by Casey Hays
Ian looks at it again, shrugs, and shoves the leaves between his lips. He raises his eyebrows and dramatically croons, “Ooooo . . . yummy.”
I huff at him in frustration.
“Ian, why did you send for me?”
I’m not in the mood for his sarcasm. I rub my temples. He shrugs.
“I missed you.”
My hands drop.
“You missed me,” I say dryly.
“Yeah. I guess I didn’t realize how much of a void you filled until you didn’t come back. And I have to say, I don’t want you to not come back . . . if you don’t want to not come back anymore.”
“What?”
“Sorry,” he smiles, shaking his head. “Lack of sleep.”
I step away and lean against the wall. It’s cold against my back, and I’m glad for it. Cold is good. It keeps my emotions in check.
“Fine. I’m here. So what now?”
Ian’s eyes dart toward the gate nervously, and he motions for me to come closer. I frown, but I take a reluctant step forward. In a flash, he grabs my arm, tugging me roughly down beside him.
“Ian!” I yank, but he holds fast and pulls me closer.
“Shhh! Kate, listen.”
I freeze. His whiskers tickle my ear as he leans in to whisper, his breath, hot and minty against my cheek.
“I need you to help me get out of here.”
I jerk back, my eyes meeting his desperate ones, and we are locked together in a silence that stops time itself. His lip quivers, a tear quietly edging to the corner of one eye as if it’s assessing the situation before it makes a full appearance. But he holds steady, unwavering, and waits for my reply. An entire silent minute passes before I find my voice.
This is not a scenario I had conceived.
“Have you lost your mind?” I attempt to stand, but he holds fast, and I look at him. “What makes you think I would have the power to do such a thing?”
He squeezes my arm until I gasp.
“You have to,” he says through clenched teeth, desperate. “You have to, Kate. You’re my only hope.”
His eyes have a crazy, watery look, wide and fierce. My heartbeat quickens.
“I can’t stay here anymore,” he chokes, and every bit of his former strength cracks. His grimy hands suddenly cup my face, and he pulls me to him, level, until I’m captured by the deepness of those blue, insanely blue eyes that soundlessly beg me for help. “I will die, Kate. I will literally die!”
His words burst forth in sheer panic, and his grip tightens another pinch. I wince, grasping his wrists, furiously shaking my head. This is why he’s been calling my name all night long? How can he ask for this? I could never do it. I’ve defied Mona already, defied the mandates of the Village. If Mona discovers this much she will not spare me. But to plan an escape? To go so far as to help my mate to freedom? What would she do then?
I wouldn’t even know how to begin an escape. Because escapes are never planned. Men don’t escape. They have no reason to think of it. They know nothing but this life.
But even as I wrestle with reason, his hot handprints burn into my skin, and I feel a fever in them that can’t be quenched. Compassion for his situation suddenly overwhelms me and burns hotter than my strongest objection. I stop struggling altogether and just look at him. And through his anguish, he stares back at me from a world full of magic and mystery. A world where he’s loved and missed—where he belongs. I see him.
He is not a dog. And he tells the truth. He won’t survive in here. It’s written in his eyes.
It strikes me that it hasn’t even been a week since we met, and already, Ian is so changed. He’s taken on the form of a trapped beast, wild and fierce, and as I lose myself in his madly dancing eyes, I suddenly know in the depths of my soul that I will find a way to help him. And it isn’t a choice. It’s a need.
In a week’s time, Ian has touched something deep inside the recesses of my being, and in this instant of longing, whatever it is floods to the surface. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know how he found it, but he has. And despite all our differences, all our tense interactions; despite the fact that Ian infuriates me to no end, it matters that he survives.
I play this against the principles of the Village. I’ve been raised believing that males are the lesser gender, not fit to live in the Village itself. They’re used as a service to keep the community strong, healthy, and populated. We are trained never to care. Never. Nothing good can come of it.
But this is where it ends for me. I care. Perhaps not about all the stock in the Pit—just this one.
Sloshing water and the clanking of the gate distracts us, and I’m able to pull away from Ian’s grasp—a welcome reprieve. I need a moment to collect myself. The jailer drags a tub through the opening. She glares at me before slamming the gate.
“Mona’s orders,” she grunts, obviously aggravated by the inconvenience. Then who can tell when a jailer is aggravated? They’re always so very pleasant. “You must be a favorite,” she adds as she turns away.
I can only assume the jailer complained about my demand. Apparently, it backfired on her, which is very good for Ian. And I, of course, will have to stoop to the level of thanking Mona for her strange kindness toward me once again. I don’t like being in her debt.
Ian rocks back and forth, his eyes glazed over. I’m worried. Maybe he really is losing his mind.
“Here’s water for you,” I say. When he doesn’t respond, I lug the heavy tub over to him, panting and trying not to spill too much of the water. I kneel in front of him. His tired eyes settle on me.
“Let me clean you,” I whisper. Tentatively, I reach up and push his shirt off his shoulders while he sits in despair. I scoop a cloth from the tub and wring it. The water smells of lilacs, my favorite scent. I press the cloth against his chest and wipe away a section of muck and dirt.
