Fuck it, he thought, and he pulled it off, wadding it up and pressing it to Garrett’s wound.
Garrett’s eyes fluttered open, and he muttered something unintelligible.
“Quiet now,” Marcom said, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. “Rest.”
The woman who had given him the knife crouched down beside him then.
“Let me,” she said, gently prying Marcom’s hands away and applying pressure to Garrett’s wound herself.
“Are you a healer?”
“No. But…” the woman trailed off for a moment, then seemed to come back to herself again. “No. That man was standing right next to me. I think…I think he meant to kill me. But he—” she inclined her head toward Garrett “—stopped him. I think he saved my life.”
There were voices coming out of the dark, and a pair of figures appeared from between the trees. The human man carried an oil lantern, holding it high to cast its light in a wide circle. With him was a Satyrian woman clad in white healer’s robes, the lamplight gleaming on the horns that framed her olive face.
“This man’s been stabbed,” Marcom said to her, moving over to make room. “I can’t tell how bad—it’s too bleedin’ dark.”
The healer came forward and knelt down.
“Shine the lamp from there,” she said imperiously, waving toward Garrett’s other side, and the man circled the little group, still holding the lantern high. Michael moved aside to make room for him, but he never took his eyes from Garrett’s still form.
The healer peeled away Marcom’s rag—now soaked with blood—from Garrett’s wound, and as she did, Marcom saw something he hadn’t been able to in the dark.
Tattooed across Garrett’s blue-green scales, just below his left shoulder and above the gaping stab wound, was the image of a dragon, its wings spread in flight.
Time seemed to slow for Marcom as he stared at the mark with which every Broodsman was branded. He was here amidst these trees, but in his mind, he was also atop the crumbling watchtower on Old Coast Road. He was standing on the enormous image of a dragon burned into the stones, and in his hands, he was clutching a scrap of parchment.
…the recent attacks on Seven Skies have not been orchestrated by the Brood…it had said.
…these are the work of the very woman to whom you have sworn allegiance…it had said.
Could it be?
He didn’t want to believe it—couldn’t believe it—but neither could he believe that this man, beside whom he had worked so tirelessly saving lives, could have orchestrated the very disaster they found themselves fighting. It didn’t make sense…none of it did.
“We should get him to the house,” the healer said. “Can you carry him?”
Marcom snapped out of his reverie. He looked from the healer to the Karikis, still wheezing wetly on the ground beside them. He thought about how Garrett and Michael had not questioned his orders when they might have; he thought of how Michael had shoved him out of the way of the falling debris.
“We can,” he said, and he and Michael got Garrett upright. With the big man’s arms slung over their shoulders, they carried him toward the house.
***
Everything moves so slowly as pain rips through him like nothing he has ever felt before. His fingers open of their own accord, and he drops the bundle of cloth he is holding—a coat, he thinks—and reaches for his chest…for the pain.
Celine isn’t here this time, he thinks disjointedly, just like she wasn’t there for Mona…
He sees the man with the rag tied around his head crouching over him. He tries to sit up, but the pain is all encompassing, filling his world. The man pushes him gently but firmly back down again. He has been working with that man all night, saving all the lives that they could, and Garrett realizes for the first time that he doesn’t even know his name. It seems dreadfully important that he find out, but he can’t make the words come; it is all he can do to keep breathing.
A wave of dizziness passes over him then, and he closes his eyes…
It seems as if only a moment has passed, but it must have been longer, because when he opens his eyes again, someone else is leaning over him, pressing something to his wound. The pressure feels good against his flesh; it diminishes the feeling that he is about to crack in two and everything inside will spill out.
He blinks, and his gaze focuses on the face hanging over him like a pale moon in the dark.
“Mona,” he whispers, and though he does not feel his lips move, he hears her name as if he has spoken it aloud.
Mona smiles sadly down at him, her face partially obscured by a curtain of her blonde hair…such beautiful hair.
“How are you here?” he asks. “The old man said…he said…”
Mona presses a finger to his lips, and he falls silent, even if the words seem to only be coming from his mind.
“Shh,” Mona says gently. “The old man was telling the truth.” He sees something gleaming in her eyes, and while it is too dark to know for certain if they are tears, he can feel tears gathering in his own eyes.
“No,” he whispers, as if that one word can make it not true.
“It’s Samhain,” Mona says, “the night when the veil is thinnest…the night when the dead walk as close to the living as they ever will again.”
“That’s why I can see you,” Garrett says, warm relief flooding through him suddenly. “I’m dying.”
For the first time, Mona’s gentle expression changes. Her eyes flash with anger, and she shakes the hair out of her face to stare down at him hard. There is a lot of her brother in that look—in the crease between her brows and the stubborn set of her jaw. “You can’t die, Garrett. Don’t even think it.”
“I want to be with you.”
“Miraculum has already lost his mother,” she tells him. “He still needs you.”
Hearing their son’s name cuts Garrett as deeply as the dagger that has caused so much of his life’s blood to run out onto the ground beside him.
“I don’t know where he is…”
“Listen to me,” Mona says. “Karikis warriors took him. They said he was ‘the one’. They’d been sent for him, and now they have him.”
