by Amanda Twigg
She did stop, shocked to hear him use her name for the first time. There was no predicting how he would address her at any time, but she’d come to realize “citizen” meant he was most annoyed with her performance. What his use of her given name meant, she hadn’t a clue.
She peered along the line of his finger and saw a bright star hanging in the darkness.
“Follow that brighter light, and it will guide you back to the base if you’re ever lost,” he said.
Lost? You’re leaving me out here?
Hopelessness ran through Landra. Thisk was preparing to abandon her in the remote lands. Why else do this training? She gawked at the tiny dot for a long time, her mind travelling far. She thought of her great-grandmother, Meftah, and wondered if she’d been born on one of those stars. Jethra was out there somewhere. A sharp prod brought her back to the log splitting task.
That night, Landra’s dreams were lively with Oakham and Gallanto, making her wonder if she’d replayed the Soul memory in her sleep. If it wasn’t for Thisk, her visions wouldn’t feel so dangerous out here. She went about her routine the next morning and discovered her stash had been ransacked by the Warrior, so she spent the day adapting to her new situation.
She twisted a leaf into a cup for capturing water, but the liquid leaked, so she broke open a large nut and scooped out the contents to make a flask. She stripped vines to make a noose, sharpened a stick into a spear, and bound a stone and a cane into an axe. Her stride home had a spring that day, and her sack jounced on her hip with satisfying weight.
As she approached the hut, she could barely believe the axe was missing from the log pile. A night off was long overdue. She pushed on the door, looking forward to rest. The bolt held it in place.
“Thisk?”
“I’m not here.”
“Is that supposed to be funny? Let me in.”
Silence.
Oh, Thisk.
She sighed. She could either waste her energy shouting at the Warrior or accept he wasn’t going to open the door. She’d already predicted this escalation and had started building a shelter behind the ranger hut.
She found it with the frame still intact. High winds had left broken branches on the forest floor, and she’d used them to form a slanting roof. The vines she’d used to bind the structure were strong, but her knots had worked loose. She pulled them tight, and it didn’t take much to weatherproof the hut with vegetation.
Once she was happy it would hold, she collected wood and twigs for a fire, dug out some dried moss and slivers of wood for tinder, and set to work. No matter how many times she tried to make a spark catch, the brightness sputtered out. Making fire looked easy when Thisk did it, even without the use of a Soul bead. She had done this before, but Thisk had always been guiding her actions.
Closing darkness added pressure to her efforts, and she realized she was in trouble. If she couldn’t get the fire going, she would have no light to work by, no warmth, and no heat for cooking. The Collector was still stuck on a high branch, and the temptation to retrieve it was enormous. She could see why Thisk utilized magical artifacts now, but she didn’t dare do the same. If the Warrior found out, he‘d likely beat her into the mist, so she huddled inside her shelter and opened the sack.
A small animal with unresponsive eyes and a bloody chest flopped out. She still felt pride at her speared catch, but now she stared at the furry creature in her lap, wondering how to cook it.
With the blackness closing in and a storm of hunger raging in her stomach, she took out her handmade knife to skin the animal. The fur came away, and guts dribbled over her knees. When she was done, it sat in her hands, a network of sinew, bone, and flesh.
Close your eyes and eat. It’s still food.
She bit into the raw flesh, trying to ignore the lumpy chunks that resisted her chewing and stringy tissues caught in her teeth. Even after her stomach protested, she forced down two more bites then set the animal’s carcass aside.
Hunkering down in the shelter, wrapped in cold-weather padding, she tried to sleep. It was going to be a long night.
Just get to the morning. Please.
Clouds robbed her of starlight, so the darkness and cold wrapped around her like training skins. Her stomach tossed in alarming ways, and shivering rocked her body. Through the deep night hours, scuffles, howls, and jittery auras kept her from rest. This is awful. This is going to be my life. I won’t survive.
