Breeder: An Arrow's Flight Novel

by Casey Hays

  Several times, Mona herself stops in to check on my condition. Her eyes show signs of worry, but she maintains her same cool composure.

  “She’s a fighter, Mia,” I hear her say. “She will survive this.”

  “No thanks to you!” Mia screeches, and I open a heavy lid. Mona’s jaw clenches, but she only casts another glance toward me, lying helpless on the mat, and slips out the door. Apparently, there’s no need for a fight with me on the deathbed.

  I have never heard Mia address Mona with such animosity. Perhaps one good thing has come of my beating. It’s sparked a fire in her.

  In the middle of the night on the tenth day, my fever finally breaks completely in a torrent of sweat. When my mind makes its way to the surface, I’m soaked through. Mia has pulled her own mat into my hogan, and she is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. She’s curled into a tight ball on her side sleeping, her dark tresses splayed out across the mat.

  I sit up slowly, fighting the nausea that threatens to overtake me. My eyelids are so heavy, but I force them to stay open. A candle burns low in the corner, and in the light, I see various pots containing interesting concoctions and even more interesting smells. They litter nearly every inch of the floor. I wrinkle my nose at the overpowering odor.

  I ease onto my side and reach for Mia, squeezing her arm weakly. Mia’s eyes instantly flutter open.

  “Kate!” She springs off her mat and kneels beside me. “How do you feel?”

  “Sore. Tired.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “What happened to me?”

  Mia smiles and clasps my hand so tightly I wonder if she’ll let me have it back again. “You’ve had a fever. Infection from your wounds.”

  Wounds? I search my mind, trying to remember. It comes back to me in pieces: A bell clanging . . . . A basket in the great hall . . . . A tiny baby . . . . Layla . . . . Mona . . . . Tara . . . . A knife glinting in the morning sun . . . . The whistling of the whip. It all comes flooding in. I close my eyes.

  “Layla is dead,” I whisper.

  “Kate! Kate, don’t pass out again!”

  “I’m fine,” I sigh and lie gently back. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Ten days.”

  My eyes shoot open. I stare at Mia in disbelief.

  “Ten?” Ten days of my life—gone.

  “You’re fortunate, Kate,” Mia says quietly. “You nearly died.”

  Now this I can believe. My body aches with the echo of death. I try to focus on Mia’s face again.

  “You stayed with me this whole time?”

  She nods.

  I smile. “Thank you.”

  She squeezes my arm and nods once.

  Another minute, and I’m sound asleep, but this time, no fever keeps me under. It’s a restful sleep. Mia curls up on her own mat and closes her eyes, determined to stay as long as I need her.

  >--->

  Over the next few days, my strength gradually returns, and my back begins to heal nicely. Mia continues to treat the wounds. The scars, however, will remain forever.

  “These herbs will help some,” Mia reassures me as she pulls my shirt back over my shoulders. “You’ll barely see the scars in a few years.”

  “Barely,” I mumble. I know Mia is only being optimistic for my sake. The wounds are deep, and the scars will be, too. All of the scars from that fateful day in the clearing.

  My life returns to its usual routine. I help with the chores, eat my meager meals with the others, mend my garments. I mourn Layla, too. I even force myself to visit the place where she’s buried. There is no marker. Layla is to be forgotten, and the only indicator of where she has been laid is a fresh mound of dirt.

  My eyes roam the rest of the field. I’ve forgotten where Meg is buried already. Sighing, I drop a daisy on Layla’s quiet grave and turn away.

  I see Mona occasionally, even exchange a glance with her once, but we never speak. And every day, my anger toward the Council leader grows stronger.

  My first trip to the Pit since Layla’s death is long past due. It’s been twenty days since I’ve seen Ian. Twenty long days since we spent that afternoon discussing his escape.

  The jailer ushers me into his cell, slamming the door behind me. Ian sits at the back of the cave. He fixes his gaze on me. I smile. He doesn’t. My smile fades.

  “So. You’ve decided to grace me with your presence?” His voice is full of bitterness. I freeze.

