“Avery! You saved me!” His voice is raspy but filled with both gratitude and shock.
“Yeah, I did,” I reply with a good measure of surprise myself. But any further conversation is halted by shouting.
“Avery!” Sully’s frantic tone cuts through the atmosphere like a blade. My heart stutters, responding to his cry.
“She’s over here!” I hear Oliver. His voice is louder, closer.
“I see her!” Lark yells and sounds nearby.
“Sully, she’s coming fast! Get ready for her!” Oliver calls as the current sends Peter and me further down the winding river, farther from our group. Farther from the path to Cassowary.
Cassowary. The city name skewers my heart. I don’t want them to suffer the same fate the people of Galway suffered. I need to warn them, need to get to them, but tossed around on a vicious flow, I’m powerless to save myself, much less my city. I squeeze me eyes shut briefly then cast them skyward.
Veins of silver slither between branches, piercing the darkness. A plump moon, round and fat and ringed in opaque vapors, dangles in the navy heavens, bleeding the night of its mystery and revealing secrets under its searching glow. And in its stony light, I see Sully in the distance. One arm is wrapped around a sturdy tree trunk that juts out above the river while the other grips a considerable tree branch. I can’t imagine how he made it to where he waits, how fast he must’ve acted in order to make it there ahead of me, of the swift current, but he did. Bathed in shimmering moonlight, he is a beacon, hope personified. “Sully.” His name is a benediction, a word that is swallowed by the night, still it buoys my heart, the core of my being.
“Avery, grab the branch!” he shouts as soon as I’m close.
The moment in which I exist narrows to a pinprick. If I miss, my fate will be decided by whatever the river has in store for me. The fate of my people will be decided by the mutants heading their way. Neither is an option. I must live. For my cites. For my people. For June and Sully. I cannot miss my chance. I cannot miss the branch.
Blacker than the darkness of night, the branch grows closer. Not terribly thick but long enough to reach if I’m jarred to my right another three or four feet, it represents my salvation. My pulse rises. My throat goes dry. Missing this one chance at rescue is not an option. Dying is not an option. Taking a deep breath to steady my frenzied nerves, I raise my hand first, my entire arm met with resistance as I lift it out of the water, my tenuous grip on Peter lessening. “Hold on tight, Peter!” I say just as rough bark slaps against my palm. Not hesitating for even a fraction of a moment, I wrap my fingers around the branch tightly.
Jagged wood scrapes my hand, slicing it horizontally. I absorb the pain, refusing to relinquish my grip and be carried away on the tide. My arm jerks, threatens to yank from its socket. I squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg whatever force commands the universe to give Sully strength, to give me strength. Thousands of lives depend on us. Thousands will die if we don’t warn them.
A frosty blast of terror rockets through me as the branch lurches. I chance opening my eyes, feeling as if I’m being torn in two; Peter pulling one half of my body with the force of the current tugging his weight, and the stick being dragged by Sully.
Tense seconds pass, and the river is winning. My throat constricts. My grips begins to weaken. The fall of surviving humans who worked so hard, who traveled far and wide to unite, teeters to the edge of a great precipice, bloodthirsty beasts and a raging river poised to pitch it to its demise.
“C’mon dammit!” I hear Sully shout.
“I got you, brother!” Arnost’s rich voice echoes. “Let’s pull her in.”
“We got her!” Oliver shouts.
My gaze rests on them, on Sully, Arnost and Oliver. Lark is not far from them and offers to help. Broms strolls at a leisurely pace. He walks with the ease of a man who has all the time in the world. I plan to ensure that he makes restitution for all that he’s done. I will make him pay for his transgressions one way or another.
Together, Sully, Arnost and Oliver tow us in, hoisting Peter and I until pebbled earth touches my knees. As soon as I’m confident I’m out of the river, I collapse face-first into the dirt. My body feels as if it’s still moving, muscles spent. I struggle to breathe. Within seconds, Sully is at my side, his hot breath at my ear. “Oh my gosh. Avery!” His voice whispers through me, breathing warmth and energy into me. “Why? Why’d you do it?” he asks tenderly, without accusation or reprimand, just concern.
