The Offering

by Kimberly Derting

  As we neared, it became clearer who we were up against, and suddenly my belief that we would come out of this unscathed spiked.

  They were kids, mostly. But not like the ones we’d just left behind with Caspar at the abandoned work camp. These kids seemed scrawnier and less organized. The longer I studied them, the more certain I was that the woman who’d spoken was their mother. They all bore hair that was the same honeyed shade of auburn, and their eyes were all varying shades of green—moss, jade, emerald, and even one pair that reminded me of the sea I had just been in.

  Two of them, a girl and a boy, both of whom had freckles peppered across their noses, wore clothing fashioned from identical fabric, with perfectly sewn stitches. Since the mother had spoken in Parshon—the vendor’s tongue—I wondered if she was a seamstress by trade.

  The boy, who’d been poking a stick into the remnants of the fire, dropped it when his jade eyes settled on Brook’s knife. He raised his hands in the air, so high it was nearly comical.

  The mother whacked him on the backside. “Drop your hands,” she muttered, speaking again in Parshon. And then to us, in Englaise, she tossed back, “Honestly, we want no trouble at all. We’ll be on our way now.” As if reading the knowing look she cast their way, the children—four of them in all, ranging in age from about five or six years to somewhere around ten or eleven—gathered around her, making her look very much like a mother duck gathering her brood of ducklings.

  The idea of mistaking them as dangerous thieves now seemed absurd.

  Brook sheathed her knife and replaced it in her boot.

  The girl who was the smallest of the children and part of the matched set with her brother tugged at the woman’s skirt. “But, Mama, I’m hungry. And it’s so far.”

  I hadn’t even had the chance to respond when Eden turned to scowl at me, already shaking her head as if she’d read my thoughts. “No, Your Maje—” She lowered her voice. “No way,” she amended from between gritted teeth. “They’re thieves,” she insisted. “We can’t. We won’t.”

  But I was already shoving my way past her, my mind made up. “They’re children, Eden.” And then I told the woman, “We have more than enough. Stay and eat with us before you go.” I couldn’t imagine casting them off without at least feeding them first. I smiled at the little girl, who peeked at me from behind her mother’s back.

  Eden sighed, her exasperation as loud as the wind.

  “No, no. We couldn’t,” the woman said, but the little boy, his eyes still wide and transfixed on Brooklynn, despite the fact that she no longer held her knife, quietly pleaded, “Please. Just a little . . .”

  That was it for Brook, and she too came over to my side of the argument, proving she indeed had a heart. “Really,” she asserted, although a little less adamantly than I had. “It’s okay. We have plenty.”

  The woman’s shoulders sagged as she looked around at her ginger-haired brood, all of them watching her eagerly for a sign of consent. Then she nodded, turning to meet my eyes as she reached out to pat the boy’s head. “Thank you,” she told me.

  The children ate voraciously, finishing a first round of salted squirrel and sliced cheese, and then asking for more. We sliced fresh fruit, which they devoured just as ravenously, letting the juices run down their chins and slurping it from their fingers. But even after that they weren’t satisfied, so I pulled out a loaf of bread and we warmed it in front of the fire before drizzling it with honey.

  While they ate, I quizzed their mother. Her name was Deirdre, and I learned as much as I could about the fishing village they’d come from. She told us how she used to make the finest fishing nets for miles around, and that their village had prospered. Trade had kept them all fed and full and clothed and housed.

  Now, however, Deirdre and her younger children were forced to fend for themselves while her husband and her oldest daughter—like most of the other capable men and women from their village—had gone off to volunteer in the militia.

  “Militia?” I asked, not sure I fully understood.

  Deirdre just nodded. “Locals willing to fight for our country but not wanting—or able—to join the military. Either too old or too young, or not fit enough to be in the armies. Most of our villagers decided to join the militia so they could stay together, rather than being divided and sent to the far reaches of the country. Last we heard, the queen’s army was gathering every militia to meet near the Astonian border. Talk is, war isn’t so far off.”

  Guilt knotted my stomach, so I only listened while everyone else ate.

  I wondered how many other families were in similar situations. How many other mothers were off scavenging for food, trying to make ends meet for their children while they awaited word of the war. Waited to find out if their loved ones would even return home alive.

  “I feel sick.” The little girl called Meg rubbed her hand over her protruding belly to emphasize her point.

  Brook grinned back at her. “Well, you should. You just ate an entire week’s worth of rations. At that rate you’ll grow up to be a big, strong soldier like your sister.” She tousled the girl’s hair. “Too bad we’ve got to get going, or I’d teach you a few moves myself.”

  Meg’s eyes brightened. “You think I could be like you someday?”

  Eden scoffed at the notion. “You don’t want to be like her. Look at her. She’s not so tough.” Her lips curled in wry amusement as she indicated the bruises on Brook’s face.

  The littlest boy wrinkled his nose. “Then you must not be tough either,” he said, ogling Eden’s black and swollen eye.

  Eden directed her gaze at the boy, glaring as sternly as she could until the boy blinked and glanced away. Then she nodded, as if satisfied in her ability to intimidate.

