by Sean Platt
He tried the others, but still no success.
Stewart ordered them to load the bodies on the backs of their horses and return to Hope Springs.
Retrieving the dead men, Pascal glimpsed his memories, barely there, but even so he still caught sight of the bandit with burning hands.
Then he saw something else, an older memory, of the merchant visiting a clairvoyant just days ago. An old woman at John’s Township’s market. Beware the man with the burning hands, she had warned.
The merchant had laughed it off as the ramblings of a fraudulent psychic his wife had made him see, until the bandit was standing in front of him.
Another flash. The woman said a name. “Pascal.”
What the hell?
He tried to chase it for more, but the memory was all gone, leaving only silence and darkness in its wake.
Pascal broke the connection.
He had to find the psychic, but something told him to go alone. John’s Township was one of the Coalition Cities, but its residents were reluctant members who didn’t much trust Rangers or city folk.
Pascal loaded the corpse onto his horse, then rode back with Stewart, Knox, and Campbell, keeping the memory to himself.
Back at the stables, Pascal helped load the bodies onto a cart headed to John’s Township for their loved ones to bury them.
Knox and Campbell left with the bodies while Stewart went off to brief the general on their findings.
Pascal went home, said hi to Val and Charlotte, then quickly changed into civilian clothes before leaving for the Township. He wanted to arrive before Knox and Campbell. That meant leaving soon and riding fast.
He saw them heading south with the bodies and took his horse off the road, into the woods so he could circle around them.
The clairvoyant might clam up, if Pascal arrived behind them.
Pascal arrived, stabled his horse, paid the stable hand to give Cobalt food and water, then made his way into town.
John’s Township was the most southwestern town still in existence, and one of the few places that had barely changed in the hard years since The Event. It had always been decades behind modernity in culture and amenities, making the transition to this new world order less painful for citizens of the Township than most.
It was still made up of the same two areas. The bulk was farms, including the wealthy Merrick Teas plantation that occupied thousands of county acres.
But the heart of the town was a two-block stretch of street lined with antiquated shops, an inn with a bar, a Ranger’s office plus the jail to go with it, and an open market area with tents where farmers, merchants, and traders all sold their goods.
Despite its remote location, John’s Township was the second largest market of the Coalition Cities. It served not only its own residents, but also all those in the Outer Territories, existing in the unclaimed lands just south and east of the hamlet, abutting The Ruins’ border.
Pascal made his way to the markets on the other end of town, stopping at a fruit stand to purchase a pair of shiny apples. He shoved one in his pocket for Cobalt and bit into the other, more famished than he realized.
The apple was sweet and crisp, much fresher and tastier than the apples that typically made their way to Hope Springs’ open market.
Browsing the outdoor shops — mostly small stalls and slightly larger tents with tables — Pascal could feel the merchants’ eyes upon him.
He recognized a few as traders he’d had to kick out of Hope Springs when they cracked down on the sale of black market items. Most of those traders came here where the residents were less enthusiastic about law enforcement.
As he passed two men he’d kicked out for selling stolen items, their body language tightened. They found false smiles and acted like strangers.
He nodded politely, moving on to the stall next door.
It wouldn’t be long before the whispers spread that there was a Ranger among them. Some of the merchants would quietly close shop and hide until the interloper was finally gone.
Pascal kept going, searching for the tent he’d seen in the merchant’s memory. He finally found it — small, purple, and red at the far end of the market.
Drawing nearer he saw an ornate hand-painted sign: Madam Moonshadow’s Mystical Fortunes.
The name screamed fraudulence, but if the woman inside knew anything about Fire Hands, Pascal had to find out.
Another sign outside the tent read, Reading in progress. Please wait. He could hear old music playing faintly inside, masking any voices.
Pascal waited as a cool breeze picked up and scattered leaves along the ground. He could smell the faint aroma of a sweetly scented flower he didn’t know the name of, and other fragrances which brought him back to a time when he’d been on a picnic with Terri. The old ache hollowed him out like usual, making Pascal long for a way to travel back in time.
He saw movement in his peripheral vision, more merchants looking his way. The men who’d recognized him were now talking. Pascal turned, hoping to appear indifferent to his surroundings.
But minutes yawned and he wondered how long the rube in front of him was going to take.
He heard the rumble of thunder rolling in.
The skies were quickly growing darker.
Come on, come on.
How long before Knox and Campbell showed up and ruined things?
Pascal realized — it wasn’t just that he wanted to avoid attention in the Township, a part of him didn’t trust his fellow Rangers.
Was that self-preservation talking, because he was an Alt and didn’t feel like they trusted him? Or was this something else?
Movement inside the tent.
The flaps parted and a rotund old woman emerged, profusely thanking Madam Moonshadow.
Pascal ducked out of the way.
The woman eyed him suspiciously, then hurried off.
She was the woman from the merchant’s memory. She looked over, vague recognition lighting her eyes.
