Aster Wood and the Blackburn Son (23 page)

I don’t know what I had been expecting. A fist-sized rock, like the one I had seen at Riverstone, seemed like what I would be presented with. Instead, Kiron held out a tiny glass jar. Within it floated not more than a teaspoon of golden dust.

“That’s it?” I asked, my heart falling.
 

“I told ya,” he said. “There ain’t much.” I reached out and took the jar, feeling a little like someone had punched me in the stomach.
 

This was going to be impossible. Floating inside the little cup was significantly less gold than we had used to make the link to the Fire Mountains. How would this ever be enough to get me back to Earth? My heart hurt as the welcoming thought of my mother’s face was pushed aside by the reality I held. Suddenly I was unsure I would ever see her again.

The tiny granules shifted in the jar as I tipped it from side to side, shimmering in the glow of the staff. I took off my backpack and stuffed it along with the medallion deep inside.
 

“Obscure,” I said, and the pack vanished with a little pop.

Kiron smiled.

“Glad to see it’s still servin’.
 

I didn’t have the heart to smile back, but I nodded, dropping my gaze to the floor. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“All you gotta do to get through this,” he said, “is believe your own words. There’ll be a way.”
 

I looked up at him and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. This was it.
 

Ten minutes later, we emerged into the now deserted streets of Stonemore. Shouts rang out from time to time, but nobody was in sight.
 

“They’ll be at the wall,” Kiron said. “Come on.”
 

He took off back towards the main gate and I nervously followed, now certain that the only thing still holding me upright was my grip on the staff. The piles of weapons were gone now, distributed among the people. Would they know how to fight? They had spent all those years under Cadoc’s rule, forever beaten down by their ruthless master. I hoped that they had spent their nights hidden in the back alleys that snaked through the city learning to protect themselves.
 

In a few short minutes we were there, climbing up to the top of the wall, my heart hammering despite the magic flowing between my hands and the wood.
 

But when we got the the edge of the wall, and I looked out over the field below, my heart stopped beating altogether. The crowd around us stood, each face staring out over the army before us, each voice now completely silenced.
 

There, sitting on a lone horse in the center of the field in front of the city, was a young boy. He shivered as his dirty hair rustled in the breeze. The horse stamped its feet nervously, but it stayed on the spot.
 

A thousand feet behind them stood the army. The men looked like a mass of black insects from afar, their bodies plated in dark armor. They stood still, watching, waiting for our response.
 

My breath caught in my chest as the boy raised his head and his eyes met mine, and I realized which child the Coyle had decided to send out to meet us. To meet me.

Rhainn.

Kiron’s shouts followed me as I flew across the wall, searching for a way down. I spotted a rope ladder on the interior edge and hoisted it up and over the outer side. Nobody tried to stop me, and Kiron wasn’t fast enough to catch me. By the time he made it to that point on the wall, I was halfway down the ladder.

“What are you doin’, boy?” he shouted over the edge.
 

I ignored him, swinging maniacally on the ropes as my feet found the last rung, still twenty feet above the ground.
 

“Get back up here!” Kiron yelled, confused by my sudden flight. “You’re fallin’ right into his trap!”

I let my feet go off the bottom of the ladder until I was dangling by the bottom rung by only my fingertips. I allowed myself one last look up at Kiron. I knew he might be right. And our time together had been so short; I still had so much to ask him. But every cell in my body was pushing me out to Rhainn, out to the lonely boy who had been chosen to lead the charge on Stonemore. Chosen for me.

I let go.
 

Unlike other times I had fallen from too high up, this time my feet met the solid ground and stuck firm. The balance of the staff steadied me, and I stood up straight as I turned to face the enemy.

The men stood frozen on the hilltop, and Rhainn seemed unable to move any closer. I started walking towards him, aware of the hundreds of eyes that were trained on me as I put myself willingly into the line of fire. As I walked, the dying grass beneath my feet crunched, tiny flutterings of insects shooting up from between the blades. I waved them away as they buzzed around my head, but then I noticed something odd about one of the little moths.

It was bright white.

Its brown brothers fluttered back down into the grass as I passed by, but this one followed me as I moved. Sudden excitement flooded through me at the thought of the White Guard. I scanned the hilltop for some sign that what I was seeing was real. Maybe Pahana was out there, right now, and this was his way of letting me know that help was near.

The moth drifted along the breeze next to me as I walked. I held out my hand, hoping with everything I had that it would understand my purpose, not leave me alone to my fate. It fluttered instantly into my palm. It gently waved its glowing wings, a wink that pushed me forward. I tucked it carefully inside my shirt, hoping it had been unseen by the enemy.
 

I focused all my attention on Rhainn, and broke into a run.
 

The horse’s nostrils flared at my approach, its long whiskers twitching as though it could smell its own death in the air. I slowed when I got close, and carefully raised up a hand to its white nose, trying to calm it. But my effort to soothe him had little effect. He continued to stamp his hooves, ready to bolt.
 

Rhainn looked terrified. And exhausted. His skin was dirty and cracked. His eyes were at once vacant and fearful, like he had been taken to the limit of his endurance, and then pushed beyond it.

“What’s going on?” I asked cautiously, offering him my hand. He didn’t take it. Instead, he held out the wooden box to me.

I removed it from his grasp, but didn’t open it. I placed it on the ground at my feet.
 

“Rhainn,” I continued. “Are you alright?”
 

He slumped down against the horse’s mane, hugging his arms around its neck like it was the last warmth he ever expected to feel in his short life. He stared ahead, and I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not.

“Do you remember me?” I asked, moving my head so that he had no choice but to look at me.

His lips mouthed the word.

“Yes.”

“Are you hurt?” I asked.
 

