by Jasmine Walt
In the end, it’s not about whether I can trust Grace. It’s about whether I can trust myself—my instincts. And I can’t. How can I trust the person who failed my daughter?
After I have recouped, we hike a while longer, deeper into the forest. She tells me about her efforts as an Ankou. She, too, she says, is fighting the good fight. Eliminating Morts and Cruor alike to make the world a safer place for everyone. I want to believe her.
The dirt gives way to spongy moss, and pine needles catch in the hem of my skirt, poking at my ankles. We stop a few times near the rushing waterfalls, where the water is so loud we can barely hear the world around us. I am on high alert, fearful of who might be watching us, following us. But I need to recoup, and the fresh spring water washes the bitter taste of anxiety from my tongue and gives me the energy to carry on.
Water splashes onto my dress, and my sleeves are soaked from plunging my hands in the stream, but despite the cold, it’s surprisingly refreshing. Part of me wishes I never had to leave here, that I didn’t have to worry about who might be following, that I could have Anna here with me, safe, and that together we could watch the frothing waterfalls and squish our toes in the moss. But that is not my life, and our trek must continue.
The land inclines, and I am taken aback by the amount of dandelion that grows here. It covers the mountainside like a blanket. Large slates of unyielding stone jut from the ground, and wild onions sprout from the soil. Wolves howl in the distance, and rabbits peek from bushes.
“Where is the dandelion coming from? I’ve never seen dandelion grow this early.”
“Magic,” Grace says, grinning. “This is what the Ankou do, remember?” She climbs up a small plateau then turns to pull me up with her. “Where are you going, anyway?”
I don’t know how to answer.
“Do you have family this way? Are they expecting you?”
“Something like that...”
“You seem so purposeful, you know? Family can motivate us like that. Don’t you think so?”
She’s probably just being nice, trying to fill the otherwise empty air between us, but what if her exceeding interest in where I’m going and who I’m meeting stems from something other than concern?
“Family can motivate some people,” I say, trying to disconnect myself from the question.
“So how much farther until we get there?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, and I’m a little relieved that finally I was able to give her an honest answer.
The sky has hit its darkest moment and is already beginning to get lighter once more. If I am to lose her, it’s now or never. I feign exhaustion and collapse against a tree. I sink to the floor and cradle my face in the nook of my arm.
“Grace, I really need to rest,” I lie.
If anyone here can’t be trusted, it’ll be me.
I peek up at her, hoping to convey weariness with my eyes. “Do you think we could set up camp here and continue tomorrow night? Morning isn’t far off, and we need time to secure shelter.”
She nods. “You’re right. We should see if there is a natural shelter nearby, otherwise we’ll need this time to gather supplies to build something.”
I wobble back to my feet, then catch myself on the tree again. “I just need a minute.”
Grace rushes over and helps me settle back down. “No, Cordovae. You stay here and rest. I won’t be far. Call out if you need anything, otherwise, I will return after I’ve found shelter.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and grasp her wrist. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Sorry.”
“It’s nothing,” she says, but she doesn’t know why I’m apologizing.
When I am certain she is far enough off, I sneak off to continue my journey alone.
21
March 1692
Early spring morning is still dark, still cold, but it’s also hopeful. It’s warm enough to melt the dusting of snow, and only a few patches evidencing winter remain.
At first I creep through the mountain forest, building distance between myself and the woman who saved me from certain death. Animals howl and the wind whistles along the slopes. Small cliffs and crags force me into an indirect path, but soon the shale gives way to soil and early spring grass that fills the air with the hopeful aroma of life instead of destruction.
Certain I’ve made enough ground to go unheard by Grace, I pick up my pace, and soon I’m running. My knees and ankles ache as my feet thud against the hard, uneven terrain of the mountainside. Whenever I misstep, I use the trees to catch my balance.
I wipe the sweat from my neck and face. My skin and lips are chapped from the weeks of dry cold, and my throat feels raw from the thin air, but the night is warmer than weeks past. I stop by a stream to recoup. The water is soothing but chilling all at once. My body craves the heat of a fire. The sooner I reach Tess and William, the sooner I can rest.
The next field I cross is covered with dandelions—I wonder if these, too, have grown by way of magic, or if spring is finally calling. Tess and William’s haven won’t be far and should be secure, but still I need to be prepared in the event I have misjudged how much farther I need to travel. I won’t have anyone to fight alongside me or rescue me should I be forced to face another Cruor, so I grab a large branch and sharp rock to carve a stake.
I’m done needing others to fight my battles. If I am to return to my past and save my daughter, I need to save myself.
From now on, I rely on no one.
I rip the sleeves from my dress and use one sleeve to tie my hair away from my face. I kneel onto one knee and use my second sleeve to strap the stake to my opposite calf. The only thing covering the birthmark on my wrist now is the fingerless glove Verity gave me. I hope she’s okay back in Salem.
I pause a moment, looking out into the distance. Out into this huge world that goes on for as far as the eye can see. But I don’t feel small today. I feel determined.
Don’t worry, Anna. I’m coming.
I carve a second stake, this one much longer so that I can also use it as a hiking stick. Nothing will get in my way. I am stronger than ever.
