The Bridge Beyond Her World (The Boy and the Beast Book 2)

by Brandon Barr

  But then, her father’s reasoning had not impressed her of late.

  What could she do but ride like a black tiger was at her back, and pray her father held on until she returned.

  The wind in the courtyard whipped her red hair across her face. She drew a hand through the stray strands covering her eyes and turned.

  She froze.

  Mica stood in front of her, his short hair blowing in the wind. He took a step closer. “These are my best horses,” said Mica. “They’ll outrun almost anything you can meet out there.”

  Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. The wind brought a trace of his scent, refreshing the night’s memories when he had been so close, his fragrance had filled her every breath.

  “Thank you,” she managed, and moved to turn away and escape the torrent of emotions.

  “Please, I have one request.”

  His eyes were waiting for her when she turned back.

  Impossible things ran through Meluscia’s mind. One request, take my love with you. One request, never forget how much I need you.

  “Please,” he said. “Take care of Praseme. Bring her back safe.”

  Meluscia stared at him, then finally nodded.

  He turned and left. She watched him. The urgency to leave was forgotten. Mica began cleaning the shoe of her horse, his strong arms making quick work of his task when another hand, not so gentle, came down upon her shoulder.

  Meluscia turned.

  “I’m going with you,” said Savarah.

  Meluscia’s eyes combed over the ragged girl before her, stopping at the thick bandage wrapped around her shoulder. “I was hoping you could but…your wounds? Are you able to ride?”

  “Don’t ask me stupid questions, sister,” said Savarah. “Who else is coming?”

  “Our number will be small. To show King Feaor that the Hold can be humble and trusting. I’ve chosen to bring only four with us. Terling will be our scribe. Praseme for serving. Bezmerenna and Belen to serve under her…and, if need be, all of them can be listening ears among Feaor’s servants.”

  “No soldiers?”

  “Only you,” said Meluscia, “Unless you have different council. Is the road to the Verdlands more dangerous than I think?”

  “Belen can fight, he’s joined us on patrol before. I say you’ve chosen well enough, sister.” Savarah looked out toward the Verdlands, her eyes bloodshot. “If you let me lead, I can promise our path will go uninterrupted.”

  Meluscia nodded. “You have the reins.”

  _____

  The storm Meluscia feared back at the Hold manifested itself in pounding sheets of rain. Lightning cracked the sky, revealing momentary flashes of the perilous terrain Savarah had led them to.

  The horses hugged the darkened cliff walls as they descended into Gagarin’s Gorge. Meluscia held tightly to the reins with one hand, while the other gripped the rain blanket made of goose wings she had wrapped around her head and body. The angle of the rain soaked her despite her efforts, her hand nearly frozen holding her head covering tightly together.

  It was only when they reached the bottom of the gorge that the wind lightened, making the cold and rain more bearable.

  “Can you keep going?” asked Savarah, her harsh voice issuing from the moonless dark beside Meluscia.

  “Yes,” she forced herself to say. “But we should check on the others.”

  Savarah twisted on her horse to face the rest of the party. “Your future Luminess wants to continue,” she shouted. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”

  Meluscia cringed. Her sister had a way with words.

  When there came no protests, Savarah twisted back around and silently took the lead again.

  Meluscia knew that everyone in their party felt just as miserable as she. And even if Savarah hadn’t twisted their arms, she doubted any would have asked to rest. They knew how urgent their journey was. They had to return before her father passed from this life.

  As they continued on, Meluscia brought her horse beside the dark form of Savarah’s mare.

  “What happened to you and Osiiun? I was told Nightmares fell upon you.”

  “I’m alive. That’s all I have to say of that.”

  Meluscia remained quiet. The rain was lighter now and ahead, on the other side of the gorge, she found a break in the clouds where the stars shone through.

  Savarah’s words broke the silence. “What does it feel like to love someone?”

  There it was again, that strange change in her sister manifesting itself in words. The loveless void throbbed within Meluscia’s heart at her sister’s query.