Madam Moonshadow gestured for him to follow her inside and said, “Come Pascal. I’ve been expecting you.”
Thirty-Eight
Elijah Freeman
Elijah practically ran to Charlotte’s house after class, eager to see her again.
The entire morning he’d found it impossible to focus on math or science. He could only see her — those eyes and smile so clear in his mind. He’d never felt a connection like this with anyone or anything so fast. Not that Hope Springs was full of prospects.
There were four in his age range, two a little young and one his age exactly, though she was the meanest among the four. The last one was too mature for someone as short and childish-looking as him.
Charlotte hadn’t talked much last night at dinner. She was a couple of inches taller than Elijah, but never made him feel smaller. She seemed to hang on his every word as he talked about his Cadet training.
Elijah was surprised to learn that not only was she interested in Ranger stuff, but her dad had taught her several fighting techniques. Neither of his parents had ever shown interest in his training beyond their individual versions of, Well, isn’t that nice.
Charlotte wasn’t just humoring him, she wanted details.
She told him about counterattacks she had learned from her father. She wanted to demonstrate, but Mom wouldn’t allow “such shenanigans at the dinner table.”
And by then it was getting late.
He hoped to talk more with her, maybe even invite her to training. There were no Cadet classes today, but students could practice in the dojo whenever it was free.
He knocked on Pascal’s door, feeling suddenly vulnerable. What if he didn’t want Elijah talking to Charlotte? He was looking after her, even if not her father.
He felt guilty. Insensitive for even thinking about Charlotte romantically after she’d lost her father and been kidnapped.
Why didn’t Mom tell me this was a terrible idea?
I should go before I embarrass myself, or offend her.
But the door opened before Elijah could slink away like a coward. Instead he smiled as best he could. “Hi, Miss Val. I was wondering if Charlotte was home, if she might want to spar with me?”
“Spar? I don’t know if—”
Charlotte leapt out from behind her. “I would love to! Can I, please?”
She was wearing blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt that looked big on her frame.
Miss Val looked at Elijah and then at Charlotte before she finally smiled and nodded. “Please be back in an hour or so.”
“Thank you, Val.” Then to Elijah: “Should I grab my staff?”
“I didn’t bring mine, but there’s some there I can use. So, yeah.”
She ran upstairs, leaving Elijah standing awkwardly on the porch with Miss Val. “So … nice weather today, eh?”
“Yes,” she said, obviously wanting to laugh but fighting the urge.
Thankfully, Charlotte reappeared with her staff, then joined him outside. “Be home in an hour!”
Val waved them off and closed the door.
Elijah couldn’t stop admiring her beauty as they walked. Charlotte caught him looking and he quickly turned away, blushing.
“What’s it like living here?” she asked.
“It’s good. But also all I’ve ever known. What was life like as a traveling merchant? Did you always do that or had you lived in a town?”
“We lived in a town when I was little, but then Dad finally had enough and we were on the road forever after that. It’s hard when the weather is cold or when we don’t sell much. But we rarely ever went to bed hungry. Dad taught me to fish, trap and hunt, basically take care of myself.”
Charlotte stared into the sky. Elijah wondered if she was thinking of her dad, or sad to be talking about him. He felt so awkward trying to think of something to say and maybe shift the conversational mood.
She did it for him. “What’s it like being the son of important people?”
“Like I’m walking around with this giant label on me that says, Freeman.”
“Are the other kids all nice to you?”
“No, not exactly. I mean I have a couple of friends, but other kids sometimes act like they’re threatened by me. They always have to prove themselves, but that just makes me want to do the same thing.”
“So, an endless cycle.”
Elijah laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“My dad never trusted anyone in power.”
“Ouch,” Elijah said.
“I didn’t say I shared his outlook. He was too cynical. I get it, he was a single father feeling very overprotective of me. But you have to trust someone eventually, right?”
Her eyes met his as she asked him, and Elijah thought he could get lost in them forever.
“What?” she said, laughing.
Again, he had been staring. As confident as Elijah felt sparring, this was miles out of his area of expertise. He tried to think of something cool to say that might impress her, but he didn’t want to come off as cocky. He considered complimenting her beauty, but knew from living with his mom that women usually didn’t like to be commended for their appearances alone.
“Just thinking,” he said, buying time to think up something better.
She laughed again. “You’re cute when you’re flummoxed.”
Cute? Did she just call me cute?
Another laugh, this one probably at his flushing face. “You’re not used to talking to girls, are you?”
“Sure I am. I … No, I’m not. Except for my mom. Are you used to talking to boys?”
“Boys flirt with me a lot when we go to different towns.”
“Oh.” Elijah couldn’t hide his disappointment. Surely she had guys throwing themselves at her, much cooler than him, who weren’t scrawny and didn’t look too young for their age.
Her two inches suddenly made him feel like a toddler.
“I don’t like most of them, though.”
“Why not?” Now Elijah was worried that he’d misread her, maybe she liked girls instead.
