Alexandria (17 page)

It feels like the last meal of my life
, she thinks, for surely tomorrow her world will change irrevocably—she will be sequestered into domestication by some warrior, or else serve out her life as Arana’s broodmare.

“Lia!” Lia jerks out of her reverie and faces Ezbeth, who looks on her expectantly. “It’s your turn.” Lia stares blankly.
“To say a few words,”
Ezbeth finishes, with pronounced irritation.

“Oh, of course. I just… I came from a small place… with no hope… no promise,” she begins, smile fossilized on her pretty face, “until I was rescued and brought here, to this Temple. I have had the chance to learn duties, and to feel like I’m a part of something much bigger than myself. I’m very thankful for all of this, and I’m looking forward to the next part of my journey.”

She has made her way down the length of the banquet table, addressing each man briefly in turn, until at last she faces Arana. She does not shy or look timidly away, but meets his piercing stare with her own, captivated by the repulsive satisfaction she sees in his eyes.

“Wonderful story,” he says.

Jack plunks down his bed, sore from the day, and reaches down underneath the wooden frame for his pack. He lays it out and rifles around until his hand grasps onto the pendant that Creston gave him. He pulls it out, mindful not to snag its leather necklace cord, and turns it over in his hands. The blended sun and moon. He rolls onto his side, kneading the pendant between his fingers, waiting for the other garrison to return from the range.

Long about dusk they come traipsing in. It is their first day back since the previous week’s exploits and adrenaline is running high amongst them. Eriem walks with new confidence—his performance was a resounding success. They stow their gear and change in the washroom before most of them set out for the Temple, back to their cottages and dormitories.

“Eriem,”
calls Jack.

“Hey,” he says, setting his things down. “Good to see you.”

“How’s Jeneth and the baby?”

“Good, thanks. Prettiest thing ever.”

“I think she takes after Jeneth.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Listen, I have something I’d like to give to a friend. I wonder if you’d help me?”

“Who? What is it?”

“It’s just this.” He holds the necklace out. “I’d like Lia to have it. Will Jeneth see her tonight?”

Eriem looks skeptically at the pendant. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“We grew up together. I just want her to know I wish her good things. Will you?”

He thinks a moment. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Will she see her tonight?”

“I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Thanks, Eriem. I owe you.”

The map is buck hide, cured with rich tannins and stretched wide and tight across the wall of Arana’s chamber. Symbols in multicolored pigment are etched across its tawny surface, showing a primitive depiction of the coast and inland territories. Spiked chevrons illustrate the encountered mountain ranges, and slithering lines the rivers and streams. Arana and Keslin stand shoulder to shoulder as they study it, swaying a touch from too much wine.

Black points show the villages and settlements, and X’s designate those that have been attacked and conquered, with tight scribbles listing the bounty and children acquired. Over the inland valley region, fresh ink is drying.

burnd and cleered

19 taken

“I would go here.” Keslin taps a point, the script denoting a village of eighty. “Or here,” he says, sliding his index finger down along the coast. “Those are forest rats, and these live in ruins and dance naked. Neither have strong defenses.”

Arana stares at the points. “Naked?”

“On a hill by the southern coast. They’re a vulgar sort.”

“Make a plan,” he says, taking his mug and lurching toward the fireplace. “Why do you have so little faith in me, Keslin?”

“I have a lot of faith in you.”

“You think I’m insufficient,” says Arana, slurring his words.

“I don’t follow…”

“Why we go out and do these ventures… it’s because you think I’m not enough.”

“Arana…”

“To protect us. I’m not good enough.”

Keslin narrows on him cleverly and scratches behind his ear like a mange-ridden mongrel. “That’s not true at all.”

“I want to go looking again.”

“We just went.”

“We were close.”

“We were not. We’ve spent years looking and it’s gotten us nothing.”

“It’s out there.”

“If it’s out there we’ll find it. But after this is dealt with.”

“There must be another city… farther north than we’ve ever been.”

“He could have lied,” says Keslin. “Maybe he didn’t want to be found.”

“He wouldn’t have lied to my father.”

“I just think it’s a stunning waste of time.”

“You’re wrong. Think what we could do if we found their secrets.”

“We could have the forest cleaned of filth in half the time if we put all our strength there. Instead we roam around, chasing whispers.”

“I know it’s out there, Keslin.” He sets his mug down with a firm thunk. “You would
never
have talked to my father this way.”

