| |
Icy cold water stabs my skin with the prick of innumerable needles for the second time today, and immediately, I regret my impulsive decision to dive in after Peter. Not thinking through the actuality of returning to the very same river I fought to escape, and the fact that it could be inhabited by gargantuan snakes, I find myself writhing and kicking against a current determined to drown me this time around.
Vaguely aware of the shouts coming from the shoreline, the rush of water muffles Sully and June’s voices as they call out to me. I try to wave, to lift my arm and shout, but my mouth promptly fills with water, causing me to choke and splutter, and my arm is pinned to my side by the raging current. A sick knot twists in my gut as the shapes that line the shore—my friends and loved ones with the exception of Brom—disappear. I’m whisked away on another nightmarish ride. And the reality that I may die in the minutes forthcoming sinks in my chest like a stone.
“Help!” A garbled plea rises above the rush of water.
Eyes burning from the constant onslaught of water droplets pelting them, I blink and strain to see an inky shape, darker than the darkness surrounding me, and realize it’s the top of Peter’s head. Bobbing for a second, it drops below the surface not more than twenty feet away from me.
Struggling to reach and pull the water away from me while fluttering my legs, I attempt to swim as best as I can toward him. My direction changes continually, my already battered body withstanding more hits that I can count from debris and rocks.
Up ahead, a hand shoots up and out of the water, then another, as Peter desperately tries to come up for air. He, like every other Urthman, cannot swim. Watching him panic and flail, knowing he’s terrified and anticipating death, gives rise to panic. My breathing becomes short and shallow. My belly quivers and my limbs begin to tremble. I can’t explain the phenomenon, why I’m reacting as would if I were watching a friend endure what he’s enduring, but I am. And for an Urthman. At any other point in time in my life, watching an Urthman drown would’ve been cause for celebration. I should hate Peter, should be wishing him dead to avenge the death of my mother and all those who’ve fallen before and after her. Instead, I’m rushing to save him. I need him alive. When and how this change within me occurred is a mystery.
Forcing the questions I can’t answer to the back of my brain, I test my muscles, shoving away the water with all my might with cupped hands and kicking my legs. When Peter’s head resurfaces for a split-second before vanishing again, I fill my lungs with air and dip underwater. Submerged in utter darkness, I soon learn that opening my eyes is futile. I reach my hands in front of me and search with my hands.
Tightness constricts my chest as anxiety grips me in its clutches. My heart pumps frantically. Stripped of my ability to hear, to smell and to see my surroundings, I’m left to rely on just my sense of touch. I resist the urge to inhale through my nose as my panicked body demands and my fingertips graze several objects, none of which appear to be fabric or skin. Frustrated and with mounting fear, I kick harder with my legs and propel myself forward, all the while, the current thrusts me, driving my body on a predetermined course as my fingertips graze twigs, leaves and rocks. My lungs burn and my arms and legs ache from exertion. I need oxygen. I need to breathe. On the verge of abandoning my search, I lift my arms overhead and shove water away from me as I travel to the surface. When something grips my ankle and tugs, I nearly fill my lungs with water. I jerk and twist, suppressing the scream lodged in my throat.
Terror, more glacial than the water swirling around me, seizes me, my thoughts overwhelmed by a vision of a monstrous serpent attached to my leg, poised to either devour me whole or toss me to and fro until every bone in my body splinters. I wriggle and try to shake it off but what feels like fingers on my ankle tighten. Curling my torso, I reach down and frantically try to pry them and free myself. As I do, I realize it is in fact a hand that holds fast to me. As soon as I stroke the knuckles of it, it releases my ankle. Blunt fingers wrap around my own and cling for dear life. Peter, it must be Peter!
Battling the blaze of waning air inside me along with a ferocious tide eddying and churning all around me, I yank the hand toward me. I pull him then kick as hard and fast as I can until my head breaks the surface of the water.
Gulping air, I gasp several times before I turn my head and see Peter, eyes wide with fright and taking long, ragged breaths.
“Avery! You saved me!” His voice is raspy but filled with both gratitude and shock.
“Yeah, I did,” I reply with a good measure of surprise myself. But any further conversation is halted by shouting.
“Avery!” Sully’s frantic tone cuts through the atmosphere like a blade. My heart stutters, responding to his cry.
“She’s over here!” I hear Oliver. His voice is louder, closer.
“I see her!” Lark yells and sounds nearby.
“Sully, she’s coming fast! Get ready for her!” Oliver calls as the current sends Peter and me further down the winding river, farther from our group. Farther from the path to Cassowary.
Cassowary. The city name skewers my heart. I don’t want them to suffer the same fate the people of Galway suffered. I need to warn them, need to get to them, but tossed around on a vicious flow, I’m powerless to save myself, much less my city. I squeeze me eyes shut briefly then cast them skyward.