His face scrunched up a little bit, and then he sat up again, pulling up his sleeve to show me a long gash that ran from wrist to elbow. I carefully took his arm in my hands, inspecting the wound, and he winced. It oozed yellow, and a sharp odor wafted up from his moving it. I forced myself to not recoil.

“It’ll be okay,” I lied, wanting only to bring him relief. “Anything else?” He shook his head.

Suddenly, he gripped the sides of his head with both hands, as if someone had just rattled his skull from the inside. He closed his eyes tightly, his mouth open in a silent scream of pain.
 

“Rhainn!” I said, reaching up for him, unable to grasp his writhing body. The horse shied and took several steps away. “What is it?” I moved after them, the horse prancing, but held in place by an unseen command. Rhainn’s fingernails dug into the sides of his temples and thin trickles of blood oozed out of the wounds.
 

Then, the pain released him.

He slumped forward again, panting, whimpering. I crept towards them.

“I have to take you back,” he croaked.

“Take me back?” I asked.
 

“He wants you. I’m supposed to take you.” The words seemed difficult for him to get out.
 

“But why?”

A small cry escaped his throat, and he gripped onto his head again.
 

“Look in the box,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What?”

He held out his foul arm and pointed at the wooden box he had brought, now on the ground several feet away. I had already forgotten about the box. I quickly strode back to it and wrenched off the lid.
 

But when I saw what was inside, I was confused. As my fingers grasped the contents, the realization of what this particular gift could mean was slow to come.

Inside the box, in a neatly coiled loop, was a pile of long, white-blond hair. It could only belong to one person, the one girl I so desperately wanted to save from the Corentin’s grip.

Jade.

“Will you come?” he asked, his voice almost a cry of pain now.

I didn’t answer. I stood staring at the hair in my hand, mouth open, not knowing what I would say if I were ever able to speak again.
 

Was it a threat?
 

Or a proclamation?

“Aster!” he squealed, gripping his skull as if he intended to crush it.

I stared up at him, and my shock melted away, replaced by concern.
 

“Yes,” I whispered, turning back to him. “Yes, I’ll come.”
 

He whimpered gratefully as his body was finally released from whatever torture had propelled him to this point. The horse’s eyes were wide with panic; it turned and walked back towards the waiting army, Rhainn just barely able to hang on with the little strength he had left.
 

I let the box fall back to the earth, but kept the lock of Jade’s hair in my hand, and followed. The fluttering wings of the moth beat against my belly, and my breathing steadied.

“Where are they?” I asked, catching up to him. “The children.”

“With him,” he moaned quietly.
 

“Are they alright?”

Big tears fell down his muddy cheeks.

“I was wrong,” he said.
 

“Wrong about what?” I asked.

“I should have gone with you. Maybe together we could have freed them. But now—”

“We can still free them,” I said. “The people in Stonemore, that city back there, they know about the kids. They know about Cait.”

“Cait?” he asked. Then, recognition lit his face. “You have to save her,” he said, urgent. “No matter what he does.”

“I’m going to save all of you,” I said. “I’m going to—”

“No,” he said. “You’re not. But you have to save Cait. Promise me.”

“But—”

“Promise me.” His brows creased as he forced out the words. It was a look full of so much pain, so much concern for another that it rattled me. It was a look that didn’t belong on a child.
 

“Okay,” I said. “I promise.”

He relaxed, letting out a long breath as his head bobbed up and down with the movement of the horse’s neck.
 

I could have asked him where we were going. But I already knew where. I could have been walking through the soldiers all on my own and still found the one tent that belonged to the Coyle.
 

We broke through the wall of men, standing tall and hungry at the edge of war. They sneered and spat at us as we passed. But not even they, with their huge muscles and thick armor, dared to defy the wishes of their skeletal leader. The wide swath of warriors parted easily to let us through.
 

The children, slaves to the men, bound to serve no matter the circumstance, skittered around. Most stayed near those they were assigned to serve. But some cast glances in our direction, at once haunted and hopeful, their futures uncertain. I shuddered as I imagined them going into battle alongside these ruthless men, trampled beneath their iron-clad boots as they walked the path of war.
 

“You have to promise me something, too,” I said under my breath.

“What?” His voice was tired, quiet.

“Keep fighting,” I said. “Get yourself out of there. Whatever you do, don’t quit. I’m coming for you. Do you understand?”

He stared blankly at me, his gaze unfocused.
 

“Those hills over there,” I inclined my head just slightly towards the place all of Stonemore had been gathered just an hour before. “That’s where I’ll be. Get yourself out and run for that place, find somewhere to hide. Don’t be a hero, you hear me? Everyone in that city knows about the kids. Let us come for them. But
you
,” my chest clenched as I looked at him. For reasons I didn’t understand, I felt wholly responsible for the survival of this one boy. “If there’s
any
opportunity at all to escape, you take it. With or without Cait. Promise me.”

He nodded drowsily.
 

We walked, eventually coming to the last of the army, and continuing on beyond them. Ahead, the shape of the Coyle’s tent came into view, the flaps of the entrance waving in the stiff wind just as I had expected them to.
 

Rhainn slid off the horse and hit the ground on all fours. His body was stiff, as if his muscles had all been used to a point of exhaustion so severe he could no longer command them. I reached down and gripped him under his arms. He tried to throw me off, unwilling to accept the help, glancing nervously towards the tent. I released him, and he stood up as tall as his battered body would allow. He stood at the door, waiting for me to enter the tent before him. I tried to catch his eye, wanted to somehow communicate to him that everything would be alright, even though I had no idea if we would even survive the next five minutes. But his head was bowed, eyes downcast to the ground.
 

My teeth clenched. Had I been feeling less reckless, more like saving my own skin, I would have cast my own eyes down as Rhainn did. But at the sight of him, just a boy, so beaten and worn, anger boiled within me.