“This way!” she yelled.
Without a second thought, Owen threw the Core at the group of ferals who were now climbing the ledge. He turned quickly on his heel, following after Colt.
A growl echoed behind him. A hand grabbed Owen, pulling him back as cold steel grazed against his neck. “I didn’t come all this way to fail,” Elian seethed. The Wielder had a tight hold around his neck, but Owen struggled against him. “You’re coming with me.”
“Get off him!” Colt yelled through clenched teeth, but when Elian drew blood at Owen’s throat, he backed away.
“If you think I won’t drag him half dead to where I need him, you’re wrong.”
“Elian!” Rhielle called from behind, choking on her words.
Elian half turned around with Owen still in his arms. Before him, Rhielle backed away on her hands, unable to get to her feet. The feral people were advancing on her. Elian seemed struck. He hesitated, lowering his knife from Owen’s neck.
A rush of wind separated them. When Elian slipped away, Gilda rushed up quickly. She threw out her hands again, sending Elian staggering back. As quick as a flash of lightning, Gilda pulled up her right arm and flung it hard into the air, until the small, sharp knuckle blades on her hand smashed into Elian’s jaw, eliciting a scream from him.
Yanking her arm back, Gilda pulled Owen and Colt forward. They climbed a platform of rocks to the hole in the wall as the Wielder’s painful yells echoed through the cave.
“Elian!” Rhielle called from behind, her voice hoarse.
Reaching the hole, Owen glanced back to see Rhielle getting to her feet. The feral people were upon her. Elian held a hand to his jaw, blood staining his face. He glared at Owen from the floor one last time before getting to his feet well enough to take up his sword and slash through the ferals.
The cries of the ghoulish people filled the cave. Colt pulled Owen away before he could see any more. He shut his eyes against the grunts and screams he heard, letting his companions drag him along. For a moment, he debated whether he should help Elian and Rhielle fend them off. Though his enemies had tried to kill his companions, regret hit Owen like an icy wind as he fled the scene.
They stopped a moment to catch their breath. There were holes in the roof, letting in streaming daylight and signaling that the exit was not far.
“We’re all right,” Owen said, shaking. He let out a breath, biting his lip so hard he grimaced. “We—we’re all right.”
Colt put a hand on Owen’s shoulder, turning him around. “Hey. Look at me, mate.”
Peeling his eyes open, Owen searched Colt’s eyes in the dimness. “I—I almost killed her, and then we—we left them to die.”
“No, they almost killed us,” Gilda said, coming up to him. She was reserved despite what had happened. Her dark eyes held a steely edge as sharp as the weapon she’d used to attack Elian.
Colt looked at Owen with a softened, empathetic gaze. Drawing in close, he craned his head to look down at him. With his thumb, he scraped off a piece of dried blood from Owen’s chin. “You look as if you could use a drink, yeah?”
“So do you.” Owen trembled.
“Gilda?” someone called. A moment later, Brom limped around the corner. “Oh, good. You’re not dead.”
Sighing in relief, Owen calmed upon seeing him. “What happened?”
“You nearly killed us in a cave-in and we found a way around. Thank Gilda. She ran ahead of us to find you.” Brom leaned against the wall with a wince.
“I mean, I couldn’t just leave them to die,” Gilda said.
Colt nodded. “Right. I mean, we could really use Owen’s magical blade and all.” He winked.
“Right, my blade.” Owen’s smile reached into his eyes, his heart stuttering for a reason he could not understand.
“I’m assuming you killed them,” Brom started, his brows furrowing as he placed a hand on his side.
Colt cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. They’re as good as dead. Right?”
“Something like that.” Gilda inspected her dirty nails.
“Let’s get the fuck out, then.”
They navigated their way through the rest of the cave until finally the tunnel opened up to a path overgrown with vines and thorny brush. Overhead, the sky was a blanket of orange. Evening approached in a new countryside.
They were free.
