16. Killian
Killian
“Killian,” Ilaris said.
It was the morning of our fifth day of travel, and she leaned against the trunk of a great redwood, Jasper curled against her side. Her face was drawn tight, eyes red-rimmed. Her voice was thick with it, desperation fraying her confidence.
“I can’t do this.” She shook her head, the movement shaking loose strands of her dark hair.
“I can’t travel like this. I don’t know what you’re accustomed to, but the wilderness, the cold, hard ground, it will break me.
My clothes reek of salt and smoke and seawater.
My skin is grimy. I need a bath, fresh clothes, and a proper bed to sleep in. ”
She twisted her hands together, trying to explain, to paint a picture to make me understand.
But no persuasion was necessary. It felt reckless being out here without clothes, guards, or a tent to sleep in.
Roughing it in the wilderness wasn’t something I did.
There had always been pavilions of silk and woven warmth, servants who scouted ahead, setting up rugs, beds, and arbors with every comfort provided.
“Then we go to the next city,” I said. “Find a room to rent, they have those here?”
Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Yes. Only, I don’t have many coins, but we will figure it out.”
I half-regretted leaving the hut so quickly.
I hadn’t considered what it meant to travel.
The knowledge returned to me slowly, layer by layer.
I needed to be more thoughtful, more strategic instead of plunging forward driven by the urgency that hummed in my blood like a second heartbeat.
Urgency without wisdom was destruction with direction.
Being thoughtful about this journey would make it easier for both of us.
I looked at her, really looked at her. The tiredness in her eyes, the way she held herself like a vessel that had cracked yet was determined not to shatter.
Despite myself, that familiar hunger returned—not the hunger for food or destruction, but something quieter.
The shape of her name bloomed on my tongue, sweet like honey but dangerous.
“Ilaris, I apologize for neglecting your needs. We are partners in this and need each other equally. We’ll go straight to a village, city, or town and do this properly.
We’ll get a map and plot out the journey.
You’re hurt, still healing, and this time in the wilderness will only set you back.
In my rush to fulfill the needs of the oath, I did not see it. ”
She gaped, open-mouthed at me, and a sudden rush of tears filled her eyes. She turned away, shoulders shaking.
I picked up the bags. Jasper.
He started shifting immediately. His legs lengthened, his back broadened and grew dense with fur.
By the time I had pressed my palm flat against the earth and bent my ear close—feeling for the heat of people, the faint drumbeat of footsteps—Ilaris was already on his back, one hand resting lightly on the ruff of his neck.
Jasper’s amber eyes met mine. His judgmental words crawled through my mind. You made her cry again.
Those weren’t sad tears.
Jasper huffed. All the same.
I turned to the trees, leading the way out.
The looming trees grew more spread out, and the foliage was less thick, leading me to believe we were almost at the edge of the great wood.
The rot lingered in the air though, a faint undertone to the earthy scent of the forest. Then Jasper growled, low in his throat, as something stepped out of the wood onto our path.
At first it looked like a stag, but it was all wrong, bony and standing on two legs, with a skeleton head, all bits of flesh gone, leaving only bone, black eye sockets, and horns. It hissed, then lowered its head and dashed at us.
Ilaris screamed, and Jasper sidestepped it, taking her away.
A hot anger burned within me. I didn’t think, only acted.
Fire erupted, billowing out of me and slamming into the creature.
It might be undead, yet it was made of bones, and bones could be burned to ash.
I redoubled my efforts as it continued its speed, gaining on me.
Catching hold of one of its horns, I lifted the creature and hurled it.
It slammed into the trunk of a tree where it lay stunned for a moment, engulfed in flames.
An uneasy sensation went through me as I watched the flames catch on the trees, the foliage, the brush and bracken.
The creature slowly got to its feet and dashed toward me again.
I covered it in flames again, feeling the blistering heat soar from every pore of my body.
Flames fanned out, licking across the trees.
The creature let out a cry, then turned, running into the fire.
I watched it stumble, fall, and lie still.
