Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) (24 page)

He liked the sound of the forest too. The way everything seemed to go together like a harmony. The way the animals chirped, the music the leaves in the trees made as wind danced among them. He liked the sounds of streams in the distance and the way twigs and dried leaves crunched under his feet as he walked.

He felt more peaceful in the forest, as if the trees were a shield to all the bad and corrupt things in the world. He promised to himself that if
, when, when I find Rowan
, he would build her a cabin in the woods and they would live together there, away from everything and everyone, she was all he would ever need in this world.

“Where are you?” Jace asked the night. Crickets chirped in response. “I’ll find you, wherever you are.” Jace whispered into the wind, hoping the wind carried his message to her. “Your so brave Rowan, just be so a little while longer.”

Jace sighed. The horses whined in the distance, settling in for the night. He returned to camp bidding the men a good night’s sleep, before retrieving his blankets from his horse and laying them down. They were not very thick and most had patches in them from years and years of use, but they were soft and comfortable. He curled in on himself, wishing Rowan were there to keep him warm. He laid his head on his arm and closed his eyes though it was hours still before he fell into a fitful sleep.

NINETEEN

The world bounced. It jiggled and shook, tossing Rowan every which way, making her stomach heave. Her head pounded and every muscle in her body shrieked in agony.

They had been travelling for days, or it felt like days, it could have been minutes, it could have been years. Rowan was unconscious for most of it. She could only open one eye and even then, it was but a small slit. The other eye was swollen shut from being hit. Her face felt tender, no doubt puffy and discolored with bruises. Her wrists and ankles were cracked, raw and bloody where ropes cut into her skin, immobilizing her and stopping her chances to escape.

It seemed to Rowan they never stopped, they were always moving. She was draped over the back of a horse, held firmly to it by ropes. Her head bounced against the horse’s side with every step it took. Rowan’s body was limp, not fighting against the bonds that held her. She barely had the energy to breathe much less struggle to get free.

Bounce. Bounce, went her head, pinging off the horse. She was thirsty, her throat dry and she tried to swallow but did not have enough saliva in her mouth. She coughed, a dry hacking sound that left her throat searing in pain. Her stomach ached and rolled, demanding food and Rowan could not recall the last time she had eaten
. Days perhaps? Maybe weeks? Who knows how long I’ve been strapped to this forsaken horse.

The last thing Rowan could remember with any clarity was the porch; the wood creaking as her body slammed into it, the pain in her sides, in her head, in her very soul. She cringed, remembering, remembering that night, remembering many others in the house she had grown up in, swirling into one hateful memory until she couldn’t tell her mother from her captor. The horse halted suddenly, causing Rowan to lurch sideways, the ropes digging in further. Fresh blood welled beneath the coarse bonds to stain the rope a deeper shade of crimson than they already were.

The rider of the horse vaulted off, kicking Rowans side as they did so. Rowan cried out, but the sound was barely audible, pathetic. The rider said nothing as they grabbed rolls of blankets and food off the horse. Rowan heard cursing as they dropped a bundle under her face, the voice was deep, gruff, frightening.

The man that stooped to retrieve the bundle had black hair, coarse and long. She could not see his face, only the back of his head and even that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, retrieving the dropped bundle and retreating from her view.

Rowan recognized the sounds of a camp being set up from her many months of traveling in search of her brother. She heard the thunks of logs being tossed together and the hiss of flames as a fire started up. She heard the swish of blankets as her captor unrolled his bed. She heard the splash of liquid in a pot as he stirred whatever food he was making. The smell of it drifted toward Rowan and she inhaled deeply, her stomach growling and throwing itself against her ribs, demanding to be fed.

She wondered if she would be left on the horse all night and her body gave a jerk of objection at the thought. She had only ever been comatose when they had stopped before and wondered if this was why her body hurt so badly, being in the same position for weeks, possibly.

As the demoralizing thought crossed her mind, she heard heavy footsteps coming her way. She cringed, trying to withdraw from them. The memory of those same footsteps washed over her. She remembered the sound they made as they descended on her as she crouched in a blackened hallway with her heart racing, much as it did now.

Large hands started undoing the ropes that bound her wrists. When they brushed her skin they felt rough and dry, calloused. Rowan wondered what he did when he wasn’t abducting people, to have such harsh hands. When she was untied, he heaved her onto the ground, her head slammed back into a tree making spots twirl across her vision. Her good eye watered.

Rowan tried to force her other eye open, to take in as much of her surroundings as possible but it would not budge. She judged her imprisoner wearily. He was a large man, not heavy set per say but muscular, his biceps bulging under his shirt, his legs thick, like tree trunks. His tangled black hair hung matted and twisted to his collarbone. She thought if she touched it, it would feel like straw, dry and crackling. He had a thick, short beard, darker even than his hair and it looked twice as dry. It was straggly and bits of hair stuck out here and there, making his face look wild and dark.

When he turned his eyes to hers, a deep green flickering in the firelight, the color was so much like Jace’s Rowan had to stifle a yelp of surprise. However, where Jace’s eyes always seemed to light up in laughter and kindness, this man’s were dark, cruel, and pitiless.

He pulled a piece of bread from a pouch at his side and she thought for a fraction of a second, that he was going to offer it to her. Her stomach leered, reaching out for the food, but he only bit into the bread himself and when he opened his mouth Rowan was disgusted to find that most of his teeth were missing. The ones that remained were brown and chipped, barely hanging on inside his black gums.

