by Beatty, Cate
As she got closer, he became clearer. The man wore all black. It was Nox. She stopped her horse.
Reck called to her, “Joan, it’s Nox. Come on!”
Bash pulled up alongside her. “You OK?”
She nodded and kicked her horse forward. Lucas, Spiller, and some others talked in a huddle, about ten feet from Nox. Spiller glanced at Joan and the others as they rode up.
He explained, “We caught him in the early hours. We’ve been working on him, getting information. He’s a TEO, though, not army. They’ve got a search party, not far behind us.”
Joan examined Nox. The Resistance had definitely worked on him. He was bruised and bloodied. He had been burned, too. Joan was surprised she hadn’t heard his screams at their camp, if he had screamed, of course.
Reck confronted Nox, “It’s your fault Kaleb was killed. You killed him. He was my friend.” He swung at the helpless Nox, hitting him in the face. Reck had never struck anyone. Not realizing the force of the blow would be equal to that on his own hand, he let out a small grunt. He held his hand and shook it out. Then he hit him again.
Lucas raised his eyebrows at Reck’s outburst and nodded to Spiller, who stopped Reck. “OK. OK, Tyndall. Enough.”
Reck argued, “He killed my friend, Colonel.” He motioned to Joan. “Our friend. And her mother and her father, sir.”
Lucas jerked his head toward Joan.
“That true?” Lucas asked her. “He killed your parents?”
She made no move and did not answer. She just stared at Nox.
Reck answered for her, “Yes sir, General, it’s true.”
“Well, then, you’re in time for his execution,” Lucas grabbed the reins of his horse.
Duncan broke in, “Execution? Why aren’t you taking him as a prisoner to Seaton?”
“We can’t take a prisoner with us,” Spiller answered for him.
“You’ll kill him in cold blood?” Duncan persisted.
“Look, Starr, the AA doesn’t usually bother us out here. This is a new strategy for them to chase us. He death will be a good deterrent—a lesson to the Alliance to hang back, leave us alone out here,” Spiller explained.
He nodded to one of his men, who pulled out a handgun and approached Nox.
Nox looked up when he heard Duncan’s voice.
“Starr, that you? Thought you were dead.”
“I’m alive,” Duncan said.
“Prisoner?” he struggled to ask.
“No. I’m free,” Duncan told him.
“Deserted?” he asked incredulously. Nox shook his head in bewilderment and incomprehension.
Reck held out his arm to the soldier with the gun. “Wait, let us do it, sir. Let Joan. If she doesn’t want to, then I will. It’s only fair, Colonel.”
Spiller started to say no, but Lucas offered, “If you want to, Lionheart. Go ahead.”
Still Joan said nothing.
Reck spoke to her, “Joan, you should do it. We should do it. For Kaleb.”
Lucas continued to watch Joan. She stared at Nox.
“I guess we have our answer. She doesn’t want to,” Lucas stated.
Reck took a breath. “Then I’ll do it. Can I, sir?”
He slipped the rifle off his shoulder, turned toward Nox, and appeared to steel himself.
“No.” Joan finally spoke.
Everyone looked at her.
Devoid of emotion, she said, “I’ll do it. But I want to be alone. I want some time alone with him. Is that OK, General?”
Lucas studied her. “Fine,” he said. “We’re going to head out. Just catch up with us.”
Bash leaned in to Joan and put his hand on her arm, “Joan, giving death for death isn’t going to bring anyone back. Taking a life—”
“I know what I’m doing,” she interrupted and pulled her arm away. “My ghosts.”
41
It took a few minutes for everyone to ride out.
Reck said to her, “Make sure he knows this is for Kaleb and your parents.”
Duncan exited last.
Joan was alone with Nox. She nudged her horse toward him, as Nox raised his head.
“Surprised me when you let your friend get killed. Didn’t expect that.”
She kept slowly getting closer to him.
“You really don’t have any loyalty, do you? None of your type does. And it looks like you’ve contaminated Starr. You’ve ruined his life.”