The sad part is, I don’t have a legitimate answer to his question. I acted without true thought, without consideration.
“Avery! Are you okay?” June’s voice is shrill and worried. I lift my head to look at her. She drops to her knees.
I pause for a second, waiting for her to ask what I was thinking. When she doesn’t, I answer, “I’m okay.”
She throws her arms around my shoulders and I feel small sobs rack her body. “Please don’t do that again, promise me.”
“Glad you’re all right,” Oliver says. I don’t miss the relief in his tone, and I certainly don’t miss the fact that Lark stands beside him, her arm touching his.
Slowly, I sit up. A quick glance at Peter reveals that he has moved to a sitting position as well, and though he hacks and coughs, he appears unharmed. Noticeably absent is Brom. “Where is he?” I growl. I strain to see into the darkness. Brom saunters our way, hands in his pockets and a smug grin on his rumpled face. I rise to my feet and slip my sword from my scabbard. When he is at the outskirts of our circle, my voice springs from me, echoing with steely reverberations. “You!” I practically spit when my eyes land on him. “I’ve had enough of you!” I clutch my sword so tightly my palms hurt.
Brom rears his head as if he’s been slapped, and then the arrogant smile returns. “I don’t think so,” he grinds his words out, his gaze dancing over June.
“You have two choices. I can kill you, or you can turn around right now and leave.”
Brom runs his tongue over his front teeth and sneers. “You’re going to kill me over an Urthman?” His tone is snide, dripping with spite and rancor.
“No, I’m going to kill you because you’re destroying our chances of getting out of here, because you’re a liability and a pervert, and most of all because I don’t trust you. And I can’t have people with me I can’t trust.” My voice is unwavering, filled not with the threat of violence but the promise of it.
Brom chuckles. He pulls his blade from the sheath at his hip. “You think you can kill me?” He arcs a bushy brow defiantly. “Come on and try.”
The sound of metal gliding over leather swishes in the air as Sully, Arnost and Oliver draw their weapons. They positon themselves around me strategically, Sully opting to stand beside me. “You heard her, Brom, you need to move on.”
“Ha, you expect me to leave?” Brom’s expression is as indignant as it is incredulous. “And what do you propose I do? Wander through the forest alone with those monsters out there? Are you kidding me? I’d have to be crazy to do that, and you’re even crazier for thinking you could send me out there.” He points a thick finger at me, his eyes narrowed to lethal slits.
“I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying with us,” I say through my teeth.
June’s bow is in hand, an arrow drawn from her quiver and pulled taut. The tip is aimed at Brom’s chest.
“You heard my sister. Go.” Raw determination shivers in June’s tone. Her jaw is set, her body rigid.
For a moment, Brom is utterly still. Not a sound echoes. All I hear is the blood thundering behind my eardrums, the sound so loud I worry those around me can hear it.
Without warning, however, the quiet is shattered by the explosion of Brom’s harsh voice. Suddenly inundated with rage, his face reddens, his eyes bulging as he shouts with such force spit sprays the space around him. “You want me to go?” he screams at the top of his lungs. “That’s the thanks I get for my hard work and loyalty?” He paces like a wild animal
, agitated and ready to pounce. He stops and glares at us. “Fine! I’ll go, but not because you told me to.” He stabs a finger my way, pure hatred coating each word he speaks. “But know this, Azyln,” he spits the name I was formerly known by, “you’ll regret me leaving. I promise you that! All of you will pay!” His entire body trembles. Anger radiates from him, so focused its palpable.
“How do you plan to do that? How do you plan to make us pay?” Oliver advances a step, his shoulders squared and the cords of muscles running the length of his arms flexed. His aquamarine eyes shimmer with ferocity. Malice drips from his words and matches that of Brom. Everything about his posture and demeanor screams of power, of aggression.
Refusing to show any sign of intimidation despite being outnumbered, Brom still issues threats. “Oh you’ll see. I promise that.”
“Maybe we should kill him now, spare ourselves the trouble later,” Sully says tightly. Nothing about his tone implies that he’s joking.
