Chapter 51
Isobel’s fist slams so hard into my forearm as I block, I’m certain she bruises my bone. I bite back a cry of pain and step back, clutching my throbbing arm to my chest.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaims. The trees around us waver in the breeze. “That was a perfect block, but ducking would’ve been better.” She smiles, her nose scrunching up in a way that would’ve been endearing if annoyance didn’t have me in such a tight grip.
I’m not fast enough, not strong enough. My headaches persist even through the tinctures, and I’m tired of Alys having to heal me. On top of it all, I’ve trained nearly every day, yet I don’t seem to be getting much stronger.
“Bugger, did I hurt you that badly?” Isobel asks, a shadow falling across her face as the sun momentarily disappears behind dense clouds. “Here, let me see.” She reaches out, but I step back.
“I’m fine.”
Her sibling steps closer and says something to her. She nods and steps aside as Sloan faces me. Sloan holds up their right hand, splaying all five fingers, then the other arm that stops at the elbow, the sleeve rolled back from the smooth stump. “What do you see?” Sloan asks.
I fumble to find words, my eyes roam the wild grass, the mountain peaks all around, the dimming and brightening sky. Forcing my focus on Sloan’s face again, I find them seemingly apathetic, but there’s something oddly comforting about it.
“Don’t think about hurting my feelings, just answer the question,” they say.
I brace myself to see hurt on their face. “A missing limb,” I say.
Sloan nods. “Right. When I started fighting, that’s all I could see as well.
That’s all anyone could see.” Sloan pulls their sword from its scabbard with such swiftness that I flinch and step back.
“So, I trained harder and harder. I pushed myself, and I strove to be no different, to look no different.” They step back, putting enough space between us and waving Ava toward them.
Ava steps forward, grabbing her own sword from her waist. I watch as Sloan and Ava strike and parry in a rapid series of exchanges that makes me hold my breath.
They stop when Ava’s sword is at Sloan’s neck, then she sheaths her blade again.
Sloan returns to me, mopping their forehead with a sleeve.
“Watching me fight just now, did my missing arm make a reappearance?”
I hesitate. “No.”
“Was I equally matched against Ava, even with only one hand?”
I nod.
Sloan tilts their head at me, face stony, but something like intrigue shines in their blue-grey eyes. “Were we truly equally matched?”
My eyes dart to Ava and then back to Sloan. “Well … Ava … strikes sharper and more precisely. But you strike faster and block more readily.”
Something that almost looks like pride casts over Ava’s face, and Sloan nods. “We all have our strengths and our weaknesses. If we choose to focus on the negative things that make us different, we miss the opportunity to see the positive.”
They raise their sword, swinging it at me, and I throw up my forearm, summoning a shield. The sword bounces right off it.
“See?” says Sloan. “I cannot do that. Nor can Issy.” They sheathe their sword again.
“I think you’re doing a great job. We’ve had a few setbacks, but not even an Oracle can predict everything.
In the end, we’re all human. We’re all just doing the best we can.
” They hold up their stump again, rolling back the fabric of the sleeve once more as it starts to loosen.
“People look at our differences and underestimate us. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: let them underestimate you. Then prove them wrong.”
I watch Sloan walk away, my forearm still throbbing from Isobel’s fist. I wish I knew how to fight without magic, but I suppose I do need to stop focusing on the negative things that make me different.
Perhaps I am the one doing the underestimating; I am the one who needs to prove myself wrong.
Tiernan always believed in me, and yet I find it so hard to believe in myself.
My heart sinks. As I turn, I nearly run head-on into Osheen.
He starts to sign, but I can’t deal with more reminders of heartache right now, so I turn away.
Ava gives me a look as I move past her. I don’t stop until I reach the small pond where Ghendor is drinking. He lifts his head, and water droplets splash onto my face. Ghendor snuffs at me, nudging my shoulder. “I know, boy, I miss him too,” I say as I stroke his muzzle.
I reach into the pack against his flank and remove a small cheesecloth with a few berries, offering them to him.
As Ghendor nibbles the berries, a hand settles on my shoulder and I startle.
I turn to face Chiyo. No kohl lines her lower lashes today, making the purple halfmoons beneath her eyes more obvious.
Her hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail—no accessories, no special attention to detail—and the blue is fading to a lustrous silver.
For once, she seems utterly drained, grief in her eyes. “Are you alright?” she gestures to me.
My first instinct is to smile and nod, but the smile never comes.
I remain absolutely still, hoping not to lose the grip on my emotions.
The subtle shake of my head has Chiyo reaching out to give my hand a small squeeze.
She takes a deep breath, then glances backward to where Ava is fussing with her braids.
When Chiyo looks at me again, she seems slightly more pulled together. “It seems foolish to hold on to anger and grudges when …” She pauses, hesitating. “You never know what could happen.”
My heart spasms. I hate how easily the physical pain of being apart from Tiernan resurfaces.
“There’s no going back in time,” Chiyo continues. “But … talk to Osheen. I told Ava she should talk to Alys. And you should also talk to Ava.” Her eyes are pleading. “The Zenith is bloody strong. And the Purists are mental.”
