by Casey Hays
And despite myself, I must go.
Chapter 8
“In your anger, do not sin; do not let the sun go down while you are still angry.” Ephesians 4:26
The Pit is deathly quiet, as it was the first time I visited. I halt at the wide rim and peer into its seemingly endless, black hole, straining to see. A sliver of light shimmers from a window on the first floor of the barracks like a beacon breaking through the pitch black night. There is no other light, no sound. A jailer must be on duty somewhere, but I see no movement.
A fear grips me, wrapping its tight fingers around my chest, making it hard to breathe. I blink, trying to adjust to the blackness below. My heart thumps hard, and I clench a closed fist against it to still the rapid beating. I shouldn’t be this afraid. It’s foolish. I’ve been down there once. I know what waits at the bottom of the Pit. There is nothing to fear. I drill this into my head again and again as I find the heavy, wooden ladder and drag it to the edge, huffing all the while. It’s an exhausting task, but it keeps my mind off the fear for a few seconds. I’m happy for the distraction.
An owl flying low hoots once loudly just overhead startling me, and I shriek and drop the ladder. It lands hard on my foot, and I gasp as the pain sears me. I scold myself. This is insane. These are all signs. I should have stayed home.
Finally, I manage to get the ladder to the Pit’s edge. It clatters against the side when I hoist it over and drop it, and I freeze in place. The front door of the barracks swings open, and a burly jailer sticks her large head out into the night, holding a candle high. I hesitate only a second beneath the bright moonlight before I remember that if I want to see Ian, I will need a jailer. I vault myself over the top of the ladder and scramble down.
She sees me just as I reach the bottom, and she marches toward me with purpose, the candle’s light wavering against her crude face in ugly form.
“What are you doing here, girl?”
Irritation fills her raspy voice. She coughs heavily and peers at me with beady eyes that reflect the yellow, flickering flame of the candle. I back up a pace, clear my throat, try to sound authoritative.
“I’m here to see . . . my mate.” The term feels foreign on my lips. “Please take me to him.”
Her eyes squint with such suspicion that for a moment, I fear they’ve disappeared into oblivion somewhere inside her head. The long braid looping around the side of her neck and over her shoulder resembles a snake ready to strike. I take another small step back.
“What? No one comes in the middle of the night.”
I swallow and stand my ground. “Well, I’m new to this . . . routine. I—I didn’t know the way things work. So now that I’ve come all this way—”
She cuts me off. “Go home. Come back in the morning.”
She turns away, lumbers back toward the barracks, and I panic. I can’t let her turn me away. She has to take me to him. In my memory, I see his face, ripped with anguish as I race from the cave, and guilt growls deep within me. I never should have left him alone with only partial answers. It was wrong.
Heat rises in my cheeks, from my own shameful conduct or from anger at being slighted by the jailer, I can’t say, but I rush her and grab at her arm. It catches her by surprise. Her narrowed eyes settle on my tiny fingers wrapped around her bulging arm, then shift to my face. At her expression, I release her, and my hand springs back to my side. She faces me full force, angry now.
“Come. Back. Tomorrow.”
The threat in her voice should have sent me scuttling across the hard ground to the ladder, but I don’t move.
She can’t turn me away. She can’t!
I peek into the darkness behind her. A wall of blackness like the depths of an ocean separates me from Ian, but it’s only a few feet. A few feet, and I’ll be at the cave. And the only thing keeping me from plunging in and reaching him is this obstinate jailer. I refocus on her glowing face. The urgent tugging yanks once.
I puff out my chest and face her with more courage than I feel. She’s big and mean, and she could crush me with one blow. I’m shaking with such intensity I think my bones might break clean out of my skin. But I address her all the same, my voice hard.
“Listen, jailer. I have come to see my mate, and you will take me to him.” When she doesn’t budge, I add with a tremble, “Now!”
