Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  “Kate! What are you doing?”

  Startled, I drop the curtain into place. Claudia stands in the doorway, a hand on the doorknob, and a slight panic outlining her face. She carries my next dose of medication and a fresh pitcher of water, but she quickly deposits them on the table and moves to the window, adjusting the curtains with a sharp tug.

  “Those men are watching every move we make.” She points at the window as she speaks, her hushed voice stern. “We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves by letting them see us.”

  “I’m sorry,” I respond. “I just . . .” I heave a huge sigh. “I heard gunfire. I was curious.”

  “We are trying to protect you. To protect the children in this house.”

  I sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. But . . . it seems like ages since I felt the sun on my skin. I just wanted to see outside.”

  A flash of sympathy ignites in her eyes, and her features soften.

  “You and me both. But that’s not an option right now.” She takes me by the elbow. “Come on. That’s enough adventure for one day.”

  I painfully cross the room, and she settles me in bed.

  “I am feeling better,” I insist, and my voice betrays me only slightly. Claudia simply smiles. I take the pills she offers and swallow them down.

  “That’s good news, considering you should have died.” She sits. I blink at the impact of her words. She sets the water aside. “God has plans for you.”

  I should have died. The thought is biting. I don’t recall being shot, but I do remember being sick on the journey here. Terribly sick, and Justin nursed me back to health. At one point, I was certain I heard Death knocking; I saw his face all around me. The memory blazes brightly and fades. It was a familiar encounter—as if it wasn’t the first time Death had paid me a visit only to be disappointed when I refused to leave with him. I rub a thumb over my scarred wrist again. I have a daunting suspicion he’s been after me for some time. I squint up at Claudia.

  “What would your god want with me?” I ask. “I am nothing special.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Claudia pauses, leans her chin against her hand. “He saves a lot of people with nothing to offer. And it changes them . . . forever.”

  I mull over the notion that someone has allowed me to live. Not Atropos. Not the Archer. Someone else.

  I subconsciously play with the end of my braid. I’ve hoped for someone else. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve hoped the Archer wasn’t the end for me. I bite my lip, settle on Claudia who stands now and moves to adjust the curtains again and vanquish the last bit of sunshine trying to seep in unnoticed. In the overwhelming dimness, I’m afraid. Afraid of finding another demanding ruler who forces me to do his bidding simply because I am indebted to him for saving my life. Or because the stars have willed it.

  The Archer was demanding enough for one lifetime.

  I think of the odd book that now rests beneath the bed.

  “Who is Christ?”

  Claudia turns away from the window, surprised. She sweeps her glasses off her nose, cleans them with the end of her blouse and replaces them.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  I shake my head. “I read from a book that was here.” I point at the table. “It fell.”

  Claudia tips her head, bends to see under the bed. She drops to her knees, and a second later pops up beside me, the book in her hand. She smiles.

  “So. You’ve been reading the Scriptures. And here I thought you were resting.”

  She sets the book on the table, lights the candles jutting from the wall, and seats herself on the edge of my bed. She looks me straight in the eyes.

  “Christ is the savior.”

  She says it so plainly, so matter-of-factly. I crease my brow.

  “Of what?”

  “Of us,” she shrugs.

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Keep reading, and you’ll know him soon enough.”

  I frown. “Why is there a savior?”

  She smiles, notices the green blanket has come untucked from the end of my bed and stands to adjust it back into place. “This book will answer that, too. But long story short, God created the world, and he gave us rules to live by that are defined by his righteous nature.” She sits, takes up the book again. She thumbs through it, spreads it open to a page, and lays it on my lap. “There are many, many rules, but here are the basics.”

  She points to a list. I read the first one.

  You shall have no other gods before me.

  “If you’ve broken one,” she continues, “the Scriptures tell us you’re guilty of breaking all of them.” She smiles and raises her hand. “Guilty.”

  I lift my eyes to her, then skim the rest of the list. Do not steal, kill, lie. I swallow, my heart rending as I think of my own life in comparison.

  “When we couldn’t keep the rules, God had no choice but to punish us.”

  “Punish us?” My voice is small, tentative. “What is the punishment?”

  “Death. Separation from God for eternity.”

  I stare at her in shock, the blunt harshness of her words trampling through every fiber in my body. My fingers tighten on the book’s edges.

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” I say.

  “It is,” she nods with a shrug. “But that’s where the good news comes in. Yeshua.”

  I straighten, my ears perking with curiosity. Here is this Yeshua again.

  “In my family’s native language, Yeshua is Jesus Christ the savior.” She points upward at the crossed sticks that hang on the wall. “He was God’s son, and he came from heaven, walked as a human on earth, and died nailed to a wooden cross so that we could live. And because he is from God—a part of God himself—he was perfect.” She taps the book. “He never broke a single one of those laws; and so, he didn’t deserve to die in our place. He chose to.”

  I blink, adjust my aching body against the pillows as I try to wrap my mind around her strange story.

  “Why?”

  Her eyes grow soft. She stands, takes up the stack of books from the nightstand and carries them to the book shelf. Squatting in front of it, she slips them one by one back into place.

  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.”

