“Where are they?” I ask. Who are they, who are you? There’s so much I don’t know about him. So much I’d like to.
A pause stretches between us like taffy, thick and sticky.
“On your feet,” he says instead. My shirt is soaked, front and back, with sweat, but I don’t want to move. I ache for more.
He springs up. “Come on, Ambry.”
A string of scenarios plays through my head. Ideas, speculation, and I watch him for a moment, trying to figure out what has him strung so tightly. “I’m sorry,” I say eventually. “For whatever happened to them.”
A muscle hitches in his jaw. The scenarios continue shifting, not settling. None of them fits the contradiction that he is. Despite that, I realize I do know one thing. It’s as certain to me as the tears’ constant humming at my spine.
Talon is remarkable.
He’s smart. He can fight, but he’s tactful and careful. He’s rough on the outside, but occasionally slips, giving me hints of his soft interior, his kindness. Vulnerability, as Nattie would put it. It all springs from whatever happened to him. It’s got to. If only he’d open up to me about it.
“Step one in hand-to-hand combat,” he says. Clearly, he’s not opening. “The art of falling.”
“Falling? There’s an art to it?”
“Any good fighter knows how to fall properly. It’s the only way you can get back up again.”
Here’s a boy who’s got it so together he speaks things in ancient Liachle, and he wants to watch me fall? Not exactly the confidence-booster I had in mind. Especially not when he steps closer to me.
“When you’re in combat, you can’t dwell on your losses. You can’t feel angry or distraught. You just have to deal.”
I can’t deal with anything when the air ripples all around me just being near him. Again, I try to focus.
“It frees you to take risks,” he goes on. “That’s the only way to beat your opponent. Even strength matters less than you think. If you overcome your fear of falling, then you overcome your fear of the attack.”
He steps away, and the forest comes back into focus. Birds chirrup and wind swirls, cooling the heat of just being near him, freeing my breath and my thoughts. Training. That’s what we’re doing. I can do this.
Talon swigs some water and stares off where Nattie’s hut had been, propping a foot on a convenient log. Angels, but he’s beautiful. I turn away, trying to shake free of him. I can learn to fight—and not just learn, but I will be good at fighting. I’ll be someone Talon can be proud of. Someone he wants to keep around. And I’ll be brave enough to rescue Ren.
I reach for my own water when, in one motion, Talon throws me off balance, knocking my feet from beneath me and catching me again just before I hit the dirt, almost like a dance.
His chest moves against mine. A flicker of that vulnerability flashes across his eyes, like he realizes he’s holding me to his body. My nerves punch and spiral while I inhale the scent of him.
Unable to help myself, I inch upward. His hands clench at my back, snaring me in. His breath brushes my skin, his eyes trail over my face and land on my mouth...I wait for him to close the distance, to touch his lips to mine.
Instead, he releases me—nearly drops me—and paces off, one hand on his hip. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he mumbles.
A nerve has been severed. I sip air slowly, clearing my head. I know better. I should have paid attention, just let him teach me. It’s obvious he doesn’t feel the same way.
“I can do this,” I say, trying to regain control. “Please show me?”
His forehead creases, and he gives me a sidelong glance. I can’t let him down, especially not when he praised me earlier.
He stares up at the branches and nods before facing me again. His eyes are unreadable, and for the smallest moment I wonder if he’s upset.
“Right then,” he says without looking at me.
I fall. Over and over. The fact that he heals me after the first few times helps, but like everything else he only braces me so far. And after the first few times, he seems to forget my intimate mishap.
The teardrop flounces around beneath my shirt, but I can’t take the necklace off without being obvious. I’m not as good at diverting questions as he is.
I refuse to think of what Nattie and the other Firsts laid on me. Ren—he’s all I need to think about. Getting to my brother.
“Not quite,” he says after throwing me what seems like a thousand times. “Your palms have to stay open.”
I grunt. The tiredness I should have felt earlier weighs in with a vengeance now, trimming my eyes while my hips and elbows throb. So much for being graundai or whatever he called me.
