“Then what should we do?”
Colt raised his brows as he unrolled his blanket. “You’re welcome to go track down whoever robbed you in plain sight.”
“Not a bad idea, actually.”
As Colt laid out a pallet on the floor, he muttered to himself. “You can take the bed tonight. It’s too small for the both of us. I’ll go see about getting us some food.”
Owen hung his head as he sat on the bed. It creaked beneath his weight. The hollow place in his chest deepened. He had ruined things for the both of them. Colt had proved loyal so far, and though he had moments of anger, Colt never stayed that way long.
Owen was hungry and tired and cold. His limbs ached. As the sky grew dark outside the window, Owen grabbed the kindling on the side of the hearth, lit it, and placed it on the logs. He stared at the flames for a long time, letting the heat sting his eyes until they watered.
By the time Colt came back with two plates of food, the fire was roaring. The stew was cold, the meat tough, and the bread hard, but Owen was grateful for it all. He shaved down a raw carrot from the field and ate it with his meal.
Across the table, Colt ate quietly. In the lamplight, Owen glanced at him, noticing how his beard had grown since they’d met, and he looked very tired.
Thunder rumbled outside, and soon Owen heard rain on the roof.
“I’m glad we have a place to stay tonight,” he said.
“Hm,” Colt hummed.
Owen bit his lip. “Look, I really am sorry about the money.”
“Was that all of it, then?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“You mean you don’t keep two separate pouches for it? One in your boot, maybe?”
“No.” Owen scratched at the table with his thumbnail.
“So then you expect me to get us down to Avathon before the snows hit and use all my money to put you up someplace, too?”
“No. I don’t expect you to do that,” he said quietly.
“Right, hope not. You haven’t had to worry about going hungry or not having a home. Seems you’ve mooched off whoever your whole life.”
It was as if someone clutched Owen’s stomach and squeezed it. He winced, suddenly not feeling hungry. At first, he felt shame, and then the anger rose in his face, making him feel so hot he was sure it could be seen in the lamplight.
“You know nothing of my past,” he shot out.
“You’ve had Amias in your life since birth. Means he’s made sure you’ve had a good upbringing.”
“He wasn’t always there for me. Not after mother died. Not after I spent three years working at a farm, only to be put into the barn to sleep and eat and be beaten by a man who drank too much and a woman who didn’t give me food if I decided to go to the schoolhouse instead of work.”
“Are you trying to gain my pity?”
“No. But I’ve known what hunger is. And cold, sleepless nights. Don’t talk to me about having a good life because our childhoods started out differently.”
Neither one of them spoke. Owen’s limbs were shaking, his mind distraught at the assumptions his companion was making about him. Right after he finished his food, Owen took off his boots, wrapped himself in his blanket, and fell into the bed.
If Colt considered him a burden, he did not want to continue the journey to Avathon with him. Owen had no money, no place to stay. He could go back home to Emberton, but would the Wielders find him there? They knew who he was now. They knew he was Astran, and they would always be looking for him. He could hide someplace, maybe on the northern shores of Wheaton. Supposedly there were several islands up that way where some people went to be alone, never to be heard of again.
It was too exhausting to figure out, and at the moment he had a roof over his head and a dry place to sleep. As much as it ate at him, he refused to let this overtake his mind and keep him awake. Eventually, he slept.
It was still raining when Owen woke. He groaned as he rolled over onto his side and curled into the blankets. The morning was cold, and he figured he could lay there another hour at least, but the sound of the door had him bolting up out of bed.
“Skittish, much?” Colt said, bringing in two plates of food for them.
“I suppose,” Owen muttered, and took a biscuit with jam and a sausage from the plate. He ate slowly, savoring the taste of strawberry preserves. “Should we wait for the rain to let up?”
“That would be the wise thing to do.” Colt looked out the window, searching. “But I have an uneasy feeling.”
“About what?”
Colt said nothing, and for the first time since their meeting, Owen sensed fear radiating from the man.
“What do you think is wrong?” Owen asked.
“I don’t know. Just been getting a lot of curious glances. Don’t think we should be lingering in towns long.”
Owen rubbed his arms to get rid of the chill. He leaned forward on the bed, pondering if it would be best to part ways with Colt and travel north to Alacor to find Amias. It had been on his mind since they started their travel for Edgewater.
Colt was not Astran. The Wielders might not pursue him at all. And with the tension growing between them, it might be best. He did not want to put his companion in any more danger.
Making a decision, Owen pulled on his boots and began packing his bag.
“Where you going?” Colt asked.
“I think . . . I should leave.”
“I told you we could wait until the rain let up.”
Owen hesitated as he rolled up his blanket. “No. I’ll just go.”
“By yourself?”
“Look, I don’t want to burden you anymore. You’ve done so much for me, even with Amias gone. I don’t expect you to keep protecting me, especially since I can’t pay you anything for it. I think it would be best if I traveled alone.” He swallowed down the lump in his throat. He would not let this man see him cry, would not allow him to see and sense the fear in his departing words.
“I made a promise to Amias to get you out of the country.”
