The Last of the Ageless (12 page)

Korreth motioned him to be quiet. An alleyway between buildings revealed the land to the north, much less hostile than the drylands they’d spent the last two days traveling through. On a full stomach, Korreth’s strength had returned, but something told him attempting to escape now would lead to folly.

“Too much could go wrong here.” He slowed down and tapped on Jorrim’s arm,
They outnumber us.

Jorrim glowered over his shoulder at the scrawny teenagers, who wilted under his gaze and slowed down, giving the two men more space. “I think we could outrun them.”

Korreth shushed him. “The boys are probably more like lookouts, so I doubt they mean to do anything, but they could bring the whole village down on us.”

Jorrim took a deep breath of the night air, and his eyes wandered up to the twilight sky. A sparkling light winked under the crescent moon, and Korreth guessed it was the Fragment, a piece of the alien ship still left floating above the world, hundreds of years after the Catastrophe.

When his friend said nothing, Korreth tried to reason with him. “I know we need to warn our tribes about the Badlands Army before it’s too late, and I want to get home as badly as you do, Jorrim. But now isn’t the right moment.”

Jorrim folded his arms, so Korreth tried an emotional appeal.
I want to live to see my kids again,
he tapped to Jorrim.

Imagining what his kids would look like now tore open the old wound. His curly-haired daughter would be a young woman. He’d missed all but the earliest years with her. And his son... Korreth never got to see his first steps.

He remembered home, but rarely allowed himself to think of those left behind. He’d learned to avoid that over the past decade as a slave.

Jorrim clapped him on the shoulder. “Shit. Last time, we followed my plan to escape at bathing time. I thought it was smart to run when our masters supervised us the least, but look where we ended up. Maybe we’ll do it your way this time.”

Korreth smiled in return. Even without the chains, they fell into lockstep, but he enjoyed the illusion of freedom. They wandered toward the center of town, where the gigantic iron structure towered another story above the two-tiered buildings. After a while, Korreth wondered whether Jorrim had forgotten his original question.

Jorrim cleared his throat and said, “I can’t believe I never told you about this, considering it was on the way home that the slavers got me.”

Korreth remembered back. The slave he’d been chained beside had died from a heavy beating, and their masters had brought Jorrim to fill the spot. The two swapped stories of their capture the same night, but he didn’t remember Jorrim mentioning an Ageless in that tale. “No. You told me of your capture, and about how they… kept only some of you.”

Jorrim kept his eyes on the packed earth ahead, stepping around charred cinders. “Like most borderland tribes, mine traded with the rest—even a few from the drylands.”

He gestured at the iron sculpture. “For instance, in the town called Mapleton they worshiped a mysterious sphere. A Changeling they called Gryid collected all manner of Ancient things. Even some arcane technology from the Joeys. We heard he’d sometimes heal people from other tribes who came to him. Some said he could cycle through the entire human lifespan in one afternoon.”

They continued around the perimeter of the village away from the ruined buildings, stepping around the occasional borderlands scrub. Children’s laughter echoed off the nearby buildings as they passed, reminding Korreth once more of his own family. In the back of his mind, he thought about scolding the kids for being out so late.

“That definitely sounds like Soledad’s Changeling ability. What was so special about his healing techniques?”

“I don’t know. I never got to find out. The kid we took to him for healing, he said he couldn’t heal. Others of his kind would’ve been able to, he said, but he didn’t know how to contact them.”

Jorrim’s chin lowered, his lips pursed. “After we left here, we were captured on the way home. They sold us as slaves to the Changelings in the Badlands. When they refused to take the kid, the slavers killed him—said he was worthless.”

Hearing the regret in Jorrim’s voice, Korreth said the only reassuring thing he could, “We’ll find a way to escape again, Jorrim.”

They reached one of the burned-down buildings, which left a gap between the others. Some kids huddled up against one of the charred support beams. They taunted one child, and even from a distance, Korreth could tell he wasn’t a Purebreed. His overlarge eyes blinked dual eyelids, and the stubby fists at his sides had a few too many fingers.

As Korreth and Jorrim approached, one of the kids shouted, “You’re a dumb Brute just like your dad.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he went rigid. Then one of his fists shot up under the other boy’s chin and sent him reeling. The other kids erupted into screams. They clubbed the bug-eyed boy over the head. Korreth lost sight of him—he’d gone down under the blows. In their frenzy, the kids kicked up dust, obscuring the boy.

As a girl kicked the fallen child, Korreth leaped forward, but Jorrim caught him by the elbow.

“What are you doing?”

Korreth shook him off and grabbed the nearest girl, throwing her behind him. Elbowing and pushing his way through, he soon scattered the other kids. When they realized he was an adult, and a stranger, they hesitated.

Korreth reached to help the downtrodden child up, but someone grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. A fist rocked him back.

Dozens of footsteps pounded from the other side of town. Korreth blindly jerked his hands up to fend off the blows he expected to follow. None came. Pain branched out from his eye, into his forehead and nose.

Peeking around his forearms, Korreth glimpsed a ring of adults. They comforted the kids, but yelled at each other for leaving their children unsupervised.

The wiry teenager who’d hit him shouted, “I saved her.”

Lor broke through the circle of shouting parents. The long-haired man shoved Korreth’s chest, sending him falling back against the building. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Korreth wasn’t stupid enough to shove back. “They were beating up that Changeling boy! They called him a Brute.”

Jorrim shook his head and wiped the blood from his lip. Korreth hadn’t even seen anyone attack his friend. In a surreal moment, he almost missed the chains.

“Is that what happened?” one of the other adults asked the wiry teenager.

“I done told you they was trouble.” Lor’s spittle struck Korreth’s face. “You two shouldn’t have got involved.”

