The Bargaining Path

by T. Rudacille

  Copyright 2014 T. Rudacille

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  Cover image courtesy of Evgeni Dinev/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

  Cover Design by Alex Piluk.

  The Bargaining Path

  Eternity Series: Book Two

  In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to

  myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.

  ~Dante Alighieri

  BEGIN: YEAR 2

  Part I: Where the Straight Way was Lost

  Brynna

  Adam's sweat-drenched, heavily breathing body was pressed hard against mine. I grimaced only slightly when the pain of his full weight began to register in my mind.

  “Did I hurt you?” He asked me softly, gently, as though he actually cared.

  I knew that it was not exactly the time to snip at him, as we were engaged with one another in a completely symbiotic way, though my reasoning for that arrangement with him did not have anything to do with prolonging my life, as was the case for him. No, my reasons for that close physical proximity to him and that pseudo-intimacy were part of a masterful plan that was slowly beginning to gain the power of persuasion in my mind; slowly, I was becoming convinced that our bodies pressed together, and his life resting squarely in my open hands were the powerful tools I had so longed to have at my disposal. They would aid me in my quest to rid myself of the debts I owed him.

  “Only a little.” I responded to his question.

  “If you want to say something snide, by all means, go ahead. You know how that tendency of yours amuses me.”

  “Stop talking, Adam. Just walk.”

  I adjusted his arm that was around my shoulder and tightened my grip around his middle. We both moaned softly as the sharp, abrupt movement sent shock-waves of pain radiating throughout both of our bodies. I wanted so desperately to stop and rest, but I knew two things for sure in regards to that scenario: One, if I put him down, my body that was so weakened by the strain of carrying him would never be able to get him back onto his feet, and two, if I allowed him to close his eyes for even a moment, his spirit would leave him, and we, those who had aligned with him, would be left to fight our war blindly.

  He was the most invaluable resource we needed if we wished to defeat the Bachums, if I am to remain honest. They had destroyed Adam's beloved city and were now celebrating as wildly as “God's” vast restrictions would allow. I pictured them all sitting around their church, their knees pressed hard into the old wooden floor, their voices producing monotonous, unanimous hums, their arms raised high to the sky; they believed that those sounds and gestures appeased their violent God and showed their thanks for the victory they had won. In regards to the sounds, they believed that they were speaking in tongues. I suppressed a chuckle, and Adam looked down at me quizzically.

  “Please share with me whatever is entertaining you. I could use a laugh.”

  “If you laugh, you will surely collapse to the ground, never to be brought to your feet again. So, no, I will not share this with you.”

  “If it could provoke a smile from you, it must be very humorous.”

  “That is vaguely insulting, Adam.”

  “Is it? I am very sorry to have offended you.”

  “Because I cannot recognize your sarcasm at all…”

  “Could you recognize it? You know me so well already.”

  “It is not a matter of knowing you well. It is a matter of simple recognition of changes in voice inflection. Do not flatter yourself and assume that I have taken time to get to know your ways. I have studied the patterns of your behavior in order to better understand you, certainly. But that was not done on behalf of interest...” I adjusted his weight roughly again, and his knees buckled slightly. “It was done on behalf of my survival instinct. You are very dangerous, as I am sure you know very well and take pride in always.”

  We passed a large mango tree, and in a blink, I found that my back was lightly pressed against its trunk and its long branches that carried its full, thick leaves were behind Adam, who was standing in front of me. The injury he had sustained had weakened his body so substantially that he was unable to stand on his own. As a result, his entire body was now leaned against mine, keeping me pressed hard to the tree.

  “What are you doing?” I barked at him furiously, and when I went to push him away, he grasped my hands in one of his.

  “I would never hurt you, Brynna. You have just said that you know I am dangerous, but I am most certainly not a danger to you. I could never do anything that would cause you the slightest bit of pain, physical or otherwise. It brings me no joy to hear you say discreetly that you fear me. It saddens me, actually, and I would appreciate it if you would allow me to prove to you that I mean you and those for whom you care so deeply absolutely no harm.”

  The exhaustion was taking its toll on me, and a retort to his request that would sting him could not be summoned easily within my mind. Instead, I looked up into his intense, unbelievably colored eyes and nodded.

  After that, we spent far too much time awkwardly trying to maneuver ourselves back into the positions we had been in while we were walking before. Every time I turned him so he was beside me once again, his legs bowed before I could get his arm around my neck. When he tried to turn himself, he collapsed into me and nearly knocked us both to the ground. If I had not been able to grab onto one of the hanging branches from the mango tree, we both would have fallen.

  “Can you feel any of them around?” I asked him, as my fingers stayed tightly locked around the branch. His arms were locked around my middle, and his legs were shaking in a desire to fall out from beneath him.

  “No. Can you?”

  “If you cannot, then I most certainly cannot.” I gasped out irritably. “Alright, you are halfway there, but you have to straighten your legs so you are standing up straight, Adam. Pull yourself up.”

  “How do you recommend I do that?”

  I frowned down at him, fully aware that he knew (and delighted in) the answer to that question. When a tiny shadow of his usual smirk formed on his face, I contemplated shaking my body rapidly back and forth so his arms would release and he would crumple to the ground quite pathetically. Instead, I raised my eyebrows and exclaimed, “Are you waiting for an open invitation? I have given you a closed one!”

  A surprisingly strong laugh took hold of him.

  “If you insist, my dear.”

  “You are so annoying.”

  His arms still possessed most of their usual strength, and after he ran his hands up my back to grasp a hold of my shoulders, he pulled upwards so his face finally had to rest exactly where he wanted it: right on my chest, to put it lightly. To put it heavily, his nose was smack between my breasts.

  “Let's go, you despicable scoundrel. I know that it is a thrilling spot for men, but I can smell your skin and blood rotting with infection, and we need to go find one of our doctors.”