“I’m very sorry,” Keslin says. “Why don’t you use your powers to guide us? I’m sure we’ll find it in no time.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Keslin settles back, his face cryptic. “Even still, it’s not worth the risk. Better to scout what’s close and work our way out from there. If the great city is out there, we’re sure to find it someday.”

“Fine,” says Arana, growing restless, “go south.”

Keslin nods. He pitches back the rest of his wine and braces himself to stand. “I should leave you be. Tomorrow is your big ceremony.”

Arana glares into the fire, glassy and drunk.

“A
forest
girl, Arana. I’m a little surprised.”

“I want… new blood in the family.”

“She won’t love you the way the others do.”

“She won’t have to.”

“Sweet little Mariset,”
coos Lia. The little peach bundle in her arms gurgles and waves her hands clumsily in the air. “What do you want, huh? You want your mom?”

“Oh, please. Keep her. Maybe Eriem and I can sleep.”

“She can stay as long as she wants.” Lia peppers Mariset’s forehead with a barrage of kisses.

“Look at you, you’re a natural.”

Lia’s breath hitches and she hands the baby back to Jeneth and paces around. Haylen looks on from under her covers.

“Nervous?” Jeneth asks.

“No.”

“Yes she is,” says Haylen, “she can’t sit still.”

“That’s normal. I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep at all.”

“Maybe a little nervous.”

“You’ll do great. You were the prettiest girl out there this morning.”

“Thanks.”

“I brought you something. A gift from an old friend.”

Lia scrunches her brow. “Really? What?”

Jeneth draws the leather necklace and pendant from her blouse and hands it over. “From Jack. With good wishes.”

“From Jack?”
Haylen bursts, hopping out of bed to get a look.

“When did you see him?” Lia asks sharply.

“I didn’t. Eriem passed it along. Says Jack hopes you’re well.”

“Is that all he said?”

Haylen grabs the pendant and holds it to the light. “Maybe he put a secret message on here for you.”

Lia turns clammy as Jeneth and Haylen ogle at the pendant under the candlelight.

“Nothing. Pretty sun and moon, though. Did he make this?”

“I don’t know,” says Jeneth—the thought hadn’t occurred to her.

“Tell him…” Lia collects her words. “Tell him I said
thank you very much
.”

“I’ll do that.” She looks down at Mariset’s drowsy eyelids. “I think she’s ready for bedtime. You should try to sleep, too, if you can. Come here,” Jeneth says, and stretches her free arm around Lia and gives her a tight squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Promise.”

She shows herself out and Lia kicks off her slippers and tries to follow her advice. She climbs into bed and turns the pendant over and over in her hands, trying to suss out some meaning from it.
The sun and moon
. She resigns that maybe it is just a simple gesture and nothing more. The strand of hope she had clung to since their eyes met earlier dissolves and vanishes. A gift. And best wishes.

She reclines and fumbles with it like a worry stone, rubbing the pendant and slipping the cord absently through her fingers. The sensitive pads of her fingertips glide over some rough hash marks indented into the leather. She sits forward and holds the strap up to the dim tallow candle at her bedside and sees that it is not hash marks at all, but writing, softly engraved on the thin leather cord. One simple phrase—

kichin at midnite — jack

Lights out in the barracks.

Jack lies tense and fidgety, clenching and unclenching his hands, staring up at the ceiling as the rustling slows and quiet snores take over. So many things could go wrong and he scrolls through the possibilities with a deepening sense of vertigo.
And what comes next
, he wonders, assuming they don’t end up riddled with arrow shafts on the Temple grounds? The deep woods are dangerous, but he’s not half as scared of them as he was when he was a little boy, and he thinks he can fight his way through and maybe settle someplace far away from here. A little cabin, just the two of them. He can almost see it.

His breath comes deep and measured. It is time.

He sits up rigid and slow and slides his feet onto the wooden floor, and a fast glance around the barracks shows everyone to be sleeping. His boots are at the foot of the bed and he snatches them up in slow motion then reaches down for his backpack. One unfaltering step after another he creeps down the long aisle, silent as a ghost mist, and passes into the darkened, musty washroom.

Numb and tingling he sets his things down and scoots into the corner and feels along the base for the board he loosened earlier. It pops out and he catches it, lowering it slowly onto the ground outside, and rolls through the opening. Out with his boots and pack, and the board goes squarely back into place.

The night is balmy and clear. Jack scans across the horizon then risks a jump toward the eave to fetch the rope he stashed earlier. He thumps the roof as he grabs it and lands with a soft thud, rope in tow. He freezes, listening for any commotion and hearing none.