Garrett blinks at her, trying to understand her words, but they make no sense. Why would any Karikis want any half-human child—let alone a child of Garrett’s? His family had left the tribe behind years and years ago.
“You have to find him,” Mona insists.
“It shouldn’t just be me,” Garrett says, almost pleading, though he does not know what it is he wants from her. “It should be us both.”
Mona only looks into his eyes for a long, long moment. All the severity has drained out of her expression, and she only looks sad—sad, and very beautiful.
“It’s too late for me, Garrett,” she whispers, and now he knows those are tears in her eyes, because they are running down her cheeks. He wants to wipe them away, but he can’t lift his arms; they are too heavy, and he is too weak.
He hears other voices then, and a bright light is coming toward them in the dark, but they sound muffled and far away, like voices heard underwater.
“I love you,” Mona says, and before he can respond she is bending down to kiss him.
This is not a dream; he can smell her scent, taste her tears as the familiar touch of her lips brush against his face.
“Don’t go…”
But she is gone, and Garrett is left only with the pain.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The sky was just beginning to lighten, though it would be quite some time before the first rays of sunlight spilled like liquid gold over the rim of the crater high above. Near its bottom, the silence was nearly total amidst the ice and drifts of snow. Shiny black volcanic rock jutted up through the blanket of white like monstrous rotting teeth, and the walls, mostly free of frost, were lost in shadow. Now and then, the stillness was broken by the creak of a net or the gusts of wind overhead. The cold, too, had teeth, and its bite was brutal.
/>
Emily sat beside Corbbmacc and stared at the dim world beyond the netting of their prison. The only Reaver she could see was a tiny silhouette against the gray sky, standing atop the crater’s rim across from them. From this distance, it was impossible to tell if it was watching the prisoners or looking down and out over the mountainside. She supposed it didn’t really matter either way. The patrols of Reavers surveying their captives would start again soon, now that morning had come. Now, before they started again, was as good a chance as she was going to get to explain to Corbbmacc what she was planning to do. She needed him on her side if her plan—such as it was—was going to work.
“Corbb,” she whispered, and when he turned his head to look at her, she lifted the hem of her tunic for him to see. His eyes widened when he saw the dagger lying against the pale flesh of her stomach. He started to speak, but she pressed a finger to her lips, and he nodded.
“How did you smuggle that in?” he asked, looking nervously toward the lone Reaver standing sentry at the crater’s rim.
“I didn’t,” she said, letting her tunic fall back into place over the weapon. “I got it last night.”
Corbbmacc’s brows rose. “How?”
Emily hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. It was going to sound crazy, and she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. Had it really been Rascal last night? She studied Corbbmacc as he sat there waiting patiently for her to explain. What the hell…
“Rascal brought it to me.”
“Rascal?” Somehow it sounded even more crazy when he said it like that.
Emily shrugged. “I know,” she said. “When I woke up, I thought it had to be a dream…or hypothermia…or something. But it’s here, so…” She shrugged again.
“Kitspers aren’t that smart,” Corbbmacc muttered, his eyes dropping to the outline of the dagger just visible beneath her chain mail as if it would give him some answers. “I mean, they’re not dumb, but think about it. How many connections would he have had to make? Knowing we were in trouble? Knowing that the dagger was a weapon that might help us? Knowing to give it to someone other than Celine…”
“Does it matter?” Emily asked. “It’s here. We can use it.”
“I suppose.” He looked at her hard for a moment. “But what good is a single dagger going to be against all those Reavers? I’m glad we have something—it’s more than we had last night—but it isn’t going to change anything, really.”
Emily had done a lot of thinking when she’d wakened in the hour before dawn, lying beside Corbbmacc in the dark. Her plan was vague—hardly more than a dim shape in her mind—but that was for the best. She’d be more adaptable, more able to improvise that way. That was another one of those things hockey had taught her. Most teams had a system they played, but it was just that: a system—a set of rules and contingencies that molded and morphed into something new with every game. There was no way to predict what your opponents would do, and so focusing on general tactics was more useful than stage directions.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she said carefully. “I have a plan. If I can cut us out of this net, you’re going to take Celine and make a run for it. Maddy and I will create as much chaos as we can, try to find Daniel, and catch up with you.”
Corbbmacc was already frowning before she’d even finished her sentence.
“No, listen,” she said quickly as he started to protest. She realized she’d spoken too loudly, and lowered her voice again to little more than a whisper. “I think I’ve worked out how to do it. But you’re just going to have to trust me.” That was half true; she did have an idea, but she wasn’t at all sure how viable it was. She was sure, though, that Corbb would not like it.
“But what exactly is it?” Corbb insisted, unable to mask his frustration. He shifted his weight a little to look at her, making the net sway and scrape against the rough rock wall behind them. Maddy stirred for a moment, turning restlessly in her sleep before settling back down again without opening her eyes.
“I’m going to get us out of this fucking thing,” Emily said, tugging at the thick cords of the net. “You just worry about your part and get Celine out of here.”
