Chapter 20
The rain continues all through the night, and into the morning. By the time it ends, I’m cold to the bone. But my canteen is full. My throat is blissfully smooth.
My clothes slowly dry in the dappled sunlight.
By midday, we find a forest that isn’t rotted, and my knees nearly buckle with relief.
Especially when I find a single fertile bush bursting with berries.
I pick every single one, cutting my fingers on the thorns, but I don’t care.
I’m so desperate for food that I shove the fruit into my mouth.
I wordlessly extend a handful to Raker, and he takes it.
It’s the only fruit for miles. I scour every tree, every bush, but there isn’t so much as a single mushroom. The woods empty out into a wide plain. There’s a stream running through it. It’s almost clear, just a shade of gray—and our shelter for the night, by the looks of it.
I half expect Raker to leave me here without another word, but he slides into a defensive stance, showing me quickly. “Got it?” he says.
I nod. I slip into it, and he barks a few orders, a few fixes, then leaves with his things, ducking into the woods.
I hold the position for as long as I can. When hours pass without Raker resurfacing, I begin to alternate through all the stances he’s shown me. The sword feels looser in my hand. More fluid.
Just as I think I could take on Harlan Raker himself, I stumble forward, nearly dropping the sword. Fuck.
A laugh sounds behind me.
I spin on my heel.
Two immortals—no more than children—are standing there, watching me. Tossing the coin I emptied from my pocket to train.
“Hey!” I yell, and they don’t run, or set it down. No. They have the nerve to look amused. “That’s mine!”
They don’t even stop throwing it back and forth. It’s as if I haven’t spoken at all.
“I have a sword!” I bellow, lifting it.
One of the boys snorts. “Yes, and by the looks of it, you can’t even use it.” My eyes narrow.
Enough. I take off toward them, but they’re across the clearing in a flash. They’re laughing. Then they’re tearing through the forest, fast as lightning, turning to look at me instead of looking ahead and still somehow avoiding the branches, while also continuing their game.
I’m short by most standards, but I’m much taller than them. I have longer legs. Still, they are immortal, and I don’t have a chance of keeping up.
A growl escapes my lips as I listen to my coin clinking as it’s thrown between them, glinting beneath the sun. I worked hard to get that coin. I need it.
They make a sharp turn, and I throw myself through the brush, needles stinging, leaves clinging to my sweaty face.
But their steps have stopped. I would have thought they had climbed into the trees if I didn’t hear one of them say, finally, with a shred of shame, “We were just playing. We weren’t really going to take it.”
Raker. He must have caught them.
I lunge forward, feeling a little smug—then stop when I see another immortal standing at the center of the forest.
And she’s not a child. No, she’s a tall woman, with a bow on her back. My breath hitches.
With superior speed, her eyes meet mine. The sharpness of her expression has me stumbling back—but it’s immediately replaced by a friendly, if not abashed, smile.
Still. She’s immortal. I have no clue where Raker is. And, as this child very helpfully pointed out, I can’t really use my sword yet.
I begin to retreat, my hands up, all but pleading that they please take my coin and have a very nice day.
“Don’t be afraid, human,” the immortal says.
I am still very much afraid, thank you. I take another step back.
She takes a step forward. “I apologize for my boys. They should never have taken from you.” With brutal speed, she looks back at the children, snarling.
At that look, they mumble apologies, clearly more afraid of their mother than the sword slung against my spine.
I can relate. I am also, in this moment, afraid of their mother and the glorious set of arrows that she wears.
The immortal woman frowns. Then, as if to calm my fears, she places the coin on a branch. “Here you are. Sorry to have disturbed you.” With another sharp look at the children, she begins to walk away. I watch her, pulse racing.
Only when she’s on the other side of the forest do I creep forward and roughly pocket my coin.
I’m about to turn to go when she says, voice projecting from yards away, “That knight. He won’t find much in these woods. We’re too close to the rot and mists for any large game to come near.”
She saw Raker. And she’s still alive, which means she likely didn’t try to attack him.
My stomach turns with hunger and sinking disappointment. So that’s why he hasn’t been back in more hours than usual.
Damn.
