“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
The men sat on the ground around me. Moore frowned. “Are you really? Do you even know what a drought is?”
“Moore, knock it off,” Eris said. “What I'd like to know is why you're running. It has to be pretty bad for you to want to leave paradise to come live among the rats.”
I looked at each of the men, wondering what they would think of me. “I prevented deaths on my assignment. It was a big one.”
“Oh, you were the one who cost us those lifestones. We were counting on those,” Moore carped.
I stared at the ground and waited for them to throw me back over the wall. I wouldn't blame them.
The other men were silent for a minute.
A man named Port broke the silence. “That's respectable.”
“It is? I went against the Grim Covenant.”
“Yeah,” Nigel said. “To save Human lives. Human blood runs through our veins.”
Yes, it did. The Foragers were Dunstan's descendants, the product of his relationship with a Human woman.
“We did need those lifestones, though,” Nigel added.
“Why'd you do it?” Moore asked. “Why'd you give up the cushy life to save Humans? Real Grims don't care about them.”
“I don't know.” I really didn't. “I just felt like I had to do it. I didn't think those kids deserved to die, and if I could stop it from occurring, why not?”
The men nodded, and I wanted to change the subject.
“Now tell me what you guys were doing in Litropolis. Why do you go there every other day?”
The men looked at each other.
“It's nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” Port replied. “Trust us. It'll be better for you not to know.”
We rested a few minutes longer, and then we were on our way again. I couldn't believe they made this trek every other day.
At long last, we came to a large cluster of cottages. I was amazed. The place looked better than Litropolis. I had expected it to look much worse.
Copper-brown rooftops ran for as far as I could see. Beige cottages with rounded doors and windows stood in neat rows. There weren't many people in sight. A few men were going about their chores, carrying pails and lumber. I spotted two carrying an elderly man on a plank of wood.
The men who had brought me from Litropolis split off into separate directions. I stood there, feeling lost.
Nigel turned to me. “Come.”
I followed. We walked through a lane of small cottages. They almost reminded me of gingerbread houses from children's books.
Nigel stopped at a cottage and knocked on the door. After a few seconds the door opened. Nigel motioned for me to go inside. Skeptical, I stepped in, not sure what to expect.
A woman with a mane of gray curly hair raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Who's this?” she asked Nigel as he came in behind me.
“This is Naomi. She needs some help. I thought maybe she could stay with us for a while.”
The woman frowned. “Nigel, are you crazy? She can't stay here.”
“Oh, come on, Mother. She's just a girl.”
I was sick of people talking about me as if I wasn't there.
“I'll leave if this is going to be a problem,” I said, turning for the door.
Nigel put his hand on my shoulder. “No.”
His mother stepped closer to me, examining every inch of my face. “You're from Farrington. What are you doing here? What kind of trouble are you in?”
“I defied the Grim Covenant,” I mumbled, wondering how many more times I'd have to repeat my offense.
“By?” the woman pressed.
“I prevented deaths from happening. Many deaths.”
The woman whistled. “You pretty much sentenced yourself to death, didn't you?”
I shrugged.
She kept staring. “Fine. You can stay for a few days. That's it.”
“Thank you,” I said, placing my duffel bag on the floor of their cottage.
“Have a seat there,” the woman said, pointing to a small round table. “I'll get you some tea.”
I sat at the table, happy to finally be off my feet which were hot in my leather boots. I surveyed the cottage— small, but warm and cozy. On one side of the room were three pallets where I assumed Nigel, his mother, and someone else—maybe her husband—slept. A pot-bellied stove sat in the corner. A cupboard and several covered buckets made up the kitchen. Nigel plopped down on one of the pallets as his mother started on the tea. I watched her shakily pour water from a pitcher into a small pot. I felt bad, remembering the men had mentioned a drought.
“My name is Merna, by the way.”
“Oh,” I answered, because I didn't know what else to say.
Merna sat at the table with me while the tea boiled. She rubbed the sweat off her forehead. It was very warm here. I longed for the coolness of Farrington.
“So, what's your plan?” she asked me.
I had no plan. “I guess to stay as far away from Dunningham as I possibly can for as long as I can.”
Merna nodded. “I know most Grims will not think so, but it was a very admirable thing you did.”
“Thank you.”
Just then the door flew open. A boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen, came in and dropped a pile of wood on the ground. “Hey, Nigel, how'd it go?”
“Fine,” Nigel muttered. He sounded half-asleep.
“Good. Next time—” He paused and closed the door as his eyes fell on me. “Who's this?”
“Naomi,” Nigel answered.
“What is she doing here?”
“Colden—” Merna began.
“What are you doing here?” Colden demanded. Colden was a younger, more handsome version of Nigel, with curly dark hair and noticeable golden highlights.
“I'm just passing through. They're looking for me, and I'm in hiding, that's all.”
Nigel told Colden my story.
Colden turned and glared at me. “You know Dunningham will find you. Somehow, someway, he will. He'll come here with his men and see that we're harboring you and destroy our entire village. You can't stay here.”
Chapter 27
“It's just for a few days,” Merna said.
