Taste of Madness (Woven in Time #2)

Chapter 1

Wren

Icrouch low in the brush and keep my weight balanced on the balls of my feet, careful not to let the wet grass send me hurtling down the hill to those I’m unsure are enemies or allies.

Below, the human city is lit in slices of soft light that break through the lingering storm clouds.

Flashes of metal catch my eye where weapons move at the hips of guards patrolling the large stone wall encompassing the city as far as my eyes can see.

A line of people stands just outside of the main gate, awaiting entrance to the human stronghold that appears to not just be militaristic, unlike the one I left behind.

A pang travels through my chest at just the thought of the heavy stench of blood and the way the earth wept from the destruction I witnessed.

So many lives lost.

As my mind slips back to that moment in time, an endless barrage of guilt and doubt hits me.

Did I make the right decision?

A heavy sigh falls from me as my gaze travels upward toward the central area of this city.

I wait for the earth to rumble or speak to me in some way, to ease this anxiety thrashing within me. Yet silence greets me, the same as it has for the entire two day journey toward this human city.

It feels like everything I’ve worked toward, in learning about my connection to the earth, and how to use my powers before I even knew who I was, was for nothing. The gaping chasm in our connection only furthers with each hour, leaving me feeling like a limb has been severed.

I let my lungs expand as my eyes flutter shut.

This is the path I’ve chosen and I need to see it through. There’s no room for all of these “what-ifs”...they don’t matter anymore.

As my eyes open once more, I take in the massive buildings protruding from the ground, reaching toward the sky. I can’t see down onto the streets surrounding them, but my gut tells me there are humans living here that aren’t a part of the war efforts.

Those are the people I need to meet and to live among.

That’s the only way I’ll be able to understand the truth of human nature, something that isn’t tainted by those who thirst for war and bloodshed.

Or the ones who have no honor or care for others—the ones who left me to die on the battlefield I was first thrust onto.

There has to be some good to human nature that the supernaturals never experienced.

Back at the main gates I watch those waiting to be granted entrance as they shuffle forward inch by inch, shoulders hunched against the biting wind, hands tucked into sleeves.

Some carry sacks, while others carry nothing at all.

A woman grips a child close enough that the kid’s face disappears into her coat.

I can’t discern where these people are coming from, or what caused them to flee here, but it’s clear they are hoping for asylum or assistance of some kind.

My brow pinches as a soldier at the gate barks out something I can’t hear from here and the people visibly flinch. The people don’t talk back, yet the man continues to yell, as if he feels the need to intimidate them.

My brow rises at this needless display of authority.

Not a good start for trying to endear myself to humans.

I don’t realize I’m gripping the stem of a large weed until it snaps cleanly in my hand.

I feel my pulse ticking faster, and I glance over my shoulder to be sure I’m not in danger from any human patrols outside the city.

With one quick scan, I turn my attention back to the humans down below, but an anger swells within my gut, churning alongside the stark feeling of being truly alone in my efforts.

I’m only here to try to continue on with my sole reason for existence—protecting the earth. It should be humming beneath me, steady and aware of any threats, supporting me. I ache to feel the steady pulse or hum in the ground, and the quiet certainty that I’m not alone.

But suddenly it feels like the earth has decided it’s done helping me.

I watch a thin plume of steam rising from somewhere near the city center, and for a second my stomach twists, wondering if they’re cooking food within.

The journey on foot has left me exhausted and starving, not only from the storms at night that chilled me to the bone, but from the berries I plucked from bushes that caused me to vomit and empty what little contents I had in my stomach as well.

I need to get inside, but I’m undecided whether I’ll be able to get through the check point. I have no obvious supernatural characteristics like fangs or pointed ears, but if they ask for personal information like where I’m coming from, I have no idea what to tell them that doesn’t seem suspicious.

My eyes narrow on the guard holding a clipboard in his hand. His other moves as he seems to scrawl information on it and nods at the frail man before him seeking entry. They seem to go back and forth before the guard jerks his head, giving his approval to head in.

