The Glass Arrow

by Kristen Simmons

  We must go faster.

  Brax and I keep a steady pace up a steep embankment lined by prickly pines. The ground is muddy beneath my feet, and I tear off my boots, needing to feel the soft earth ooze between my toes. The boulders are rougher to the touch and larger than I remember. The black sky above is as dark as tar.

  I imagine Nina asking where I’ve been while Tam throws his arms around me. He won’t care that I’ve been gone once he sees me again. He’s quick to forget heartache. Nina will follow his lead and once we’ve resettled in a new camp, I’ll coax Salma into making me fry bread and teach the twins to knife fight. They’ll be old enough now.

  Just before dawn I turn around and find that Kiran has fastened Daphne’s hands around his shoulders with his handkerchief while they ride. She’s fallen asleep somehow, and her head is flopping to the side. With the makeup and Kiran’s blood still sticky on her cheek, she really does look plagued.

  I’m tempted to dump her here, but we can’t slow down yet. If an alarm at the Garden or the mayor’s house has been sounded, they’ll search the city first and then send a crew of Trackers into the mountains. I want to be as far away as possible before that happens.

  Up and up we go. Higher into the mountains. The air is biting; my breath forms moist clouds in front of my face, but I barely feel it. I’m sweating clean through the yellow Skinmonger dress; even my bare shoulders feel warm now.

  With the sun just cresting the mountains, Kiran whistles for me to slow down. Dell’s girth and breast piece are lathered with foamy white sweat. She snorts in a pouty way, no doubt frustrated with Daphne’s extra weight. Now that we’ve stopped, I feel it too. I’m bone tired; the muscles in my legs are wobbling, threatening to give out.

  Kiran leads us southwest, off my course, to a small pool that sparkles in the gray morning. He’s woken Daphne in a soft voice and is easing her down to the ground. Her legs give way and she stumbles, backing into a tree for support. She looks terrible: eyes blackened by smudged makeup and swollen by tears, the fake Virulent mark smeared across her nose and mouth, her hair slicked back with sweat and dew. She must realize this because a second later she turns away and begins to scrub her face clean with the neck of her dress.

  Kiran beckons me over to a tree split by lightning down the middle. He swipes away a cobweb covering a hole and then pulls out a bow and a packed leather quiver hidden inside. I smile. It may have been a while since I’ve hunted, but I know just how it will fit against my shoulder and the ting the sinew will make when the arrow flies.

  I hold out my hand expectantly, and he lifts a brow.

  “Yes, I know how,” I say before I remember that I don’t have to answer his gestures anymore. He has a voice and can speak for himself.

  “Your hands are soft.” It’s not a compliment. You can’t notch an arrow without callouses on your hands; they’ll be all blistered and useless in no time.

  “I’ll manage,” I tell him.

  He hands it over and retrieves another for himself. The past hours have put a strain on him; his face is pale and damp, except for twin pink blotches staining his cheeks.

  “Let me check that cut.” I reach for the bandage, but he backs away.

  “It’s all right.”

  I’m sure it’s not, but I don’t press it. We don’t have time to clean it properly anyhow.

  Daphne’s touching the pond with the toe of her shoe, as if something might rise up and bite her.

  “We can’t leave her,” Kiran says in a low voice, now reading my face.

  “We most certainly can.”

  “She knows about me,” he says.

  “Well, whose fault is that?”

  His golden eyes harden.

  “She’s not gonna make it out here.”

  I feel my shoulders creep up. “What do you care?”

  He breathes in, nostrils flaring. “I’ve got a soft spot for fragile women.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Who you calling fragile?”

  He laughs—it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it, and there’s something crushing about the fact that he’s doing it at me.

  His hands raise in surrender. “I didn’t say I have a soft spot for you, don’t worry.”

  My neck gets all warm, and I look down at the bow, mad that he’s making fun of me. I expected it from Daphne and the other girls, not from him. I’m pretty sure I liked it better when he couldn’t talk.

