26. Phoebe
26
PHOEBE
T he room erupts into a frenzy as the door bursts open. The grip on my throat tightens reflexively, cutting off my airway. The two new Urr’ki fill the space with sheer force and determination. Their presence is commanding while their movements are swift and deliberate.
One of them, a tall figure with a jagged scar running across his jaw, charges straight for the Urr’ki holding me. The iron grip on my throat vanishes and I collapse to the ground, gasping for air.
“Phoebe!” Vapas shouts over the noise of the fighting.
Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening Vapas positions himself between me and the violence. I push myself to a sitting position. I’m disoriented and lost, uncertain of who is who in the dim light. I anchor myself on to Vapas.
The smaller of the new Urr’ki moves with a speed that is terrifying. He strikes with precision, disarming one of our attempted captors with a single motion that ends in a sharp crack. The would-be ambusher crumples to the floor.
I scramble backward on my hands. My throat is burning as I struggle to regain my composure. Vapas crouches beside me, his eyes scanning me for injuries.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.
I shake my head, too breathless to answer. My eyes focus past him on the fight. The resistance, or what I hope is the real resistance, is holding their own.
“Stay behind me,” Vapas orders, rising to his full height.
The scarred Urr’ki delivers a brutal strike to one of the attackers, sending them sprawling into the table. It shatters under the impact, and the lantern rolls across the floor, its fragile flame guttering.
The attackers are retreating, dragging their injured along with them as they retreat from the room with curses and snarls. One spits on the floor before disappearing into the hallway, leaving us alone with what I hope are our saviors.
The scarred Urr’ki exhales, his chest heaving as he turns to face us. His gaze sweeps over Vapas, then lingers on me for a moment as if assessing something, but I don’t know what. He doesn’t speak right away. His gaze is sharp and calculating, resting on me for a beat too long, making the hairs on my arms prickle.
“Not what I expected,” he finally says, his voice gravelly and low.
The smaller Urr’ki steps forward, brushing dust from his hands. He narrows his eyes at Vapas.
“Are you an idiot?” the scarred one asks.
A tap, clack, tap comes down the hall behind them. My stomach churns wildly as cold spreads over my skin. What fresh hell is coming to us now? Our rescuers, hearing the sound, tense and glance back to the door, but show no other outward reactions. Vapas backs up until we’re touching.
“No,” Vapas snaps at the scarred Urr’ki.
“You are a fool, though,” the other Urr’ki says.
The tap, clack, tap is coming closer. No one else is reacting to it which is stressing me out.
The tap, clack, tap grows louder, steady and deliberate. My heart pounds with every step. I grip Vapas’s arm, leaning into his solid presence for reassurance. The scarred Urr’ki stiffens, casting a glance toward the doorway, while the smaller one folds his arms over his chest, his gaze sharpening.
Finally, the source of the sound emerges. A figure limps into the room, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches carved from what looks like polished bone. They’re the same as the ones I saw at the booth across from us. Now I can see that he has a twisted leg which drags awkwardly behind him. A painful reminder of some past injury. His presence, however, is anything but weak.
His piercing gaze sweeps the room, assessing the wreckage and the tension that is thick in the air. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are sharp, calculating, and unnervingly calm. He halts just inside the doorway, the sound of the crutches falling silent as he surveys us.
“Well,” he says, his voice dry and rasping. “What a mess.”
The scarred Urr’ki steps aside, dipping their head slightly, a gesture of respect. The smaller one, however, stands their ground, though their posture is less confrontational now.
“You’re late,” the smaller Urr’ki says, their tone bordering on insolence.
“And you’re reckless,” the man with the crutches replies coolly. “I assume there’s an explanation for this mess.”
His gaze shifts to Vapas and me. He shifts his weight onto his good leg, the polished crutch tapping the ground for emphasis as he points toward us.
“We were… I’m looking for news,” Vapas says.
“You said as much out there in front of dozens of witnesses over half of whom have already run to tell the nearest Maulavi.”
Vapas steps forward squaring his shoulders.
“We had no way to know who to trust. You clearly know who we are, so why didn’t you approach us yourself?”
The man’s lips curl into a sardonic smile.
“Because I don’t trust easily. Trust is earned, not given freely to every stranger wandering off the streets with grand claims of rebellion.” He leans forward on his crutches, his scarred face mere inches from Vapas’s. “Tell me, Vapas, why should I believe you?”
Vapas meets his gaze without flinching.
“You think to startle me by knowing my name?” Vapas asks, defying the man. They glare at one another until Vapas backs down and answers. “Because we’ve risked everything to be here. The Shaman and the Maulavi have destroyed everything that we Urr’ki were. And they’re coming for her,” he glances at me, his voice softening for just a moment before hardening again, “and she deserves a world where she doesn’t have to live in fear.”
The crippled Urr’ki studies him, his expression unreadable, before shifting his attention to me.
“And you? Is this your fight too, or are you just along for the ride?”
I swallow hard, meeting his piercing stare.
“It’s my fight. I’m not a soldier, but I’ll do whatever it takes to help. If that means resisting the Maulavi, then yes, it’s my fight too.”
A tense silence falls over the room. Finally, he exhales, a short, sharp sound like he’s amused by something we’ve said.
“Maybe you’re not complete fools after all,” he says, straightening. “When I saw you in the tavern, I figured you’d get yourselves killed before sundown. The only reason you’re still breathing is because I sent these two to clean up your mess.”
He gestures toward the scarred Urr’ki and the shorter one. Vapas tenses, his jaw working like he’s biting back a retort, but he stays silent.
“Consider this your first and only warning,” the cripple continues. “If you want to join the resistance, you’ll follow my lead. That means no more reckless questions in public places. No more getting caught. And no more bringing trouble to my doorstep.” He pauses, his gaze hardening. “Understood?”
“Understood,” Vapas replies evenly.
The man nods, then turns to the two who rescued us.
“We’ll take them to the safehouse. Keep them out of sight until we figure out what to do with them.”
The scarred Urr’ki inclines his head, motioning for us to follow.
“This way.”
The cripple doesn’t spare us another glance as we’re ushered out of the room. But the sound of his crutches behind us lingers in my ears, a rhythmic reminder of just how close we came to disaster—and how precarious our position remains.