She’s right. Unfortunately.
“Isobel and Sloan argue all the time. But they love each other. People who love each other fight. It’s just part of life, I suppose. I know what Osheen did was inexcusable. But life is so short.”
I smile faintly. “When did you get so wise?”
She makes a disgusted face. “Blame it on the sword that tried to claim my life.” Her grin lets me know she’s more than alright with joking about it.
“Speaking of blades, can you help me with the no-spin throw? I cannot seem to get it.”
“That’s because you were always distracted by a certain someone,” she teases. She looks immediately remorseful of her words. “Come. Before we set up, we can do a few throws. The tree over there is a willing participant.”
Each step toward Dubh Carrig makes me feel sicker with grief. Even with the exhaustion weighing on me, even with logic glaring at me, each step feels more and more like giving up on Tiernan.
About four months ago, Tiernan gave up everything to get Alys and I to safety. Yet, here I am, walking away from him instead of running toward him. Every so often I swear I feel a sliver of his presence. Then it’s gone. A taunting reminder that he’s alive, but out of reach.
My breaths grow shallow as the horses canter through the winding pass within the valley.
Ghendor has been docile; I know he senses my grief.
He comes to a stop as soon as my chest grows painfully tight, as I struggle to gulp down any air.
My vision blurs, tunneling as I think of Tiernan taking the fall for me.
This cannot be the end of us, but what can I do when grief and exhaustion weigh on me?
Ghendor tosses his head as I battle within myself to keep up the appearance of being unbothered. To be alright with heading to Dubh Carrig instead of toward Mainland. Of wasting yet more time.
Suddenly, Chiyo is beside Ghendor, looking up at me, one hand soothingly stroking the horse’s mane.
We’re on a forest path with nothing much to look at, but everyone has stopped, and all eyes are on me.
I hadn’t even realized. The mortifying awareness causes my chest to grow even tighter.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and Chiyo rests her hand on my knee.
When I open my eyes again, Ava is there beside her. “Dismount,” she says.
Getting off Ghendor is quite the task. I stumble off to the side, my head spinning, and sit down clumsily on the ground just off the trail. With my head tucked between my knees, I force down breath after breath. A hand gently rests on my back, and I don’t know whose, but I don’t budge.
The old fairytales that always made me feel better have no place here anymore.
Not when I know there’s truth to them. Not when Enidwen was real, her spirit apparently living within Carys …
through my bloodline. Not when the prophecy has two different powers coming after Carys and me.
Not when the entire kingdom, maybe even the whole realm is in danger.
The hand on my back moves in slow, soothing circles, and eventually my head clears. Slowly, breathing becomes easier. I glance up to find Alys sitting beside me. She shifts, getting into my line of sight to sign, “Tell me what you see, feel …? You know the routine, sweetling.”
I close my eyes again. “There’s not much to see,” I say, given that it’s been much of the same—hills, mountains, fields and the occasional herds of goats or sheep.
When I open my eyes, the look in hers almost pains me.
“I feel hollow,” I whisper, knowing very well that’s not the kind of feelings she’s referring to. “I’m constantly forced to part with those I care most about. Taig. Osheen. Tiernan. And I’m so tired of it.”
Behind Alys, Osheen looks my way. It’s clear he’s heard me, but he turns his attention back to his horse, stroking her flank.
“I know,” Alys says. “I know.”
She glances at Ava who’s pacing back and forth, clearly annoyed about yet another stop.
“We should get going.” I scramble to my feet and my head swims, my entire body teetering. Alys jumps up to steady me.
We take a quick break, then get back on the road.
No one speaks as we ride. We pick up the pace as night begins to fall.
Every now and then, we stop for the horses to graze.
We nap and rehydrate. Then we do it all over again.
Until all my aches begin to feel like a second skin, until my mind has turned over so many possibilities of Tiernan’s end that it’s purely numb. I feel numb.
Two weeks after Tiernan was captured, the familiar black mountains of Dubh Carrig come into view along with thatched rooftops and the scent of metal and smoke clinging to the air.
My heart hammers as I remember leaving here months ago with the town going up in flames.
There are many houses now in charred ruins, but otherwise, it seems the village has been rebuilt from the ashes.
We stop in front of a house, the bull knocker forged from iron still on the door. Chiyo’s face is awash with so many emotions that my heart cracks. Tears stream down her face as she practically leaps off her horse and dashes toward the door.
Somehow, before she even lifts her hand to the knocker, the door flies open and Haruka, her neck-length grey hair shimmering from the interior candlelight, throws her arms around her daughter.
We all dismount as the two remain locked in a tearful embrace.
Haruka finally relinquishes Chiyo and looks at the rest of us, a dejected crew.
I’m close enough to her to read her lips when the dreaded words are aimed at Alys. “Where is my son?”
And just like that, the numbness that settled into me disappears, ignited once more by grief, guilt, and anger.
I think I prefer feeling nothing.