Sleep is the last thing on my mind, but there’s nothing else I can do until low day. I won’t be any good to Brice if I die from exhaustion before I reach him. I think of the words carved into Taniel’s arm.
TNGR. Help.
I grit my teeth against the bitterness that fills me—bitterness at what the Halves have taken from me and what I am because of them. If they’ve hurt Brice….
As I lie in the dark cave, every part of me aches for him. I trace my fingers over my lips the way Brice sometimes did before he leaned in to kiss me. Being here in our place, alone, makes me remember the first time Brice told me he was falling in love with me. Even now, recalling the way those words fell from his lips, a jolt of feeling races down my spine.
“You do know what the other Dwellers say about me, don’t you?” I had asked him once.
“I do.” Brice leaned down to kiss my brow, tightening his arms around me like he could protect me from their insults.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll bludgeon you to death or zap you with my eyes?”
My question was serious, but Brice laughed.
“I’ve killed enough Halves to know you’re not one of them. Even your eyes are different. Yours are deep and endless, not murky like theirs. I could get lost in your eyes.”
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm as he closed the distance between us.
“I love you, Hemera Harkibel,” he whispered, right before his lips met mine.
✽✽✽
Brice. He’s gone.
“I’ll make them pay,” I promise the darkness.
I will spend the rest of my life hunting the monsters that have stolen everything from me. It’s what I should have done years ago, but I was too much of a coward.
I have to get to Tanguro. Only then will I be able to kill the ones responsible for taking Brice and murdering both of my parents.
CHAPTER 9
I wake with one hand curled around my mother’s necklace, and the other clutching the hilt of one of Brice’s daggers.
I leave the cave as soon as it’s low day. I put on my cloak, tie the bundle with Brice’s daggers and food to my back, and crawl out of the cave and into the sunlight.
As soon as my eyes have adjusted to the brightness, I dig into the deep pocket of my cloak and pull out the piece of script tree bark Brice left with the knives. My trembling fingers are clumsy as I unroll the rough bark we peel from the trees and use to write messages.
A small laugh escapes me. It’s a map. Hardly daring to believe my luck, I squint at the pictures and labels covering the scroll.
I twist the map around in my hands, mesmerized by the amount of detail. Brice is good at drawing; he could make images come to life on a piece of script tree bark with nothing more than a blackwood pencil. But that doesn’t explain why or how he made this map.
The drawing shows lands far beyond the Subterrane territory, where no scout would ever travel. Two parallel, curved lines on the far-left side of the bark show the bends in the river that snakes around Subterrane Harkibel and the other Subterranes to our south. To the East of center, Brice has drawn Malarusk, the Dusker citadel. There is a blank space due north, with Banished Lands scrawled at the top. Ridges and peaks on the topmost edge of the bark must be the mountains that mark the beginnings of the Wild Lands, which hold the abandoned fortress of Tanguro.
A thick, straight line that begins above Subterrane Harkibel and travels up the map must be the North Road. There are even small dots marking the location of travel caves.
The travel caves were dug before the Duskers’ time, when people lived all throughout the land and were constantly moving in search of new food sources. Since the Dusker travel ban, though, only Captains and traders are allowed to travel outside their own Subterrane.
I can use the travel caves to escape from the sun and any other deadly creatures that might be stalking the lands between here and Tanguro. As long as I’m not seen by any Duskers along the way….
Closing my eyes, I mutter a quick prayer to the Dark God. Whatever the reason Brice had for keeping this map, it is going to lead me to him. It’s like he somehow knew I would need it.
Giddiness sweeps through me. I’m coming, Brice.
I take one more look at the map, plotting my route, and then roll it up and tuck it into the bundle slung across my back.
As I walk, the small stones I have been collecting in the leather pouch on my belt click together in time with my steps. My sling is tied to the outside of my cloak where I can grasp it if I need to ward off any animals. Or Halves. The thought sends a shudder through me, and I pick up my pace.
Even though the sun is low, sweat streams down my body beneath the cloak. Every itch is unreachable through the thick material. My hair, which has come loose from its knot beneath my hood, is a sodden, tangled mess.
Take off your cloak, says a small voice in my head. The Burn can’t hurt you.
Tempting as it is to strip off the cumbersome material, the thought of the Halves’ leathery, hideous skin stops me. What if exposing my skin to the sun makes it look like theirs? I draw my cloak tighter around me.
The trees begin to thin. Energy surges through me at the sight of the wide dirt path of the North Road. It’s right where Brice’s map said it would be.
I pause behind a tall bush and peek around the side. If I’m seen by any travelers, my journey will be over before it begins. But everything is quiet. The North Road is empty as far as the eye can see.
Stars begin to dance across my vision, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out, listening to the gentle whoosh of air. I move out from behind the bush and stride up the steep bank to the road.
The crackle of parched leaves makes me snap my head around.
I don’t have time to draw my sling before an arrow whizzes past my right ear. It lodges in the tree trunk behind where my head had been a moment earlier.
“Halt!”