Just as I think to look elsewhere along the wall for any path to get in, my eyes snag as the elderly man is tripped by the other guard who was just shouting at the line from his post at the door.

The older man careens toward the ground, barely extending his arms in time before he lands in the puddles of mud.

My entire body tenses as I barely resist the urge to run down there and help him up myself.

The only person who moves forward to help is the woman holding her child that was next in line, but she’s instantly stopped by one of the guards.

Fury rises alongside the blood rushing to my face as the man pushes himself up, arms trembling.

I shouldn’t care what happens to humans.

That’s what I’ve been told countless times by the kings.

That’s what I should have learned when I was left behind and no one came back for me.

And yet, watching the innocent man struggling to get up and the woman being stopped from helping him, I can’t make myself turn away.

Those are the ones I can’t give up on, those that have compassion and a sense of what’s right.

My chest tightens with something I don’t want to name, and my mind tries to chase the thought of who showed me compassion. Four shapes I’ll never see again.

I shove it down before it can fully form, before it can take my breath and ruin my focus. I’m here for answers, not to stew in memories of what was never meant for me.

Fueled by the injustice happening before me, a plan comes to mind.

If I can’t walk through those gates, I’ll have to force a way in.

I once cracked the foundation of a building, making it collapse.

Surely I’ll have no issue creating a small hole in this wall to sneak through under the cover of night.

First, I need to fix whatever is broken with my connection to the earth.

I shift my weight, lowering until my knees press into the wet earth, and I flatten my palm against the blades of grass. I search for the familiar energy that used to meet me halfway. I think about how I want to serve the earth’s needs and beg for just a small amount of power to allow me to do it.

Please. I’m here. I’m doing everything I can for you.

Silence, once again.

My fingers dig into the damp soil, gripping like I can force the earth to answer through sheer stubbornness. “Come on,” I murmur softly. “All I’m asking is for you to work with me, like we’ve done before.”

The storm clouds drift overhead, heavy and slow, and a gust rolls down the hill hard enough to cut straight through my clothes.

I grit my teeth and keep my hand planted.

Anger twists up through my ribs and another emotion follows it, fear that I’m suddenly useless in this world.

That the only advantage I ever had has been ripped away.

My throat tightens.

“What do you want from me?” I whisper as frustrated tears spring to my eyes. “What more do I have to give up for you? I have nothing left.”

The pressure in my chest builds until it’s hard to breathe. Panic claws at the base of my throat as the abandonment surges. All I want is the warmth of the arms I’ve come to feel safe within, but that isn’t a possibility anymore.

Because of who—no, what—I am, and what I’ve had to do.

The weaver of Earth’s fate, meant to save it at all costs. Even when it costs more than I want to give.

“You don’t get to be silent now,” I hiss venomously at the ground. “Not when I’ve given up those I love for you.”

The words leave my mouth sharp and shaking, and for a breath the only thing I hear is the wind sliding through the grass and the distant murmur from the gates below as I’m unraveling on this hill. My throat aches, tight with everything I’m trying to suppress.

I stay there with my palm against the ground, waiting like an idiot for the earth to change its mind simply because I’ve demanded it.

A rustle of fabric sounds behind me, close enough that it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. For a second I don’t move at all, as if being still and quiet now can erase the fact that I’ve been arguing out loud to the ground already.

Then a low voice murmurs behind me, quiet and certain. “Found her.”

Shit.

My mind races through options as I shift my weight, testing the ground beneath me, gauging how fast I can run on the terrain and whether the tree line is close enough to give me cover if I bolt.

Another voice, closer now, says, “Don’t move.”

The command is sharp and practiced, said in the kind of tone that expects obedience because the world usually gives it.

My jaw clenches and I start to turn, but my movement is interrupted by the click of metal.

“Wouldn’t do that if I was you, unless you’d like a bullet in your head. Rise slowly with your hands in the air.”

