Outcast (4 page)

Chapter Seven

T
wo days later, I get my wish. Once again, I’ve spent my day scouting to the south of the village. The afternoon sun softens the chill in the air, though my fingers still ache with cold as I sit in an enormous white cypress holding the book of poems in my hands while I eat the chunk of bread I packed for my lunch. I’m engrossed in a poem about a dreamlike land filled with lotuses when the woods suddenly fall silent around me.

Someone else is here.

Quietly, I lay the book aside and pull my legs beneath me so that I’m crouching high up in the center of the tree, looking down on the forest below. A whisper of sound drifts from my right, and as I turn my head I catch movement. Instantly, I run the length of a thick, twisted branch, my footsteps landing silently out of long practice, and then leap onto the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man as he passes beneath me.

He doesn’t drop to the ground as most threats do when I land on them from above. Instead, he slams a boot into the dirt for balance and twists his upper body, trying to use my own momentum against me.

I let him.

When he flings me around to face him, my knife is already at his throat, the blade catching against his skin until a thin red welt forms.

He goes still.

I look him over. Red hair, pale, freckled skin, and gray eyes watching me with steady confidence that belies the fact that I’ve got him at a disadvantage. This isn’t a highwayman who will attack with frantic force, lacking strategy and finesse. This isn’t an innocent traveler terrified to encounter someone who seems intent on robbing him at the very least.

This is a man who knows how to take care of himself and who understands that panic is his enemy.

“If I’ve blundered into somewhere I shouldn’t be, I’ll leave quietly and never come back,” he says calmly, raising his hands, palms out, to show me he means no harm.

Or to distract me from his next defensive move.

“I don’t want to kill you.” The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise him.

His brow rises. “I don’t want you to kill me either.”

“But I can’t just let you leave.”

His cloak opens as he raises his arms farther, and I see the golden talon patch on his left shoulder. He’s a courier. From the city-state of Baalboden, several weeks’ journey to the northeast. He follows the direction of my gaze, and the lines around his eyes tighten.

“Are you the courier everyone is looking for?” I ask, my muscles tensing in case he decides to attack or flee.

He studies me in silence for a moment, and then says, “You don’t look like a bounty hunter.”

“I’m not. I’m part of the protection team for my village.”

“I’m not a threat to your village.” His gaze is open.

My laugh is sharp and bitter. “Everyone who has the misfortune of wandering too near our borders is considered a threat. And if there’s a threat, I handle it.”

“By killing them?” the man asks, his voice still calm and steady.

My voice is just as calm. “Not if I don’t have to.”

His eyes meet mine, and I feel as if he’s taking my measure. Dad does the same thing when he thinks I’m in danger of not following his orders, and I always end up feeling that I’ve been found wanting. Somehow this man’s scrutiny makes me feel as if he’s decided to treat me like his equal. I’ve never been treated like an equal. It’s both gratifying and somewhat unsettling to see something other than fear or contempt on another man’s face.

“My name is Jared Adams. I mean no harm to your village.” His gaze stays locked on mine. “I usually travel to and from Rowansmark much farther east than this. I didn’t realize I was trespassing, and I’m happy to turn around and disappear from your woods forever.”

“Why are you so far from your usual path?”

He hesitates, but I get the sense that it’s because he’s figuring out how to explain something to me, not because he’s searching for a lie. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I need to fix it without being caught by Rowansmark, and they’ll be looking for me on my usual route.”

“You’re accused of being a thief.”

His speaks with absolute conviction. “I didn’t steal anything. I have a daughter in Baalboden. Rachel. It’s just the two of us. She needs my protection. She needs me to come home. I would never do anything to jeopardize her. I’m being accused of something I didn’t do, and I’m trying to figure out how to make it right so that I can go home again. I’m not a threat to you, I promise.”

I believe him. But I also believe that the courier who is wanted by Rowansmark and whose capture would result in immense wealth is exactly the kind of prisoner my father wouldn’t be able to resist. His fury that a courier made it past our borders—a wanted courier, at that—and his greed for either the reward or whatever Jared supposedly stole from Rowansmark would overcome him.

“I can’t let you go,” I say. “Yet. I can’t let you go
yet
. We’ve already had issues with bounty hunters in the area.” If a six-hour journey away can be called
in the area
. “The village elders need to question you.”

A muscle in his jaw bunches. “I won’t give them the item Rowansmark says I stole. If that’s your plan, then you and I are going to have to fight this out right here.”

His hands are still raised, but something changes in his stance, and an answering thrum of adrenaline races through me.

