The Archer: Arrow's Flight Book # 2 Page 2

  When the rains gave enough relief for us to move on, Ian began to scout for them while he looked for firewood, hoping to have a campsite with a fire blazing by the time they arrived. But the unrelenting storm had other ideas. Driving us into the tiny cave for one.

  I stand, take a couple of steps away.

  “I’m afraid, Ian. The storms? They’re dreadful. What if—?”

  I stop short. What if I’m the reason for them? This is what I mean to say, but I can’t bring myself to say it aloud. Ian raises a curious brow, but his expression quickly floods with concern.

  “Hey . . . it’s going to be okay. I will keep you safe.”

  The assurance in his voice, the promise in his tone, bounces off like thrown rocks. All I can hear are John’s maniacal scribblings in the dirt, his stick flying with his hurried messages of Eden and its dangers. Before I could react—before John was even able to finish telling me all he had to say—Ian appeared and urged in desperation that the jailers were coming back, and we must go. I chose to go, even as John urgently grabbed for my wrist with frightful eyes. I left him behind with the rest of his story . . . and I ran from the Village.

  Later, sobbing in Ian’s arms—my words leaving my mouth in a gurgling mess—I told him what John had said. Much of it made little sense, but Ian listened with solemn reserve before he replied, “He was there for only two months, Kate. He doesn’t know Eden, and he doesn’t know me.”

  And he cupped my face in his hands.

  “Even if what he says were true, I would never let anything happen to you.”

  His eyes deepened with this simple vow—the darkest blue yet—and I believed him.

  I didn’t add that Anna Maria—the oldest Council member in my Village—had confirmed John’s ramblings.

  I shake myself free of these thoughts, but I bite my lip in an effort to hold back the tears that have constantly threatened to overtake me since the moment I left the Village. My lower lip quivers despite myself, and seeing this, Ian comes to me and hugs me to him.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter against his shoulder. “I’m trying to be strong, but I’m not so brave.”

  “Well, that’s not true. I’ve seen your strength.”

  I shake my head. “But what if I made a mistake? What if I’ve dragged Diana out here to face her death? The storms, the lightning? What if all of it is a sign?”

  Ian’s frown reaches his forehead, and his brows dip low, scolding me. “A sign of what? Storms happen. There’s nothing to read in them.”

  I sigh shakily, angry that my fears climb back to the surface. “The women of the Village would not agree with you.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we aren’t in the Village anymore, isn’t it?”

  I weigh his words. It is a good thing, isn’t it?

  Ian pulls back. “Look. You’ve been through a lot the past few days, and now you’re having second thoughts. I get it. It’s natural. But trust me; this will get easier. With each step you take, with each mile you put between yourself and your village, you’ll see.”

  I nod furiously, wanting to believe him. But it is a formidable prospect to take a step when you don’t know where it leads. To blindly follow, completely trusting in the ones who know the way when you cannot see it yourself. Perhaps I do need to stop thinking for a while. A few days . . . a few more days between me and the things I’ve done will make a difference.

  But even now, Mona’s body toppling over the edge of the Pit constantly sears my memory as if I’m standing on the ledge watching it happen again and again, frozen in that single moment. Will I ever be able to staunch the image from my memory? I fear I won’t, and that my punishment is to relive it for the rest of my days.

  Many times I’ve considered the fact that execution might have been a less severe punishment after all. I suppose if I trusted in the Archer’s plan for my destiny, I would be convinced that death is my only option. I would follow without protest the threads meted out by the Moirai as they hunch over their harsh spinning wheel in the sky. Their woven lifepath would be my only destiny: one leading to misery and a sure death for defying the Archer’s chosen duty. For betraying the ways of my Village. For killing our leader. And if I believed in any of it, I never would have left. I would have subjected myself to the Archer’s judgment and yielded to the shears of Atropos.

  Or . . . would Fate truly have allowed me to take Mona’s place even with my part in her death? There is no greater irony.

  My heart cannot trust any of this. In my mind, my destiny has yet to be written.

  “I’d better find some food.” Ian tosses his head in the direction of the river we follow. He squeezes my hands gently. “And when I say food, I mean fish.”

  He scoops up his bow and slings it over his right shoulder. Surprisingly, it had still been hidden under one of the tents at the campsite outside the Village along with the knives and other weapons the boys had carried from Eden.

  “I’ve never been much of a fisherman,” he says pointedly. He raises an arrow. “Wish me luck.”

  I stare at him, confused. “You’re going to fish with your bow?”

  A smile spreads across his face. “Well, yeah. Don’t knock it ‘til you see my catch.” He winks.

  “You could make a fishing rod,” I say.

  His nose wrinkles at such a sensible idea.

  “What fun would that be? I plan to ‘hunt’ for my food, even if all we’ve got is fish.” He takes two steps. “Watch the fire. I’ll just be right over there.”

  He points toward a sloping bank, and I can see the water’s edge between the trees, swelled up with all the rains. I contemplate the skies. The sun peeks through a thin mask of clouds, and I find it safe enough to let him leave me here.