  I know why he’s angry, and why should I expect anything less? During my semi-comatose state followed by my recovery, twenty days have dragged by. And Ian has spent all of them waiting, hoping, expecting me to appear. And I haven’t.

  I should have sent word somehow. But how could I have done so without raising suspicion? Breeders don’t send messages to the stock.

  “Ian,” I step toward him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. Something happened in the Village, and I couldn’t get away. I’m so sorry.”

  “Save it, Kate!” He stands, circles me like an animal on the prowl, his blue eyes glinting with a terrible anger. “I trusted you. I believed you would help me. I guess I was wrong.”

  “No! No, you’re not. I am going to help you. That has never changed. I just couldn’t get here—”

  His hand shoots out before I can finish my sentence and crashes against my face, branding me with the heat of it. Shock floods me. I automatically raise my hand to cover my reddening cheek.

  “I. Am. Tired . . .” Ian staggers his words dramatically, “of you stringing me along!”

  His eyes flame with anger. He presses his face in close to mine, his fists clenched. I cringe, ready myself for another blow. The look in his eyes is murderous. It’s full of anger, fear, and sadness mixed together into a rage I’ve not seen in him before. It’s horrifying, and I feel a sudden and urgent need to get away from him. I push my way around him toward the gate.

  “You never were going to help me, were you?” he growls at my back. “You expect me to stay here forever, in this nightmare, being a—a—a stud for your stupid village! Well, I won’t!” He paces the cave, glaring harder with each step. “Whatever your plan is, you can forget it!”

  Suddenly infuriated, I whirl on him, my own anger lighting up in me. How can he say these things? I’ve been nothing but honest with him. How can he accuse me of having any kind of plans to keep him here? My anger, fueled by his accusations, causes me to hurl my next words at him without thinking.

  “If it means my death, I will do whatever I have to do to get you out of here and away from me! I’m sick to death of you! Sick of not knowing who I will meet in this cave each time I come! Honestly, Ian, I don’t know who you are!” I bang loudly on the gate with both fists. “I’m ready to leave, please!”

  “You’re sick of me?” Ian hones in on me, trying to force me to look at him. I don’t. “Give me a break! I have spent the last three weeks waiting for you. How do you think I feel?”

  I don’t answer. I’m finished talking. I bang on the gate again.

  This only fuels his fury. He grabs at me, clutches my shoulder, and twists me around to face him, but my piercing scream stops him cold. It bursts inside my head at the same moment that the agony scorches down my back. His eyes wide, he releases me, and I collapse.

  Blood seeps through my shirt where Ian’s fingers have ripped open one of the wounds. A moan escapes my throat; tears sting my eyes. Stunned, Ian gasps and falls to his knees beside me.

  “What—Kate! Oh Kate. What did I do? Oh man.”

  Slowly, he peels back my shirt and gasps. I visualize what he’s seeing. Jagged, ugly criss-crossed stripes, scabbed over in healing. His lip quivers.

  “That’s not from me,” he says in utter shock. “What happened to you?”

  I slowly push myself to a sitting position.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I readjust my shirt over the wounds, breathing heavily. “It’s over.”

  “It doesn’t matter? How can you say that? Look at your back!”

  “It doe
sn’t involve you!” I hiss through my teeth. “You don’t need to be concerned. You’re leaving. Remember?”

  Ian falls back against the wall and stares at me. I look away.

  “That’s why you didn’t come, isn’t it?” he whispers quietly.

  My voice is hard. “Yes. But it wouldn’t have mattered why I didn’t come. It only proves that you don’t trust me. And if you don’t trust me, Ian, I can’t help you.”

  I look straight into his eyes; he lowers his head. I wait for him to say something—some smart remark that will tempt me to further anger. But he doesn’t. He only sits silently.

  When he finally looks at me again, tears stick in his eyes. Just barely, but still there.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he chokes. “It’s as if I can’t control myself in this place.” His face contorts with grief. “I don’t mean to take it out on you. I just—I didn’t know where you were, why you hadn’t come back. I just want to go home.”