His voice was raspy and rough. She walked up to him with the great animal and held up her canteen. The last thing Nox wanted was to take water from her, but thirst is a commanding sensation, not to be denied. He eyed the bottle. Joan unscrewed the cap and poured the precious libation into his mouth. She didn’t allow the bottle to touch his lips, instead forcing him to turn his face up to her and open his mouth wide. Then she leisurely urged her horse around him, behind him.
Still saying nothing, she unnerved him. He was the prey. He didn’t know how to act or what to do.
Thirty yards down the trail, Duncan held his horse back and turned around. He walked it into the brush, his eyes searching for the right place, as he studied Joan. Sliding off his horse, he found the spot he searched for. From this vantage point, he had a perfect view of Nox. He saw Joan, still on her horse, circling him. She gave the man water. Perhaps this was a waste of time, and his presence here unnecessary, he thought. But he had to be prepared, just in case.
On his shoulder, Duncan carried the bow and quiver full of arrows and that Arrow Comes Back had given him. He slipped off the quiver, pulled out an arrow, and nocked it in the bow. He drew back and took aim. Holding his breath, he lightened on his draw. Joan was still on her horse. No rush. He watched her ride to around Nox’s back.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Nox asked nervously, twisting his head around to keep her in view. He desperately tried to regain his composure. She was a donor, after all, just a donor.
Now it was as if she could read his mind. “You think that because I’m a donor I have no…” she paused to choose her words carefully, “heart. You’re wrong.”
“Go ahead, kill me.”
She rode around to the front of him.
Staring into his eyes, she said, “You’re already dead. Been dead for a long time.”
Looking at him, Joan felt pity, as one should for every ignorant man. Nothing she could do would make his life worse than it was. For months she stoked within her a feeling of revenge, forcing it into a bright flame. But fire is indiscriminate in what it destroys.
Abruptly, thirst invaded her. She felt hot, burning. It was the warmth of the desert, she told herself. She took the canteen and drank. But the drink didn’t quench her. The heat felt like a flame inside her, scorching her heart. She poured the water over her face and neck. It cooled her, bringing her clarity.
Nox was not the Alliance, only an extension of it, a product of it. The Alliance killed her mother, her father, and countless others. The Alliance was the darkness hovering over all. Its great shadow covered Nox, just as it had her.
She fingered the tail of the rattlesnake on her belt. Nox was nothing more than part of the tail of the great snake that was the Alliance. It was the head of the beast that must be destroyed.
Duncan pulled back on the bow, as Joan came around to Nox’s front. He wanted to be ready.
He got her to talk, Nox thought. Perhaps he could keep her talking and stall her, until help arrived.
“I’m quite alive, 23. You, on the other hand—you and all your donors—have no life, do you?” he provoked her.
“I’m alive,” Joan said. She repeated, “I’m alive.”
She slipped the rifle off her shoulders. It was the very rifle Old Owl gave her, the one he fired once every year, as a remembrance. It’s so easy, so simple to fire a gun, to take a life. A squeeze of one finger results in a vicious, powerful explosion, ripping through another’s flesh, shredding and rupturing blood vessels, the conduits of life. Not so easy.
Duncan
drew back on the bow and took aim again. Then he waited. Joan remained on her horse. She wouldn’t shoot him from her horse; she’d have to dismount. Once again, he relaxed his pull on the bow.
Joan inspected the ropes that were binding Nox. His hands were tied together, and the rope extended over a tree limb to a second tree a few feet away. There the end was tied off. She prodded the horse to the rope at the second tree. Still on her horse, she waited a few minutes. The rifle lay across her lap. Then, with a singular mind she withdrew her knife and sawed the rope.
“What’re you doing?” Nox didn’t understand. “Just kill me.”
She kept working the knife through the thick, strong rope. Eventually, the rope split. The quick release caused Nox to crash onto the ground. He got up on his knees and turned to Joan.