  “She’s not fragile. Trust me.” But even though I say this, I know he’s right. I couldn’t leave her to the Watcher’s beating and I can’t leave her to the mountains. They can be twice as vicious as the city if you don’t know how to survive them.

  A twig breaks, and I turn to see my half friend half hidden behind Dell. Her nose turns up. From the look on her face it’s clear she’s overheard.

  “Leave then,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

  If only she were right. “You won’t be,” I tell her. “You’ll come with us until I can take you to one of the outliers.” Marhollow, maybe, where my ma was raised.

  “Us?” she says. “The Driver is going with you?”

  I hesitate, unsure what to say to this. I did think Kiran would help me find my family. I don’t know why; he has his own people up here in the mountains. But the thought of us splitting up hollows out my stomach. He’s the only one who knows everything that’s happened these past few days, and as long as he’s around, it feels like we’re sharing that load somehow.

  I wish he would say something, but he’s busy pretending like he hasn’t heard.

  “The Driver has a name,” is all I can think of to come back with. The cold is beginning to get to me now. The sweat-soaked dress is freezing against my skin.

  “Oh,” she says quietly. “What is it?” She’s looking up at him through her lashes, and picking at her fingernails.

  “Kiran,” I say.

  “Varick,” he says at the same time.

  “Varick?” I turn and stare at him. And then shut my gaping mouth.

  Of course Kiran—Varick—has a real name. Kiran was just something stupid I made up when he wasn’t talking. Suddenly I’m angry with him; he’s kept this a secret on purpose. Maybe I should be on my own. Daphne knows as much about him as I do.

  Varick? It doesn’t fit him at all. Varick has such a crude, harsh sound to it. It’s not a name meant for someone who watches stars and plots escapes and speaks to horses. It certainly doesn’t match his gold-flecked eyes.

  “Here.” Without meeting my gaze, Kiran hands me some more supplies from within the tree. Men’s pants, like the kind he wears. An oversized Driver’s shirt. I duck behind a boulder to change; I have to cuff the pants four times to make them short enough for me.

  “Leave the dress in its place,” he tells me. “I’m sure the next Driver through will appreciate it.”

  “Driva,” I say under my breath. Luckily, I can tell he’s being funny, so I wind the dress into a yellow ball and stuff it into the saddlebag.

  “You’re not really planning on going it alone,” Kiran says, one brow rising beneath his messy hair.

  My heart settles. But then he walks over to Daphne, gives her a small, lopsided smile, and hands her the reins. She smiles at the ground.

  So glad everyone’s getting along.

  Brax pads up beside me and drops a dead sparrow at my feet.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. He lowers and begins to pull out the feathers with his teeth.

  “I won’t be a bother,” Daphne says.

  I seriously doubt that.

  “Fine,” I concede, because somehow it seems easier right now than parting with them. “But keep up. Both of you,” I add to Kiran, because I don’t want him thinking I won’t leave him if he takes too long tending to his new pet. He shoots me a cocky grin, and I’m really beginning to think I’ve made a mistake.

  * * *

  THE SUN IS PERFECTLY round, glowing white against a pale, cloud-stretched sky. Every time it’s blocked by a tree, I feel a twinge of
panic and look up, just to make sure it’s not been swallowed by the city’s haze.

  We follow it eastward, cutting through the warped, windblown trees. We twist along the mountain trail above a shale ravine, climb higher, deeper into the forest, over the creeks, through a meadow of flowers—real flowers that make me think of the girls at the Garden. Daphne and I ride Dell while Kiran walks beside us. He’s insisted that I take a break, and I’d be lying if I said my blistered feet weren’t grateful. Daphne’s asleep again behind me; her chest is warm against my back. She’s drooling down my arm. I’ll take her spit over her crying any day.

  “You look tired, Aya,” says Kiran.