“You keep landing close-fisted. Keep your palms down. Slap the ground to disperse energy so it extends to your forearms.”
I try to hear what he’s saying, but I just ache. And for the first time I’m glad I can’t cry. With the way I hurt, tears would escape for sure. But I can’t act weak. He’s proud of me, and I want him to stay that way. I square my jaw and call my magic again.
As if to show him how not-worn-out I am, I decide to see if I can catch him off guard. The cool flow of magic renews my vigor, and I grip his shoulder and sweepkick, trying to take his feet out.
“It’s all about energy dispersion—hey!”
Talon’s words cut off as he stops my advance, staying firmly on both feet. He grins and spins. His hand spears out and skims my cheek, and I know he misses on purpose.
“What?” he asks, stepping back and lowering his hand from my cheek. “What’s that look for?”
Am I giving him a look? “Oh nothing,” I say. “Just thought I was progressing. That’s all.”
Talon laughs. “But you are! Don’t worry that you couldn’t take me down.” He leans in. “Not many people can.” And he winks.
“You’re so—” I don’t finish. He’s so many things to me, I’m not sure which one to say.
“Come on,” he says, waving his hand.
To my surprise, he doesn’t stop with rolls. He moves into striking. Ridge-handed, knife-handed, knee strikes, along with breath control and proper footwork. My body responds almost instinctively to his teaching. Strikes come much easier than falling did, as if the furtive movements are natural. And my magic springs up with the movements too, like it knows it’s necessary.
Talon keeps muttering, “Graundai,” along with other words I’ve never heard, but I don’t stop to question. The longer we go, the more I find myself not having to concentrate quite as hard. My magic pulses thicker than it ever has before. It burbles and fidgets, like someone jiggling their ankle when they’re bored. It’s as if my body memorizes the movements the minute it performs them, as if my magic is a recording device registering the moves in my brain to be retrieved at a moment’s notice.
***
“Can we be done?” I ask, panting. It’s past midday, the sun is at an angle in the sky. My arms and sides throb. I’ve been up all night and trained most of the day. Exhaustion builds, wearing me down.
Talon’s hands rest on his hips, and he paces and huffs. By now he has shown me four different strike patterns, and I’m pleased to see a few red marks blotching him as well.
“I saw a lake that way, at the mountain’s base,” I go on, pulling at my shirt which sticks to my dirt-crusted skin. “I kind of need a bath.”
A ring of sweat dips down Talon’s chest as well. “You’re not the only one. I’ll get a fire going. You go on ahead.”
More than a bath—I need time to think. I’ve been keeping my thoughts at bay, but the events of last night have gradually been pouring in. Something led us to Nattie. To that entryway. Nattie apologized once the soldiers showed up. She planned it. She had to know we were coming when we did.
Since going through that archway, something in me has altered, too. I learned all of this very quickly today. I’ve only been training for a few weeks, but my body takes to fighting like it’s natural—too natur
al. It makes no sense, but I’m sure of it. Nattie said my magic would be different now. This must be the result.
I rifle towel, soap, and my single change of clothes from my pack and head for the glistening lake at the nearby mountain’s base. The clouds turn hazy. While I expect to be stiff, my limbs move with ease. A smile rides on my face, not just because of all I’ve accomplished today, but because I keep seeing the approving looks on Talon’s face.
A soft melody rises when I think of the deep surrender in his eyes, when I’d moved closer to him, the way his arms wrapped around me, how his body felt so close to mine.
The melody swells, chiming like I’ve got bells attached to my feet. I peer behind. But turning addles my brain. The ground tilts, and I throw out my arms to stay balanced. My thoughts blur—I know the lake is feet away but I can’t see it through the sudden, obscure swirls of color.
The music fills the air, a gentle, eerie voice using words I can’t grasp. Tense and entrancing, it streams to my ears and swirls in the space around my brain. The dark, ghostly tones make their way down and dance on my tongue. It’s so intense, so purely sweet and tantalizing.