Chapter 29
“You can’t hide from me. I feel it when you sleep, when you use that divine power of yours. We’re connected now.”
Owen woke with a start, his chest heaving as he shifted his fingers in the soft grass. Looking up, he caught sight of the swaying tendrils of a large willow tree. He was tired of hearing a voice speak to him in his dreams and could not help but wonder if he was going mad. His hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger.
Several feet away, Brom and Gilda sat around a small fire, cooking something skewered on sticks.
They had camped in a field, though Owen barely remembered the walk to the willow. He remembered lying down in the grass and falling asleep instantly, and then the warmth of Colt beside him. Ahead of them, to the east, lay the gray smudge of mountains, while trees and farms littered the south. The coast was nowhere to be seen.
His hand resting on his leg, Owen felt the bumpy rabbit still in his pocket. He had often felt for it to busy himself on their journey. Pulling it out, he held it in his palm and looked at it. It was still intact, though a bit dirty.
“You still have that thing?” Colt asked from beside him.
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s brought me good luck.”
“I’ll make you a better one soon.”
Colt nudged his arm, making him wince from the soreness he felt throughout his whole body. His ribs felt as if someone had used him for punching practice. This made him think of Elian and Rhielle.
“Do you think they’ll follow us? The Wielders, I mean,” he said.
Colt threw a weary smile his way. “This is just speculation, Owen, but I think they might be dead.”
The thought brought him an uneasy feeling.
“We’ve been out of the caves for a day,” Colt went on. “So far we’ve seen nothing.” Colt offered his waterskin, and Owen chugged it down.
A few minutes passed as they sat in the shadows, and the evening sky deepened to black. Something seemed odd about Colt. By now, Owen was able to sense the man’s emotions, but at the moment, he was unsure of what he was sensing.
“Is everything all right?” Owen finally asked.
Colt was quiet for a few long seconds before he finally said, “What happened in there, with you and the Wielders? I’ve never seen an Astran use that much power before.”
Owen shrugged. “I don’t know. Rhielle, she was going to kill you, and I just reacted.”
“It was off. You were off. It, well—not a lot of things scare me, but . . .”
“Are you saying I frightened you?”
“I’m saying it scared me to see you in that state.”
“It was strange being in it. It was like something possessed me. I was just trying to protect you.”
Colt’s eyes softened as he opened his mouth, but he hesitated before he spoke.
A tense silence passed between them. Owen bit his lip, hoping he had not gone too far with what he had said. He considered Colt his friend and wanted to protect him as one.
“You’re an idiot, Owen.” Colt laughed. “I’m not worth protecting.”
“Yes, you are. You’re my friend.”
“Right.” Colt tugged on a few strands of grass. “Then I guess I should help you find this Alliance group.”
Owen raised his brows, surprised.
“Don’t look at me like that. That’s where Amias intended you to go, yeah?”
“But he never told us where they are.”
Colt looked sidelong at him. “Suppose we’ll just have to look in every nook and cranny we come across then.”
“So it’s we, then? Does that mean we’re still
traveling together?”
“You’re stuck with me, mate. Get used to it.”
“I was beginning to think you might be too nervous to travel with me, from what you just said.”
“It’s a lot to take in, but I’d rather hear you babble on about it all day than not.”
Owen tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and blushed, unsure of what to make of his friend’s response.
For a moment, Owen watched Gilda as she sat around the fire. Brom talked to her as he stirred a small pot of food. He was relieved they were alive—all of them scratched, bruised, or mildly wounded, but healthy nonetheless.
“Want to get some food?” Colt asked.
Owen nodded, and they went to sit by the fire.
“How nice of you to join us,” Gilda said, putting an arm around Owen. She’d pulled her dark hair back. Loose strands blew against her dirt-stained face. “Feeling all right, hon?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Owen smiled at her.
“How about some food I found, then?” Brom said, handing him a stick of roasted mushrooms.
