Chapter 17
Eliane
“How are we going to do this?” I ask Braxton, patting my hands clean, dust flying through the air.
I wrinkle my nose and look up towards the big mountain staring at us.
I grew up in the mountains, but I never really had to climb this big and steep of a mountain.
Or actually, it looks more like a cliff.
Because of rock pieces breaking, it created a vertical wall that is going to be an issue to climb.
After I remembered what happened to me and I shed some tears, we talked about a plan.
My first idea was to try to raise the sun, but after a few discussions and some time of walking in complete silence, we agreed that wasn’t smart because then everybody would start climbing and I would waste too much energy.
So now we’re just wandering around with these huge light balls above our heads.
Strolling up the flatter part of the mountain, we came across wonderful forests and landscapes.
We didn’t come across any animals and the wind didn’t seem to move.
Kind of weird if you ask me, but I was always told this forest and mountain was magical and strange.
“Give me your dagger,” Braxton commands. I lay my hand protective over the daggers on my leg. I give him a firm and unchangeable answer.
“No.”
He can borrow things from me, but not my daggers.
He seems to get that there’s no room for debate, so he takes matters into his own hands.
Suddenly, a dagger shoots out from my belt and flies at him as fast as lightning.
He catches it effortlessly, looking pretty pleased with himself.
With a sarcastic grin, he turns toward the wall we need to climb.
“I want those back.” I glare at him, pointing my finger towards the two daggers in his hand, before putting my hands on my hips.
Especially the one I got from Da, with the little sun on it, but I keep that small detail to myself.
He shakes his head and his soft waves dance through the air.
I really, really want to brush my finger through his hair.
He is still shaking his head and his chest is going to and for.
And then he does something that he has never done before.
He smiles at me.
Actually smiles.
No smirk or grin.
Not just a light movement of the corner of his mouth.
No.
A real smile.
A laugh escapes his throat.
I hold my breath as he burst into laughter. I can’t breathe or move. I watch him with all I have. I know I begged him before to smile at me again, but this is really something.
It is the most beautiful thing and sound I have ever seen and heard.
And I will capture this moment as a good memory, for another time I have trouble falling asleep or when I am feeling anxiety. I have heard him laugh in my mind before, but I never saw him laugh out loud.
Because of me not reacting, he seems to catch his mask slipping. He pulls himself together as fast as he can. He smashes my daggers into the cliff and pulls himself up. He must be at least 6 feet up before he looks over his shoulder.
“Are you coming?” he mumbles. He stares at my mouth, and it is only then that I notice my mouth and my eyes are spared wide open as I stand there looking at him all baffled. He is clearly waiting for a reaction.
“Yes,” I answer. “I will be right up.” I cough, trying to get myself together and swing my arm in the ‘you got this’ movement, only after I realized how silly that must have looked. I follow him, climbing, and sadly enough he doesn’t give me the satisfaction of laughing again.
Even though I don’t care about a bit of a struggle, sweat or fight, I am done with climbing this cliff.
It isn’t that far anymore. I look over my shoulder to look at how much I have climbed already, but because of the dark, I can’t look further down than a few feet.
I put another dagger in the stone wall and pull myself up, my feet looking for a hump to stand on.
My feet slip on the dusty stone, and my eyes go up towards Braxton.
He pulls himself up, clambering over the edge.
“Give me your hand,” he commands. I am not sure why he doesn’t say it out loud, but I do as he says. I let go of one dagger reaching for his hands. His rough, calloused and big hand grab mine. As I tried to reach for the other hand, my foot slips.
My heart drops to the ground.
I don’t scream.
Fuck.
My other hand tries to reach for a dagger in the wall, but I can’t find it. I don’t want to ask him for help, but right now I am only holding on because of his strong arms holding on to me.
I look down in the abyss, still nothing there to be seen other than the sharp rock coming out of the mountain.
“Don’t let go of my hand.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
I swing a bit, my hip clapping into the wall, a sharp rock piercing through the fabric on my hip.
My ribs feel like they are going to break as my body crashes against the stone.
I want to hiss from the pain in my ribs, but I stay quiet.
I bite on my lip as the only reaction to the pain.
My free hand finds the dagger and as if nothing happened, Braxton pulls me up in one movement, like I am as light as a feather.
“Thank you.” I sigh, exhaling shutter, lying over the edge to pull my daggers out of the stone.
I try to avoid lying flat on my ribs as much as I can.
Braxton doesn’t as much blink in my direction.
I sit and turn around, looking at the rest of our climb.
The climb to the tops isn’t as steep as the wall we just climbed, but it is still a big slope.
There are not a lot of trees anymore, almost none and it looks like a big rocky range with some plants and grass here and there.
“Now can I get my daggers back?” I tease, gesturing my hands as an invite.
He hands them back to me without saying a word.
Back to the silent treatment I guess. He starts walking in front of me again.
The top isn’t that far away anymore, but I feel like it is getting really late.
A yawn escaped my mouth. If I want to stay alert, he should do something about it.
Besides, I’m not- not talking again. We have been walking quietly before this climb and I respect that he is a more subdued and hardened person than I am, but come on.
Nobody likes being completely silent. It makes me question myself.
Is my hair looking good, am I the problem?
Is the difference between our personalities that big a contrast?
Do I smell gross? Is he going to kill me later on?
Why doesn’t he talk about himself? Did I do something wrong?
What does his tattoos mean? Why does he have these huge scars over his body?
Does he think I’m being distant because I don’t ask about it?
I don’t want to be a whining box or a weight on his leg.
