Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1)

by Kristen Pike

  “Do you know what they mean?” Jace asked, curiosity getting the best of him, despite the morbidity.

  “Yes” Rowan said, raising her eyes from the tree to stare fearfully back at him. “My mother used to say it to us when…” she dawdled off, turning back to the tree. “I am the master. I am God. It says.” Her voice broke at the end and she let her hand fall limply to her side.

  Rowan turned away from him and hurried off into the woods. Jace started to follow her but Chev grabbed his wrist holding him back. “Let her go.” He said gruffly, releasing him once he was sure Jace wouldn’t go after her. “Go and find a shovel.” Chev said, staring solemnly down at the old couple.

  Jace stood there, wanting desperately to go after her, knowing Chev was right and he should give Rowan some time alone to deal with what she just saw. In the end, Jace did as he was asked and the pair buried the dead properly in a silence filled with so many questions and words it was a wonder that not talking did not strangle them both.

  ҉ ҉ ҉

  Jace was pacing the cabin’s kitchen feverishly, his thoughts manic, and had just decided to send a search party after Rowan when she returned. Night had fallen and owls were screeching at each other when the door banged open and Rowan came straggling into the room, the bottom of her shirt was stained red with blood that had leaked down into her pants. Her eyes were glossy and her skin was abnormally pale. She stammered something unintelligible, and buckled in a heap on the floor.

  TWELVE

  “Rowan!” Half the men in the room yelled in unison while the other half gasped. Jonquil was the closest to her and he looked unusually afraid as he swooped her up and carried her to her room, laying her tentatively on the bed and looking around with wide, frightened eyes. Jace would have shoved his way through the throng of men hovering in the doorway, but they all moved aside to let him through. Apparently, he was not as good at disguising his feelings for Rowan as he thought he had been.

  “Vordis!” Jace yelled, though he doubted the doctors’ credibility in the medical field. So far, he had been fairly useless, treating a cough here, or a headache there, until Tomman had fallen sick and even then all he did was poke the boy and declare he was too far gone. “Vordis!” Jace shouted again, the panic in his voice ringing loud for all to hear and judge, but he hardly cared.

  His eyes darted over Rowan’s body, his stomach churning at the sight of the blood that covered the bottom half of her. Jace clenched his fists, feeling hopeless and angry.

  “I’m here, I’m here, young man,” said the small old man, his breaths coming out in short labored gasps. “Everybody out.” Vordis shooed slowly, waving his hands as if the men gathered around the doorframe were a bunch of flies. Pickard began clearing people from the room, for once not saying anything. Pickard looked at Jace and Jace stared daggers back at him, daring anyone to try to remove him from the room.

  Pickard shook his head, closing the door behind him as he left the room, leaving Jace alone with Vordis and Rowan.

  Rowan gasped at that moment, sucking a sharp breath into her lungs and Jace knelt by the bed taking her hand in his. She is burning! Jace thought to himself, clenching his teeth and blinking hard.

  Vordis began examining her, flipping her body around to find the source of the blood. He lifted her shirt around her waist and Jace looked down at the floor, a pang of guilt rising in him to have seen a part of her body uncovered.

  Vordis grumbled and Jace forced himself to look back up, his stomach doing summersaults when he looked back at Rowan. A large gash, deep and still trickling blood, was on the left side of her stomach, the flesh there torn and hanging down. When Vordis prodded the open flesh, thick green pus poured out. “Poison.” Vordis declared, his brow furrowed.

  Jace felt bile rising in his throat but forced it down with a swallow. A cold terror snaked its way through him, making him feel numb, as if he was watching Rowan die in front of him from a thousand miles away. Jace clenched her hand as though he could make her better just by sheer will.

  Vordis cleaned and stitched the wound with a needle and thread found in a drawer in the kitchen while Jace looked on dazedly, unable to look away and hating himself for only being able to stand idly by and watch as Rowan grew paler, her breaths more shallow.

  Rowan had started to grow feverish while Vordis stitched her wound, tossing and turning, sweat dripping from her fore head. She cried out several times, running from demons in her head. Once, she began weeping and Jace wiped her tears, forcing himself not to break down and succumb to the fear that threatened to overcome him. Rowan needed him to be strong, so he would be.

