreds of times over the years, swapping fish for meat, and never had a problem.
What in all hells had Braph done to her? Now, not only could she run fast, but she was more sensitive to smells, though this was the first time anything had made her feel quite so rotten. Most things just smelled stronger.
Sure it was the beef odour churning her stomach, Llew wiped the puke from her mouth with the back of her wrist and forged on. The sooner she was past the farm, the better.
She was right. As soon as she left the cattle behind and entered the next forest she felt fine again. Better than fine. She felt strong, healthy, fast.
As she ran, she kept her goal firmly in mind: find Jonas, make him kill her. All her life, all she had ever wanted was to grow up and work in her father’s smithy. Sure, she’d dreamed bigger, but she had never thought it would happen. Jonas and Alvaro showing up in Cheer had certainly changed that, and she’d seen visions of a bigger world. She laughed. This was the bigger world. Phyos was where she had wanted to be, and here she was. And what had she done on her way here? She’d killed Renny, let herself be killed because of Kynas’ stupidity, she’d killed a child, a poor innocent girl simply outside playing . . . She’d killed two street-kids from Duffirk, her own father who had given so much to keep her free, and she’d killed who knew what else within the huge circle of death she’d created that first night.
But she wasn’t evil. She knew that. None of it had been her desire. Renny had intended to hurt her. Kynas had thought pointing the finger at her would get himself free. And all the children, her father, and the rest of it . . . That was all down to Braph and his desire for her power. If she had a choice, she would happily hand it all over. She didn’t want it anymore.
* * *
“Ganich is closer,” said Hisham.
“But Azimol is between here and Duffirk,” Jonas said, pointing at the two circles he’d drawn in the dirt with a stick. “He’s got to be there. That’s where the power is.”
“But you said yourself, you don’t think Turhmos trusts him. What if he’s not allowed that close?”
Jonas flung the stick away. It smashed through light branches, sending leaves and twigs cascading to the ground. “Fuckin’ Braph and his fuckin’ magic! He flies and we have nothing to go on. Nothing!”
“He’ll make a mistake some time.”
“But who knows what he could have done to Llew by then? Once he’s got her blood, we don’t know what he can do.”
Something whisked through the trees behind them.
“What was that?” asked Hisham as all four men turned. Small branches still bobbed, but otherwise there was no sign of whatever had been speeding by. “Something, or someone, just ran by. Fast.”
“In Turhmos?” Jonas raised an eyebrow at Hisham, and could see his friend having the same thought: what was another Karan doing in Turhmos? There was only one way to find out. Jonas knew it and Hisham knew it. If someone else with Karan speed was running through a Turhmosian forest, it was up to Jonas as the nearest, and fastest, Quaven Lieutenant to find out who, how and why. With an infinitesimal nod between them, Jonas set off.
Alvaro’s “Where’s he going?” faded to nothing behind him.
It felt liberating to run. In recent months, in the interest of maintaining a certain level of anonymity, Jonas had curbed the use of his natural talents. Strength wasn’t so bad, since he knew who could see him when he used it if he took the time to look. But with speed, he could run past or literally into, if he wasn’t paying attention, someone who shouldn’t know who or what he was before the dust had settled.
He pushed down the hope that the runner might be Braph. That would be too convenient. If it was Braph, it might mean Llew had escaped, though Jonas couldn’t let himself hope for that much. Not that he doubted the girl, but nor would he underestimate his brother. As a child, Braph had never ceased to amaze Jonas with his knowledge and mind tricks; he may not have been the Syakaran, but he was gifted in other ways, ways Jonas could only marvel at.
Trees rushed up before him and he dodged and swerved as he had many a time back home, or on the killing fields of Turhmos. Not knowing who he was chasing, and preparing for a fight, made this feel more like the latter occasion. It didn’t take long before he could see the other runner dodging through trees perhaps fifty paces ahead. He didn’t recognise who it was, only catching brief glimpses between the trunks. He was closing the gap, but they were surprisingly fast – possibly faster than Hisham, and Hisham was one of the best Kara. But not as fast as Jonas.
He caught a shoulder on a tree trunk but kept on, pumping his arms and legs harder than he had in months. He was nearly on the runner when the forest came to an end. The figure leapt a fence and started across a paddock. Whoever it was, was of a slight build, in loose clothing. Llew came to mind, but that would be ridiculous: Llew couldn’t run like that. But she did wear clothes like that. What if it was a Karan escaping a Turhmos prison? He hadn’t heard of a Karan being captured recently, but if it had happened in the midst of a battle, it was the kind
of loss that could go unnoticed.
