by Miles, Amy
“What?” I ask as I wipe the broth from my lips with my sleeve. Not the most ladylike thing to do, but we are roughing it.
“Nothing.” He turns away, running his finger along the rim of his mug. I realize with a start that he hasn’t taken a single sip yet. Something is on his mind.
I close my eyes for a moment, knowing I’m going to regret this. Setting aside my bowl, I rub my hands on my pants and turn to fully face him. “I have no intention of spending the next two days having you stare at me like that. You might as well spill it.”
Bastien frowns, appearing to weigh out his words before he too sets aside his mug. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I want to know what happened between you and Eamon. I know I have no right to ask. Let’s just chalk it up to wild curiosity.”
I brush stray hairs back from my eyes. While Bastien chopped his long hair off, I let mine grow. It now drapes nearly to my waist. On most days, I wear it up in a messy bun or a ponytail when I’m in a hurry. I hardly ever let it fall free, but tonight I just don’t care.
“It’s really not about what Eamon did to me… It’s more what he didn’t that’s the problem.”
He doesn’t move. In the flickering of the firelight, he almost looks like a statue, darkly beautiful. The light plays tricks in his eyes, dancing in the hollow of his neck. “Eamon’s had a hard time accepting my future. After you left, he became obsessed with perfecting his control over seeing the future. He worked relentlessly with Kyan. At first we thought he was just trying to improve himself for the sake of aiding the rebellion, but we quickly realized he wasn’t moving in that direction.”
Bastien leans forward but says nothing. He doesn’t pry or press me as I clear my throat. He waits patiently. “It didn’t take long for him to begin to withdraw. At first it was small things. A wistful look, a missed sentence here or there. He hid it pretty well at first, but then he slipped.”
“How?”
“He let me touch him.” I stare into the flickering blues in the heart of the fire. It dances about, twining with the vivid oranges, spiraling and writhing in time together. “We were prepping for a battle in the fifth quadrant. The snow was falling in visible sheets, a freak late spring storm. The sleet pounding against the tent roof so hard I was sure it would pierce through it. The winds were howling so loudly I began to wonder if there was a pack of wolves just outside our door. Kyan was giving us our final instructions.”
I look down at my fingers, realizing they have begun to tremble slightly, the tips red from the cold. “I was scared. I’ll admit that. I knew it was going to be a hard fought battle. The intel was spotty and the storm came upon us so suddenly that I feared we would lose before the battle even began. That’s why I touched him. I needed reassurance, but when our hands met, I was sucked into his vision.”
“It was disconcerting at first. I’d only ever done that once or twice before and that was when I was expecting it. Everything was a swirl of gray, cold and confusing. I could hear voices, as if they were calling from a distance. I could hear my voice and…” I pause and dart a glance over at Bastien but quickly look away. “And yours.”
“Mine?”
I continue on without stopping. “I could feel him searching, like he was wading through the ocean during a hurricane. I was tossed about, barely hanging on, but there was nothing tangible to grasp. That’s when I heard the screaming.”
Bastien’s gaze is darkly intense. He looks as if he is holding his breath.
“I woke up on the floor with Kyan hovering over me. He was furious, not at me, but at Eamon. I realized as I looked up at him that there was snow in his hair, blotting his eyelashes. I remember looking past him to see that the tent had been torn away, the table and all of our maps lost to the winds. That is what I had tried to hold on to and when I lost my grasp, everything was gone except me.”
I reaffirm my grasp about my legs, feeling a chill settle over me that I know has little to do with the night air. The fire rustles before me, warm and inviting. “I knew immediately what had happened. Kyan was furious with Eamon, not only for endangering my life, but for being so distracted before a battle. He made Eamon remain behind, trudging through the snows in search of our maps instead of leading the battle.”
A hint of a smile crosses Bastien’s lips. “That was your first mission.”
I nod. “There was no one else to lead. Kyan gave me command and we sacked the base with only five men lost. It was a great victory.”
“I know,” he says. “The information you recovered in that base helped my men take out the base in the southern lands.”
“That was you?” I whisper.
“Of course.” he laughs. His smile slowly fades. “You didn’t know?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No one told me anything about you.”
Bastien’s jaw clenches. “I guess I should’ve known that would happen. A part of me thought it was a way for me to show you I was okay, still kicking and all that.”
I grab my bowl once more, simply needing something to hold until the tremor in my fingers passes. “It was a good plan.”
“Didn’t help though, did it?” He tosses a handful of needles into the fire and the flames surge into the air, igniting before burning out rapidly. He stares into the flames for several minutes. “No matter how bad things got, he should never have abandoned you.”
“Why not? You did.”
The instant the words cross my lips, I wish I could take them back. The color leeches from his face. “You know why I had to.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t alone.”
“Eamon was supposed to take care of you. To make you happy when I couldn’t.” Color rushes back in like a tidal wave, crashing over his face in splashes of scarlet. “I left so you could have a life, so you could be with him like you were supposed to be.”
His words cut through me like a poison-tipped dagger, deep and visceral. A wound I wish was fatal. I drop my head to my hands, feeling the tremor rise from my fingers to encase my entire body. I feel nauseous, ill with regret.
