11. Time is Running Out
11
TIME IS RUNNING OUT
WREN
“H ewwo? Are you awive?”
The muffled words sound strange, as though I’m deep underwater. They take too long to reach my ears.
I’m alive , I want to shout. I’m here. Help me.
The words get stuck on the tip of my tongue, and I can’t seem to make my mouth work. My entire body aches, and there’s a heaviness in my limbs that I can’t quite place. My eyes are squeezed shut, and something squishy is beneath me. That’s odd. Squishy is better than the hard rock I slept on last, but it’s not right.
Scorching suns. Where am I?
Something prods my shoulder, and I groan. Fuck, that hurts. In fact, everything hurts. Did I fall out of a tree? The moment the thought appears, I dismiss it. I’ve fallen out of a tree before, and this hurts far more than that.
“She made a sound!” a childish, high-pitched shriek explodes in my ear. “Mama! I heawd it, I sweaw!”
Wincing, I will my body to listen to my commands and move .
It takes far too much effort and mental fortitude, both of which are in extremely short supply, but eventually, I’m able to lift my head. I force my eyelids to move, and I blink, trying to clear my vision. My hair is covering my face and my Mark. It feels like rocks are in my mouth, and I lick my lips as I instinctively pull on my hood.
A small shape is crouched in front of me, seeming to vibrate with excitement. They’re definitely a person, but I can’t see more than that. A massive grin is spread across their face, and their eyes are wide.
I blink again, and the shape comes into focus.
A little girl, no older than five or six, is clutching a woven basket in front of her chest. Dark pink hair hangs in two braids that reach her waist, freckles dust her olive skin, and she’s wearing a white apron over a brown cotton dress. She’s barefoot and standing in mud.
The same mud I’m lying on right now. Well, that explains the squishiness.
Water laps at my feet, making me groan. I remember taking off my boots on the riverbank and then…
My heart races as my close encounter with the bear flashes before my eyes. Gods above. I must’ve fallen into the river.
Wait. What time is it? My eyes fly upwards, and I gasp. The blue sky is gone, replaced by a dusky grey, and the moons are rising. Already, a few glistening, over-eager stars peek out from behind the clouds. Their brightness mocks me, and my stomach twists. Hours lost. Just like that.
The Hunter’s warning echoes in my mind, and my throat dries. I’m running out of time. Soon, he’ll be coming for me. Soon, it’ll be too late.
I need to go. Placing my palms on the mud, I try to push myself up. My drenched clothes are weights, dragging me down. Every movement hurts, but eventually, I pull myself into a seated position. My head is heavy, and I clench my fists, attempting to breathe deeply and gather myself.
Why do these things keep happening to me?
The only positive here is that even though I’ve lost my boots on the riverbank, a quick inspection tells me I’ve kept the rest of my belongings. My soaked cloak hangs on my shoulders, and I still have my knife and bag. That’s a small silver lining, but considering that I’m drenched, I’ll take it.
“Mamaaaaaaa!” the child in front of me screams, the sound inconceivably loud, coming from such a small person. “She’s awake! I towd you, someone’s hewe!”
“Nakisha, what are you shouting about? There isn’t anyone out—oh, blessed, burning suns.” A woman in her mid-twenties appears in my peripheral vision, her pink hair and freckles marking her as the child’s mother. Unlike her daughter, the woman’s temple is wrinkled beyond her years, and there’s a deep sorrow in her eyes.
She crouches in front of me, reaching out to touch my face. Instinctively, I duck my head and tug on my hood, making sure the brim is resting on my eyebrows. Even now, I have to worry about that gods-damned swirl.
Seeming to understand I don’t want to be touched, the woman places her hands in front of her, palms up.
“You poor thing, you must be freezing.” Her gaze sweeps over me, but there’s no judgment in the way she looks at me. “I can’t believe you survived going over the waterfall.”
Well, damn. At least that explains the aches and pains. Honestly, I can’t believe I survived either. I learned to swim as a child, but it’s been years since I stepped foot into a body of water with the intention of doing anything but bathing. Swimming isn’t an appropriate activity for a gods-blessed child. Why should we have fun before they kill us?
