by A. K. Koonce
My mother finishes her food and drinks a few sips of water. Patiently. I can almost sense her thinking next to me. Her nearness suddenly feels strained. She decided to take a seat next to me for a reason. I eat slower now, a nervous feeling fluttering thickly in my stomach.
I feel her eyes on me and chance a glance out of the corner of my eye. She looks sad. And tired, of course. I hear her take a deep breath and, like a yawn, I find myself mimicking her. Is she nervous as well? Why would she be nervous? I’ve never seen my strong, confident mother like this.
“I did put in an extension request for your education and your union. Your education was quickly approved, but I never received anything back on your union,” she says in a hushed tone, her gaze locked on the small fire. “I know this is all strange and rushed but …” She pauses, her eyes glistening in the firelight, her beautiful features waking up in her tired face.
“It’s worth it, I promise, Fallon. I’d never do anything to hurt you. Sometimes I don’t know how to talk to you or how to explain the things I do. I’m not the best person—I’ve made mistakes—but what we’re doing here isn’t one of them. Getting you out of that camp is all I think about. I promise. You’re the most important thing in my life.” Her breath shakes as she fights her emotions, taking small breaths until a mask of composure rests in her eyes.
A heaviness pushes down on me and I shudder a breath in the silence. I pull at the bit of food I have left, my hunger no longer apparent to me. I know my mother’s not perfect, but she’s my mother nonetheless. Her faults are never something I see when I look at her. Her confidence and intelligence are what she leads with and are what I admire most about her. But she has regrets, I know she does. I’m not one of them, but our life might be. Our life at camp. The life she could have had, we could have had. We can’t change it. But we can help someone else change theirs.
I look across the flames to Asher. He’s focused on the rocks near his feet. His brows are low and his jaw locked, a determined look on his face.
“I know, mom,” I say as I toss my remaining dinner to Ripper.
She smiles at me, and I force myself to meet her eyes as I stand to leave. Thin lines appear around sparkling green eyes, dark circles fill in below them. But her eyes hold love and something more … worry, maybe.
She stands as well, wrapping her arms around me, holding me tightly to her chest. My hands brush against her thin back. She pulls away to look down at me, her hand still draped around me before she slowly pulls away and starts to make her shabby bed of blankets.
I make myself a pallet next to the wall of the cliff, feeling safer lying with my back against the cold overhang.
The thin blanket does nothing to provide comfort against the rocks beneath me. It’s similar to the cave floor but lacks the familiar coziness I associate with my safe haven. Ripper curls up at my feet and has no complaints about the sharp rocks pushing into his body.
Ky douses the flames with bottles of water, causing white smoke to screen my view of the rushing river. The sound of flowing water calms me and nearly lulls me to sleep. I close my eyes, and I hear all of them getting ready to sleep, as well. After a few moments, the footsteps stop and silence settles in against the sound of the rushing water. My heavy eyes refuse to open again and my breathing becomes even, sleep pulling me closer and closer.
Something warm brushes against my feet, and Ripper gives a low, agitated growl. My eyes flash open, ready to fight off the gray skinned creature from the woods, but only Asher fills my vision. He sits beside my legs, his shadowed back to me. His arms rest on his knees as he looks out at the way we came. The Crimson Sword hangs loosely in his hand between his legs.
He glances over his shoulder at me. His lips part and then close.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he finally whispers, before turning back to monitor the darkness in front of him. His eyes roam the perimeter like his vision can see things I cannot. “I just didn’t like you over here in the dark alone.”
My body hums back to life. Like his presence is recharging me and sleep isn’t even an option now. He glances back at me again, a smile touching his lips when our eyes meet.
“You should really get some sleep. I don’t think Ky will let me carry you if you fall behind tomorrow,” he says sarcastically.
The thought of Asher carrying me anywhere sends a frenzied fluttering feeling through my chest. I also smile at how quickly Ky and my mother would reject the notion.
My eyes roam over his arms that are corded in muscle, his handsome features shadowed in the moonlight. It’s like a picture ready to paint—the white of his shirt, the rushing water behind him, the crystal of the sword reflecting the pale light onto his face and against the uneven wall of the cliff, and the darkness of the world settling in around him.
He catches me staring again and shakes his head at me. I blush, thankful for the dim lighting.
“You don’t need sleep?” I ask in a small voice.
He shakes his head without looking at me. “Not as much as you. Hardly any at all, really. The physical appearance of a human with the attributes of a vampire.”
It occurs to me I’ve never seen an older hybrid. Most of the ones locked within the compound die … unnatural deaths. Will Asher live forever, out here in the wild, away from the testing of the compound?
“Will you age?”
He breathes out a short laugh.
“Your society should really educate you on other races. It’s unsafe not to know what is out there and what they’re capable of.”
He’s right. I know better than to trust the wisdom of our elders, the lies they tell to keep us within our villages.
“My strength and heightened senses are useless to time. My heart pounds, ticking with the hands of time, just like yours. I will age, reluctantly, a little slower than yourself, but I will age and I will die. I’m not immortal, just death defying,” he says with a wink.