“I’m thankful they did.” The pale, wispy-haired woman entered Lor’s space, forcing him to step aside. “Thank you,” Verra said to Korreth. “His father was a Changeling, you see.”

The little Changeling boy peeked up from behind his mother’s wide pant legs.

“A traveler, I take it,” Korreth said, as they’d seen nothing but Purebreeds in the entire village. Two Purebred parents always produced a Purebred child, but if either parent was afflicted with mutation, the child would be born Changeling.

She smiled sadly. “A tradesman, making his rounds.”

The villagers talked amongst themselves, and at least one parent urged his child to apologize.

“Hey.” Verra leaned in closer, making Korreth wonder at her intentions. She pulled a small opaque bottle from inside her jacket and held it up. “I’ll give you some quick-heal, so long as you give it back.”

“Quick-heal?” His gaze caught on the torchlight reflected in her eyes.

Verra nodded. “To thank you, for saving my son from another beating.”

“What’s going on here?”

Korreth’s head whipped around at the sound of their mistress’s voice. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten everything—why they were there, the lie they had to keep up, and even their slave status. He took a deep breath to decline, but the mother pushed the bottle into his hand, apparently not noticing the stranger’s voice amongst all the other arguing.

“What on Earth is that?” Soledad broke through the crowd and grabbed Korreth’s wrist.

“Quick-heal,” he answered, facing her.

“What happened to your eye?” Soledad shook her head. “Never mind. Just give it back.”

Korreth’s hand thrust forward, depositing the bottle back in Verra’s hands. She glanced between them in surprise. “I thought—he’ll get a black eye. This Ancient serum’ll fix him up before morning.”

Soledad stared at her. “I don’t believe in that type of healing.”

One of the other villagers challenged Soledad. “You done got Ancient clothing! How can you say you don’t believe in Ancient healing?”

Another woman sidled up. “I’m surprised you still have any of it left, Verra. I thought you must’ve traded it all away by now.”

Verra laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “I was saving it for when we needed it most.” She held the bottle out to Korreth. “Shouldn’t it be up to him to decide if he believes in the Ancients’ power?”

Soledad didn’t answer as she made her way back through the crowd. “Come, Korreth, Jorrim.”

The wind pushed both of them forward, urging them to Soledad’s side, and Korreth’s heart sank. The spell had its hooks deeply embedded into them. He’d moved without a conscious thought.

Lor stood in their way. “Now, just hold on. You think you all’re still welcome here?”

The other villagers’ expressions were grim. Korreth might have earned Verra’s thanks, but it had cost them a different kind of currency.

“Is that how you all feel?” their mistress asked, her voice icy. Korreth shivered. The night air of the borderlands seemed colder than it should.

Korreth didn’t notice what the other villagers answered; his gaze lingered on Verra and her Changeling child, off to one side, as though shunned. The boy stood tall, his chin up, despite the bruise on his face. Korreth let out a long breath.

Soledad nodded. “Fine. When Gryid returns to you, you can all look back on this day with embarrassment and tell him how you drove out his rescuers for doing nothing more than helping a little Changeling boy. What do you think my fellow Changeling would say to that?”

Murmuring came from every corner of the crowd, but no one contradicted Lor.

Soledad gave a snort of disdain. “Let us get our things and we’ll be on our way.”

The villagers parted, then followed them, no doubt to ensure they didn’t steal anything.

When Korreth passed the blacksmith, he clapped Korreth on the shoulder. “Best of luck avoiding any more of those Changeling bandits. Seems to me they done had their way with you all enough as is.”

Korreth nodded and followed their mistress. He couldn’t fathom how any of the villagers still believed their original story, yet they allowed their three guests to retrieve the supplies, making no move to rescind the trade, and then escorted them to the edge of town. Soledad didn’t look back as she led Korreth and Jorrim out into the borderlands.

Korreth glanced over his shoulder. Verra and her Changeling son stood apart from the others and waved.

Chapter 6

Dalan soared over the drylands, savoring a moment of peace as the updrafts pushed him higher and higher. Despite his efforts to ignore the world below, he noted a few dust clouds on the horizon. The hawk part of his mind wanted to hunt, but he pushed those thoughts away.

A loud buzz filled his ears as Saquey leveled off and matched his speed, the bond between them stronger than ever. Dalan hadn’t felt so complete since he began his trials. An adult according to the ways of the Omdecu Tribe, he flew alongside his dragonfly as he’d longed to do from the beginning.

They turned toward the west, toward home. Dark forests and cool brooks filled his vision, Saquey’s way of reminding him that neither of them should stay in the drylands for so long. Flying at this speed, they would’ve arrived by the following nightfall.

Except he lacked one objective for the trials.

After the Catastrophe, as human tribes clawed their way to survival in the aftermath, so too did small enclaves of the silver-skinned alien survivors. Because of their long feet and tails, people took to calling them Joeys, and they hunted them like the animals they were named after.

Dalan’s people considered modern generations of Joeys no more at fault for the Catastrophe than modern generations of Purebreeds. Helping the Joey get free from the rock pinning him on the canyon floor would be as gallant as saving a human from the same fate. Dalan refused to stand by while Nyr slaughtered anyone else—and saving the Joey would count as a “problem of some consequence” solved for his trials, as his grandmother demanded.

Below, a jagged ravine cut across the drylands like a scar. He angled his beak downward, tipping the wings of his red hawk form until they split the updraft.

As he dropped, he saw Nyr approach the canyon edge. She would either follow along the top until she reached the Joey and risk suffering the same fall it had, or she’d find a safer way into the ravine and then have to turn the corner before reaching her prize.

Dalan fell faster and faster, leaving Saquey behind. His vision narrowed on the Joey, as he aimed to land beside the boulder and out of the alien’s line of sight.