When I thought Brooklynn had finally dozed off, I dared to ask the one question I couldn’t stop thinking about, despite knowing that asking it would probably reopen painful wounds. “Do you ever miss him?” I asked as quietly as I could, and hoped Eden could hear me above the engine.
She was quiet too for a moment, but then she glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you miss Angelina?” she asked, before turning her attention back to the ramshackle road.
It was all the answer I needed.
And suddenly I understood why Eden had hit Brook. She wasn’t mad at Brooklynn for asking all those questions. She was mad at herself . . .
For leaving her little brother all those years ago.
I wasn’t sure when I’d actually fallen asleep, or even when I’d lain down on one of the sleeping mats, but the confusion I felt upon waking lasted only a few moments before I rolled over and found myself staring directly into Brooklynn’s face. Her mouth was wide, and her breaths were long and deep. She was snoring, which was likely what had awakened me in the first place.
When I turned away from her, I realized that I’d somehow managed to sandwich myself between her and one of the VAN walls. The space I was lying in, like the bedroll wrapped around me, was narrow and cramped. And the floor beneath the lightweight mat was firm, making my back throb.
Trying not to disturb Brook, who continued to snore in complete ignorance of the less-than-comfortable sleeping arrangements, I wriggled out of the makeshift bed and went in search of Eden. Like the morning before, she appeared to have abandoned us. Something she seemed to be skilled at, I was learning.
But I knew she hadn’t gone far. The VAN door was ajar, and even from inside the vehicle, I could smell the smoky scent of a campfire.
“Coffee?” I heard her ask as I saw her reaching for the pot before I’d descended the steps across from the driver’s seat.
I nodded and grabbed one of the tin mugs she’d already set out for each of us. “Should we be worried about the fire? That someone might notice us here?” I asked as she filled my mug all the way to the top, and when I took my first sip, I recognized the flavor. It was the same caustic blend Caspar had shared with us the day before, only this time my taste buds rejoiced.
Eden just shook her head before setting the pot near the edge of the flames. “Not anyone we should be concerned about. I veered far enough from the main thoroughfare to give us a chance to rest.”
“Did you? Rest, I mean?” I looked her over, noting the fact that I hadn’t seen a mat for her in the back of the VAN, where Brook and I had slept.
I hadn’t been wrong, either, when I’d guessed that her eye would be swollen this morning, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it might be. It was bruised and engorged, but she could still open it, which meant she could still see through it. A favorable attribute in someone operating your vehicle, I thought wryly.
“I slept out here,” she answered. “Nice to listen to the waves.”
“Waves . . .” I started to ask but then glanced around. I didn’t know what Eden meant at first, but then I heard it.
It was far-off, the whooshing sound that came and went, first long and insistent, then fading away, only to return again . . . unrelenting.
Something from Sabara’s memory—not mine—pricked at me, something I hadn’t noticed before. It was the air. It was crisp, which wasn’t such a strange thing for the time of year, but the breeze carried a tang that stung my nose.
The sea, Sabara whispered, waking within me. There was something hopeful in her spirit.
“The sea,” I whispered aloud, tasting the words, and the salt in the air, on my tongue.
Eden had no idea it was a dead queen with whom I conversed, and she answered my musing. “Just beyond the bluff. We’ve reached the southwest tip of Ludania, and will start moving east toward Astonia. We took only a slight detour—couple of hours at the most. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to slip over the border without being noticed.”
I looked where Eden had indicated, but for as far as I could see, all I could make out was pale sand and reedy grass that stretched all the way to the rocky walls ahead of us. Yet, still I heard it.
Whoosh . . . whoosh . . . whoosh . . .
Never-ending.
“Do we have time? Can I go see it?”
Eden’s brow lowered, the purple streaks of her hair caught in the morning sun and making her look more severe than ever. “The sea?” she probed. “Have you never . . .” I had once, but she didn’t finish her sentence, just nodded resolutely and set her mug on one of the flat-sided rocks that surrounded the fire. “I’ll come with you. To be certain you’re safe.”