I open my mouth to reply, although I’m unsure what to say, when my teeth start chattering. I shut my mouth, drawing my arms around myself.
“Eses have mercy on you,” the woman murmurs, calling on the god of strength and healing as compassion fills her brown eyes. “Our cottage isn’t far from here. We don’t have much, but you can dry off and join us for dinner if you’d like. It’s already on, and we have a fire going.”
“I was cowwecting gweens!” Nakisha proudly proclaims, holding up a woven basket with a few leaves poking out over the top.
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and even though I just survived an encounter with a bear and fell over a waterfall, my lips slant up.
“Good job,” I tell her.
She grins at the praise, hopping from one foot to the other. I chew on my lip, mulling over this woman’s offer. I shouldn’t take her up on it. Joining them would be dangerous for all three of us. But walking around in drenched clothing isn’t conducive to health, and the call of a warm fire is too strong to resist. I nod, agreeing before I can talk myself out of it.
“Wonderful.” The woman’s smile is kind, and it warms something deep in my soul. She gestures to her daughter, then herself. “You’ve already met Nakisha, and I’m Alba.”
More introductions. Hopefully, this interaction will go better than my last—not that it will be difficult, considering how my time with Gabriel ended. In an effort to be normal, I force myself to smile and cast all thoughts of the Hunter aside. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
If Alba notices that I refrain from giving her my name, she doesn’t remark on it. Instead, she offers me a hand and helps me to my feet. I feel like a newborn colt, especially when she releases me. A smaller hand quickly takes its place, steadying me.
“Come, come, come!” Nakisha proclaims enthusiastically, grinning and tugging me towards a grove of trees. I glimpse a small barn tucked in the trees, where a few sheep and chickens are milling about in a pen.
Not far from the animals sits a log cabin. Even though it’s unwise, I curl my fingers around Nakisha’s and follow her lead.
* * *
The log cabin is small and quaint. Built for two, there’s a cozy homeyness about it that warms my heart. A bed rests against the wall in the corner, and there’s another in the loft upstairs, accessible by a small ladder. Bundles of wool are scattered around the space, and a spinning wheel rests near the bed.
A bowl of eggs sits on a wooden counter near an empty clay pitcher. Red curtains are pulled back, allowing the remaining sunlight to filter inside. A roaring fire fills the large, red-bricked hearth, and the small table has two wooden chairs.
Nakisha quickly drags another over from the corner for me, patting the seat. “Sit!”
Her bossiness makes me smile. She reminds me so much of my sisters Violet and Marie when they were younger. The twins look identical, but their personalities are about as different from one another as they can get. Violet is loud, like Nakisha, and Marie is much quieter. Calmer.
Mother always said the twins balance each other out in uncanny ways.
A pang runs through my heart at the thought of home. Gods, I pray they’re all right. Knowing no good will come from thinking of the home I left behind, I banish those thoughts, dropping into the offered chair. Alba throws two logs onto the fire, the crackling heat caressing my skin and chasing away the cold from my unexpected dip in the river.
I’ve never truly appreciated the warmth that comes from being indoors and out of the wind, but being on the run for my life has taught me how much I used to take for granted.
Food, shelter, heat, clean clothes, and even seemingly simple things like pillows.
Never again. If I ever find myself in the unlikely position where I have these things in my possession, I’ll never forget how it felt to go without them. Comfort, it seems, is something that cannot truly be appreciated until it has been taken away.
The fire crackles in the background as I take in the room. Dried bundles of herbs hang from strings stretched across the wooden walls. I recognize a few of them, but most are foreign to me, which is unsurprising. Glass bottles and jars are scattered through the space, taking up room on every available surface. Some are filled with colorful liquids, while others hold various herbs and spices for cooking.
Warmth seeps into my bones with a speed I hadn’t expected. Feeling significantly better after a few minutes of sitting by the fire, I dig through my satchel. Surprisingly, apart from my now-waterlogged and ruined romance book—poor Valissa and Roark, their love story is one I’ll never read again—everything has survived my fall.
Pulling out the half-empty jar of ointment, I twist the lid.
