Читать книгу The Shadow City - Ryan Wieser - Страница 12

CHAPTER 3

Beyond the Grey

Thirteen years ago

When Jessop woke, she was by the reservoir, lying on her side. She blinked and a heron flew off the surface of the smooth water. She took a deep breath, rolling to her back. Why was she here? She hadn’t planned on going to the reservoir. The sky was changing already—darkening. Clouds rolled into one. There was a dark cloud, or was it smoke? The distinct smell of burning filled her nostrils and she thought she might be ill. She rolled to her side and suddenly saw the boy. With just one look at his charcoal-smudged face, she remembered everything.

She didn’t feel fear towards him, though she knew she should. He was one of them. His master had killed her family. The thought of it, the smell of the crisp burned wood and flesh, the memory of red fire circling them, it was too much to contain. She rolled onto her side, turning her back to the boy, and heaved. She didn’t want him to come near her, to attempt to soothe her. She was thankful to find he didn’t.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, noticing how her fingers and arms had distinctly fewer black smoke stains than the boy’s. She watched him using his cloak to clean his skin and knew he must have done the same for her. It was odd to think he had cleaned her, tended to her, in her unconsciousness. She took a deep breath, surprised to learn she could. Her chest did not ache with fire damage.

“I healed you,” he answered her unspoken thoughts.

Of course he knew her mind; he was a telepath. That was what their kind could do. She shot him her most critical stare. “What do you mean?”

He turned back to the water, dampening his cloak once more before scrubbing his neck. “I healed your lungs. It is something only I can do,” he answered. His words were very matter-of-fact. He may have sounded arrogant, but Jessop thought he also somehow sounded lonely. As though being singular was the most isolating feeling in the world. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t—losing your family was.

She thought of her parents, and her chest fluttered with hope. “If you can heal, then why are we still here? My mother and father,” she began, jumping to her feet.

He was on his feet in an instant, standing before her, his hands out to stop her. “I can’t…I can’t heal the dead.”

She looked up into his gray eyes and wanted to tell him otherwise, wanted to somehow talk him into being able to do it, as if that were even possible. “But—”

“I couldn’t even heal your father before…His wounds were too grave. I tried. I tried so hard I was too drained to fight. I’m sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. How could he be sorry? He had come here and helped ruin her life. “I wish you’d let me die with them.”

He nodded down at her slowly before turning back to the water. “I know you do.”

* * * *

His name was Falco Bane. As soon as he introduced himself to Dezane, she remembered the man—Hydo Jesuin—saying it before, in her home. Dezane had shown up, with his warriors in tow, ready to save them. He said he saw the smoke in the distance—an impressive feat in itself, Jessop knew—and readied his fighters as quickly as possible. They had simply been too late.

Two of the warriors who had known her parents well wept openly, comforted by their comrades. Dezane had silent tears as he stared at Jessop, unable to take his sad eyes off of her. She had hugged him for the longest time, wishing that if the boy couldn’t fix this, then perhaps Dezane—a true elder—could. But he couldn’t. No one could. They were gone and she was supposed to live without them.

They had made the slow walk back to the village, leaving her scorched home behind. Jessop wasn’t really with them though, even if she walked in the center of their group. Her heart was burned to ash with her parents, her mind was soaring above with the falcons, her body was nothing but a mobile corpse. The boy may have thought he saved her from that blaze, but she had died with her parents.

They had made their way to the council tent, where the elders convened on all their important matters. The Kuroi tents were grand structures; fixed out of hide and wood, they stood some forty feet high, many as high as the trees that surrounded her home. That used to surround her home.

As they had walked through the village, Kuroi tribesmen she knew stood outside their home tents and wept for her, welcoming back their loved ones who had been too late to save the family that lived in the green. They may have shown her sympathy, but she knew they were grateful it was her family who had died and not theirs. She couldn’t blame them. She would have felt the same.

She sat with Dezane DeHawn and the boy in the council tent, as it grew darker and darker around the world. She thought it might be raining, with the slow pattering against the tent walls, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. She rocked slowly back and forth on her haunches, listening to the boy talk to Dezane.

“He has been like this for too long…he acts wholly different in the Blade, but when we come here, it is to torment your people, as you know all too well. It is time for the Assembly Council to learn his true nature.”

