“How could you?” she gasped, her wide, dark eyes glistening with tears. “You just want to use me like everyone else!”
“No, Khaya, I promise, I—”
But she buried her face in her blanket-covered knees before I could finish, folding her arms over her head.
I scooted closer, both because I was reaching out to comfort her and because she was pulling that last, crucial corner of blanket from my lap. She jerked away when my hand brushed her shoulder, forcing me to do a seated hop even closer.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“Khaya, I didn’t mean to! Gods, please believe me.” I hovered next to her, not daring to touch her again. She looked so small, her slim shoulders shaking above the blanket. “I’m so sorry. It just happened—”
“Don’t look at me—don’t read them! You wouldn’t if you knew how it felt, like someone slipping inside your skin, using your body.” Her voice grated from behind the shield of her arms and hair, rubbing me raw like sandpaper.
I wanted to hug her and apologize over and over again until she stopped crying. But my touch repulsed her. I knotted my hands into fists, folding my arms and hiding them away. I’d never intended to godspeak through her—that was what I’d done, I realized—but there I’d been, watching her without her knowing, drinking her in while she’d been asleep, and that was what my semi-conscious mind had led me to. The fact that I could do this while wordless, which everyone always said was impossible, didn’t even amaze me. I felt too sick.
I sat for a minute in dull, nauseated silence, Khaya crying to herself, both of us hunched and alone, until I realized I was acting like a moron.
“Khaya, come here.” I unfolded my arms and wrapped them around her shoulders. She tried to pull away, but her back had already met the woven wall of our shelter. Instead, she froze, stiff as a statue.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Khaya, or do anything like that ever again. I was just seeing what the Words would look like to someone wordless. I didn’t think anything would happen.” I bowed my head next to hers, her hair brushing my temple and tickling my nose. “See, my eyes aren’t even open. I’ll never look at the Words again if you don’t want me to. I don’t even want to. It’s not fair that people do that to you, and I want nothing to do with it. In fact, I want to hurt the Godspeakers even more now. I’m wordless and I’m happy that way. I’m sorry. Did I tell you how sorry I was?”
Somewhere amidst my babbling, Khaya’s shoulders relaxed. I let my final question fall into silence.
“I didn’t mean to get so upset,” she murmured, her face still hidden in her arms. Her voice was audible only because I was so close. “I was only shocked, that’s all. I’ve been free of the Godspeakers for a couple of days now, and this is the happiest I’ve ever been. So to be woken up like that … ”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, squeezing her tighter. If this was the happiest she’d ever been, things must have been pretty awful in the Athenaeum.
“Tavin, you’re crushing me.”
“Oh!” I released her. But I didn’t go far. I was still limited by the length of the silvery blanket, and my chest was already bare from the waist up.
“I’m fine,” she said, lifting her reddened, damp face. One hand rubbed her eyes while the other held the blanket nearly up to her neck. “I’m just—I’m tired.”
“Here, go back to sleep.” I gestured at the ground. “I can sleep outside if you want me to.”
“No, that’s stupid. You’ll freeze, and you might be seen.”
“Then I’ll give you some privacy,” I said, dropping onto my side, facing the opposite wall. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now. Good night.”
She was silent behind me, and I could almost feel her eyes on my back. Then she sighed and slid down next to me under the blanket, leaving at least a couple inches between us. “Sleep well, Tavin.”
I didn’t think I would be able to sleep again, but I did. My body seemed to have the useful ability to shut down when I didn’t want to feel anything anymore. At least I took responsibility for what I did, I thought right before I fell asleep … though Drey would have smacked me upside the head for doing something like that in the first place.
My subsequent dream didn’t help ease my guilt.
As I slept, I could have sworn I felt someone’s hands on my cheek, turning my head—then soft lips pressing against mine for a long, unbroken moment, like falling slowly and never hitting the ground. But then it ended, and a voice—Khaya’s voice—said:
“Now we’re even.”
twelve
My lips were still burning when I woke up, and now my face was, too. The dream could have been worse—my imagination could have gotten a lot more creative—but after last night, a kiss was bad enough.
I forgot about it when I couldn’t hear or sense Khaya next to me. What little daylight had been able to penetrate our shelter was now gone. I spoke into the darkness, not wanting to reach out in case I groped her by accident.
“Khaya? You there?”
There was no answer. Then I heard something else, outside in the distance, a sound like beating wings. But it was much too loud for any bird, and rapidly coming closer.
“Helicopter!” I hissed, as if anything above a whisper could actually be heard over the thrumming blades. And then the noise was right above, drowning out all other sound, and a bright beam of light was passing along the tent like a miniature sunrise and sunset. Although it only poked in through tiny, hairline cracks, I kept waiting for the spotlight to stop right over me, illuminating my face in the darkness like the fugitive I was. Me and only me, since Khaya was nowhere to be seen.
But then the light was gone, the sound of beating wings fading away as soon as it had come. The helicopter must not have noticed our shelter, otherwise I imagined I would be hearing a police squad kicking through the bushes.