Veins of silver slither between branches, piercing the darkness. A plump moon, round and fat and ringed in opaque vapors, dangles in the navy heavens, bleeding the night of its mystery and revealing secrets under its searching glow. And in its stony light, I see Sully in the distance. One arm is wrapped around a sturdy tree trunk that juts out above the river while the other grips a considerable tree branch. I can’t imagine how he made it to where he waits, how fast he must’ve acted in order to make it there ahead of me, of the swift current, but he did. Bathed in shimmering moonlight, he is a beacon, hope personified. “Sully.” His name is a benediction, a word that is swallowed by the night, still it buoys my heart, the core of my being.
“Avery, grab the branch!” he shouts as soon as I’m close.
The moment in which I exist narrows to a pinprick. If I miss, my fate will be decided by whatever the river has in store for me. The fate of my people will be decided by the mutants heading their way. Neither is an option. I must live. For my cites. For my people. For June and Sully. I cannot miss my chance. I cannot miss the branch.
Blacker than the darkness of night, the branch grows closer. Not terribly thick but long enough to reach if I’m jarred to my right another three or four feet, it represents my salvation. My pulse rises. My throat goes dry. Missing this one chance at rescue is not an option. Dying is not an option. Taking a deep breath to steady my frenzied nerves, I raise my hand first, my entire arm met with resistance as I lift it out of the water, my tenuous grip on Peter lessening. “Hold on tight, Peter!” I say just as rough bark slaps against my palm. Not hesitating for even a fraction of a moment, I wrap my fingers around the branch tightly.
Jagged wood scrapes my hand, slicing it horizontally. I absorb the pain, refusing to relinquish my grip and be carried away on the tide. My arm jerks, threatens to yank from its socket. I squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg whatever force commands the universe to give Sully strength, to give me strength. Thousands of lives depend on us. Thousands will die if we don’t warn them.
A frosty blast of terror rockets through me as the branch lurches. I chance opening my eyes, feeling as if I’m being torn in two; Peter pulling one half of my body with the force of the current tugging his weight, and the stick being dragged by Sully.
Tense seconds pass, and the river is winning. My throat constricts. My grips begins to weaken. The fall of surviving humans who worked so hard, who traveled far and wide to unite, teeters to the edge of a great precipice, bloodthirsty beasts and a raging river poised to pitch it to its demise.
“C’mon dammit!” I hear Sully shout.
“I got you, brother!” Arnost’s rich voice echoes. “Let’s pull her in.”
“We got her!” Oliver shouts.
My gaze rests on them, on Sully, Arnost and Oliver. Lark is not far from them and offers to help. Broms strolls at a leisurely pace. He walks with the ease of a man who has all the time in the world. I plan to ensure that he makes restitution for all that he’s done. I will make him pay for his transgressions one way or another.
Together, Sully, Arnost and Oliver tow us in, hoisting Peter and I until pebbled earth touches my knees. As soon as I’m confident I’m out of the river, I collapse face-first into the dirt. My body feels as if it’s still moving, muscles spent. I struggle to breathe. Within seconds, Sully is at my side, his hot breath at my ear. “Oh my gosh. Avery!” His voice whispers through me, breathing warmth and energy into me. “Why? Why’d you do it?” he asks tenderly, without accusation or reprimand, just concern.
The sad part is, I don’t have a legitimate answer to his question. I acted without true thought, without consideration.
“Avery! Are you okay?” June’s voice is shrill and worried. I lift my head to look at her. She drops to her knees.
I pause for a second, waiting for her to ask what I was thinking. When she doesn’t, I answer, “I’m okay.”
She throws her arms around my shoulders and I feel small sobs rack her body. “Please don’t do that again, promise me.”
“Glad you’re all right,” Oliver says. I don’t miss the relief in his tone, and I certainly don’t miss the fact that Lark stands beside him, her arm touching his.
Slowly, I sit up. A quick glance at Peter reveals that he has moved to a sitting position as well, and though he hacks and coughs, he appears unharmed. Noticeably absent is Brom. “Where is he?” I growl. I strain to see into the darkness. Brom saunters our way, hands in his pockets and a smug grin on his rumpled face. I rise to my feet and slip my sword from my scabbard. When he is at the outskirts of our circle, my voice springs from me, echoing with steely reverberations. “You!” I practically spit when my eyes land on him. “I’ve had enough of you!” I clutch my sword so tightly my palms hurt.
Brom rears his head as if he’s been slapped, and then the arrogant smile returns. “I don’t think so,” he grinds his words out, his gaze dancing over June.
“You have two choices. I can kill you, or you can turn around right now and leave.”
Brom runs his tongue over his front teeth and sneers. “You’re going to kill me over an Urthman?” His tone is snide, dripping with spite and rancor.