Jessop couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t speak like a boy, but like a man. It wasn’t just because his voice was deep—it was something else. He had authority, and power, and the confidence that came with true power. He spoke to Dezane like they were equals, though one was a great elder and the other just a gray-eyed telepath.

“You hide your scars well under your cloak and tunic, boy, but I know we are not the only ones that man has tortured,” Dezane answered. Jessop didn’t know what he was referring to, but Dezane often spoke of things she did not know.

“My scars matter not. There are many who know the truth of my nature, of my destiny. I do not fear Hydo.”

Dezane nodded thoughtfully. “It has been spoken about even here. My son, Trax, has told me much about you. The next true Lord and Protector.”

Jessop wasn’t following their conversation. She was hearing the words they were speaking, and she knew of Trax, Dezane’s son who had been raised with the telepaths, but she didn’t know what they were talking about—or why they were talking about it. Her parents had been killed; nothing they were talking about mattered.

The tent flap hit the back of the canvas wall with the muted clap of hide meeting hide. A young warrior with glowing blue eyes appeared in the dark entryway. He ducked into the tent, and Jessop saw in his hand a flaming torch. As the young man made his way towards the fire pit in the center of the tent, Jessop suddenly stopped breathing. The air in her body simply disappeared. It felt as though something were attacking her, and she scurried back on her palms, knowing she needed to put distance between herself and the warrior. As her back hit a wooden post in the tent wall she knew she was trapped. She grabbed her chest; she could feel her racing heart, panicking as her body fought for air. Her eyes wide though she saw only darkness and fire.

She heard the boy yell, “Get out!”

She saw nothing but the flames, felt nothing but the smoke filling her lungs once again. He had said he had healed her—had it been some trick? Had he been mistaken and she was now dying a delayed death from the smoke?

Her vision disappeared as she fell to the side, her face hitting the dusty ground with a heavy thud. There was a ringing sound, the source of which she did not know. As her chest fluttered with futile attempts to breathe, her fingers loosened their hold on her breastbone. She was going to be with her parents now. She closed her eyes, feeling her chest deflate further and further. Suddenly, strong hands pulled her up. She was being held in someone’s arms, her back forced against a chest much stronger than hers.

She could feel a heartbeat—but not her own. His. She felt it through his chest, through her back, near her own.

He held her tightly. “Breathe with me,” he ordered her. His chest expanded, pushing into her back. His breaths were deep and slow. She somehow opened her eyes; the tent wall appeared fuzzy before her. Dezane was crouched near, but his edges were blurred, and she could not make out the features of his face. She felt the rhythmic thumping of the boy’s heart, and it was all she could focus on.

“Breathe with me,” he spoke again, his voice softer. And without having to think about it, she did. She breathed with him. Her chest rose as his did, and slowly fell, as his did. They stayed that way until her heartbeat found normalcy, until her vision corrected. Once she’d recovered, he let her go. She turned in his arms and looked into his gray eyes and knew something about him with such certainty, despite how odd it was to know. She knew this boy would always save her.

Jessop knew that she needed Falco, and as she studied his concerned face, the way in which he held her close, her eyes traveled down his neck. Where his tunic was pulled low, she saw lines. Hundreds of silvery lines, all crossing over one another, peeking out under his collar; they were scars. She knew then that not only did she need him, but he, who held her with such conviction, tight against his mangled body, needed her too.

* * * *

“Did he say when he would be back?” Mar’e asked, readjusting the ochre-dyed shift she wore. Jessop copied her, tightening her own cloth dress. Falco had left her with the Kuroi while he returned to Azgul, the city where his master resided. He had spent several days with her first, explaining to her where the Hunters of Infinity worked, how they worked, and why he needed to be the one to confront Hydo. She had asked him how he intended to best his mentor, when he couldn’t fight him off the day of the fire. “I had expended my energy trying to heal…” He had let his voice trail off, his gaze fall from her. “It matters not. I can do this. I know my brothers will help me.” While she feared his departure, he had spoken of his many brothers in the Glass Blade, where they lived and trained—and assured her he would return safely. He said he thought of at least several brothers who would return with him.