I consider his suggestion for a second, but before I arrive at a decision, Brom turns and bolts into the woods, a move that stuns everyone, especially me.
June’s head whips toward me, a bewildered expression playing across her features. “Should I shoot?” she asks but Brom’s form has been swallowed by the blackened tree line.
Swatting the air in disgust, I reply, “Let him go. I doubt he’ll make it through the night. Save your arrow.”
I look up and am met with June’s gaze. Though night has fallen, the pale, glittering color of her irises still gleams. Her eyes move from me to Sully then finally to Arnost. Amusement dances in the small smirk he wears and her expression immediately mirrors his.
“What?” I can’t help but ask. “What is it, Arnost?”
“N-nothing,” Arnost answers as he stifles a laugh.
A small ripple of giggles travels to Lark then Oliver. I look to Sully. His trademark half smirk deepens the dimple on his cheek.
“C’mon. Tell me.” I want to know what everyone is acting so peculiarly about.
Unexpectedly, a snort followed by deep belly laughter erupts from Arnost. I can’t recall ever hearing him carry on as he is now. The sound is oddly pleasant, and contagious. I feel the corners of my mouth lift. “Oh, it’s just that, that,” Arnost tries but he’s gasping from laughing so hard. “Watching that fool waddle off into the woods after making his big threat,” he mocks Brom by puffing out his cheeks and chest, “he hightailed it out of here like an injured boart.”
June is beset by a fit of giggles. Lark is too. Oliver’s mouth is wide, not a sound coming from it, but tears spill from the corners of his eyes, a phenomenon that causes June to tap Lark and get her attention. She points to Oliver and both girls laugh uncontrollably. I laugh as well, though not as heartily as everyone else. Brom did make a fool of himself. He blustered and threatened then ran away like a coward. But if I’ve learned one thing about Brom through the years it’s that he never forgets a wrong committed against him. The humiliation he endured here just minutes ago will not be overlooked. It will fester in him like a rancid wound until the score is settled, until he feels justice has been served.
I could’ve taken his life. Any of us could have. And it would have been warranted, deserved even. But we aren’t savages. We do not execute our own without provocation, without being forced into a situation without an alternative situation. Killing is always a last resort. If any other avenue can be pursued, it will be pursued.
While I don’t regret not striking him down where he stood, a tiny voice nags, echoing through the cavernous hollows of my being. It warns that we haven’t heard the last of Brom.
Chapter 13
“Do not let her out of your sight, please,” I turn to Arnost and plead as soon as June is out of earshot. Old enough to be headstrong and view Arnost as her charge as an insult but too young to realize it’s for her own good, my sister mustn’t know of my arrangement with him. Ordinarily, I’d feel guilty assigning her a chaperone without her knowledge, but these are not ordinary circumstances. This is a matter of life and death. And while June is a capable archer with impeccable instincts and lightning fast reflexes, Brom is a potential adversary who knows her well, has watched her train and has observed her vulnerabilities firsthand. He knows that her shot is weakest on her right side, that she’s trusting to a fault and that she’d do just about anything for a friend. He has choices when selecting an avenue to pursue her. In his mind, his age and gender are advantages in and of themselves. The other three are just bonuses. “I’ll be watching too, but I need to keep an eye on him and make sure he isn’t trying anything funny.” I clip my head toward Peter. Although I saved his life and his outpouring of gratitude seemed genuine, I’m still unsure of his motives. June is my priority as she’s always been and always will be, but her safety is contingent upon Peter doing as he’s promised and getting us out of the forest and within the walls of Cassowary. Between the continual threat of mutant Urthmen attacking, my disbelief that the area has been purged of Lurkers, and now the possibility of retaliation from Brom, my nerves are frayed. If Peter isn’t telling the truth and plans to deceive us, I fear I may lose my sanity altogether.
As if sensing that I’m unraveling, Arnost places a large hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Avery, you can count on me,” he assures me. “I don’t think that idiot, Brom, is going to cause us anymore problems.” He looks off into the distance toward the tree line. “I think we’ve seen the last of him.”