Her eyes flash momentarily, but she lets out a heavy breath, grunts, and moves toward the direction of Ian’s cave. I’m so stunned I almost forget to follow her. She doesn’t ask me which one. She knows who I am. They all do. I’m the breeder who raised a commotion on my birthday. The breeder who spent the last three nights here. If I wanted to remain inconspicuous, I’m too late.
I fall in step behind her as she mutters something about “high-minded, demanding breeders” and “privileged positions.” I don’t say anything more. I’ve said enough for now. And she knows. In the end, breeders must be treated with respect, even if the respect is false.
The caves are quiet, dark eyes watching us pass. They seem empty, but I know better. Inside many of them, a despondent, indifferent mate sleeps. My breath catches, and I pick up my pace. Almost there.
Still grunting her complaints, the jailer lets me into Ian’s cell, and clangs the gate shut behind me. She waits; I toss her a dangerous look, and she grunts again and waggles her finger at me.
“You’re here ‘til morning,” she growls, trying to retrieve some of the power I’ve managed to wrangle from her. “Don’t expect anyone to come back for you before then.”
I nod, and she shakes her head.
“You must be awfully fond of this place.”
She waves a hand indifferently and saunters off mumbling under her breath. I only sigh in relief, which is ridiculous, considering I’m locked inside this cave again. I lean into the bars, taking in a deep fresh breath of air.
I’m locked in. What in the world am I doing?
Behind me, Ian sleeps, his soft breaths rising gently on the air. I forget the jailer and her keys and the freedom that is just beyond the gate and try to concentrate on why I’ve come. I stand still, listening—suddenly fearful that he may wake and find me here, and that he will still be angry. I haven’t quite decided what I should say to him—how I will tell him what he wants to know. Of the ugly things I don’t want him to know; things I want no one to know.
I turn, and my eyes find him.
He’s lying flat on his back, his mouth slightly open. The moon is bright enough tonight to give some light through the gate, and I can see the steady rhythm of his chest lifting and falling and lifting again under the thin blanket. And I stand silently over my mate.
He is a beautiful sight, especially in sleep. And I would know. Every night for the past three nights, I lay awake rigid beside him, waiting for him to fall asleep first so I could listen to his breathing—not only to ensure that it was safe for me to sleep, but to hear him—solid and real. Not simply one of the stock, but a person with feelings and needs and ideas.
His face is relaxed, tranquil. Sleep seems to transform people into who they really are, and it does the same for him—unhindered by life’s troubles, unaffected by anxiety or anger . . . or fear. I see only peace. Sleep is the deceiving sister of Peace, and we crave both like a thirsty throat craves water. Usually we must settle for Sleep.
I want both.
Ian stirs, and I shrink back into the shadows. What am I doing here? I should have waited, a few more days—or at least until morning. But here I am with my desperation on display. And the jailer was firm. She won’t be back. Mentally, I begin preparing myself for Ian’s reaction at my being here when he wakes.
My eyes wander back toward him. And in the light of the moon, I see it—the rolled blanket dividing the mat down the middle. My heart quickens.
I move closer, stare at the side of the mat he has kept reserved for me. I give a soft sigh. He’s expected me to return, and I have not disappointed.
Not yet.
I ease myself onto the
mat and curl my legs underneath me. And I watch him sleep.
I concentrate on his breathing until mine patterns his. I savor the moment like a familiar dream that I’m re-entering—one which repeats itself again and again, but each time with a difference. Some minor detail or person has changed, but the dream is the same. I hold still and listen to the soft puffs of his breath, and suddenly, I know why I couldn’t sleep tonight.
Ian had been missing.
For three nights straight, a warm body lay next to me while I slept. Tonight, this one small element was lacking. But is this truly it? Does it matter who fills the role of falling asleep by my side? I could have asked Mia to stay over. I didn’t need to come all this way, to this cold, stinking hole for a warm body.
Besides, I’ve slept alone for several years now. What could three days do in light of this?