  He saunters off, gripping his bow as if this is any ordinary hunting expedition, but I know better. Nothing is ordinary about anything we do anymore. He turns, walking backwards. And with a wink, he kisses two of his fingers and holds them out toward me.

  “I shall return with a feast!” he calls out. I laugh, shaking my head.

  He looks brave with his bow. He is brave, and I admire him for it.

  We haven’t seen Jesse or Max since leaving the Village. After Justin and Ian assembled their packs, we left in a frenzied hurry, leaving them behind to retrieve the rest of the gear and to cover our trail. Ian insists they will catch up to us. He says they’ve roughly mapped a route that ensures this.

  But where are Justin and Diana? If Justin follows this route, they can’t be so far behind.

  With a heavy sigh, I place another log on the fire, and I try—with all my strength—not to worry.

  Chapter 2

  F ish sizzles in the pan over the fire. The aroma floats up into the air, cutting through the deep scent of pine. Ian managed to catch two. They are small and fairly thin, and it took him over an hour to return.

  “There’s hardly anything in that river. And no game of any kind,” he explains as he flips the flaky meat over to brown the other side. Head still attached, the dead eye stares cold and vacant. “It wouldn’t be smart to stay in this area long.”

  I sit on a lumpy log near the fire and tug on the edge of my dirty skirt as I assess our situation. I know his meaning. Justin and Diana have not arrived, and regardless, we will move on with or without them. I scan the trees around us, looking for any sign of them.

  The morning sun is draped by a mask of clouds that gather in the north and threaten to swallow it completely. And the brewing storm matches my dark mood, which Ian doesn’t miss.

  “They’ll be here.” He nudges me with an elbow and pokes at the logs with a branch to ease the fire back to life under the pan. “Don’t worry.”

  I nod and pull the raincoat more tightly around me, rubbing the toe of my shoe into a pile of pine needles. I keep my eyes trained on the trees and shiver in the cool air. I can’t see the road from here, but it’s close.

  The road is made of black material Ian calls asphalt. It was built by man long ago
to host roaring vehicles that thundered over the terrain. These roads leave towns and cities to snake through the dense forests and cut through the mountain ranges, giving easier passage. The first car we saw after leaving the Village was an incredible sight in all of its decay. Large and solid . . . and metal. It sat quietly on the side of the road, absent of life. I ran a hand across its glass window in awe until my reflection startled me.

  We traveled over a bulk of the mountains without roads. Now, the edge of the forest tapers off into flatter terrain, the trees thinning some. Ian says from here there will be more roads, and traveling will be much easier.

  When the fish are a golden brown, he removes the pan. I take the plate he offers. The plastic is warm against my fingers, and the fillet hisses. I stare at it with no appetite.

  I don’t like this one bit. Diana and Tabitha are out there somewhere in this enormously scary world, and I have no idea if they are safe. I can’t reach her. I can’t simply walk across the path from my hogan to hers, and there she’d be.

  Things must get lost so easily in this outside world—a world I never thought to see. And after a night away from her, I am acutely aware of how much I need Diana, if for no other reason than to give me some sense of familiarity where my faith is lacking. It’s frightening to feel this way out here, and I need the courage Diana lends me. More than anything these days, I need courage. It feels as if I’ve depleted my own store.

  Ian sits down beside me. He tests his meat, takes a tentative bite. It’s still hot, and he winces and drops the fish back on his plate.

  “I hate everything about fish,” he mutters, making a face to match his distaste.

  After this, we sit in silence—staring at fish that neither of us wants—until Ian looks at me, and we both burst into laughter.

  “And . . . these fish are ridiculously small,” he adds.

  “Yes,” I agree, and I feel a small pinch of the familiar tease me. Our eyes connect, soft and sure in a swirl of blue. But my cheeks flame red.

  There’s a difference between us that began the moment we fled the Village. It’s a force that invades, wedging itself in and promising that we will have to break through it to find each other again. And I know the reason. I feel it building with each new step we take.

  In the Village, Ian relied on me. I was the one with the knowledge of things. But it is he who leads us now, and I can do nothing but follow him through this foreign land and its strangeness. It makes us both unsure. He is a very different Ian than the scared boy I met in a cave. He is fierce and invincible and in no need of a weak girl’s help. In so many ways, our roles have traded places.

  The boundaries that kept us from truly reaching for each other are gone as well, and in the freedom we hesitate. We must learn each other again. Learn how to be together—out here—with no barriers to keep us back and no bamboo bars to hold us together. And it’s frightening and exhilarating, and I don’t quite know what to do with it.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Ian interrupts my thoughts. He pokes at his food, suddenly timid.

  “And what is that?”

  He sighs, and his hand eases toward mine where it rests between us on the log. His steady pulse suddenly and abruptly collides with my own as our fingertips grapple with each other, and a beautiful aching heat consumes me at his touch.

  “In the Pit?” He speaks carefully, tiptoeing his way back into my village. I hold my breath. “When you thought we were going to die, you—you said—you loved me, and, well. . .” His eyes sparkle fleetingly—a startling blue—and then turn dark. “We haven’t really talked about it again, and we were, you know, about to die and all, and I know everything was desperate. So if you really didn’t mean it, I get that, and—”

  I tug on his hand to stop his mouth. And the depth of his gaze invades me again as the backsplash of ever darkening clouds frames their astounding beauty. Every time, it stalls me in my tracks.

