Chapter 27
twenty-seven
. . .
Aten
The steady beat of our feet hitting the ground is the only noise around us.
My arms cradle Crimson’s body to my chest as we make our retreat.
Her weight is more than I’d ever imagined, but I refuse to let it slow me down.
Her dead weight. Every muscle in my body tenses as I admit to myself what she is, let it sink in, that she’s gone.
I keep my eyes ahead and grip her tighter.
We have to go. Leave. That’s the only option here.
Aslendrix, do you hear me? Stars above, help us get out of this.
She isn’t present to illuminate our path, so I keep the dark shape of Kalan ahead of me, blindly trusting the man who brought us here in the first place because he carries the only thing I care about now.
The shadows and shapes of trees threaten to encroach and send my vigilance to new heights, second-guessing every move or rustle.
“We need to be clear before dawn,” he gruffs, turning back for a second.
“Keep going, old man.”
I cast my power ahead and am met by his scattered emotions circling him like a halo. I’m not stealthy or secret, but I don’t care. He’s frightened for Ever. That’s the strongest feeling, pulsing around him like a second heartbeat. And I wish that didn’t make me even more terrified.
We don’t speak further. Both of us focused on our duties.
Our footing grows easier as the ground moves from soft foliage to harder rock. I think back to the journey here, and remember the dying forest, hoping we don’t need to go the same way. Not carrying Crimson. I can’t take her into that place.
“Is she okay?” I pant through laboured breaths, unable to keep the question to myself. I can’t reach her or sense her, like she’s on the other side of a wall of ice. Bricked off and alone.
“She’s breathing.”
She’s breathing, I repeat to myself. Again. And again.
The farther we travel, the slower our pace.
Crimson killed Fenix, so the pressure of his chase lessens, but that doesn’t account for the rest of his army—the rest of the Kirrians who follow him and the Usher.
My mind starts to piece things together, and I can’t stop it, like my magic has been charged and won’t turn off.
With no chatter and only one mission, my mind has nothing to do but run over every step, every conversation, and every secret or lie that has unfolded to lead us on this journey to this point.
I stumble over the words I’ll need to tell General Aster of his daughter’s death. And being there for Calix.
No magic or training has ever given me insight into this. My own loss of direction and feeling, of being abandoned and let down by my father, now pales into the reality of the sorrow and loss dragging on my heart.
We’re barely moving faster than a walk by the time the darkness of the sky gives way to Novandia.
“We need supplies. Time.” Every second we remain here sharpens my nerves, but I have no counter to Kalan’s plan, if you can even call it that.
“Fine. We need to rest up. Work out what’s happened to Ever.” That’s the priority—the only priority—getting Ever safe. And then honouring Crimson by bringing her home, and neither is achievable without help. So, I go with Kalan’s plan.
As the sun climbs, signalling midday, Kalan stops for rest, laying Ever down on a slight rise of the ground. “We’re in the foothills. It won’t be much farther.”
“Until what?” I ask.
“Until we find shelter and friends. We need to book passage back to Kirrasia as fast as possible.”
“How?” I ask, as I lay Crimson’s body down. My muscles scream, but I ignore the pain, happy to focus on that over the reality of why they hurt.
“Same way we got here. Ever needs to see the Maker.”
A sense of déjà vu screams inside my head. Ever was brought to Kirrasia because her power was awakening. Now…
Kalan hands me a water skin, and I gladly quench my thirst.
“Where are we?”
“The northern foothills. Nehanduns occupy the south of the realm, and that’s where Kirrians come, too. The King’s domain remains in the northeast, sequestered away. The Usher has used the northern mountains as cover for his camp for years.”
“And you didn’t want to share that with the Orders in Kirrasia?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s done, now.” He stands and paces by Ever. My eyes stay vigilant on her chest, following the shallow rise and fall of her breaths.
After everything we’ve been through, every hurt we’ve inflicted, there was a part of me that believed that she would be okay.
And now, with the scorch burn at her throat all too visible in the light, I can’t hold onto that anymore.
It’s slipping through my fingers as sure as holding onto sand and dust.
“I’m sorry about your friend.” Kalan nods to Crimson. “We need to keep moving.”
He walks back to Ever and lifts her still-unconscious body in his arms.
Under any other circumstances, I’d never allow another man to carry her. But I won’t leave Crimson to anyone else. She risked and lost everything for me. The least I can do is carry her now.