“Should we wake Brook?” I asked, suddenly eager to see what had managed to incite Sabara. She was anticipating some wondrous thing that I now anticipated too.
Waving off the suggestion of waking Brooklynn, Eden started walking in the direction of the whooshing sound, her boots cutting a path through the sticklike grass. The sound grew louder and more insistent, and seemed to be coming from all around us as we climbed higher rather than lower.
When we reached the edge of the plain, where we had to mount several rocky steps onto the bluff, the view before me took on a dramatic transformation.
Suddenly it wasn’t just grass and sand, or even rocky outcroppings, in our line of sight. It was water. For as far as I could see, there was water. Not stagnant like that of a pond or a lake. And not meandering, cutting a path through the land, the way a river did. Not even like the sliver of a sea I’d seen once before, an ice-crusted inlet we’d had to cross by ferry on our way to the summit in Vannova.
No, this water was undulating. It rolled and swelled and rippled like a living, breathing entity that kissed the horizon and disappeared into eternity.
Birds with feathers that ranged from the color of downy snow to the deep sooty gray of smoke screeched overhead, circling and dipping as they rode the wind that seemed as ceaseless as the surging waves. My hair whipped and stung my cheeks, making them tingle almost us much as my impatience.
“This way,” Eden insisted, leading me away from where we stood overlooking the water from too high up at the cliff’s edge. If we miscalculated our steps from here, the drop to the jagged rocks awaiting us below would be perilous. Farther along the bluff Eden had spotted a way down where the water met the sand. “Watch your step,” she cautioned again and again, the way I would if I were leading Angelina.
The route we took was not nearly as hazardous as I’d first thought, and as we moved, I realized the grass that had tried to grow here had been trampled, as if the route had been used recurrently. A path to the sea.
The smell grew harsher, and Sabara’s memories told me that this was the flavor of sea salt, permeating everything, not just the water but the wind and sand as well. Even my lips when I licked them tasted of salt.
I was breathless when we reached the bottom, and my feet dropped from the firm rocks of the path into the soft sand, sinking almost to my ankles. Above us the jagged cliffs loomed, watching us with their rigid intensity.
I shot Eden a questioning glance, begging for permission to chase after the shifting waves. I was mesmerized by them. I watched with enthusiastic eyes as they rolled in, tumbling over themselves and lapping the shore. They smoothed the sand, compacting it and making it glisten. And then they were sucked away once more, waning into the next one that approached.
Inside me I overheard Sabara’s musings. You’ll never know anything as powerful as the sea, Charlaina. Not even I have that kind of strength. It is truly undying.
I knew she was right. The sea—this great and captivating sea—had been here long before Sabara had taken her first breath, and it would be here still, long after her Essence had sputtered out, dying at long, long last.
And me, I wanted to feel it beneath my feet, between my toes. I wanted it lapping at my shins and splashing at my knees.
Eden showed me a wry smile, an affirmation of my greatest d
esires, and I set loose, shucking my shoes from my feet as I raced toward the water. The sand slowed my steps, but I persisted, my gales of laughter getting lost on the chilly wind that slapped at my cheeks.
I stepped gingerly onto the wet sand, pulling the hems of my pants up so they passed my knees as I hesitantly approached the surf. The froth-tipped waves swept toward me, and I jumped back, afraid of what they might do. How they might feel.
Go. Go, Charlaina, go, Sabara urged, a siren’s chant.
And I went, doing as she decreed.
My toes slipped beneath first, the frigid waters making me gasp. And then delight sang through my veins as I answered the summons of the sea. When I felt the pulsating ocean around my ankles, I turned back to see Eden, her arms crossed in front of her. She was the eternal sentinel.
I waved, hoping to crack her stoic expression. But she remained straight-faced and unflinching, until the water lured my attention once more by crashing against my knees.
