Chapter 16
Monster. That’s the only thing I can think of as I finally make my way to the waterfall. The sun is setting. My hands are still shaking.
The elk’s eyes are in my head. It was looking at me. I distracted it. I got it killed.
Just like everything else in my life.
We’re on a journey of survival. I know that. This shouldn’t matter. But for some reason … for some reason it does. For some reason, that elk just feels like someone else I let down.
By the time I approach the cave, Raker has already skinned the creature. I look away, fighting the urge to vomit. He’s made a fire. He roasts the meat and unceremoniously ignores me as I step through the curtain of water and make my place as far from him as possible.
I count my mushrooms and berries, eat a portion of them until my fingers are bright with color, then carefully wrap what’s left in giant leaves I collected.
My stomach isn’t full—but I’m not hungry. Not that Raker ever offers any of his meat, even though it’s enough for several people to share.
Its smell fills the cave, making my traitorous stomach rumble, and that just makes me hate myself even more.
I fall asleep to the sound of falling water, my cheek against my blade.
Buzzing in my ear wakes me up.
Then a sharp pull.
“Ow,” I say, getting up and reaching toward the source—but a blur of light zips away before I can catch it.
It makes the mistake of getting near Raker’s hood. It tries to pull it down—and Raker’s hand smothers it in half a second.
I inhale sharply. He killed the small creature, just like the elk in the woods. But before I can even think about mourning the menace that has been trying to scalp me, Raker cocks his arm, and throws the tiny creature right through the waterfall, in a shimmering arc of light.
It’s alive. Still, that couldn’t have been pleasant.
“Damned pixies,” I think I hear him say to himself, like he has forgotten entirely that I’m here.
He packs his stuff without even a glance at me. Then he leaves.
I sigh as I follow him out of the cave.
The sun has barely risen. We walk through the near darkness, and I watch this glittering world wake up.
The grass rustles like a song. Birds chirp in response. Wildflowers bloom in mismatched patterns. Some have the same stripes and spots as creatures. Raker looks completely out of place in the middle of it. A towering shadow in the center of this fertile place, black cape curling in the wind.
Against my spine, my sword hums. I reach back and brush its hilt, even though I know I’m being ridiculous.
Has it seen this place? Did it battle here? I wonder about its history.
“Maybe you’ll return one day,” I say under my breath. “Maybe your next wielder will have bigger dreams than me.”
Green and arcs of reflected prisms fill my vision for hours. The grass is soft beneath my boots. My sword is heavy on my back, so I take it down and drag it behind me.
Raker turns to look at me for the first time in hours, and I can’t see his face—but I can almost feel his derision.
I glare at him until he turns back around.
The mountains are endless. We climb them all, one after the other, until my legs go numb. Just when I think my body has reached its limits, those limits expand.
It’s like my tears, I think. Just when I think I’ve cried enough for several lifetimes, they prove me wrong.
If you believe you’re limitless, then you will be, Stellan used to tell me. When I told him I was tired, he would say, You think you’re tired.
No. I am fucking tired, I would think back, scowling at the fact that he acted like tiredness was a choice. Like weakness was a choice.
Now I can’t deny that his unwavering strength was always more mental than physical.
We enter another grove. A small pool sits in its center, clear and sparkling, water running in from the mountains. It’s clean. Raker bends to fill a canteen from his pack. I should really try to get another one using the coin in my pocket.
For now, I sink to my knees and pool the water in my hands, washing my injured palm before rewrapping it. Then I drink.
When I’m done, and the water settles before me, I catch my reflection and wince.
My face is still covered in the dirt I used to get rid of the pixies.
Blood is crusted on my ear from where one bit me.
My hair is a knotted mess, several pieces sticking up from the thick braids. My clothes aren’t faring any better.
I straighten my spine, turn to Raker, and say with what I hope is the utmost authority, “I’d like to bathe.”
He barely looks over at me. Then bathe, his silence says.
I swallow. Even if it wasn’t for my markings, I wouldn’t be rushing to strip in front of him.
Politeness isn’t getting me anywhere. My chin rises. “You need to leave.” I order him just as he’s ordered me countless times before.
He stills. Very slowly, he turns to face me fully. His voice is pure malice. “Do you think I would waste even a moment of my attention ogling you? Do you think you matter at all?” And now I realize that his silence thus far has been a gift, as I am reminded of how cruel his words can be.