  “There is nothing more I can do.” Vordis told Jace sadly, wringing his blood soaked hands. “I know not what kind of poison this is, and without knowing…” Vordis trailed off, his mouth set in a grim line. Jace nearly chocked the useless man to death with his bare hands. “The most we can do is make her comfortable.” He said, the finality in his voice striking Jace like a fist.

  “Get out. Get out and don’t come back.” Jace growled aggressively, his voice low with anger and disbelief that Vordis was ready to just give up without trying. Jace was not acting like himself, he knew, and he drew a deep breath to calm the murderous thoughts that ran rampant in his head as Vordis turned his back on him and left the room, shutting Jace in with his misery.

  Jace wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had taken up vigil by Rowans side. It could have been days, months, maybe even years. It felt like an eternity that stretched right on to the end of the world, to him. Rowan continued to got worse; her skin turned a sour yellow color, her long black hair began to fall out, and she would scream for hours at a time, until her voice grew hoarse and she chocked on the dry ache in her throat.

  Several times, she called for Elias and began to sob. Jace’s already shredded heart breaking into a thousand pieces for her. Jace cradled her head in his lap, as she had done for Tomman when he lay dying. He stroked her cheek, keeping the hair from her face. Twice she called for him, saying his name in a tiny voice. Once, that would have made his heart leap, but now it only shattered it into a million pieces he knew would never fit back together.

  Jace constantly talked to her, telling her stories of his childhood that she already knew. Then telling her stories that she did not, only brave enough to whisper them, unable to look down at her; watching her in the market, he told her how much he loved her, how he had never been courageous enough to tell her. The first time he said he loved her aloud it felt strange to him, forbidden almost, but the more he said it the more the words became comfortable. Almost as if his mouth had been built just to say those words to her.

  “I promise to tell you I love you every minute of every day,” he whispered to her, “just wake up, please wake up.” He begged, closing his eyes. “Rowan I need you.” He told her, his voice catching as despair washed over him in great tidal waves, drowning him in sorrow and anguish until he felt like he could not breathe and would suffocate under the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

  No one came in the room. They all stayed in the kitchen, hushing as they heard Rowan scream, talking in rapid whispers when she was not. They let Jace to his grief, and when he came out to get Rowan water or the rare occasion he felt the need to eat, or relieve his bowels, they only gazed mournfully as he passed. Jace could only imagine how he must look to them; a pale corpse with dark rings under his bloodshot eyes.

  Later Barton told him it had been only six days. Six of the longest, treacherous, days of his life.

  Rowan had been silent for hours and Jace knew with a sickening finality, that this was the end. Her breathing was slow, uneven, and coming in painful gasps. Jace had at last broken down, tears streaking his face, hopelessness consuming him and all he could do was hold her fragile body in his arms.

  “Please Gods, if you’re up there, just take me instead, please.” Jace cried, tears making his way down his face and falling into Rowan’s hair. “I love you Rowan. Until the day I die, I wi
ll love you forever.” Jace whispered to her, his voice thick. “Don’t leave me Rowan, please, stay with me. Rowan. Please.” Jace sobbed, his head bent, his forehead resting on hers, his heart constricting so painfully in his chest he was sure he would never feel such catastrophic pain again in his life, if he managed to live past this devastating moment. “Rowan please. I need to tell you how much I love you. You need to know, Rowan please, I love you.”

  Jace heard shouts outside the door, but only barley registered them, so deep he was in his grief. The door burst open, swinging to smack the wall behind it, leaving a small hole. Jace jerked his head up, his eyes blurry, not comprehending what he saw before him. It was the old man that had thrown pinecones at them. His hair and beard were long, gray, and dirty. He stared at Jace with piercing hazel eyes.

  “Move overs ya young person! I’ve gots me work ta do.” He crackled, whacking Jace off the bed with a long, thick, walking stick. Stunned, Jace did as he asked, moving to hover at the edge of the bed. The old man talked rapidly to himself, peering fixedly at Rowan. “Ida been here sooner if my damned legs would move any faster!” All the while he talked a ferret skittered between his feet, chittering excitedly.