The command is unnecessary as I’m already standing as still as a Dark God statue. Instinctively, I raise my hands to show I’m unarmed.
“If you so much as think to move, you’ll be dead before you can even whimper,” a low voice snarls.
The man, who is standing behind me where I can’t get a glimpse of him, undoubtedly has another arrow fitted to his bow. There is no question I would be dead before I could even reach for my sling, let alone turn around and take aim. My knees start to wobble.
“Please,” I say, not needing to fake the quiver in my voice. “I mean no one any harm.” I turn my head to the side, but then snap it back at the sound of a bow string being pulled taut.
“What are you doing here, and where have you come from?” His voice has lost none of its gruffness.
Is he a Subterrane Captain? One of the criminals from the Banished Lands? His voice isn’t muffled like he’s wearing one of the Dusker hoods. The thought brings some small relief.
“I’m lost.” I’m unable to form my story in my head before the words are out of my mouth. “My Subterrane was overtaken by Halves, and I ran into the woods. I’ve been searching for other survivors, but you are the first living person I’ve met.”
“Turn around so I can see your face. Slowly!”
I obey and get my first glimpse of my attacker. The first thing I notice is the arrow nocked in his bow and pointed at my chest. The second is the broad, double-bladed axe hanging from a leather strap across his body. There’s also a lute hanging from a cord around his neck. It looks ridiculous next to the axe.
“Don’t move a muscle,” the man growls, even though I’m barely breathing.
His voice sounded like it would belong to a large, bearded man who dresses in animal hides and wears a tattered, filthy cloak. I expected his skin to be marked with years of dirt, and to be spotted with dark blisters indicating onset of the Burn.
It takes me several moments, therefore, to register that the harsh voice belongs to a slender, almost fragile-looking man. He’s no more than an inch or two taller
than me. He’s older than I would have guessed, too. Not as old as my father, but his honey-colored hair is tinged with gray and there are fine lines spidering out from the corners of his eyes. The man’s cloak is a drab brown, without any markings that might give a clue about which Subterrane he belongs to. His shoulder-length hair is in a simple plait, and he wears no jewelry. He regards me through bright blue eyes that, for some reason I can’t name, seem sad.
I take in all of this in an instant. There is something not quite, but almost familiar about this man.
He shifts his arrow. For a moment, the material of his glove lifts and I can see the strange black ink designs covering his right hand.
Dwellers from Subterrane Leonold brand their hands with the image of Darkness Peak, the mountain where Duskers commune with the Dark God, but the pattern on this man’s hand is different. It looks like a sun with flames swirling out from its center.
“What's your name?” The man’s voice snaps my gaze away from his hand.
“Hemera Harkibel,” I answer automatically.
Stupid.
Now he knows which Subterrane I’m from and that I’m the Captain’s daughter. He’ll kidnap me for ransom, or worse, turn me over to the Duskers for breaking the travel ban. If the Duskers find me—if they discover what I am—I’ll be worse than dead.
Something flashes in the man’s eyes before his face becomes impassive again. He doesn’t say anything about my father or Subterrane, though. He could be one of the barbarians who live in the Banished Lands, but he doesn’t look like a criminal.
“I haven’t seen eyes like yours in any human I’ve met before,” he says, stepping forward to study me.
I lower my gaze to my dusty boots. My pulse throbs.
When I don’t say anything, he asks, “Where do you plan to go now that your Subterrane is destroyed?” The arrow is still fitted to the bow, but his arms have slackened.
“I know some people, distant relatives, who were expelled from the Subterrane territory and live in the northern part of the Banished Lands.” I babble, relieved for the change in subject. “I’m going to find them.”
After staring at me for several moments, the man says, “Better steer clear of the North Road. The Halves use it on their way to and from Tanguro.”
A jolt of fear shimmies down my spine before I steel my nerves. “Halves or not, I’m going north.”
I back away from the man. My eyes are fixed on his arrow, but he’s made no move to aim at me again.
“Don’t be foolish enough to think you can make the journey alone,” he says. “They’ll kill you before you reach your family’s cave. If the Halves don’t get you, the Burn will.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I reply, “but I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s your funeral, then.”
He speaks the words like he doesn’t care, but I see real concern deepening the lines of his face. I get moving before he gets any grand notions of trying to rescue me and bring me back to wherever he came from.
I can feel the man’s eyes on my back as I walk toward the North Road, but he doesn’t try to stop me. Resisting the urge to look back, I trip and stumble my way up the embankment on jellied legs.
It was right to get away quickly, I tell myself. Who knows what he would have done when he figured out who—and what—I am. Still, though, I would have liked to know who this man is and what he was doing here. I can’t shake the feeling I’ve seen him before.
I stay on the side of the road bordered by stones. At least if I see someone coming, the rocks will offer some cover.
I keep up my pace for hours without further incident. I’m fit from my work in the mines, but my energy won’t hold forever. I nibble on a Sustum brick and take small sips from my waterskin without stopping. My eyes scan the horizon in search of any sign of movement.