“Then it shouldn’t be any trouble for you to leave,” I say through my teeth.
He does very much the opposite. He drops his pack. From it he produces a thick bar of soap. Another useful item I don’t have anymore.
Then he begins to undo his armor.
“I’m bathing,” he says. “You can do whatever the fuck you want.” He digs his sword into the ground. It stands tall and proud in front of me.
He undoes his boots. I swallow, wondering what’s next. He has to lower his hood and mask to bathe, right?
Curiosity momentarily stuns me.
Then I get my fucking mind together and scurry into the woods. I am not going to sit here and stare at Harlan Raker bathing. That’s ridiculous. And likely a death sentence, as he clearly doesn’t like anyone seeing him without his layers, much like I do.
Asshole.
When I’m done imagining just what lurks beneath that hood—each iteration becoming increasingly demonic—I distract myself by foraging. There are some of the same mushrooms I found before. A few different ones. Some leaves that are edible, given their smell. Others that smell bitter, poisonous.
Another advantage of having a mother who loved plants—she taught my sister and me which ones we weren’t allowed to touch. The ones that would burn our ankles … the ones with enough poison to kill a horse.
By the time Raker emerges, I have an armful of provisions, wrapped in leaves. Some roots and nuts, even.
He walks right past me with not so much as a grunt. His hood is slightly wet. It’s the only indication that he was ever in the water at all.
My own skin is dry and dirty, but I swallow my bitterness and follow him up another hill. The sun is almost setting.
When we reach a waterfall, he throws his pack down and turns without another word. To hunt, I know. He didn’t have enough time to cure the elk’s meat. Much of it was left behind uneaten.
I close my mind against the memory of that elk’s lifeless gaze and begin washing my mushrooms in the waterfall. I scrub the dirt off them and the leftover berries and spread them on a smooth rock to dry.
I watch as the sun is pierced by the mountains and melts into a golden smear. It vanishes quickly. Then I make my way into the cave. Raker follows a few minutes later. Empty-handed.
I try and fail to hide my mirth. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t find another gentle creature to kill?”
He steps past me without a single glance.
“Maybe if you’d let me bathe, you could have found your dinner,” I say, chomping happily on one of my roots.
His sword carves into the stone floor with a sharp crack, the rock rippling.
I shrug. “Ignore me. Sorry, I forgot the rules. Shut up and listen. Don’t bathe. Don’t protest when friendly beings get murdered right in front of you.”
At that, he whips around. “Just because it had fucking flowers in its horns doesn’t make it friendly,” he says, with just about all the disdain in the world.
I glare at him and get to my feet. “It was a gentle creature in a grove. It was looking at me with more awareness than you, you demonic brute.”
His voice is venomous. “That gentle creature was a moment away from skewering you through.”
My laugh echoes through the cave. “Oh, so that’s it? You were protecting me?”
He makes a sound of contempt. “Your life is meaningless beyond you possessing something I need. I need you alive for now. Unfortunately.”
I bow at the feet of my past self for setting the map aflame, for I have no doubt in my mind that Raker would have cut me down days ago if I still had it.
He won’t kill me. Which gives me the courage to finally, truly get under his skin. He’s ignored me for days. He has left me behind. He has insulted me at every turn.
Fuck. Him.
I take a slow step toward him. “I repulse you, don’t I?” I say, tilting my head, searching within that hood for anything to glare at. Even a hint of those gray eyes. I see only darkness.
“You have no idea,” he says.
I look him up and down, wondering why I bother him so much. I come up with a decent theory. “You think I’m unworthy of this blade.”
He takes a step forward. “You are unworthy of any blade,” he says, getting closer. He doesn’t stop there. “You are weak. You are reckless. You can’t even fucking swim.”
My cheeks burn. His words sting like knives, skinning my weakest points. Still, I tilt my chin up. “Yet it’s mine anyway,” I say, right below him.
“Not for long,” he says. Not even a threat but a promise.
He isn’t wrong, but I hate that he’s right. I hate that he knows this will kill me, because I’m in far over my head and blinded by this unrelenting pain.
He sees that. He sees my weaknesses. I don’t want him to see anything about me.