  The crowd had gathered at the doorframe again, some looking suspicious, most looking downright astounded. They whispered things Jace couldn’t hear, their voices low and serious.

  The old man had brought a crumbling bag with him, so caked in dirt it was that Jace couldn’t see the original color. “Ya fool!” The old man yelled and kicked at the ferret who hissed, but moved out of the way. “Can’t let her die. Can’t let her die.” He mumbled under his breath.

  Out of the bag he pulled all kinds of sour smelling concoctions. Some green or blue, others that just looked like mud.

  “Can you help her?” Jace asked frantically, finding his voice and wiping his tears on the back of his hand. Jace wasn’t even sure who the old man was, but he didn’t come in here wielding a sword, though it didn’t even seem like he could lift one. Despite the man’s obvious degenerate mental health, he seemed as though he wanted to help, and Jace was so desperate he was willing to try anything. Rowan screamed as the old man took a small dagger and pierced her side, reopening her wound. Jace hurtled forward to remove the timeworn man from causing Rowan further harm but the old man looked at Jace, a flicker of light in his eyes and held up his hand. Jace paused, unsure of what to do, knowing he needed to help Rowan but feeling as though he was rooted to the spot.

  The old man grabbed a jar of thin yellow goo and scooped some onto his fingers and began rubbing the salve over Rowans wound, shoving some of it under her skin, at the sight of it it made bile rise in the back of Jace’s mouth. Rowan quieted and Jace relaxed slightly, though his heart still pounded painfully.

  Please get better, please get better, Jace chanted in his head frantically. Just then, Rowan let loose a high-pitched scream that filled Jace’s head until he could hear nothing else. Jace thought he would hear that horrible sound until the day he died. Maybe even after.

  “Get out!” The old man yelled at him.

  “No!” Jace shot back at him.

  “She’s too focused on your pain for her. Get out, so she can heal.” The ancient man retorted, his voice muffled. He wasn’t looking at Jace, his head stuck in his bag up to his neck, rummaging around inside it, bottles clanking together loudly. Jace looked at Rowan, who, Jace thought, didn’t seem to think much about him at all when she was well, he didn’t see how she could care in the state she was in now. Jace opened his mouth to tell the old man that, but the ferret snarled and came at him teeth bared, hissing.

  “I won’t leave her.” Jace replied, his eyes dark and serious. The old man’s eyes flicked behind him and Jace was just turning his head to see what had caught the man’s attention when he was lifted from the ground. Jace could see Chev’s muscular arms wrapped around him, carrying him to the door. “Chev! Put me down. CHEV!” Jace screamed; spit flying from his mouth as he thrashed against Chev’s muscular, unrelenting body. Rowan screamed louder on the bed, causing the blood to drain from Jace’s face.

  Chev tossed Jace from the room and Jace stumbled, catching his balance before he slammed into the hall wall. Jace heard the door close behind him and immediately Rowan stopped screaming. Jace turned, Chev stood in front of the door and Jace knew no matter how hard he fought to get back in the room he would not win against the silent guard that stood before him.

  “Damnit Chev!” Jace yelled, smacking the wall behind him and rubbing his palms over his face.

  “I know how hard dis is for-“

  “You don’t know a damn thing!” Jace yelled and instantly felt guilty. He sent Chev a wild pleading look and Chev nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry-“ Jace whispered, looking at the door behind Chev again, that small wooden door might as well be hard metal and millions of miles deep.

  Jace backed away, every fiber of his being screaming at him that this was wrong, to put any amount of distance between himself and Rowan. Jace hoped he wasn’t putting Rowan’s life in the hands of a mad man.

  The sun had set, and risen again, before the old man emerged. He was wringing his hands and blood flecked the front of his already filthy shirt. Jonquil, who had been pacing and mumbling to himself stopped and turned to face the old man with a desperate look on his face. Jace gaped wide-eyed, knowing already what he would say by the dismal expression in his aged face. He would say he had done everything he could, but it was not enough. Jace felt his very being slither out of him then, float right off cause what was the point to all of this, to even living, if Rowan was dead?