Sheep scattered as the figure ran through them and Jonas leapt the fence. Five paces. Four. Three. He threw himself forward, flung his arms out, grabbed a leg, and half fell, half rolled to the ground.
Keeping a firm grip on an ankle, he pushed himself up. The runner, coughing, rolled to face him.
“Llew?”
“Jonas?”
They gawked at each other a long time, puffing from their exertions, then,
“Jonas!”
Llew sat up, arms flung wide and they clung to each other. Jonas thought she might disintegrate into dust and fly away when he got his arms around her, but she didn’t. She was real. The hunt was over, and there was no sign of Braph. That they were both here, now, was down to good fortune, a wild stroke of luck maybe. But Jonas would take that.
She sobbed into his shoulder.
It felt extraordinary to hold her again, better than he’d dared remember. She crushed him in her arms and he replied in kind, though he hoped he was gentler. She pushed back and in her eyes Jonas saw the same relief, joy, and wonder. Did something else flicker in those eyes? Whatever it was didn’t matter when she took his face in a fierce grasp and pulled him to her. He didn’t resist, savouring the warm bliss of her lips, breath, and tongue.
She kissed him with a hunger that lit something inside him, and straddled his legs and he wrapped his arms around her. Her fingers worked on his shirt buttons as they kissed, their lips never parting. She leaned into him and he pulled an arm from her to lie back without breaking the connection.
Then her fingers were at his belt buckle. In the centre of Turhmos, with Hisham, Cassidy and Alvaro waiting for them? He supposed it didn’t have to take long. He could make it up to her later, in the safety of Brurun.
She had pulled back a little while she fought with his trouser buttons. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. She didn’t respond, so absorbed in her work was she. He brushed her growing hair back from her eyes, and all desire washed from him. There was nothing in those eyes.
“Llew?”
She was frustrated in her efforts. The button wasn’t tricky, her fingers just weren’t working for her.
He grabbed her hand. “Llew.”
She heard him and looked up, her eyes still faraway. Her journey back to the now was a mass of blended expressions, each so brief he caught none. When she finally saw him, she flung herself off him and sobbed into the grass, curling into a ball on elbows and knees, arms over her head, her body shaking. He lay a hand on her back, at a loss for anything else to do.
She reached out to him, her fingers grasping the folds of his shirt in a fierce grip to pull herself up, and she pressed her face into his chest, sobs still racking her. He wanted to rip the shirt off and feel her touch on his skin, while at the same time his heart ached for the scared girl fleeing through enemy territory on her own. But they’d found each other now. He brought his arms around her to hold her until the blubbering subsided.
She stayed pressed into his shoulder, catching her breath, sniffing back the tears and resting.
“I killed him.” A fresh wave of blubbery tears overtook her.
Braph? She’d killed him?
“I killed my pa.” And then she was bawling into his shoulder, her fist pounding him.
Jonas clutched her to him and rocked. He didn’t utter a sound, simply waited and let her find her release. She whispered the words over and over, “I killed him, I killed my pa”, as if willing herself to believe it, or trying to force herself to feel all the blame in that statement. Or confessing.
Her trembling hand reached down beside her and came up with his knife. She pressed back from him and pushed the weapon to his chest. Instinctively, his hand came up to clasp hers.
Without emotion she repeated, “I killed my pa.” Her eyes were flat, almost lifeless. “I killed my pa. I killed a child . . . ”
“Llew–”
“I killed my pa. I killed that girl.” She pushed the knife at him.
“Stop it, Llew.”
“Please,” she begged in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t want to do it any more.”
“I won’t let you. But not that way.” He gripped the knife, taking it from her grasp, and whisked it behind his back when she snatched for it.
“You have to! Please!” She tried to reach behind him.
With his other arm, he pulled her to him in a firm embrace, blocking her efforts. “Not that way, Llewella.”
She tried to break free. She pushed at him, and she was surprisingly strong, but he held firm, until she gave up and slumped into him.
He held her like that for a long while until he began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. She must have been exhausted. He tilted his head to see if her eyes were closed, but her head angled down too much to see. When he raised his head again she looked up at him, worn, tired, and hopeless.
“Come on. The others’ll be wonderin’ where I got to. And there’s no doubtin’ they’ll be pleased to see you.” Jonas stood up, holding her hand to guide her up, and keeping the Syakaran knife behind his back.