  She stands, facing me. The candle light casts a long shadow behind her along the wall and half way across the ceiling—a formless giant of her self hunching over her. I ponder her words, confused.

  “Live forever?”

  She nods. “Yes. If you trust that Yeshua paid the debt to God that you owed, you will spend eternity with him.”

  I swallow. “That’s a lot to consider.”

  Claudia laughs softly. “I agree. I was right where you are once—before my eyes were opened.”

  I extend the book toward her. She takes a step toward me, shakes her head, and shoves it back at me.

  “Keep reading it. I think God may have more to say to you.”

  I nod, stare at the cream cover a moment. I’m overwhelmed by all of it, and if nothing else, I’m intrigued by what she tells me. It gives me something more to consider than a path woven by the Moirai. Perhaps I will find my path away from the Archer for good within these pages.

  It is what I have hoped for.

  Claudia tilts her head, her face growing suddenly serious.

  “I guess I should tell you that Ian is here.”

  My heart thumps out of rhythm, and any other focus of our conversation dies away. I’m silent, watching her, waiting for her to say more.

  “He made it back into the village last night.” She gathers her next words carefully, shoving her hands into the large pockets of her frock. “He wants to see you.”

  I stare at her, and fear mounts inside me, a cold rush blowing through me like a mountain wind threatening to sweep me off a cliff’s edge. I clutch the book to my chest.

  “And Justin? What—what about Justin? And Diana? Have—h
ave you heard word of them?”

  It is not Ian I wish to see, and a swarming of guilt accompanies the question. Because I should want to see him, and the reality of my memory loss burns with a low fury. Too many blank spots blink at me from different locations inside my brain, frustrating all my feelings.

  “My nephew, Thomas, thinks he saw Justin a couple days ago outside the village.” Claudia answers. “We’re pretty sure it was him.”

  I release a trembling breath, the book pressed tightly to my chest until my knuckles turn white.

  “I don’t—I’m not—” I search for the right combination of words, my chest tightening with an anxious heaviness. Claudia raises her brow, listening. “What am I to say to him?”

  I ask because Ian knows me. He knows who we are together, and I can’t remember it, and this frightens me more than any other thought.

  Claudia merely smiles with a sympathetic tilt of her head and lowers herself onto the edge of my bed. “I gather the two of you naturally know what to say already. I doubt it will be hard. Just . . . tell him the truth. Say what’s in your heart.”

  I heave another breath. “I’m not certain I can trust my heart at the moment.”

  “Exactly,” she smiles. “That’s what he needs to hear.”

  I blink a tear from my eye, and I shiver as the wet, trail slithers down my check.

  “Kate . . .” She takes my hand. “He cares about you... more than any other person in this house ever could. I think you should give him a chance to prove it.”

  I hesitate still. Her grip tightens until I look at her. She removes her glasses, lets them fall into her lap.

  “I know this is hard, but I get the feeling you are all he has in this world right now. And you may not remember, but he’s all you have, too.”

  My chest grows heavy, the weight of all my fears pressing down with each breath I take. Even if I could remember our moments together—if I could understand the depth of our experiences—it is a daunting thing to be someone’s everything. To be in danger of breaking a heart. Of betraying a trust. It is a burden I don’t want to carry.

  “I’m afraid to be alone with him,” I whisper.

  My heart thumps, and some distant remembrance pushes, trying to reach me. But Claudia’s warm hand on my arm tugs me back into the present.

  “Listen to me. Of all the things you should be afraid of,” she whispers. “I don’t think Ian is one of them.”

  We’re silent as I contemplate this. If Ian comes in to me . . .

  He is a stranger.

  Claudia squeezes my fingers. “There’s always the chance seeing him will bring back your memory.”

  I chew on my lip knowing full well that I stand at a crossroads, uncertain of which path to take. Claudia gives my hand another gentle tug.

  “I’ll stay with you,” she nods.

  My blood rushes like a river until the sound fills my ears, and before I can answer, the decision is made for me.

  The door swings open.

  Ian’s bulk fills the doorway, tall and menacing. So tall he has to duck beneath the frame to enter. He hesitates just inside the room, his eyes glued to my face. I take him in, the crackling of my nerves firing more rapidly.

  The book called Holy Scriptures rests against my heart, heavy and weightless in equal measure, and I stop breathing.

  I doubt my heart could beat any faster.

  Chapter 15

  H

  e gazes at me for a moment, seems to realize how intimidating he must look standing over me, and in one quick step, he sinks into the chair. I freeze. Claudia bounces to her feet and shoves her hands into her frock, eyeing Ian warily. I watch her a moment, frightened by her response as she moves around him to close the door. She stays in the room as promised, but she’s on edge with him, and I sense it. It tempts me to pull the blankets up over my head and hide beneath them.

  “Hi, Kate.”

  Ian’s voice draws my eyes to his. Unblinking, I explore their depths, hoping they will trigger a memory. They don’t. But they are vividly intense, full of relief, equally full of longing—full of a deep need to connect. The feeling floats between us and reaches with invisible, grasping fingers, attempting to entwine their spindly ends around the bones of my ribcage and pull me toward him. My hand protectively covers my chest at the inclination.