“We have food.”
I slowly look up at her. She might as well have told me she has the gods themselves, tied up and ready for me to slaughter.
“The village isn’t far. We could get you dinner for the night.” My stomach lurches again. My mind becomes solely focused on the idea of something, anything, filling it, but still, I don’t make a single move, and she continues. “It would be the least I could do. In … apology for my sons’ actions.”
Why would an immortal even care about her children stealing from a human?
I’m about to refuse, hoping I can find another fertile bush, but her gaze flicks up to the sky and the gathering clouds there.
“It’s going to rain through the night. At the very least, let me offer you a roof.
The local inn isn’t much, but—” Her words are unspoken, but I get her meaning.
It’s better than sleeping outside in the downpour.
“Which way to the village?” I say.
We can’t trust immortals. But when Raker finally walks through the trees and hears the same offer, he must know as well as I do that we are in no position to turn down food and a roof.
We follow the immortal and her children through the woods, and I hope this isn’t just another mistake.
Raker doesn’t say a word during the walk to the village, even as the two boys zip around him, asking a thousand questions—about his sword, about his armor, about his size, about his hood and mask. His silence only seems to feed their fascination.
“Leave them both alone,” the woman says, her voice tired, like this is a regular occurrence. Them is a generous term, because, other than my coin, the boys don’t seem fascinated by me at all. They only want to see the knight.
“Are warriors not common?” I ask the woman, catching up to her pace. At the very least, getting information is better than listening to the boys and their endless inquiries.
She glances over at me. Her features are sharp—and pretty. She has deep tan skin and dark hair tied low. “They are,” she says, mouth tightening into seriousness. “But the boys don’t see them.”
Interesting. I wonder what she means.
“Mother never lets us downstairs at night,” one of the boys loudly complains.
“I shouldn’t let you downstairs during the day if this is the trouble you find,” she says through her teeth.
The boy rolls his eyes and goes back to antagonizing Raker.
“Are children … are children common for immortals?” I ask after a while.
“No,” she says simply. “They are not.”
I look over at her. At her weapon. “If large game isn’t found near here … what do you hunt?”
“These arrows are not for hunting game,” she says simply.
And with that, the hill crests, and I see the beginnings of a small village. There’s a mill. Winding roads, and alleys, and buildings bunched together. But that is not what my gaze snags on. It is not what makes a lick of fear slide down my spine.
“What is that?” I breathe.
A forest sits just east of the village. At least, that’s what I think it is. The weave of white trees is nearly wholly blocked by a thick wall of mist.
“That’s the Bone Woods,” the woman says, not stopping. I unroot myself, to keep up. She doesn’t even look at it, and I wonder if it’s because of fear, or disgust, or the indifference of familiarity. “With its mists.”
Mists. One of the reasons she said Raker wouldn’t find much to hunt so close by.
“And you … live on its fringes?”
“It didn’t used to be so close,” she says tightly. “Decade by decade, it creeps closer.”
I would ask why she hasn’t moved, but I understand, once we enter the village and a half dozen people nod at the woman and boys—before sharpening their gazes at us. They have a community here. A home.
The word hooks into a part of me and pulls behind my ribs. A mixture of sad and happy moments spill out from behind it.
I had a home, once.
I both mourn its absence … and celebrate the fact that I ever had one to begin with.
She stops in front of a small house with a painted wooden door that doesn’t quite fit its frame. There’s a large window, its glass glazed over by time. “Upstairs. Now,” she tells the boys, who scurry off, with some parting words for Raker that he, of course, does not reciprocate.
She shakes her head and leads us down the street, stopping at another home, this one with a few additional levels. She slips inside, then returns shortly with two keys. “Dinner will be brought up to you.”
Raker takes his key, nods, says his thanks, then slips through the door without another word.
“We really appreciate this,” I say when she hands me mine, and, with a tight smile, she steps back onto the bustling street.
The stairs are so narrow I wonder how Raker even got up them. The wood groans beneath my boots as I step into a small, comfortable room. There isn’t a tub … but there is a bucket of water, a cloth, and soap. I sniff it … and no, it doesn’t smell anything like Raker’s.