No. Something else dragged me here tonight—a subtle tugging on my heartstrings that I can’t quite name. A desire to make things better for Ian, or a compulsion, perhaps. And yet here I am, of my own free will, trapped in the cave I fought so desperately to avoid on my birthday. Something has most definitely lured me to this place.
Ian shifts, rolls away from me to face the other wall. My eyes trace his shirtless back, firm with knotted muscles, masculine strength rippling beneath his skin. It frightens me a little because I see in it the fierceness of man. Lesson after lesson embedded deep in my psyche rises to the surface, and I remember: Men exactly like Ian tore this world to shreds and devastated our way of life. And it is only the Moirai who keep us safe. They prevent all men from ever regaining power, and we have nothing to fear of men again.
Of course, the Morai’s protection also ruins any of my chances at freedom—at making my own choices. We must follow their ordained paths. It is the only way of safety. It is their will, and they do this for our good. I furrow my brow. I should not feel sympathy for a male. I should not believe what Ian tells me. Only the Moirai hold truth. And the Archer—it is only he I should trust.
Until three days ago, I had not seen a boy in years, and I’ve never seen a full-grown man. Man was a dangerous idea with no real substance. He was simply a distant memory of five year-old boys disappearing behind the high wall which separates us from them. A fleeting moment in my life.
But my reality changed the day I turned sixteen and stepped into this cave. It should change for every breeder alike. I know now that the stock are solid proof that man is more than an idea. He’s real.
But is he dangerous? I see no proof of this in Ian. I see none of the marks of madness and violence our lessons describe.
The hours pass along with my thoughts, until my head begins to nod. I feel it drop and jerk myself awake each time. But soon, I can’t keep my eyes open, and I sink down next to Ian. Sleep . . . Peace . . . washes over me.
>--->
In the morning, my mind drags itself to the surface before the rest of me, and I lie still, eyes shut tightly, willing my stiff body awake. I assess my surroundings. The smells are familiar, but musty and soiled. This is not my hogan. I shiver.
And I remember. I’m in the Pit.
I force my eyes open.
Ian sits propped up against the wall next me. He stares, unsmiling, and he loses no time speaking the minute he sees I’m awake.
“When did you come back?”
His voice is flat, lacking any kind of emotion, and all my fears swell up inside me, filling every inch with my assumptions: He will be angry. He will be disappointed that I’ve come. He will ignore me. He will cry. He will hurt me.
I raise my head and focus on him. His eyes are blank, cold. It was a mistake to come. This thought invades me in all its freshness, and I see it clearly. I should have waited. He will never understand.
I don’t feel safe beneath his scrutiny. I sit up slowly, wrap my arms around my knees defensively.
“Last night,” I finally croak. My throat is scratchy from the cool air.
Ian nods and looks away, and something inside me sinks. His knees are up, his arms propped over them, hands clasped. His jaw tenses once.
And suddenly, I feel very foolish for coming. What was I hoping to achieve in the dead of night? Nothing was accomplished. I could have waited, and then I would not have seemed so pathetic.
Ian hasn’t looked at me again. I slide off the mat and move toward the gate, grasping the cold bars. The sooner I can get out of here, the better. What I have to say can wait. I’m in no hurry.
I scan the grounds. Not a single jailer in sight. Sighing, I lean my forehead against the bars and close my eyes.
What is wrong with me? When did I start making unreasonable decisions? I can’t follow my own footsteps without getting lost. Things were far less complicated before my celebration. Things made sense. I make a silent, impossible wish that I was fifteen again. Life was so much simpler merely days ago.
Ian sighs, and I feel his presence, large and frightful . . . and somehow, oddly enough, tender, too. Even without looking at him, a shiver creeps slowly and deliberately up my spine. Dreadful pleasure. This is the effect he has on me, even after a few short days. Three days in a cave with this boy has changed me somehow. He thrills me and frightens me simultaneously. When he’s asleep, I can control these unfamiliar feelings which seem to trample through my body every time I’m near him. But he’s not asleep now. And when he looks at me, holds my hand, says my name—or sighs—I spin out of control.
