Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

Jace dragged deep breaths into his tightened lungs and waited for Morden’s next move.
Just walk away
. The silent plea went out in desperation. If only it would just end here. But satisfaction lit Morden’s eyes, and his lip curled in a malicious sneer. He’d been trying to goad Jace into a fight since Jace’s first visit to town. Despite Rebekah’s protests, Morden shoved away from his friends and flung himself forward. Jace wrapped his arms around the man’s torso as Morden’s head rammed into his chest and bruised his ribs. He stumbled backward and crashed into a nearby cart.

“Hey!” the merchant shouted as several items toppled over.

But Jace paid him no heed. He twisted his body and threw Morden to the side. When the man recovered his balance, he faced Jace, fists ready. Waves of heat pulsed through every vein and nerve in Jace’s body and focused all his senses on his opponent. They came together again, trading blows and trying to wrestle each other to the ground. Jace gave far better than he received. Morden had nothing on his training, experience, and raging ryrik blood.

Despite his size, Jace moved with speed and agility and avoided most of Morden’s blows. The fight ranged over a large portion of the square. Women gasped and scurried away from them, men whooped and hollered, and the merchants scowled while trying to prevent them from coming near their goods. Jace barely noticed any of them. Both he and Morden panted by the time someone shoved between
them and an agitated, high-pitched voice ordered them to stop. Neither one intended to give up, but a hard shove to Jace’s chest forced him back a step.

His mind still in fight mode, he glared down at the wiry old man standing between them who didn’t appear at all intimidated by either man. Peete, Kinnim’s sheriff, scowled at Jace first and then Morden.

“What’s the meaning of this? Disturbing the peace on market day? Which of you started the fight?”

Morden’s finger pointed in Jace’s face, and Jace had a good mind to break it. “He did.”

Peete pinned fiery eyes on Jace, his bushy, gray eyebrows crunched low. “Is that how it is?”

Jace shook as he worked to halt the flow of hot blood rushing through his limbs. “I hit him first, but I was just minding my own business before he showed up.”

“All right, come along with me,” Peete ordered.

Jace blew out an angry breath. He only just stopped himself from laying into Morden again when he caught the young man’s triumphant grin. It did give him an ounce of satisfaction that Morden would wake up in the morning with a severely blackened eye and swollen jaw. He should have given him worse—he was more than capable—but something had held him back from doing serious harm. He supposed he should be thankful.

Peete prodded Jace to move. “Let’s go.”

“Sheriff, the fight wasn’t Jace’s fault,” Rebekah hurried to his defense.

Morden scowled at her.

Peete, however, shook his head. “This ain’t
none of your concern, Rebekah. Why don’t you go home?”

Rebekah’s face fell as the sheriff led Jace away from the square. He glanced back and caught the word “sorry” on her lips. He gave a quick nod and kept walking, focused on quelling the fire inside him. His gaze shifted around the village as his instincts fought his better judgment. He could easily overpower Peete and escape, but Rayad would disapprove of such action.

When they stepped inside the old, weatherworn jailhouse, Peete gestured across the room. “Put your weapons on the desk.”

Jace gritted his teeth and loosened his sword belt. He laid it and his hunting knife on the desk as he watched Peete out of the corner of his eye. The old man was hard to figure. If he considered Jace a threat, he would have taken the weapons earlier. Was he brave, foolish, or just cantankerous enough to think he could take on anyone?

Peete jerked his thumb toward the door at the back of the office. “Now come on back with me.”

Down a short hall, he pulled open a cell door.

Here, the flames resurfaced. Jace wasn’t a criminal. He set his jaw and ground out, “I may have thrown the first punch, but I didn’t start that fight.”

“Maybe, but market day’s important to the village and I
gotta do what I can to keep people from disturbing the peace.”

“You could start by arresting Morden.”

“Well now, considering his daddy’s mayor, I think that would create a disturbance to the peace.”

Jace scowled and resisted the urge to hit something or someone. “So just because his father runs the town, I take the fall even if he’s the guilty one?”

“Look, sonny, I’m just doing what’s best. Now, you just sit right down and relax and cool your head a bit. I’ll go and find Rayad to come fetch you. After that, I suggest you stay out of Kinnim and away from Morden for a while.”

Jace snorted. He didn’t plan to visit Kinnim again anytime soon, if ever. With a grumble, he entered the cell. Peete locked the door, and Jace sank down onto the rickety cot. It creaked under his weight and threatened to give way. When Peete’s footsteps had left the jail, Jace leaned back against the wall and released a great sigh. He reached up and brushed his sleeve across his face to wipe away the blood dripping from his nose. A lucky swing by Morden. He shut his eyes in an attempt to close off his mind to what had taken place, but Morden’s words wriggled through his defenses to torment him.

The last of his anger cooled, but a deep, gnawing ache replaced it. Was it true he had no soul? Most people didn’t believe he could—not when ryrik blood beat through his heart. And there was no denying his blood. It was the heat that drove him every time anger kindled the fire. Hard as he tried, he rarely succeeded in stopping it. His throat constricted, and a heavy, familiar burden pressed down on him.

“Elôm,” he whispered, but stopped in the dead silence.

Were his prayers even heard?

He shook his head and tried to dispel such thoughts. Rayad would call them all vicious enemy lies. If only he could trust that. But ever at the back of his mind remained the possibility he could be wrong. Condemnation at again giving in to his anger joined the struggle and made for a long wait in the cramped cell. He hated
being closed in—trapped with his fears and unable to escape.