When I turned back to Ilaris, her gaze was on the creature, not on the fire spreading across the forest. When she spoke, it wasn’t to condemn my actions, nor to point out what I’d done. “What was that?”
I turned away from it and started walking, fast. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the Unmaking, if that’s what you’re wondering. It might be a servant of the Guardians or something else. I’m not sure what hides in the deep places of this world.”
“Me either,” she whispered.
She coughed as the wind blew smoke toward us, and I increased my speed. Once I let the fire out, there was no putting it back, and the forest would burn until rain quenched its thirst. Once again I’d unleashed destruction, but there was nothing within me that felt the least bit remorseful.
Fields of wheat were the first indication that we were nearing civilization, then animals grazing, flat lands, the horizon stretching as far as the eye could see.
I waited for any hint of recognition to flood me.
I knew these lands, didn’t I? But there was nothing.
It bothered me, pinching at my shoulder blades as the dark smudge on the horizon resolved into rooftops, chimneys, a scatter of buildings pressed together like old friends.
Ilaris drew a sharp breath. “I may have come this way, on the train.”
Train. Odd how the meaning of that word could shift, or perhaps it was ironic.
To train meant to instruct one, to put into practice over and over again until the lesson was learned.
Was that what the mortals had done? Trained something to carry them rapidly from place to place, the way one might train a horse?
Her brow knitted together in concentration, remembering.
“You have an idea?” I prompted.
Her gaze dropped to her bag. “Perhaps there is a train schedule and if it’s going toward the Verdant Maw. . .maybe we can take the train. It would be faster, although it depends on the cost of a ticket. I’m not sure I have enough.”
“Money is not always the only currency. You might be surprised at what others might be willing to trade or barter for.”
Ilaris hesitated. “Trainmasters only take coins, at least as far as I’m aware, but I’ve never tried to barter with them. A portion of the fare goes back to the government, so regardless they’ll want something to cover that price. How did currency work back in your day?”
“We had coins made of bronze, silver, and gold. Gold for the king, silver for the queen, and bronze for the royal children. The thicker and heavier the coin, the more valuable it was. Each of the five kingdoms had the symbol of its monarch on it, and when the king died, coins were remade in the shape and image of the new king with the year stamped on them. The forges were kept near the king’s hall, the coins weighed, carefully inspected before they went into circulation.
We had counterfeits, as I imagine there are today.
But trading coins wasn’t the only currency.
There were promises—we called them word bonds—more common with those who did not have enough coin to trade.
There were curses cast over those who did not keep their word bonds. ”
I trailed off, wondering how different today was from then.
It was the curse of humanity to live in loops, learning the same lessons with each generation.
Despite how much they advanced with structure and architecture, the intellect did not go much further.
That’s why they perceived giants as gods, because we advanced in every area, physically, spiritually, intellectually, and technologically.
“I’d like to hear more about these word bonds when I have a chance to write them down. The lore you hold will shock the world. It could change everything.” Ilaris pointed. “Look, we’ve arrived.”
A low stone wall surrounded the village, and a group of children sat on it, eating apples and shouting to see who could spit seeds the farthest. They glanced at us, but didn’t show any interest as Ilaris slid off Jasper.
Straightening, she lifted her satchel and faced me.
“I’m not sure how comfortable we are drawing attention to ourselves.
I doubt Harlan would have warned anyone about us, but just to be safe, it’s probably best that Jasper looks like a small dog and .
. .” She paused, studying me. “I’m not sure what to do with you. ”
“I’ll wait here while you ask about a room.”
Ilaris’s brow wrinkled. “Doesn’t the blood oath demand that we stay in close proximity?”
“You’ll feel it when the bond stretches thin, when it calls you back.”
The look she gave me was thoughtful, but instead of voicing her thoughts, she limped away. A pressure tightened around my chest as I watched her. Taking a seat on the wall, I inclined my head toward Jasper. Watch over her. Discreetly.
Jasper, once again the size of a small dog, trotted after her.