  “As you wish, though I doubt that you sincerely wish it...”

  “God or Gods, you are infuriating!” I sighed as he pulled himself back up onto his feet. After a few unsure seconds, he wrapped his arm around my neck, and I released the branch that I was holding with one hand. Surprisingly, I was still able to support him, so I let go with the other hand.

  And that was all it took for both of us to collapse onto the ground.

  “Please tell me you and Don had an emergency plan that involved sending out some semblance of search-and-rescue
for those who were missing.”

  Adam, now lying on his back with both hands grasping the wound in his stomach, shook his head grimly.

  “Oh, quite the contrary, my dear.” He said, “We decided it would be in the group's best interest to just assume that whomever did not appear by sundown was dead and therefore should be left behind. I did not assume that you would be in that category. I assumed that your mate...” His tone soured just upon his indirect mention of James, “…would have seen to your escape. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “You knew he would not come after me. We are not together anymore, which you also know quite well. If he had been willing to...” I stopped, and heaved my body upwards so I was sitting. “I will not discuss this with you. If you want me to save your life, Adam, then I will not discuss this now.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, to tell me, no doubt, his reasoning behind why he had purposely led James to betray me so terribly, but instead, after viewing my face, he just nodded. During that moment of heavy silence between us, I allowed myself just one glimpse into his mind.

  There was such terrible sadness. It was not provoked by the physical pain he was experiencing but by the emotional pain he had caused in me. Our present conversation and the whole debacle with James had saddened me, and he regretted both instances now. He wanted to apologize, but I had asked to end the conversation. In fact, he knew that I would not accept his apology, and in regards to that, I wondered if he was right. If he were to sincerely apologize right in that moment, would I forgive him wholeheartedly?

  Maura's face appeared in my mind in black and white, like a “Missing” poster stuck right at my eye-level. My throat clenched, and I jumped onto my feet, feeling the need to pace back and forth suddenly. My blood was suddenly red-hot and coursing through me far more quickly than normal; my head was spinning as the blood pumped there left it overdosing on oxygen. I felt faint, like at any moment, I would collapse, if I did not break something, or hit him, or scream out, or break down into tears... Something was terribly wrong; my heart was pounding outwards forcefully and the bones in my chest were bursting apart in a display of splinters and sawdust...

  Only when his arms locked around my middle and pulled me down to him did I finally calm. Only when I had closed my eyes and burrowed against his chest did she disappear from my mind. Only when he began to whisper that he was sorry and that everything was going to be alright did I stop hearing her whimpers, moans, cries, and screams of pain. I was sitting in his lap, being cradled in his trembling arms. His rough, blood-covered hand was stroking the soft skin of my face, leaving pale red lines on my cheek. Once or twice, I whimpered, which disgusted me. Because I did not want Adam to look into my face while it was contorted in a cry of emotional strife, I flung myself up and buried it in his neck.

  His shirt was saturated with sweat, and through the thin fabric, I could feel that his skin was even warmer than it had been while I was carrying him. His blood had long since stopped running from the wound because together, we had stopped the bleeding by applying pressure as we walked. Still, I knew that his condition had taken a dire turn, and that soon, he would be completely immobile. For a reason I could not pin down in certainty, my soft moans of upset intensified at the thought of leaving him behind. I certainly did not care substantially for Adam; how could I want to help him at the risk of compromising my own safety? Yet I was helping him while also silently dreading what I felt was the inevitable arrival of the moment when I would have no choice but to abandon him.

  “Your heart is racing.” He whispered to me, “I can feel it beating against my own.”

  I shook my head slightly, not knowing what else to do and completely unable to summon any words, sarcastic or otherwise, to say. My mind was clouded over with the strangest, most contentiously resilient grief I had ever experienced. It was so strong, and it was directed towards so many different people and events, and yet I could not cry. After sobbing throughout Maura's last moments, my tear ducts had resealed themselves, and my earlier hardness was setting back in. I said that Maura took my resentment and fear with her, and she had. I forgave her for what she had done. Mostly. I did not fear Michael's face seizing authoritative control over my mind anymore, mostly, because she had taken it away, mostly; I scarcely remembered what he looked like anymore. In saying all of that, I must also confess that I stretched the truth just a tad, though I feel that in the sentences above I have already admitted that to you, however vaguely. The truth of the matter is that I mostly let go of my ill feelings towards Maura and my fear of Michael. I could not outwardly admit that I was fearing anything in particular, but I could certainly confess my lingering rage towards my mother, father, Adam, and James.

  And yet there I was, cuddled up in Adam's arms as he struggled not only for his life, but to calm my internal fray. I wanted so badly to hate him for what he had asked James to do, but in that moment, there in the forest, while I was so safely nestled against him and being calmed by his softly spoken reassurances, I could not.

  As much as said reassurances soothed me, I did not need him. If I were in that situation alone, I would have survived.

  When my belief that emotional weight must be carried alone snidely reminded me of its presence, I pulled away from him, jumped onto my feet, and paced back and forth. I had needed another man, one whose name had not crossed our lips that night, but who had been alluded to once already out loud, and thought about by both of us multiple times. That man had lied to me, and offered me up as payment for a service rendered by Adam. I was simply a thing, a means of trade, a commodity, in a business transaction that had been upheld on only one end. I was meant to rectify the other end. From there, another transaction would transpose: that man who was going to trade me would be able to keep his life in exchange for mine.

  “Let's go.” I snapped at Adam, “I am going to help you stand up, and then we need to go.”