Jessop began to work on her braid. “He just said it wouldn’t be long.”

Mar’e stared at her skeptically. “He’s very beautiful, you know.”

Jessop crinkled her nose at the girl’s words. She wondered if she and Mar’e were truly friends. She did not understand how the girl spoke to her about Falco so soon after what had happened to her family.

“You think I want to talk about him with you?”

The Kuroi girl sighed heavily. “I don’t know what is and isn’t safe to talk about with you anymore. I don’t know anyone who lost their parents.”

Jessop glared at the girl. Mar’e had known her parents. She had slept in their home. She had spoken with them. She had eaten their food. Jessop had expected her to mourn in the same manner she did. They stayed silent for many minutes, uncomfortable.

Mar’e shifted nearer. “I saw you two, the morning he left, walking.”

Jessop thought back to that morning. The sky had been gray, like his eyes, and there was a welcoming chill in the desert air. “Once it’s done, I’ll come back for you. We will make arrangements.” He had spoken to her with a soft voice, always dancing around the pointed words. He avoided saying anything about her parents. He simply wanted her to know he would make sure she was taken care of. That his mentor wouldn’t get away with his trespasses against her.

“You don’t have to feel responsible for me. It wasn’t your fault.” She had been terrified of speaking the words to him. She thought that maybe, if she told him he could be free of her, he would truly never return. But she didn’t want him to return out of guilt. She didn’t even want him to return to take care of her. She had the Kuroi. She just wanted him to return.

He had shaken his head down at her. “It’s not like that.” He touched her face softly, his fingertips grazing her temple. He closed his eyes and seemed to focus. Jessop didn’t know his kind. She had seen him do much and had heard there was much more he could do that she had yet to witness. All she knew was that she did not fear him. He blinked, opening his gray eyes to her slowly. “You’re different. I can’t tell what it is…But I know you’re like me somehow.”

She had stared at the ground, confused by his words. “I don’t know about that.”

He had raised her chin with his hand, willing her to look back at him. “I do.”

Jessop pushed the memory back, returning her attention to Mar’e. “You saw us walking—what of it?”

“You don’t even know each other and you act like you have this unspoken bond. You walk with one another as though you’d been doing it for years.” Her voice was sharp—jealous.

Jessop narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me, Jessop.”

“He’s alone, Mar’e. Alone like I am alone.”

She cocked her head and her dark braids fell over her shoulder. “His family died too?”

Jessop knew Mar’e meant no insult. She simply didn’t understand. “No. I don’t know. But it’s not like that. Not that kind of alone. Alone because he’s different.”

Mar’e nodded, her eyes softening. She looked about the space in the tented room, as though ensuring they were alone. “I do know what you mean. He’s different like you. Like what the Kuroi speak of.”

Jessop didn’t know what Mar’e was saying. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling defensive. “What do they speak of?”

“I’m not supposed to say.”

“Mar’e.”

“Fine. But remain silent over it. I do not always say you aren’t Kuroi because of your bloodline, Jessop. I don’t even say it to just criticize you, even though sometimes I know I say it to be cruel…I say it because I have heard my parents speak of it. I heard them talk about how you and your family are different.”

Jessop felt her skin prickle at the words. “What are you talking about?” Her tone was angry. Defensive. Mar’e had lied to her before and she was possibly lying to her again simply to feel superior once more.

“I don’t know any more. That’s the truth. All I know is that I heard them talking. Not about how you and your mother were part Kuroi, but how you were part something else.”

Jessop studied her friend’s face. Mar’e seemed excited, as though she relished having secrets to tell. Jessop didn’t think the girl spoke the truth. But she thought of what Falco had said to her. She was different. She shook her head, arguing against the thought. Maybe she was different, maybe she wasn’t, but if there had been something about her family, her parents or Dezane would have told her. She gruffly walked past Mar’e. “Don’t talk about my mother.”

* * * *

She didn’t understand why the ashes were still smoking. She didn’t understand how a week ago, this had been her home, her parents…her whole world. It had burned entirely to the ground—not an intact dish or surviving piece of furniture. No parents. Hydo’s wicked magic had given the fire life, a dreadful ability to decimate that which a natural flame would have left simply licked.

