The Archer: Arrow's Flight Book # 2 Page 7

  “It didn’t,” I say definitively.

  Ian laughs softly. “You know, I’m glad that I was dragged to your village.”

  I’m confounded by his statement.

  “Why would you be glad for it?”

  He shrugs in the most matter-of-fact manner, his eyes capturing the firelight before he looks straight at me. “It’s where I found you.”

  It’s the simplest of answers . . . and the most beautiful. It sends my heart to fluttering wildly against my chest. The fire crackles and a single spark whizzes up, hissing fiercely, licking the air. It seems to protest Ian’s words.

  “I would never have wished that for you, Ian.” I say fiercely. “And I regret every minute you stayed locked in the Pit.”

  “I don’t.” He runs a finger across my cheek. “I know it was bad, and I know I was afraid. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. But honestly, I can’t really remember how it felt.” He smiles at his clever comparison to my own words. “All I see from my time in the Pit . . . is you.”

  All my insides simply go still. The heat of Ian’s body tucked inside the sleeping bag radiates against my skin, and I have never felt safer than I do in this moment. I know it is a rare privilege to be in this place with him—invited to partake of his sensitive side, the one he keeps tucked away from probing eyes that would call it weakness. A side he keeps hidden from his own friends. But he always lets me in. And every time he lays himself bare, I see the true strength that only comes from within. The strength that makes him a survivor . . . like me, and I tuck myself closer into it.

  “The world is big,” Ian continues, trapping me beneath his strong arm. “It may be scary, but you don’t have to be afraid of it. Not even when somebody is throwing knives at you. I’ll teach you.”

  He plants a soft kiss right on my temple. I interlace my fingers with his. For a moment, John’s words of warning touch me, but then I feel Ian, solid and safe and so comfortably close, and they dissipate like a puff of smoke.

  But still, despite Ian’s reassurances, I am uneasy about the unknown. I fear what consequences I will have to face because of the very first choice I ever made.

  The dream comes to me in vivid color. On the clouds, the Archer rides in all his strength, sparkling and shimmering out of the night, his bow poised expertly. He releases his hold, and a shining star races through the air and disappears. His face transforms into Ian’s. He smiles and gestures for me to move closer. I take two steps before he raises the bow and aims it at my heart. With one easy flick of his finger, he releases the arrow. It flies in a perfect arc, a slow motion finale, and I watch with wide eyes as it meets its target. My scream pierces the night. I raise shocked eyes to meet Ian’s, my hands cupped around the bloody end of the arrow protruding from my chest. But Ian is gone, and in his place, Mona smirks maliciously. And the stock are stumbling out of their cages, covered in blood—one man after another until the Pit is full of thousands of bleeding bodies. Suddenly, the bodies begin to contort into curves and flowing hair, until they become the women of my village. I see Mia’s bloody face, quiet in death. Mona looks straight at me with her piercing, green eyes, standing atop all those bodies and raises her curved knife above her head. And just before she swings it down in a wide arc, two huge hands smash the entire scene together between large palms.

  I jerk awake, my hands frantically searching my chest for the arrow. I spring to my knees. My eyes dart from one side of the cabin to the other, heart pounding ferociously. The fire burns low, and in orange darkness, Ian reaches for me.

  “You’re dreaming. It’s all right. It was only a dream.”

  I fall against his chest, shaking uncontrollably, and his heartbeat thumps against my cheek. I close my eyes, trying to shut out the image of the Archer, of Mona, of all those bodies, but it’s all there behind my eyelids. The sleeping bag is stifling. I struggle out if it, sweat beading my skin, and stand before the glowing embers. Ian sits up. He’s a shadow in the dim light.

  “A dream,” I say with heavy breath. “It was only a dream.”

  I fall to my knees, cover my face, and I sob.

  “Oh, Kate.” Ian pushes back the sleeping bag and kneels beside me. He wraps me in his arms.

  There is a legend in my village. It is a dying belief, so obsolete, in fact, that I’d forgotten it. But some of the older women—those who have been allowed to live because of their wisdom or their strength—they believe dreams are used as a last resort. The final attempt by the Moirai to show us how misguided we have become. And in this moment, the legend revives in my memory, and I believe it.