  “You shoulds see their faces Moon Shine!” The old man snickered, “already parin’ her funeral, theys is.” He hooted again, as though he had said the world’s funniest joke. Everyone stared at him blankly. “She aren’t dead, you fools!” He finally gasped, as though they were a bunch of idiots with no thoughts in their heads.

  “She’s not dead?” Jace asked feebly, ashamed of himself at how vulnerable he sounded in front of the others, hardly caring though as the old man’s words began to sink in.

  “You’ve got to give her more-“ The old man began, but Jace didn’t hear the last of it. He bolted to his feet and rushed back to Rowan’s side, his heart soaring inside him.

  She does look better, Jace thought hopefully, she’s not as yellow, and her breathing’s even. For once, she was not crying or screaming and when Jace grabbed her hand there was warmth, where previously it felt like holding the hand of a corpse.

  “I promise never to leave your side again.” Jace vowed, settling down beside her, wondering how much longer until she was well.

  THIRTEEN

  Rowan wasn’t aware of a lot those next few days. She drifted in and out, caught between bright lights and dark tunnels that lead nowhere and never ended, and wasn’t even strong enough to open her eyes for three days and even then, it was only a few seconds. She was never sure when she was dreaming, flying, escaping, or when she was awake and in torturous pain, but one thing that always remained the same was Jace.

  He was there in the moments she felt certain she was awake. He was there the first time she opened her eyes, and all the times after. And he was there when she dreamed, even if it was just as a silent shadow she couldn’t see the face of, but knew, in the way you knew things in dreams, that it was him, watching over her as her mother beat her again and again, as that’s what she dreamed about most these days.

  Sometimes she could hear him talking to her. Soft words that floated around in her head like a warm summer breeze and made her body feel light and warm. Stories she knew well, about growing up poor, but loved. The first time he had seen her and baking her honey tarts. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, his father made the honey tarts, but her mouth wouldn’t move. He told her what the other men were doing, gathering supplies in the nearest village. Or bickering at each other, mostly, eager to leave the cabin, but that they could learn to deal with that because no one was going
to budge until Rowan was ready.

  And always he would tell her he loved her. Over and over again. She never got tired of hearing it, not the way he said it, as if it was a promise, his biggest secret, a gift from him to her and she cherished it. Filing those words and the way they sounded coming out of his mouth in a special part of her head so she could remember them and hold onto them.

  It was a week before Rowan could hold her eyes open for a substantial amount of time. By that time, Jace was in a chair by the bed and she was certain she had dreamed all those nice things he had said to her. She felt an odd sense that she had lost something precious, to know that it was only her poisoned imagination that had conjured those stories. Those words.

  Jace brought her food and water and helped her sit up, and even helped her from the bed when she needed to, relieve, herself, excusing himself from the room as she did her business. Rowan would be ever grateful to him for the vigilant watch he kept over her even if, she figured, he did it out of a sense of duty.

  When Rowan was well enough to walk around she wanted to constantly be moving. Her legs cramped from weeks of disuse. Rowan felt jittery, some part of her always moving, her eyes shifting to the dark corners of the room as though someone would jump out and grab her.

  “I got turned around, I was, distracted,” Rowan told them over super, two weeks after Jacob had been to cure her, glancing quickly at Chev and Jace. “It was already getting dark and I was about to give up for the night and just sleep right where I stood, when I heard a noise. I thought perhaps it was an animal and paid no mind to it. Just as I had settled down, a man came out of the trees. He wielded a large knife...” Rowan broke off remembering, she shuddered then continued. “He demanded any money I had, and whatever food I was carrying on me. I told him I had none, I had gotten lost in the wood, but if he would wait till morning, I would lead him back here and give him what food we could,” others around the table nodded, as if in agreement that they would have indeed let the man share in their food. “But he was so hysterical, he said he had family to feed, a crying babe at home and a sick wife. I told him I was sorry, to just come back with me in the morning. But he thought I was going to lead him into a trap of some sort. He started going on about some poison and before I knew it his dagger was shoved into me,” Rowan absently touched her stomach where she knew the scar was, could feel the puckered line beneath her shirt. “It was like fire inside me, like flames licking at my flesh...” Rowan withdrew into herself, the memory to painful to continue and they all finished their food in silence.