We continue on the path Kalan has set, walking at a steady pace. The trees grow sparse, giving way to rock and cracks in the earth, which slows us, but we remain on track.
The sun’s heat fades and turns to a glow, painting the world around us in splashes of gold. It would be pretty under any other circumstance.
Finally, in a clearing, nestled against a craggy strut of rock, is a small house, built into the side of the rock.
There are a couple of outbuildings, tucked away by a few trees. There’s no clear path, no obvious road or noise to be heard, and realise this is where Kalan’s taking us.
“Stay here. Lay her down by that stable.” He points to the outbuilding.
Her body is stiff and ridged and awkward to move, but I’m as gentle as possible as I place her down. The colour has drained from her face, a greyish pallor stealing all her beauty.
It feels wrong to just leave her here, but I don’t know what else I can do. I stand over her, not willing to go. Unable to move.
As dusk catches up, I finally find the courage to go up to the house.
I step through the wooden door and see Kalan and two other men.
“Aten Ciro, this is Shawn and Jensen.”
They both nod in greeting, and I wonder if they are Kirrian. Or if Kalan is happy to make friends all over the continents.
“Aten. Jensen is a Natural. Like me. Shawn is from Nehandun.” Kalan helps me out with the intel.
“I’d like to see Ever,” I address Kalan, and he steps aside, showing me a door to another room at the rear of the house. I don’t wait and rush past him. She’s on a makeshift bed, but her chest continues to rise and fall.
Still unconscious.
“I want to clean her up. Can I have some water? She’s alive. We need to keep her that way. Are either of you a healer?” I stand and shout back to the men in the other room.
They all seem to move in different directions, fetching items, but no one answers the direct question.
Kalan rounds up supplies and brings them back to me as I take up my vigil on the stool by her bed.
“Can we trust these men, Kalan?” I ask as he sets his supplies down.
“Yes. And right now, there’s no other option. But they aren’t against us. Jensen was sent here years ago from Kirrasia, and he and Shawn have helped me on occasion before. They like to keep away from the main villages.”
With as much care as I can, I tilt Ever’s head and place a few drops of water from my fingers to her lips.
I can’t risk more, but I can’t just wait for her to wake up.
After wetting her parched lips, I take the cloth and set about cleaning her up, swiping away at the dirt and soot on her face and down her throat.
But the mark at her neck doesn’t come away.
It’s scorched into her skin, burnt into her flesh.
At the hollow of her neck, there’s now an angry burn, a crescent shape, mirroring half of her pendant, with a darker, deeper burn in the centre where the stone was positioned.
It’s like her necklace is now tattooed into her skin. Never to be removed.
I watch her so still, so quiet, and panic grips me.
As I check on every other inch of her, I place brief touches, kisses of contact from my fingers over her cheek, over her skin.
I’m careful not to touch too long, not wanting to stir anything that might cause her pain.
The urge to keep contact with her is ingrained in my very soul.
Watching her in pain and nearly die in that vision pales into the background of what we both endured these past few weeks.
This was real. Visceral. My fingers itch to check the rest of her body to see if there are other scars left from my own hand, but there will be time to go over that.
The bigger worry now is that with all this contact, our closeness, there is no reaction from Ever. No hum of energy, no heat, no flashes, and no hint of pain.
I shove the worry of what that might mean deep inside of me.
The three men are sitting at the small table in the kitchen when I finish up with Ever.
“Shawn and Jensen have agreed to let us stay the night and help arrange passage in the morning.”
“Thank you, both.” I hope I sound sincere.
“When the sun sets, we’ll take Crimson into a clearing from here and burn her body.”
“What! No. She needs to go back to Kirrasia.” I look to each man in turn, but they all share a similar grim look.
“There’s no way we can get her body back on a ship. It’s three days. There will be too many questions. I’m sorry, Aten. You’ll need to lay her to rest here.” Kalan actually sounds sorry.
My stomach knots and twists my guts at the thought of saying goodbye to her here. Forever.
“She’s a Warrior?” Jensen asks.
“Yes.” I stand a little taller. “Crimson Aster.”
“Very well. We’ll make the preparations.”
Each Order has a different tradition when it comes to passing. Warriors aren’t buried or left to decay like the Guards and Naturals. They are cremated like the Elementals, although the ceremony is different.