  “I meant it,” I whisper.

  An audible sigh of relief escapes him. He sets his plate aside and moves in until the space between us vanishes and my own plate is forgotten where it sits on my lap. He nestles the side of my cheek, his skin warm against me, and one barrier is broken. I lean into him slightly, a feeling of elation washing over me. I tremble, a weakness for him invading me that makes me realize how happy I am to be here. I do love him. I love that every time he’s near I feel complete—as if he sees into my soul and knows what I need without my vocalizing it. And I am glad we are alone—totally and wonderfully alone, and I choose to be lost in the moment. This moment of just him.

  “In that case,” he whispers, tickling my ear with his breath. “I’m super glad I dragged the guys with me to get you.” I smile, tucked against him as he continues. “I can appreciate the fact that if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, we might not be here right now. And that’s, well, why I asked.”

  I think a moment. And then, very carefully, I say, “I know I hesitated for quite a long time, but in the end, I knew leaving the Village was my only option.”

  He focuses on me intently with the same attentiveness he gives me every time we talk. This has not changed, even out here in the wide new world. He listens to my heart.

  “What changed your mind?”

  I shrug. “I thought you were dead.”

  He stills, piercing me with a softness, and for a moment, I’m not sure I can say what else plagues my mind. He bends, picks up a rock at his feet, tosses it up and down in his palm.

  “That was the moment . . . when I knew I was dead, too,” I confess. I stare at the untouched plate of fish on my lap. “When I knew the Village had finally managed to kill the last little bit of me. I’d always sensed that my life was missing so much, but right then, I truly felt as if it was over. That the Village had taken the last good thing. And all I felt was . . . empty.” I lift my head. “I still do . . . sometimes.”

  The rock falls into his palm. He clutches it. “You shouldn’t let yourself think like that,” he says, soft and warm. “Not then, and not now.”

  “But I had to then.” I shake my head. “It was the only thing that made me brave enough to banish myself from the only place I’ve ever known. And for once, I had the chance to make something different happen. And unintentionally, you made me take that chance.”

  He smiles. “And . . . do you think it made a difference?”

  I frown, uncertain whether I will ever know the answer. “I hope so,” I say. “I hope they saw that leaving was my choice. A leader has never turned down the position as I did. No one has ever dared to tempt Fate in this way.”

  “I see.” He cocks a humorous brow at me. “But you don’t believe in Fate.”

  I hear the smile in his voice as he repeats my ever steady mantra.

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what does it matter if you defied it?”

  What does it matter? This has yet to be seen. I toss a glance to the darkening sky again.

  I don’t tell him the rest. That despite my fear, it feels as though I’m breathing for the first time. That I am for once certain of the blood that flows through my veins and the heart that beats in my chest. That I am alive, terribly and inextricably alive. I consider the impending storm, and I feel the beat of my own heart in its threat.

  It is a thing I never felt in the Village—the idea of my own life throbbing inside me. In truth it was there, beckoning me to turn inward and listen. I heard its call faintly beneath the monotony of duty where I traipsed from one event to the next as Fate designed.

  But in this moment, with Ian beside me—so close that I can feel him even in the inch of space between us—I am utterly aware of my existence. I understand where my rebellious heart has led me. I see it in the scope of unfamiliar scenery and hear it in the rustling of the leaves of a forest that does not touch my village. And in all of it, I smell the freedom.

  For a moment, the events of previous days seem to be only a bad dream. I long to deceive myself into t
hinking that is precisely what they are.

  “Just so you know,” Ian stands and flings the rock upward and over the surrounding trees. It disappears out of sight before I can blink. “If you hadn’t come with me now, I would have gone back for you a thousand more times.”

  I give him a sidelong glance. “Only a thousand?” I tease.

  “Well, maybe a thousand and one.”

  He sits and slips his hand back into mine, where it fits perfectly, and I sigh as our blood pulses warm in syncopated rhythm. It feels good to talk this way again.

  I let my mind return for a moment to the Village. To the death and the beatings and the muck that made up my life. Mona’s piercing eyes. Tara’s harshness. The Council’s indifference. I think of my banquet that lasted for hours until I thought I might go insane with the heaviness of the day. I remember Mia—the best friend I’ve ever had despite her faltering loyalties. I remember two friends buried in the cold ground.

  I remember the first time I saw Ian—in the cave. He was helpless and afraid and angry but trying to be so brave. He needed me more than ever, and he pulled me into his private place of hurting. And when the hurting turned to hope and then to joy, I stayed there, basking in it until it became my own hope and my own joy.

  I look at him now. He is so changed. So dreadfully powerful it seems. But if I look closely enough, the Ian I first met is still here. He’s timid and vulnerable—tenderness wrapped inside a strong exterior. And with each moment that comes, he lets me in again and again to bask in the shadow of his heart where I see his truth.