The morning light found her still sitting in the shelter, but the wind had whipped her weatherproofing into the sky and rain droplets streamed from her hat and uniform. The animal carcass had been stripped clean, and trailing entrails tracked away from the shelter. She shuddered, not knowing what scavenger had come close.
I hope your guts hurt as bad as mine.
Landra had never felt so miserable. She returned to the ranger hut with a hunched-over shuffle. Thisk took one look at her and left her inside all day with a vomit bucket. If she were to be exiled to the remote lands, she was sure this was how she would die.
In the following days, Thisk filled in the skills she hadn’t worked out for herself. She made enough fires to keep the entire clearing warm and told Thisk she could do it with her eyes closed. He made her try, but she burned her fingers and vowed to never try it again. She wasn’t allowed to use the magic stone.
He taught her about the skipper bunny, which should never be eaten raw, showed her how to make wraps from fur, and drilled her in tying knots. They constructed so many shelters that anyone coming out here would be spoiled for choice. Every day ended with training, log splitting, and stretching.
All the time, Landra’s tension built. She absorbed Thisk’s lessons with attention to every detail. There couldn’t be too many days of the training cycle left, and her fate was drawing near.
Chapter 26
On a return trip to the cabin with a sack full of medical herbs, sparkles covered the trees and fallen twigs crunched underfoot. A white speck twisted down onto Landra’s cheek, and she stopped to wipe it away. Thisk halted at her side.
“Well, that’s it,” he said. “What d’you want to do, Chief Elect?”
“Give me a clue. Are we talking shelters, hunting, or something else because I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“The snows are coming early, so it’s time to choose: Do we head city-side or make for the remote lands?”
I—”
After all her worrying, the moment still took her by surprise. “I thought you would choose. Why are you asking me?”
“Call it a privilege of rank.”
“Right,” she said, but no trace of condescension tugged at the Warrior’s dark features. She licked her dried lips, trying to force some moisture into the cracks. Thoughts of her life back on base came flooding back.
Did you declare undying love before Dannet left, Baylem? And what are you doing right now, Bexter?
Her deep sigh blew white mist into the air. All hope she’d carried of knowing the cadet had dwindled. His straight-down-the-line soldiering and respect for the command chain left no room to date a chief elect. It felt like she’d lost him before ever knowing him, but that wasn’t enough reason to run away.
“We go back,” she said.
“To judgment?”
“If the ruling council thinks I deserve exile, they can put me on a train and send me themselves. I won’t duck out of my duty before it started. You don’t have to come with me, Thisk.”
The Warrior scratched his beard and azure swirls disturbed his aura, but the only reaction to mark his face was a single twitching eyebrow. He hid emotions better than anyone she knew.
“You think I might want to avoid duty?”
“That’s not what… I don’t want you to get into trouble on my account.”
“I think you know me well enough now, Hux. I can find trouble without help. We’d best get everything ready to move out tomorrow. If that snows develops, both the city path and remote land trails could be blocked soon.”
“So, we go city-side together?”
“That’s what I said.”
It wasn’t quite what he’d said, but relief loosened Landra’s limbs.
They spent the rest of the day organizing the cabin. By the time Landra finished, the inside was cleaner and the contents more ordered than when she’d arrived. Thisk gouged his scalp once when he cut a rough Warrior mark into his hair. Rather than put the thin blade away, he offered it to Landra.
“I’ll wait to see Leo,” she said.
They gathered their few belongings into carry sacks, and then she climbed the tree to reclaim the Collector. Thisk watched her, not bothering to keep the disapproval from his face.
“Father will disown me if I go back without the knife.”
“I know that, but I don’t think you should be the one to retrieve it.”
“It’s my responsibility.”
She wriggled along the branch with an outstretched hand, needle-like leaves scratching her cheeks. A creaking sound stilled her, and she edged along a little farther. Stretching her fingers, she touched the Collector’s handle and rolled her grip around the carved bone handle. It was warm, despite its frosty resting place, and heat pumped through it into her body.