A chair scratches the wooden floor, and when I look up, Nakisha is sitting less than a foot away from me. Her feet dangle above the floor, and she’s leaning so far over, it’s a miracle she hasn’t fallen off her seat.
“What’s that?” she asks. Her brown eyes are wide as she stares at the jar.
Her curiosity draws another smile to my face.
“It’s medicine.” I remove my stockings and bandages before applying more salve to my feet. The burning ceases immediately, and I exhale in relief. Nakisha is still staring at the jar in awe.
Leaning forward, I crook my finger in her direction. “Want to know what makes it special?”
She nods so vigorously that she nearly topples out of the chair.
Biting back a laugh, I hold up the jar. “This is blessed by the queen herself.”
Nakisha’s eyes widen impossibly further. “Weally? The queen?”
She reaches out a hand to touch it, but before she can, her mother calls her name in a scolding manner. “It’s not yours,” Alba adds. “Don’t touch it.”
Replacing the lid, I hand the jar to Nakisha with a smile.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Take a look. Just be gentle.”
Technically, it’s not mine either.
Nakisha beams as if I handed her one of the suns, and she turns the jar around in her small hands. Her pink brows furrow as if I just gave her a complex puzzle, and she studies the container intently. After several moments, she removes the lid, swiping a finger through the cream.
“Look with your eyes, not your fingers, Nakisha,” her mother admonishes from across the room.
I chuckle, the words almost identical to something Mother used to say. “It’s okay, just be careful. The cream is enchanted.”
The child’s head jerks up, and she gasps, revealing an adorable gap in her teeth. “It is?”
I nod. “Yes. That’s what makes it blessed.”
Nakisha stares at the white cream on her finger for several minutes, turning it one way, then the other, before she looks at my feet. The skin is red, and even though there are no new blisters, my soles aren’t pretty to look at. “That looks like it huwts.”
“It does, but I’m getting used to it.” It’s really all I can do at this point. Who knows how much farther I’ll have to run?
She extends her finger towards my right foot, where the skin is reddest. “Can I put this on?”
Once I agree, she swipes the cream on the base of my foot. It tickles, and I smile as she hands back the jar. Less than a minute later, Nakisha jumps from the chair, proclaiming in a loud voice that there’s a carving she left outside, and I simply must see it. She races out, the door slamming behind her as she says she’ll be right back.
Slipping the ointment back into my bag, I turn to Alba. “Do you need any help with dinner?”
I should’ve asked the moment we stepped inside, but I got distracted.
My hostess looks up from where she’s stirring a pot that had already been simmering when we entered. “Of course not, dear. You’re our guest. Just warm up.”
The fire is keeping the chill away, but her kindness is what truly touches my soul. I thank her, but before I turn back to the crackling flames, a thought pops into my mind.
“Alba, if you don’t mind me asking, how far is the nearest town?” I try to keep my voice casual, as if this information won’t be the first real geographical clue I’ve gotten. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but it seems like it would be good to know.
“Grantville is half a day’s hike through the forest,” she says, not looking up. “Sometimes more, if the weather is bad. It’s not a town, though. Just a small hamlet. We get provisions there from time to time.”
“Thank you.” I tuck the information into my mind. The name isn’t familiar, but that isn’t a surprise. Still, it’s good to know.
My new life motto is the more information, the better.
Even so, I don’t ask Alba any more questions about our location or whether she has a map. I don’t want to risk endangering her further by asking the wrong questions. She’s already done so much for me.
Rubbing my hands together, I focus on getting warm. Thanks to the blazing fire, it isn’t long before my cloak dries. My stockings and dress soon follow. Thank the gods, most of the mud landed on my cloak, and the dark fabric hides the worst of it. One benefit of the water is that some of the mud seems to have washed out of my dress. Once my stockings are dry, I pull them back over my feet.
“Dinner’s ready!” Alba declares as Nakisha comes barreling back inside, cradling a small carved bear in her palm.
Now, this bear is cute. A far cry from the one I encountered earlier today.
I fawn over the carving appropriately, making sure Nakisha knows how beautiful it is, before she grabs my hand and leads me to the table. She drags my chair behind her, even though my legs are much steadier now. I take my seat as Alba hands out three steaming bowls of stew.