  I made a clucking sound in her direction, letting her know I didn’t think she was very impressive, terrifying a little boy and all.

  “How far is your village?” I asked, turning my attention back to Deirdre when I didn’t get the appropriately contrite response I’d hoped for from Eden.

  “Not so far.” I caught her shooting one of the older two boys a warning look when it seemed as if he might dispute her statement. “Just past the next harbor.” She pointed vaguely along the coastline.

  Perplexed by her explanation, I frowned and turned for clarification to the boy she’d prematurely silenced. “And how far would that be?”

  The boy looked sheepish and avoided his mother’s eyes when he answered, “Almost a day’s walk.” He admitted, before she had the chance to stop him, “It’s hard on the little ones.”

  Concurring, Meg nodded vigorously. “It’s true. It’s awful far.”

  Again Eden sighed, reading my thoughts before I could even give voice to them.

  I tried to reason with her. “It’s on our way, Eden,” I said under my breath. Deirdre had been pointing southward. Eden could hardly argue. According to Caspar’s maps, we had to go south before heading east toward the Astonian border. “Besides, we have more than enough room.”

  In the end I won and we piled Deirdre and her four children into the VAN. Eden drove sullenly, while I felt downright pious about the decision, especially as the wind died down and the fog churned up from the sea, making the ground difficult to see, and nearly impossible to navigate. Because of the poor visibility, it took us more time than it should have to locate the highway so we could follow it.

  To the children the VAN was an adventure. They bounced exaggeratedly up and down in their seats, and traded places every few minutes and pointed out the windows. They chattered among themselves, while Deirdre showed us landmarks along the way. She gave names to the cliffs and the plains, and even the road we traveled, which was in such a state of disrepair that for the most part we drove alongside it, using it only as a guide to mark our route.

  The Coastal Highway, she called it, and I had a hard time imagining it had ever been anything but the pitiful mass of crumbling concrete it was now.

  Her village, she told us, was
formerly 116Southeast but now was called Graylond, and they’d held a huge party to christen it as such.

  “That was the day before my husband and my Erin left,” she explained. “So we stayed up all night, drinking and dancing around the bonfire, and I pretended it was because our city had a new name. But really it was so I could be with them as long as possible.” She looked down at her hands, which were folded and motionless on her lap. “I hope they come home soon. I hope the new queen knows what she’s doing, and that all this talk of war is just that. Talk.”

  I nodded. I hoped everything she did, and more. I couldn’t tell her I was doing my best. That I was willing to sacrifice everything—including myself—to bring her family home, so I merely nodded.

  “That’s it,” she said, pointing through the thick layer of fog to a knot of homes that seemed to be built right over the water’s edge.

  It was almost too silent to be called a village, with none of the bustle or activity I would have expected.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Most families were forced to leave after the militia came through looking for recruits. No way to support themselves. The few fishermen we have left—those too old or too young to fight—are probably still out trying to fill their nets. Sometimes they don’t come home for days.”

  The VAN’s headlamps barely penetrated the dense mist that grew heavier, clinging to everything like the salt from the sea. As we approached, the few villagers who remained came out from their homes to get a look at our unusual vehicle. They followed us through the narrow streets until we stopped in front of the home Deirdre pointed out to us. I understood the curious expressions on the villagers’ faces. It was the same mixture of fascination and awe I’d felt when Caspar had first showed the VAN to us. The vehicle was rare and impressive and atrocious, all at once.

  “Come inside,” Deirdre told us. “Let me repay your kindness. I don’t have much, but we do have fish and a warm fire.” She smiled, ushering her children through the doorway. “Glen,” she said to one of the older boys with sparkling moss-colored eyes, “start a fire for our guests.”

  Eden didn’t bother arguing this time, and I didn’t bother listing the reasons we should accept their hospitality, particularly since I was neither hungry nor cold. My reasons for wanting to stay had more to do with the roiling in my stomach that seemed to grow stronger the closer we drew to the border. To Elena.

  To my fate.

  sage

  Sage dragged Xander from his mount and smacked the animal on its hindquarters, sending it loping toward the hills, in the same direction her horse had just gone. She doubted they’d ever see the beasts again. But for now all that mattered was that there was no chance the horses could draw unwanted attention to where she and Xander were hiding.

  She crouched low in the bushes, helping Xander settle back against a boulder. When he winced, a soft groan escaping his lips, she dropped so her face was level with his. “You have to be quiet now,” she coaxed. “No sound. Do you understand?”

  Xander’s skin was an unhealthy pallor, pasty and gray, and slick with sweat. His eyes were glazed with fever, but he nodded nonetheless. He understood.

  “Good. Now let me take a look at that.”

  She needed a distraction, something to preoccupy her restless thoughts, and Xander’s wounds were as good a diversion as any. She didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about the other thing, the reason they’d just had to cut their horses loose.

  Or what their next step would be if they somehow managed to get through this unnoticed.

  She reached for his bandage and unwrapped layer after layer of the dirty gauze that she’d already replaced once. She tried not to breathe the foul odor that made her eyes water and her nose burn. The fact that the dressing was soaked through with infection and had to be peeled from the rotting wound was a bad sign.