  When he did not respond immediately, I looked at him, scowling in impatience. My eyes jerked away when they saw a desire in his to question me on my sudden change of mood. It was almost a guarantee that Adam was fully aware of why I had pulled away so abruptly, so why he wanted to hear that reasoning in my own words, I did not know. Instead of asking him, I merely grasped his arms and helped him onto his feet. When he stumbled into me, and we almost went to the ground again, I grunted in somewhat obnoxious frustration and dug my heels into the earth; after sliding backwards for just a moment, I found my balance and was able to hold us both up. Once my strength had registered in my chest and arms again, I walked my feet forward so I was standing upright, and he was leaned against me.

  Perhaps it was the allure of his beautiful eyes that made me look up into his face again. Perhaps it was a need to see if that silent question had dissipated from his consciousness. But when my eyes rose to meet his, I gave him a chance to initiate yet another heavy emotional moment between us.

  “I am very sorry.” He whispered to me, and my heart gave a great lurch forward as I recognized that genuine remorse in his voice. “I am so very sorry, Brynna.”

  As there were so many things for which I deserved an apology from him, I did not know how to respond. If he was making amends for the fact that I was being forced to carry him along or for sweating on me as I did so, then he was most certainly forgiven; I might not have been the kindest person, but I am most certainly not monstrous. As such, I would not leave a man with whom I had exchanged words or even a glance behind to die. If his genuine sorrow was for what he had asked James to do, then he most certainly did not, and would not, have my forgiveness. It was all too emotionally straining to contemplate in that moment, when I was tasked by God or the Gods with saving his life, so I simply nodded once again and started us on our walk towards whatever safe haven had been arranged for us.

  “Are you sure that you know where we are going, Adam?” I asked him, just to eradicate that tense, emotionally-laden silence between us.

  “I have scoured every inch of these woods since I
was a boy. As you know, that was many, many years ago. Centuries, actually.”

  “Can I ask you something somewhat unimportant?”

  “You are carrying me despite what has occurred between us. You may have anything you want from me.”

  “Was that a double-entendre?”

  I could hear a smile in his voice when he answered me, but I refused to look up and validate its presence; to validate its presence would acknowledge his snide, inappropriate amusement.

  “No… But I find it most interesting that you thought it was.”

  “You are despicable.”

  Despite the fact that he was not looking at me, I still suppressed a small smile with all of the willpower I possessed.

  “I am, if you say I am. Now, what were you going to ask me?”

  “If you were a boy thousands of years ago, then that would make you several-thousand years old, correct?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “So why do you look like you are only in your fifties? Why did your aging stop there?”

  “What you are asking has a humorous undertone. Essentially, you are asking me why I am not hunched over with my skin shriveled up so severely that I am barely distinguishable as a human-like creature.”

  “Why is that humorous?” I asked him.

  “Because I would never allow myself to appear so terribly unattractive to anyone, but especially to you.”

  “I am going to ignore the latter half of that, and chide you on your arrogance. Not only is your ego overinflated in regards to your power, but also in regards to your appearance. That is very unbecoming.”

  “Says the woman who spent a year dating a man who prances around like a prized show-horse to display his good looks. Also, says the woman who wears not only arrogance but disdainful arrogance on her sleeve at all times.”

  “Excuse you, but I have gotten that tendency under control quite remarkably here of late. Secondly, arrogance is generally always disdainful, and third, that gentlemen did not prance. He just...”

  “Are you defending him now?”

  “No!”

  After that, I shut up.

  “Your voice is distracting me from the pain I am experiencing.” He said, “Please keep talking. You are entertaining me, as always.”

  “You keep talking. Why don't you answer the question that I posed to you earlier?”

  “About why I appear so young when I am so very old? Don told you; not only are we immortal but we are also ageless. You will never look a day older than how you look now. Though many men would find your beauty astounding at any age, we all know that we will never tire of looking at your youthful face.”

  I sighed heavily as I attempted to suppress a laugh. I was not flattered by all he had said; his compliments did not affect me that way at all. I was chuckling at how very full of himself he was, and how he wielded his charisma and silver-tongue to manipulate people, but mostly women, to his will. I wondered briefly how many women had fallen under his spell over his many years of existence. I was sure that he had women not only for every day of the week, but for every hour in the day. I thought briefly of Don, who certainly was no “pretty thing,” as Maura would say. His power was all he needed to make women bend to his will. Adam had both good looks and power; in fact, his power far exceeded Don's.

  I thought about myself, and how I was certainly attractive, however unconventionally. James informed me often that the men on security detail with whom he palled around found me to be aesthetically pleasing. In high school, I had had many suitors. But I never pictured myself as being beautiful, as both James and Adam purported. I believed that James was just trying to keep my affections, and Adam was trying to gain them. In regards to the latter and myself, the term “notch in the belt” came to my mind. Obviously, I am not referring to a belt worn by myself.

  “You do not think that you want me to hear those things, but you do.”

  “Adam!” I exclaimed, and I almost pulled away from him, only to remember just in time that without me, he would fall.

  “You believe that I am just saying these things to lead you to my bed...” He stopped, “To a bed, I should say. My bed is gone.”

  I found that to be far more humorous than it actually was, given the fact that the destruction of his city was no laughing matter. Still, I did not even smile, as I did not want him to think that his charms were having any effect on me, but inside, I was chuckling, despite how untimely and untoward his joke was.

  “To throw out another pronoun, I will say this: I will not be falling into any bed if you, James, or any other man is in it.”

  “I could make a very obvious assumption about what you mean right now that would be all in jest, of course. But I will not, as I can sense that my callous humor, which has only been brought about by my desire to lighten the mood between us, is beginning to wear thin on you.”

  “That is the most astute observation you have made all night. Perhaps we should play the Quiet Game.”

  “What is that?”

  “It is where we measure the amount of time that we can spend in silence. Whoever is quietest the longest, wins. Go.”

