Chapter 17
17
I have never fared well in the heat. My pale skin burns far too easily, and my dark hair soaks up all the sun’s rays. I’ve thrown on my tunic, but the crow’s sharp claws have slashed through the fabric. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll wind up with awkward burn marks by night’s end.
We have been walking for hours, not a single other soul to be found in the arid wastelands. To make matters worse, the air is irritatingly dry and still, and it teams up with the blazing temperatures to bake my tender flesh from the outside in. We trudge on, nary a cloud in the sky as the sun beats angrily down on us.
“My lady,” I rasp. “Why do we not take to the air, as we did before?”
“Crows fly” is her simple, perplexing answer.
I swipe my forearm across my sweaty brow. “Right. Crows fly,” I echo, resigned and very dehydrated. “Of course.”
“He’ll be watching the skies,” Jyn goes on. “We’ll better outpace him on foot.”
“?‘Outpace’ implies an intentional direction. You have yet to tell me where we are headed.”
She doesn’t grace me with a reply.
Annoyance licks at the nape of my neck, the tension in my shoulders building to the point of cramping. I catch up to her brisk pace, ignoring the chafing of my thighs and the needles stabbing into my feet. The footprints we leave in the sand are a peculiar thing. Jyn’s are far heavier and deeper than my own, despite her smaller human stature. The wind wipes them away regardless, any evidence of our passing existence smoothing away with time.
“Jyn, you should rest,” I say. “We have been walking for hours.”
“The more distance we put between ourselves and that terror, the better,” she replies, keeping her eyes ahead.
She appears unaffected by the blazing heat, though something about her hunched shoulders and the hand she’s keeping cradled against her chest gives me pause. Upon closer inspection, I notice the piercing wound the crow inflicted on her.
“You’re still bleeding?” I ask, alarmed. I take her hand to inspect it. Without thinking I immediately rip part of my tunic to wrap it around her delicate palm. My clothes were ruined anyway, so it might as well serve a purpose. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Jyn attempts to pull away, but I’ll have none of it. I hold her arm steady as I tend to her injury. “This is nothing. I’ve survived far worse,” she says.
I tie off the bandage with a sigh. I know how much stronger Jyn is than myself, and yet she doesn’t fight against what I do next: allow myself the indulgence of gently grazing my fingers over the curve of her wrist.
She looks surprised, but I can feel her thrill of delight through our connection. I have noticed that the more time I spend with her, the easier it is to tap into her thoughts and sensations. It’s only ever a fleeting glimpse, but that’s more than enough.
Right now, I know that she’s happy—happier than she has been in a very long time.
“Where are we going, my lady?” I ask softly, the distance between us closing.
“Somewhere far from that monster,” she whispers.
“You would be hard-pressed to find land the Emperor Róng hasn’t claimed for himself. Save for the Moonstar Isles and the Southern Kingdom, though the latter may well fall to the Imperial Army within a matter of moons.”
Jyn’s lip curls. “Yes, I heard of that vile snake’s attempt to wrest more land for himself. That leaves the isles, then, though the journey won’t come easily.”
“Is there no other option? I could take you to my city and hide you there.”
“That won’t work.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because if evil has a face,” she says, her eyes growing dark, “then that man has carved it off and worn it around as a mask. He won’t stop until we’re…” Jyn trails off, her eyes growing distant.
I’ve noticed in my short time with her that she does this often, escaping into some unseeable corner of her mind. She talks to herself often as well. The result of being alone for so long, perhaps? Whatever the answer might be, I wish to ease her worries—it’s just a shame that I don’t know how.
Jyn withdraws her hand and keeps walking. “To the Moonstar Isles it is, then.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, much the same way I do when lost in thought. “We must put as much distance as possible between us and the emperor. Every second wasted is a li he draws closer.”
“And every li we travel, the farther I am from home.”
Jyn simply stares at me, as she always does when she is at a loss for words. In these moments, she is made of stone—hard and indifferent. “There’s nothing we can do for your mother.”
“You would have me abandon her completely?”
“I’ve said as much.”
Her bluntness hits me like a strike across the face. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“Be logical about this, Sai. You have two options: return without me and surrender yourself to the emperor’s mercy—and trust me, you will find none—or escape with me and live out what little remains of your mortal life.”
“What little remains?” I echo with a disbelieving chuckle. “You make it sound as though I have mere days to live.”