  His blond hair falls in short, shaggy layers to rest against his collar, and a thin strip of the beginnings of a beard lines his chin. I meet his gaze full on, search his face for the familiar, and my heartbeat quickens slightly beneath my palm.

  He watches me, moisture building in his eyes. Blue eyes. He wipes his fingers back and forth across his lips nervously, and I catch sight of an open and swollen wound on his fingertip. He drops his hands between his knees, clasping them tightly.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “I’m . . .”

  Our first exchange of words, and I’m speechless. I swallow the rising anxiety. He readjusts his position, and his foot begins to tap rapidly against the wooden floor. I’m drawn to the action momentarily, hypnotized by the speed. He drums the fingers of one hand against his other palm and then clenches a fist. There’s a restrained energy in the movement, as if he’s trying with every last bit of his strength to hold himself back.

  “You don’t know how good it is to see your eyes.” His smile greatly contrasts his body language. “I was so worried.”

  I nod, look to Claudia. She holds very still, her eyes wavering from him to me. I face him again.

  “Penelope took really good care of you. She was amazing. Really, she was . . .” He’s rambling. “She—she’s super smart, and she knows exactly how to—”

  “I—I don’t—remember you,” I blurt, stopping him mid-sentence.

  His foot stills, and after a beat of silence, he bites his lip, fighting the tears that rush to his eyes, moist and shiny. I lower my head, feeling small and apologetic. I don’t mean to hurt him, but Claudia said I must be truthful, and quick honesty is the best kind.

  His hands move, each one covering a knee, and he leans forward with a sigh.

  “I know.” His voice shakes, and he peeks up at me through a wisp of hair that has fallen into his face. “Aaron told me. But I was hoping when you saw me . . .” He straightens, his voice trailing. He wipes his eyes quickly and rubs his hands on his pants to dry them. “You don’t . . . recognize me? Not at all?”

  I mull over the question, examining him closely. Last night’s jolting image of him—of both of us in a cave—leaps to the forefront of my mind. Is he familiar? Perhaps it was a real memory. An intimate recollection . . . of us?

  “I—I don’t know,” I whisper. His eyes bore into me, and I break our connection and concentrate on the far corner of the ceiling riddled with yellow stains.

  It’s deathly quiet for the longest time. Even the soldiers outside the window seem to have taken a reprieve to give us this moment. I suddenly wonder how Ian managed to get past them. I chance a sidelong glance at him. He remains very still, presses his lips together, his cheek clenching rapidly as he tightens his jaw. His hands, each cupping a knee, are bronzed from the sun, and other than the raw sore on one fingertip, they are strong and sure even in his moment of misery. A sudden compassion for him wavers somewhere inside me—distant and unexpected, but definite. It’s the most natural sensation—something I’ve felt before. A memory of him—a quick flash that comes and flits away just as quickly. He sighs.

  “Do you remember . . . anything?”

  He searches me despairingly then, and I know the question is gut-wrenching for him. He has been to so many places in my head—places I cannot find myself—and I sense it in him. He’s desperate for me to join him. To meet him in the place where we left off. I read this in his voice. It’s there—in his eyes—and my heart shudders as I weigh his desperation against my own. Because my heart? It wants to be there, too. I feel this with each beat.

  It’s simply lost its way.

  “I remembe
r . . . leaving my village,” I answer tentatively. “I remember traveling in the rain. Lots of rain.”

  “Yes.” His eyes brighten with a hope.

  “Diana was with us. Me. Justin.” I shrug. “We were going to Eden.”

  “You remember Justin?” His hope, reflected in his voice, soars higher.

  “I do,” I confess. “And Max. And . . . Jesse. Not everything. Some things are fuzzy, but I know who they are.”

  He stares at me; several seconds pass. And then he leans forward, runs his hands through his hair, leaves his fingers wrapped around the back of his neck a moment before he suddenly sits upright, gesturing sporadically.

  “Let me get this straight.” He scoots to the edge of the chair. “You remember all of my friends. You remember traveling. You remember Eden. But you don’t remember me?”

  His voice floods with clear disappointment as he says it, and I cringe under the strong implication.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to forget.”

  “But I was with you, too.” He stands, frustrated, and turns a wide circle with his hands propped on his hips. “You don’t remember me carrying you in the rain? We slept in a cave? In a cabin? The night you came back from your swim with Liza. You don’t remember that? I saw you in the firelight, and—”

  He stops short at my blank expression and turns to Claudia.

  “What do you make of this? You’re almost a doctor, aren’t you?”

  Claudia shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Not hardly.”

  “But you know some things. Penelope’s taught you. Why can’t she remember me? She remembers everyone else in our lives.”

  Claudia nervously adjusts her glasses. “Well . . . she’s had major, blunt force trauma to her head. There is more than likely still some swelling. And this is just a guess, but... I’d say due to her head injuries, she’s repressed her memories associated with you . . . for some reason. And so, she’s forgotten you, too.”

  He frowns. “That’s your answer?”

  “I told you it was only a guess. I don’t know what else to say,” she shrugs. “It’s logical.”