  In that silence, I was going to stare straight ahead until my eyes began to burn with the effort it took to hold so steadfastly in one direction without blinking. As the pain seared from my eyes throughout my face, I would not be focusing on my inability to breathe or the pain in my shoulders that had reached an excruciating new level. I would focus on the painful images in my head—images of Maura's body, James beseeching me to understand the blatant lies with which he wished to fill my ears, and my mother standing all alone, listening as the rushing roar of the wave of flames came rushing towards her relentlessly, with the same lack of forgiveness that I felt in my heart towards her. Was it all just a metaphor? Was the whole thing in my head? Was this man's heavy weight really draped over my shoulders like a coat of agonizingly heavy metal? I would surely be crushed by him; I would lie on the ground, sweat and tears pouring from me as I waited to freeze or starve to death. He would die before me, and I would be alone, succumbing to the gnawing pains of hunger, the pinpoint stinging of slowly becoming just a rigid block of ice, and then, the gradual numbness of heavy, unmoving limbs. My head would somehow turn sideways in the last moments of my life so I could see him, and by then, his beautifully masculine features that I hated so much would be beginning to rot away, leaving nothing but the disgusting resemblance to a monster, a Shadow lying dead in the woods beside me...

  The forgiveness I thought could not be given to my mother was not an aspect of this mental tirade about which I was absolutely certain. Everything else could not be anything but inevitable. The fire that I sensed growing closer to her had long since passed; she was looking down on me from above or looking up at me from below, I could not decide. I prayed that the fire that had claimed her had not blasted her into the fire below. Giving her the benefit of the doubt was difficult, but I had to try, for she was my mother who I had so cruelly left behind. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as the old expression goes. After what had occurred between my father and me, after seeing the effects of his cruelty in every bruise and cut on Maura's swollen face, I knew that I had made a mistake in not saving my mother. But then, I had thought that I was leaving them both, but then, I had known that that was not right... I should have tried to convince James to allow them to come, but then, I would have more than likely been left behind by him. If I had showed devotion to them that ran too deeply for his liking, I would be as dead as my mother, but then, shouldn't I have been with her, despite what had happened between us? Violet had been spot-on when she had said that I had left her just to please James. But then, she was not right...

  “Brynna...” Adam's voice was so soft, and lacking all of his general arrogance. “Brynna, wake up.”

  The seam between consciousness and unconsciousness had never been traversed so effortlessly. The silence that had transpired between Adam and me had only existed in my head. When I opened my eyes, he was
lying beside me, and I was very cold, but death had not marred his ruggedly handsome features. We were both still alive, but whether we would be for much longer, I did not know. Our futures were very vague in my mind because I was just too exhausted to see clearly.

  “There you are.” He whispered softly as he placed his hand on my face again. “You gave me a fright. Are you alright, my darling?”

  I was nodding, struggling to keep my eyes open as the ground beneath my body gyrated in dangerous locomotion. The movement ceased after a few unsure moments, and I was suddenly very grateful for the amplified stillness of the forest. Then, I remembered. Then, I realized.

  Stillness meant that there was a presence amongst us. If they had not immediately run out to meet us, then they were not ours. If the feeling of dread in my chest was any indication, then the people lurking close by (and I could hear their heavy footsteps snapping branches now) were our enemies.

  The Bachums had finally conquered their fears of us, and of the forest. They were coming our way quickly.

  “Do you feel them?” I whispered, and those were the last words that I spoke to him. The adrenaline seized me, and I gasped out loud as the urge to pull him up and run became too great. His feet stumbled every once in a while, but I held him up, whispering to him quietly and desperately to keep up the pace, to stay on his feet, to just hold on to his consciousness for a little bit longer... He obliged all of my requests. Behind me, I could hear them jeering loudly at us, saying they were getting closer, we could run, but we would not escape. It was all useless intimidation, but it was not entirely unsuccessful.

  “Is that Brynna Olivier, Adam?!” One of them yelled, and I was interested to see what would follow that question, what statements regarding me they would spout off next, all of which would certainly detail the exact nature of what they knew about me. A gunshot rang out and drowned out whatever the man firing the gun had said. Adam forced me down and yet our legs kept moving; when my head jerked up, I saw the bullet had sent sprays of bark flying from the trunk of a tree just in front of us.

  “How many guns?!” I shouted at him, though I already knew the answer. Just one of them had been able to retain his gun. The others had lost theirs or never had them to begin with.

  “One!” He said back to me as another bullet whizzed right beside us. The next was closest to me, and if Adam had not pulled us both sideways abruptly, the back of my head would have been the unlucky recipient of the bullet; instead, only my left ear was grazed. The amount of blood that ran was minimal, but still enough to encourage me to abandon the defensive and opt for some offensive, to use a sports metaphor that I understand only by the definition of the two words being used, not by the connotations of them.

  In one swift, clean movement, I grabbed the knife from the holster in Adam's belt, moved my other arm down to grasp his hand, and then threw him down onto the ground. If I had not been holding onto his hand, he would have hit the ground hard; instead, I laid him down gently by outstretching my arm until he was lying on his side. At the same time I was placing him delicately on the ground, I was throwing the knife forward with all of the force my new adrenaline rush could bring forth. The sight of the blade plunging into the neck of the man firing the gun was gratifying. Rushing forward in a blur that sent his six comrades stumbling backwards over themselves in an attempt to get away from me was downright riotous.

  Now, I could have easily killed every last one of them. In the last moments of their lives, I could have allowed them to believe that I was everything they had been told; I was a monster, a cannibal, an evil, lecherous shrew who loved all sinful indulgences, including the euphoric intoxication that followed what I believed was the rightful taking of another being's life. Instead, I watched some crawl on the ground away from me, and some walk backwards slowly, holding their hands out in surrender. As my eyes stayed fixed on them as they retreated, my legs bent down, and my hand scooped up the gun without my mind being fully aware of the action. Feeling the weight of the pistol in my hand encouraged me to raise it up, to scare them further. Instead, I kept my slightly twitching hand by my side, and just smirked at them as they tried to convince me, quietly yet desperately, not to shoot them.

