by Miles, Amy
My stomach begins to pinch uncomfortably as I try to tell myself that it doesn’t matter, but deep down, I know it does. How can it not?
He told me he would come back. I knew even as he spoke the words that he didn’t mean them, but what if something else had forced him to return, just like back at Drakon’s hideout? What if someone commanded it?
I grit my teeth as I duck low to avoid a low-hanging branch jutting across my path. It’s feathery needles brush along my head as I pass under. As I straighten, I realize there is a slight stickiness left on the back of my neck.
The longer we walk, the more I realize it bothers me that Bastien doesn’t talk. Shouldn’t he say something to me? Maybe an explanation for why he showed up just in time to save my life and then disappeared before I awoke. But with that question comes another that makes my throat clench. Shouldn’t I be thanking him for saving my life?
It bothers me that I know nothing about him now. Kyan had been very strict about not allowing me to know of his whereabouts. I’m not sure if he did this at Bastien’s request or for my own good. Either way, for over a year, Bastien just dropped off the face of the planet.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Aminah kept tabs on him through Toren. It would make sense for her to do that, not just for herself, but for me as well. She knew all too well what his leaving did to me. She, being the motherly figure of our small band of friends, always felt responsible for each of us. Although Bastien may not have been part of our group for long, he became family, and families don’t give up on each other, no matter how far apart they are.
Watching as he adjusts my pack on his back, I wonder for the hundredth time what his base looks like. I’ve heard tales from soldiers who move from squadron to squadron. They all seem to be in agreement that Bastien is not only a good leader, but a strict one at that. Funny that the boy who used to love to break all of the rules is now the one enforcing them.
Who are his friends? The people he confides in before heading into battle? Has he regressed back into his old habits? When I first found Bastien, he was alone in the Thalar, amidst thousands of enemy soldiers. He was a renegade, a hermit with a purpose.
A part of me thinks he liked having no one to order him about. He liked his freedom, to what little extent he could be free trapped within the confines of enemy territory. He had no one to care about. It was the way he wanted it… until he met me.
I blow out a shaky breath. Why am I doing this to myself?
Using my sleeve, I wipe my brow clean of the sweat that clings just below my hairline. Stray beads curve along my forehead, curling down into the corners of my eyes where it burns, blurring my vision. Despite the freezing winds, I feel warm.
I pause to lean against a tree, its light-colored bark smooth to the touch. It rises high over my head, so high that I have to crane my neck to see the handful of branches that spider out from the top ten feet. We don’t have trees like this where I’m from. Their unusual beauty isn’t lost on me as I unscrew the cap from my canteen and greedily suck down several gulps.
The water splashes out around my lips, pouring from my chin and onto my shirt. “Are you all right?” Bastien asks, coming back for me.
I’m sure he is taking note of the color that stains my neck and cheeks. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He gives me a knowing look and slings my pack off his shoulder, dropping into a crouch beside it on the ground before he reaches into his own bag. “I have some food to hold us over until we reach camp.”
He pulls a small cloth bundle from the pack and holds it out to me. “I didn’t realize we were so close to your base.”
“We’re not.” He resumes rummaging through the pack for a cup. “I meant our camp. In the woods. We are still a three-day’s hike from my base.”
The dried venison that I just bit into goes down with great difficulty as I swallow it whole. Anything is better than wolf meat. “Three days?” I choke, pounding on my chest.
I snatch my canteen and take another long drink, easing the burning in my throat. It settles heavily on my stomach. When I finally look over at Bastien, I can see his frustration. “Did they tell you nothing about this?”
“If you mean Kyan, then no, he told me nothing apart from what I’m supposed to be stealing.”
Bastien grinds his back teeth as he thrusts up to his feet and plants his hands on his hips, the silver cup dangling from one of his curled fingers. “Why would he do this? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Really?” I chuckle and hand him the canteen. He accepts it without looking at me. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”
“What do you mean?” I hear water sloshing in his cup and then a single gulp as he downs his share of the water in one go. I sink to the ground, weary and exhausted but suddenly unwilling to even consider sleep.
“Kyan knew Eamon would never agree to this if he knew you were my guide and I…” I trail off, suddenly unsure of what my reaction would’ve been.
I wrap the venison back into its ball of cotton and toss it at Bastien, uninterested in eating anymore. As he digs out a chunk of meat, I draw my knees up into my chest and hug my legs close. “Why did you agree to this?”
As I wait for his answer, I become aware of the thick tree root I’ve sat upon. My gaze follows the intricate root system and I realize I’m completely surrounded. The only free space is beside Bastien. I decide to stay put, at least until my tailbone cracks or I tumble off.
“It was a mission of great importance. We both know that.”
“Yes.” I nod in agreement. There has never been a sighting this big. What if we could take out an entire enemy base? To actually steal one of their ships and be able to infiltrate their armada as they return soldiers back to Calisted?
I’ve often dreamed of what Kyan’s planet looks like. In my visions, it is bathed in delicate, shifting pastel colors. Flowers grow there, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Colors so vivid they seem fake, unnatural. Almost as if trapped within a dream world.
“But why did you accept it? Personally, I mean.” I glance over at him and see that he too has set aside the food.