Spellbound, I search for it. I need to find it. It takes a hold of me so that I’m no longer myself. Along the brush, a vision pushes through my dizzy, drugged mind.
A teenage boy. Tall, muscular and broad-shouldered with sandy, rumpled hair, cradling kindling in his arms. Eyes closed, he meanders toward the mountain’s base.
His boot hits a rock, and he stumbles. The logs in his arms tumble to the moss-robed stone, and he collapses. My mind is misty enough that I don’t worry about his fall.
Just before he hits, a large bird appears, snatching him in its arms. The boy dangles like a wet rat as the bird rises to the sky, taking both the boy and the song with it.
Greens, browns, blues all mesh together and swirl in psychedelic patterns, muddying the area around me until they slow and space out again to become trees, grass, sky once more. I cling to the music, not wanting it to end. But it gradually fades, leaving silence and a single bird chirrup behind.
I draw in air and fall to the ground, waiting for my mind to come back into focus.
Where did the music come from? Did Talon hear it? Or see that huge bird?
I’ve never seen birds like that. And I had no clue any kind of bird took humans for their prey.
And like remembering a test I’ve forgotten to study for, the realization kicks.
The boy.
Carrying wood, his hands cloaked by fingerless gloves. Dropping it, just before being snatched away…
“Oh!” I gasp.
I’ve got to hurry. I hope it’s not too late.
I spring to my feet and drop my change of clothes, soap, and towel, running toward the rock at the mountain’s base where Talon’s firewood lies scattered. I’m not sure what they plan on doing with him. Oh man, I hope they’re not going to eat him.
“Hey!” I yell, raising my fist. “Hey, you dumb bird, you give him back!”
That music wove through me and I just stood there. Watched him be taken. Now he’s nothing more than a speck heading toward the mountaintop. Rocks collect near the mountain’s base and shrubbery builds. I scan through, glance darting from tree to tree until I find a dirt path wandering its way up.
I start up the narrow trail. After Nattie’s archway, I can handle anything.
“Oo, ouch.” The ground is anything but smooth. I’m sticky with sweat, and my hair clings to my neck. Pebbles and twigs crunch under my feet. I lose my balance and stumble over a loose root.
The air is colder up here, denser, refreshing my lungs. Goose bumps tiptoe along my arms and neck. I push at nosy bushes, but that only makes them ricochet back a second time.
I can’t help thinking of the first hike I took with Talon, the soreness tearing at my muscles and how frail I felt. Now I climb with energy and vitality—even after training. It’s such a liberating high, to feel capable and strong. I’m still panting from the movement, but I’m far from being winded.
“I hope you’re up here, Talon,” I grumble, climbing along the trail. And that you’re not dead. Ahead of me, rocks pile in a stair-like formation, looking almost manmade. My feet pound their way up toward the looming sky-scraper cliff climbing to the sky.
I reach a wide, flat area at the cliff’s base. It’s nothing but stone, save for a small pond at one end. There are no plants in sight—not even around the small pond. There’s moisture in the air, so different from the sun-beaten spread of dirt and sagebrush below.
No plants means no birds. Maybe I’m wrong. Talon’s probably down at our camp, wondering why my bath is taking so long. And here I am, lost, and the sun will be setting soon.
I glance up to check the sun’s angle when I find several birds flittering far above my head. I squint, trying to extend my vision. But none of them seems to be carrying anything at all, let alone a person.
“I should know better than to follow a hallucination,” I say to myself, plopping down on a large rock near the pond. Several colorful fish swim, and I stare at my reflection. My long hair is matted down, coating to my forehead, my neck. Maybe I could rinse myself off here and head back down…
Wait.
The birds continue fluttering above. What kind of birds have long legs and arms? And heads like a…human’s?
“Oh no.”
They’re not birds. They’re people, with huge, vast wings sprouting from their backs.
I stand, foot splashing the pond’s edge. “Sirens,” I say aloud. “Those dirty, conniving…”I struggle for the right words. “If they have Talon, I’ll have a word or two to say about it.” My breath rises faster, hot and severe. How dare they?