“Thank you.” Owen took a bite. It tasted odd, but he was glad to have food in his stomach.
“So,” Gilda started. “I suppose if I’m going to trek across Avathon with you, I’d best teach you a few things about sensing from far away.”
Owen wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’d love that. I still need help channeling, too. Think you could help me with that as well?”
“I can teach you many things, but it’s best you don’t rely on your power for everything. You can exhaust your mind.”
“I’ll try my best to do whatever you teach me.”
“Gilda, a teacher?” Brom raised an eyebrow, smiling crookedly.
She placed her hands on her hips. “What’s so wrong with that?”
“It’s just that in the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you teach anyone anything.”
“That’s because no one’s asked.”
“Wait.” Colt put up his hands between them. “How long have you both known each other?”
“About ten years,” Gilda remarked.
“Thirteen.” Brom flipped a skewer over the fire. “I remember. You were . . . what, twenty-five when you came to Harold’s?”
“No, I was twenty-eight.”
“No.” Brom shook his head. “I remember.”
Owen scratched his head. “So is it ten or thirteen?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Gilda sniffed and picked up the last skewer from the fire. “He was a young pup.”
“By five years,” Brom muttered. He nudged Owen. “Take a walk with me?”
His stomach satisfied, Owen stretched his sore limbs and followed Brom. He soaked in the landscape bathed in starlight, thankful he was alive. They strolled off from the willow until they were away from the others.
“A beautiful night,” Brom started, smiling at the sky. “And we’ve covered a good bit of ground.” When Owen said nothing, the man’s smile faded. “What’s troubling you?”
Owen’s jaw tightened as the overwhelming sense of loss overcame him. “Amias is gone. The Wielders took him.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel it’s my fault.”
Brom stared at him a moment, his face looking more youthful in the moonlight than he appeared before in Birchwood. “Colt told me everything. I don’t think it’s your burden to bear to look for Amias. He seemed an able man. If he’s alive, I’ll bet he’ll get himself out of whatever situation he’s in. I talked with him right before we parted ways in Birchwood. From the way he talked, it’s obvious he loves you. If I hadn’t already known, I would have thought he was your father.”
Before the lump could form in his throat, Owen choked it down. Amias had been more of a father to him than his own. “You don’t have to keep on with us, you know.”
Brom smiled broadly. “Yes, I know. Life is all about choices. Gilda—somehow, I . . . well, when she broke me out of the caravan and told me about breaking you two out, I knew it was fate.”
“You believe in that, too?”
“Well, I knew her, and you met her, and then I was captured in the region and wound up in the same place you all were. What else do you call that?”
Owen laughed and sniffed. He thought of Emberton, about how he had not wanted to leave, but perhaps fate had something else in store for him. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us, though. If it hadn’t been for you and Gilda, we’d be on our way to Alacor right now.”
Brom placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I think we should stick together. Fate brought us here.” He glanced back at the willow, where Colt watched them from the tree, and chuckled. “I’m afraid Colt is rather fond of you. He watches you like a hawk. That’s a loyalty most people wish for.”
As the wind whipped Owen’s hair around his face, he stole a glance at Colt. “Then I suppose we’ll all have to stick together, like you said.”
Brom nodded, blue eyes twinkling softly in the moonlight.
Owen bid him goodnight and walked back to the willow, where Gilda built up the fire. While Brom left to walk the perimeter of their camp, Owen sat beside Colt.
As they looked out, the breeze blew the long wisps of the willow, and along with it the dry autumn leaves from other trees. The colors settled around them; green, yellow, red, and orange. Owen immediately attributed their appearance to his companions. Red would be Gilda, for her fierceness. Brom was orange, for how mild and mutual he could be. Owen himself was green, for it fit his love for nature. And Colt was yellow, for he was the honey and lemon that Owen had grown to love.
“You remember in Birchwood, when I told you I didn’t have a favorite color leaf?” Colt asked, twirling a red leaf between his fingers.
