Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

  “Just ask,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe she hadn’t been as oblivious as he’d thought. “Ask what?”

  She tipped her head back, staring at the watery blue sky. “What Jore and I were fighting about—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters that he hit you.”

  She let out a long breath. “Why do you care?”

  “Because it’s wrong.” The grass ahead shifted. Relieved to have something to focus on, Otec pulled out his bow and took three arrows in his hand.

  Matka lifted an eyebrow. “There are many, many wrongs in the world, Otec. You can’t right all of them.”

  The rabbit finally hopped out from the grass and looked at them, its nose quivering. Otec drew and released within the same breath, his second arrow ready to fly if the first missed. It didn’t.

  He put away his unused arrows. “But you can try to right the ones directly in front of you.” He trotted to the rabbit, took out his knife, and killed it cleanly, then began dressing it.

  Matka watched, arms folded. “That’s a very simplistic approach.”

  Otec wiped blood from his hands onto the grass and looked up at her. She stared up at the bursts of orange, yellow, and crimson splashed across the mountainside. “Something in particular bothering you?” he asked.

  She turned away. “Doesn’t matter anymore. He promised.”

  Otec raised an eyebrow, then tied the rabbit to the back of his bedroll and they started out again.

  “Did you take my drawing?” Matka asked.

  His ears went red again and he didn’t answer, didn’t tell her that it was in his pocket even now.

  “I went back for it later that night, but it was gone. You were the only one there.”

  “Why would I take your drawing?” he said tightly.

  “So you did take it.” She huffed as if pleased with herself. “Why?”

  It wasn’t so much the drawing as the person who drew it—a woman who realized the world wasn’t a bunch of big shapes, but very fine details stacked upon each other to form a whole. It was the details that mattered, the details that breathed life into art.

  Otec wanted to show her one of his carvings, to get her opinion. But his skills were rudimentary at best. He didn’t have the tools he needed to make something truly remarkable.

  “Very well, clanman. Keep your secrets. But when we return, I’d like it back.”

  “Why? You can always make more.”

  She didn’t answer at first. “That one was special. I wanted something that could make me feel this place after I left. Do you understand?”

  When Otec didn’t answer, she grunted. “No. You wouldn’t.”

  He stiffened, stung by her rebuke. Not wanting to talk anymore, he started climbing the mountain before they even reached the best spot. They were both too out of breath to speak much after that.

  Just before nightfall, Otec found the cave—really more of an indentation a half dozen arm-lengths deep. He’d slept here before, had made the fire ring of stones. “We’ll sleep in the cave.”

  Matka eyed the small space with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll take my chances out in the open.”

  He pulled the bundle of shredded tree bark from his bedroll and fluffed the fibers. Then he struck flint to striker until the welcoming smell of a campfire filled his nostrils. He fed the little flames gently. “I wouldn’t recommend it. There’re bears and wolves in these mountains.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I can handle myself.”

  Otec put a few larger sticks on the fire. “The wolves and bears don’t know that.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  A laugh burst out. “Why? Is it working?” The moment the words left his mouth, horror washed through him. But Matka only chuckled.

  The fire was going pretty well now. Otec set up a spit, and while the rabbit roasted, he divided the bread, cheese, and carrots his sisters had packed for them.

  He glanced over at Matka to see her folding fibrous squares of paper into a shape that resembled a goat, with little triangle folds for the horns. He squinted through the smoke and thought he saw words written in a strange script across the surface.

  Whispering a prayer he couldn’t make out the words to, Matka set the goat on fire, holding it in her hands until the embers nearly touched her fingertips. Then she released it into the fire, closed her eyes, and leaned forward to breathe in the smoke, which suddenly smelled sweet and musky.

  Otec watched her, entranced and a little uneasy. “What was that?”

  She sat back, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. “A prayer of thanks to the Goddess.”

  “Goddess? I thought you highmen followed the Balance, as we do.” To his people, the goddesses and their fairies were merely stories for children.

  “Even the Goddess is subject to the Balance.” When Matka dropped her head, the firelight darkened the hollows of her face, giving her statement an aura of foreboding.

  Otec shivered. “Which goddess—summer or winter?”

  Matka didn’t answer for a moment. “Both.”

  He glanced up at a flurry of wings to find the owl landing in a tree not far from them. Its gaze flew to Matka.

  Her face instantly went blank. After that, Otec gave up trying to get her to talk. They shared a silent meal as the sun went down and the temperature plummeted. They hadn’t gone very far up the mountain yet, but already he could see his breath. It wouldn’t be long before snow fell, trapping the entire village.

  After showing Matka how to lay out the furs, hide side out to keep her warm and dry, Otec curled up and immediately fell asleep.

  He awoke with a start sometime in the night, automatically reaching for his bow. One of the lambs was crying out in fear. Otec was cursing Thistle for not warning him and had come halfway out of his blankets when he realized it wasn’t a lamb. Matka was crying out. He froze, not sure what to do. She was speaking in Svass. He didn’t understand the words, yet he couldn’t miss the pain beneath them.