She closed her eyes and stepped onto the ashes. She was surprised to learn they were not hot against her feet. Was she numb to new pain now? She kept her eyes shut and raised her hand out before her. In her mind, she saw her front door, her hand wrapping around the lever to open it. She stepped through the wooden entryway, and the smell of fresh flat bread replaced that of charred flesh. Her mother was polishing a dish, her father cutting meat. It was mealtime. They looked to her and smiled. She stepped around the table and approached them, ready to be enveloped in her parents’ embrace.

But as her extended arms locked tightly around nothing, she opened her eyes. She was standing right where they should have been, but of course, they weren’t. She let her arms fall to her sides. She knelt down and pushed her hand into the hot ash. She wanted Hydo to die—she maybe even wanted Falco to be the one to kill him. But if he couldn’t, she would do it. Maybe not today, or even in a year…She needed to grow; she knew she couldn’t fight anyone at this size, except maybe Mar’e. But as she lifted her palm and watched the ashes of her life and all that she had loved trickle through her fingers, she knew she would kill him. Given the chance, she would take everything he ever loved, and set fire to it.

* * * *

The fire was moving with a mystical force. The noise of the flames was deafening. The fire hadn’t killed them though; he had. The smell of smoke was overwhelming. The red of the flame, the way it lit up everything it intended to destroy, filled her with dread.

Jessop. She didn’t know who spoke her name, though the voice sounded so familiar. Jessop. She spun about the room, though she saw no one. No one but her parents. They were side by side. The fire getting closer. The room collapsing around them. Jessop! Someone grabbed her violently—

Jessop woke with a start, scrambling forward. As she crawled away from the pelts of her bed, her hand finding the cool wall of the tent, she realized it had simply been another nightmare. Her heart raced. Her skin was slick with sweat. Her nights were plagued with terror as she slept alone in the tent Dezane had allocated to her. Every night had been the same since Falco left. She was back in the fire. She woke. She thought of how she’d kill Hydo Jesuin one day.

Though Hydo was not the only one who she thought of. She thought about Falco. Dezane had arranged the first leg of the boy’s travel, getting him on a Soar-Craft out of Okton Radon. But that was all he could do for him; the rest was up to Falco to figure out. Thinking about him worried her. He was barely older than her, at ten and four years—she couldn’t imagine doing what he set out to do. He had powers though, abilities they had taught him, the sorcery the Hunter kind were known for—different from Kuroi power, darker. She hoped that what was said about him was true, that he was the best there ever was.

From what she had seen of him so far, she believed it.

* * * *

Every day Jessop returned to her home. Or at least to what was left of it. Every day she promised herself she would not come the following. That she would say goodbye and mean it. Then the following morning arrived and she was walking back without hesitation.

The ashes had finally stopped smoking. She had taken to sitting among the burned remains, to be near to them still. She spoke to them as though they were still there. She pretended they were listening. She told them of her anger, her plans for vengeance, of Falco Bane and the thousands of scars on his body. She had only seen those that stuck out of collars, the jagged ends on the periphery of his limbs, but she knew they were countless. She had not asked, and he had not volunteered any information.

In a few days it would be her birthday. She would be ten and three. “The first one I will have where you two won’t be there.”

She ran her fingers softly through the ashes. “Dezane weeps for you still,” she said, changing the subject quickly. She offered up the information on Dezane, speaking as though she herself did not weep, when she did.

She rubbed her small fingertips together, brushing the ash away. “Many do, still. I suppose many will for a long time.”

She crossed her arms over her small body and leaned forward. She had not spoken about what Mar’e had said—not to the ashes and not to Dezane. She had barely spoken to the girl since she had shared her secrets. “I don’t want you to worry about me. Dezane cares for me well, and Falco will return for me. He promised he would.”

She would have felt foolish saying the words out loud if she didn’t already know how absurd it was to be speaking to the ashes of her dead parents. The words were true though. In those first few days, no matter how hard she had tried to fear him, she couldn’t. He had saved her and he alone had seemed to understand her pain. Her loneliness.