“No. For all we know Dunningham could be on her scent right now. She has to leave,” Colden replied.
Merna went to the stove to cater to the tea.
“And you're making her tea, from our limited water supply. Come on!”
“Colden!” Merna snapped. “Enough! This is my home, and I'll do as I please. I say she stays, and that's final.”
Colden scowled at me and then bolted from the cottage, slamming the door behind him.
I drank the tea, which tasted like chamomile and made me sleepy. Merna offered me her pallet to take a nap. Because I was struggling to keep my eyes open and exhausted from the walk, I took her up on her offer. I nuzzled my face into her soft pillow and covered myself with the blanket.
I wondered what Mother was doing at that moment. She was probably the most worried about me.
“You'll have to excuse my brother,” Nigel said. “He's an arrogant ass.”
I covered my mouth to yawn. “It's okay. I have one of those too,” I assured him. Then sleep took over.
* * *
I woke up to the lovely aroma of something cooking. Before I opened my eyes, I made a wish that this had all just been a dream. When I opened my eyes, I hoped I would be in my own bed, in my own home, and the lovely smell was my mother's cooking.
I was immensely disappointed to find myself still in Merna’s cottage.
Nigel and Colden sat at the table, while Merna scooped something into bowls. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” she said.
My body ached, but I forced myself up and over to the table. I was starving.
Dinner was some kind of soup. There was no meat in it, but an assortment of herbs, vegetables, and spices. It was delicious. We ate in silence until the last person I wanted to hear decid
ed to open his mouth.
“My mother's been very kind to you, hasn't she?” Colden asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Yes, she has. I'm very grateful.”
“That's the kind of person my mother is—good and kind-hearted. Too bad she only has sixty-seven years and she's lived sixty-five of them.”
I looked down at my soup, because I didn't know what to say to that, and it didn’t seem appropriate to keep eating.
“How many years do you have—I mean, did you have?” Colden asked.
“Four hundred and seventeen,” I said, almost whispering.
Colden nodded. “Isn't that nice. And the pricks in the Upper Estates have even more. Do you know how many years I have, Naomi? Thirty-two. That's it. And I only have that much because of the lifestones we've stolen. If not for that, we'd all be dead.”
“It's not her fault,” Nigel said.
But Colden wasn't about to let up. “Your people, you act like we're some kind of bloodsucking insects. That we're thieves because we attempt to raid the Mill and get to the lifestones before you do. You call us Foragers. We just want to live. We don't want our people to die out. That doesn't make us bad. We need those lives much more than you. We just want what rightly belongs to us. We're Grims, too. We're supposed to be collecting lives too, but we can’t because of that damn Dunningham. He's going to get his.”
Colden's comments hit me like a truck. Nigel had said that this wasn't my fault, but I felt ashamed of myself and my people. I'd always looked at Foragers as the enemies—or as Bram would say, the ones who kept food from our mouths.
They weren't the enemy. We were. Grims had no right to look down on them. They were only doing what they did to survive, and any of us would do the same. As Colden pointed out, they should’ve been able to collect lives themselves.
“I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.” But I knew that apology wasn't worth much.
Colden wasn't moved. He narrowed his eyes at me. “This assignment that you botched up? A group of our kids went there. If they had collected the lifestones, that would have given as all a chance at longer lives, so you kind of screwed the Grim side of us over. But one of our girls didn't return. Do you know what happened to her?”
She was probably the girl whose neck Doyle had snapped like a twig. “No. I don't.”
Colden huffed and went back to his soup.
I had a long, restless night. Maybe it hadn't been a great idea for me to sleep during the day. I was nestled between Nigel and Merna. I reminded myself not to move so much so I wouldn't disturb them. I wanted morning to come so I could get up and move about, but I didn't want it to come because although Merna had said I could stay, I would have to leave at some point and I had nowhere to go.
When I awakened, Nigel was gone. Merna gave me a small bowl of water to wash up. We had leftover soup for breakfast.
“I hope this is okay,” Colden said bitterly. “I know it's not the steak and quail eggs you're used to having for breakfast.”
I had never once had either of those things for breakfast. “This is fine,” I muttered.
We ate our breakfasts silently.
“When are you leaving?” Colden asked as I helped Merna clear the dishes after breakfast.
“She's not going anywhere,” Merna argued.
“Yeah, she is. I'll tell Dunstan you're harboring one of his brother's Grims.”
Merna looked sharply at her son but said nothing. I wondered if Colden would really snitch on his own mother.
After the dishes were done, Colden handed me my duffel bag. “Let's go.”
I took the bag and hoisted it on my shoulder once again. I decided that I hated Colden.
Unexpectedly, Merna wrapped me in a hug. “You're a sweet girl. Whatever happens, stay strong.”
I suspected Merna thought I would die soon. I agreed with her.
I followed Colden out of the cottage. “Where are we going?”
“To see Dunstan.”
“Why? I don't want to cause any trouble. I'll just be on my way.”
“On your way to where? We're in the outskirts of Nowhere, sweetheart. There's nowhere else to go.”