  Wearing only his wool socks, he crossed the cold ground to kneel next to her. She was tossing and turning, her short hair sticking up at crazy angles. He gently rested his hand on her shoulders and shook her. “Matka, wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open and she threw a punch. Otec managed to turn aside to avoid the worst of it, but he knew he’d wear the mark of it on his cheek. Her eyes cleared and a look of accusation crossed her face. “What are you doing?”

  He rubbed his jaw. She knew how to hit. “You were having a nightmare.”

  Her gaze strayed to the tree where the owl still watched her. Matka immediately looked away, clearly terrified of the creature.

  “This is ridiculous,” Otec muttered. And it could be dealt with easily enough. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed his bow and strung it.

  Matka kicked off her furs and started toward him. “No, don’t!”

  Ignoring her, he nocked an arrow and released. The owl dropped, landing with a solid thud. Its wings beat uselessly against the ground before it grew still.

  Matka swayed on her feet. “You should not have done that.” She turned to look at him, genuine anger in her gaze. “You’ve drawn their attention!”

  Otec tossed his bow down. “Whose attention? It was just an owl.”

  She glanced at the carcass and her eyes seemed to close involuntarily, a look of relief washing over her.

  “You could just say thank you,” Otec growled, then fed some more wood to the fire. His gaze passed over Matka—she was still staring at the carcass, her body tense.

  He sighed. “When we were little, my mother would tell us to say aloud what we wanted to dream about. It worked, some of the time. At least, my nightmares went away.”

  For the first time, Matka seemed to soften a fraction. “Holla said the same thing.” She studied Otec warily. “You’re a lot like her, you know.” Coming from her, it sounded mor
e like an accusation than a compliment.

  He and his sister certainly looked alike, but then all his family had wild blond hair and pale features. “She never stops talking,” he said, shaking his head. “I try my best never to get started.” He picked sticks and pieces of leaves out of his socks.

  Matka studied him. “No, not in that way. Obviously, neither of you have any patience for injustice. But it’s more than that. It’s like you’re . . . innocent. Like the world has never shown you its darkness.”

  He tossed in another log, pretending he didn’t understand. “It’s dark now.”

  “It’s like you think this is what life is. These mountains, this valley, these people. That family loves you and home is a safe place.” Her voice sounded void of any feeling, but Otec knew better.

  “It wasn’t for you?” he asked, unable to imagine anything different.

  Matka sighed, and it was as if her prickly exterior hardened back up. “This place—it is sharp and soft, the kind that takes your breath away and lets you close your eyes without fear. Where I’m from, there is only sharpness, the kind that cuts deep.

  “There are things you don’t know, clanman,” she went on. “And those things could get you killed. I won’t deny I’m glad she is dead, but she will be back. And it will be worse—for both of us.”

  “What does that mean?” Otec glanced at the dead owl again—Matka already believed in fairies, so perhaps she was the superstitious sort.

  “Next time, don’t help me.” Matka rolled over and pulled the furs over her head. She murmured in a language he could not understand, and he imagined she was asking for dreams.

  Chapter 5

  Otec let Matka sleep in the next morning. He figured she probably hadn’t had much rest the night before—he certainly hadn’t, not after that bit with the owl. Instead, he’d found a block of wood and begun carving.

  As soon as it was light, he’d taken the owl’s carcass and buried it, then set a heavy rock on top of the loose soil. Just in case.

  By the time Matka finally stirred, Otec tucked the half-finished carving out of sight and handed her a breakfast of bread with ham, sheep cheese, and raspberry jam.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and asked brusquely, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Because you need your rest if we’re going to make it to the waterfall today.” Otec set about eating.

  “Where is it?” Fear tinged her voice as she stared at the spot where the owl had died.

  “I buried it.”

  Seeming relieved, Matka started stretching her muscles. Her face was overtaken with endearing little winces as her joints popped and cracked. Wishing he hadn’t noticed, Otec finished eating and began packing up their camp. Matka clumsily tried to roll up her own furs. He knelt next to her and showed her how to disperse the a flint and striker, packets of food, a small axe, extra socks, as well as some personal items so they didn’t create a pocket and slip out later. He tied off the ends so nothing fell out and helped her settle the roll on her shoulders so it wouldn’t pinch or rub her raw. She watched him like he was a strange creature she couldn’t figure out.

  Otec felt her eyes on him as he started up the mountain, noting landmarks as he went. He naturally fell into his rhythm—breathe in, wind blows, breathe out, steps fall. Listen, watch, learn. But he couldn’t forget Matka and her watching eyes.

  They reached the sheer cliff face. “I’ll go first then toss the rope back down to you,” Otec said. “Settle the loop around your chest and tighten it up.”

  Folding her arms, Matka turned toward him. “I insist we go around.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “No matter which way we go, there’s a cliff involved. This is the easiest one to manage.”

  “Well, figure something else out.”

  Otec might have become angry with her, but he noticed the trembling in her hands. She must be afraid of heights like he was afraid of crowds. He looked into her eyes. “I won’t let you fall.”