  He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall behind him, and he’s still for a very long time.

  “I’m pathetic.” His voice shakes with emotion when he finally speaks. “Here you’ve been whipped, and once again, all I can think about is myself.”

  I watch him. He’s passive now, and I’m fairly certain he won’t tackle me again. I sit completely still watching him until a small hitch in my heart vibrates softly, and I’m compelled to tentatively move closer. I take up his hand and entwine my fingers with his. Memories of our first day together sneak into my thoughts. His eyes open, and he clings to me.

  I remind myself of his predicament. He’s full of depression, missing his family, and bordering on madness because of his imprisonment. And despite the slap that stings my cheek, I try my best to dig up some compassion for his circumstances.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, all the anger gone. “I didn’t mean to hit you.” He focuses on me. “I thought you’d deserted me. Or betrayed me. Or lied about everything. I didn’t mean to go crazy on you.”

  I frown. “I didn’t desert you, and I won’t betray you. I keep my word.”

  The look in his eyes proves he believes me, but I remain stoic. He sighs and squeezes my hand.

  “So those marks on your back? Is that how your village solves problems?”

  I purse my lips. He doesn’t need to know.

  “What did you do?” he asks.

  I sigh, shaking my head. “What I always do.” I shrug. “Refuse to follow rules.”

  Layla flashes through my mind.

  “This is what you get for breaking a rule?”

  When I don’t reply, he leans in close. I brace myself, but he only lifts my chin with his hand until I have no choice but to meet his blue gaze which never ceases to startle me each time I see it.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  I snort. “What should I do? Go with you and risk getting slapped again?” I press my hand against my swelling cheek for emphasis. “I think I’d rather take my chances with Mona. At least I know what to expect from her.”

  Ian leans back.

  “I know.” He sighs, shakes his head, and squeezes my hand a little more tightly. “I’m not a bad person, Kate. Really. If you had known me before this, you might have liked me.”

  I press my palm firmly against his. “I do like you. I just don’t like how you are sometimes.”

  “Yeah. But that’s what I mean. I’m not like this. Not really. This cave has brought out the worst in me.”

  “And soon you will leave.”

  “Yeah.” He nods before he looks at me. “But what will happen to you? I figured out enough to know that your safety depends on your visits to see me. What will they do to you when I’m gone?”

  I bite my lip. I don’t want to think about it, let alone vocalize it for him. Again, it’s not his concern. So far, I’ve kept my head above water, and I hope to keep floating along like I have been for awhile.

  “Are they going to hurt you again?”

  He says this with pained eyes, and I feel distress in the question. Not for himself, but for me. He wants to protect me. What a strange thought that I would need protection from my own people, and that my mate would be the one who wants to give it.

  “It’s not your worry, Ian. I will handle whatever they choose to do with me.”

  “Will they get you another . . . you know . . . .” His words trail off.

  “Mate?” I shrug. “Probably. Actually, yes. The answer is yes.”

  I’m wary of the change in his eyes when I say these words. I shift my body toward the gate. I don’t need to discuss this with him either. What will it matter once he’s gone?

  “I guess you think I’m a real monster.” He frowns, and it causes his blond brows to knit together until they almost touch. “I really am sorry about hitting you. That will never happen again. I promise.”

  The heat of the slap pulses faintly as a reminder, and my defenses jar back to life. I face him boldly.

  “It will never happen again,” I repeat. “Because if it ever does, you’ll never get out of here. You will die in this cave.”

  Ian’s smile jumps to life, but there is no humor in my expression, and his smile quickly fades. Mona’s hand is intimidating enough; I do not have to endure his as well. He clears his throat and nods. And he is completely humbled because he has to be. His life is in my hands.

  Even as they spilled from my mouth, I was slightly shocked by my own words. I sit, thoughtful now, until I realize something profound. The clarity of it hits me like a whirlwind, mentally knocking me over.

