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He took another few steps towards me, all while I continued to make a mess of his extravagant little food table. If the poor young trainees only knew what their superiors feasted on every night while they scrapped over moldy bread, surely it would have caused a riot. But as the old adage went, out of sight, out of mind.
“Answer me,” Arkyn grated once more, his body within arm’s reach.
Someone had forgotten their place and I felt compelled to remind him.
“Alright,” I replied at the exact same moment I grabbed the large silver platter and sent it colliding into the side of his face. A firework of meats sprayed out every which direction, a round, thin slab of salami landing on my outstretched arm.
The blow knocked Arkyn to the ground, rendering his consciousness somewhere between this tent and the stars.
Briefly, I eyed the silver platter, slightly impressed at the clear imprint of Arkyn’s face now forged into the light metal, before I tossed it to the side, a metal ting sounding when it hit the ground.
My brow darted up—the slice of meat was still stuck on my arm. Taking aim at Arkyn, I flicked it off and it landed on his chest.
Did I say he was somewhere between here and the stars? I took it back. He was beyond the stars.
Some Demi God he was.
I booted the side of his perfectly polished shoe. “Wake up.”
He grumbled, but that was it for a response.
Well, fuck . . . I needed him awake for the next part.
Sage
We merged with the shadows, sticking in their embrace as if our lives depended on it—and I suppose, in a way, they probably did. It took longer than I anticipated for us to descend into the valley, but after a good half an hour or so, under the watchful gaze of the moon, we finally made it. We weaved through the bush, making our way around the barracks, towards the glistening, rushing river.
The soldiers’ voices were easier to make out now that we were so much closer to them. Some sounded younger, like they hadn’t even hit puberty yet. I could hear the panic in their voices, could hear the barking higher-ups yelling at them to do more, to move faster while they called them names like “low-born dogs” and “bastards of a whore.”
I wondered how many of these conscripted men would be alive by winter’s end, but my gut knew that answer. Very few would make it that long, if any at all.
My jaw locked as my teeth ground together. I wished I could free them all.
We clutched to the side of the barracks before we moved to a dense grove of buffalo berry bushes. I pressed my hand against the slender, barren branch, careful of the thorns, and pulled it down slightly so I could get a better look.
The soldiers ran towards the rushing river with their empty wooden buckets. On their way back, their paces were slower, some struggling with the weight, water splashing over the sides.
Come on, Kaleb. Come on.
As if my heart had willed it, Kaleb emerged from the barracks.
He was thin—too thin. His hair was long and matted, and those once-vivid blue eyes were now dull and hollow.
My heartbeat jumped into my ears, pounding.I’m going to get you home, Kaleb.
He was too close to the other soldiers for me to get his attention without being noticed, without putting all three of us at risk. I needed to think of a way to let him know I was here. Something that only he would know. Something . . . I glanced at my hand and suddenly, I knew. I conjured my Water Curse and I filled his empty bucket to the brim. His arm sank with the unexpected weight.
His mouth fell open. Dumbfounded, he stared at the bucket, at the water sloshing from side to side. Instantly, he dropped it, water jumping out as the ground smacked the bottom. He twirled, his eyes searching for me—because he knew it was me.
Without thinking, I sprung from the shadows—he needed to see me, know that I was here, and that we were going back home.
When he saw me . . . it felt surreal. A tangle of emotions—sadness and happiness and relief—slammed into me, knocking me two steps forward.
Kaleb sprinted, conquering the distance between us. He shouted at me, but I couldn’t hear his words—all I could see was him. The horror written on his too-thin face. Gods, what had they done to him?
His body slammed into mine as he drew me into his arms and twirled me around—except he wasn’t twirling me . . .
Before I could process what he had done, I heard it—the whirling, followed by an abrupt, sickening . . .thunk. The sound of an arrow meeting its target.