  “I'm sorry for what he said, ma'am. You're not that. We all know you're not that, okay? Just don't do anything crazy.”

  “We're just going to go. We won't tell anyone that we saw you. We won't hurt him. We won't hurt you.”

  I turned my head on the side, furrowed my brows, and studied them closely. I did not appreciate their attempts at pacifying me; I felt like a teeth-barring, ominously-growling dog that was being coaxed to lie down and relax. The irritation welled into anger, and anger welled into rage. I raised the gun, held it with one hand, and turned my head on the side so I was looking at them from a strange, almost unnatural angle. Picturing the moment that I pulled the trigger was enough to provoke a shadow of that drunkenness I expected would follow killing them, but the image of my fangs sinking down into the pulsing veins of their necks, wrists, and thighs and watching their blood stream out to feed the Pangaean soil was enough to make me salivate. I tucked the gun into the back of my jeans (only after turning on the safety, of course), and smiled.

  “I suggest you all run.”

  “I suggest you all don't.”

  The voice came from behind me, and I sensed three men standing there. The gun was taken immediately from the back of my pants, and both Adam and I looked simultaneously. One I recognized from the descriptions given by three of our people who had originally been in the Bachum camp. His name was Paul, and he was Tyre's true right-hand man; Rich only believed that he held that title. The second man was my father, and the third was Rich Bachum.

  “Rich...” I said, “I only just saw you. You hate me so profoundly, and yet here we are again, face-to-face.”

  “I have had enough of you.” He hissed at me, and he raised his rifle so I was staring down the business-end, as many call it.

  Adam hoisted himself up without my help because I did not offer it. I knew him well enough to know that if ever there were a time to hide the true state of his condition, it was then; he could not show weakness, not to them. He also could not make known more than he already had his slight attachment to me. When he had bellowed his threat at Tyre in the city, he had informed his enemy and his enemy's allies that I was of importance to him. If he shielded me with his body, he would demonstrate the strength of that importance; he would show that he was willing to sacrifice his life for mine, and that would put me in more danger than it would dispel.

  “Adam. This has to be Adam.” My father said.

  “Come now, Daniel, surely you know that.” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “You shut your mouth.” He snapped, and I watched the fingers on his right hand twitch for several seconds. I knew that was a sign of his struggle not to raise his hand. I had come a long way since he had begun his physical abuse of me; I did not even flinch when I saw that he was once again slowly building up to the level of fury needed to behave violently towards me.

  “The men are talking now, my dear. So you are not.” Paul told me in a voice that almost sounded like a gentle chide, as though he was already exasperated, but in a way that was not altogether frustrating; he sounded almost as though he found my disobedience of their social rules to be adorably precocious.

  “Is that how things are run in your camp? Luckily, we are not there.” I continued, quite foolishly, simply because my pride was far stronger than my fear of pain or punishment, though those two things are quite often the same. “We are in the forest, which is unaffiliated domain, as I have been told, which means that neither your laws nor his...”

  “Gentlemen...” Paul said, and one of the men on whom I had held the gun wrapped his meaty arms around me from behind and squeezed.

  “Ah, the party starts...” I said sarcastically, but a tremble rattled through me when my father stepped forward. I prayed the lumbering oaf holding me did not feel that tremor
, as he would feel great pleasure knowing my fear.

  My father brought his hand back, and it was only after the slap across my face buckled my knees and left me hanging limply and pathetically in the man's arms did I acknowledge how viciously I loathed the fact that after swearing to myself that I would never be victimized by that disgusting, petty, little man again, there I was being victimized.

  Victimized. As we are on the subject of things I loathe, I will say that I loathe that word. It does nothing to remedy the feelings of helplessness that one who has suffered great trauma experiences during and after said traumatic event.

  “What was that you were saying?” Paul asked as he paced slowly in front of me. He actually cupped his hand behind his ear when he asked.

  “I suppose that Tyre has sent you all out here to search for those who survived the blasts. I am sure that he believed me to be dead, but he wanted to make absolutely sure. It has been many long years since he has been gifted with a peaceful night by the one God, one where he can confidently assume that both of his eyes may be shut tightly, and I will not strike like a cowardly throat-slitting gypsy in the night. Or so I have heard, anyway.” Adam shrugged lightly and looked up to observe the darkened sky, just to show how very unworried he was by the situation. “Surely, he was looking forward to hearing I had perished so that he might finally be able to achieve a state of inner calm that would guarantee peaceful rest.”

  “You give yourself too much credit. I don't know where you're getting your information from, but he isn't afraid of you.” Rich snarled, “In fact, I think you're afraid of him. After what we just did to your city, how could you not be afraid of the man who made it possible? Tyre is touched by God; God told him how to get the sun harness. God told him who to trust, and now, we've destroyed your city. You thought we were nothing. You thought we were just a bunch of ignorant morons…”

  “Redundant…” I murmured, but no one heard me except Paul, who smiled ever so slightly at the joke. I scowled at him.

  “You think all we do is bury our noses in our Bibles and pray when we should be doing whatever it is that you freaks do! We have heard what you said about us! Word gets out fast when you tell the wrong people, Adam.”

  “Richard.” Paul said calmly, “That is enough.”

  My body was still reeling from the slap, but I had heard what Rich had said. My mind could not wrap around it as swiftly as it wrapped around most other things, but soon I gathered that the Old Spirits had people burrowed within our camp, and I could not think of a way that would quickly and accurately detect them—the guilty ones, the traitors. My stomach dropped, and my head raised to look at Adam, but immediately, my neck released, and my head crumpled back down so my chin was rested against my chest again. My father's strength had quadrupled since those nights he had interrogated me in the ship. My legs were rigidly straight because I was forcing myself to remain upright, and despite their desperate willingness to slump closed, I forced my eyes to remain open casually, as though I were merely observing the situation from afar with keen interest, not slowly beginning to worry that Adam did not have control over it all.