  In the deepness of my heart, I see myself—the part of me who meant every word I just said to Ian. Self-preservation is at my core and always has been, but I’ve never weighed the cost. Could I truly save my life at the expense of someone else’s misery? Am I capable of such greediness?

  I look at Ian—bunched up inside his own emotional battle, fighting to save his sanity—and I know that I am capable of much more, and it sickens me.

  There are far worse things than death. Really?

  Every action I’ve ever committed has always been to benefit myself first, whether it was to prove a point, have my way, save my life . . . or preserve my pride. It’s what I’ve done my whole life, but today I understand. I can threaten Ian because there is substance in the threat. And suddenly, I see Mona reflected in my ultimatum.

  She proves points, she has her way . . . she preserves her pride—at every cost.

  “There is no one else qualified to take my place.”

  My heart gallops as Mona’s words penetrate me once more.

  And this time, they scare me to death.

  Chapter 15

  “But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened. But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. 1 Peter 3:14-15

  An hour later, Mia appears just outside the gate. She clasps two of the bars with her hands and presses her face between them.

  “Kate? Are you in there?”

  I move into the light enough for Mia to see me. But Ian stays behind, lost in the shadows, and I sense a keen distrust in him. Besides the jailers, and Mona, once and only briefly, I am the only human contact he’s encountered in the Pit. He’s wary, I can tell, and when he takes my hand, his eyes narrowed, I can feel the uneasiness. It’s big and bold and seems to fill the cave with its presence.

  “It’s all right,” I reassure him with a small squeeze. “She’s my friend.” I gently tug him forward. “Mia, this is Ian.”

  Ian hesitates before nodding curtly. Mia’s expression is blank. She looks at me with eyes empty of any kind of compassion, kindness, or concern toward Ian. She examines him, her eyes roaming up and down his full length before flitting back toward me.

  “So?”

  It’s one word—one small insignificant syllable falling from her
lips. “So?” There has never been more indifference in such a tiny phrase. I see the complete disdain written on her face, and for a moment, it makes me falter, loosen my grip on Ian’s hand. I stare at her in surprise. After all we’ve been through in the past few weeks, after watching Layla die, after nursing me back from my beating, after seeing Mona’s cruelty firsthand, she’s still as loyal to the system as ever. Ian is nothing more than stock.

  “Are you ready?” she huffs. She motions for the jailer standing several yards behind her, and the big woman moves forward to unlatch the lock.

  With Mia momentarily distracted, Ian leans in and whispers, “You’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

  His breath tickles, and it sends a river of aching emotions rolling over me. The words in the whisper hold a promise: I’ll be back; we’ll get Ian out or die trying; he will not stay trapped in this cave much longer. And I will have to face the consequences if my part in his escape is ever discovered.

  The aching soon turns to panic. Mia is so close—so close I fear she’ll detect all of these thoughts tumbling around in my brain. If she knew, she would try to stop me, as any good friend should. It’s most definitely suicide even to consider what I’m planning. I quickly step through the open door trying to free my hand from Ian’s grasp, but his fingers tighten. He tugs gently. Our eyes met, and reflected in them is our silent pledge.

  In one hour’s time, we’ve managed to find our way back to a place of compromise, and after Ian pulled himself out of his gloominess, I found myself once again, unable to resist him.

  He smiles now, and I lose myself in the beauty of it. If only I could trust the feelings he ignites in me as much as I want him to trust me.

  I shake myself free of those thoughts. They are pointless. Ian is leaving, and what I may or may not feel will not matter soon.

  It’s for the best.

  “Come on, girl,” The jailer grumbles, yanking on my arm. “I don’t have all day to wait on you.” The gesture finishes the work of breaking my hand free from Ian’s, and for a moment—as I’m whisked through the gate—I have a sense of being ripped from him forever. It’s a deep-seated feeling that brings the aching roiling back to the surface of my heart. The jailer slams it shut and secures the lock. Ian grips the bars, a cool calmness etched into his sea-blue eyes. I don’t speak; I simply focus on them, letting the serenity written there ease into me before following Mia, who is already several yards ahead of me.