The hethra came on her like an invading virus, as if it had waited for her to touch the knife. The forest dimmed from view, and she slipped into a visualization.
Darkness swarmed across her vision and bobbing aura lights twinkled all around. City warmth wrapped around her body, shutting out the snappy forest wind. Landra tracked moving shapes in the gloom, only recognizing the forms as soldiers by their faint auras and whispering voices. Despite the confusion, Landra knew one thing—the last time she’d smelled that musty book odor, she had been standing in Father’s stateroom. She was looking at her home.
A sudden explosion lit the scene, and a booming noise shook her body. In the illumination, she saw the true horror of the situation. Bexter stood before her father’s desk brandishing a sword. Blood splatters dripped from his blade and shaded his blue cadet uniform. His handsome face contorted in a ferocious snarl as dark-robed Templers closed in on him, their staffs raised in attack.
As quick as the scene had emerged, it faded into darkness.
Bexter! Father? Are you there? What’s going on?
She couldn’t grasp how Templers could have invaded Hux Hall or why Bexter was the one to face them. Enraged shouts cut through her confusion, and a solitary screech of agony drenched her in fear.
No!
She relied on grunts to make sense of the battle. It was like a horrible dream, but a deep of part her knew the truth: The fighting was happening now, in her home, to the people she loved. As she clung to the branch, the cadet’s anguished shout jolted her back into awareness. A blue aura rose in her vision, stretching too thin hold together, before it twinkled out of existence—death.
“Bex!” she shouted.
No one answered. Landra’s scrutiny flitted over the remaining auras in a desperate search for ones she knew, but in the real world, her tree shook. She thought she spotted Bexter’s even shades, but his edges rolled in uncharacteristic curves, so she couldn’t be sure.
He would be unsettled. He’s in battle. Where is everyone—the guards, Dannet, and Father?
Nothing made sense. Vibrations rocked through the tree again, and her grip released. She tumbled, her vision receding as if being sucked down a tunnel.
Thump! Her back slammed to the forest floor, and her chest burned with the force of her exhalation. Tall trees and a grey sky came back into focus, but she only saw the Collector. It followed her down, point first. Thisk snatched it before it could strike. He hunkered over her, his dangerous eyes, overgrown beard, and unkempt uniform making him look savage.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
She had little breath, and her panicked thoughts raced in confusion.
“I said stand up.”
Am I hurt? She clambered to her feet, her body sore but not screaming with deep damage. She couldn’t make sense of all she’d seen, but her chest squeezed so tight the next white breath wouldn’t come out.
Home invaded. Someone died. Oh shelk!
The Warrior’s slap came without warning. His open palm met her cheek with more force than he’d used before. Her face numbed, but she felt the shock of the blow deep in her gums.
“I’ve tried to train you, Hux. I thought you understood about this shelking magic. It’s here in our world, but it terrifies most soldiers. And you? You’re the chief’s daughter and the chief elect. It’s most dangerous for you. I would never have taught you the hethra if I’d known of your flaw. This could bring down our world. Don’t you understand?”
Landra did understand. She’d always understood better than anyone else. It was a shock for someone else to recognize her predicament, but the Warrior only understood a fraction of her problem.
She didn’t just have a Soul touch; she had Soul sight. She hadn’t used the hethra or even sought out magic. The power had assaulted her, leaving no option for refusal, but what did that matter now? A crash of panic lit her anger as she thought of home, the battle, her friend, and death. Drawing herself up with a hand on her cheek, she glowered at Thisk.
“If you can’t control magic, you should avoid it altogether.” His aura pulsed with deep blue swirls.
Landra’s head pounded, and all she could do was groan. The blow had shocked her system, but Thisk showed no pity. Anger simmered in her gut like bubbling stew. He’d hurt her more than once in the name of training, but she hid her rage with a feigned stumble.