As he chewed crumbs fell into his beard, catching there. Rowan wondered if he would wipe them off though he never appeared to as far as she could tell. He turned his head suddenly, catching Rowans eye. He sneered at her, grabbing a second piece of bread from his sack, never taking his harsh green eyes from her single blue one. He stood slowly, every muscle rippling in a menacing way. She thought of a snake, coiled, ready to strike, dangerous.

Rowan flinched away from him as he crouched in front of her. She could see the pores in his skin he was so close. He smelled like rotted food
, molding inside his beard, most likely
. His breath was rancid and she gagged as the air he puffed out tickled her cheek, hot and heavy.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, even though he had to know she was starving.

He took another bite of his bread, spit flinging onto her face. His tone was menacing and she found herself shaking her head even as her stomach released another deafening roar. She hoped he hadn’t heard, even though she knew it would have been impossible for him not to have. He smiled at her, finishing off the first piece of bread, and started in on the second piece.

He laughed, his whole body shaking as he withdrew from her, sitting once again in his place by the fire. He scarfed the bread down, staring at her the whole time, a harsh smile prancing about his eyes. Rowan tried to open her mouth, to compel him to let her go but she only coughed, her throat so dry that she could not form words.

Rowan retreated within herself, squeezing her good eye closed. She could still hear her captor chewing, open mouthed. No doubt, spittle was flying into his beard. She imagined that she was back home, as a young child, watching Elias paint.

They had been outside and the sun shone down on them, making Rowan lazy as she laid on her back in the grass, the day had been comfortably warm and a breeze played with her hair. Elias was painting the Great Tree as it turned for fall. He had managed to capture all the vibrant oranges and reds and yellows that made up the leaves of the Great Tree, perched gingerly on the dark brown branches, ready to fall to the ground where they would sweep them all up and have a bonfire. When Elias was finished, she could not tell the painting from the actual tree.

“It’s amazing” Rowan had sighed, wishing she could create pictures like Elias. She was not very good at doing anything, much less painting, even though Elias was always telling her that she just needed to find that one thing she would excel at.

“It’s for you!” Elias had replied, smiling at his little sister. She had jumped with joy, childish excitement over taking her. It had been one of the few paintings their mother had found stashed in their room, before Rowan had found the hidden room in the study.

Rowan didn’t want to think of her mother’s retched reaction to the beautiful painting and she forced herself to bring back the image of the painting as it had been; freshly painted, drying in the summer heat. She smiled as she recalled the way her and Elias had played catch after that, temporarily forgetting their woes.

“WHATTHEHELLAREYOUSMILINGAT?” Her jailor roared, his words slurring together. Rowans eye popped open, just in time to see a large, closed, fist slam into her face. Her head flung sideways on the impact, blood pouring into her mouth. She cried out, trying to cradle her head in her hands but they were tied to her feet and she could not lift them past her knees. He hit her again, on the other side and Rowan turned her head just before impact, greatly reducing the damage the blow would have caused.

Her captor roared, furious she would dare try to fight back. He punched her in the forehead, his knuckles opening a gash there. He bellowed again when she flung herself backwards away from him. She tried scrambling away, only to fall on her face, a sharp rock digging into her neck.

Rowan was pulled backwards by her hair and hurled back against the tree. Her head smacking the same spot it had earlier, this time with more force.

“I’ll teach you.” He snarled, turning away from her and grabbing a crude metal spoon from his sack. He stuck the long thin portion of it into the fire, smiling maliciously as he did so. “You belong to me now. Your mine.”  He growled at her. Rowan shook her head, unable to speak, her tongue swelling in her mouth. Rowan threw herself back, trying to inchworm away from him but only succeeded in falling on her face, dirt filling her mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan could see him advance toward her, the red-hot spoon wielded in front of him like a sword. His smile grew as he grabbed her arm, twisting her so she lay on her back, and pulled her toward him. She hurled herself backwards, kicked the best she could, but her bonds held tight and his grip on her wrist held tighter. He pinned her down, his knees digging into her chest and stomach, she squirmed beneath him but it was no use. He ripped her long sleeved shirt open on her arm, pulling away the filthy fabric, exposing the smooth, sensitive flesh of her underarm.

As he pressed the boiling hot spoon to her skin, she screamed. An animalistic sound she did not recognize as her own. Rowan whimpered as he worked, her body eventually going numb as blood and water oozed from the burns. The acidic smell of burnt flesh filled her nostrils and twice she turned her head to the side and vomited. Rowan had never known such intense, forceful, penetrating, pain in all her life, shooting slivers of agony starting in her arm and ricocheting throughout her body.

When he was finished, he studied his work. He nodded once then withdrew, leaving Rowan gasping in anguish in the dirt. A twig dug into her back but she hardly noticed the small pain compared to the excruciating one in her arm. She turned her head to see what he had done, the flame light flickering in and out, her vision fuzzy from crying. The burn marks were crude, blood dripped down her arm, blurring the image, but she could read it:
Kastor.

Kastor, it said. He had forever marked her body with his name; she would bear this mark until she died, she would lay decaying in the ground and still, this mark would live on, marring her flash and being a constant reminder of what a failure she had been. She had failed to keep Elias from abandoning her, she had failed to stop him from destroying Lamarina, she had failed to find him, she had failed to escape this man, and Elias would continue to rip apart the world with his bare hands.

Kastor. Kastor it said. 

Rowan sobbed, trying to will herself away from him, and failed. She cried for hours, her tears running dry sometime in the night. When she had no more tears to shed, she hiccupped until morning, when she was limply strung up again to the back of the horse. Her head bouncing with every step it took.