“You think I’ll run. Is that it? You want to chase me, kill me that way? Well, I won’t.”
With her back to him, she urged her horse up the trail.
“You’re free,” she called back to him, “in a way.”
Joan freed herself also. As she rode away, she fired her rifle into the air. Though she was expecting it, the piercing report jolted her. She breathed deeply—one shot. A remembrance.
Duncan wasn’t surprised. He didn’t believe Joan would kill anyone in that way. He remained where he was, while Joan rode up the trail. He didn’t want her to see him.
As Joan galloped off, she heard a horse whinny. Looking over through the trees, she saw Duncan with his horse standing beside him.
“What’re you doing there?” she called.
Prodding her horse over to him, she noticed he held a bow and one arrow in his hands.
“What’re you doing?” she asked again.
“Just needed a toilet break.”
Suspiciously, she leaned over and observed his point of view, looking down to the campsite. He had a perfect line of sight to Nox, who was still on his knees, chewing at the ropes on his hands, in an effort to undo them.
“What were you going to do? Shoot him?” she accused him.
Duncan mounted his horse and met her accusatory stare. “If I had to. Before you killed him, I would have.”
He kicked his horse and began riding off.
“What? Why?”
He stopped his horse and turned around, facing her. “Didn’t think you needed another thief invading your dreams. You would’ve done the same for me.”
He was right. Joan knew it.
“But you didn’t shoot,” she pointed out.
“Didn’t think you’d do it,” he stated with sincerity.
He knew who she was, and she knew who he was.
Another rider broke through the trees. It was Reck. He glanced at Duncan and then at Joan.
“Everything OK? Heard the gunshot,” he said.
Joan spied Nox through the trees. He had managed to untie his hands and run off into the bushes.
“Yes,” Joan confirmed. “It’s done. Let’s go.”
“Good,” Reck replied.
Duncan urged his horse ahead, and Joan and Reck rode side by side.
42
On the day before the group was to split up, they came upon ten people, who were on the way to Seaton. Everyone decided to rest there together for the day. Among the ten was an elderly man. He was bald, wearing a brown robe with a white rope tied around his waist. He was a padre, Isabel informed Joan. Joan didn’t understand, but Bash and Isabel talked in hush tones, near the campfire that afternoon.
At one point, Isabel said excitedly to Joan, “We’re going to get married—now, today—while the padre is here.”
Bash smiled at the two of them. “Yeah, it’s time I make an honest woman out of her.”
“You go away,” Isabel shooed. “Joan is going to help me get ready.”
The two women spent a while preparing for the wedding. Joan brushed Isabel’s hair and wove wild flowers into it. Isabel rifled through her duffel bag and extracted a lovely peach-colored dress.
“Don’t have much opportunity to wear this,” Isabel exclaimed, holding it up.
Joan gasped when she saw it. She had seen many beautiful dresses on citizens in the Alliance, but none compared to this. It was so deceptively simple yet exquisite. The ones worn in the Alliance were gaudy, showy. This was smooth and silky to the touch. White, round beads were woven into the neckline, which came to a point. The sleeves were long, and the dress hung straight. When Joan slipped it over Isabel’s head, the peach color set off the light brown of Isabel’s skin.
The whole camp turned out for the wedding. The wedding party stood under a small, flowering apple tree. The sweet, honeyed fragrance of apple blossoms floated over them. Rays of sunlight sparkled through the branches.
The padre stood in front to them. Isabel had asked Joan to stand with her, as a witness. It was a position of honor, she explained to Joan. Joan was surprised to see that Duncan stood beside Bash.
The padre spoke in a language Joan didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. It was less like words and more like song. At one point, the padre stopped talking and stared at Bash. Duncan nudged him, and Bash, who was clearly nervous, uttered, “Yo accepto.”
Duncan placed a steadying hand on his arm. Bash stole a look at Joan and winked. Joan didn’t need One Who Sees to tell her He Smiles was happy. A few minutes later, Isabel repeated the same phrase. Throughout the ceremony Joan stole glances at Duncan, but their eyes never met.