“I don’t want to fight you,” I say. “I don’t want to take another life, but—”

“Son, I’ve been fighting for my life longer than you’ve been alive. If we fight—”

“If we fight, you’ll die.” My voice is weary. “I’ll see your moves before you make them. I’ll counter them before you’ve figured out your own mistakes. I’ll move faster than you think I can. I’ll strike with precision and force, and you’ll be on your knees, already dying by the time you realize you should beg for the mercy I’m not allowed to show.”

A frown digs in between his brows. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

The fury I keep pent up inside of me heats my words. “Torture and bloodshed are an instinct that’s been honed in me since I could walk. I’m sure of my abilities. I’m also sure that you don’t have to die. You can go home to your daughter. You simply have to come to the village as my prisoner and meet with the elders.”

“And if they decide not to let me go?”

I hold his gaze and will him to hear the sincerity in my voice. “Then I’ll release you myself. I’ll protect you, and I’ll get you out.”

He studies me in silence for a long moment while above us, bright-red cardinals flit from branch to branch, chirruping in the wintry air. Finally, he says, “Why are you really taking me as your prisoner? You could let me go, and the elders would never even know I was here. Or you could ask me questions yourself without risking that the elders will want to keep me indefinitely, or worse, turn me over to Rowansmark.”

I find myself wanting to give him the truth. Maybe because, unlike my father, he looks at me with respect. Maybe because any violence within him is so tightly controlled, even I can’t find it. Or maybe because I’m about to use what I think is a good man as bait to take down a monster, and it feels disrespectful to keep him completely in the dark.

“I need a prisoner worthy of the elders’ attention,” I say. “Just for tonight. I have to prove to them that there’s a better way to protect our village than mindlessly slaughtering any strangers who come near.”

He holds my gaze as I slowly remove the knife from his throat. “What’s your name?”

“Quinn Runningbrook.”

“Well, Quinn Runningbrook, it seems I can either fight to the death in the middle of this forest or choose to trust that you are a boy who keeps his word.” He lowers his arms and then extends one hand toward me. “Because you could’ve killed me when you first dropped from that tree, and because I believe that you’re honestly trying to do the right thing, I’m going to trust you.”

Gingerly I take his hand and shake it, bracing for any sudden moves on his part. His trust feels like an unexpected gift, and it makes me uneasy. What if I’m wrong about the elders? About Dad?

Feeling like the freedom I want to gain for Willow and myself is balanced on the edge of a precipice, I hold my knife loosely in my hand and walk Jared toward the village.

We’re nearly to the border when Dad drops from a tree and snarls, “What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are locked on Jared, and his knife is already in his hands. We’re too far from the village to hope for an audience, and even if there were a few people on the outer walkway who could see us, only the elders have the power to stop my father. My plan is falling to pieces around me.

“I’m bringing in a prisoner—”

“We don’t take prisoners.” Dad tenses.

“He’s the courier Rowansmark is searching for. The elders need to decide—”

“Kill him.” Dad barks the command without looking at me and rolls to the balls of his feet as if ready to do the job himself if I hesitate.

I don’t hesitate. Lunging toward my father, I slam my elbow into his temple. He staggers and drops to his knees. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and he falls unconscious to the ground. It’s a temporary reprieve, and I don’t waste it. Snatching Jared’s arm, I propel him away from Dad, though my knees feel suddenly shaky.

I
hit
my father. The fact that I did so to protect someone else does little to calm the buzz of fear racing through me.

He’ll never forgive me. He’ll punish me, or if he can’t get to me, he’ll punish Willow. My plan has to work. If it doesn’t, the echoes of what I’ve just done will haunt me for the rest of my life.

It isn’t until I’m forcing Jared to climb up to the walkway that will lead us into the village that I realize I’ve left the book of poems lying in the cradle of the cypress.

Chapter Eight

W
e reach the council building just as the sun begins to fall behind the western edge of the forest. Already, we’ve attracted a crowd. Jared walks in front of me. I keep my knife aimed at his back while my mind races. The elders will hear about the stranger in our midst any moment now and will converge upon the building.

Dad won’t be far behind them once he wakes up, and he’ll be
furious.

“Stop here.” I point toward the council door with its tiny windows and smooth planes of blueberry-stained maple planks. Two large barrels, as tall as my waist, stand sentry on either side of the door. In spring, summer, and fall, the barrels are overflowing with flowers, but now there’s nothing but dried-up husks wilting against the dirt inside the planters.

“Keep your back to the door. You’ll want to be able to see anyone who’s coming for you.”