The sunlight trickling from the canopy overhead highlights his dark hair. I realize with a start that our hair color is nearly identical now.
His face is lean, not in the same way that Kyan’s face has become drawn under the pressure of leading the rebellion on so many fronts, but almost as if he has finally grown into adulthood. His shoulders have broadened, as has his chest. He has filled out, grown another inch or so while he was gone.
His fingers are thin, but I know they hold great strength. Cords of muscle rise from his wrists, twining around his forearms and biceps. I lower my gaze to his chest and stop myself, remembering all too well what lies beneath the thin layer of his uniform.
“What I told Eamon was true.” He lifts his gaze to meet mine directly. “I trust no one else with your safety.”
I seize a clump of ice from the forest floor, testing its weight in my hand before I hurl it at a tree. It explodes on impact. I can hear the pattering of fragments raining down. “I can take care of myself.”
A slow, wistful smile curls Bastien’s lips as he nods. “You always have.”
“Then why come? Why you?” I can feel pressure beginning to form just behind my eyes. I hate the need to press him for an answer, yet I seem unable to stop myself.
Bastien’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. He turns his face away so I can only see his profile, keeping me from reading the emotions hidden within the depths of his eyes. “Because I had to.”
I lower my gaze and realize the pine needle I’ve been fiddling with between my fingers has nearly crumbled completely. I brush off the residue from my pants and lower my legs, crisscrossing them as I try to shift my weight into a less bumpy location.
On the horizon, I can see clouds brewing, dark and heavy laden. I frown and lower my gaze. I can feel the change in the air. A winter storm is on its way.
The silence th
at falls between us feels awkward. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said? This is a job for him. Nothing more. It should be the same for me.
“Do you want to tell me what all of that was about back there?”
I blink, confused by the tension in his voice. His grip on his leg, drawn up into his chest, is tight enough that I can see the muscles flexed beneath the skin of his uniform. He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he casts his gaze far out into the woods.
“Not much to tell.” I shrug and feel my stomach begin to stir. Maybe I’m hungrier than I thought, but I’m not about to ask Bastien to pass the meat.
When he glances over at me, I am rocked by the depth of his open annoyance, and the familiarity of it. “Come on, Illyria. This is me you’re talking to. I know something is terribly wrong and I want to know what it is.”
I open my mouth to speak but instantly clamp it shut, biting down on my tongue. “I don’t see how it is any of your concern,” I finally respond coolly.
Bastien leans forward, releasing his leg so he can shift his entire body to face mine. He looks as if he’s about to say something so I leap in to interrupt. “You chose to walk out of my life, remember? I don’t owe you anything.”
His fingers clench into fists atop his lap, but he slowly releases them. I watch as color slowly seeps back in, stealing away the white that painted his hands. “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy––”
“Of course not.” I grit my teeth and flip my hair over my shoulder. It needs a good brushing and I could use a long soak. For the first time ever, I find myself wishing I were back in my room instead of in the forest. “What were you thinking showing up like that? You knew you’d set Eamon off!”
“Of course I knew, but I never dreamed he would take his anger out of you!” His cheeks redden with anger. His eyes widen, slightly glossed as he leans back.
“He didn’t—” I start but cut off at his livid gaze. I take a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before releasing it. “Eamon was upset. So were you. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You know, that’s what my mom used to say when Dad had a bit too much to drink.”
I raise my eyebrows in shock. I always assumed Bastien’s parents had loved each other. He never mentioned problems. Bastien runs his hands through his hair absently, almost as if he still thought it was longer. “It only happened a couple of times, not long after the Caldonians moved in. Mom never knew he had a stash of alcohol. Dad claimed it was for emergencies.”
He turns away, but not before I catch the distant look in his gaze. “The first time he hit her, I was seven. Took nearly a week for that bruise to disappear. Mom made excuses for him, especially after he assured her that he’d tossed out all of the alcohol, but there was more. There always was.”
I draw my knees back up to my chest. I heard our parents talk about alcohol when I was younger. Several of them would express a longing for it just before they went on a raid, said it would calm their nerves. Mom said she caught a couple of the men dipping into our medical supplies once, said it made them act weird.
“What happened?” I whisper.
There is a bitter chill in his gaze when he looks back at me. “I stopped him.”
He doesn’t say anything more than that. A simple statement that seems to be weighted with a lifetime of anger. Bastien loved his parents; that much was obvious from the first time he spoke of them. They had died when he was younger, during a Caldonian raid that sent Bastien fleeing to the abandoned subway tunnels to survive. His mother was brutalized before his own eyes, his father gunned down. A terrible way to see your parents die.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He rolls his head from one side to the other, as if needing to release tension that has settled firmly on his shoulders. “Just don’t make excuses for him.”
That’s not what I’m doing, I think as I lower my chin onto my hands, rocking slightly. Is it?
How many times have I excused away Eamon’s neglect? Days, sometimes even weeks would go by before he would come visit me, and then it was always that widening hole between us that kept me from ever feeling truly loved. I knew it was there, maddeningly out of reach but still within sight. Eamon wanted to love me, needed to, but was too afraid to accept that he would someday lose it.