His skin glows beneath. I look at him. His eyes are clear now. I wash; he grieves. And then, his hand springs out and traps my own against his chest—right against his heart. I gaze up at him.
“Help me, Kate,” he whispers.
All the desperation filling his heart is branded on those three words. I free my hand and push the cloth over his shoulder to his back, rubbing gently. His eyes burn into me. I avert mine and keep scrubbing as I speak.
“What you’re asking for won’t be easy.” I drop the cloth into the water where it sinks to the bottom. “I’ll have to do it by myself. No one from my village can ever know.”
Ian nods, his mouth twitches into a tiny smile, and in an instant, I’m smashed against his chest. He wraps his arms around my head and cries aloud with joy. And I’m suddenly grateful I cleaned his chest first.
“Thank you,” he whispers against the top of my head. “Thank you. Thank you.”
I let him cling to me—even wrap my own arms around his waist. We stay locked together an uncomfortably long time until my knees began to ache, but I don’t complain. I give him his moment, and I feel a small joy in it.
My mind is racing. I’ve committed to the task, but I have no idea how to achieve it. It’s an impossibility. Not only do I have to find a way to get him out of the cave, I have to get him out of the Pit without catching the jailers’ attention. And what then? How does he get home?
Finally, I pull away from him and busy myself with wringing out the cloth. His eyes follow my movements; I don’t want him to read the hopelessness that I’m feeling. I move behind him to finish cleaning his back. He grabs for my hand and looks up at me over his shoulder.
“Really, Kate. Thank you.”
“You realize it might take some time.” I raise my eyes to him. “You could be in here a while longer.”
He squeezes my hand. “I can wait. Because I believe you’ll get me out.”
I do my best to hide my doubt, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it were branded in plain sight across my forehead. He believes in me; I am his only hope. The entire burden lies with me.
I wash hi
m, deliberately refraining from mentioning that my destiny is tied to his escape. By a slim chance, he might get away and return to his life in that unbelievable village he’s told me about. He will be free, and he will be happy. And this is right.
But me?
I will be left to face the wrath of the Council. And I will be lucky to survive it.
Chapter 11
“Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a man commits are outside his body, but he who sins sexually sins against his own body . . . You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore, honor God with your body.” 1 Corinthians 6:19-20
It doesn’t take long for Ian’s mood to shift out of its gloominess once we’ve rid him of the muck and filth clinging to his body. And when the jailer appears again, this time carrying a pile of fresh clothes, orders from Mona, of course, Ian actually yelps with joy. I am simply baffled. I don’t know what I did, or what he did to deserve this, but it’s welcome. The pants are made of soft, brown hide, cut off at the knees. The top is more of a vest than a shirt, but it’s clean. Ian tears off his old clothes before I have even a moderate chance to avert my eyes, and heat rises in my face.
In the clean clothes, he looks better than I’ve ever seen him. Healthy.
Beautiful.
He prances around the cave in mock pride, winking at me once before falling back on his mat, laughing. It’s nice to see a glimpse of his more pleasant side again.
When lunch comes, I’m grateful that Mona is still under the impression that Ian is “earning his keep” because she continues to feed him well. Two large turkey legs sit on a platter with fresh bread and cold water from the spring. Ian sits down on the floor by the gate and yanks a piece of the meat off with his teeth. He chews noisily, and the juices drip into his thin, blond beard. He smiles, the crisp meat sticking out from between his teeth, and stretches the other turkey leg toward me.
“No.” I push the food back at him, although the smell makes my mouth water. “Those are for you.”
“They never bring me two, Kate. They know you’re here.”
He shakes it at me until I finally take it. The minute I sink my teeth in, I’m glad he’s offered. It’s delicious, and I’m starving.
We eat without speaking, finishing off the meat and splitting the bread. Ian is energized by his potential escape, and he swallows half the water in one gulp before passing it my way. By the time the platter holds nothing but bones, he’s completely ecstatic.
He plops himself down on the mat, stretching to his full length. I trace circles in the dirt with my finger watching him carefully. I’m cautious, not certain how long his good mood will last. Eventually, I will have to leave again, and his patience—and his trust in me—will be tested. I have no idea how he will respond to being left here time and time again until I can make out some sort of plan. And it could take months to devise such a scheme.
“Tell me something, Kate.” He’s propped on his side, his face hidden once again in the shadows, but he rolls onto his stomach and rests a check on his folded arms. “Tell me why?”
I examine him, puzzled. “Tell you why?”
“Yeah. Why are you different?”
I lift a brow. “I’m different?”
“Yes. You are. This little operation your Council is running here? You don’t seem to fit in with their plans for this world.” He sits up and leans forward on his knees until his face hits the light, and I can see his eyes, intense. “I just want to know why. They caught me, brought me here—just for you, and you didn’t take the bait, so to speak. So what’s the deal?”
He keeps his eyes on me, waiting—just waiting for me to say something that will sum up the whole reason for his imprisonment. Obviously, after Mona’s blunt admission, I have to agree with him that he is a prisoner. His immense, blue eyes are burning into my core, making me feel weird, and I shift beneath their weight. I don’t want to tell him anything more to tarnish further what he’s already surmised about my people.