Jared raises a brow. “Like the man who tried to stop us on the way into the village?”

“Yes.” I study Jared for a second. He stands loose and ready with the confidence of a man who’s spent years training himself for a fight.

It won’t be enough to save him from my father, but I’ll be here. I won’t let anything happen to Jared, the man who chose to trust me. The echoes I leave behind with him won’t come back to haunt me in my nightmares.

“Quinn Runningbrook, what is this?” Elder Toilspun arrives first, his lined face folded in on itself like a piece of crumpled paper. His dark eyes are shrewd as he looks from me to Jared. Behind him, I see three more elders hurrying toward us. The crowd of village dwellers parts to let them through.

Four elders out of seven. Enough to make a decision on Jared’s fate. Enough to make a decision about Dad, too.

My palms are suddenly slick with sweat as the weight of what I’m doing hits me. If the elders don’t help me, then my entire plan will crumble, and I’ll be left trapped in a life that I can no longer stand to lead.

I wait in respectful silence for the other three elders to reach us, and then I say, “I was scouting to the south when I encountered this man. His name is Jared Adams, he’s a courier from Baalboden, and he was unintentionally trespassing too close to our village.”

The elders exchange confused glances. In all the years that our family has been in charge of the village’s protection, they’ve never once had to deal with a trespasser. At least not while that trespasser was still alive.

“But why did you bring him
here
?” Elder Toilspun asks.

“Because it has come to my attention that this man has been accused of stealing something from Rowansmark. My father and Willow cleared out a group of bounty hunters who were looking for him. Jared tells me he’s been wrongly accused, but that’s something for the elders to decide. If you feel he is innocent, he will need an escort out of the forest to stay safe from the bounty hunters. If he is found guilty, we can take him back to Rowansmark and claim the reward for our village.”

Beside me, Jared stiffens, and I wonder if he’s questioning his decision not to fight me for his freedom.

All I can do is pray that my plan works. That Dad, furious at my disobedience and eager to benefit from what Jared Adams took from Rowansmark, will forget to fake respect for the council’s wishes. That the council, faced with the truth of Dad’s violent rage toward a prisoner, in direct violation of the council’s wishes, will be forced to put him in the jail cell instead of Jared.

That Willow and I will finally be free.

“This is a very unusual situation,” Elder Saintcrow says. Her white hair flows freely, and the red beads she ties throughout her locks clatter together in the wind.

“We need to meet as a full council to discuss our options, and of course we’ll need to interview the man to hear his side of the story,” Elder Toilspun says.

I take a deep breath and force myself to sound like the answer doesn’t mean anything to me as I ask, “What should I do with the prisoner?”

“We’ll have to put him in the cell—”

“Give him to me.” Dad’s voice rings out, and my knees weaken even as my body tenses, ready for a fight.

We turn to see my father—muscled and scarred—push through the crowd toward us. Villagers scramble to get out of his way. His dark eyes are locked on mine, and the rage inside of me shivers at the expression on his face.

I’ve done it. I’ve defied his direct orders. I’ve attacked him. I’ve pushed him past his breaking point. Now Willow and I just have to survive the consequences.

Elder Saintcrow sounds wary. “This is an unusual circumstance—”

“Anyone who trespasses near the village border is my responsibility.” Dad’s gaze never leaves mine. A red lump rises from his temple. “The council doesn’t need to discuss it any further. Give him to me, and I’ll do what my sad excuse for a son should’ve done in the first place.”

Jared draws in a small breath as if surprised to learn that the man who ordered me to kill him is my father.

“You mean you’ll kill him,” I say quietly. Instantly a hush falls across the crowd as people wait for Dad’s response.

Dad’s shoulders bunch as he steps closer to me. “We don’t take prisoners.”

“That isn’t a council rule,” Elder Toilspun says. Of the four assembled elders, he’s the only one who hasn’t edged away from Dad.

“It’s
my
rule. A rule my son understands, don’t you, boy?” Dad crosses the remaining yards between us, his leather boots making quiet
shush-shush
sounds against the walkway.

“Jared Adams doesn’t deserve to die.” I keep my voice expressionless out of habit, but I look Dad in the face, daring him to argue.

His voice is lethal. “You think you’re in charge now? You think you’ve got a better method of running things than I do?”

“Samuel.” Elder Toilspun puts a withered hand on Dad’s arm.

Dad shakes him off without once looking away from me.

“Quinn said the trespassing was unintentional,” Elder Toilspun says. “And this man is wanted by Rowansmark. The council must meet to decide what should be done.”