  “I left them.” My sobs turn the words to a wet stream of nonsense. “I just left.”

  “You didn’t have a choice.” He cups my face. “Once the Council had a chance to think things through, they would have executed you.”

  “And what if they had?” I pull away and stand. “At least I wouldn’t have looked like a selfish coward running to save my own life. I never wanted to be that person.”

  My chin quivers, and a tear drips off the end and hits the floor. I see Layla in her last moments, tied to the post and facing her death with dignity. And I waver again—back and forth between whether my self-imposed banishment was selfish or brave.

  “And then what?” Ian asks in a quiet voice. “You’d be dead, and nothing in your village would be any different than it is now.”

  I blink as this sensible statement penetrates through the remnant of the dream still floating on the edges of my mind. He’s right, of course. Tara would have found a way to have me killed. It matters not that my name was in the box. She learned from the best, and her clever words and sure influence would have persuaded the Council to punish Mona’s killer by death. And eventually, despite my grand speech, they would have seen it as the only just remedy.

  A heavy sigh leaves my lungs.

  “It doesn’t matter. “My people know nothing of the outside,” I reason wiping at my tears. “I banished myself to a world that no longer exists in their minds. I am dead; that’s all they will believe. Nothing will change. It was foolish of me to think it would.”

  I picture Mia’s bloodied and dead face from my dream.

  “But what if I had stayed? What if I had opened all the gates to all the caves in the Pit?”

  Ian picks up a log, stoops to stoke the fire, and tosses it in. “Well, considering those guys have never seen the outside of a cell, that would have been chaos.” He sighs, his hands resting on his knees. “Look, you’re going to drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking about what if. What if never happens.”

  I cock my head, examine him. “How do you know?”

  “Because . . .” he stands. “There is only the present. There’s only what is, not what could’ve been. That’s it.”

  I’m not at all certain that I believe him. I have an eerie feeling that “what if” is lurking in the shadows waiting for its opportunity to become reality. My mind is filled with “what ifs”. What if I had not been with him to pull the knife from his back?

  But I was.

  And so there is only what is.

  We stand facing each other until he braves reaching for me again and pulling me against him, covering my head with his big hand. The rain has stopped, and only the fire crackles in the silence.

  “Stay with me here in the present,” he whispers, kissing my hair. “Please. Don’t look back.”

  But I do. Every minute, I do.

  Chapter 7

  I’m bundled deep inside the sleeping bag when my mind makes it to the surface. I hold still, eyes closed, lingering in the mindless drowsiness for a minute longer before I remember where I am.

  No more dreams haunted me in the night. But the one dream lingers still. It is fresh, and it sends a shiver through me even in the warm folds of the sleeping bag. I crinkle my nose. What does it mean if anything at all? And whose hands were they which crushed the scene and jolted me awake?

  After a moment, I shake these ponderings away.
It was only a dream.

  The cabin is cozy. I squirm out of my cocoon and stretch, squeezing my eyes tight. Ian is not with me, but a rustling of low voices hits my ears, and I know we are no longer alone.

  The door to the cabin stands open. Ian and the others gather under the covering of the trees talking quietly in the crisp morning air. I sit up, fully alert, and there is Diana by the fire. She stirs something in a small pot. Duck stew.

  “Good morning,” she chimes, tapping the edge of the pot with a wooden spoon and replacing the lid. A relieved sigh escapes me.

  “You’re here.”

  Diana smiles, but her eyes are a dark sea swimming with concern. “Barely.” She pauses, and her eyes grow leery. “These storms are relentless.”

  I see a meaning in her remark, and I nod. “The Moirai.”

  Her eyes dart nervously, as if simply hearing the name will invoke another storm. “If it is, they are terribly angry. Or the gods, one.”

  “I was thinking the same,” I add. “They send the Archer after us.”

  “Or the Bull,” she says. “You know I defied Fate just as much as you did.”

  I think on this, but I disagree. My rebellion runs much deeper. I scoot closer to the fire, holding my hands out to take in its warmth.