I draw in a careful breath and push myself up from my knees, rising slowly, hands empty and visible as I straighten. The cold wind bites at the damp fabric clinging to my skin, and the moment I stand, I feel exposed, the brush no longer hiding me the way it did when I was crouched.

“Now turn and face us.”

I turn my head first, then my shoulders, and finally face them fully. There are four of them, two with their weapons drawn and pointed at me. All dressed in the same drab gray uniform of the guards at the gate.

My stomach twists. I let my emotional state cloud my judgment and mind, and now I’m paying the price.

I keep my expression neutral, even as my heart pounds hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” I say softly, hoping they hear the truth in those words.

One of the men lets out a short sound that could be a laugh if it didn’t have such a condescending edge to it. “Sure you’re not.”

The man closest to me takes a step forward, boots sinking slightly into the wet ground, and he lifts his weapon a fraction higher. “What are you doing out here?” he demands as his blue eyes narrow. “Spying on the gate? For who?”

A cold shiver snakes down my spine, but I don’t let my facial expression give anything away.

“I’m lost,” I say, because it’s the simplest truth I have and the safest lie I can cling to. “I was trying to find shelter and food.”

The man’s eyes flick down my body, lingering too long on my clothes and the way the wind presses damp fabric against skin. His mouth curls up at the corners. “Shelter, huh? We could arrange that.”

My fingers twitch at my sides, not reaching for anything, only betraying the tension I’m holding back. The urge to lash out sparks within my chest, fueled by the memory of the old man being tripped, by the woman being stopped, by the guards below barking and shoving as if fear makes them powerful.

“She was talking,” one of the guards at the edge of their group cuts in, brown eyes trained suspiciously on me. “Arguing with someone. That’s what alerted me to her presence.”

My blood turns to ice.

The closest guard’s gaze sharpens, all depraved intrigue gone now. “Arguing with who?”

I don’t respond fast enough, because there is no good response, and the pause is enough to make their bodies tighten. Now all four weapons are trained on me instead of two.

“Was it a comm?” one of them with a buzz cut asks, voice wary. “Is she signaling to someone?”

“No!” I say, too firmly and quickly, and I instantly regret how it sounds, even as the word leaves me.

They shift again, forming a tight semicircle, moving with the kind of coordination that makes it clear they’ve done this before. The man to my right reaches into his pocket and pulls out a metal contraption.

My mind supplies the word for me. Handcuffs.

The guard with a short blond braid hanging down to the top of his shoulder smirks at the flicker of realization on my face, and he takes one deliberate step closer. “Hands behind your back,” he orders. “Now.”

My lungs pull in a shallow breath, and my gaze darts past them, past the trees, toward the slope that falls away to the city. If I run, they’ll chase. If I fight, they’ll call for more. If I use my power…I swallow hard.

There’s no power to use and no one to help me.

The man with the handcuffs steps closer, and the faint clink of metal in his grip is louder than it should be. “Hands behind your back,” he says again, impatience sharpening the words.

I want inside those walls, I want answers, and I want to see humans with my own eyes—but not like this, not with my choices reduced to captivity or a bullet.

A warm hand clamps around my arm and yanks it back farther than necessary. Heat flares sharp in my shoulder, and I bite down on the sound that tries to climb out of my throat. The first cuff snaps shut around my wrist, cold metal biting into skin. The second follows a heartbeat later.

In some ways, I shouldn't be surprised that this is how humans are treating me. They’ve already shown they’re monsters, even without supernatural powers…even against each other.

Why did I think I’d find something different here?

The chain between the cuffs rattles when he tugs it back, testing me and causing more pain to flare in my shoulders, and something in my chest cracks. I wanted to believe I could walk into their world and find redemption in their society that extends past just a few kind people amongst thousands.

Even if a couple kind souls do exist, they’ll always be suppressed by the cruel ones that snuff out their light. Darkness seems to prevail here.

A gun is pressed to the back of my head. “Move.”

Maybe the humans aren’t worth everything I sacrificed.