Llew knelt, but didn’t rise any further.
Holding his hand between the fingers of both of hers she said, “They’ll hate me. They should hate me. You should hate me. I killed my pa. I killed the girl, and the boy and the other girl, and all the animals . . . so many animals. Dead, because of me. All dead.” Holding a couple of his fingers with one hand, she toyed with one of his knuckles, fiddling with what was before her. The tears were about to start again. “I’m . . . horrible.”
“Whatever you’ve done, you got friends, Llew.” He pulled her up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing her into him again. “Friends who love you.” At least one, he realised he meant.
But she was despondent and didn’t seem to have heard him. She looked exhausted, all the puff washed out with her tears, her shoulders hunched, her eyes still lifeless.
“Can you still run?”
“I guess so.” She sniffed deeply. “But I won’t know where to stop.”
“Come on.” He held a hand out to her.
He ran, not as fast as before because she couldn’t have kept up, but fast nonetheless. It was a challenge, navigating through the trees with Llew’s hand in his, but it felt extraordinary. He hadn’t run like this since Kierra was alive. But Kierra had been Syakaran. What had Braph done to Llew?
Looking at her as he thought the question was a mistake. He crashed into a trunk and fell back, pulling Llew down with him. She was laughing, and he laughed, too. And, despite cracking into the tree at high speed, his head didn’t hurt so badly.
Neither did his knuckles.
* * *
“Oh, Al!” Llew threw herself into the sandy-haired man’s arms and Jonas’ insides clenched. “I’ve missed you all.” Llew clung to Alvaro too long in Jonas’ opinion. Thankfully, she released him and moved to draw Cassidy into a hug.
Disentangling herself from Cassidy, she turned to Hisham. The two of them looked at each other, trying to work out whether a similar greeting was called for, considering they barely knew each other. Then both gave the universal ‘to hell with it’ shrug and embraced briefly.
Cassidy brought her horse forward and Llew smiled at the sight of the golden-white Amico, and then turned to Jonas. Her eyes dropped to the knife in his hand – she still wore his belt – then came up to meet his.
“Get me out of here.”
Jonas nodded. He didn’t disagree they needed to move, but he wondered at what was going on behind those eyes. She’d asked him to kill her. And there was something different about her, like she was fighting an enemy inside. He wished he was better with people. The easy connection they’d built during their time in Aghacia had all but disappeared.
He moved to help her into the saddle, but she swung up easily on her own, and sat waiting, not looking at any of them. He caught Alvaro’s questioning look and returned a warning one of his own. Whatever was going on with
Llew did not mean Alvaro could move in.
Hisham and Cassidy were already mounted. And Jonas and Alvaro were about to mount when Llew’s horse moved, startled.
Jonas spun to look at Llew. She sat, stiff, staring away at something. He finished the turn more slowly, to face Braph.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
No-one had seen or heard him coming. Llew had only looked to Jonas for a moment; everyone else had had their back to him. Not any more.
He stood in the middle of the road; Nilv was still farther down the road, sitting atop one sweaty horse while leading another, and holding a crossbow levelled at the group. The weapon looked monstrous in his weedy arms and arthritic hands, but he held it steady and Llew didn’t doubt he could use it.
Jonas and Alvaro had been in the process of mounting. They both eased themselves back down and faced Braph; Cassidy and Hisham took the risk of provocation to turn their horses to the man. It was better than sitting with their backs to him. Braph’s attention was locked on Jonas, his most immediate threat, and Nilv kept coming on to back up his master.
Jonas strode up to his brother so they were nose-to-nose: or they would have been, had Jonas not been a good few inches shorter than Braph. It was like watching two stallions parading, necks arched, muscles rippling. All they needed were flying tails and flaring nostrils.
Llew eased down from her saddle, figuring the back of a nervous animal wasn’t the best place to be under the circumstances.
Jonas lashed out first. It was just a shove, but what a shove. Braph flew back. But he didn’t crash to the ground. He controlled the fall, landed on his feet and propelled himself back at Jonas, and then it was Jonas’ turn to fly.
Their little group scattered as the Syakaran hurtled toward them. Cassidy and Alvaro kept the horses from bolting and Hisham moved to act as a brake for his friend. Jonas slammed into him, sending the two men rolling and skidding along the road. In the moments it took Jonas to right himself and rush Braph again, the magician flicked the latch on his bracelet, popped out a still-good pink crystal and replaced it with one of Llew’s dark purple ones. Her chest constricted.