“
I
decide what is to be done with trespassers—”

“Are you above the council?” There’s flint in Elder Toilspun’s voice now, and it seems to get through to my father. “Let’s take the prisoner inside and get to the bottom of this.”

“Do you need help?” Jared asks me quietly as the elders motion for Matthias and Sorra, two regular scouts, to bring Jared to the jail cell and stand guard. I follow Jared’s gaze to my father’s face and feel an unfamiliar sense of gratitude swamp me. The elders, confronted with Dad’s disregard for their authority, are doing nothing but running away from him. A quick glance around shows that the rest of the villagers are following suit. Only Jared Adams, a man I barely know, is willing to stand beside me to protect me from my father’s wrath.

“I’ll be okay.” It’s a lie. I needed to push Dad into becoming truly violent in front of the council. Nothing less would force them to act against him. I failed, and now I have no idea how to break my father’s authority over Willow and me.

Dad watches in furious silence while the elders take Jared inside the council house. As soon as the council door closes, Dad lunges forward and drives his fist into my stomach. I double over, and he wraps an arm around my back and leans down until his face is next to mine.

“That’s just a taste of what’s coming for you. You know better than to defy my orders. To lay your hands on me. You’ve made us a laughingstock.”

My stomach aches, and my lungs refuse to drag enough air into my chest, but still I find the strength to wheeze, “He doesn’t deserve to die. Especially at your hands.”

The arm across my back becomes a vise, and I barely have time to blink before Dad’s fist slams into my face. My instinct is to absorb the blow, keep my eyes down, and act as though submitting to his will is my only priority.

But another instinct, a combination of the skill that helps me win every fight and my newfound desperate bid for freedom, begs me to pivot and take him out at the knees. Crush his larynx as he lands so he can no longer spew his hatred. Break his arms so he can no longer hurt another person.

Something hot boils through my chest, and I clench my fists and drive them into him with all the speed and force I possess. I stare in shock as he stumbles briefly and then rights himself, his face flushed with anger.

I can’t believe I’ve hit my father twice in the last hour.

I want to do it again. The need to finish what I’ve started is a physical ache pounding through me, but I hold myself back. Not giving in to the violence inside of me is the thin thread that separates me from becoming just like him.

“Think you can take me, boy?” he asks, a dark promise in his voice.

I meet his gaze. “We both know I can.”

“Let’s see you prove it.”

The walkway is nearly empty now as people, terrified to be so close to my father when he’s this angry, have fled into the surrounding buildings. I wipe blood from a cut on my cheek and realize that maybe I don’t need the council’s help. Maybe all it takes is finding the courage to speak my own truth and stand by it. “I’m done proving things to you.”

“Is that a fact?” His voice grows ugly with the kind of viciousness he only aims at those he plans to kill.

I straighten my shoulders and look him in the eye. “Yes. I’m finished doing the wrong thing because I’m too afraid of you to say no. Jared Adams is a good man. He doesn’t deserve to die, and I’m going to make sure he lives. If you want to kill him, you’re going to have to go through me to do it.”

Dad smiles, long and slow. “You’re going to be begging to take back those words before this night is over, boy.” He glances at the council house, where Elder Saintcrow watches us from a window and then turns on his heel and walks away.

I stay at the council building, just outside the door, for hours. Waiting. Someone brings food for the elders. Someone else brings water. Voices drift out of the building, but I can’t make out the words. The sky is a deep, dark blue lit by the scattered stars and the moon that shines directly overhead.

I haven’t seen Willow. I hope she isn’t paying for my choices. I haven’t seen Dad, either, but I will. He’ll be coming for Jared, and for me.

I’m going to stop him.

Pulling my jacket close to ward off the frigid night air, I consider my options. I can incapacitate him briefly and give me time to get Willow and Jared out of the village, but I don’t know if Willow wants to leave, and if the council isn’t finished with Jared, that won’t work. I can get the elders’ attention and hope they make the decision to put Dad in jail instead of Jared.

Or I can kill him.

He deserves it. I know he does. But so do I. I’ve done terrible things in the name of obeying my father. I told myself it was my duty. That I had no choice.

Now I realize that I’ve had a choice for a while. Ever since I was strong enough to overcome Dad in a fight. I can’t change the past, but I can take control of my future.

I won’t kill him, but I will stop him.

I tense as I hear a faint slide of boot against wood. He’s here. He’s come to make me pay for my disobedience. To kill Jared Adams once he’s finished making an example out of me.

I draw in a breath and roll to the balls of my feet, my limbs loose and ready for the confrontation, and then I stare in shock as Willow steps in front of me, her knife in her hands.