As I pass another waterfall, shouts echo over the roar of the rushing water. I crouch behind a cluster of trees and train my attention on where the noise is coming from. I creep a few more yards to the west, then follow the voices north from there. Ahead of me, just beyond the trees, stretches a clearing, and it’s here the noise originates.
Wedged between two trees and obscured by the underbrush, I peek out and scan the area. To the far northeast side of the clearing, bodies move in a blur and swords cut through air and flesh. It takes moments for my vision to adjust to their speed, but soon things slow to a near stop.
Cruor.
This wasn’t part of the plan, and I don’t have time to come up with a new one. Nothing is happening the way it should. This place is supposed to be safe. And it’s not. Cruor should not be so close to our shelter and safety.
Tess hadn’t prepared me for this.
A young man, at least a good foot and a half taller than myself, fights a losing battle with more than a few Cruor. Outnumbered, bleeding from the gut and stumbling, he swings his sword and falls to his knees as an elbow lands sharply to the back of his head. In the moonlight, his skin sheens golden—one of the Ankou. One of our own.
The young man looks up, dark, maple-syrup brown eyes locking on mine, his square, shaded jaw covered in rivulets of blood.
My heart stops.
William.
His name leaves my soul like a dying breath. Before I can think, my feet pound across the field and a sound not quite human comes from my mouth.
Gone is the doubt that plagued me the last time I saw him in battle. We need each other. There is no way to do this alone. We are each valuable, and no one can be left behind. Hadn’t that been why William was on his way to save me?
Several of the Cruor turn their heads in my direction, but before they can react, my stake is already through
one of their hearts. I yank it out, black blood splattering on my face and clothes as I spin toward the next monster.
This one falls as quickly as the first. I dart into the center of the commotion, knocking Cruor off of William long enough to pull him to his feet. I spin back to my opponents, three of them with their attention on me now that my sudden appearance has resonated with their group. There must be at least a dozen of them still standing.
I lean my back into William’s and brace myself with his body to jump and kick two of the Cruor in one fell swoop. They stumble back, and I drop to my feet to shoot for the legs of one of the other Cruor. But as I do, another one lands a kick to my hip.
I go with the force, swiveling to the side, but all I feel is pressure. My body is numb. I will kill this monster I’ve taken down. I plunge the stake into his chest, then duck as another one tries to grab me. I roll back and onto my feet and plant myself firmly on the ground.
Another of my opponents comes up behind me and hooks his arm around my neck. I thrust my hands up between my throat and his forearm before he can tighten the grip. With a good hold on him, I bend forward and push toward the ground. He flies over my shoulder, but before I can finish him off, there’s another Cruor rushing up beside me.
In one quick motion, my stake is in and out of his heart and plunging for the Cruor who is already picking himself up off the ground. A head rolls on the floor by my feet, and I glance up to see William has decapitated five of the men on his own.
Something stabs into my side, and my hand instinctively grabs the wound. When I pull my hand away, it’s covered in blood. The cut burns as though on fire, and the fire spreads outward, into my hip and between my ribs, around to my back and stomach. Nausea rips through me. The bloody blade swings toward me again, but I stumble back before it hits, falling to the ground and catching myself with my hands.
A tall Cruor, eyes black, hovers over me, pointing the sword at my chest. I grab the sword, the blade cutting into my palms and burning them with iron poison, then I roll away, forcing myself to my feet despite the pain threatening to shut down my body.
I lunge for the man anyway, taking another slash to my side as my stake rips through his heart. When I turn to find my next opponent, the remaining two Cruor are already across the field and disappearing into the trees.
Cowards.
The sun perks up in the sky, and I know time is running short. We need to get out of here. Our translucent veined wings capture the sunlight like a spider web catches drops of rain. Hideous and almost-beautiful all at once.
Once they are out of sight, William keels over on the ground. I reach into my pouch and grab a fistful of rosary peas. They won’t do William any good, and I can’t help him in the state I’m in. I shove the poisonous peas into my mouth and close my eyes, willing them to work. It takes a moment, but they give me the strength I need.
I heave William up. Taking his arm across my shoulder, I feel more than just the weight of his body. I feel the sun’s rays like a pressure on my bones. Something bubbles against the back of my neck.
Oh God. It’s his skin, scorching in the daylight. I nearly forgot he’s part Cruor. That’s how he’d been able to influence me when we’d first met. He hasn’t done it since, and I’d almost forget he was able.
My heart rate ratchets into a panic. “Which way to camp, William? We have to hurry!”
Wearily, he nods his head to the west, blood dripping from his mouth and nose and scalp, and we use what is left of our strength to make our way to a small shelter, where we collapse in each other’s arms.
This isn’t our final destination, I know, because Tess isn’t here, nor is there any sign she ever has been. We can’t stay here long. The Cruor will surely return. We need to recoup and make ground before they return or we’ll never have the clearance to make our way back to Tess.
The shelter is stocked with nightshade, Daphne berries, and oleander.