Then it seemed there was confusion. The padre appeared to ask Bash something. Duncan understood and pulled a blue bracelet from his pocket. Joan recognized that it was made from the old, blue yarn of the tassel on Bash’s sword.
Bash took the simple bracelet. “I don’t have much, Isabel.” The padre said something and hovered his hands over the bracelet. Then Bash tied it around Isabel’s left wrist, whispering to her, “But all I have is yours.”
The padre announced the couple, and Bash and Isabel kissed. The crowd cheered and hollered. Someone started to play a guitar, and a few harmonicas joined in.
Lucas threw a wedding party for the couple. Everyone had fun—plenty of drinking, dancing, arm wrestling, and eating. Since they intended to meet other Resistance members who had a fresh supply of necessities for them the following day, Lucas ordered all the food to be enjoyed that night. Lucas, as did most people, had grown to like Bash.
Joan never had a chance to talk to Duncan. Reck stayed by her side all evening. Even if she had, she was unsure what to say. Duncan’s anger the other night was clearly evident. His outburst infuriated her, too. How dare he blame it on her? she initially thought. Over the last couple of days, however, she contemplated his words.
Perhaps she did hide things from herself. Duncan saw through her—her lies, her walls. He showed her to herself. The way others see us is different. One can never know the significance of each of us in another’s life.
He knew she was a donor—knew it the whole time. That revelation had shocked her. Did something exist between them? Love? No, she convinced herself, not that. It couldn’t have been love. A closeness? At one time. But not now. It seemed it was too late, too much had happened. Reck was her future, she had decided.
As they passed around a bottle of bourbon, Joan impulsively took a swig. She had never imbibed alcohol. It burned. The intense searing traveled from her lips, down her throat, and into her stomach. She started to hand off the bottle and glanced at Reck. She took a deep breath, trying to cool off. Her mouth smoldered from the liquor. Her head swayed and felt light on her shoulders. She took another swig. And another.
The morning sun accosted her eyes as she woke. During the celebration the night before, she drank too much. Why? Her head ached. As she sipped coffee at the fire, she experienced the sadness she avoided the night before. The group was splitting up.
Bash and Isabel had already packed, and she walked over to them.
Joan forced a smile and greeted them, “Mr. and Mrs. Bash.”
“Sad day, hija,” Isabel l
amented.
After hugging Isabel, Joan held out something out to Bash. “Here, maybe you should have this back?” She offered him Jane Eyre.
Bash shook his head. “No, that was a gift. Did you enjoy it?”
She nodded, “Yeah, loved it. Funny coincidence—I knew parts of this book. My mom used to tell me bedtime stories. I remember the fire part, when the big house burnt down. You sure you don’t want it? It has your name in it.”
“My name?” he questioned.
Joan opened the book to the first page, “See, ‘A. Bash.’ Looks like you were a kid when you wrote it.”
Bash looked at the handwritten script, and a smile crept over his face. He ran his fingers over the name.
“Not me. That’s my sister, Ann. It was one of her favorite books. She died when she was thirteen.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said and touched his hand. “You sure? You should take it. Keep it.”
Bash thought for a moment. “No,” he said, shaking his head and remembering. He looked at Joan. “You keep it. You gave me back my sister, Joan.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t understand it, so don’t ask me to explain. But now, when I think of her, a smile comes to my face, instead of a tear to my eye. Thank you.”
He glanced around and saw Reck packing up his pony.
Bash said tentatively, “Joan, before we leave, I have to say this. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Not about the Resistance. I understand that. But Reck? Do you—”
“Look, sometimes things are just meant to be.”
Isabel commented with concern, “I always thought Duncan and you had something—”
Joan interrupted by saying sadly, “No. We never did. He was a citizen. I was a donor…I don’t even know.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to stay with Reck. I like him. He’s a good kid, but I don’t see the two of you together. I wonder why?” Bash questioned.