And why? He should mean no more to me than Mia’s mate means to her.
“So—” His voice is quiet. I stiffen, squeeze the bars. “I don’t know why you came back, but I’m glad you did.”
I toss him a sidelong glance, and a relief skims through me. Perhaps he isn’t angry.
“I told you I’d come back. I don’t lie.”
“Just—let me finish. I’ve had a lot of time to think. That’s about all I can do in this place.” His eyes flash around the cave for emphasis. “Anyway, just listen. I don’t know why I was brought here. I’m not sure what your village plans to do with me. But I know I haven’t done anything to deserve being locked away like this.”
“Of course you haven’t.” I take a step toward him. I feel a sudden, sharp need to assure him that he’s not to blame for anything. “None of this is because of what you’ve done.”
“Then tell me, Kate. Why am I here? What’s going to happen to me?”
I swallow and look away. What will happen to him? I honestly can’t answer this. He’ll be kept here for most of his life and be forced to comply with Mona’s demands. Forced to breed with whichever girl they send. And if he doesn’t or can’t? I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about it.
I press my lips together. I can’t tell him.
He senses this, and he’s on his feet, moving toward me. This throws me off guard, and I swing an arm up to stop his approach. His eyes are blue orbs, flashing anger now. And for an instant, I have a terrible premonition that he is going to kill me.
Men are dangerous. Men must be tamed.
He grasps me by the shoulders, makes me look at him. I wince; he shakes me once, and I lose focus of his angry face.
“Tell me, Kate! I deserve to know!”
His voice pierces the walls of the cave and echoes back. Dreadful. Panic slams into me. I’m locked in, and I have no idea what he might do. Everything I’ve convinced myself to believe before now vanishes. He is violent; he is dangerous. He is male.
And yet, even in the midst of this thinking, I realize he has a right to be angry. He’s scared and lost, and he deserves answers. It’s not so much to ask. But he has no right to be angry with me. No. I’m a victim, too. I haven’t asked for any of this any more than he has.
My own anger flashes deep inside me. I yank free. He will not put his hands on me.
“Stop it, Ian! I’m not the reason you’re in here,” I check myself and quietly add, “Not completely.”
“Not completely? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It
means that I didn’t want you!”
His eyes waver, and I cringe. My words are harsh, and I don’t mean them—not in the way he thinks I mean them. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, close my eyes, and breathe deep.
“What I mean to say is I didn’t ask for you to be brought here, and I can’t help that you were. I have no more power over any of this than you do.”
Ian stares at me, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t understand. Of course, I’m making very little sense because I don’t want to make sense. I don’t care to be the person who educates him on the ways of the Village. And yet, this is why I’ve come. It has to be me. He runs his hands through his hair, turns in a circle until his back is to me, and angrily repeats his question.
“Why am I here, Kate?”
I move back toward the gate and scan the grounds.
A jailer comes into view on the other side of the pit, pushing the breakfast cart, and my heart leaps. But it will be several minutes before she’s close enough to hear me.
Sighing, I face Ian. Oh, how I dread this. He watches me. His eyes are so tired. Sad.
“You promised, Kate,” he whispers. “You promised to explain things when you came back. And you’re back. So talk.”
Something in me cracks.
“All right,” I say quietly.
Satisfied, Ian sits on his mat and motions for me to sit beside him, and reluctantly, against my better judgment, I do. But I keep a space between us—a wide space. I fear another explosion on the horizon. Mona plans to incorporate him into our way of life against his will, and I’m about to tell him her plan. This can’t end well.
I study him. His blue eyes examine me expectantly, probably hoping this information will help him somehow, give him insight into some grand escape he’s been plotting. It won’t, and his eagerness fills me with pity. I lower my eyes and begin.