“Hey!” I shout. My voice reverberates against the high, stone wall. The sirens glide above, disappearing and reappearing. I’m not sure they heard me, so I try again.
“Hey! If you took Talon, give him back!” My voice carries like a trumpet blast in the echoing chamber. Stupid, sleazy creatures. What, they think they can just take people and not have anyone worry about it?
The sirens all disappear save one. She sails on the air toward me, a fierce, red bird. I have to stab sense into my brain when she lands before me. I clear my throat and readjust my sweaty clothes.
She’s magic in and of herself, more beautiful than any human I’ve ever seen. The siren with Nattie last night wasn’t this stunning. Vibrant red hair tumbles thickly down to her long legs and bare feet. Her gauzy wings pulse up and down as if breathing.
What am I doing? Where she’s a blossoming redvine tree, I’m a shabby piece of wood from an old discarded fence. She wears a green tunic with a sheer, shimmery covering embroidered with sparkles and leaves.
I can’t take my eyes from her wings. Their emerald blue weave is so intricate; it’s hard to tell they’re not wet.
“Either you don’t know where you are,” she says, “or you wish to die.” Her voice is smooth and lovely and carries that eerie edge.
As much as I want to examine the ground, I keep my head up. Her pink, faceted eyes are difficult to look straight into, like trying to stare directly at the sun.
“Where is Talon?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Talon! You took him, I saw it!”
She glares at me. Do sirens still have emotion? I think Nattie said the spell didn’t affect them.
Anger fuels my muscles, wires through my tendons. “I’d like you to give him back.” I crack my neck to one side. Talon taught me enough today. I bet I can take her.
The siren stands erect and dignified. Her jaw angles and she meets my gaze without falter.
Finally, she speaks. “You have a strong, stubborn heart, Ambry.”
“How do you know my name?”
“We saw you in Talon Haraway’s heart,” she says simply. “Not many have the courage to ascend our steps in search of those we have chosen. Especially none so ill clad as you.”
She raises a delicate brow and pe
ers down her nose at me. I’m more aware than ever of my sweaty clothing and filthy skin. Embarrassment swarms in my cheeks. I saw my reflection in that pool—I look absurd.
“What’s your problem?” I ask. “Why did you take him?”
Her forehead grows hard. The small change on anyone else’s face wouldn’t be quite so daunting, but on her flawless porcelain it’s an astute warning. I swallow the bitter taste of fear. But I don’t take my words back.
She puts a dainty hand to her chin and begins circling me, still eyeballing down her nose at me. “We knew of you before you even approached. When we Sang, we saw you through your companion’s heart.”
“Yeah, you said that.” My flesh is borderline roiling.
“Once he hears to his heart’s content,” she goes on, “he is ours. And then we know his heart’s content.” She returns to where she stood before.
“That’s nice,” I say, not really caring. “I'd like you to give him back.”
“We do not simply give people back, Ambry Csille.”
“Then what are you doing here? You can’t do this to me. He’s the only chance I have.” The tears cry out, their silent buzzing cry, and my head blanks. The prospect of traveling to Valadir alone, of finding the tears once I’m there, of finding Ren…My chances are more than just slim—they’re non-existent.
“You would be despondent without him?” she asks.
“Despondent,” I say, gloom bearing down. The word alone doesn’t compare to the feelings that accompany it.
Without Talon, without that rare smile, the looks he gives me, the way he’s opening up to me. The thought of leaving him behind—I might as well cut off a few fingers or a leg and leave them here.
His jade green eyes, the way they seem to swallow me with every glance. I want nothing more than to be near him, to hear his smooth, honeyed voice say my name or chastise me for doing something incorrectly.
I want him back.
Estelle watches me, wings pulsing.
“So be it.” An amused smile tugs her lips. “You must go to him and break the spell yourself. Only if you succeed will he come with you.”
Such A Secret Place (Stolen Tears Book 1) Page 15
