The Archer: Arrow's Flight Book # 2 Read online

  My pouch still hangs at my side, the bottle of lilac shampoo safely tucked within, along with a few other treasured possessions. I take out the bottle and open it. One whiff and memories of Mia flood me.

  I miss her as much as I knew I would. And when I think that I may never see her again, it’s nearly more than I can bear.

  I suddenly don’t want to be alone. It lends too much time for remembrance, and my thoughts inevitably return to what or who I left behind—which revives my fears of how the Archer is to blame for the lightening storms that chase us through the terrain. And as much as I try to convince myself it’s only my imagination, I can’t escape the thoughts.

  I wish he would leave me alone. I have no need for him anymore.

  The fire blazes warm. Mona tumbles over the edge of the Pit. Mia is lost to me forever. A shudder shakes through me, and once again, I find myself doubting. Perhaps I should have stayed. Perhaps I fool only myself.

  I replace the shampoo, and my hand scrapes against something tucked in the folds. It’s the rose Justin carved. I don’t take it out, but my fingers tighten around its intricate edges for a moment longer before I slide my hand out and close the pouch.

  I twist my hair back into its braid and spread the blanket before the fire. I’m exhausted, and there’s nothing more to do for now but sleep. And so, despite my fears, I manage to shut down my mind completely.

  I have no sense of how long I sleep, but the rains have stopped when I awake. A skinny sliver of light sneaks through a crack in the wall—the only trespasser allowed into the shadows. It traces a long line across the dirty floor. I uselessly press an eye to the crack, straining to see if the sun has finally overcome the clouds.

  Where is Ian? How long has it been since his leaving?

  I run a hand the length of one wall until I come to the door. I lean my ear against the wood. Silence answers. I hesitate, my hand on the lock. What harm would it do to peek outside?

  I toy with the bolt, lifting and lowering a small notched section. I shouldn’t open it. I have no idea where I am or what dangers may lay on the other side of this door. And Ian was adamant. Do not open the door.

  I shouldn’t open it. The Set-Typhon could be right outside.

  But . . . what if something has happened to Ian, and he isn’t coming back? What if they captured him? What if I never see any of them again, and I’m forced to find my own way? What if . . . what if they’re all dead?

  Panic jabs an ugly, pointed finger into my chest. It tightens tremendously, and before I can think another thought, I slide the lock and pull open the door.

  The crisp air hits my face, clearing my head, and I take in the bushy foliage surrounding the cabin. I pause in the silence. It’s the most beautiful sight, folded in a canopy of leaves overhanging. Everything is green in the brightness— endless mountains of green with drops of moisture dotting the tall stalks of plants unfamiliar to me. I pull the door wider and tentatively place a foot on the top step.

  A bird twitters—a cheerful chattering in the trees above, grateful for an end to the storm. I sigh with the same gratefulness and hope the Archer stays away for a while. My eyes search the landscape, looking for some sign of Ian. Of any one of them.

  A light breeze kicks up, caressing my skin. The scene is so peaceful. Danger would not dare to enter here.

  But then—as if to refute my very thoughts—a resounding crash suddenly rumbles through the forest, shaking the ground. I freeze. What was I thinking? Danger is everywhere in this foreign land. With a shriek, I dart inside, slamming and locking the door in one motion. My heart pounds, pulsing in my neck as tears spring up, quick and fierce.

  Where is Ian?

  I press my back against the door and slide to the floor, taking deep breaths to control my panic.

  “It was only a tree falling,” I reassure myself. “Yes. Only a tree.”

  I raise a trembling hand to brush a lose strand of hair from my face that has rebelliously escaped my braid. The fire is mere glowing embers, so I hoist myself up. I need to do something useful, keep my mind occupied. I lift the last piece of the wooden chair and poke at the hot ashes before tossing it in. It only smolders in response.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  I whirl.

  “Kate! Open the door!”