There were none like him and she understood that he had been treated differently for his uniqueness. She was willing to treat him however he wished to be treated—she owed him that. “He’s different, you know. I’m not sure how yet, we don’t know each other very well, I guess. But I could tell when I couldn’t breathe, and he knew how to fix it. He knows my pain. He’s felt it.

“Dezane believes in him too, I think. I mean, I know. They talked about his future, and the future of the Kuroi. He cares for the Kuroi, but his eyes are not like ours, Mother. He is like Father, someone who feels comfortable with the Kuroi.

“He’s going to be—” but Jessop’s words were cut short as her eyes caught the quickest glimmer of metal in the sky. It had disappeared behind the tree line, and within seconds there was the unmistakable sound of a crash.

* * * *

The Soar-Craft was lodged into the sand, smoking. It had left a skid trail for sixty paces at least. Jessop stared at the mangled silver ship, and at the face of the unconscious boy behind the glass windshield. She barely recognized Falco—he was covered in so much blood. Her heart began to race. Smoke was rising from the back of the craft. She knew the Kuroi villagers had heard the crash and would be coming, but once again, they would be too late to save anyone.

Jessop wanted to retreat from the smoke, watching it with an angry suspicion, but she couldn’t leave him to die. Not when he had saved her. Not when she needed him so greatly. The doorway to the craft was lodged several feet under sand; there would be no prying it open in time. She eyed the ground around her, looking for something—anything—that would help her break him free. She saw nothing, and the smoke was thickening.

She took a step closer. “Fal—” Her scream halted as she stubbed her foot on something hot and sharp. She hissed at the pain, but forgot the injury entirely as her eyes fell upon a piece of scrap metal. She was unsure what it was; it looked like a giant bolt, almost too large for her to hold in one hand. It didn’t matter what it was or where it came from, though, it could work. She grabbed it up, ignoring the way its heated metal could harm her hand. With an agile leap, she was on the hood of the craft. She knelt before the windshield, her adrenaline too great to feel the scorching metal melding to her kneecaps.

“Falco!” She screamed, banging on the windshield with her hand. He did not stir. She drew her arm back, clutched the giant bolt tightly, and punched the windshield with all her might. There was not enough space on the bolt for her to hide her fingers, to shield them from the impact. They crunched unnaturally as they met the glass. Tears welled in her eyes, but the glass had the faintest crack in it, and that urged her to once again wind up.

She hit the windshield again, certain bones were breaking between the metal and glass. “Wake up!” On her third strike, he stirred. She saw his eyes, blinking away blood. “Falco!” She screamed with urgency and encouragement. She hit the windshield again and again, ignoring the pain shooting up her arm. Suddenly, he was alert, and coughing. Smoke was filling the cockpit.

She hit the shield with all her might, the crack growing like a vein in the glass. She watched him raise his hand out towards the glass. The windshield began to shake, but he was too weak to break it on his own. She could smell the fire and her heart urged her to run. She thought of her parents and knew what the flames could do to him. What they could have done to her if he hadn’t saved her.

With every ounce of strength she had in her small body, Jessop slammed the metal bolt into the windshield. Her hand went straight through the glass, shattering bones along with the windshield. She reflexively dropped the bolt onto the dash, her hand limp. Falco lunged forward, leaping out of the Soar-Craft. He grabbed her and they fell from the vehicle. They ran, limping and bleeding, away from the vessel. Within seconds, the Soar-Craft erupted in flames.

He threw his body on top of her, crushing her into the sand. Debris landed all around them, but somehow, they were not hit. She squinted up at his bloodied, unrecognizable face, and knew he was gravely injured. His blood dripped over her freely, pooling around her neck. He would lose consciousness again soon. She pushed him off her and he rolled onto his back.

She ripped cloth from her tunic and forced it against his face. The material was drenched in an instant. She squeezed it tightly over the sand, ignoring the screaming pain of her broken hand, and reapplied it. He had many wounds, but worst of all was one to his face. His beautiful, handsome face had been cut. A giant laceration traveled through his left brow, over his eye, down his cheek.