  “Is that what he says? How very humorous. And how very interesting, that you have placed proverbial foxes within our proverbial hen-house.”

  “You are injured.” Paul said, and his face contorted into an overly expressive look of sympathy and regret for Adam's plight. There was no mistaking that the look was meant only in absolute, undeniable sarcasm.

  “Gentlemen...” He said in that lightly bouncing voice that conveyed his lighthearted amusement.

  Another man punched Adam in the stomach, right where the blood on his shirt was darkest. He grunted, but did not cry out, even when that man hit him again in the same spot.

  “Stop it.” I ordered firmly but not loudly. Even if Adam would not show his concern for me (and already, I was beginning to doubt that he truly felt any), I would not apathetically turn my gaze away when I knew that they were hurting him terribly.

  “If Tyre wants you to kill him, then you are well on your way to accomplishing the task for which you set out, but if not, then...”

  “See, that!” My father pointed at me. “That is why I can justify completely doing the things I have done to you, Brynna.”

  “Why? Because I tell you forcefully not to beat up on a man who is injured?”

  “No, because you do these things that are just...” He stopped, and shook his head in disgust at me. My brows furrowed in utter confusion. Literally, I had no idea to what he could be referring.

  “First it was the journalist, then it was that prick engineer, and now you're with him?!”

  “Do not suggest that I am incapable of defending myself.” Adam hissed at me through clenched teeth. “How dare you say such a thing, when you are merely human? On my deathbed, I am still stronger than you!”

  If he were merely putting on a show to continue his charade of apathy towards me, he was doing so quite convincingly. For a moment, I gaped at him, stunned by the harshness of his words and the sting they inflicted on my heart. Then, I forced myself to believe that he was merely acting, and that this act would save my life and his. Even if that were untrue, I believed in it, and joined in the great play.

  “Does that sound like a man whom I am with, as you say?” I asked my father.

  “You can defend yourself still?” Paul asked Adam, and still, his tone conveyed nothing but delight at the situation.

  My hands were being tied behind me with what felt like a piece of vine, and Adam's were, as well.

  “By all means, try, Adam.” Paul continued. “Tyre has asked me to ensure that you are brought in alive. Though, please, I do not want you to get your hopes up. Let me specify that while you will be brought in alive, you will not live for long after crossing through our gates. Our people are positively itching to watch you die, and that's why Tyre wants you brought in alive, of course; your death must be public. Your body must hang in the streets as a warning to your kind. It must be hung high like a trophy that reminds us of our greatest victory. And your death will be our greatest victory. You are pulling Don Abba's strings, correct? He is your little puppet?”

  There was a strange undertone to his words that I believed bordered on being vaguely sexual. Was he suggesting truly that Adam harbored feelings of affection and/or lust for Don? He was suggesting it, I decided immediately, but not because he truly believed in it; this was the Old Spirits’ juvenile way of belittling their enemies, by suggesting that they harbored feelings of desire for members of the same sex. Where I was from, such things were unheard of, and when they were heard very rarely, the people speaking with such prejudice were promptly put in their places. In the Old Spirit camp, apparently, that was not the case, and I do not know why I was surprised.

  “Funny of you to call him little when you yourself are quite...” I turned my head on the side so I could, pardon my pun, size him up, “…petite. I do believe that even Don is taller than you, and that is saying something. Oh, goodness, look at you; aren't you precious?”

  Yes, it was as juvenile as his means of insulting Adam. But still, I could not believe that a man that stood merely half an inch taller than me was calling Don “little.” It just seemed so very silly, and I could not help but criticize such blatant silliness, as you very well know.

  “Daniel...”

  Though I tried not to, I tensed, which made the pain of him hitting me even more intensely felt.

  “Your death is absolute, Adam.” Paul knelt down slightly so that his face was level with Adam's. He spoke to him in a tone that was almost on the verge of soothing. Adam merely grinned a violent grin, baring his fangs not threateningly just yet. “It is inevitable. There is no escaping it. Your death is absolute. Hers, on the other hand...” Paul pulled the gun he had taken from me from a holster on his hip, reached out his arm, and held the barrel under my jaw without looking away from Adam, “…is conditional. Would you like to know those conditions?”

  His
words drowned out. A different kind of speed, not the typical adrenaline that enabled me to fight so efficiently, pumped through me. This new high was deleterious, completely; in feeling its effects, I was rendered completely useless in any fight that could have broken out. My head was spinning. My vision was blurred. My breathing stopped quietly. The second the cold metal of that gun pressed against my skin, I could not fathom moving, let alone fighting. It was fear that held me still; it was fear that I had never experienced, the oldest fear of them all: it was the classic fear of death. Born from that, there was the morbid, frightening thought that with just one slight move of his finger, my life would be ended; there would be no time to dodge, no time to scream, no time for any last words. There would simply be a snapshot of the beautiful Pangaean forest at twilight frozen before my eyes and then, a sudden nothingness. I would simply cease to be.

  “She is unimportant.” Adam was saying, “She is nothing. Have you not heard what I have said? Have you not heard that she is merely human, and I do not waste my breath on speaking of a human?! My heart does not waste a beat on feeling sympathy for your abhorrent kind!”

  Out of all the words I could have heard when my mind catapulted itself back into my skull, I heard those. Ridiculously, I felt that pain in my heart again when I heard him. But why should I have meant a thing to him? Why should I have felt pain at those words? Even if the reasons were unclear to me, that feeling of despair was not. Through my fear, I recognized that what he had said had hurt me. Disgust; I recognized disgust at that hurting. Recognition of recognition; my senses were returning.

  The gun had been moved. My feet were moving one in front of the other. Walking. I was walking, so I was still alive.