I stop to check my progress against the map. By the looks of it, I should reach the mountains bordering Tanguro in three weeks’ time. Even knowing it will exhaust me faster, I begin to jog.
A muffled sound makes me come to a skidding stop.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Crouching behind one of the larger stones, I unhook my sling from my belt and place a stone in its leather pouch. I flick my wrist to set the ropes whirring by my side.
I wait for several minutes. When I hear nothing, I peer around the side of the stone.
I barely have the wits to stifle my scream.
CHAPTER 10
At least twenty Halves are on the road.
They are still too far to see clearly, but they’re headed this way. And they are approaching fast. Their swollen, bare feet send up clouds of dust.
I stay crouched behind the stone, trying to decide what to do. There is nothing but bare desert on either side of the road. It is miles back to the trees, and if I try to run, they’ll see me. Maybe if I stay very still….
The ground trembles from the pounding of their feet as they begin to pass my hiding place.
I crouch lower to the ground as their muffled grunts and wheezing breaths grow louder. The stink from their sweat makes my eyes water.
When the ground stops shaking and the sounds grow fainter, I rise to my feet and step out from behind the rock. The Halves’ dust cloud is already far down the road. Most of them are running on all fours, making them look like a herd of wild beasts.
Savages.
Before I can release the pent-up air in my lungs, one of the Halves at the back of the group stops running. It rises up from all fours to its full height and sniffs the air. Its monstrous head scans the road from side to side, and I know the moment its hideous black eyes lock on my own.
It lets out a low, rumbling growl. The others stop running and stare as it gestures toward me with its gnarled hands.
My stomach lurches. I don’t wait to see what they will do. Swinging the ropes of my sling, I release one end and watch the stone sail through the air.
My stone hits the Halve between its eyes. It drops to the ground with an audible thud. Furious cries erupt from the others as they race back toward me. I swing again, but my arm is trembling and my stone flies wide. Before I can try again, they’re upon me. One of them grabs my right arm and wrenches it behind my back. Another barrels into me with so much force all of the air is pushed out of my lungs. A third wraps its scaly hand all the way around my throat and squeezes.
Panic takes over as my vision begins to darken. Without thinking, I use my free hand to grasp the Halve’s arm. I pull down with all my strength, trying to free my airway from the crushing force.
A choked yelp of surprise bursts from me as the Halve’s body flips over mine. I duck to avoid its flailing limbs.
The Halve lands on its side at least a pace away. The others let go of me, grunting their own shock at what I’ve just done. Adrenaline coursing through me, I turn to the nearest Halve and reach up to punch its chest.
It flies into the air. There must be two feet of space between its body and the ground as it sails in an arc away from me. Its lifeless body makes a shallow crater when it lands on the hard ground.
But there’s no time to celebrate or marvel at my strength. More Halves are already on the move.
Many of them hold wooden clubs in their massive, scarred hands as they close the space between us. Their unblinking black eyes, the ones I share, bore into me from their distorted faces. They surround me.
My brief snatch of confidence erodes as I stare at their hideous faces. My sling hangs by my side as I wait for the same death that took first my mother, and then my father.
I’ve failed.
The Halves move closer. The ones in front brandish their clubs as cruel, guttural sounds burble up from their throats. Tears spring to my eyes even as a stooped Halve rushes toward me on all fours, its club gripped between its jagged, yellow teeth.
If I die, there will be no one to rescue Brice.
The thought makes something inside me snap. I fumble with the knife in my belt. Lunging at the beas
t, I drive the blade through its flabby midsection. Thick, brown blood oozes from the wound.
“For my parents!” I scream.
Its blood has seeped through my gloves, but none of the poisonous welts appear on my hands. Their blood—the same blood that runs through my veins—doesn’t harm me. I wrench my knife out of the Halve, watching as the life drains from it. Illness sweeps through me, but I thrust my dagger into the Halve again.
These creatures are monsters.
“Come on!” I wave my blood-slicked fist in the air.
The other Halves advance. They step over the one that has collapsed in an oily puddle of its own blood.
My mother’s voice echoes from somewhere deep inside me. Be brave, Mer.
I slash at an arm that grabs for me. The Halve shrieks as blood oozes from the deep gash along its scaly forearm. It darts forward and knocks the knife from my hand. The beast’s reeking breath blows hot on my face. I stare into its black eyes.
The Halve emits a muffled oof! when I elbow its sunken chest. It falls to the ground, but three others take its place. A Halve raises a club above its head. The image of my mother, in the same position I’m in now, flashes through my mind.
The club flies toward my upturned face. The hood of my cloak falls back and the sun’s brightness blinds me. I make a weak effort to pull the hood back over my head with my free hand.
The club’s shadow crosses over my face. This is how it ends.
The Halve seems suspended with its club poised for the strike. And then it topples forward. A feathered arrow pierces its neck.
I look up to see the man I thought I left behind hours ago. He stands at the road’s edge, felling one Halve after another with his arrows.
The Halves that are still alive are maddened with terror, trampling the dead to get away. Some of them are running on all fours. I use my sling to kill two more Halves as they race back the way they came.
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