“This smells heavenly,” I tell them honestly, folding my hands in my lap. “Thank you so much.”
When I left my parents’ house in the middle of the night, I never thought I would eat homemade food again. And this isn’t just any meal. Sweet potatoes and carrots float alongside parsnips and leeks in a creamy sauce. It smells like it’s been bubbling over the fire for hours, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation.
“Of course.” Alba waves her spoon in the air, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “Dig in.”
I do as she asks; it tastes even better than it smells. Despite my best efforts to savor this unexpected, delicious meal, it disappears quickly. I can’t help it. Compared to the jerky and blossom mushrooms from earlier, this is a feast, and I am ravenous.
Nakisha talks nonstop over dinner, carrying the conversation single-handedly. She and her mother live here alone, she tells me moments before launching into a story about a fish she caught in the river yesterday. Her energy seems to have no bounds, and several times, I find myself smiling at her stories.
I don’t say much, but the child doesn’t seem to mind. She chatters until our bowls are empty, and even then, it seems she could talk all night. When Nakisha pauses to take a breath, I exhale, placing a hand on my full stomach.
“Thank you so much for dinner, Alba.” Who knows when I’ll get another chance to eat like this? “I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”
Sitting there with my full belly and the warm fire at my back, I renew my vow never to forget how valuable the small things in life are again.
Alba smiles softly, and her eyes gleam. There’s a knowing look in them that has me raising my hand surreptitiously, adjusting the brim of my hood. It’s still in place, but I can’t shake the thought that, somehow, she knows something about me.
“You’re very welcome,” she says. “I’m glad we found you.”
“I found her, Mama!” Nakisha interrupts, pointing at her chest.
“That you did, child.” She pats her daughter’s hand, smiling fondly. “You did very well.”
It’s clear that Alba loves her daughter, and even being in their presence for a short period of time has lifted my spirits. Gods above. Things could have turned out so differently if I’d washed up on another shore. Someone else might’ve seen an unconscious woman and done unspeakable things to me. Or they could’ve uncovered my Mark and brought me to the nearest temple.
A frisson runs through me as more scenarios run through my mind, each worse than the last. I could’ve woken up and been halfway to Grenbloom. Or worse—someone could’ve turned me over to a Hunter.
Suns, are the walls closing in on me? The fire doesn’t seem as warm; the cabin feels less cozy and more confining.
Dinner was nice, but I need to leave. My very presence here is a danger. Harboring a fugitive is a serious crime that could result in punishments ranging from severe fines to death.
I can’t let that happen to Alba and Nakisha.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” I stand, drawing my cloak tighter around myself and stepping towards the door. “But it’s time for me to go. I won’t put you out any longer.”
My feet ache at the thought of running through the woods in just my stockings, but I have no other options. My head start is slipping through my fingers like sand, and I’m running out of time. I’ll have to make do with what I have—but at least I’m alive.
There’s a scraping of wood on the floor as Alba pushes back her chair and gets to her feet.
“Wait.” She turns to Nakisha and places her hand on her shoulder. “It’s bedtime, little one.”
“What?” The little girl’s bottom lip wobbles and her eyes widen, pulling at my heartstrings. The twins used to do the same thing, and Mother always gave in. “Mama, no.”
“Yes.” Alba gently pushes her daughter towards the ladder. “Climb up, and I’ll come tuck you in soon.”
Nakisha sniffles and complains, as all children seem to do when they’ve stayed up too late, but she does as her mother asks, taking the tiniest, most reluctant steps. Pausing on the top rung, she waves at me. “Night!”
Knowing this will likely be the last time I see her, I wave back. “Night.” It’s hard to ignore the burning in my eyes as I turn back to my hostess. “She’s a good girl.”
Just like the twins.
Alba smiles fondly at the loft, and the love she holds for her daughter is evident. She gestures to the door. “Why don’t we talk outside?”
That’s fine with me, since I’m leaving anyway. I nod and grab my things, slipping out of the cabin. Alba follows, pausing to pick up something near the entrance before she shuts the door behind her.