  “It is the Archer. He does this for Mona.”

  Diana’s eyes change. She presses her hand against my arm. “It was an accident, Kate. You didn’t purposely intend to kill her.”

  “And yet, she’s dead all the same.”

  “Don’t think of it,” she insists. “Anyone would have done as you have when the one they love is threatened.”

  It’s the first time Diana and I have discussed Mona’s death. My eyes cloud with moisture.

  “Would they?” I peer at her now. “I don’t know.”

  “I would have,” she replies. “And I would not dwell on it afterwards.”

  She means it, but she doesn’t know. She hasn’t had to kill to save a life. She only says such things because she doesn’t know what she would do after.

  “Do you ever think of the Village?” I rub a finger through a line of dust, making a criss-cross pattern. I brush it away and wrap my arms around my bent legs. “Because I think of it all time. Dream of it. I can’t get it out of my head.”

  Diana is quiet. Her hand hovers over Tabitha asleep on a blanket, then falls near her side.

  “Sometimes at night when the world is sleeping, and my mind is clear,” she whispers. “I think of it. But mostly because it’s so surreal that we are gone, and I never have to set foot in the Pit again.”

  “And the Bull?”

  Diana purses her lips. “I’m done with him.” She says it with finality, and there is no reason to ask her anything further. “He can send all the storms he wants, but I will not give him a thought.”

  I envy her resolve, and I wish the Archer could be as easily forgotten. I can’t seem to loose myself from his grip.

  In the Village, I developed a cruel habit of taking pride in my own strength to combat him at every turn. I was bold and unwary of the consequences. Mia often said so and tried her best to break me of it, but I rarely took heed. I knew what to expect. A steady but strained comfort with the familiar coupled with a lack of comfort in the circumstance. It made me fearless. A slap across the face, an occasional beating—I took what was given, and I forged my own way in the midst of it. And the Archer could not have me despite every lashing.

  “I wasn’t afraid of the Archer in the Village, you know?” I lay my cheek against my knees. “I was able to rally up my courage and deny Fate’s existence. I blamed all that happened on the Council and not on the stars, and I felt safe doing so. But out here, there is no one to blame. When the clouds part, all I see are stars. I fear I hand power back to the Archer inch by inch.”

  Diana is thoughtful. She tucks the blankets more securely around Tabitha, a worried expression crossing her face. And she looks straight at me.

  “So now you believe in Fate?”

  I freeze, a rapid galloping overtaking my heart.

  “No.” The word rushes out of me with a fiery passion. And I say it again to make it truth. “No.”

  Diana sets her jaw firmly.

  “That’s all I need to hear,” she says.

  She glances toward the open door. I follow her gaze, and I wonder—not for the first time—if I will survive this. I wonder if I have enough heartbeats left to allow me a chance in this new life before Death catches up with me.

  The boys talk quietly, gesturing now and then. They make plans. There is no sun, and when Max points upward, all their eyes follow. I climb to my feet and stand in the doorway. The clouds are low and ominous. Another storm is on the horizon. It sits dark and brooding, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  “We aren’t going anywhere for a while,” I hear Justin say firmly. “That didn’t work out so well yesterday. And when we do, we’ve got to stick together.”

  He looks straight at Ian as he says it, and Jesse nods.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Time to stop thinking about only yourself, Ian.”

  “Shut it, Jesse. It’s not your business.”

  Ian’s back is to me, so I don’t see the expression that accompanies his comment. But I can imagine he doesn’t like being told he was wrong, and danger in him brews along with the impending storm. I feel it, and I take in a nervous breath and hold it.

  “Cut it out, Ian,” Justin scrutinizes the clouds as a low rumble explodes in the distance. “He’s right. You can’t keep leaving us behind the whole trip.” When Ian doesn’t respond, Justin lowers his voice. “Look, I know you want to keep her safe. I get that, but you have to think about the rest of us, too. We have a better chance of getting all of them there in one piece if we stay together. You have to work on your control. Just . . . concentrate better.”