“I know.” Owen pulled on his coat and swung his pack on, then looked at Colt. He caught the man’s hazel eyes and willed himself to keep his chin up. “But I don’t want to endanger you anymore. I pose a risk staying with you. And . . . I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not letting you go alone,” Colt said.
“But it’s my choice.”
“Right—I’m all about choices, but this isn’t a good one.”
If Owen did not leave now, there may be no turning back once they got further south. Finally, after a silence, he blurted out, “I want to go after Amias. I don’t think it’s right to leave him here.”
“Amias is out of our reach,” Colt replied. “We don’t know where he is, if he’s even alive. And assuming they take him to Alacor, we have no chance of getting in there.”
“We don’t know unless we try.”
“I’m not going to Alacor.”
“Then I will—alone. I’ll find him. I have to. Thank you for helping me, but this is where we part ways.”
As he turned for the door, Colt chuckled behind him. Owen made it into the hallway before Colt stopped him.
“You’re not leaving,” Colt said.
“Try and stop me.”
Colt grabbed his arm and spun him around. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“Why? How much more do you owe Amias?”
“This has nothing to do with owing Amias.”
The floorboards creaked, making them both look down the hall at a barmaid. She forced a smile at them as she slipped by. Owen lowered his head, saying nothing until she left.
“Do you think me so cold that I’d let you go out there in the rain by yourself?” Colt caught Owen’s gaze, his voice lower now. “Wandering off alone not knowing where you’re going? Do you really think I’m like that, mate?”
“I don’t know.” Owen looked at the floor, feeling indecisive once again. Colt confused him more often than not.
He had gone from rude to playful to friendly to short and cold all in the span of the two weeks they had been traveling.
“Come on back in the room.” Colt broke his eyes away to the stairs. “Before we give these folks reason to be suspicious.”
Together they retreated into the room. Owen put down his bag, but he was not convinced that his companion had reason to remain with him besides obligation to Amias. He sat at the table and watched the rain outside the window.
Colt pulled on his coat and drew up his hood. “I’m going out. See if anyone’s heard of Wielders about.”
Owen nodded, saying nothing.
“I’ll be back soon.” He left abruptly.
Before Owen could respond, the door shut. With a sigh, he pulled out his journal and opened up to a blank page. He took up his pencil and wrote out a quick letter.
I’m going after Amias. Don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid.
He paused a moment, wanting to add more, but thought it best to keep it short.
Many thanks. Owen.
He ripped out the page and set it on the table, then grabbed his bag and left.
Outside, the rain was light, but the air was bitter. The docks were clear of people and boats as he walked down the boardwalk. A few of the men passing crates glanced at him as he went by. His heart sank deep into his stomach, for it occurred to him that anyone could be on the lookout for him. Finding a secluded spot near the end of the boardwalk, he leaned against a rock wall and closed his eyes. Focusing his energy, he tried to get a feel of the atmosphere.
“Turn not to the lies which the Legion spreads!” yelled a voice from above.
Owen furrowed his brow and walked slowly up the steps, away from the docks, to the street that ascended to the higher part of town. A small crowd gathered around a stone building. A man stood outside, his long, stringy hair pulled back with a band, wild-looking eyes glancing at those who had stopped to listen to him.
“The goddess Yuna is a sham, a thing the Legion wishes to use against you, yet you allow them to build temples in its name!” The man spat on the building, garnering gasps from several people. “Lay waste to the goddess! Damn it to a place far beyond the Unseen Vale!”
A guard marched up to the man and threw him against the wall of the building. The man still tried to speak as the guard bound his hands behind his back.
“If they’ll lock you away for telling the truth, what will they do to you when the end comes?” the man continued. “The earth trembles already! The coasts have been sinking away into the water for centuries! Vanhelm is in ruin. Our countries are next! Think of your children. There’ll be nothing left of our world for them when she comes!”
“Shut it, old man,” the guard said, yanking him up the hill.
“Disperse!” another guard yelled, and everyone fell away from the building. A monk appeared in the doorway and placed a fist over his forehead, then against his heart.
A dreadful feeling came over Owen as he watched the guards marching the man away.
He walked along the eastern path that led up a hill, out of the village. Once outside the walls of Edgewater, he looked at the ocean once more before leaving the town—and Colt—behind.
Chapter 19
Water puddles lined the dirt road north. Owen walked all morning at a quick pace, hoping to avoid curious eyes. Instead, he attracted it. Those who rode horses eyed him, saying nothing, and those on wagons asked him where he was going.
He shivered beneath his damp clothes and his feet were numb in his muddy shoes. He wondered what his face looked like. No doubt it was dirty.
Owen walked with no sense of direction, and he walked to keep the eyes from staring at him. His heart drummed every time he saw a pair of travelers on the side of the road. It never occurred to him to stop and ask to seek shelter with any of them, as they all looked rugged and unfriendly.
“Hey, lad, need a place to stay tonight?” a man called out from the side of the road. “I have a warm bed a mile up the road.”
Owen winced and said nothing. His breath caught in his throat and he picked up his pace, ignoring the traveler’s calls after him. Perhaps the man was nice, and truly wanted to offer him a place to stay, but Owen did not trust anyone he passed.