“Why didn’t you send word to me?” he says so softly I struggle to hear him over the crackling of the flames. “You know I’d have found a way to help you.”
I lift my head. Despite how much it would’ve hurt him, I know, staring into the depths of his pain-filled eyes, that he would’ve done anything to protect me. Even if that meant protecting me from myself.
“I couldn’t do that to you. The way things ended between us…” I trail off, shaking my head, knowing we shouldn’t be speaking of such things. “I didn’t want to hurt you again.”
Bastien rises onto his knees, closing the gap between us before I can draw in a breath. He reaches out as if to touch my cheek but draws his hand back. It hangs awkwardly in the air between us as he searches my face.
Warm tears streak down the curve of my cheeks. My throat feels raw as I clear it and the moment passes. He sinks back down and looks away. “Nothing ever ended between us, Illyria. We just… we needed space.”
“Did it help?” I wipe at my nose, wishing I had a cloth to use instead of my sleeve. This uniform is going to need a serious washing when we arrive at his base!
“No.” He pushes himself upright, rising to his full height. I would have to crane my head to meet his gaze, but I don’t even try. I can’t bear to see the emotion that I would find if I did. “But you should have given me a choice.”
Dipping low, he grabs his bowl of cooling soup and disappears into the shadows. I watch his silhouette in the moonlight until he disappears into a dense grove of trees. I clutch my arms tightly around myself as a chill that the fire can’t touch settles into my bones.
Ten
I rise at dawn, my back and neck stiff from lying on the hard ground. The air within the tent is cold, much colder than it had been when I turned in last night.
I waited up for Bastien, stoking the fire and adding kindling when it burned low, but he never came back. At some point in
the middle of the night, I heard him return, the covers of his makeshift bed rustling as he burrowed deep into its layers.
Rubbing my eyes and stretching my arms high overhead, grazing the canvas roof, I realize the material is damp to the touch and drooping low. It snowed last night and Bastien was stuck out in it.
Guilt cinches tightly around my gut as I grab my boots and shove my feet into them. It’s my fault, of course. I should have stuffed down my misgivings and invited him to sleep inside.
The tent is more of a glorified tike-tent, as Eamon likes to call it. Big enough for one full-sized adult to crawl into or a couple of kids to mess around in. Considering most of the soldiers are used to roughing it, I’m sure they don’t mind the cramped quarters, but when it comes to Bastien, his nearness is something I’m not sure I’m ready to handle.
When I emerge from the tent, I see the fire has long since died out. The embers are clumped together in balls of damp ash among the newly fallen layer of snow. It has drifted against the side of my tent and at the base of trees, making the two-inch snowfall seem more like half a foot. Bastien’s bedroll has been lifted off the ground and slung over a crudely constructed lean-to, made of the remaining bits of firewood and our laser guns. Hardly ideal for sleeping in a winter storm.
As I turn in a slow circle, gazing deep into the woods, I realize Bastien is gone. Did he leave sometime during the middle of the night?
I cast my gaze over the moist ground, peering at the blinding white of the snow, and spy a set of tracks moving off to the south. Did he leave me behind?
That’s when I hear a whistle in the woods, faint and certainly far off but high enough in pitch to be heard over the rustling of the trees and the pattering of clumps of snow falling from heavy-laden tree boughs. The returning whistle is lower in pitch and staccato in rhythm.
I stand and listen as two more back and forth calls drift my way and then silence returns to the land. I work to busy myself around the camp, beating as much moisture as I can from Bastien’s bedding before rolling it up.
I change into a new uniform, staring longingly at my camo pants, but I know with the new chill on the air, I will need the insulation the uniform offers. Winding my hair into a bun, I draw the hood of my jacket up over my head to keep the small flakes falling from the sky from sliding down my neck.
I nearly have the tent packed away when Bastien returns with a handful of glossy, purplish berries. It looks like they had at one time been encased in ice. Judging by the bright-red patch on his palms, he used his own body heat to melt them. “Breakfast is served.”
He dumps over half of the berries into my open palms and tosses the rest back. A small bubble of purple bursts between his lips, staining them momentarily. The corners of my lips twitch into a smile before I lower my gaze. “Friends of yours?”
“Scouts. We’re closer than I thought. Must’ve taken a shortcut through the foothills and brought us out on the wrong side. No wonder I didn’t find camp last night.”
“Do we need to go back?” I ask. Supplies are in greater abundance than they were the year before, what with our supply lines better manned as more soldiers continue to mutiny against Drakon, but we never needlessly abandon resources if we can help it.
“No, a truck will be dispatched to collect it. We need to get you back to base. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can go after Drakon.”
I wipe my hands clean on the sides of my pants, thankful that the purple stain won't show through the black material. I wish I could say the same for my hands, but at least breakfast wasn't wolf again.
If I’m not exhausted by the time we stop tonight, I’m going to go hunting. I could really go for roasted rabbit right about now.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.” I reach for my pack, but Bastien is already there, snatching it away to sling over his back. His hair is lightly dusted with snow. Droplets drip from the spiked ends onto the bridge of his nose as we brush down the campsite to clear away any signs of our stay.