The growing dark cloud in his mind lifted a little when the jail door opened. Voices poured in, Rayad’s gravelly with irritation.

“Where is he?”

“This way,” Peete mumbled, sounding a bit cowed. He might have been more than happy to throw his weight around with Jace, but Rayad was a different matter.

The two men came into the hall, and Jace rose from the cot. Rayad reached the cell first. His tone evened as he examined Jace through the bars. “Are you all right?”

Jace glowered at Peete, but nodded. The sheriff unlocked the door, and he stepped out of the cell. Rayad touched him reassuringly on the shoulder, and they followed Peete to the front office. There, Rayad’s voice sharpened again.

“Next time, Peete, bring him to me. Don’t just lock him up like some criminal.”

“Just doing my job.”

Rayad scowled at him and walked to the desk to collect Jace’s weapons. “Maybe if you put as much effort into punishing the right people, things like this wouldn’t happen in the first place.”

Peete sat down and leaned back in his chair with a sour expression. “How’re you so all-fire sure he ain’t responsible for that fight?”

Jace glared, and Rayad gave the sheriff a cold, level gaze. “I know Jace, and I know Morden.” He handed Jace his weapons and motioned toward the door, his voice laced with contempt. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of this town.”

Jace couldn’t agree more. He hated towns, and he hated people. As far as he was concerned, he was done with them for good.

Outside, the two of them mounted, and Rayad asked, “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Jace responded, but did not look him in the eyes.
It wasn’t the fight that had done any damage. He’d suffered far worse in the past.

They rode in silence. On the outskirts of town, Jace glanced over at Rayad. The older man said nothing about the fight and didn’t appear upset, but the guilt inside Jace was unrelenting.

“I know I shouldn’t have hit him…it just happened before I could stop myself.” He swallowed. He’d even prayed right before he did it, but it hadn’t helped at all. Was the prayer even heard? Did it prove what he feared? Cold, the very opposite of the heat from earlier, washed through him.

Rayad’s voice pulled him back from these damaging thoughts.

“Imagining what he said, I would’ve hit him too.” Jace stared at him, and Rayad amended, “Now, it wouldn’t have been right, but I think my irritation would’ve won out.”

But Jace could find no comfort in that. Irritation wasn’t the driving force behind his actions. It was rage. The deep burn of it still lingered in his chest like a monster waiting to
be roused. A monster he could never defeat.

At the edge of the forest, Tyra waited for them under the shade of an evergreen. When they reached her, she trotted out and took her place beside Niton. Jace looked down at her and smiled a little, some of his anxiety alleviated, but not all. Too many questions assaulted him to find peace—questions that sometimes lay dormant, but never truly left him.

A mile into the forest, he opened up again. “Why aren’t my prayers answered?”

Rayad’s forehead creased. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to give in to anger again. I prayed to Elôm for help.” Jace hung his head. “A moment later, I hit Morden.”

“Unfortunately, just because we pray not to do something doesn’t mean we always won’t. We’re imperfect and always needing to grow. You’ve believed in King Elôm for little more than a year now. Give yourself time. He’s working in you, and eventually, looking back, you’ll be able to see it. And remember, our growth is never complete here. Look at me—I trusted in Elôm when I was a boy, but I’m not even close to all I’d like to be. You know me. I can be impatient, stubborn, ill-tempered, but I know Elôm is still working in those areas.”

Despite these words, Jace bit back an outcry of frustrated desperation. They didn’t relieve the churning in his mind or offer a definitive answer to his questions.

“What is it, Jace?”

He swallowed, his throat squeezing around his words. Was he even ready for the answers? “What if my prayers aren’t heard?”

“King Elôm hears all the prayers of His children. He hears yours.”

“But…what if I’m not one of His children…what if I have no soul?”

Rayad pulled Aros to a halt. Niton stopped beside him. Jace gripped his reins and waited almost fearfully for Rayad’s response.

Voice calm, yet strained, Rayad asked, “Is that what Morden said to you?”

Jace stared down at Tyra, who looked up at him, so calm and patient.

“Jace.” Rayad’s voice was deathly serious now. Jace lifted his eyes. “It’s not true.”

Jace matched his
tone as he looked him in the eyes. His ribs throbbed where his heart hammered into them. “How do you know? You’ve always told me that, but how do you truly know? Everyone believes ryriks are soulless.”

“Because I don’t believe Elôm created an intelligent race of people without souls. And even if He did, you’re not a ryrik. You’re only half, and I fully believe the human part of you has a soul.”

Jace looked away, teeth locking together painfully. No matter how many times Rayad reassured him, the truth remained that no one could ever give him a conclusive answer.

“You’re forgetting that even if you can’t see it,
I
can see how Elôm is working in you,” Rayad told him. “You’re not the same young man I rescued or even the man you were a year ago. Your heart was hard when we first met, but Elôm softened it, and you came to trust Him. Since then, I’ve seen how He’s helping you grow. That wouldn’t be the case if you had no soul.”

Jace stared ahead, trying to see what Rayad did, but all that filled his mind were haunting images of the past and the way the anger still had such control over his life. Any bright spots escaped him. Too weary now to argue, he only nodded, and they moved on again. For the rest of the eight miles, they rode in silence.

When they reached the rise where the forest opened up to the farm, Tyra emitted a deep growl and snarled. The horses halted, snorting and tossing their heads. Ice-cold gripped Jace and viciously twisted his insides. The strong scent of smoke drifted toward them.

“Something’s wrong,” he gasped.

Tyra took off toward the farm, and Jace and Rayad urged the horses after her.