The cold air carries traces of the impending winter, and it’s a shock to my system after the cozy heat of the crackling fire. I shiver, twisting my hands together. I should’ve grabbed some mittens before I left home. Yet another item I won’t take for granted, should I ever be lucky enough to have them again.
At least once I start running, I should warm up. But I’ll be running, so… that’s unfortunate.
With that depressing thought in mind, I turn to my hostess. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Alba. It’s far more than I could’ve ever asked for.”
It’s far more than I deserve when my presence endangers her.
Alba’s eyes sweep over me, and once again, I’m struck by the thought that she knows something about me. A long moment passes before she steps forward. Her dark pink hair rests over one shoulder, and she places a hand on my arm, guiding me further away from the house.
Out of earshot.
“Here.” She holds out a pair of worn, brown leather boots with her other hand. “Take these.”
I stare at them. They look a little big, but they would be infinitely better than the stockings I’m currently wearing.
Still…
“I can’t take these.” I shake my head, frowning. Alba has already fed and warmed me when she could’ve left me on the riverbank. Taking anything else from her would be wrong. “This is too much.”
“I want you to take them.” She pushes the boots at my chest, and I have no choice but to grab them.
My frown deepens, and I try to return the boots. “Alba, I?—”
“Did you know that I’ve been raising Nakisha on my own for the majority of her life?” she asks, interrupting me.
I freeze, my hands on the boots as I stare at her. “No…”
I don’t quite understand the rapid change in conversation. My brows come together as I try to follow her train of thought.
“Six years, almost to this day,” she tells me.
I’m not sure if it’s her tone or the look of sadness that’s been in her eyes since I arrived, but a pit forms in my stomach. I’m not sure what she’s about to say, but I have a feeling it won’t be good.
Cautiously, I ask, “What happened to her father?”
My education may be lacking in several vital areas, but I’m well aware that two people are required to make children.
“Gone.” Her soft tone is one I haven’t heard from her before, and the forlorn look in her eyes has the stew churning in my stomach. “I lost him in the giving season six years ago.”
The air thickens, and my fingers grow slick around the boots. I slowly raise my eyes to hers, searching her gaze. Lost?
“I—”
A wistful smile graces Alba’s face, and for a moment, she appears much younger than she did before. Her wrinkles vanish, her eyes shimmer, and her cheeks turn rosy.
“We knew better,” she whispers, her gaze seeming to peer into my soul before it drops to the ground. “It was a bad idea from the start, but even though we tried, we couldn’t stop seeking each other out.”
That pit in my stomach becomes a gaping hole, and I suck in a breath.
“The gods-blessed are here temporarily before they’re returned to the temples. Draven and I were aware of that. We always knew that our time was limited. It was always there in the back of my mind. A reminder that we would never get forever.” Alba sighs, the sound filled with years of pain and heartache. She drags her gaze upwards, meeting mine. “We knew we wouldn’t get to stay together, but love… love doesn’t understand.”
Oh, gods. I already know where this story is going. My heart aches, and part of me wishes I could ask her to stop, but I don’t. She’s chosen to tell me her story, and I won’t do her the disservice of refusing to hear it. Not after everything she’s done for me.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur.
“Me, too.” Her eyes water and she draws in a shuddering breath. “We should’ve been more careful. When his Mark started glowing, and his Giving drew closer, we should’ve stopped and thought about what might happen.” A rueful laugh fills the air, and knots take up residency in my stomach. “We couldn’t help ourselves.”
It’s not safe to get attached to the Given.
Mistress Fyona’s warning echoes through my mind, and my heart clenches.
“How old was Nakisha when he was Given?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
A long pause. Just when I think Alba isn’t going to answer—which is her right—she murmurs, “Four weeks had passed since her birth.”
My eyes widen. A month? Oh, gods. I draw in a breath, feeling like I’ve been punched in the heart. I remember the twins at that age. They were so small, having been born a bit earlier than they should’ve been, and they resembled the dolls Amelia and I used to play with.
“I’m sorry.” The words aren’t enough, but they’re all I have.