He was right. I walked behind him, contemplating my options. I spotted two women kneeling, washing clothes in a tub filled with a thin layer of water. They looked at me strangely as we passed. “Then I'll go back the way I came.”
“Dunstan has to know you're here. I should have brought you to him yesterday.”
Any way I looked at this, I was out of luck, so I followed him. Dunstan lived in a large cottage a little ways off from the others. It was a far cry from his brother's mansion, but still much better than the other cottages. Colden knocked on the wooden door, and a young boy with sandy-blond hair answered.
“Yes?” the boy asked.
“I need to speak with Mr. Dunstan, please.”
“Concerning?”
“We have a trespasser here. A refugee from Farrington.”
Refugee? I hadn't considered myself to be one of those, but I guessed I was. The boy closed the door. Colden and I stared at the chocolate-colored wood in silence. After a few moments, the boy reappeared and told us to come inside.
Unlike Colden's cottage, this one was separated into different rooms. We followed the boy into a small office in the back room.
A bald man sat at a desk with his back to us. “Have a seat,” he said gruffly.
Colden and I sat in two armchairs against the wall across from the desk. The boy stood by the door.
Dunstan sat still and silent. I guessed he was reading. Finally, he turned to us.
I drew in a breath. It startled me how much he looked like Dunningham, although it shouldn't have, seeing as they were identical twins. The only difference was that Dunstan had aged a lot more. He was a forty-years-into-the-future version of Dunningham.
“Colden,” he said, nodding toward him.
“G'morning, Mr. Dunstan.”
Dunstan eyed me. “What are you doing here?”
“I'm in trouble. I'm just passing through, really.”
“What kind of trouble?”
I repeated the story for what felt like the one-hundredth time.
Colden sat beside me, huffing during the whole recollection.
Dunstan breathed deeply, sat back, and stroked his gray beard—just like his brother. “So, it was you who cost us those lifestones. Why in all creation would you do a thing like that?”
“I don't know. I just felt I had to.”
Dunstan looked me up and down for what seemed like forever. “Stand up!” he ordered sharply.
I looked at Colden. He pointed his head toward Dunstan, indicating that I'd better do what I'd been told. I stood.
“Come closer,” Dunstan said, sounding like a wicked witch luring a small child in the woods.
I realized I was moving, but not on my own. Colden was pushing me toward the middle of the room. Dunstan left his seat. Standing in front of me with his arms folded across his chest, he studied my face for a long time. I focused on his nose, trying to avoid eye contact.
Then he began to circle me, sniffing like a hungry predator. A chill ran down my back. I'd never been sniffed before. The air from his nostrils hitting my face, making me flinch.
“W-what are you doing?” I managed to ask as he held my hair under his nose. He was just as creepy as his brother, if not more. At least Dunningham had never tried to inhale me.
Dunstan stood in front of me once more. This time I did make eye contact. I wanted him to answer my question.
“You're one of us.” The way he talked—if serpents could speak, they'd probably sound that way.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your people callously call us Foragers, but we like to refer to ourselves as hybrids. But yes, you're a hybrid.”
I shook my head. “No, I'm not part Human. Both my mother and father are full-blooded Grims.”
Dunstan narrowed his eyes at me. “How long have you been here?”
/> “I came yesterday in the early afternoon.”
Dunstan laughed, “Dear, I know this is not what you want to hear, but it's the truth. You're not a full-blooded Grim. You're a lowly hybrid like us.”
“I just told you that's impossible.”
“If you weren't one of us, you'd be dead by now,” Dunstan said. “The temperatures here are much too high for a full-blooded Grim who’s used to the coolness of Nowhere. They would survive a few hours, tops. See, it's different when you're on assignment and you have your scythe—”
“I know. The scythe regulates our body temperature so we're okay, but that doesn't mean anything.” My scythe charm still hung around my neck, tucked inside my shirt. That was why my body temperature was regulated. Something told me not to tell Dunstan about the charm. Colden had a trace of surprise on his face.
“Why would Nigel and the other men help me get over the wall if they thought I would die?”
“They didn't know. They're not full-blooded Grims. It's not something they have to concern themselves with.”
Dunstan was lying. I didn't know for what purpose, but he was.
“What about you?” I asked. “You're a full-blooded Grim.”
“Was. When I procreated with a Human, that was taken away.”
“Listen, I have to get going—”
Dunstan grabbed my left arm, pulled a knife from his back pocket, and sliced me from elbow to wrist.
Chapter 28
The young boy gasped from the doorway as Colden moved behind me. A stinging pain shot through my arm. Blood poured from the slice onto the wood floor.
Blood. Why the hell was I bleeding?
“Jax, run and get Carey,” Dunstan said to the boy. “Tell him to bring his kit.”
The boy left the room. I still stood there, watching this deep red liquid that shouldn't be there continue to run from my arm.
“Colden?”
Strong hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back toward the chair.
Gently, Colden pushed me down into the seat. “I think she might be going into shock.” There was a little concern in his voice and, for the first time, maybe even sympathy. He pushed my arm against my belly and wrapped the bottom part of my hoodie around it.
Naomi Grim: The Final Breath Chronicles Book One Page 17