  “Do you swear it?” Matka asked softly, her eyes cast down as if she were ashamed, which he thought silly. Everyone had fears. It was how you dealt with them that mattered.

  “Yes, I do.”

  She let out a long sigh. “All right.”

  He fitted his fingers in a crevice in the rock and started making his way up. The fear, the danger—it made him feel alive. Like more than just a shepherd. More than just one of twelve children in an overflowing house. Here, he was finally free.

  Only when he reached the top did he allow himself to look down. Matka stared up at him, her short black hair falling across her eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile she probably couldn’t make out and tied the rope securely around a tree. He tossed it down to her, somewhat dismayed when it only fell about three-quarters of the way.

  Matka folded her arms around her rather sparse bosom and glared up at him. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Go get it.”

  “You promised me!”

  Trying not to let his frustration get the best of him, he rubbed his forehead. “How is it you can use swords but can’t climb five lengths to a bit of rope?”

  “What?” she shouted.

  “Matka, this is the only way up the mountain. If you’ve changed your mind, we can always return to the Shyle.”

  She paced back and forth a few times, mumbling things to herself he couldn’t make out. Finally, she started climbing up the cliff face, moving faster than he thought prudent, but he dared not comment and distract her.

  When she finally reached the rope, Otec let out the breath he’d been holding. “Now what?” she called, her voice shaking.

  “Put the loop over your head and under your arms.”

  “But then I’ll have to let go!” She looked down, and her tan skin lost its richness.

  “Don’t look down,” Otec said belatedly. She buried her face in the mountain. He lay on his stomach, his face peeking over the side. “Matka.” She didn’t move. “Matka, look at me. Let me help you through this.”

  When he’d finally decided she was stuck and he would have to go down and get her, she finally glanced up at him. “You have to stop thinking about what can go wrong and focus on what will go right.”

  She wet her lips. “I’m not sure how.”

  “What do you want, Matka?”

  She blinked up at him, seeming at a loss for words.

  “Focus on what you want and don’t look back.”

  She stared at him, her gaze hardening with determination. He nodded encouragingly. “Set your feet, release your weakest hand, grip the rope, and put your arm and head through it.”

  Fixating on the rope, she did as he asked. “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to stand and help pull you up, but you’ve still got to climb.” He stood, wrapped the rope around his middle, and started pulling.

  “Wait! Wait!” He peered over the edge to see Matka hanging onto the cliff with all her strength. “I’m not ready,” she called to him.

  Otec set his jaw, considering what to do. He could try pulling her up on his own, but where the cliff and rope met, there would be a lot of friction. If the rope broke, she would fall to her death.

  “I think . . . I think I’m stuck,” her thin voice carried up to him.

  He found a bit of an outcropping and braced himself on it. “Matka.” She didn’t move. “Matka, look at me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  She was trembling. “I could die.”

  Otec shook his head. “No. I have the rope. If you fall, I’ll catch you. Don’t you trust me?”

  “I hardly know you,” she reminded him.

  “Remember what I said, Matka?” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Up,” she said so softly he could barely hear her. He nodded encouragingly. “Focus on that. Trust me. Trust yourself.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Otec waited fo
r what felt like forever, forcing himself to remain silent and not push her. Finally, she started climbing. He watched her, keeping the rope taunt. Several times she had to stop, shake out her arms, and calm her breathing.

  Finally, when Matka was close enough, he reached down and clasped her outstretched hand. Bracing himself against the rocky cliff, he hauled her the rest of the way up. She landed on top of him and quickly rolled off, but he felt the impression of her body—solid and strong, much stronger than she thought she was.

  She lay beside Otec, their shoulders touching and their breaths coming in ragged gasps. “I did it,” she finally managed, and a grin spread across her face.

  She closed her eyes, and he took the opportunity to study her. She was so different than the girls of the clan lands. Her dark lashes spread along the tops of her cheeks like the feathers of a raven’s wings. And with the dappled light filtering through the trees, he realized her hair wasn’t black as he’d first supposed, but a very dark brown. Matka was pretty, he realized—not classically so, but then he wasn’t considered particularly handsome, either.

  “Otec, why are you being kind?” she asked, still not opening her eyes. “You gain nothing by it.”

  “You’re not used to kindness, are you?”

  “Not without a reason,” she said after a pause.

  Otec couldn’t imagine what kind of life she’d had, to make her so suspicious. “My people speak of the Balance. Like what you mentioned last night—there is light and dark in the world. Mother always says to stay as far into the light as we can manage.”

  “That’s strange,” Matka said, “since the clan lands are under the Goddess of Winter’s domain, and her side of the Balance is darkness.”

  “Which only means we have to strive harder to stay in the light.”

  Her eyes opened and she turned to him. For a moment, Otec was lost in the dark depths of her gaze. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and sat up, some fir needles in her hair. Still a little lost in her, he reached up and pulled them out. She started and turned toward him as if to bat his hand away, but then seemed to relax.