by Sharon Hinck
Genuine confusion flickered across his face.
Ha. Figure that one out, Mr. High and Mighty.
Cameron’s eyes narrowed and raked over me, pinning me, even as he spoke to Tristan. “She looks like she could be Hazorite. Have you been doing some trading of your own?”
Hazorite? Me? I waited for Tristan to come up with something plausible, but he was silent. Cameron continued to watch me.
I fought the urge to squirm. Come on, Susan, think of something. “I’ve been on a long journey and was lost,” I said slowly. “Tristan found me and has been helping me.” That sounded safe. Sticking close to the truth seemed like a good idea.
Unfortunately, Cameron leaned forward with more interest. And his interest was the last thing I wanted.
“Well, Susan of Ridgeview Drive, let me officially welcome you. As a councilmember, it is my responsibility to meet with all foreign guests. Tristan has delivered you into safe hands. You may journey with us to Lyric.” He said it like a king bestowing a boon on a grateful subject. “I’m sure it’s been an interesting experience traveling with Tristan. I know you’ll enjoy telling me all about it. Tristan, you have our gratitude.” Cameron practically smacked his lips at the tasty secrets he thought he could pry out of me.
Panic started as a flutter in my stomach and then tightened in my throat. I opened my mouth to argue.
Tristan put a hand on my arm. “Thank you, Cameron, but she’s traveling to Braide Wood.” His voice was firm.
“You know the law.” Cameron’s dark eyes flashed. “All foreign guests meet first with the Council. I’m sure she’ll be more comfortable with us. When we stop at Lyric, I have several Council guards meeting us—so I can assure her . . . protection.” There was a clear threat in his smooth words.
Could Tristan overpower a pack of Council guards? I figured I could take out the chubby youth and the women. Whatever it took, I was not going anywhere with Cameron.
“Normally, I would never disagree with a councilmember.” Tristan squeezed my arm in warning. “But she’s very ill. I have to get her to the healers. I know she’ll be eager to meet with the Council once it’s safe, but we don’t want her spreading a plague through Lyric.”
I coughed a few times, trying to be helpful.
The entourage looked alarmed and edged farther down to their end of the car. Cameron frowned in irritation. “You’re sick?”
I nodded, trying to look feeble.
“We have fine healers in Lyric.” Cameron picked a piece of lint off his sleeve.
“Of course. But it would be wrong to endanger so many people—so many important people—by bringing this illness into the city.” Tristan played his argument to the entourage, who nodded and muttered in agreement.
Cameron shot a quelling glare at his group then turned back to Tristan. “You’re traveling too late to reach Braide Wood before nightfall.”
“It’s so kind of you to be concerned.” Tristan smiled thinly. “But you know guardians. We have friends everywhere.” His hand rested casually on his sword hilt. “Many friends.”
Cameron leaned back, eyes hard.
Tristan kept his face bland. “No need to worry. I’m sure we’ll find safe shelter.” He sat back, closing the subject, then turned to me. “Are you all right?”
I was touched by his concern. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He frowned, and his heavy foot squashed down onto my loafer.
“Ow!” I winced, taking a second to catch on. “Oh . . . Owwww!” I continued a dramatic moan and doubled over. “The pain is returning.” Based on the worried whispers coming from the other end of the transport, my overacting had been effective. But Cameron was glaring murder at Tristan. Glittering with stark hatred, his eyes promised that this conflict wasn’t over.
The ice in my bones caused a shudder I didn’t have to fake.
At the next stop, several more people got on, and Tristan edged us farther into the corner, greeting one man and making murmured explanations to a few others that his companion was sick.
I didn’t breathe normally until Cameron and his group left at Lyric. I craned my head up to see the city, but a large berm blocked my view down the road that met this station. Why didn’t the transport go through the center of any towns? I wanted to see something besides Shamgar.
Several uniformed men moved forward to meet Cameron as he left the transport. He spoke to one of the guards and pointed to the window. The man stared at me, as if memorizing my face.
Prickles danced across my skin like spider legs, and I quickly ducked down.
Once the vehicle was moving again, I turned to Tristan. “As soon as we’re someplace safe, I want you to teach me to use my sword. Cameron is a lot scarier than those furry lizard things.”
Tristan didn’t smile. “A sword is not the weapon to use against the Council. They’re the chosen leaders. It’s my job to serve them.”
He was impossibly stingy with his explanations. I’d done a good job improvising so far, but I was tired of floundering through a foreign film with no subtitles. Whether this was a dream, a delusion, or an alternate reality, I needed more information.
Instead of saying more, Tristan turned a grim face toward the window.
I cleared my throat. “Are you in a lot of trouble?” I asked, trying to get him talking again.
He glanced at me, as if debating how to answer. “No worse than usual.” He shut me out with a half grin.
Subdued, I sat back and listened to the whoosh of wheels on wet tarmac as I hurtled farther from home, farther into this world I couldn’t understand. I’d never felt so alone. And all I had for comfort was a sword I didn’t know how to use and a cranky guardian who didn’t trust me.
Chapter
6
At the next stop, another twenty minutes later, Tristan nudged me. “It’s Ferntwine. We’re getting off here. Night’s coming, and I need to get help.”