  “Ask someone else, for I’ll never know.”

  Savarah laughed coldly. “You can’t hide it. It’s in your voice. All the time. All of you have it—or nearly all. A warmth. You’ve sucked from a mother’s breast. Been held. Cooed at. I never knew such kindnesses. Perhaps that is where it forms, this love you share.”

  “Were your parents monsters? You’ve only ever told me about their deaths. What were they like when you were growing up?”

  Savarah was quiet for a time. “Yes, I was raised by monsters. Cruel beyond words. It is not time to tell you about it. Not yet.”

  Meluscia hesitated as questions filled her mind. Finally, she asked, “When you recount your parents’ deaths…you have always told it as a tragedy, their final moments have always sounded so horrible. Like you truly loved them.”

  Her words were a kind of question, spilling out raw and unformed. They lingered for only a moment before the patter of rain drowned them away.

  “We all long for something we do not have,” said Savarah. “I have my fantasies, you have yours.”

  Meluscia ached with curiosity as to what Savarah’s life had truly been like. Savarah had claimed her parents were nomads from a distant tribe. Was that part of her fantasy, too? What really happened to that little eleven-year-old girl who showed up at the gates of the Hold. What was her true story?

  The moon suddenly appeared overhead though the rain still fell lightly upon their party. Meluscia turned and looked back at the horses behind her. Praseme’s face was bathed in moonlight and a quiet smile came to her lips as she caught Meluscia’s eye. Meluscia pivoted back around, emotions tearing her heart in opposite directions. Mica’s request that she bring Praseme back safely had made Meluscia heartsick with sorrow.

  Mica’s last words made clear, it was Praseme he wanted returned safely home.

  Praseme. Sweet, beautiful, worthy.

  A sense of dread began to creep over her. She shouldn’t have brought Praseme with her.

  Meluscia watched the moon disappear behind the clouds again. She was not as strong as she should be. How quickly her shame had slipped away, when here she was, on the verge of winning her father’s approval and becoming Luminess, and the very desires she must shun were still raging fierce.

  Instead of abstaining, she’d tasted what no Luminess should, dividing her more than ever into two persons, one frightened that the other would ruin everything, and the other so focused it could overpower that cowering woman inside and consume her with its ferocious hunger.

  Devour her.

  Control her.

  Turn her thoughts upon the unthinkable.

  The moon captured her eye again. She thought of the Makers. They must see her. But what did they see? Were they watching her now with pity or with scorn? Did they see her heart for her people and her passion to make peace? Or was she broken beyond repair—ruled by lust, destined for the trash heap of history rather than the annuls of the Luminaries?

  …Or, were they watching at all?

  LOAM

  Damien,

  I want to see you again, soon. Your kind eyes, your wise voice, they give me confidence. I know my decision is right. I’ve remained quiet here, among the Guardians, but it is hard. I want to speak and share my new knowledge of the charter, but I resist. I feel like a woman with eyes open, walking among the blind. No one realizes how it will be bad
for Loam. They are full of easy answers.

  It must be such a heavy burden for you, knowing the independence of your world rests on the Opposition Movement alone.

  I have learned so much from you, Damien. You bear the weight with humble passion and determination. Your people are strong and their independence is worth fighting for.

  I look forward to the pleasure of our next meeting.

  Your faithful convert,

  -Zoecara (Letter to Prince Damien of the third Quorum)

  CHAPTER 20

  AVEN

  “We’re here,” said Arentiss. “Does this look promising?”

  Aven pried Arentiss’s hand from his and walked a few paces past her, surveying the sprawling open space. He wished Winter was there to see this. Low, soft curving hills interspersed with dots of woodland. Cow and sheep pastures. Horses in wood fenced paddocks. The distant chatter of men and women working the fields in groups. It reminded him so much of his former life. Out among a low growing crop of lettuces were two dogs running down the rows. He had always wanted a dog, but the Baron had outlawed them as nuisances.