He really was coming for me. Why else would he have all these herbs, these herbs he can’t use for himself? With my adrenaline wearing off, it takes every last ounce of my strength to feed myself, to chew, to swallow, but once I do, I slowly start to recover. It makes eating easier, and now I am able to feed William as well. I shuffle around the cabin looking for something that will help him, but I don’t see anything.
“There,” he rasps, nodding to a basket in the corner.
There’s a half-dead raccoon and a knife. No food.
“There’s nothing here.”
I think he shakes his head, but the movement is too weak to say for sure.
“Animal blood,” he whispers.
I frown. He’s too injured to heal on his own, and we don’t have much time. I pick up the animal, trying not to think about what he’s going to do, and place it in his hands. His fangs snap down, but they’re broken. He waves toward the knife, and I hand it to him. He struggles to cut the animal. I can’t look at it anymore. Both the raccoon and the man are struggling more than necessary.
I kneel at William’s side, swallow hard, and take the animal and knife from him. I slice the animal across the neck and hold the wound to William’s mouth as it streams blood onto his lips and tongue. His mouth barely moves to eat.
“Eat!” I order him. “Come on!”
He breaks away.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “You shouldn’t...see—”
“Don’t dare worry about me,” I say, and I push the animal back to his mouth.
Watching the effort it takes him breaks my heart, and watching the life leave the animal’s eyes kills me inside. I want to save them both, but I can’t.
You’re going to have to choose.
I know this is only a test. It’s not the raccoon and William that is the choice I have to make. It’s this life and the one before. It’s him, and it’s Anna. He doesn’t have a chance—we don’t have a chance.
But I can’t think about that right now. I fight back tears as I wait for him to finish. When he is able to feed himself, I wash my wounds in a basin and make a healing ointment from the Daphne berries and Oleander. I apply the paste and rub it into a deep gash on my side, wincing, but within moments, my wounds, like his, are already mending themselves closed, the edges turning to bright pink scars.
“Not exactly keeping a low profile, were you?” I ask lightly, trying to smile.
“You’re all right,” he whispers. “You’re here.”
“Of course I am,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I can take care of myself.”
William grins, or winces. Maybe both. “But how—”
“Shhh...” I press my finger to his lips. “You need to rest.”
His skin is pearl white now that we’re out of the moonlight, and his earthy brown hair sticks to his forehead. He is even more stunning than I remember. My finger lingers on his lips a moment too long, his gaze burning into mine, and my cheeks flash hot. I drop my hand away and rub my temples.
I need to forget about this man, but how can I when every inch of my body reminds me of that need to forget? My palms sweat. My heart races. My mouth is dry. All I can think is that I want my hands on him, my heart by his, to drink him in. Looking at him is like a drug in my system. I want more, and at the same time, I want the desire to go away, forever, to never return, to never distract me ever again.
William props himself up on one arm and turns toward me. The wound on his opposite shoulder is still bleeding, so I turn away to grab the rag to clean it. Is the animal blood not enough? When I turn back, he seems suddenly closer, his face inches from my own. Slowly, I reach for his wound, but when I do, his arm reaches up around me, his fingers slip into the hair at the nape of my neck, and his lips move for mine.
My breath disappears from my lungs. His lips press into mine, and my heart rattles in my chest. I’m frozen and at the same time wanting to throw myself into this moment. I’m still weak from the iron poisoning, and I rationalize to myself that that is the reason I am slowly falling forward, falling in
to him.
Falling for him.
I close my eyes and give in to the kiss. He tastes like bergamot, and I breathe him in like a cool ocean breeze. His strong hands caress my arms, his touch as cool and smooth and comforting as bed-sheets in an air-conditioned room mid-summer. A fragment tries to push through, to remind me how I know of air-conditioners, but his kiss melts those thoughts away, and I’m only here with him, here in this moment.
God, I care about this man. I care about him, but I shouldn’t. I don’t have time to care about anything right now, only Anna, and I don’t have time to be with him. When this war is over, I still won’t care about him enough for it to matter. It will never be enough to forget Anna.
I try to push my feelings aside, to tell myself my body is betraying me, my mind hungry for connection. This feeling can’t be real or important.
But still, it’s there, even after I chastise myself for feeling this way.
His tongue slides across my lips, tickles against my own, and this moment feels so safe. He’s the only man I trust. But as his hand creeps up my side and caresses the underside of my breast, my emotions swirl with confusion. Fragments from my life as Rose—fragments of my only other experiences of “intimacy” try to push through, and my heart and my body know this is different, but suddenly I am not sure if this is what I want or if I am just trying to prove something to myself.
I put my hand over his and slide it back down to my hip, pulling away slowly, smiling apologetically.
“William...there’s something I need you to know.”
He raises his brow. “Anything, Cord.”
“Anna...“ I shake my head. “Anna is my father’s baby.”
“Your sister?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
What would he think if he knew the truth? Would he be disgusted? Would he think less of me? I can only stare at him, and soon, his eyes widen with realization.
“You didn’t want that,” he says.
“But I want her.”
He pulls me to his chest. “I know you do,” he says, pressing his mouth against my scalp. “I can’t think of any woman stronger of heart and mind than you, no one any more likely to make the return. You’ll get back to her. You will.”