  I sit up fast enough for Daphne to blink awake. She settles back against my shoulder and is snoring a moment later. One of my feet has fallen out of the stirrups and I put it back in. I wonder how far I was leaning before Kiran said something.

  “Why do you call me that?”

  “It’s your name, isn’t it? Aiyana.” He glances back. “I could always call you Clover.”

  He thinks he’s funny.

  “Aya’s what my family calls me, that’s all.”

  They’re close—closer than they’ve been since I was taken—but still seem just as far away. I tell myself we’re almost there, but it still doesn’t seem possible. The mountains feel bigger than before, and the weather has changed even the familiar parts. I feel like an outsider in my own home.

  Kiran’s moving more slowly than before, but his color does seem better. This eases my mind a little; the wound must not have been as bad as I thought.

  “Nina and Tam,” he says, the names so different when he says them. “And Salma.”

  I inhale. “That’s right.”

  For some reason the questions I want to ask Kiran get stuck in my mouth. There’s a hundred different things I want to know about him, but it’s hard to get them out.

  “What about you? Varick.” I try it out, but it still doesn’t fit. “What’s your family like?”

  He places a hand on Dell’s withers. “They’re like me.”

  Nothing more is offered.

  “That’s all?” I say. “‘They’re like me’?”

  He shrugs. Keeps walking.

  “There are rules,” he says. “If my people knew I’d broken them, there’d be consequences.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone.” I shove my hair back behind my ears. The fresh air has made it impossible to tame.

  He thinks about this. “What do you want to know?”

  Same pace, same slow rhythm. It’s like he hasn’t got any worries in the world. It calms me a little, actually.

  “I don’t know.” A frown pulls at my mouth. “Anything.”

  He waits a while before responding. “You know more than most.”

  It isn’t good enough. I want us to be even. It’s only fair after everything I’ve told him.

  “Ask me something then,” he says.

  I glance over the Daphne lump on my back. No one’s following us, at least not that I can see.

  “How come you tried to knife me?”

  “Ah.” He scratches his head. “It was my first time in town. Guess you could say I was a little edgy.” He shoots me a wicked smile that makes my insides go all soft. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure glad you ducked.”

  “Me too,” I say. “Why’d you come? City folks treat your people worse than the Virulent.” I remember the way the men avoided him in the alleyway after Kiran helped me escape the mayor’s house.

  “Same reason anyone does,” he says. “They have things we need. Gadgets. Medicine,” he pauses, as if thinking of something. “Taking a heap of nasty in town is better than letting our people die without reason.”

  He stops just as he says this, and I know we’re both thinking of my ma. City medicine might have saved her from the fever. But instead we only had what the mountains provided: herbs to make tea to help her sleep forever.

  The mountains can be cruel.

  He’s turned, and takes a step towards me. “I didn’t—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew what I was saying?” I say, my voice sharp enough to make Dell’s ears flick back.

  “I told you why. It—”

  “I know, it keeps your girls safe. So why help me at all then?”

  “Because…” he scratches the side of his head. “Because you and me, we’re alike.”

  A mean laugh tumbles out. “Not that alike. I wouldn’t have lied.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand fine.”

  Dell’s stopped, and I squeeze my heels around her ribs to urge her forward. She turns her massive head to look back at me. It’s clear she isn’t moving without Kiran’s approval.

  I sigh. Maybe it stings a little, but I know why he didn’t tell me. I wish someone had done that for me. If it meant keeping Nina off the stage, I wouldn’t say another word my entire life.

  “You can keep calling me Kiran if you like,” he says quietly.

  My gaze slides up and meets his, and for a moment everything else goes away—the city, the birds chirping in the trees, everything. My breath catches. It feels like it’s just us two, like we’re the only ones in these mountains. And I feel it happen—silent and soft as a feather, a piece of my soul becomes his.

  “We have to keep moving,” I say, tearing my eyes away. “I’ll walk.”

  “I’m fine—”

  “I’ll walk.” I need to move my legs again, they’re cramping up. And I need some space. With everything that’s happened, I’m not thinking straight.