  The fever was a worse one.

  Yet, even one-handed and febrile, Xander had managed to ride his horse once they’d discarded their vehicle to cross into Ludania. She’d hardly heard a complaint from him, except for the occasional moan or involuntary whimper.

  No wonder Elena had been so afraid to release him.

  Xander had the heart of a champion. And he had no intention of letting Elena stop him.

  “Where are they?” He grimaced, and she wondered if he was talking only to take his mind off the antiseptic she poured over his wound. The shoddy row of uneven sutures where the prison doctor had attempted to stitch him up was raw and inflamed, and still oozing.

  Her eyes shot up to his, wide and filled with concern for his welfare. She would have asked if it hurt, or if her ministrations were too clumsy, but she knew his answers. He’d lie even if the answers were yes. “When I was at the top of the hill, I could see them approaching.” Her expression was grave as she repeated what she’d seen. “There were thousands of them. I’d say the first wave of troops to cross. But there are probably thousands more behind them, spreading into your country like a plague. I imagine they’re crossing at every point—from east to west, and will move north, burning everything in their path.” She glanced back down at his arm, going back to work on it. She began wrapping the fresh strip of gauze around the stump where his hand used to be.

  “And what about us?”

  She stopped. “We’re not far ahead of them, Xander. We have less than an hour till the entire battalion could be upon us. Our best hope is that they don’t come this far into the hills. That they stay on flatter ground and continue marching north. There’s not much up here, and as long as they don’t suspect we’re here . . .” She trailed off.

  “There’s no reason they would,” he finished, and she nodded, putting the finishing touches on his dressing.

  “There,” she said, and sat back on her heels.

  He watched her for several long moments. His glassy eyes were anything but fatigued. Finally he asked what was really on his mind. “Can you tell where she is now?”

  Sage understood the question well enough. He was asking her to use her ability, something she’d been doing since they’d crossed into Ludania.

  He was asking her to use her tracking skills.

  She closed her eyes, concentrating . . .

  Concentrating . . .

  Trying to pull an image of the Queen of Ludania from her mind, to find her—and only her—in a country filled with millions of people.

  When she opened her eyes again, eyes that were completely and totally white, and completely and totally sightless, she declared, “She’s close. She’s very, very close.”

  And then she blinked, her vision swimming back into focus while she saw Xander leaning forward, watching her intently. She frowned as she realized what exactly she’d just seen in her vision, and where Charlaina was.

  “The army,” she said ominously, reaching for Xander’s only hand. “They’re almost upon her.”

  x

  It was well after midnight when we finally departed Graylond. The feeling that we were safer traveling under the cover of darkness was likely an illusion, but it was an illusion I clung to. It made me feel better to think that we were as invisible as the world around us.

  I’d wrapped myself tightly in my shawl as we’d prepared to leave Deirdre’s home, long after the last of her children had gone to bed and the plates had been cleared from her table. We’d given her the crate she’d tried to steal from us earlier in the day—filled with jars that would likely last them until summer.

  I hesitated at the door, letting Eden and Brook go ahead of me to the VAN.

  “Here,” I told Deirdre as I held my hand out to hers. “I’ve no idea of its value, but you can likely get a good price for it.”

  She opened her palm and looked at the sapphire pendant I’d dropped there, still warm from my skin.

  She shook her head, her green eyes somber. “I couldn’t. It’s yours.”

  But I pushed her hand away. “I insist. You need it more than I do. For your children.” And it
was true. Where I was going, I had no need for jewelry or sentimental keepsakes. I needed nothing at all, save my name and my blood.

  Deirdre could make the money for a necklace like this last for months, years maybe. It could support her even if her husband and daughter never returned. I knew guilt was making my decision, but it didn’t matter to me.

  I pushed again, until she finally acquiesced, closing her fingers around the jewel. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, and safe travels.”

  It was Brook who first noticed it, the sound—or rather the feel—of thunder. It seemed to come from nowhere, and yet everywhere, all at once.

  We hadn’t gone far when she told Eden to kill the engine, and then the lights. And we all sat, awash in the darkness, letting the rumbling sensation fill our lungs, our veins, and find rhythm with our heartbeats.

  “What is it?” I managed, when my voice finally found its way free from the drumming in my chest.

  “I don’t know,” Eden admitted. “But we have to go. Now.” Neither Brook nor I argued as we followed Eden from the VAN, evacuating it and leaving it where it stood, on the open expanse of ground that had once been a thoroughfare.

  We took nothing, saving only ourselves. We followed silently as she climbed the slopes of the stony precipices that dominated the southern coastline. To lose our footing here, now on these rocky cliffs that overlooked the even rockier shores, would mean certain and swift death. All the while, the ground shook and the gravel beneath our toes shuddered and shifted.

  But Eden climbed without pause, higher and higher, somehow finding traction where I doubted there was any. She pointed here and there, so we could follow suit. She was patient but demanding, and insisted that we climb higher and keep up with her.

  “Where are we going?” Brook hissed, but Eden shushed her.