I giggled with delight. Then I splashed the ocean whenever it splashed me. I dashed toward the retreating waves as they withdrew back into the sea, and ran again when they came racing toward me. They were faster, always faster than I was, and invariably I was caught by them, until it didn’t matter that I’d tried to protect my clothing, to keep it dry. I was wet, from my hair to my toes.
When I heard Brooklynn’s voice calling to us from above the constant wind and the ceaseless whooshing of the waves, I ran across the sand to where she navigated down the path to the shore, where Eden stood watch.
“Brook! Come on,” I cried, not glancing at Eden now, knowing she wouldn’t give up her post even if I invited her. “It’s magnificent, the sea. You have to try it!”
Brook looked at me dubiously, and then at the surf beyond. I used the tips of my fingers to pry salty strands of hair from my mouth, and used the backs of my hands to wipe sand from both my cheeks.
“I don’t know,” she said mistrustfully as I dragged her toward the awaiting water. “It doesn’t look safe. In fact, it looks positively unsafe, if you ask me.”
“Well, it isn’t,” I assured her. “Now, take your boots off. Trust me.”
It wasn’t my speech that convinced her. I knew because I’d never been capable of such a feat. It was her curiosity that won in the end, and by the time I’d let go of her hand and was jumping into the next incoming wave, Brooklynn had shed her boots and was right behind me.
She didn’t jump at first, but she met the challenge of the oncoming surf with as much zeal as I did. And after just a few experimental minutes of wading and retreating, Brook was chasing me into the breaking waves, splashing me the way I’d splashed her.
When at last we emerged, we were both shrieking and laughing, and soaked in water that made our clothing itch and stick to us like a second layer of salt-laced skin. Sand clung to our legs, which were bare to our knees, as we trudged back to Eden with our shoes in hand.
“Finished?” was all Eden asked as she surveyed each of us in turn.
Even wet, Brook managed to look alluring, her damp curls framing her perfectly flushed face, while I was sure my hair looked like damp sea grass and only highlighted the fact that my lips had turned a glacial shade of blue. I shivered as another gust of wind blasted along the coastline.
“Y-y-yes.” I bit my lip to keep my teeth from chattering, and tasted the salt that clung to it.
As we trailed Eden up the path, Brook nudged me. “You killed my father,” she said, her voice low so there was no way Eden could hear us above the sound of the waves.
I stopped where I was, stunned by her statement, and by the lack of rancor or accusation hidden behind her words. She wasn’t sullen, and she wasn’t avoiding the topic any longer.
I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing myself against the chill of the wind that beat at us. “I know, and I’m so sorry.” I bit out each word slowly, almost cautiously, as if I might scare her away again, and I was so terribly afraid we might never get back to where we’d once been if I did.
Eden was no longer climbing, and stood watching us impatiently. I held up a finger, letting her know we’d be right there.
“I know you are,” she admitted, the hint of a smile pricking her lips. “You’ve said so at least a hundred times.” She shrugged, and then sighed a deep and liberating sigh. “I suppose I just wasn’t ready to hear it back then.” The smile fell away, becoming something less playful and more reflective. She reached out to me, this time holding her hand out like when we were little girls and we held hands everywhere we went, running and skipping and hopping through rain-filled puddles. “I am now, though.”
I clasped her hand, squeezing it as tight as I could manage. And then I whispered, “I really am, you know. I’m so very, very sorry, Brooklynn. I never meant to hurt you.”
She squeezed back until my knuckles ached and my eyes burned. “I know. And the truth is, I’m glad he’s dead. It just took me a while to figure it out.”
She pulled me toward her, so our shoulders bumped together, and we started walking again. Hand in hand.
Just like when we were children.
As grateful as I was that Brook and I had mended the rift between us, all I could think about on our way back was the campfire we’d burn when we returned to the VAN. I was chilled all the way through, and even though we couldn’t afford to waste any of our drinking water to bathe away the brininess from my skin, I’d at least be able to change into dry clothing.