“Why are you always so…,” she mutters to herself, pulling at her hair and gasping in a full breath. “I shouldn’t have done this.” Jyn squeezes her fists at her forehead, shutting her eyes tight. “This time will be no different. Why did I think it would be different?”
This time?
Her anguish is disheartening to witness and even more traumatizing to feel. It makes my skin chill, despite the blazing desert heat. There’s also an unexpected rage, making for a violent concoction that almost causes me to gag.
I take up her hands, alarmed and desolate to see her in such a state. I need to help her calm down, not just for her sake, but also for mine. One more minute of this sensation will see me sick all over the sand.
“Jyn, look at me. Look at me.”
Her eyes find mine, but not without a pause.
“I’m here,” I assure her, a gentle whisper. I gingerly press her palms to my chest and keep them clasped there beneath my own. “I’m here, Jyn. You needn’t worry any longer.”
As her breathing steadies, she grows sullen, though her cheeks are beginning to redden.
“If you’re positive that we can’t fly,” I say, “then let us travel by night and rest during the day. The sun is too harsh. We can journey by moonlight.” I hold my breath as I carefully stroke my fingers over her blushing cheeks; she leans into my touch just so. “I don’t wish to see you burn up. Allow me to make us a camp here, where the sand is flat. Besides, your hand still needs to heal, and I’m, uh… Well, let’s just say I’m not used to walking this much. I need a break.”
“I suppose there is… some merit to this plan.”
I break into a grin. I can’t help it. “Would you do me the honor of saying that again? I do love hearing that I’m right.”
Jyn rolls her eyes and huffs, then sits down right on the spot. “Go on, then.”
“As my lady commands.”
It’s a trial and a half to create some semblance of shelter, but I make do with my determination and wit. We’re surrounded on all sides by blazing hot sand, without a tree or cloud in sight for shade. It dawns on me at some point that there’s no need to build a structure when I can simply dig down .
The work is nowhere near as arduous as I anticipated. The sand is soft and easy to pile up into tall mounds, the tiny grains slipping through my fingers like fine silk. Within a few minutes, I have managed to create a shallow trench just big enough for the both of us.
“After you,” I say as I offer her my hand.
When she takes it, I swear I can feel our connection sing .
The contact is brief but life-changing. For just a moment, all is right with the world. The soft press of her fingers against my own keeps me grounded, an anchor to thoughts adrift. Each and every one of my insecurities and doubts evaporates into oblivion the moment I take her hand in my own. My breath catches in my throat, a giddy lightness rising in me with such force I feel as though I’m floating.
Best of all, I know she feels it, too.
It’s in her soft inhale, her full lips parted just so. It’s in the way her eyes find mine with ease. It’s in the way time stops, granting us a fraction of infinity to just be . This peace that washes over me is unlike anything I have felt before. My soul is calm, my place in the world suddenly as clear as the sky above.
Then she pulls away, and again I’m lost.
“We should…” Jyn clears her throat. “We should get in.”
“Right, of course,” I say quickly.
I shrug off my tunic and place it over the top of the trench, placing generous amounts of sand around the edges to create a weighted anchor. Pulled taut, the fabric provides just enough shade and protection for the both of us. A makeshift canopy. The shade it provides only covers three-quarters of the trench, leaving a wide enough space near the end for us to crawl underneath. The air is stuffy and the space is cramped, but the relief of finally getting out of the sun is immediate.
Jyn and I lie there together, barely an inch apart in our shelter, the warmth of the air amplifying my exhaustion. Only my toes stick out from beneath the shade, but I grin and bear it. It’s better than nothing.
“Where did you learn to build things like this?” she whispers.
I bury the tips of my fingers into the sand beneath me, feeling the coarse grains rub against my skin. “I’m not sure,” I admit. “Instinct, I suppose?” I stare up at the underside of my tunic-turned-canopy as memories surface. “I recall one particularly terrible summer, when it was so hot you couldn’t step foot outside without sweltering. The only way to escape the heat was to remain indoors. When I was a boy, I would venture out to a stone well I had found atop a mountain. I would climb down and sleep away the days at the bottom where it was coolest…”
I trail off, confused.
What am I saying? Why am I saying this? There was never any well, and summers in the North were always mild at best.
And yet I can so clearly see the soft green moss against the cool gray stones, smell the damp earth beneath my feet. I feel the cool shade against my body, the stretch of my muscles as I curl up for a much-needed noonday nap before a little girl’s voice reaches my ears.
