Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(18)

He smiled at her. “However we might disagree, know I am loyal to you.”

“Because you have to be, and that’s different.”

“You’re right,” Mallick said after a long moment. “But my loyalty remains.”

She rode a few miles, stewing, until the questions just pushed out of her.

“Why did you leave Wales?”

“I was called.”

Her sigh, long and derisive, said everything about being thirteen and dealing with an adult.

“If I ask who called you, you’re just going to say ‘you’ll learn.’ ”

“And you will. I was young, like you, and like you I wondered why such hard things were asked of me. Know I understand what it is to leave home and family.”

“Do you have kids?”

“I’ve never been given that gift.”

“You brought me the teddy bear.”

“It was kind of you to give it to your young brother, to leave that piece of yourself in his care.”

She shoved that aside, as it brought Ethan and his tears to her mind.

“You brought me the candle and the crystal ball. They’re not toys like the bear. Only I can light the candle. Sometimes I do. It never melts away.”

“It was made for you.”

“Did you make it?”

“Yes.”

“My mother said I’d be the only one to see into the crystal, but I’ve never seen anything when I look.”

“You will.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I made it for you. The bear I bought for you before even your mother knew you existed. The woman at the shop told me it was a happy gift for a baby girl.”

It occurred to her, as they rode, that she’d never had a longer conversation with anyone outside of family. While it didn’t make her feel any warmer toward him, she did find it interesting.

“What are you going to teach me?” she demanded. “For two years? My father taught me how to shoot—a gun and a bow. He taught me hand-to-hand. He was a soldier. He was a captain in the army. And my mother taught me about magicks. She’s a witch, a powerful witch.”

“Then you have a good foundation for more.”

She stopped her horse. “Do you hear that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s engines. More than one.”

“There’s a road, not far, and some travel on it. So we make our route through the trees, over the hills. You’re not yet ready for battle.”

The sounds receded, until only the forest spoke.

“Who taught you?”

“His name was Bran. A difficult taskmaster.”

“Will I meet him?”

“He’s no longer with us.”

“Did he die in the Doom?”

His duty was to teach, to train, he thought, and he would fulfill it. But who could know the girl had so many questions in her?

“No, he passed from this world to the next long before. But while I was with him he taught me many things. I traveled to many lands with him.”

Because she could, Fallon took Grace for a little jump over a fallen tree. “Before the Doom people traveled all over the world, in planes. I’ve seen two planes and a chopper—the smaller plane with blades on the top. My mother put a shield over the farm in case people in planes were the ones looking for Uncannys to lock them away. Or worse, Dark Uncannys. So we could see the planes, but they couldn’t see us. Have you ever flown in a plane?”

“I have, and I didn’t enjoy it.”

“I think it would be wonderful.” She tipped her head up, looked at the pieces of sky through the canopy of burnished leaves. “I’d like to see other lands. Some have beaches of white sand and blue water, and others are covered in ice. And the great cities with buildings tall as mountains, and mountains taller than the tallest building, and deserts and oceans and jungles.”

“The world has many wonders.”

He turned his horse through an opening in the trees and into a small clearing. A cabin sat sheltered under trees with a slope-roofed lean-to attached.

“You said a day’s ride.”

“And so it will be. We stop here only for the night.”

“We’ve still got more than an hour before dusk.”

“The horses need rest, to be tended and fed. And so do I.”

Mallick dismounted, led his horse to the lean-to. Reluctantly, Fallon followed suit. She noted the shelter had fresh bedding, grooming supplies, a tub of grain. Mallick handed her a bucket.

“There’s a creek just to the east. The horses need to be watered.”

“What is this place?”

“A place to break our journey.” When she said nothing, simply stood, he loosened the cinches, hefted off his saddle.

“A hunting cabin, what would have been a weekend or holiday sort of place. It belonged to a man who worked as a plumber and enjoyed coming here with his friends. He was immune, so survived the Doom only to be taken in one of the sweeps and confined to a government facility, where he died.”

“You knew him?”

“No, but there was enough of his energy left here, where he had many happy times, for me to know of him. The horses need water.”

She took the bucket, walked no more than ten yards east to a bright and cheerfully winding creek. For a moment, she studied the woods—this new place. The hemlock and oak, the old pines and young poplars. For all she knew, Mallick would ask her how many trees in the stupid forest. Or how many rapid taps from the woodpecker, how many feathers on the cardinal.