“Yes,” Owen said, looking at him funny. They seemed to both be on the same train of thought. “Why?”
“I lied.” Colt looked down. “I like them all. I can’t pick.”
“What made you want to tell me?” Owen half laughed.
Colt folded his arms on his knees and smiled crookedly. “Just thought you’d like to know, since we’re friends and all now.” He nudged him with his knee.
They shared a laugh. Owen cleared his throat and asked, “Did you tell them about what happened in the cave?”
“No. I felt it wasn’t my place. I’ll let you.”
“So we’re keeping secrets? I think that puts us at best friend status,” Owen said. He thought of Hale, wondering if his faraway friend thought of him often. Or if Milo did.
“Haven’t had a best friend in a long time, and I’m good at keeping secrets. Especially ones that could land us in trouble, like you being Starborn.” When Owen looked at him, wide-eyed, Colt chuckled softly. “My lips are sealed, mate, and I’m tired. Haven’t been able to catch a wink since we left that cave. Get some more sleep, yeah? I’m sure they’ll wake us early in the morning.”
Owen slept, and when dawn broke, they ventured out from the willow and traveled southeast away from the coast. The further they walked, the less rocky the earth became. By afternoon, the grassy land had leveled.
In the distance, Owen could make out mountains. Their snow-capped peaks rose high into the sky along the horizon. Beyond, the land sifted between colors of green and yellow as fields overtook the landscape.
Brom sighed and looked out as he came up beside Owen. “I recognize this. We’re in Avathon now. Rookhold region.”
“Where do we go from here?” Owen asked. “Amias mentioned a place in the mountains called Pitchvale. He seemed certain that it was safe.”
“I know a small town we can visit first. We can head to Pitchvale from there if it’s the way you want to go.”
“All right, then.” Owen looked on nervously.
“Why the long face?” Gilda asked, hooking an arm around his shoulders.
“I just don’t know what to expect. New country and all.”
“Don’t tell anyon
e your real name, and don’t draw attention to yourself, and you’ll be fine.”
“That’ll be easy for Owen, but not for him.” Brom nodded at Colt.
“Listen. I’m a work in progress, all right?” Colt shrugged.
Owen walked alongside him and followed Brom and Gilda. He searched the pocket of his trousers for any hidden coin leftover and found instead the small medallion that Brom had given him, the only thing besides the dagger and Colt’s rabbit to escape Milarc with him. So long ago it seemed, now, that they had traveled through Birchwood Forest and met Brom.
He traced the symbol with his thumb before closing his fingers over it. “Where do you think the Alliance could be hiding?” he asked Colt.
“Don’t know,” Colt said. “But we’ll find them, mate. For now, we need to lay low. I stink. I could use a wash and a good ale.”
“Really? I can’t tell,” Owen sniffed him.
“That’s because you stink, too.”
The wind picked up and ruffled the grass of the field, creating a strange sound. A sound that halted Owen in place. His heart nearly stilled as a voice whispered to him.
“You still there? You’re strong. I can feel it, even from in here.”
He shivered and whipped around to see if anyone near him had whispered the phrase, though he knew the voice to be the one he had heard many times now.
“Who are you?” Owen ventured.
“He does have a voice, after all. What a pleasure. Let’s keep in touch. We have much to talk about. Do you know where the Gate is?”
“Vanhelm,” Owen responded, without thinking.
A low rumble of laughter followed. Owen could not tell if the voice was a man’s or a woman’s, but it was chilling, nonetheless. He immediately closed his mind, putting up a mental wall, and the whisper stopped.
“All right there, mate?” Colt asked him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You look a bit shook.”
Owen looked his way, waiting and listening, but heard nothing more as the wind died down.
“Owen? All right there?”
“Yes, just the voice again.”
“It’ll be fine. I’ve got your back, remember?” Colt held up his fist and bumped it against Owen’s. They shared a smile and continued along with the others.
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