If we don’t talk, I won’t know the answer to these questions and it is driving me nuts. So I must do something about it. I crack my fingers and twist my neck a few rounds to release the buildup tension between my neck and shoulders.
I should start a conversation—and that’s what I do.
“You could have just let me fall, you know, since we can’t win both.” He gives me a stern look but doesn’t answer. I just keep on talking.
“So what is your favorite color?” I ask, smiling softly.
He is a few steps in front of me and stops as I end my question. He turns around slowly and has this silly face. He furrows his eyebrows, and I notice that he starts tapping his fingers on his leg.
“I don’t have a favorite color,” he mocks.
Naturally he has no favorite color—everyone else does, but he doesn’t.
“Of course you do, you probably just never thought of it, or it is pink and you’re just too scared to tell me?” I grin, teasing him. I hope I can get him loosened up a bit. I can see him look down at the ground and a trickle of sweat leaps down his face.
“It is okay if you don’t. It is just a favorite color,” I hurry, not wanting to make him insecure or uncomfortable.
I feel his presence in his mind, and I really want to find out what he is thinking.
It might be wrong, but before I can talk some sense into myself—I am in.
I can hear him think, or read his mind. I am not sure what it is.
I can feel his anger. He is thinking about how fucked up his life has been, that he never even thought about that, such a simple but impacting thing.
I slip out before I overstep. I probably already did.
If he wants to tell me about it, he will.
“Golden like honey,” he chimes in.
I repeat his words, letting them sink in.
“Golden like honey, huh?”
He turns away, letting his feet drag him forwards. I grin widely, because he shared such a personal thing with me.
“Mine is pastel yellow, but you probably already guessed that,” I share, hurrying forward to match his pace.
“Of course it is.” He grins.
I can’t help but chat even more, trying to peel his layers like the onion he is.
“Did you have any pets as a kid? What was your first animals name?” I ask, sprinting towards him, trying to keep up with him. I might be tall and walk fast, but he is huge and marches like he is a soldier. He looks straight forward and answers my question.
“No,” he answers. He presses his lips together and doesn’t look at me. He might not want to talk, but I do.
“Why not?” I gush. I look at him and it is now that I notice again that I, with my 5.
8 feet, need to look up to look at this boy’s face.
He has some stubble on his chin, his expression very bittered and fierce, like he has experienced a lot, so maybe he is more like a man.
I don’t know why I never noticed that he has something that deep.
Since the first time I saw him, I noticed he was hardened, but I think something really might have happened to him.
Nobody turns into the person he is without having a good reason for it.
“The king didn’t want me to be soft to animals. Out of protection I never asked for one,” he answers directly, still not looking into my eyes. His fists are balled, and I notice his jaw is ticking. I repeat his words in my head.
The king did not want me to be soft to animals.
What did he make Braxton do?
By his body language, I understand that he doesn’t want me to get deeper into it. I respect his boundaries. Despite the fact that we’ve been grumpy and a bit sassy to each other before, I feel bubbly, jumpy, and excited.
“Are you more of a morning person or a night person?” I question him.
“No, I already know this one. You’re a night owl.
I have slept with you,” I overrule. For the first time since he started walking again, he looks at me, his eyes wide and the corner of his mouth twitches.
Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I can feel the blush rise on my face and my ears turn red.
“Not slept I mean,” I correct myself. “We shared a bed. Or no, that still sounds wrong. We were forced to spend the night together.” The more words leave my mouth, the worse it starts to sound.
He must think so too, because his eyes soften and sparkle like they are laughing, while the rest of his face stays intact.
“If you want to ‘spend the night with me’ you could just ask, you know, Honey?” He winks. I spin around on my heel as embarrassment takes me over.
“No, I’m good,” I squeak out. My voice sounds pitched and high and this time I am the one taking the lead again. After my shame sank a bit, I start to make conversation again, and keep myself distracted from the sleep and pain trying to take me away.
The top of the mountain comes into view. It is so close I can almost taste the victory of the first trial. Stones and grind crack under my shoes as we climb further, ignoring my injuries.
Eagerness runs through my body. Braxton and I level up our pace. It can’t be more than a quarter mile away. The wind starts swishing around us and it rings in my ears. My heart beats fast and my mouth is dry. Sweat trickles down my back as I start to run.
“Fuck!”
A high growl leaves Braxton’s mouth. I turn around to look at him. He sinks to the ground and at the moment he reaches the grass, thunders of pain and anger rush through me. It feels like cymbals are slamming together in my inside and a shooting pain races through me. I look at my body.
I am not the one hurt.
Braxton is.
Three arrows stick out of his right shoulder.
A boy with reddish hair appears after him, followed by a small girl with a white streak in her hair, holding a bow and arrow. Before the words leave my mouth, Braxton jumps up. He bolts towards me and grabs my hand, dragging me with him. He starts to run, forcing me to follow in his lead.
“You’re hurt,” I whimper. He gives me a firm glare.
“I’m fine,” he accuses. “Now let’s go. I am not going to let that bitch win. A few arrows don’t scare me,” he growls. We still run, but a sting flies through me.
“You are hurt, I can feel it.” My body starts limping and he takes the lead, letting go of my hand.
Pain is an emotion, emotions can be switched off.
I repeat it in my head, not sure if I should convince myself or Braxton with it.
“These arrows are nothing, Honey,” he breathes out as he runs in front of me.
I can’t keep up with him.
I should say something. I want to scream but the words don’t leave my throat. My head feels light and the last few steps I take aren’t running anymore. They are unbalanced and I sink to the ground, crashing together.
“Eliane!” a voice screams. I don’t care enough to open my eyes to see who it is.
Everything will be fine.
Maybe this is my way to freedom.