* * * *

He hadn’t lost the eye, which was a miracle. Tribesmen had seen the smoke from the crash and had been quick to come to Falco’s aid. Dezane had worked on his injuries personally, using his knowledge of plants and Kuroi magic to heal him. He had applied a thick poultice, covering half of Falco’s face. He had worked alone, instructing everyone except Jessop out of the tent. He burned herbs in a small pot, filling the room with a strong and foreign scent. The smell and the heat made Jessop feel ill, but she refused to leave Falco’s side. She watched as Dezane rested his hands over the poultice, whispering chants for many hours.

Jessop didn’t know how long had passed, but she woke to Dezane softly nudging her shoulder. She had fallen asleep beside Falco. His face had remained heavily bandaged. She looked to Dezane, questions hanging on her lip. He raised his hand to stay her. “He will survive, and his vision will be fine, though he will always bear the scar.” She nodded, thankful. Jessop knew some part of Dezane was aware of the fact that she needed Falco. Another part knew that the Kuroi elder sensed Falco’s power, and believed he was destined to lead.

Falco’s face remained dressed for many days. He did not seem to despair over the cut, his vanity completely abandoned as he suffered an intangible pain. “They betrayed me.”

Jessop held his hand softly, tucked between her good one and her bandaged, broken one. She nodded at him as he spoke. They hadn’t left the tent in days. Food and water was brought to them. “Hydo hid behind them all…You should have seen the way Kohl looked at me. Like I was the insane one. He wouldn’t even listen to me.”

She had learned that Kohl, the boy Falco spoke of most, with the greatest vitriol, had been his best friend. That it was he who had cut Falco’s face. Falco had said Trax DeHawn, Dezane’s son, had helped him escape, but barely. He had fought many of his brothers, those who he had originally thought would take on Hydo with him. “I didn’t kill any of them. Even if they deserved it.”

She didn’t know what to say to him. She had never killed. She knew nothing of fighting. Despite their bond, they were still strangers to one another, who had led vastly different lives. “Come here,” he ordered, eyeing her over with his one uncovered gray eye. She inched closer to where he rested on his cured hides and pelts, ensuring his hand stayed locked in her own.

“Today is the Red Solstice.”

She nodded, already knowing what the day was. It was the first solstice without her parents. He brought her wounded hand closer to him, resting it against his chest. “It’s my day of Partus,” he added.

She cocked her head at him, stunned at the admission. “Mine as well.” He smiled softly, nodding, as though he knew that they must have shared a Partus—their day of birth. He closed his eye, covering her hand with his own, concentrating carefully. She felt the bones correcting, the skin repairing. As he opened his eye, he freed her hand. She pulled the bandages off and stretched her healed fingers out, amazed. He had healed her internal wounds the day of the fire—something incredible, but invisible to her eyes. Her hand, though, she could see. She could twist her wrist and clench her fist and see the amazing results of his abilities. She could see what beautiful things he was capable of.

“I am thankful for you, Jessop,” he smiled. The words one would speak to another on their day of Partus—an honor for one to be thankful for the other’s birth.

She took his hand back in hers; letting her freshly repaired fingers lock around his. “I am thankful for you as well, Falco.”

* * * *

Jessop rounded one of the many villager tents, careful as she maneuvered pails of water retrieved from the reservoir. Dezane had sent a warrior for her, requesting she speak with him. She had left Falco in the tent they had come to share. He moved with ease, having removed the bandages from his face. His scar was raised and puffy, pink and sore, but his vision, as Dezane had promised, was intact.

“Dorei Dorei, Dezane,” she spoke the formal greeting, remaining outside his tent until he responded.

“Come, Jessop Jero.”

She ducked through the large flaps and found Dezane sitting, cross-legged, in the center of his tent. His hands rested on his knees. He had moved his belongings, pushing his pelts and floor mats aside, and sat directly on the ground. She studied him, wondering what he might have been doing.

“Meditation, Jessop. I think on things for long periods of time. And then I think of nothing for even longer periods.” He offered her a warm smile along with his explanation, obviously noting her confused look.

She nodded. “You wished to see me?”

He extended one of his long, slender hands, indicating for her to sit opposite him. She acquiesced, mirroring his position.

He stared at her for a long moment before speaking. “Jessop, I want you to know you have a home here, with the Kuroi, for all your life.”

His words seemed abrupt, though they did not surprise her. There had been talk throughout the village, since the fire. Speculation as to whether the boy would take her to Azgul or if Dezane would have her stay with the tribe. “Thank you, Dezane.”