“Come on, Kate,” he prods. “You know yourself better than anyone. You can answer this question. It’s an easy one. Why are you the only sane person in this whole crazy set up?”
I meet his gaze, slightly insulted that he would claim to be an expert on sanity. Besides, he is sorely mistaken if he thinks I know myself at all. And I’ve told him very little about the Village and been selective even in this. Perhaps the time has come, at least, to set him straight on a few things.
“You have no right to judge my people, Ian. For over a hundred years this system has worked. We have never had war again.”
“Is that so?” He smiles crookedly. “Well, I think this whole concept of kidnapping people from other villages is not going to help the cause. Maybe your people should have thought of that before they took me. When my people find out about this place, it could mean war.”
I narrow my eyes and sink back into defensive mode. So the other Ian is back; the vicious, sarcastic one.
“Is that a threat?” I ask raising myself up a little in defiance. “Know one thing, Ian. If your plan is to hurt my people, you can forget about my helping you escape.”
I stand, eying him with a fury, and stomp over to the gate. The morning sunshine hits me with its rays, and I squint against them. Behind me, Ian sighs.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I need to learn when to shut my mouth. It’s a severely annoying problem I have.”
I whirl on him.
“Are you only apologizing to get my help?”
“No, I really am sorry. That was out of line. I believe that you have nothing to do with me being here. This place is just . . . well, you know.” He’s thoughtful a moment before he pats the space on the mat beside him. “Come sit with me.”
I don’t move from my spot, crossing my arms defensively until he tilts his head, his voice taking on a begging quality.
“Please?”
The silly expression on his face makes me smile. I shake my head resignedly. I don’t want to smile. I don’t want to be moved by such a small gesture when I should be upset. I am the breeder after all; he is merely the mate. He should not have such power over me—not even the power to make me smile. Madam Belle said as much. But when it comes to Ian, I’m becoming increasingly aware that I am moved. Every time I’ve come to this cave, he’s been able to maneuver my feelings another inch out of their shell. A snail, slowly coaxed out by the warmth of the sun after a hard rain. I’ve known him only a few days, and yet, he draws me.
I walk to the mat and wait, arms crossed stubbornly, until he reaches out gently and pulls me down beside him.
“I really do want to understand,” he says much more tenderly than before. “So tell me.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the infinite number of difficult questions he might have.
“Okay. What would you like to know?”
“How does it work? This system?”
I study his face to make sure he’s not going to turn anything I say into one of his sarcastic jibes. He seems sincere. But speaking of my village and its ways is an unfamiliar topic of conversation. It’s a conversation I’ve never had because, simply put, we are the only village. There is no need to share or withhold information when everyone left on Earth already knows it. So I’m not practiced in either skill, and it confuses me. In fact, we are not to speak of what happens in the Pit to any woman who is not a breeder. And this is the closest we’ve ever come to being discreet. It’s all the practice I have. Besides, I’ve always believed it best to say as little as possible about anything at all. In this way, there is no fear of blame falling on my shoulders.
But now, things are different. I know Eden is out there, at the very least, and there could be other villages. Ian says they are everywhere.
And Mona never said I had to withhold anything from Ian.
He waits patiently, his blue eyes resting on my face, so I take a chance, deciding to trust that he truly will listen and not belittle me.
�
�There’s more to us than just the Pit.”
“I know,” he agrees.
“You do?”
“Of course. If there were only the Pit, you would be a completely different person, Kate. I know you have a life out there.”
“Oh.” I nod, pondering his words. I have a life out there. I answer unenthusiastically. “Yes, I do. But I want to be clear about a few things concerning that life.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to understand that I don’t agree with all of our ways, and I certainly don’t condone all the Village’s ideas about males. But some of our ways have kept order and security all these years. This I cannot dispute.”
He nods and gestures for me to go on. I hesitate before I decide to begin with the parts of my tale that will be easier to digest.
“Our village is made up of mostly females. The Council of twelve members makes the laws and assigns duties. We are all assigned chores, too.”
“What’s the difference? Between duties and chores? Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Oh no. Not at all. Chores are just the tasks we do to keep the Village running. Washing clothes, gathering the vegetables, and other daily needs. But a duty is your destined assignment that determines what role you will fill for the rest of your life.”
“Your destiny?”
I nod. “We begin learning about the Fates when we are very young. The first lesson we are taught is the existence of the Moirai.”
He knits his brow. “And what is that?”
“Not what. Who. The sisters: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. They are the determiners of all life. How long we will live . . . When we die . . . It’s up to them.”
“Really?” Ian tilts his head, leans forward on his knees. “And you believe this?”
There is no sarcasm in his voice. I expected it, but there is only curiosity in his question.
“I don’t really know. I—I guess, partly I do. But I have a hard time believing some of it. You see, what we believe—what the Village believes, I should say—is that on the day of our birth the Moirai meet with the ruler of the constellation under which we were born. And it is this ruler who determines our destiny. The Moirai only prepare the way of our life, but for me, the Archer chose my role. And the Council let me know what it was as soon as I was old enough to understand.”