Thinking of Asher as a human feels odd. He’s not immortal, he’s not human, but he’s somewhere right in the middle, toying with mortality.
He glances back at me out of the corner of his eye. “Tell me about your camp since you refuse to sleep,” he says.
My camp. I wonder how far from camp we really are. My home and my camp family have been left miles behind, and I haven’t really given them a second thought. My heart dips slightly at how easily I left it all behind.
“It’s pretty uneventful. A lot of working. Every day, really,” I say with a laugh.
He looks out into the darkness, not smiling with me. “Do you consider yourself a slave then?” he asks with seriousness.
A slave? We work with no pay, but it’s not like that. Our life has changed from how generations before us lived. There’s no poverty like I’m told there once was; people work for what they own. People are better provided for because of how our government is set up. There is no exchange for goods and services. Only rules and duties. And, in return, there is never the fear of starvation. We are cared for and lucky.
As long as you follow the rules.
“No, not at all. We’re provided with food and shelter, everything we need to survive, in exchange for the work we do. We are compensated.”
“Sounds like the compound without walls.”
I shake my head adamantly at him, and he raises his eyebrows at my denial. “So, you’re like a pet then?” he asks. “Fed and sheltered but with no say for yourself.”
His jaw ticks in the moonlight and I shift into a less uncomfortable spot on my blanket. Anger now creases my face. The feeling simmers as I think. Why does he care how I live? I don’t need his judgment, especially for something he doesn’t understand.
“I’m no one’s pet,” I say in annoyance.
“I like the fight you have in you. The anger and strength you so rarely show.” His compliment catches me off guard but doesn’t diffuse the growing irritation in my chest. He bites back a smirk at my hostility. “Then explain it to me, Fallon.”
&
nbsp; I take a breath and slowly release it to contain the scream I want to expel. Once I’m sure I can continue our hushed conversation without sounding like a crying child, I think through what life at camp really feels like.
“I think most people like this lifestyle, really, as strange as it is. There’s less worry, less stress. You don’t have to worry about whether you’ll get that job, or if your boyfriend will stick around, or if you’ll want kids, or if the relationship will last. It’s all written out in black and white. It’s simple.” I take a heavy breath, realizing I won’t have any of those things. “If you follow the rules and fill out the necessary paperwork,” I say in a whisper, my eyes falling away from him, not wanting to see his reaction to my confession.
He bites his lip, seemingly biting back his words. He lowers his head and shoulders, like the weight of the moon is pressing down on him.
“It’s not a privilege to work, and there should be no requirements to be loved, Fallon.” He refuses to look at me and his words come out rushed and insolent. “Our government takes things that should come naturally and twists them into something for their own benefit. A reward for following the rules. Stress is a part of life, something that’s necessary for you to understand your achievements. Your camp is only providing stress to highlight your failures.” He takes a breath, finally meeting my eyes again. My eyebrows are raised in shock. “Forget what I said. You need sleep, and I need to shut up.” He smiles down at me, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes.
I swallow hard. I blink a few times until my eyes don’t open again. Part of me can’t bear to look at him any longer. To see the pity and anger in his beautiful face when he looks at me. But his words race through my mind. There shouldn’t be requirements for love. He’s right, but it still hurts hearing it. Whoever Micah is, there is no guarantee our union would make my life better. I am still my mother’s daughter, and it’s time I start acting like it. My life is my own with or without the presence of love.
Chapter Eight
The Stranger
I wake with a start to the sound of Ripper growling in his sleep. My eyes flinch against the harsh morning sunlight.
The sound of rushing water fills the quiet, and the moisture of the river is heavy in the air.
My mother is curled on her side, snuggled into Ky’s chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her, hugging her to his body. The corner of my lip pulls into a half smile at the sight of them. I can’t help but wonder if they slept like this at camp or if it’s just because of our new surroundings … a stronger need to protect one another here.
Asher no longer sits by my feet. I turn at all angles, my body searching for his, but he’s not here. Ripper’s little legs move wildly in his sleep as another low and menacing growl comes through sharp, clenched teeth. Even in his sleep, he thinks he’s bigger than he really is.
I nudge him with my foot, and he leaps up on all fours with a muffled bark. I stand quietly; rocks shift under my feet. Where could Asher have gone? Is he hunting already?
Ripper and I walk past the black soot from last night’s fire, tiptoeing past my mother and Ky, and make our way up the river. After we’ve walked a ways, I take a minute to splash water on my face from the cold running water. Ripper drinks from the river while I clean him up the best I can—his little paws are clumpy with dirt and tattered leaves.
I look around at my surroundings; I can still see my mother’s sleeping form, but she’s a good distance away. I take notice of the lack of wildlife this morning—no squirrels, no birds; I can’t even spot any fish in the clear water. They’re hiding from something.
Asher has definitely been here recently. How recently, I have no idea. I keep walking, always aware of my surroundings and on high alert for any unnatural sounds. I’m not just listening for Asher but for anything else that might not belong here in nature.