I lugged my pack over one shoulder and followed him. This station was larger than Shamgar’s, with several wooden benches stretched along the side of the road. We seemed to have moved into a new architectural style. No more adobe clamshells or buildings that looked like they’d risen fully formed from the clay pits. Here the twining legs of the benches made the seats look as if they’d grown from the ground.
“Is Ferntwine a town?” Under scattered groves of trees, a bitum road wound into the woods and out of sight. A street sign would be helpful.
Tristan shook his head. “A clan, a town, a transport stop.”
He led me to an empty seat. “Stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll be back soon.” Tristan strode along the edge of the road toward a cluster of people who greeted him with enthusiasm. He returned their greetings with obvious affection and was soon in earnest conversation. Where did he get his energy?
Trying not to think about my own weariness, I stared down at my hands in my lap and focused my thoughts on Tristan’s voice. Soon it became audible. I liked these heightened senses. This would be a great trick for eavesdropping on the kids when they were plotting mischief.
“Things are worse than I expected,” Tristan was saying.
“The Council is feeling the threat on the River Borders,” one of the women said. “That’s why they’re seeking alliances and weapons from Hazor.”
“With Kahlarea building an army, all the more reason the Council should support the guardians,” protested one of the men near Tristan.
A light female voice drifted into the discussion. “If the clans stay true to the Verses, they will never dissolve the guardians.”
“It was Cameron who convinced the Council to let the Rhusicans live here. I can’t believe they’ve allowed trade with Hazor. I wish Kieran had come back.” Tristan sounded defeated.
Other voices around the station intruded, and I stopped straining to listen.
Political
intrigue gave me a headache anyway, especially without anyone to explain the players to me.
Nearby, a family group drew my attention. A mother pulled two quarreling boys apart. She looked as harried as any suburban housewife at the mall, and the familiar scene threw my thoughts back to my real life. Where were my children? What were they doing right now? The ache of longing made me lower my head into my hands.
“It’s always sad traveling alone, isn’t it?” A sweet, clear voice piped up beside me.
I turned, startled.
A doll-faced girl with auburn ringlets sat next to me. She pulled a dried fruit the color of a pale apricot out of a cloth bag and nibbled it. Then she took out another and offered it to me, but I shook my head. She looked about the same age as my seven-year-old, Anne, but her green eyes were compassionate and wise. “You’re far from home.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “Yes, and I was just missing my children. I have a daughter about your age.”
Her eyes grew sad and full of sympathy. “You are so alone here.”
The pain inside me suddenly had a name: loneliness. It felt so good to have someone understand, to clarify it for me, even if it was just a little girl. “That’s true. I don’t belong here. It’s . . . hard.” Tears welled up, but I blinked them back.
“Away from everyone who loves you. No one to trust. It isn’t fair.”
I looked into her bright eyes. She was the first person I had met on this strange world who really understood what I was feeling. It was silly. She was only a child, but I found myself wanting to ask her all my questions about what had brought me here and what my purpose was.
Before I could speak, a rude hand yanked my upper arm and pulled me to my feet. “What are you doing?” Tristan hissed at me.
I tried to wrench free. “Nothing.” Leave it to him to interrupt the first comforting conversation I’d had in this strange place.
He grabbed my pack and dragged it, along with me, toward his group of friends. “What did she say to you?”
How could I explain the maternal yearning that had stirred in me, or the soothing feeling of having someone sympathize? “Nothing. She’s just a little girl.”
He stopped short and glared at me. “She’s a Rhusican.” He spat the words out, as if it burned his tongue to say them.
A queasy ball knotted in my stomach. “You mean, like . . . like the one who poisoned Kendra?”
“Poison is their only skill.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t eat anything.” I glanced back over my shoulder, but the Rhusican was gone.
Tristan squeezed the bridge of his nose and was about to ask me something, but his friends bounded up to us and interrupted. A quick round of introductions was punctuated with laughter, snide comments about Tristan, and genuine friendliness that warmed me. The group made it clear that they insisted on changing their plans to travel with us to Braide Wood. In case we didn’t make it before dark, there was safety in numbers.
A burly young man called Wade laughed and patted Tristan on the back with affection. “We can’t just leave you two to risk it alone. Tristan’s saved me more times than I can count.”
“Which isn’t saying much,” said a young woman in the group, leading to another round of laughter.
Wade made a face at her and continued. “So I’m glad to help him for a change.” His expression sobered, and he met Tristan’s eyes. “You know I’m happy to face any danger for you.”
Tristan looked uncomfortable. “Let’s hope that isn’t necessary tonight.” He tried to make his words light.
I felt a quick spin of anxiety. He was expecting trouble.
The next leg of the journey began pleasantly enough. Our boisterous group boarded a smaller transport that barely contained us all. It pulled out onto an intersecting road that soon left the rolling plains and scattered groves behind and wound its way into thick forest. I wished the transport had lights, because the grey light coming through the windows was no longer as strong.
I gave up trying to see much out the window and concentrated on sorting out all of Tristan’s friends.