“No, I’m going to kill you because you’re destroying our chances of getting out of here, because you’re a liability and a pervert, and most of all because I don’t trust you. And I can’t have people with me I can’t trust.” My voice is unwavering, filled not with the threat of violence but the promise of it.
Brom chuckles. He pulls his blade from the sheath at his hip. “You think you can kill me?” He arcs a bushy brow defiantly. “Come on and try.”
The sound of metal gliding over leather swishes in the air as Sully, Arnost and Oliver draw their weapons. They positon themselves around me strategically, Sully opting to stand beside me. “You heard her, Brom, you need to move on.”
“Ha, you expect me to leave?” Brom’s expression is as indignant as it is incredulous. “And what do you propose I do? Wander through the forest alone with those monsters out there? Are you kidding me? I’d have to be crazy to do that, and you’re even crazier for thinking you could send me out there.” He points a thick finger at me, his eyes narrowed to lethal slits.
“I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying with us,” I say through my teeth.
June’s bow is in hand, an arrow drawn from her quiver and pulled taut. The tip is aimed at Brom’s chest.
“You heard my sister. Go.” Raw determination shivers in June’s tone. Her jaw is set, her body rigid.
For a moment, Brom is utterly still. Not a sound echoes. All I hear is the blood thundering behind my eardrums, the sound so loud I worry those around me can hear it.
Without warning, however, the quiet is shattered by the explosion of Brom’s harsh voice. Suddenly inundated with rage, his face reddens, his eyes bulging as he shouts with such force spit sprays the space around him. “You want me to go?” he screams at the top of his lungs. “That’s the thanks I get for my hard work and loyalty?” He paces like a wild animal, agitated and ready to pounce. He stops and glares at us. “Fine! I’ll go, but not because you told me to.” He stabs a finger my way, pure hatred coating each word he speaks. “But know this, Azyln,” he spits the name I was formerly known by, “you’ll regret me leaving. I promise you that! All of you will pay!” His entire body trembles. Anger radiates from him, so focused its palpable.
“How do you plan to do that? How do you plan to make us pay?” Oliver advances a step, his shoulders squared and the cords of muscles running the length of his arms flexed. His aquamarine eyes shimmer with ferocity. Malice drips from his words and matches that of Brom. Everything about his posture and demeanor screams of power, of aggression.
Refusing to show any sign of intimidation despite being outnumbered, Brom still issues threats. “Oh you’ll see. I promise that.”
“Maybe we should kill him now, spare ourselves the trouble later,” Sully says tightly. Nothing about his tone implies that he’s joking.
I consider his suggestion for a second, but before I arrive at a decision, Brom turns and bolts into the woods, a move that stuns everyone, especially me.
June’s head whips toward me, a bewildered expression playing across her features. “Should I shoot?” she asks but Brom’s form has been swallowed by the blackened tree line.
Swatting the air in disgust, I reply, “Let him go. I doubt he’ll make it through the night. Save your arrow.”
I look up and am met with June’s gaze. Though night has fallen, the pale, glittering color of her irises still gleams. Her eyes move from me to Sully then finally to Arnost. Amusement dances in the small smirk he wears and her expression immediately mirrors his.
“What?” I can’t help but ask. “What is it, Arnost?”
“N-nothing,” Arnost answers as he stifles a laugh.
A small ripple of giggles travels to Lark then Oliver. I look to Sully. His trademark half smirk deepens the dimple on his cheek.
“C’mon. Tell me.” I want to know what everyone is acting so peculiarly about.
Unexpectedly, a snort followed by deep belly laughter erupts from Arnost. I can’t recall ever hearing him carry on as he is now. The sound is oddly pleasant, and contagious. I feel the corners of my mouth lift. “Oh, it’s just that, that,” Arnost tries but he’s gasping from laughing so hard. “Watching that fool waddle off into the woods after making his big threat,” he mocks Brom by puffing out his cheeks and chest, “he hightailed it out of here like an injured boart.”
June is beset by a fit of giggles. Lark is too. Oliver’s mouth is wide, not a sound coming from it, but tears spill from the corners of his eyes, a phenomenon that causes June to tap Lark and get her attention. She points to Oliver and both girls laugh uncontrollably. I laugh as well, though not as heartily as everyone else. Brom did make a fool of himself. He blustered and threatened then ran away like a coward. But if I’ve learned one thing about Brom through the years it’s that he never forgets a wrong committed against him. The humiliation he endured here just minutes ago will not be overlooked. It will fester in him like a rancid wound until the score is settled, until he feels justice has been served.
I could’ve taken his life. Any of us could have. And it would have been warranted, deserved even. But we aren’t savages. We do not execute our own without provocation, without being forced into a situation without an alternative situation. Killing is always a last resort. If any other avenue can be pursued, it will be pursued.
While I don’t regret not striking him down where he stood, a tiny voice nags, echoing through the cavernous hollows of my being. It warns that we haven’t heard the last of Brom.