“Things change.” I roll my head to the side and press my cheek against my hands. My skin feels flushed and clammy. “People change.”
I can feel him watching me. I hate it when he does this. He always sees exactly what I don’t want him to see, which is usually everything. “You’re miserable,” he whispers. His tone, although soft, is layered with disbelief.
I shrug, putting forth a brave face despite knowing it won’t work. It’s a reflex I’ve grown accustom to over the past few months. Especially any time Aminah was around. “It’s not a big deal.”
Bastien shakes his head as if he is disgusted by how blasé I am about it. “If I’d known—”
“You’d have what?” I cut him off, raising my head to look at him. “Come back for me?”
He flinches back from the venom in my voice. I grimace internally, knowing it’s not fair to take out my bitterness on him.
When he finally turns to look at me, my breath catches at the sight of raw pain within his eyes. “I’d have wanted to.”
As the sun is swallowed up in cloud, the frosty winds return, blustery and merciless. The forest changes around us, the shadows lengthening until they stretch into a wall of darkness. Bastien charges up his laser gun to light the way.
“How much farther?”
His hesitation surprises me. I pick up my pace to catch up with him, only to find him staring intently at the cluster of stars still visible overhead, almost like fireflies appearing for the first time on a warm summer’s night. The clouds will arrive sometime during the night. I shiver, rubbing my hands upon my arm.
From here I can still see the North Star, shining brightest in the sky. I follow Bastien’s gaze as he lowers his head and peers into the woods. “You’re lost.”
“No.” He holds up his hand and turns in a slow circle. “I am temporarily misplaced. That’s all.”
I lower myself to the ground, brushing aside a bed of needles to make sure this time I sit on soft ground. My tailbone has yet to forgive me for my earlier abuse. “You won’t be able to find anything in the dark. Might as well bed down for the night and search in the morning.”
Bastien’s nostrils flare and he looks startled when I laugh. He looks down at me and I grin. “Must be hard for you.”
“What?”
“To admit you’re not perfect.”
His lip curls into a smirk as he shrugs out of my pack. “Just don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
My smile wanes as I look away, realizing just how easy our banter came, like before. My lips turn downward into a frown as I lean my head back against a tree, closing my eyes.
“Do you have a tent in here?” I can hear him open my zipper, the clanging of pots, and the rustle of clothes as he searches. To be honest, I could sleep right here propped up against this tree, but I nod and point to the small pouch rolled and tucked into the bottom of the pack. Bastien insists on setting up the tent while I rise to hunt for firewood.
It is harder to find than I would’ve thought. The ample amounts of pine needles will work great as kindling, but the lack of dried twigs and broken off branches will make keeping a fire going a near impossibility.
I manage to scrounge a few small bits of limbs, but they are too pliable, still moist. Heading back to camp, I try not to wonder about the sleeping arrangements. I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I see he has set up a bedroll a little way from my tent. Although I hate to know he will be without shelter, I really couldn’t imagine sleeping near him.
“There wasn’t much to choose from,” I say as I drop my pathetic load before him. Bastien turns to look at the small pile and nods.
“I can work with t
hat.” I nibble on my lower lip as he grabs his laser gun, drawing it near to see in the fading light. I hear a knob shift and the laser thrum to life. Squinting against the vivid crimson glow, I watch as Bastien runs the laser over the woodpile. It fans over the sticks in a long, narrow line. Steam begins to rise from the wood.
I kneel down beside him, mesmerized. “You’re drying the wood?”
“Yes.” He powers down the laser until it is nothing more than a dim glow to see by. He holds out a stick to me. “Break it.”
It snaps between my fingers with hardly any pressure. “Amazing.”
“Don’t they teach you that stuff in the city?” He questions as he begins to stand the sticks in a pyramid, placing ample amounts of pine needles beneath for kindling.
“No need. We have electricity.” His eyebrow rises at the sound of bitterness in my voice. “I prefer the old ways.”
“I agree.” With another knob adjustment a thin beam of light traces a circle around the small pile, igniting the kindling. The small burst of heat brings a smile to my face. No amount of flickering fluorescent lights or rattling overhead vents can replace the appeal of a real campfire. “Although these lasers do come in handy.”
“You look like you’ve done that a time or two,” I comment as he sets the gun aside and begins unpacking my bag. He sets out the cooking supplies and the meager rations we have left to make a meal.
I blush as he removes my clothes. I spy my camo pants and familiar black top within the folds of clothes and smile. It’s been too long since I was allowed to be comfortable.
Within twenty minutes, Bastien manages to concoct a rather impressive-smelling stew out of the leftover venison, some wrinkled root vegetables he found partially rotting at the bottom of my pack, and water from a nearby stream. He tips out some of the soup into a silver bowl and passes it to me while he dips his own portion into a drinking cup.
The first taste is bland but warm. It slides down my throat with ease. It doesn't take long for my stomach to gurgle in response. As I take another sip, pausing to grind a torn chunk of meat with my back teeth, I realize Bastien is watching me again. I’m tempted to keep my cup tilted so I don’t have to look at him, but I know I can’t hide all night.