It was evening when he came to a small roadside inn. He had no money in his pockets, but he could try and work the kitchen for a room. He came to the back of the building and knocked on the door. When a heavyset woman opened it, she took him in with a frown.
“What you want?” she demanded.
“I was wondering if you needed help in the kitchen,” Owen said. “I don’t have any money, but I can clean or cook whatever you’d like for a room.”
“Ain’t no cleanin’ or cookin’ to be done here. Run on off now.” She slammed the door and locked it behind her.
Owen stood there a moment, staring at the door as if she would open it again. But she never did. Stepping off the threshold, he eyed the horse stalls. They would stay warm and dry tonight. He could sleep in an empty stall, but he would have to come back after nightfall.
The longer he lingered around the inn, the more suspicious stares he got. A man on a giant black stallion glared at him as he came through, looking his way as he took his horse to the stable. Others noticed him, too—workers who emerged from a building behind the inn, and stable hands. One of them even pointed at him.
It was too much of a risk to stay, and so he continued walking up the road. Did he look as though he was up to no good? Did they think he would pick their pockets?
When night fell like a dark blanket, the rain had gone. The cold was worse tonight, and he could see his breath in the air. He could no longer feel his feet, and his hands were numb. He warmed them with his breath, wishing he had remembered to pack a pair of gloves for the trip.
When he put his hand in the pocket of his trousers, his fingers hit something hard. His thumb felt the bumps of the wooden rabbit Colt had carved for him. Pulling it out, he winced, his heart clenching as he squeezed it in his hand.
He missed Colt’s company. But if Colt dropped him off someplace in Avathon, he would not be able to bear it. He would rather chance going after Amias than go into Avathon alone. The thought of not having someone to talk to or see every day dug a hole so hollow within his chest that he might as well let the darkness of the night swallow him whole and never see the light of day again.
Not long into the night, Owen came to a small village. There were only two guards, both of them regional, to his relief. He avoided them and ducked behind a house. He darted through an alleyway and sat in the doorway of a shop where he could evade the damp air.
Settling into his cramped space, he took an apple from his bag and ate it. Though he still had a few fruits and raw vegetables in his bag, he knew they would not last him long. Luckily, the farmlands along the way could supply him with any food leftover after harvest. He did not like to steal, but if he had to, he would.
After he ate, his belly somewhat satisfied, he brought his legs up, pulled his hood tight around his face, and dozed.
Sometime in the morning, the door opened and he fell halfway inside someone’s room. A man cursed, grabbed him up, and shoved him outside into the dirt.
“No bums on my step!” the man shouted. “Off with you.”
“Sorry,” Owen said, scrambling to his feet. He left the alley quickly and came to the path that went through the village. A wagon rolled by and stopped at the apothecary down the way, while a woman swept off the doorstep of a cafe.
“Psst.”
Owen whipped his head around.
“Hey, over here,” someone called.
Looking up, Owen saw a young girl no older than seven sitting on the branch of a tree between two houses. Her blonde hair was braided in pigtails that fell over her shoulders, a pale yellow ribbon dangling from one.
“You look kinda lost,” the girl said.
“Well, I suppose I am kind of lost,” Owen replied.
“I saw yo
u sleeping on Mr. Gully’s door over there. He don’t like me, and I don’t like him. That’s why I plan to throw eggs at his house later.”
“Oh.”
The girl jumped down from the tree and landed hard on her feet. “I’m Rose.”
“Owen.” He regretted giving his name as soon as he said it, and bit at his cheek.
“Need something to eat? Mama cooked a big breakfast this mornin’, and tonight she said we’re having duck and potatoes and peas and carrots.”
“I’m not sure if your mother would want you bringing strangers to your house.”
“Oh no, she loves feedin’ people. Come on, Owen.” Rose pulled him forward.
He wanted to tell her it would be all right, that he was not hungry and he had somewhere he needed to be. But the small house at the end of the path looked so cozy and the aroma of food spilling out from inside made his mouth water.
“Just stay a moment.” Rose held out her hands. Her eyes were as vivid as the blue sky overhead.
When the girl darted in through the front door, Owen held back like she asked. He listened as Rose spoke with her mother. When the tall, thin woman came out the door, she looked him up and down and her jaw muscles tensed.
“What do you want?”
“I . . . your daughter, she just mentioned . . . ah . . .” Owen rubbed at his neck, at a loss for words.
“I don’t want no rats stalking around my girl, you got it? Leave now.” The woman slammed the door in his face.
He stood for a long moment in disbelief, until his rumbling stomach tore him away from the house of good smells. When he started out of the village, Rose called after him.
“Owen, wait!” She came up beside him and gave him a warm cloth. “It’s some cornbread. I swiped it when Mama weren’t looking.” She beamed.
“Rose,” Owen started, feeling the warmth of the cornbread through the cloth. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
“Welcome. Sorry ‘bout that. She doesn’t like me hanging around people who pass through, but I thought maybe she’d give you some food.”
Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1) Page 23