Even though this area is well within our territory, we can’t be too careful. A rogue Sky Ship could easily spot a campsite from above if poorly attended.
The snows come and go throughout the day, falling in sprints of thick blankets and then fading away to nothing more than a faint trickle of flakes. The hike keeps us fairly warm and the slick terrain helps me remain focused, but when lunch rolls around and we stop to eat, I find myself longing to sit alone.
Thankfully, Bastien doesn’t seem to be in a talking mood either. He spends his time fiddling with the zip of my pack, his gaze averted. I can tell he is lost in thought and wonder if he’s thinking about our conversation last night.
The forest is quiet today, the birds nestled in their trees to weather the storm. The sound of our boots crunching becomes monotonous as we walk, heads bowed against the winds. I had hoped by heading south we would reach slightly warmer weather, but so far the tip of the southern borders have been less than welcoming.
From time to time, I hear the call of a hawk spiraling high overhead. I consider asking Bastien to stop to check out the newly killed animal to see if the meat is still usable, but I remain silent. I’ll suffer through another meal of wolf meat if it allows me to keep the peace.
I envy the birds, swooping and gliding on the driving winds, viewing the world from an angle I haven’t seen in a long time. I haven’t flown since the day we attacked Drakon. A part of me wonders if I’m even capable of it anymore, but I still remember the feeling of the wind whipping through my hair. The feeling of freedom and weightlessness.
You aren’t the only one that can fly, I think as I stare at the hard set of Bastien’s shoulders as I walk behind him. I know he is angry. I just can’t decide if that emotion is entirely pointed in my direction or if he has reserved a bit of it for himself.
The snows rise over my ankles, making our hike more arduous. With each step, I can feel myself wearing down, but Bastien never slows, although he seems more aware of my condition than Eamon was. Bastien may be driven to run from his own demons, but at least he is considerate along the way.
The only evidence of passing time is the slight darkening of the sky. I know it must be nearing late afternoon, but without the sun in sight, it is hard to pinpoint an exact time.
Bastien halts directly in front of me and I slam into his back, grunting as I break against him and slump to the ground.
“What’d you do that for?” I rub my chin, sore from where I hit.
He waves at me to be quiet and I’m instantly alert. I rise to my feet, crouching low as I hurry to his side.
His gaze sweeps the white landscape. I follow his lead but close my eyes, feeling my way instead. I’m about to tell him that whatever he heard must be an animal, but I hear a hiss pass through his lips. My eyes pop open and I nearly stumble backward.
A woman stands before us, less than fifteen feet ahead. She is elderly and hunched at the shoulders. Long white hair flows to her waist in a single braid, curled over her left shoulder. Small wisps stick out around her face. Her cheeks are thin and her face wrinkled with the passage of time. Pale, translucent skin is pulled taut over arthritic hands, curled inward like claws.
I find myself completely lost in the woman’s gaze. Her eyes are as blue as the deepest sea and filled with vibrant life, betraying a youth that is in sore contradiction to the state of her physical body. A silver cloak flows over her frail frame, the hood drawn back from her head to rest upon her back. Her sleeves are wide and billowy. Her feet concealed by the wide hem that rests upon the snow.
Bastien places a hand upon my wrist in warning. “Who are you?”
“I am Sariana, high prophetess of Calisted.” Her eyes appear to twinkle from within. “At least I used to be until I was shipped off to this place.”
“Are you a friend or foe?”
The woman laughs as she stretches her hands out on either side of her. “Do I look as if I can bring you any harm?” Bastien frowns but says nothing in response
. The woman’s smile broadens. “You are wise not to trust me, Bastien. Although, I think you may decide you need to hear what it is I have to say.”
His grip on my wrist is almost painful. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh.” She waves a hand noncommittally in the air. “I know a great many things. I wouldn’t be a very good prophetess if I didn’t, hmm?”
Casting a glance in my direction, I know Bastien is trying to gauge my reaction. I can sense nothing about this woman, no abilities, yet there is something different about her. Almost as if she weren’t standing there at all. A void.
She turns her gaze upon me. “Although you may possess vast amounts of power, Illyria, you will not be able to search my memory. It is a gift given to seers at birth to protect our visions so none may be implanted or stolen.”
“I can see her,” I say to Bastien, never dropping the woman from my gaze, “but I can’t feel her.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
I shake my head. He draws me close to his side. “What is it that you want from us, prophetess?”
“You ask the wrong question, young man. What you should be asking yourself is what you want from me.”
“I want nothing,” he replies. I can hear his heart beating beside me, thrumming loudly. Or perhaps that is my own heart. I can't tell.
“On the contrary. You have one question that burns brighter than all the others.” Lifting the hem of her cloak, she turns, glancing back at us over her shoulder. “You want to know why you are still in love with Illyria.”
The small wooden building is hidden behind a grove of thickly overgrown spruce trees. I wouldn’t have known it was even there if I hadn’t been straining to see our destination. It blends perfectly with the woodland backdrop, the roof blanketed with snow and the walls hewn from trees of the same spruce family.