  Aven breathed deep and tasted the scent of wild grasses and pollens and the faint traces of hay and manure. This was like home, but far better. A free farm. A land far away from tyrants.

  He turned and grinned at Arentiss. “Yes, this land is gorgeous.”

  Pike stood beside Daeymara, lost in the view as Aven had been, and Daeymara, so much shorter than Pike, stood beside him, her head barely up to his chest. Daeymara gave Aven a playful little smile, her eyes watching his face with interest. The wind swept her short, dark hair across her eyes, but it didn’t seem to bother her. The four of them wore the common clothing of Loam. Pike was a picture of what he could have become by his own will. A man. Aven was drawn to the longing he saw in Pike’s eyes, but he reminded himself it was only an enchantment. His sins removed without so much as a drop of real remorse. Without even the memory of who he was. A monster turned into a tame, idiotic buffoon.

  Despite all these underlying feelings Aven held, the brain-wiped boy was almost beginning to grow on him.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” said Aven.

  “Yes, but it’s strange too,” said Pike. “I feel like I’ve been gone so long from this. From the land. But it’s only been a few days. Funny how that is.”

  “Yeah,” said Aven, looking at Pike’s unhaunted face. “I feel that, too, in a way. How was your trip to Zoecara's world?” asked Aven, forcing himself to be friendly.

  Pike was oddly quiet.

  “You went with her through the portal, right?”

  “Yes…It’s strange though. I don’t remember much. I think it was pleasant.”

  Don’t remember? Aven glanced again at Pike. Had the brain wipe messed him up that bad? Arentiss’s world, Birth, stuck out in his mind so vividly, as did Bridge. They were so different than Loam, how could one forget an experience like that?

  “Back to the business at hand,” said Arentiss. “If you purchase a farm, you will have to hire workers, and as a Guardian, you will not have time to oversee them.”

  Aven smiled. If it were not for her uncalloused hands, Arentiss could have passed for a farm girl dressed for a harvest dance. She wore a faded blue dress, tattered at the ends, with lace at the shoulders and back. Without her uniform accentuating her expressionless face, the simple artistry of the dress breathed life into her features.

  Daeymara, despite the cotton dress, did not look like a farm girl. Her cropped hair was so short, and cut in such a strange line. It was distinctly different than the long hair that a farm girl wore with pride.

  Behind them stood three plainclothed soldiers that had been assigned to them when they left the Guardian’s facility. They chatted amongst themselves mostly, and left them to wander wherever they wished without many questions.

  “I’ve thought of that already,” said Aven. “I’m going to rent out most of the land. I’ll keep for myself only a small parcel and hire one worker to tend it. That way when I am able, I can come and work it myself, with my dog at my side.”

  He caught a faint smile bend the corners of Arentiss’s tightly closed mouth. “You want a dog with your farm now…anything else to add to our errand list?”

  “A sweet wife perhaps,” said Daeymara. “I’m sure Arentiss and I would make perfect matchmakers.”

  Aven laughed. The desire to be matched with a good woman ran deep in him. “I appreciate your offer, but a farm and a dog should do for now. Winter will be my matchmaker.”

  Arentiss unfolded her arms and took his hand again. Aven thought he detected a scowl on her face. Pike looked at their hands and seemed both amused and curious, but he had said nothing of it so far. It both irritated, and pleased, Aven that Arentiss had decided to take up hand holding again today. Ever since returning back through the portal to Loam, she hadn’t tried it. But here, now, she’d found his hand again. And he enjoyed her touch. He sometimes rubbed a finger along the side of her hand, and inevitably a little smile would break through her expressionless lips, and her fingers would respond to his with a flourish of strokes.

  She was much older than him. But to his own surprise, that didn’t bother him. What did bother him was that, on the farmland where he grew up, handholding meant courtship. Perhaps if he explained this, she would refrain. But then, he liked that she’d taken to holding his hand.