  “I told you that!” I heard my father hissing at Paul, despite the fact that they were walking several feet ahead of us. Adam was beside me, casually observing the darkened sky above our heads again. I stared straight ahead, acknowledging that it was becoming too dark to see.

  “I just... You don't know how I...” My father was whispering still, and struggling to find the right words, which certainly did not surprise me. “You don't know how I hate her. I do hate her. For what she did, I hate her. But I can't be there when you do it. Even knowing that it's right, because she took my son from me, and this is just making it even, and everything you just said, she's still my child. I can't see you do it.”

  “Don't you worry, Daniel. I am not going to kill her. I am going to take her to Tyre. You know how he loves pretty things. But then, she's his pretty thing, isn't she? Adam's, I mean. So, Tyre might not want what has been touched by his greatest enemy. Do you think that he will?”

  “I don't want to think about that. I hate her; I’ve said that a million times. Mary doesn’t want me to say it, but I do. I hate her. Still, I can't think about that, and I can't be there if he decides to kill her, alright? I just can't.”

  “Duly noted. May I ask you something?”

  “I guess.”

  “You say that she fell into some sort of stupor, and that your son drowned as a result?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you loved your son?”

  My father did not respond for a few seconds, but with my enhanced hearing, I heard him swallow hard.

  “This is old news, Paul. You know that I loved my son more than anything else in the world. I said it a million times at the Confessionals. Nothing was ever the same for me after I lost him. What difference does that make now?”

  “Well, you have now lost all your children. First, you lose one to death, then you lose one to loathing, and then you lose three to the one you loathed.”

  “Yes. So what?”

  “Well, the way I see it, she took all of your children away. And yet you do not want her dead?”

  Another long moment of silence. I was straining my eardrums to the point that I could feel and hear a heavy pulse echoing through my ear canal that almost drowned out my father’s words.

  “No.” He said, “I thought I did, but I just... I just want her to go away.” When that answer did not seem to satisfy Paul, he added quickly, “But I have always thought that if it would bring my Luc back...” He looked back at me, and I took a page from Adam's book, as they say, and observed the sky so as to make it appear that I was not listening to every word they were saying with the disembodied interest I truly was listening in. “If it would bring Luc back, I would kill her myself.”

  Do not ask me where they came from, but tears emerged into my eyes from the corners like a tidal wave released and controlled by Poseidon's trident. I fought back, though, against the mighty sea-God; I erected levees strong enough to hold back the sea right on my eyelids. There is no way that my father would see that his words had affected me. No way on Earth, on Pangaea, in hell, or in heaven.

  But why had they affected me? I knew that he hated me; I had known that for well over thirteen years. Why did knowing that he would kill me tear into me so violently?

  Because he said that he would only do it if your death would bring Lucien back, and you know that that's the way it should have been; you should have died, and Lucien should have lived. The family would not have dissolved if you had been the one who had died. They would have grieved and moved on. Elijah, Violet, and Lucien would have been raised by parents who loved them and who loved each other. They would have all been so happy, and you know it. Everything would have been different. It would have been better.

  My father was not transferring his thoughts to me, but the voice that spoke those words to me was his. My mind was right to churn up such thoughts as explanation for my sudden bout of sorrow.

  Ice, Brynna. Build it back up. He is nothing. He is nothing but petty, violent, and weak, and you are strong.

  Maura's voice, though I knew she would never have said such a thing about my father were she still alive. I heeded her words, thanking God or the Gods that she had taught me such defensive methods. For once, I was not bemoaning how cold they made me. The moment that icy resolve to feel nothing was built and fortified, I would not remember that random yet very potent sadness. That sadness that made no sense. That sadness that had injured gravely my strength that kept me protected from the pain he inflicted mercilessly, pain both physical and emotional.

  Just before that wall rebuilt, I heard my mother. Her voice was far-off, but when it echoed around inside some distant chamber of my mind, I acknowledged how it sounded as though she were entering my mind and filling it with her thoughts, not whispering to me from beyond the grave. Perhaps her words felt real to me because I needed so desperately to hear them, even if I would not admit it.

  Would not have been better. Would have broken my heart, Brynna.

  Yes. That my death would have broken your heart was made so obvious by the things you said and did.

  Silence. Her spirit knew that I could not be swayed into believing her lies, so she left. My mother was quite good at leaving, and if you have not already gathered that, then you shall gather it now.

  I believe it must have been several hours that we walked, because by the time we stopped for the night, the moon was high in the sky, and the branches Tyre's men had lit aflame had burned down close to where their hands were holding them. Adam and I were tied side by side against a large, scratchy tree whose name I could not determine just by looking at it. All I knew was that the vine they pulled from its trunk had thorns on it that cut into whatever spots of bare skin they could find on me.

  “Keep your hands to yourselves.” Paul told us before turning to walk towards where his men were struggling quite hilariously to simply make a fire.

  “How clever you are.” I snipped, and my father seemed to appear from nowhere behind him in order to slap me again. My head snapped to one side in response to the force of his slap, and immediately jerked back the other way when he slapped me again.

  “And that makes four... or is it five?” A thick, bloody, dollop of drool dripped down my chin and into my lap. “I am sorry; I believe I have lost count.”r />
  “You listen to me...” He grabbed onto my face in both hands, and when I went to spit my blood at him, he covered my mouth; the blood and saliva gushed beneath it and trickled once more down my chin while the blood from my nose ran over the top of his hand. “That is enough!”

  More blood had gushed from the open space where just a moment earlier, one of my teeth had been. The moment he uncovered my mouth, I spat at him, making sure that the dislodged tooth was within the wad of bloody spit; I know that it hit him in the face squarely because an almost laughably huge red stain covered his skin from his forehead down to his upper lip.