  I belong to no one. Kiran’s all right, more than all right. I owe him for what he’s done, but that doesn’t make him entitled to own any part of me.

  As I move, Daphne’s cheek slides off the back of my shoulder and she jolts awake.

  “I need a pill,” she says after a moment. “I’m hungry.”

  Kiran’s holding Dell’s headstall, smoothing her forelock over the star between her eyes and whispering something I can’t make out.

  “There’s one in the bottle,” I tell her, sliding to the ground. She’s sitting behind the saddle and fishes the dirty, crackling plastic out of the leather bag.

  “There’s something all over it.”

  I don’t have to look back to know she’s making a sour face.

  “Bloodroot,” I tell her. “I found some in the solitary yard and dried it.”

  “Of course you did,” she mutters.

  Brax emerges from a nearby brush, feathers still stuck to his damp jaw. His tail curves happily. I knew he’d like it out here.

  “Daphne is what they call you?” I hear Kiran ask. “Like the flower, right?”

  “We’re all named after flowers,” she says tentatively as he checks Dell’s girth.

  “Not all of us,” I say. Some of us are named after weeds.

  “They got it wrong,” he tells her. “They should have called you Strawberry.”

  Her cheeks glow to match her red hair. Mine do, too.

  “Strawburries are plants, not flowers,” I say. I don’t know why he’s being nice to her. She hates Drivers.

  “You can…” she swallows, and deliberately lowers her voice to a more husky tone. “You can call me whatever you like.”

  She moves her leg so that it skims his arm while he tightens the leather strap around the horse’s ribs.

  I snort and look to Kiran for proof that she’s being ridiculous, but he’s grinning like a fool.

  Brax’s growl distracts me. He’s lowered to a crouch, staring behind us into the shadowed woods. Kiran and I share a quick glance before he unhooks the bow from over his shoulder.

  “What is it, Brax?” I whisper, straining my ears.

  “What’s going on?” Daphne says.

  I lick my dry lips, listening, hearing every bird whistle, every crackling branch. I pull the bow from over my shoulder and notch an arrow. I’ve only got three—the loaded quiver is with Kiran—so I better make them
count.

  Like thunder from across the skies, the sound reaches me. Hoofbeats. Moving fast.

  I look to Kiran. He tilts his head north, in the direction of Glasscaster.

  Trackers.

  His hand is on my arm then and he’s trying to hoist me onto Dell, but I squirm away.

  “You can ride,” I say. “If they see the horse we’re done for. Take Daphne and get out of here!”

  “Clover?” Daphne’s voice is thin. Kiran looks at me for a long moment before removing a handful of arrows from the leather quiver over his shoulder and shoving them in my direction.

  “Stay high,” he says. “Don’t shoot one unless you can shoot them all.”

  An instant later he’s thrown his leg over Dell’s withers, and they’re gone.

  * * *

  I DON’T BOTHER RUNNING after them. I make for high land, just as Kiran said. On the way I snag an armful of dead leaves and shake them over my path, walking backwards. I hope it’s enough to cover my tracks. Then I find a high tree, thread my arm through the bow, and get to climbing.

  “Hide, Brax,” I order when I reach the lowest branch. He whines up at me, and then lopes away. I wish he would go farther, but I can see him, twenty paces off, ears perked towards the north and the oncoming danger.

  They arrive quickly, before the fear has time to poison my blood. Three men on horseback. All Virulent thugs. I can see their X’s from here. I look down on them from my position three stories up, in the split in the tree trunk. My arrow is notched and ready to fly.

  I will not be taken this time. Not when I know what awaits me in the city.

  One’s wearing checkered pants and has grease smeared on his shirt. The other two are in dark gray, with knit hats covering their hair.

  “Prints turn that way,” says Checkered Pants. Looks like he’s the leader.

  One of the others dabs at his mouth with the collar of his shirt.

  “I should be sleeping,” he grumbles.