  Also, how would the other Guardians interpret it? What did Daeymara think of it? The uncertainty made Aven uncomfortable. And worse, he hadn’t gotten around to mentioning Arentiss’s little endorphin thrill to his sister. Would Pike or Daeymara say something before he could? It would be an insult to Winter, for it was her role to find him a mate now just as he was to find one for her.

  And Winter, she had fallen into a dark mood ever since returning from Bridge two days ago. He had never known her to be so silent, her face so touched by misery, staring for hours at the ceiling above her bed. He wanted to bring her out here. Back to the familiar soil. Back to her woods and bugs and flowers. He hoped to, for he felt the landscape before him held enough healing for the both of them.

  They found the farm hovel at the end of a short path. It was built into an oak that rested on the edge of a thicket. Aven noticed that not far from where they stood was a red-tinted glass oval, oddly resting in the middle of the wild grasses covering the top of the home. The woman who owned the farm came out to greet them. The farmer had a face that reminded him of Sky, Harvest’s mother. She invited them down inside her home and promised to explain the strange object in her yard. The soldiers waited above ground while Arentiss, Daeymara, Pike and himself, climbed down into the hovel. It was a much larger dwelling than the one Aven had lived in, having at least three times the size. The design was such that the living space was one large circle at the center, with the other rooms opening onto it. As Aven passed through into the middle room, he stopped suddenly. In the center was a small tree with thick green grasses beneath it. The room was lit red by the beautiful dingy glass above.

  No such artistry or adornments had ever graced the farm hovels of the Baron’s land. Beauty such as this was too extravagant for a people scrounging to grasp hold of enough coin to buy their freedom.

  The red light filtering through the glass was a reminder of his transformed life. He had been taken out of slavery, and brought into a new world of freedom and peace.

  Aven rummaged through the house for almost an hour with his three fellow Guardians following along. Finally, Aven retrieved from his pocket a promissory note that Arentiss and Daeymara had helped him get from the chief merchant banker of the royal exchange.

  He handed it to the woman. “I was told this was a very fair price for this property,” said Aven.

  Arentiss whispered, “Did you not want to look at the other farms for sale in the area?”

  “No. This is the one.”

  The woman’s face lit as she read. “Thank you. This is a generous offer. My mate will be very pleased.”
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  She signed the document immediately.

  Aven stared at the walls. These were his now. He was suddenly overcome by something he hadn’t felt for a very long time. Hope. Confidence that his dreams were coming into reality and that the future was stable and secure. A farm was the foundation of life. Of self-sufficiency. Working the soil was what he knew, and what he loved. But it surpassed the simple pleasure of labor to him, for accompanying it was the promise of family, of a mate and children, of meals around a table telling stories of the day’s joys and sorrows. The very things his soul longed for.

  Arentiss squeezed his hand, and he almost tapped her a message, forgetting it was not his sister beside him.

  “Do any of your neighbors have whelps for sale?” asked Daeymara to the farm woman.

  “Yes,” said Aven, “I’m in need of a dog. On the larger side, but friendly.”

  “They’re planning on lots of children,” said Pike, “they’ll need a breed that won’t mind its tail yanked by the little ones.”

  Aven stared at Pike as if he’d just uttered complete nonsense. Children? Who’s having children? Then it struck him that Pike was insinuating that he and Arentiss were…

  Aven’s neck burned red hot.

  He glared in surprised anger at Pike, whose wistful smile began to fade under Aven’s eyes. Aven remembered Pike as a boy. A boy who loved jokes and pranks and had made Aven and the other neighbor children cry with laughter. Pike was like that boy again. Half of Aven was thankful to have him back. The other half wanted to smack him across his face.

  A calming breath took the edge off Aven’s anger.

  The joke on him and Arentiss didn’t matter. Pike was harmless now, and that fact washed the redness from Aven’s face and replaced it with a smile.

  And more important in this moment, Aven was standing in his very own hovel.

  CHAPTER 21