“Yeah, I got that much,” Corbb hissed, scowling, and Emily pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him. Corbbmacc lowered his voice, but kept talking. The movement of his lips against her finger made heat unexpectedly rise to her face, and she dropped her hand back into her lap. “How do you expect to find Daniel? There must be dozens of nets out there, most of them too high to reach. Wouldn’t it make more sense to let me go with you?” He shot a look in the direction of Maddy’s sleeping form.
“I trust you more to keep Celine safe. Maddy came all this way for Daniel, too. She’d never even seen Celine until a few days ago.”
Corbb continued to scowl. “And what about Daniel? What are the chances of finding him, really? You don’t even know if he’s out there. It sounds like you’re just charging into enemy territory without really knowing what you’re getting yourself into.”
“What, like you?” Emily snapped and instantly regretted it. Corbbmacc flushed and looked away, but he didn’t contest the rebuke. Somehow that made her feel worse.
“I’m sorry,” she said more gently.
“It’s okay,” Corbb said, and he inhaled a long, slow breath. “It’s true.”
They sat in silence for a moment, watching as a group of Reavers appeared from behind the rim and gathered around the lone watchman, apparently conferring with him. The day’s first shift was about to begin; soon the guards would begin their slow circles at the bottom of the crater.
“You did manage to end up with a weapon in here, one way or another,” Corbb mused. “That’s more than the rest of us did. If you think you can find Daniel, I trust you.”
Emily bit her lip again, her irritation supplanted by guilt. In truth, she had very little hope of actually finding Daniel. Her primary objective would be to create enough of a distraction to allow the others to escape. If they were lucky enough to find Daniel, Maddy would have to take him with her. Emily would give them cover and, if possible, follow after them. Her priority was making sure the others got out, hopefully with Daniel. Her own escape was secondary.
That was, of course, not something she could tell Corbb. He would try to stop her if he knew what she was thinking, and she couldn’t allow that. She was, after all, the only one of them who could do what needed to be done. Their backs were to the wall, and it was time to pull the goaltender.
“It’s too dangerous to discuss this out loud,” Emily hedged, gesturing toward the Reavers who were separating and starting down various paths to the crater’s floor. “Just trust me, okay?”
Corbb’s expression softened, and he reached out and squeezed her hand.
“I do,” he said after a moment. He started to say something more, but Emily leaned forward and kissed him, silencing his words and surprising them both. His hands slid up her arms and settled on her shoulders, and for a few seconds, Emily let the world around her fade away. She wanted to remember every scrap of this moment—the weight of his hands, the scratch of his stubble, the look in his eyes.
At last, they broke apart and just looked at one another. The warmth in her face had gone, replaced by a pleasant heat that seemed to be filling her up inside.
“I just want you to be safe,” Corbb said finally, his voice catching on the last word, but he didn’t look away.
“None of us are safe.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that. For a while, they simply sat, watching the dawn’s slow arrival. In time, snow began to fall.
Maddy stirred; her eyes fluttered open, and her hands moved instinctively to her belt for her absent daggers. Dismay flitted across her features for the briefest of moments, and then she let her hands fall back to her sides. Her gaze fell on Emily and Corbb, and she forced herself to sit up.
“What’s happening?” she asked gruffly, trying to rub some feeling into her arms and refusing to meet their
eyes.
“We’re getting out of here,” Emily told her. “Be ready.”
Another thing Emily had learned from hockey was to pay attention to your opponent’s habits, work out the patterns, and exploit them if possible. And so her mind had latched onto what she’d seen of the Reavers the day before. They seemed to patrol their charges in shifts that lasted a couple of hours. When one shift ended and the next began, there were a few minutes when there didn’t seem to be anyone keeping direct watch over the prisoners. The Reavers were, apparently, confident in the strength of their nets and the weakened state of their captives. It wasn’t long, not nearly long enough to reach the rim of the crater and slip away, but it might be long enough to start a distraction and provide cover for Corbb and Celine.
As the morning dragged on, Emily watched the Reavers come and go, trying to be sure she was right about the pattern. It seemed she was. The opening they’d have between shifts was five minutes at best—maybe less. They would have to make the most of it.
There was one thing she noticed, though, that concerned her. Something more seemed to be going on out of sight beyond the crater. She saw clusters of Reavers gathering and conferring from time to time at its edge, pointing and gesturing toward something she couldn’t see. Preparations for something, she thought—but what, she couldn’t imagine. In the end, it didn’t matter. She and the others were starving and slowly freezing to death. If they didn’t act soon, they’d either run out of strength to try, or else die here. They were simply out of options—and out of time.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Maddy muttered, watching the Reaver guards moving away from them. “But I guess if you don’t, it’s only dying a few hours sooner, right?”
“Yeh’re a ray o’ sunshine, ain’tcha?” Celine said, glowering at the older girl, but there was no real rancor in her words. She’d faired worse than the rest of them, and while her spirits seemed strong enough, all things considered, Emily knew she was weak. “I trust Em. Yeh would too, if yeh’d been through what we have.” Celine looked down at the ground through the netting beneath her. “I don’t even care that we’re hangin’ up in the air…much.”
Haven Divided Page 42