Seeing no caution in Thisk’s aura, she charged and jumped, landing both her boots on target. He hadn’t anticipated her retaliation and was off-guard, so the blow rammed home. Not in a high-scoring kick to the head or a disabling stamp on a joint, but deep in his manhood. Thisk curled in a ball, emitting a strangled groan.
“I’m not feeling very nice today, Warrior Fourth.” She yanked the Collector from his grip. “And that knife is mine. We’re not waiting until tomorrow to go home. Get your things together. We go today.”
She wanted to explain, but sharing the details of her magical vision would only make matters worse. The kick hadn’t satisfied her in the way she’d thought it would, but it had been necessary. Nothing could delay her trip, and she didn’t have time to field questions. She stormed away from the Warrior and left him to moan.
By the time he returned to the cabin, she’d shuttered the windows. His face was unreadable, but he collected his things and strode down the path toward the city. Landra paused to admire the log pile before departing. It only had a couple of layers when she’d arrived. Now, the stack reached to the window frame.
She glanced at Thisk, who was heading toward the tree she’d targeted during training. That failure still stung, so she drew a plain weapon from her belt strap and set her sights on the narrow trunk. She hurled the blade into flight and watched it whistle past Thisk’s head. It had been weeks since she’d thrown a knife, but the skill lived in her body like an old friend. Her last attempt had fallen short, and she expected the same result now, but this shot planted into the bark and held.
The Warrior whipped his head around to glare, but Landra hid a strained smile. She hitched her sack higher onto a shoulder, and set out with a defiant stride. She was stronger now, and she knew what she had to do.
For once, Thisk waited for her to catch up. They walked past the tree together, neither of them glancing at the knife. There were enough weapons in the city shaft, and she wanted this one to stay in the bark. It symbolized the gains she’d made and for a wonder, Thisk didn’t object.
Damn you to the mist, Fourth. You made me strong, but I’ll never admit that to you.
She set her shoulders back and faced the city—home. Only the mist knew what trouble brewed inside.
Chapter 27
Standing on the overlevel at Hux Hall’s shaft door, Landra felt cold inside and out. Thisk hadn’t spoken, but t
here wasn’t anything unusual in that. Sometimes he didn’t talk for days at a time.
She stuffed her gloves in a pocket, snatched the hat from her head, and ran one hand over the spiky tufts of her hair. Every layer of her clothing felt grimy, and she understood the ranger’s usual disheveled appearance better now. Time spent in the remote lands wasn’t kind to Warrior sensibilities, but it was the least of her worries.
“Make sure your insignia badge shows,” Thisk said, fastening his own pin to his collar. “Your hair tracks are completely gone.”
He kicked a loose snow covering from the trap, and flashes of the ransacked hall wormed into Landra’s thoughts. She moved her badge to her outer jacket and drew a sword from her hip sheath.
“Expecting trouble?” Thisk asked.
What should I say?
Her cheek still throbbed from his slap and she didn’t want to invite another, so she eased her sword in her belt, squeezed her lips into a thin line, and shook her head.
The Warrior tugged on the trap door’s ring. The panel didn’t move, so he dropped to one knee, set a gloved hand to the floor for purchase, and heaved.
“Nope. It’s not budging. Either it’s frozen solid or locked from inside.”
“Are they usually locked?” Landra asked.
“They’re supposed to be when a sentry isn’t posted, but the rules aren’t always followed. And there’s always a sentry on Hux Hall. I’ve roamed in and out for years without trouble.”
That was before, when battle hadn’t wrecked Father’s stateroom.
Thisk hammered on the trap, his fist bouncing frost-stiffened leaves into the air. Just when Landra thought he was ready to break in, the trap creaked open and exposed a sliver of darkness. They both retreated, expecting the panel to fling open. It rattled back into place.
“That’s not normal.” He nudged the trap with his boot and then flipped it over. They both stared into the darkness. If there was any sound from below, it was swallowed by the howling wind. Thisk rolled his tongue around his mouth and scratched his beard.