  Relief skims over my entire body. I race for the door, pull back the bolt. Ian enters, dry—and alone. The green scenery behind him is empty.

  “Where are they? Did you find them?”

  Shaking his head, he rebolts the door, scrutinizes the fire, then the three bottles of water, untouched. He carries a duck, skinned and ready for roasting, and he lays it—along with his bow—near the dying fire.

  “No.”

  “We shouldn’t have left them!” I lash at him. “What if those people have them?”

  “I’m sure they’re fine.” He brushes a comforting hand against my elbow. “This happens all the time with us. We’ll meet back up eventually, and they’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want it to happen again.” I say it forcefully, and Ian frowns, but he nods his head in agreement.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “Promise me.”

  He sighs heavily. “No. I can’t make that promise.”

  He avoids looking at me, and his previous words sting me: This happens all the time with us.

  It will happen again.

  “Where were you?” I ask.

  He opens a water bottle and downs its contents in one gulp before speaking again.

  “That storm was insane. Worse than last night, I think. I couldn’t see a thing, and it was beating me up. So I ducked out of it for a little while. By the time it let up, I knew there was no way they were anywhere out in that stuff, and there was no point in looking anymore. I knew we needed to eat, so I went hunting.” He indicates the duck with a grin.

  “Hunting,” I repeat wanly. “And now? We just wait here?”

  “Yes.” He sounds irritated. “We wait. I marked the trail like before. It’s one of our methods when we get separated. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours, anyway. We’ll wait.”

  I frown. I don’t like this repetition of last night.

  “If you would slow down, this wouldn’t happen all the time, and you wouldn’t need a method.”

  From his supplies, Ian unrolls a sleeping bag, ignoring my comment.

  “I only have this one bag. We’ll have to share.” He kneels and unzips one side clean down its length.

  “Ian, we need to talk about this.”

  “No. We do not!”

  He’s on his feet, towering over me. There is a rage, controlled and steady humming just beneath the surface of his emotions, but it’s not directed at me. It’s an aggravated anger— at himself, at the situation—it’s difficult to pinpoint. But as quickly as it sprang, it settles back in him. He takes my hand.

  “Look, I need you to trust my judgment.” The tenderness is back, laced in his voice, softening me to him once more. “More than anything else I need that from you.”

  “And if I don’t agree with your judgment?”

  “Well, I can’t do anything about that, but you have to understand this one thing about me. I’m different.”

  I raise a brow. “I believe that’s been established.”

  “No.” He releases me and turns a wide circle, and his expression is intense with the need for me to understand. “What I mean is something in me tells me to run. Like a trigger sets off a gun? And when I feel it—that snap in my brain—I have to obey it. And when you’re with me, it’s triggered an awful lot.”

  I purse my lips. “Oh.”

  He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s all new to me. I’m still learning how to live with them—these survival instincts. They want to keep you safe even more than they want to keep me safe. They kind of demand it.”

  “And so . . . you can’t slow down?”

  “Maybe. With practice. With training. But now is not the time. Keepin
g you safe is my priority.”

  “But . . . I feel safer when we are all together.” I venture a tentative step toward him. “And what about Diana? I care about her safety as much as you care about mine.”

  He simply looks at me. And then he says, “Did you know Justin has nursed ninety-eight birds with broken wings back to health?”

  I raise my head.

  “That many?” I say, confused by his randomness.

  “That’s right. He fixes broken things.” He says this as if there’s nothing more to express. “He carried me twelve blocks to his dad’s clinic when I broke my leg as a kid. And he didn’t put me down once the whole way. And trust me, I was one chunky kid.”

  Ian laughs, and I smile at the thought of little Justin with chunky Ian slung over his shoulder.

  He opens a second bottle of water, thinks better of it, and recaps the lid. Leaning over, he examines the meager fire.

  “Are you attempting to make a point?” I ask when it seems as if he’s forgotten we’re having a conversation.

  “Yep.”