I’m still listening intently when a small, delicate voice reaches my ears. It’s barely audible over the rushing water. A gentle and sad melody calls out to me, the tragic words pressing against the warm air to be heard. Ripper and I slow our pace. We cautiously turn the bend, our steps brushing the edge of the river and my body forming against the jagged cliff. Tracing the rough wall with my fingertips, I peer around the cliff wall for the source of the song.
We spot her before she sees us—a young girl sitting on a large flat rock, flaying a fish. Her long blonde hair is braided to one side, a fresh flower tucked behind one ear and smaller flowers trailing down her thick braid. Her song stops abruptly when she senses us, and her big blue eyes meet mine. A nervous smile touches her lips as she looks around. Her innocence shows in her adolescent eyes. Her hand tightens on the small flaying knife as she subtly raises it higher.
She looks like a frightened, defensive animal. Her small and petite build isn’t threatening, but she holds her head high and confident nonetheless.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for a friend. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, holding my palms up slightly, taking a step back.
She swallows hard and stands quickly, her thin white dress flowing to her knees. I turn to leave, unsure of how to make her feel more at ease. “Wait,” she says in an urgent, hurried voice, taking a few steps toward me.
I stop where I am. She tosses the thin knife to the ground, where it clinks lightly against the rocks. She walks the short distance to where we stand near the cliff and the slight river bank. Her bare feet never stumble on the rough, damp rocks.
Holding out her dainty hand, she offers me a clean plank of white fish meat. It’s so pure and perfect looking like she conjured it from thin air. It looks delicious, and I return a smile at her offering.
“Thank you,” I say in a breath, surprised by her kindness. My stomach growls from the lack of food eaten last night. “You really don’t have to do this, though.” Ripper watches the food in my hand with wide eyes, licking his thin lips in contradiction, like he didn’t eat half a turkey just a few hours ago.
She smiles down at the little dog, extending her small palm to pet the soft white hair atop his head. Ripper quickly dodges her and runs behind my legs where he growls like the ominous predator he is. She laughs at the sound of his threat. Her voice, song, and laughter are all light and peaceful.
“I haven’t seen anyone in the forest in …,” she pauses taking in my overall appearance, “… years. What brings you here?” Her head tilts up at me, her words articulate but soft.
I pause, unsure of what I’m doing here in the woods, but also unsure of how much information I should give her.
“You’re looking for answers,” she says like a guess, raising a thin eyebrow. “But you’ll only find more questions.” Her words carry weight, a heaviness, spoken like someone who has seen decades come and go. “Are you traveling with anyone? A companion?”
A sly smile pulls at her lips. Her teeth are white, nearly as white as her pale blonde hair and her dress, which hangs from her thin body. She has an aura pouring from her. Maybe it’s from her happiness, her innocence, or maybe there’s something unseen in her. Something … magical, like the tales whispered around camp of beings we’ve pushed from our history. Is she fae? Her ears appear natural, no angle or points. But she’s different. Flawless and angelic and something else.
Something unnatural. Her strange words tug at my mind, and I shift awkwardly on my feet.
“No, no companion for me,” I say, choosing my words carefully but keeping myself honest as well. “I have a group I’m traveling with.”
She nods pleasantly; her wide eyes are clear and curious, still assessing me. I’m a stranger to her. Can she trust me? I’m not much bigger than she is really. She offered me fish, a small sign of friendship, I guess. Is that what fish signifies?
“My name’s Fallon,” I say, extending my hand between us, trying to gain some trust in her skeptical eyes.
My hands that I rinsed in the river just moments ago feel dirty next to her clean, white dress and polished nails. How is she so clean here in
the wild? She smiles sweetly at me, her long thin fingers reaching for my own. Her pretty smile grows larger. Too large. Strange, almost. Twisting into something other than happiness.
Just as her pale hand wisps over mine, my body is pulled back into something hard. The air is knocked out of me at the impact.
I tilt my head back, looking up to see Asher’s face set in anger as he walks us back from the girl. His brows are pulled low, his palm pressing firmly against my hip. My back is flush against his chest.
He holds the Crimson Sword low in his other hand, angling the blade toward the girl. The crystal-like blade reflects the bright sunlight, splintering it all around us in shades of white, blue, pink, and red.
Ripper growls at our feet, the only sound in the now strained silence.
“What are you doing?” I ask Asher nervously, almost embarrassed by his outburst and how close he’s holding me in front of a stranger.
The girl laughs, the sound trickling like water in a brook. She takes a couple vivacious steps closer to us, her hips swaying lightly and her demeanor changing with each passing second. Asher releases me and pushes me behind him, against the rock wall.
“Stay back,” he says to her, his voice harsher than I’ve ever heard. His jaw ticks and his muscles tense in his arms and back.
She laughs softly again, taking a few more luxurious steps closer to him. He lunges, bringing the sword down at an angle with enough power to rip her tiny body in half. With a flash, she twists away from him, his glass-like sword hitting the wall of the cliff. Centuries old rock crumbles against the force of the blade, sending boulder-sized rocks to the ground at his feet. I take a few steps back from them as pieces of debris rain down on me, dusting my dark hair. The sword and Asher are both unaffected by the repercussions of hitting the hard granite. If anything, he stands straighter, fury pulsing through his fluid movements.