I want to believe what he’s saying, to feel as he feels, but I don’t. Deep in the marrow of my bones, I suspect Brom is out there now, plotting as I speak with Arnost. A shiver of unease sweeps up my spine to think he’s turned on the very people who took him in and welcomed him as family.
“If he doesn’t get torn to pieces by one of those monsters, he’ll be long gone by daybreak,” Arnost adds with certainty that conflicts with my intuition.
“Hopefully you’re right. But you never know.” My words trail off, my voice softer. “He knows as well as anyone else that the best way to hurt me is to hurt her.” I clip my head toward June, an ache in the left side of my chest so pronounced I place my hand atop it and feel the rhythmic thudding of my heart.
Lowering his voice to an almost soothing pitch, Arnost says, “I won’t take my eyes off her, I swear.” I cannot make out the details of his features. All I can see—and feel—is the weight of his gaze.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
Arnost gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze then drops his hand. “I’ll go strike up a conversation with her while you go gather Peter and the others, this way it looks natural when we begin walking together.” His tone is conspiratorial and I’m able to make out that he gives me a wink.
“Okay. That sounds good.”
Arnost smiles then makes his way toward June, who is standing beside Lark listening to a recount of how the serpent slid beneath her feet in the river. He expertly joins the conversation. Within seconds, he and June break off into a separate dialogue. June gestures animatedly, recreating how she held her bow and fired off arrows into the beast. Arnost points to Oliver and I hear him mention how quick and decisive he was, how he’s a true warrior. I can’t help but notice how Lark, hearing Arnost’s praise of Oliver, turns slightly and beams with pride. Judging from the expression she wears, I can fairly feel the flutter in her belly. I’ve felt it before, still feel it.
My gaze travels to Sully. Standing near Peter with his arms folded across his broad chest, a quiver passes through my stomach. It feels as if it’s filled with innumerable butterflies all beating their wings at once. Feeling my eyes on him, he looks up. My breathing hitches subtly and he flashes me the lopsided grin I’ve come to know so well, and love. I return his smile and have to remind myself that with every second I spend mooning over Sully, the Uganna could be closing the distance between us. I shake my head, as if doing so will clear the romantic thoughts from my head, and make my way toward him and Peter.
Resis
ting the urge to wrap my arms around Sully’s waist and rest my head upon his chest, I opt instead to plant my hands on my hips. “We’d better get moving. The Uganna could be on us any minute.” I allow my eyes to sweep the landscape past Peter and Sully. All I see is darkness interrupted by even darker shapes.
“You’re right,” Peter says and follows my line of vision. “What happened before, the interaction with Brom, it was time wasted that we didn’t have to spare.” His head swivels left then right. “The Uganna won’t sleep until you’re caught and killed. That is, if they are still tracking us.”
His tone, so matter-of-fact and filled with confidence fills me with a sense of dread. Regardless, I ask, “Why wouldn’t they be tracking us?” As soon as the words leave my lips, a part of me recoils, not wanting to hear the answer to my question.
Peter is silent. He shifts his weight from one leg to the next, his foot working a small, weedy tuft.
“What, Peter, what is it?” I ask, my heart vaulting to my throat.
“Yeah, Peter, what’s going on?” I hear a hint of worry betraying Sully’s tone.
Hesitating for a moment, Peter chooses his words carefully. “Well, it’s just that if they recognized you, they would realize it would be the perfect time to attack Cassowary, when you’re not there and neither is he,” Peter gestures to Sully.
“W-what’re you talking about?” Sully asks.
It takes a moment for what Peter has said to settle in my brain, for me to process it. But when I do, the ground beneath my feet shifts, and I feel as if the blood in my body is being drained from me, pooling at my feet. I take a trembling breath and answer Sully’s question before Peter can. “He’s saying that the Uganna might’ve recognized us and realized Cassowary is vulnerable, that they might’ve left the forest for Cassowary.”
“Oh my gosh.” The gravity if what I’ve said and what Peter has said sinks in. “It may be why they destroyed our cars.”
Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5) Page 11