Chapter 11
Eleven
Zax woke to the smell of smoke.
The roof was on fire. It licked inside the windows, eating up the curtains he had nailed so carefully to the wood. As he stared in horror, a flaming arrow sailed through the window opposite him and sank into the floor just below their nest.
He lurched up, shaking Fawn awake.
She startled awake. “Whassappening?”
“We are under attack,” Zax told her, grabbing his loincloth. He picked up her dress from the floor next to the nest and found that it was burning. He stamped the fire out and handed it over. She yanked it on, running her fingers over the burned bottom of the dress.
Hem, he corrected himself distractedly. The bottoms of clothes were called hems. She had taught him that when they were washing their clothes at the river yesterday.
Another arrow slammed into the wall, its fiery tip piercing the wood. The wall began to burn instantly, and Zax caught a whiff of oil that the arrows had been dipped in before they were shot.
A voice echoed up from the forest floor.
“brING HER DOWN,” screamed the villainous Errol. “OR DIE, MONSTER!”
Zax grabbed a pack—just one, the other was on fire—and slung it onto his back. Then he took Fawn in his arms. Among all the acrid smoke and oil, he could still smell her fear, stronger than any of it.
“Do not worry, my love,” he assured her. “I will protect you.”
Fawn’s face twisted with emotion, her eyes filling.
Zax turned to leap out of the only window that was not burning.
“Wait,” Fawn blurted.
She twisted in his arms to reach the table, which had fire climbing the rear legs. At first, he thought she was reaching for the walking cane he had given her. But she picked up the freckle rock he had gifted her instead, tucking it safely in her pocket.
“Okay,” Fawn said, her voice thick. “L-let’s get out of here.”
Zax’s heart throbbed with all-consuming love. He kissed his beloved’s forehead, then climbed onto the burning window and leapt into the night.
The air filled with shouts.
“There,” Errol screamed. “He’s there, get him!”
Zax barely had time to grab onto a nearby tree before more flaming arrows were upon him, streaking past him so close he felt their heat. He crouched to jump to another tree, but an arrow caught him in the side.
The arrow burned. But unlike the other arrows, it did not burn him with fire. This arrow burned in a way that was completely unique to Skullstalkers; it was wrapped with malblossom.
Zax bellowed with pain. His grip slipped, and Fawn shrieked as they plummeted through the branches.
Zax flailed. But branches continued to snap around him, and the ground was coming at them so fast. If he had not been holding Fawn, maybe he could have stopped his descent. But he could do nothing but curl around Fawn, turn his back to the ground, and hope he landed on one of those damned mortals.
He slammed into the ground hard enough to force the breath from his chest. His side blazed with pain from the malblossom arrow. For a moment, he lay there, dazed. But he had no time. The mortals were running over to him, their weapons raised.
“Careful,” Errol yelled. “Don’t shoot the girl!”
A hunter ran at him with an ax, ready to bring it down on Zax’s head. But before he could raise it, a bathtub fell out of the sky and crushed the hunter to bloody bits.
“Bathtub,” Zax muttered sadly. He had spent ages trying to find a suitable bathtub.
But there was no time to mourn. There were still two hunters left, plus Errol. Zax held Fawn tightly against his chest and ran.
Arrows streaked past him. Zax ran faster, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side from the malblossom arrow.
“Zax,” Fawn said.
He ignored her, running so fast his legs ached.
The mortals were piteously slow. Soon, Zax could hardly hear their shouting, and he let Fawn down on the ground so he could rip out the arrow.
He reached down and curled a hand around it, grimacing as the malblossom scoured his hands. Then he yanked it out.
Blood trickled down his side. Zax examined the wound—not horribly deep, mostly cauterized from the malblossom burns—and then tossed the arrow aside.
“Come,” he panted.
He reached for Fawn. She took a step away from him, her eyes fixed on the distant shapes of men running through the trees.
“Come,” Zax repeated. “They will be upon us soon. I will take us away, to the mountains.”
He reached for her again.
Fawn stepped away. “Just a second.”
“We do not have a second,” Zax said. Again, he reached for her, and again, she moved away from him.
“Just one second,” she hissed.
Zax stopped. There were tears in her eyes again, but now he was unsure why. He thought she was scared of the hunters. But she had heard Errol’s voice now… Did she want to see him? Surely not. He had spoken of her so cruelly.
“Fawn,” he tried. “If you want to see Errol, I-I can bring you to him. But not now. Now they would kill me.”
“Then go,” Fawn choked.
Zax reeled back, stung. “What?”
He moved toward her again. She reeled back with a cry, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Then she ran. Halting and stumbling, straight for the hunters.
For a moment, Zax could do nothing but stare. Surely, he had misunderstood. She had grown to care for him; he knew it. But she was still trying to return to her people. Trying to get away from him, who had treated her so well.
Then his instincts took over. For the first time, Zax could not bring himself to enjoy the chase. She was no match for him, and he caught up easily, pinning her to the ground.
She bucked and twisted, turning over in his grip until she was glaring at him. And still she struggled.
“Fawn,” Zax said desperately. “Please.”
Fawn threw the freckle rock at him. She had little space to draw back, so it did not hurt. Not physically, anyhow. But Zax felt that little rock as if it were a malblossom-arrow plunging deep through his heart.
The freckle rock he had gifted to her rolled to a harmless stop next to her cheek. Not far ahead, the hunters yelled. They would be upon them soon.
“I thought you would wish to be free of him,” Zax said.
Fawn did not answer. She was still crying, the air turning salty between them.
“I can be better,” Zax said. “I can get better books. I can make soap! We can go wherever you want!”
Fawn sobbed. He had made her cry. He could smell her sadness, thick and unbearable. Had he truly made her so miserable? He thought he was a good husband.
A malblossom-arrow pierced the dirt next to Zax’s head. He was running out of time. He could clasp her to his chest and run, continue their quest to find his Anderfel brother and bond them for life. But it would not make Fawn happy. And more than anything, he wanted Fawn to be happy.
Zax stood. He picked up the freckle rock next to her cheek. Then he turned and ran.
“I’m sorry,” Fawn yelled after him. “Zax, I’m sorry! You’ll find someone else!”
Zax did not turn around. Another arrow streaked past him, nicking his loincloth. Tears blurred his remaining eye, but he kept running. Despite the wound in his side, and the pain cracking his heart in two, Zax ran until the mortals were long gone.