Wade was a guardian, although he was much younger than Tristan. He had a short, scruffy beard and the loud, somewhat clumsy demeanor of a class clown. After he threatened to die of starvation on the spot, one of the women handed him a piece of bread. He bit into it and pretended to break a tooth. He laughed harder than anyone else at his own humor, but in this bleak and frightening world, I found myself enjoying his silliness. He reminded me of some of Jake’s friends. They were full grown men with jobs or college classes and adult responsibilities, yet the awkwardness of boyhood still clung to them in fragments, like eggshells they hadn’t quite shaken off.
The young woman in the group, Linette, had the fragile bone structure of a sparrow, with long blonde hair pulled back into a narrow braid. From the teasing conversation that swirled around the transport, I learned that she was engaged to Dylan (“the most wonderful, handsome, sensitive man in the world”), who was a guardian on patrol along the River Borders. They had been separated for eleven long days.
“Are you a guardian, too?” I asked her.
She looked down shyly. “Oh, no. I’m just a songkeeper.”
“Linette, don’t say that,” chided Bekkah. “Your gift is as valued as any other.” Bekkah looked about my age, with thick chestnut hair cinched at the nape of her neck. She wore a dagger in her belt, and the hand resting on the hilt revealed broken nails and rough skin. She reminded me of a trail guide I’d met on a week-long canoe trip—competent and strong with little interest in the fluff of modern life. She ducked as the men started batting a knotted ball of fabric around the car, like kids on a school bus.
“Boys.” Bekkah shook her head. Linette grinned, and I relaxed in the pleasure of being with other women and sharing affectionate humor.
“Bekkah is a guardian,” Linette told me with admiration.
“I always loved being outside, running and climbing trees. My parents hoped I’d be a messenger, but that wasn’t for me.” Bekkah shrugged.
I pulled off one of my loafers as I listened. The woolen socks Tristan had loaned me were too thick, and the earlier walking had raised a blister on my heel, which had healed and returned several times throughout the morning. Now it was little more than a rough callus, but it itched like newly healed skin. I rubbed it absently and decided to ignore the whole unsettling phenomenon.
“It’s a bit of a hike to Braide Wood. Do you have any boots with you?” Bekkah asked.
“No. I, uh, packed in a hurry.”
She shifted into maternal mode. “Hm . . . I got these boots in Lyric yesterday and was saving my old ones for my sister, but they might fit you.” She dug in her pack and pulled out some stained and scuffed boots with thick soles. She held one up to the foot I was rubbing. “Try them.”
The boots were larger than my shoes, but with the thick socks they were a comfortable fit. Bekkah looked so pleased, that I didn’t put up even a polite resistance to the generous gift. I leaned down to stuff my loafers into my pack, and something hit me on the back of the head with the force of a tennis serve.
“Yow!” I popped my head back up. A fabric-covered ball dropped to the floor. When I grabbed it, I could feel that it was filled with something like dried beans.
“Who threw it?” Bekkah growled at the men, making me wonder if she had children. She certainly had the stern-mom voice perfected.
Wade and Tristan looked everywhere but at Bekkah. Wade whistled nonchalantly. Davis, the oldest member of the group, leaned against the side of the transport fighting back laughter. He had been introduced to me as a builder and had been very quiet so far, but now his eyes sparkled. With close-cut silver hair receding back from his bald forehead, Davis looked old enough to be my father. He caught my eye and then glanced over to Kyle. The young transtech had been a bit aloof
from the general conversations thus far. He hadn’t laughed at Wade’s jokes earlier, and I hadn’t heard him join in the political conversation on the platform. Now Kyle’s face had turned red, and he looked like he wanted to sink into his bench.
Bekkah took the ball from my hand and tossed it up and down a few times. “Confess, you fiends! Who missed his catch?”
I giggled at the four wide-eyed and innocent male faces that turned toward her as one. No one spoke.
“Fine. Then I’m keeping it,” Bekkah said in triumph.
“Hey wait a minute! That’s mine! Not fair!” came the chorus of protests. She tossed the ball up once more, and Kyle leaped forward to bat it out of the air and over her head. Wade pounced on it with a roar. By the time the men untangled from the resulting pile-up in the narrow aisle, the transport was slowing for the next stop.
After we climbed out of the transport, it didn’t pull out to continue on its automated way. Instead the quiet hum of the machine lowered in pitch and then shut down. The last run of the day? No one bothered explaining. Tristan and Davis were looking at the sky, deep in discussion.
“They’re wondering if it would be better to camp in the transport for the night or try to make it through the forest,” said Bekkah, who had stayed near my side. The sky’s shade of grey was perhaps a bit deeper in color, but it was hard for me to guess how long we had until darkness descended. “Stopped transports attract scavengers at night, but they aren’t sure how fast we can travel—whether we’ll make it to Braide Wood before dark.”
I could tell she was being tactful. They were debating how fast I could travel. Instead of a pesky kid sister tag-along, I began to feel like a serious hindrance. “If it’s so dangerous, why didn’t they run the road right up to Braide Wood?”
Her head snapped around, and she fixed me with a piercing stare. “What are you talking about?” She gave me the look I used on Jon when I overheard him utter an obscenity.