“I have spoken with the boy and I know he has great plans. Plans I intend to help see through. If he asks for you to go with him, the choice is yours to do so, but know you can stay if you wish.”

She didn’t know which plans he spoke of. She didn’t even know when Dezane and Falco had spoken, for she had been at Falco’s side since his return, but she trusted Dezane. She trusted him to always be honest with her. She tore away from his strong gaze, looking at the ground for a long moment before speaking again.

“I must ask you something.”

He remained silent, waiting.

She raised her eyes, forcing herself to look at him. “Am I different? My family…are we different?”

His smile remained intact. “Your mother disclosed many things to me, and many things she kept private. What I know is that you are special, Jessop. The rest you needn’t worry about.”

She could feel her heart speeding up, fearful that Mar’e had been telling the truth. “Special how?”

“That I do not know. Only you can know. Only you can sense what resides within you. Well, you and—”

“And Falco.” She finished his sentence.

Dezane nodded. “Yes, I believe Falco can sense it too.”

* * * *

Several days passed before Jessop spoke to Dezane again. Falco had initiated the meeting, insisting the three of them speak. “It is the only way for you to be safe, until such a time where you can overthrow Hydo,” Dezane added.

“It feels like you’re telling us to hide,” Jessop complained. She finally knew what Dezane and Falco had been discussing. They proposed the creation of an impenetrable city, a fortress for any who sought to be free from the Hunters. She had listened to Dezane speak for many hours. He assured her it could be done; the city would be fortified by magic from the Kuroi, from the desert, and from places in Daharia she had never heard of.

Falco looked her over slowly. A perfect silver scar traveled through his left brow, over his eyelid, down to the center of his cheek. Mar’e shied away at the sight of him now, but Jessop had found herself staring at him more frequently, more furtively.

“We will be hiding, Jessop, but Dezane is right. I will be pursued from this day forth by the Hunters. Word has already reached Okton Radon that I attempted some sort of coup. But we can do more than hide—we can train. I can train you.”

She thought of what he proposed. She had seen his Hunter’s Blade. He had shown her more of his abilities. He had shown her things she had never imagined. He had told her he could teach her how he fought, how to wield the weapon he carried—how to avenge her parents.

“You wouldn’t live alone forever. More would come,” Dezane explained.

She didn’t voice it, but she had thought that there were worse options than just being alone with him. He had turned away from her, clearly embarrassed to have heard her errant thought. Her cheeks pinked at the realization.

She looked between Falco and Dezane. All of their futures seemed set. She knew the dangerous path she chose when she chose to live her life with the boy. They needed one another, and all of Daharia would one day need him. “What would we have to do?”

* * * *

It was their last night with the tribe. There had been no great feast, no dancing—no spectacle of her impending exit was made whatsoever. She had said a quick goodbye to Mar’e. The Kuroi girl was angry at Jessop’s distance and even angrier that she was leaving. She had barely looked at Falco except to grimace at his fresh scar.

“Are you ever going to come back?” Mar’e had asked Jessop.

“I hope so.”

“Or maybe I’ll find you one day.”

“Maybe you will.”

Jessop rolled on her sleeping mat. Falco rested several feet away. Though they were in complete darkness, her vision was keen and she knew he did not sleep.

“Yes, I’m awake.” Once again, he knew her unvoiced thoughts.

“How do you do that?”

“I can just hear you.”

“Can you hear everyone?”

She saw him roll onto his back, resting his arms under his head of dark hair.

“Not Dezane. I have heard it spoken about in the Blade—no one can seem to enter the man’s mind.”

She thought of Dezane and felt unsurprised. If any could resist some mystical power, it would be him.

He moved again, turning to his side to stare in her direction. “I know Dezane told you that you could stay here.”

She didn’t know if he knew it from reading her mind or if Dezane had told him. It mattered not. “He did.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t stay.”

“I won’t. I want…” She began, but she let her voice trail off.

“You want what?”

She knew he could just hear the thought if he wanted to. He wished to hear her say the words aloud.

“I want to be where you are.”

She knew he kept his gaze fixed to her. “I want that too, Jessop.”