“Me, too.” Alba wipes a finger beneath her eyes and squares her shoulders. In a heartbeat, she seems to draw strength from deep within. Her voice is firmer as she says, “These boots were his.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I shake my head, trying to give them back. “I can’t take these.”
They’re more than just boots. They’re memories. Reminders of a man long gone—one who will never return.
“Yes, you can.” Alba’s tone is forceful, and I hitch a breath, freezing. “I won’t ask for your name, where you came from, or where you’re going, but I want you to take these.”
She knows. I don’t know when she figured out what I am, but she knows. I had an inkling before, but now I’m certain.
My chest tightens, and every breath hurts as fear of what will happen if she turns me in washes through me. A dark temple. Being shoved over an altar. Chanting coming from above me. A silver blade. Pain. Blood.
“Alba, I can explain. But please?—”
“If someone comes asking after you, we never saw you.” Her smile is watery as she looks at me with sympathy in her eyes.
“Why?” I breathe, my heart racing in my chest as I try to banish the thought of being Given.
The monosyllabic word is all I can manage right now.
Why not turn me in? Why not collect a reward for capturing me? Why help me, feed me, give me boots? Why do any of this?
Alba moves towards me, clasping her hands around mine. Her warm touch is grounding, pulling me out of my fear.
“The day before Draven’s Giving Ceremony, I asked him not to go. I begged him to run away with us, to make a new life away from the temples. We argued for hours, but in the end, he chose the gods.” Her voice wavers on the last words, an echo of the deep pain in her eyes. “Now, I’m raising our daughter on my own while he serves the gods somewhere in this vast country.”
He isn’t serving them anywhere, but I don’t say that. Why add to Alba’s pain?
I squeeze her fingers. “I’m so incredibly sorry.”
Sorry for the Giving. For her heartache. For these Marks that ruin lives and rip apart families. For everything.
“I couldn’t stay in our village on the Black Mountain after that. Draven was everywhere I looked. After that giving season, Nakisha and I left. We moved here, and I vowed to myself that if I ever came across a Marked One who needed my help, I would do whatever I could.”
For him.
The unspoken words echo through the night, and my heart squeezes.
“Thank you,” I whisper brokenly. This is the closest I’ll come to admitting that she’s right about everything.
“Go ahead.” Alba releases my hand and gestures to the boots. “Put them on.”
How can I keep arguing with her? Even if I had any fight left in me, I can’t disrespect Draven’s memory. Not after everything else Alba has done for me. I slide the boots on, and even though they’re a little loose, they fit well enough by the time I tie up the laces.
I straighten, adjusting my cloak and dress. “I cannot thank you enough.”
Alba takes my hands in hers and squeezes, slipping something into my palm. “You don’t have to, dear. Just take these and find what you’re looking for, whatever it is.”
Before I can reply, she steps away. Taking a deep, composing breath, she wipes her fingers beneath her eyes. She holds her head up high and draws in a deep breath.
Her face shifts, hardening before my eyes as she rebuilds walls around her heart, gathering the strength it takes to raise her daughter on her own. Only then does she walk back into the cabin, leaving me beneath the moons on my own.
My heart is still pounding as I slowly pry my fingers open and look at what she gave me. Three gold coins rest in my palm, glimmering in the moonlight. This kind of money can’t be easy to come by, especially out here in the woods. How much yarn did Alba have to spin to earn this?
A lump grows in my throat, and the coins grow blurry as I stare at them.
The Given stick together .
Amelia’s mantra echoes through my mind, but this time, I add something to it.
The Given and their families stick together.
A tear runs down my cheek, and I make no effort to stop it. How many people have been hurt by the Giving? How many people dread the giving season and feel nothing but pain? It seems that everywhere I turn, there are more people affected by it than I ever could’ve imagined.
Eventually, I move. Opening my satchel, I slip the coins inside and pull out the full jar of enchanted ointment. I place it on Alba’s stoop, hoping that she understands this for what it is—a gift. Blessed salves are expensive, and I pray this will help them in the future.
Keeping the half-empty jar for myself, I turn around and walk into the night. I’m tired, and I should sleep, but I can’t lose any more time. I need to start running again.
The Sapphire Coast is far away, and the Hunter is coming.