“They try too hard to show me how great they are. Or they look at me in that creepy way that guys usually do.”
Elijah stared at the ground.
“Relax. You don’t look at me like that … I like the way you look at me.”
“You’re very straightforward, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Does that bother you?”
“No. I’m usually pretty confident, not that you’d know it from this conversation.”
She laughed. “You’re cute and funny.”
He wanted to keep talking but they had arrived at the dojo.
They walked inside, Elijah hoping to see Joe or someone he was friendly with. But there was nobody in the place. He’d have the dojo, and her attention, all to himself.
He showed her around, explaining the various equipment and practice weapons. She knew them already. She also knew more than him about the history of the Vorbund sword, a tri-blade on display in a glass case, but which they had not practiced with.
She waxed poetic about ancient warriors that Elijah had only briefly heard about and never studied himself.
“Wow. You really know your stuff.”
“I read a lot at the markets and when Dad is, or was out at the bars.”
“He left you alone when he went to the bars?”
“I stayed in the carriage outside the bar. Not too far away if I needed anything. And Dad was intimidating, so nobody really messed with me.”
“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. Weird that you’ve been to my city a bunch of times and we’ve never run into one another.”
“You don’t seem like the type to hang out in the market.”
“Got me there.”
Charlotte smiled and nodded at the wooden staffs hanging on the wall. “Want to spar?”
“Okay,” he said, excited to have a partner who wasn’t Joe knocking him on his ass over and again.
Elijah wasn’t naive enough to see Charlotte as an easy win. She clearly knew more than him and had a tough trainer in her father. Elijah’s dad was more of a talker; Pascal had taught him to fight.
They grabbed staffs and traded blows. Charlotte’s smile and friendly demeanor disappeared in the face of a competitive glare and a fire in her eyes that he already loved and couldn’t stop thinking about.
They were going at it for fifteen minutes or so, an even match for the most part, each of them landing a few blows, though neither of them was striking hard enough to hurt the other.
Charlotte came at him fast. It was all he could do to deflect her attacks. He wasn’t going easy on her, or tapping his powers to move faster. Doing so would be unfair, but he also didn’t want to lose control. If he went too fast with his staff, Elijah might injure her.
She was backing him up toward the mat’s edge when a loud bang pulled his attention toward the doors.
Her staff slammed him in the chest as he turned.
He fell back on the mat, pain splintering through his body.
“Oh Gods, I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping down next to him.
Laughter erupted from the doors. Hunter and his friends, Jack and Otis.
“Getting knocked out by a girl, Elijah?”
He got to his feet, wincing as Hunter approached with his friends.
Charlotte was looking at Elijah, not them. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m okay.” His pride was wounded way worse than his chest.
“So, who are you, new girl?” Hunter eyed her up and down like a treat.
Elijah wanted to punch the jerk in his nose.
“Charlotte.” She met his gaze until he flinched.
“I know you,” Otis said. “You’re that merchant’s daughter. That cranky old man yelled at me for daring to make your acquaintance about a year ago.”
“I don’t remember. But yes, I am that merchant’s daughter.”
“What are you doing fighting in here? Joining Cadets?” Hunter lau
ghed, then the other guys joined him.
“I heard you could all use someone to teach you how to fight.”
Hunter laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“You don’t think a girl can spar?”
“Ain’t no girl that can beat me,” Hunter said.
“That a challenge?”
Hunter gave her his biggest, ugliest smile. The one that often mocked Elijah. “I don’t fight girls.” Then, “You an Alt freak too?”
She shook her head. “No powers here. Wanna go, a round of taps? First to five. Show me what you’re made of.”
Otis and Jack both started laughing. “Come on, Hunter. You gonna let a merchant girl talk to you like that?”
The way they said merchant girl like she was somebody lesser than them wormed right under his skin. Elijah wanted to say something, to defend his new friend, and maybe someday more, but she was doing fine by herself.
“I said I don’t fight girls. Unless they’re Cadets.” A wink at Elijah.
Then more laughing.
“Any one of you willing to take on a merchant girl?” Charlotte challenged them.
Otis, tall and muscular, seventeen but looking closer to twenty, stepped forward and snatched Elijah’s staff from his hands. “Yeah, let’s go. What are we playing for?”
“Your pride,” Charlotte said.
“I want something more.”
“What?”
“A kiss. Right on your pretty mouth.”
She was quiet for a second. Elijah felt sick to his stomach at the thought of her having to kiss Otis.
“Fine. But if I win, then you’re kissing him.” She pointed at Hunter.
But Hunter shook his head. “Hell, no. I’m not gay.”
“And I’m not into kissing ugly guys, but I’m still willing to live up to my end of the bet if you two are.”
“New bet,” Hunter tried. “You lose, we both get to kiss you. Me first.”
“Fine. Then you two kiss if you lose. With tongue.”
Elijah felt uncomfortable, his fear that this would get out of hand growing. That these three guys might try to do something more. Or maybe she’d get hurt while playing taps.
