Warrior of the Wild(75)

A smile comes to my own lips, and I recline my head against the trunk of the tree. They made it. They’re home. And all is well for Soren and Iric.

But then a girl breaks out of the crowd, someone with golden locks far brighter than mine. She’s dainty, elegant, and I’m sure her face is beautiful. She goes right up next to Soren and wraps her arms around his neck.

My eyes narrow.

Who the hell is that?

Soren detangles himself from the girl, but she doesn’t go far, hovering around his shoulder. The proud parents, Pamadel and Newin, hurry their boys down the street, likely to their home, with Aros and the girl following.

I’m leaning forward so far that I nearly lose my balance on the branch. I right myself, scowling at that blond head of hair. Just what does she think she’s doing? I stare until the group disappears from sight and the market resumes to its previous state.

And I wait.

One hour. Two hours. Three.

I wait for my boys to come back to me. To help me kill the god and make my own way home.

But they don’t come, even after night falls.

For a moment, I wonder if they ever intended to come back at all. They’ve got what they wanted. They’re reunited with their parents. Iric has Aros, and Soren—

Soren has the blonde.

They have their old lives back.

Maybe they’ve decided they’re done with me.

I shake my head. This is Iric and Soren. If they’re late, it’s because they’ve gotten caught up in the excitement of being with their loved ones again.

Nothing more.

I wait one more hour, praying to see their faces come back through the stone archway, but they don’t.

I force my stiff limbs to make the climb back down the tree. Though my stomach grumbles, I don’t touch the food in my pack as I make the trek back to the tree house.

I’m not hungry at all, despite feeling so hollow.



* * *



DAYS LATER, WHEN I make it back, I can’t bear to stay in the tree house. I return to my little fort. I haven’t been here in weeks.

Before I arrive, it starts to rain, a few drops dampening my hair before I leave the road and cut back into the foliage. My shelter has held, though the place looks a little run-down. Leaves and needles cover the floor, having fallen through the cracks in the logs making up the ceiling. Twigs and moss have scattered onto my things. Smaller plants have broken through the earth in the places I once used as walkways.

The rock I used to carve the clues about the god in my tree seems to have disappeared.

Doesn’t matter. I’ve learned as much as I possibly can about the god. It’s all up in my head.

I go to my shelter, pull the bark door aside, and collapse onto the ground.

I sleep, now that I feel utterly defeated.

The next morning, I return to the tree house. There is still no sign of Soren or Iric.

If they’re back, maybe they went straight to the forge? Iric still needs to build me a new ax.

I race down the trail to the forge, leaping over the traps Iric placed to keep out critters. The whole place smells like ash, the rain from last night likely churning up the scent.

Iric’s tools are neatly in a line, his castings cleaned and stacked. One of his buckets has filled with rain water. Another holds wet coal.

But neither boy is here.

My eyes sting.

But that small pressure only makes me angry.

Fine.

I will defeat Peruxolo on my own. I can try to leave notices outside the villages and hope the hunters from each village find them and take them seriously. Will they travel to the Payment site because a letter from an ostracized girl asks them to?

My throat grows dry. Would my father at least show up? He’d recognize my writing. He’d come, wouldn’t he?

But he’s let me down before.

Everyone has let me down.

Raz …

The sound is so faint, like a whisper on the wind. I’m certain I’ve imagined it.

“Rasmira.” Louder this time and Soren’s deeper tone.

“Raz! Quit playing games. Where are you?”

I pick my head up from where it’s fallen against my chest. Not everyone.

“I’m over here!” I call out.

There’s a smattering of wet footsteps on the rocks, and then both boys come into view. First Soren, with his hair mussed, and his eyes tired. Then Iric, his taller frame hunched slightly and his cheeks red.

I launch myself at Soren. I’m not alone. I never was. Not since the first time I met Soren in the wild.

These boys are everything to me, and they came through when it mattered most.

“Did you run all the way here?” I ask.

“Yes,” Soren says irritably, looking at Iric. “We had to make up for lost time. I tried to make him hurry, Rasmira.”

“Hurry?” I ask.

Iric’s smile stuns me. It’s the first I’ve seen that isn’t mocking. It’s honest and so happy.

“Someone insisted he join us,” Iric says.

I was only looking for the faces of my two boys, so I failed to spot a third hiding behind them.

He’s at least a couple of inches shorter than I am, with hair so dark it’s almost black. He wears a short beard, and his eyes are a striking green. Strapped to his waist are throwing hatchets. A large pack bulges on his back.