  I wait. He stands, facing me.

  “Justin needs something to take care of. It’s kind of the drive in him that he has to obey. And for now, he has Diana.”

  “I see.”

  “Neither one of you is like the girls in Eden. You’re both vulnerable.”

  I frown at his assessment. Vulnerable? I don’t like his inference.

  “My point is that Diana is safe with Justin. He’s the ultimate rescuer. Nothing is going to happen to her while she’s with him. You’ve seen it already.” Ian shrugs. “Plus, she’s a challenge. And he’s always up for one.”

  “A challenge?”

  “Sure. For once, all of this is real.” He digs through his pack and pulls out a match box, sliding it open and checking its contents. “This isn’t a drill.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He straightens. “In Eden, we are taught how to be prepared for this kind of stuff. Storms, predators, criminals, rescues. How to survive in the ruins, you know, in case something like the Fall ever happens again. But mostly, we sit in desks and listen to someone else’s experiences. Except for a few drills, we’ve never really had to use any of it. Until now.”

  He says this solemnly, without smiling, and it awakens a harsh fear in me. A fear about this land I don’t know.

  “Safety matters most. That’s why that door has that lock,” Ian adds with a nod of his head toward the door. “Justin knows this as well, and that is why Diana and Tabitha will be safe.”

  I swallow, glancing at the bolt.

  “The outside world is no better,” I say quietly. “It might even be worse.”

  I lower myself to the blanket and stare at the barely glowing embers of the fire. I thought my fears would simply disappear once I left the Village. Just disappear right along with the past. But I was wrong. I’ve merely traded one kind of fear for another. Ian squints at me curiously.

  “I wouldn’t say that, Kate. At least out here you have the power to do something about it.”

  I don’t answer because I simply don’t know if it’s true.

  A roll of thunder rumbles in the distance.

  “Here it comes again.” Ian takes up his bow. “I’d better get some wood in here before everything gets soaked, or we won’t be eating anything.”

  He pulls the hood of his jacket up over his head and faces me.

  “Don’t fight me on this, okay?” He winks, but I don’t smile. I want to cry. Ian’s expression softens.

  “Hey,” he says gently. He kneels and pulls me into his chest, his previous harshness melting into tenderness. “Diana is safe. Everything always works out. For the last time, don’t worry. “

  Don’t worry. There it is again. I close my eyes, fighting back my tears. Everything I’ve ever known is slowly being swallowed up in this new life I’ve chosen. The future is more of a mystery than ever before. Dangers are everywhere from vicious storms to villains, and I am not to worry.

  Ian leaves the cabin. I watch him, feeling weak and helpless . . . and vulnerable, just as he described.

  And another rumble fills the sky.

  Chapter 6

  I stare at the ceiling where the light from the fire casts wavering shadows. They dance the quick, flickering dance of fireflies, moving in tune to the sound of the hard rain that seems to beat at all sides of the cabin at once.

  The rain has not eased up, but inside the cabin, the fire blazes red hot again, fed with more ample fuel than that of broken pieces of a chair. Ian piled a tall stack of wood against one wall just in time for the next wave of storms. We are safe, we are fed, and we are warm. And we will remain so as long as the wood lasts.

  But I can’t get my mind off the others. I know, as Ian suggested, it is highly probable they’ve found shelter for the night. I only hope these rains stop long enough for them to find us.

  Ian lies beside me, the skin of his arm barely touching the skin of mine. In that small contact, I can feel his quiet breathing, and I let my own pattern itself with the rise and fall of his chest until I hear only one united breath. A calm washes over me, and for one fleeting moment, I’m carried back to the Pit and to the mat we shared for three days.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say I must have met that boy in another lifetime.

  I concentrate on our breathing. It is what kept me sane back then, and it’s what keeps me from going mad now. It reminds me that I am alive, and that we are connected in this one exercise of the lungs. It convinces me that, at least in this moment, the Archer has not won. And it promises me that if I can manage just one more intake of breath—just one small rise of my chest—there might be hope in the exhale.