  “Yeah,” Jesse is full of severity now, his light manner gone. “Like Justin said . . . It is our business.” He takes an aggressive step forward. Ian’s shoulders quiver.

  “I said shut it!” Ian rears up, facing Jesse, who is a couple inches taller and broader, too. I clutch the doorframe and lean into the conversation. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “What’s happening?” Diana comes to the door.

  “I’m not sure,” I whisper.

  In the stillness that often precedes a storm, the scene outside grows tenser.

  “Do you?” Jesse faces Ian chest to chest. “Then prove it.”

  Without another word, Ian slams a fist into Jesse’s surprised face. The sound is a hard crack, and the upper part of Jesse’s cheek splinters. I gasp.

  “Oh!” Diana covers her face and turns away.

  Jesse is stunned for a second or two before the good side of his face contorts with anger.

  “Don’t do it, Jess,” Justin interjects. He steps forward, hands raised, but Jesse ignores him. He growls low and lunges.

  Fists fly through the morning air as the two of them attempt to beat the very life out of each other. Panic reeling, I spring from the cabin.

  “Stop it!” I halt in shock as Jesse yanks, and Ian’s forearm breaks. The bone slides clean through his skin. “Stop it!” I scream hysterically, my voice raw.

  Max and Justin jump in, and, with great effort, haul the two boys apart. They are both broken and bleeding, and my hand flies to cover my mouth.

  Men are violent. Men cause wars.

  “Enough, Jesse!” Max’s deep voice booms out of him, louder than I’ve ever heard before, He holds Jesse firmly by the crook of his elbows, pinning Jesse’s arms to his sides.

  Full of anger, Ian tugs out of Justin’s grip, grabs up his bow and quiver with his good arm, and sprints around the side of the cabin and out of sight. Jesse, clearly in pain, winces and drops to his knees.

  “Now would be the perfect time for the enemy to take me out,” he squeaks unnaturally.

  Max shakes his head. “You two need to grow up.”

  Justin merely looks
at me.

  “Sorry you had to see that.”

  I drop my hands to my sides staring in utter exasperation. Jesse cringes, poking at his cheek. I narrow my eyes, anger welling up in me.

  “Something is out there, throwing knives at us, and you choose to fight each other?” I spit the words like spears aimed at their hearts. “I did not leave my village for this.”

  Justin’s eyes falter as a look of shame passes over Jesse’s features. But Max looks straight at me and nods once. I whirl and disappear into the cabin, slamming the door hard behind me. Diana stands in the middle of the room, unmoving. I whisk past her, angrily chucking another log onto the fire. I poke at it, and it hisses in response.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks timidly. I expel a weary sigh.

  “I don’t care what their plans are.” My eyes connect with hers. “We stay together.”

  She raises her shoulders, an assurance filling her, and she nods.

  “Is—is Jesse . . . ?” Her words trail.

  “He’s fine,” I answer coolly. “Ian’s fine. Wait an hour, and you’ll see.”

  I collapse in front of the fire, suddenly exhausted. Tabitha twitches in her sleep. I run a finger across one warm, chubby leg, and once again envy her inability to understand what is happening. Diana kneels beside me.

  “Eden is different, isn’t it? These boys . . . there is more to them than what I’ve seen.”

  My eyes tell her everything she needs to know, but I answer flatly. “They run faster than cougars. They are strong enough to lift boulders.” This much she does know. I have no analogy for my next words, so I simply say, “And you can watch them heal right before your eyes.”

  She blinks twice, quick.

  “Welcome to the world,” I whisper bitterly.

  The storm never lands. The dark clouds seem to change their minds, giving us a reprieve. They hover low over the land as they slide off into the east and dissolve into a ray of sunshine.

  Soon, the ground dries up in the heat, and we move outside to enjoy the warmth we’ve missed so much. Justin and Jesse disappear into the trees to look for dry wood. Diana curls onto her side on a blanket, Tabitha nestled into her chest. The baby gurgles and reaches for her face, patting it lightly. I gulp water from my bottle. The sun feels nice, and if Mia were here, this could very well be a day spent in our favorite spot by the river.