“Khaya?” I said into the deafening silence.
“I’m here,” she whispered from outside the tent, and I exhaled in relief. “Get dressed. We need to get moving.”
Her clipped words made me nervous again. I threw back the crackly blanket and fumbled for my clothes, ignoring the protest in my limbs even though my body creaked and groaned like the tree Khaya had moved to make the floor of our shelter. My clothes felt dry enough, certainly drier than they had been, but I couldn’t see enough to put them on.
“The flashlight is next to you,” Khaya said, even quieter. But it wasn’t out of caution, because then she spoke louder. “Have it on as little as possible and only in the tent, because of the batteries and anyone scouting for us. They were only skimming the creek, but they were smart enough to give this island special attention. They might be back.”
I tugged my clothes on while she updated me, using the flashlight long enough to get my shirt and pants into position for dressing in the dark.
“The sound of the helicopters woke me up right before dusk, passing in the distance,” she said through the vine wall. “We need to eat, so I risked searching for a blackberry bush, which, like this poor tree, I probably killed by forcing it to grow.” I heard her sigh. “But we have berries now. I also found and grew some edible mushrooms, and I left you half a food bar.”
… Berries, raw mushrooms, and half of one of those grainy bricks that tasted like it was meant for birds or, at best, for horses. As unappealing as it all was, my stomach growled.
“The food is out here, and some water.”
The wall of the shelter parted when I reached for it. In fact, the whole tent unraveled around me, revealing a starry night sky and Khaya before collapsing in a tangled heap on my feet.
“It’s a strain for the ivy to hold itself in such an unnatural shape,” she said without apology.
I kicked free of what was now only a dark clump of vegetation, marveling at how many new vines and branches Khaya had grown into such
a complex pattern, and how precisely she must have directed the Words to do so. For the few seconds I’d felt the Words raging through me, they had seemed to have a mind of their own, a wild strength that was almost impossible to contain. Khaya could control what I had to struggle to cling to like a runaway truck.
And how had I even read the Words on her back? I was wordless. But the Words weren’t limited to the changing, black symbols in Khaya’s skin; they were far greater. And maybe, in my semi-conscious state, I’d read the true Words—the ones beyond letters. The power had been unleashed, astounding, exhilarating …
I choked off the thought after remembering what it must have felt like for Khaya to have me using her like that, especially while she was asleep.
Now we’re even.
The whispered words of my dream came back to me. I let myself wonder, for a split second, if she’d actually kissed me as I slept. But why would she have? I quashed the absurd thought and, with a carefully blank expression, crawled over to where she crouched in the shadows next to the moonlit water bottle and my pile of horse fodder.
“It’s all yours,” she said, her face smooth. “I already ate.”
Both of us seemed to be pretending that nothing had happened the day before.
“You sure you don’t want seconds?” I asked wryly, then proceeded to wolf down the berries and mushrooms. I even savored the food bar, which tasted like it had more calories than the rest. “How many of these do we have left?” I asked around a mouthful, shooting glances at the sky even though I would probably hear any helicopters before I saw them.
“Four,” Khaya said, then stood.
That was bad news, especially since I was still hungry. But I was more concerned by her indifferent tone.
I swallowed the last bite in a gulp. “Khaya, I—”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupted. “We don’t have time. We need to go.”
She was right.
Khaya folded the emergency blanket while I guzzled water. She repacked both it and the filter bottle once I’d emptied it. I snatched the pocketknife out of the backpack before she zipped it closed, with the intention of whittling a walking stick for easier trekking. When she tossed the pack over her shoulders, I tried to protest, but she silenced me with a lifted hand, tilting her head sideways.
Then she dropped her hand with a slight shrug. “I thought I heard something.”
She started upstream without another word. She didn’t even pause when her feet hit the shimmering black water, though I heard her long, slow exhale. I tugged a decent-looking stick out of the underbrush, one that actually looked like it didn’t need any whittling, and followed her. Only by clenching my jaw until it creaked did I keep from shouting curses as I stepped in the stream.
“At least it’s not going to rain on us,” I said through gritted teeth, stabbing the stick in the water with more violence than necessary, as if I could somehow fight off the coldness gnawing at my feet.
“I wish it would,” she said, ahead of me. “Low clouds give us more cover, and rain washes away tracks and smells. Luft might be behind this. He can manipulate air pressure over pretty large areas … ” She trailed off, muttering to herself.
“Fine, I’ll appreciate not being drenched and freezing …
from the knees up.”
“We won’t be following streams for much longer.” Khaya hefted the pack higher on her shoulders. “I studied the map before you woke up. We’re working our way southeast, over a pass.”
I waded faster with my walking stick and caught up to her. She might have been the only one who knew where we were going, but that didn’t mean I always had to lag behind. Especially not while she was carrying the pack.
“We’ll take one of these adjoining creeks—the next one on the left—and follow it upstream to the pass, which will drop us into a valley that will take us east into Switzerland. Oh, here’s the creek.”
