Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (27 page)

Drifting out of sleep, she snuggled into the leather wrapped around her and breathed a soft sigh of relief. When she realized it was not fur, she sat up. She lay upon a concrete island among the old pumps, wrapped in the slave-catcher’s coat and covered with every bit of scrap cloth within a mile radius of the station. The canid perched on the roof of the building nearby, having guarded her through the night.

Seeing her stir, it bowed its head once and fell out of sight. Althea radiated gratitude, despite a sense of sorrow. She knew it had to return to its own ways; people out here would not react well to a creature such as him, even if she had pushed his mind closer to humanity. Althea picked up the knife and tiptoed through the now tacky blood slick, recovering the scabbard. It slid in with a click, and she attached it to the rim of her skirt.

Taking a seat on the pump island, she leaned forward and rubbed the rope burns from her limbs. As her fingers kneaded around her ankle, she stared at the heap of gore on the ground, now pecked at by large birds. This was not exactly what she had hoped for when she cried out for help, but this time she accepted the man’s fate had come of his own choosing. He could have let her go, but he chose not to.

She stood, thinking about Rachel and feeling doubly stupid. Now she understood how it felt to kill when necessary, but not take pleasure in it. That man had hurt people and enjoyed it; the world was better off without him. She apologized to the wind for judging her friend. For a moment, she sat with her elbows on her knees, smirking at the debris of the man that had abducted her.

Eventually she got up and walked to the edge of the road, pausing with her arms folded across her chest. Strands of blonde and scraps of leather danced in a gentle breeze as she stared out over the black path of macadam stretching through desolation, pock marked and cracked from centuries of disuse. It was late in the day already, too late to travel. Dying sunlight gleamed in the windows of a small building beyond the pumps, and she decided to spend one more day here and then figure out what to do with the freedom she once more possessed.

She sighed; loneliness made the cold breeze colder.

lthea awoke, her body threaded through a series of springs poking out from the cushions of an old ochre couch in the service station office. Extricating herself with care from the wobbling coils, she got up and felt the demise of a palm-sized roach as it detonated through her toes. Hopping, she sat on the edge of a nearby desk, pulled her foot to her face, and sniff-tested the guts for edibility. Erring on the side of caution, she scraped it off on the rotting green cushion of a squeaky, metal-framed chair.

Judging by the light, it was an hour or two past dawn, but she still felt as though she needed sleep. The outside offered a strong, warm breeze, and she padded around the gore over to the giant grey vehicle that brought her here. Held aloft upon fat knobby tires, the truck’s running boards hung at the level of her chest.

At the rear, she pulled herself up onto the bumper and peeked over the tailgate. Three metal cages sat against the back of the cab, each just large enough to hold a man down on all fours. Some had bits of hair clinging to the bars or bloodstains inside them. All were cloaked in misery, but fortunately empty. Among them, he had packed boxes of supplies, and she soon found the cache of peanut bars and some bottled water. Not wanting to be in the presence of cages, she sat under the truck with her meal and watched the buzzards continue to pick at the man while she ate until she could force not one more bite.

The door proved a little tricky, but she managed to open it while hanging off the side of the truck. She slipped through and climbed up behind a large wheel and examined the dials, buttons, and levers in front of her. She had seen raiders drive plenty of times and knew the little flappy bits on the floor made you go ahead and stop, and the wheel was for turning.

The cold pedals did not do anything when she stepped on them. The wheel was locked in place and would not turn.

She muttered to no one in particular. “Did I break it?”

While searching for a way to make it work, the air filled with the most horrendous blaring noise she had ever heard when she leaned into the center of the wheel. An explosion of black feathers filled the air as the buzzards scattered.

Althea jumped down out of the truck screaming, sprinting away from the awful sound, not slowing until the truck was far out of sight. Out of breath, she collapsed to her knees and glanced up at the sky, squinting at the lack of clouds. The dirt here was hot, and it would only get warmer through the day. She spun in place, watching the horizon slide past. Letting her eyelids droop, she opened herself up to the world around her. The agate could let her find Den, but how could she find water―a far more immediate need.

An urge flashed, vanishing as quickly as it had manifested. As she continued to spin, it returned, and she realized the feeling lined up with a certain facing. It could be water, it could be Den, but it did not feel alarming. With nothing else to do, she went in that direction.

Midday came and went. She was parched and famished by the time she reached the crest of a small hill. Another forest of strange trees sprawled out a distance away, different from the ones she had been in before and much larger. There had to be water if there were plants. Giddy with anticipation, she ran herself wheezing into the woods.

No sooner had she felt the ground beneath her go from warm dirt to cool mulch, she heard the sound of a stream. Following her ears, she soon walked astride a shallow but wide creek, leaving tracks in the wet sand that framed the water like coffee-colored glass. When she leapt into the brook, the frigid water came up to the base of her ribs and she adored every inch of it. Ducking beneath the surface, she gulped down mouthful after mouthful, and then rubbed her hands all over to free herself of the sticky residue of canine affection and muck from crawling through dead man.

Her thirst settled, she perched upon a submerged rock, armpit deep in the flowing brook, and pulled the magic knife out of its sheath. Poised, buzzard like, she squatted motionless for a time with her eyes locked on the water. A flash of silver caught her attention and she dove after it like an arrow, striking true and spearing a fish through the side. With her prize in hand, she waded out. The waterlogged leather around her waist threatened to slip off with each step; she held on to it until she sat by an exposed flat rock upon which she set her dinner.

The magic knife made short work of the scales as her precocious expertise let her clean and gut the fish like a master. Cooking was a luxury, and lacking heat, she ate her fill of it raw and settled into the cool mulch.

With agate in hand, she opened her thoughts and searched for Den. Minutes of stillness rolled by until she saw him. He led a hunting team, stomping through the trees with desperation she could feel. Knowing he searched for her brought a smile that faded when the reason for his urgency became apparent. Flashing images of Braga shouting appeared in her head, a sense he had one more chance to find her or Yala would be his wife.

Alarmed, she sat up cross-legged, clutching the pendant between her palms. There was no sense of time with the vision. It could have been two months ago, right after Vakkar’s men took her. It could be right now, or it could be yet to occur. Opening her hands, she gazed down at the trinket balanced in her palm. Voices of the women drifted around her in a taunting cloud. First crush, she is only twelve, puppy love, aww how cute, she will get over him, Zhar’s laughter.

Althea flung herself to the ground and shivered. She had failed to use her powers to prevent being taken away from Den, she had failed to use them to stay with Rachel, and now she was alone. She curled on her side into a ball around the pendant, and let her sorrow become anger. When she found her home, she would change Braga’s mind for him.

Assuming Den still wanted her.

oft brushed against her face, waking Althea from the fitful sleep of regret. Grey fur, wrapped around a rabbit of immense proportion, filled her view. The thing was almost as big as she was, and stared with unblinking eyes and a twitching nose as it munched on something green. Sensing her awake, it stopped chewing and went still.