  Stammering over his words, he struggled to find an insult strong enough. Finally, he settled on my absolute favorite: the slang term for a woman's sexual organ that rhymes with “hunt.” Yes, I am so utterly disgusted by the term that I will not even write it, even when my hint practically screams said term aloud.

  First, he punched me right in the center of my face. The force was sufficient, but not enough to cause great damage; my nose was gushing more blood, but it still had not broken; my eye was swollen, but from what I could tell, he had not busted any capillaries nor had his ring poked inside or shattered any bones. Then, his hands were around my throat, and he was squeezing.

  “That's enough!” Paul lost the playful edge to his voice, and with a great tug, he pulled my father away from me. Rich was laughing more hysterically than I thought he was capable of, being a God-fearing man who believed in suppressing all joy. For some reason, during his fit of laughter, he pointed at me and shook his head back and forth as though to say, “You are a trip, my darling girl!” or something similar.

  Then, he joined his comrades by the fire that their minions had built far from us so we could not feel even a gentle toasting of warmth during what felt like the most frigid night ever on Pangaea.

  I expected words of comfort from Adam. At the very least, I expected him to inquire about the status of my well-being.

  Expectations do so often lead to disappointment, or in this case, great irritation.

  “I must ask you to please excuse the alliteration, but you are so stupidly stubborn, Brynna Olivier!” He snarled at me, “You will make them kill you before Tyre even sets his eyes on you! You simply do not shut up! You are incapable of letting any one of their taunts go unanswered. You must counter every one like a disobedient, overly sensitive, petulant child! You will get us both killed if you keep this up! By the one God, woman, you are so thoroughly infuriating!”

  “Would you prefer that I was partially infuriating?” I asked, simply because I knew that making a joke would only irritate him more.

  “Do not begin your snide antics with me, for I am in no mood for it! I am so angry with you that I could wring your neck, Brynna!”

  “Do not threaten me!”

  “Oh, you know that I am not threatening you! It is an expression! It is an Earthean expression, and since you are the expert on all things linguistic, you should know that I do not intend to actually strangle you! I am merely angry. In fact, I am furious! I am furious that you would behave so foolishly! There is no pride to be taken in pride, you silly girl, especially if it leads one to harm!”

  “Thank you, Yoda.” I said, and my voice was heavy with a nasal quality that generally could be heard in one afflicted with a particularly nasty head-cold. My cheek was swelling, further contorting my voice. I found myself laughing at my voice, at the fact that I had called him Yoda, at the fact that he had given me reason to call him Yoda...

  He sighed heavily, seemingly softened by my weak, rather pathetic laugh.

  “Who is Yoda?” His voice was only slightly gentler, “Oh, wait, wait, do not answer; I believe I know this one. It is from a space epic, is it not?”

  “The most famous one. He is a small green alien. Very wise. Speaks in backwards statements. So, I guess it was not accurate to call you by his name. If you had said, 'Leads one to harm, it does' or something, then the name would have fit you.”

  His typical chuckle escaped him, and I found myself beaming brightly, despite how badly the stretching of my muscles pained my already swollen face.

  “How you can say such things when you are bleeding profusely and obviously in some pain...”

  “Can you truly blame me for merely trying to lighten the mood between us? You are fussing at me most angrily, and it is provoking me to feel quite a level of despondency. Do my intricate sentences sound funny in this voice?” I asked him, and he laughed again.

  “They do, indeed.”

  “I am glad. I still feel the adrenaline a little bit. I believe that it is holding the pain off.”

  “Look at me.” He said, and I did. He winced at the sight of my face. “My darling Brynna...” He whispered softly, and he leaned forward to press his lips to my forehead for a long moment, “That man will not see his home again. I may not have much strength, but I will use what is left of it to kill him for what he has done to you.”

  “Hmm...” I muttered, “We were speaking of old Earthean expressions, and here is one that I am sure I will have to explain to you, but alas, I will say it anyway: 'Do not sweat it.'”

  He tilted his head slightly to look up at the sky in thoughtful contemplation.

  “Do I have to explain?”

  “Wait. Give me a moment to think, woman.”

  “It means, 'Don't worry about it.'” I answered immediately, and he frowned at me jokingly.

  “If you revoking my right to guess what you meant is revenge for my outburst, can we now call ourselves even?”

  I nodded, and said softly, “I suppose.”

  “I reacted so furiously because what you were saying and doing was making them hurt you, and I cannot stand seeing you hurt. When he was striking you, and when that disgusting man, Paul, held his gun to you...” He paused, and continued when I looked up at him, “I have never been so afraid in all my years. Like you, I do not like being afraid. That is why I became so angry, and I am very sorry.”

  “Do not be.” I whispered, “So, when you said that I meant nothing, and that I was just a human...”

  “I thought that they would release you and take only me. God, did you believe what I had said?”

  “Of course not.” I lied.

  “Liar.”

  “Shut up. So rude, you are.” I laughed somewhat deliriously. “See, now I'm Yoda. I want to explain why I said the things I said, and why I provoked them, but... but...”

  “No. Brynna, no.” He said firmly, “No, no...”

  My eyes had started to slump closed, and my head fell forward before snapping back up abruptly. I moaned softly when the back of my head slammed into the hard, ridged trunk of the tree.

  “Brynna... Keep talking, darling. Keep your eyes open. Look at me, Brynna. Oh, my sweet love...” He kissed my forehead again, “Come now. Stay awake.”

  My eyes opened again, and I found that my head had fallen onto his shoulder. I looked up at him, and murmured to him, knowing and thanking God or the Gods that he couldn't understand.

  “What, my darling?” He asked softly, and he hung his head slightly so his ear was close to my mouth.

  I did not want to say it again. But my lips formed the words as my voice spoke them, and he heard.

  “Supposed to... pretending not to care... but... I keep my head here?”

  Again, he kissed my forehead before resting his own against it.

  “You needn't even ask.”