I’d almost missed it; this one was hard to see even with the light of the moon. It was sandwiched by trees and narrower than the stream we were in, barely wide enough for us to walk through side-by-side. And the rocky bottom looked rougher—more like stairs with water running down them.
The climb had already been getting steeper, wearing on my worn legs. Now that there were no clouds, I could see the craggy hills in the moonlight, rising sharply on either side of the stream. We were miles into the mountainous terrain she’d called the Chablais Alps.
“Good,” I said, trying to look at the bright side. “It’ll be downhill into the valley after this.”
“Actually, not good,” Khaya said grimly. “The valley contains a major road heading back toward Eden City.”
“Oh.” The news was nearly enough to make me lose my monstrous appetite, reminding me that Lake Eden wasn’t the only way out of the city; there were also dozens of highways through the hills. I hoped the roads would at least be less closely watched in France. It was no longer Eden City’s territory, after all, even if they often acted like it was.
“We’ll need to cut across the valley as fast as we can,” Khaya continued. “We’ll be safer on the other side. They likely won’t expect us to have gotten that far. And once we’re in the Swiss Alps, there won’t be many roads for them to search for us on.”
“And not much food,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t live on berries.”
Khaya continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “And it will be more politically challenging for Eden City to send helicopters throughout two different countries … though I wouldn’t put it past—”
A howl cut the night air, rising downstream from us. It was followed by vicious barking.
For a second, we both stood frozen, the babbling creek and the barking dog making the only noise. Then Khaya was struggling toward the bank of the stream, getting herself out of the water as fast as she could.
“There’s only one by the sound of it,” she said, “so they’re probably sending one dog up every creek.” She held up a finger, testing the air. “It only smelled or heard us because we’re upwind.”
By the time I reached the bank I could hear it, splashing in the stream as it barreled toward us, snapping twigs and branches. The dog was gaining on us quickly. At least I couldn’t hear any sound of an owner.
Khaya was looking more frantic than I’d ever seen her, giving voice to her racing thoughts while mine had lurched to a halt. “We can still lose whoever is following it. We’re at a fork, and we passed quite a few along the way. Even if the dog doesn’t come back, they’ll have a hard time knowing which way we went.”
“How the hell do we keep the dog from going back?” I asked, glancing between her and the direction of the cacophony. It sounded more like a bear crashing through the forest. I raised the stick in my hands. While it made a good walking stick, it looked pretty flimsy as a club.
Khaya met my eyes, then grew still. “I don’t know.”
That was when the beast rounded a bend in the stream at full speed, growling and snarling. It was a German Shepherd, stocky and springy, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. I turned my back to Khaya and brandished the stick at it as if I could fend it off.
I had to. It was our only hope.
The dog slid to a halt a few feet away from us on the bank, feet planted and hackles raised, its tail stiff and sticking straight out behind. The only part of it that moved was its quivering upper lip as it growled.
When I moved a step back, it went into a ferocious storm of barking that probably even the Gods could hear, so I lunged forward and took a swipe at it with the stick.
I thought it might back off and shut up for a second. It did one but not the other. It stopped barking and lunged at me, sinking its teeth into my right forearm. I almost didn’t feel the pain at first—only pressure, hot and hard, and the stick fell from my numb hand. Then the dog jerked its head with me locked in its jaws,
tearing deeper and yanking me to the ground. I heard my own shout of agony like it was someone else’s. The dog kept whipping my arm back and forth even when it had me down, spattering me with my own blood. I swung blindly at its head with my left hand, my fist connecting with fur, but the dog didn’t let go. I clawed at its nose and eyes but it would shake its head again, knocking away my hand and sending me down a red roller-coaster of pain where all I could do was yell and hang on.
At least it couldn’t bark with its mouth full. And it couldn’t move or dodge that well, glued to me as it was. I abandoned my forearm to its mouth and fumbled in my pocket with my left hand.
“Khaya, get the gun!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Shoot it, for the love of the Gods!”
When I didn’t hear anything other than the snarling and my own gasps, I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw her standing, unmoving, with the pack in her hands. She hadn’t opened it.
“I can’t,” she said, her eyes wide with fear.
I forgot Khaya and tried to open the pocketknife one-handed, pinching what I hoped was a blade and not a bottle opener, beating the rest of it against the ground in an attempt to spring it loose.
But then Khaya was on the dog’s back, pouncing like a panther, cramming her fingers into its mouth. Its pink gums flashed as she peeled back the dog’s lips and stabbed her index fingers into the hinge of its jaw, back into its throat. It made a gagging noise and couldn’t keep hold of me, but then turned on Khaya, its teeth finding new purchase in her hand.
I seized the dog’s neck with my freed arm, and when I squeezed, I felt pain like it was a tangible thing, as if the dog’s teeth were still buried in my muscle. But I didn’t think about it, didn’t let my grip relax. I brought my left hand down over and over again, deep into the fur of its chest and throat, the blade of the pocketknife glinting first silver then red in the moonlight.
Snarling and biting became yelping and thrashing. But I didn’t let go, not until the dog was gurgling and twitching in my arms. And only then did I stop stabbing.
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