My arms are on fire, and sweat drips down my face, my clothes cling to my body regardless of the temperature. When we near Nu’cov, Arel whistles continually to the Unbound hiding in the trees, the sentries repeated whistle guides us to the entrance—the code for someone injured.
The door swings open and two men speed out, taking Aron’s feet, bearing some of the weight. With their help, we rush Aron down to Seema’s hut, where she is ready for the injured party. Arel tries explaining what happened, but the door slams in our faces.
Caelan stomps towards us as we pace outside. “What happened?” he asks, noting the blood on us, some belongs to the soldiers, but most is Aron’s.
“The mountain pass is crawling with guards. We’ve been at it for days. This evening, we found a large party, twenty or so,” Arel breathily answers.
“We took them by surprise, most of us came out of it unscathed, except Aron. We got him here as fast as we could,” I huff, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
Caelan rubs his beard, staring towards the cave door, either wishing his men would hurry back or wishing he could go out and help fight—I’d say the latter.
“I’ll keep an eye on Aron, you two go get some food, get your strength back before heading back out in the morning.” He heads towards the hut door, pausing before he opens it, he turns to us. “Tell Ronan…tell him if the odds are not in your favour, come home. The chances of them penetrating are slim. I’d rather have my men here, safe.”
Arel and I walk to the mess hut, and the table is still covered in scraps and empty plates. The young girls cleaning up stareat us as we enter, covered in blood, slumping down into a chair. Neither of us says a word, neither of us has any words of significance.
The normal joking banter we share is shunted with Aron’s injury, with his life in the balance, it doesn’t feel right.
Arel rests his head on his crossed arms on the table, while I stare around the room, which is usually filled with folk laughing, it’s now empty and void of emotion. The elderly cook walks over to us with a small tray of leftover food and a pitcher of water. I smile at her in thanks, acknowledging the sorrow written all over her face. I imagine this is something she has seen a lot over the years, folk coming back with an injured, almost dying party member, anxiously waiting to hear the news.
I take a bite out of a slice of ham, but for once, my appetite is gone, I toss it back onto the tray and slouch in my chair. Covering my face with my hands, I silently pray to any god who is willing to listen. I don’t often pray, having lost my faith a long time ago. No god answered my prayers to make my uncle a better man. But tonight, for Aron, I will.
The next morning, Caelan wakes us with news about Aron. Seema has stopped the bleeding, he is stable but has a long recovery. At least we can tell the others the good news when we arrive back at camp.
Everyone sits in front of the fire waiting for our news, and they practically jump up when we arrive in the afternoon. I notice a few missing faces from the crowd.
“They’re fine, no more guards since yesterday. Kaleb and Izaac are out looking for something of mine. I lost it during the fight,” Ronan says, his face sterner than usual.
Arel jokes, “From someone special?” His laugh fades to nothing as Ronan’s eyes bore into him. If looks could kill, Arel would be long gone.
The past few months, I have found a friendship of sorts with Ronan, but even to this day, I choose to stay on his good side.
“It is none of your business. It’s special to me, therefore, I would like it back. If that’s alright with you?” Ronan spits, walking away without waiting for an answer.
Arel turns to me with his eyebrows raised, blowing out a deep breath.
Rushed whistles echo throughout the pass, and we rush off carrying whatever weapons we can muster. I grab my quiver, kindly refilled with arrows, and chase after the others. Rushing past the new graveyard from yesterday, following the sound of the echo, we run into Kaleb and Izaac, in a scuffle with a few guards. Looks like they are managing themselves just fine, since most of the guards are burned to a crisp.
Kaleb slices through the last guard and turns to us. “Took you long enough.” His face is bloody, and his nose is broken. Izaac has turned a sickly shade of green.
“What happened to you two?” I ask curiously.
Izaac starts, “We were attacked by these—”
“Guards. That’s who attacked us, isn’t that right, Izaac?” Kaleb glares at Izaac with bulging eyes, trying to send a message telepathically.
“Okay…then,” I mumble.
Ronan looks from the guards to the cave where the dead bodies trail from. “This doesn’t look like a normal fire.” He touches one of the burned bodies, flipping over corpses to get a better look. “This is magic.”
Kaleb and Izaac glance at each other, silently communicating. Izaac elbows Kaleb in the ribs and says, “There were these two girls. One had telekinesis, the other had fire. They ran down the way you came. Didn’t you see them?”
Everyone turns, staring down the path we just came from. We never passed anyone on the way here. They were morethan likely hiding in one of the many tunnels or caves in these mountains.
Ronan rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fine, okay. Gather supplies and let's head back to camp.”
Izaac speeds up to Arel and me, “How is he?”
“Aron’s fine. Seema stopped the bleeding. He has a long recovery, though.” Izaac lets out a long-drawn breath, thanking us, and heads over to Ronan.