… What was that just now? These visions are not only growing more frequent, but much clearer the longer I find myself in Jyn’s presence. She has awakened something inside me, something I can’t attempt to name.
Colors, sensations, smells—all vibrant and real. Could it be that I’m dehydrated? Highly likely. Victim to sun poisoning? Even more so. But if that’s the case, why do these visions resonate so deeply within me? I don’t understand how it’s possible: they are my memories, and yet they are not—echoes of a life that may or may not be mine. Maybe they belong to Jyn, and I’m somehow privy to these brief flashes of a time long gone by.
Beside me, Jyn lies motionless, eyes closed, her chest slowly rising and falling. How she’s managed to fall asleep so quickly, I will never know. I take a moment to admire the graceful curl of her long lashes and the serious press of her lips. She is just so… close . So close that I can’t believe any of this is real.
I rub my little finger. Perhaps my hypothesis is correct. These visions I’ve been having must be the result of our thread of fate. If I can sense her emotions, is it not possible that I could sense her memories, as well?
I roll onto my side and hazard a direct look at the woman lying next to me. Words cannot do her beauty justice. There’s an otherworldly quality to her, something that balances on the cusp of the ethereal. She lies so still that one could mistake her for carved marble, her pale skin smooth and soft. Her long dark hair flows over her shoulders in rivulets, pooling about her head like a shadowy halo. I can’t fathom the seven thousand years she has claimed to live, for she looks not a day older than I.
She stirs, her eyes fluttering open. When our eyes connect, however brief the moment might be, I swear I can see it—the lifetimes upon lifetimes of wisdom, of wandering…
And pain .
Cold and insidious, it seems to seep out of her, overwhelming our bond to the point that I’m surprised it has not yet cracked through her fine marble skin. All that grief in a simple glance. In that moment, I feel it seep into my marrow. And while I’m fervid to know everything about her, now I’m also afraid.
What horrors has Jyn seen to look so haunted?
How much of it has she had to endure all alone?
Just as sleep tugs at my mind, I happen to peer down at our fraying thread. My eyes widen, a gasp rushing out of me. The center point of our thread of fate… is glowing .
It’s the faintest hint of red. A persimmon, not quite ripe. Like the morning sun peeking out over the horizon. There’s still slack between us, but nowhere near as much as before. Where our thread once looked moments away from snapping, now it slowly knits itself together. It happens at a snail’s pace, one barely perceptible fraction at a time, but I know what I’m seeing is real. Our thread of fate is repairing itself, starting from the center and working its way out, winding carefully.
“Jyn,” I rasp. “Jyn, our thread is…”
I glance at her, suddenly realizing that she’s watching, too. But where I’m vibrating with excitement, her brow creases in a steep frown. Her jaw is tight, her lips a hard line. Whatever joy I felt drains when she turns away, rolling onto her shoulder to expose her back to me.
In an instant, what little progress our thread has made comes to a halt. The red bloom shrinks back to the center, its warmth dwindling like the final embers of a hearth, before it fades back to its usual gloomy gray. I can sense a divide between us, an intentional wall that stops me from sensing her thoughts. My Fated One is pushing me away.
And I want to know why. I need to.
“I have a request.”
“What would that be?” she says suspiciously.
“If we’re to head to the Moonstar Isles, allow me to send a message to my mother so that she at least knows I’m well. The last time she saw me, I was being dragged off to prison.”
“You care about her a great deal,” she says, as though it’s a bad thing.
“Of course. I’m always thinking of the ones I love.”
Jyn sighs slowly, sounding equal parts irritated and… resigned. “Very well. We’ll send a messenger bird when we arrive.”
Hope rises in my chest. There’s still an icy distance between us, but I will gladly take her reluctant suggestion over outright rejection.
“Thank you, Jyn.” I say her name slowly, carefully; as one would handle fragile glass. I’m overcome with the urge to say it ten, a hundred, a thousand times—but I settle for just this once.
“Go to sleep,” she says, though not unkindly, before falling silent once again.
Waves of exhaustion gently tug at my senses. The steady rhythm of Jyn’s breaths is more soothing than any of my childhood lullabies.
It’s not long after that I, too, drift off. Sleep claims me as I study the length of her pretty hair, all the while attempting to ignore the gray thread that is once more slowly mending itself between us.