But when we reached the top of the cliff, it wasn’t the VAN or the smoke still drifting up from the smoldering remnants of our fire that caught my attention. It was the people gathered there.
They converged around our vehicle, and I stopped walking, trying to make sense of their presence. To discern what they were doing there exactly.
I watched as a woman came out of the VAN, picking her way down the steps carrying a crate in her arms. I recognized the box as one that was filled with jars of pickled vegetables, and realized that these people were helping themselves to our provisions.
They were stealing our food—our supplies.
My first thought was to stop them, and before I could tell myself otherwise, I was lifting my hand. Already I could feel the tingling in the tips of my fingers. I knew why, of course. I meant to put an end to their looting.
I hadn’t considered using Sabara’s ability since the night I’d used it to keep Brooklynn’s father and his men from taking Angelina, when I’d feared for what they might do to her. I had used it then, killing them all by squeezing their throats closed from the inside out.
The second I summoned her power, I knew I’d made a mistake. Sabara slipped out of the shadows and began taking control of me. Darkness cloaked me, like a heavy curtain, blotting out all reason. Blotting me out.
No, I insisted, you can’t do this. But already my vision grew black.
“Charl—Layla!” Brooklynn smacked my arm down and shoved me aside. “We’ve got this! You stay put.”
I blinked several times, dazed by Brook’s actions and her warning. Slowly, however, my judgment returned and Sabara slunk away once more. I wondered how much longer I could keep her at bay. How long I could pretend she wasn’t wearing me down.
I stared at my hands, unable to believe I’d been willing to do something so horrific, hardly able to believe I’d been capable of drawing the ability forth in the first place. I’d always believed Sabara had lent me her power when I’d needed it.
Now I wondered if I couldn’t summon it at will, a thought that revolted me, convincing me further that the two of us were far too enmeshed.
I turned to see Eden drawing a weapon from the back of her waistband—a small-caliber handgun I hadn’t been aware she’d had with her. And when I glanced to Brook, her hand had disappeared into one of the boots she carried, and reemerged wrapped around the handle of a curved knife with sharp, serrated teeth.
Eden called out to the foragers, “Put it back—all of it—and no one gets hurt!”
The woman with the crate froze, her eyes finding us, and then searching out the others who were rummaging around our campsite. I wondered if she were calculating their odds.
I tried to imagine what we must look like, three women out here on our own in the middle of nowhere, with a vehicle chock-full of supplies. Then I really considered who I was traveling with, and how we appeared.
Eden, with her shorn purple hair and muscled arms, was menacing on a good day. But today, after her skirmish with Brooklynn, she was donning a shiner of a black eye that only served to make her more intimidating than ever. And Brooklynn might be pretty, but she wore an air of confidence about her, especially when, like now, her shoulders were squared and her jaw was set. Her own bruises and bedraggled hair only served to emphasize the fact that she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.
Me? I had no idea how I appeared. Certainly less daunting than the other two, but looks could be deceiving. I was determined to make it across the border. To get to Elena, to discover the meaning of her message, and to attempt to keep my country at peace. I’d do anything to make that happen.
Besides, I told myself, I’d survived Sabara. I could certainly survive some local scavengers.
If I’d had to lay odds right then, my money would have been on the three of us.
“We don’t want no trouble,” the woman said in strangely punctuated Parshon, her southern Ludanian accent giving it a lilting sound. She bent slowly at the waist to set the crate on the ground at her feet. When she rose again, she kept her hands in front of her. “Din’t know there was someone laid claim to this stuff already.”
I shot a meaningful glance at the embers of the barely dead fire and doubted the veracity of her statement.
“We don’t want trouble either,” Brook chimed in, speaking in Englaise. She didn’t bother to hide her blade as she approached the strangers. Her feet were bare, but her confidence was in full force. Both Eden and I were right at her back. “But this ‘stuff,’” she added bitingly, “is most definitely ours.”
The Offering Page 12