  I begin to drift.

  “Are you still scared, Kate?”

  My eyes flutter open, and the fireflies are dancing again. Ian shifts and his arm presses into me, more definite.

  “I’m always scared,” I confess quietly. “It’s—it’s what I live with now, I suppose.”

  Ian raises himself up on an elbow, propping his cheek against his hand, and looks down at me.

  “More scared than you were in your village?”

  I weigh the question in my mind. I’ve come to the conclusion over the past few months that fear comes in all shades. It’s a monster that changes form to chase me through whichever nightmare is next in line. A fist in the face, the strong bolts of a lightning storm, John’s last words. Sometimes, and often, it is the sharp blade of a knife slicing a baby’s throat. It’s a game of the mind, tempting its players to believe that they can never lose even as they do. With fear, there are no winners.

  Every time, it brings the stench of Death with it. Death and Fear are close friends.

  “This world is big,” I whisper, thinking of all the ground we’ve covered so far. Thinking of the Set-Typhon for the first time in hours. “Bigger than I ever imagined. Am I scared of it? Of course. I’m terrified of what I’ve seen, more afraid of what I haven’t.” My eyes drift to the ceiling again. The logs have shifted, turning it a deep orange. “And now that I am out in the world, I can truthfully say that the Village doesn’t seem so frightening anymore.”

  Ian raises a brow, but he says nothing.

  “It sounds strange, doesn’t it?” I smile, shaking my head. “Fear is everywhere in my village, and I’ve searched myself for days now, trying to remember how it felt to be afraid there. But I can’t quite grasp it anymore.” Another resounding crash of thunder shakes the cabin. “Why do you think that is?”

  He shrugs. “It was a steady fear, right? Pretty soon, I would think you’d become numb to it.”

  I sigh heavily. “Or perhaps it’s this lightning and the fact that I have never been so cold. Perhaps it’s the dark that looms behind me . . . and in front. But mostly . . . it’s because I don’t know where Fate is out here. It’s not in its proper place, and I’m afraid it will climb out of the darkness to capture me at any moment.”

  I stiffen, my e
yes searching the room as if I expect the Moirai to suddenly arrive out of the shadows unannounced. I have said many brave words against them before. I even dared to speak against them on the platform with Mona’s dead body at my feet. I don’t feel so brave anymore, and I shrink deeper into the sleeping bag.

  “But I don’t believe in Fate,” I whisper more to myself, and I wait for a bolt of lightning to pierce through the orange dancing fireflies. Just once, I’d like to see that. Perhaps it would make a believer of me.

  “What do you want to believe?” Ian asks. He runs a lone finger down my cheek gently. It tickles. I close my eyes and hold completely still.

  “In something bigger,” I murmur. “Something that makes life worth living. Something . . . real.”

  “You can believe whatever you want.”

  He is close, his breath on my cheek.

  “And what do you believe in?” I ask.

  “Us,” he answers. He kisses me, soft and warm. And his breath is on my cheek again.

  “Do you want to know what I’m most afraid of?” I whisper, and he nods and rests his cheek against his propped hand again. “Of believing in nothing. I’ve never heard the Archer say one word to me, yet if I don’t believe in him, what do I have left?”

  “There’s a whole world of beliefs out there to choose from. Take your pick.”

  I hear him, but it doesn’t seem like enough. I don’t want to pick. For once, I realize how much I don’t want a choice. I simply want to know which one is real.

  “So I guess you don’t think Fate brought us together, then?” he asks.

  I blink at him in surprise. His breath tickles my ear, and there is a lilting tease in his voice. But I tense all the same. I suddenly don’t want to talk about the Moirai anymore tonight.

  “Do you?”

  He shrugs and eases back down beside me. “I really don’t care if it did. I only know this: We’re together. I love you. If Fate did that, I say ‘thank you’.”