Relinquish: Book II of the Rising Trilogy (9 page)

Eamon halts at the top of the hill to wait for me. His chest rises and falls with exertion. The grim set of his features betrays the anger simmering just under the surface. I can see it in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate in the moonlight and his lips press into flat lines.

“Are you going to do this the whole way back?” I hold the stitch in my side.

“Do what?” he grunts. His shoulder dips, neck rolling to adjust the weight.

“This pouting thing. I’m used to your cold shoulders, but this is different. What’s eating at you?”

Eamon opens his mouth to speak, but a howl cuts him off. My head whips around in the direction of the call. It is close, much too close. “They’re tracking us.”

He nods and grabs my hand, yanking me behind a thick patch of bush. I strain to hear, listening for rustling of branches or the cracking of ice. It is hard to hear anything over the winds.

The curved dome of latticework branches overhead makes it difficult to see. Small thorns dig into the palms of my hands as I shove the branches open wide enough to pass through. I glance back to see Eamon’s indecision in the dim light. “You have to leave the deer.”

He shakes his head. “The wolves will get it.”

My stomach wars with my mind. Yes, I’m hungry, but it’s not worth our lives. With only a hunting knife and spear, we can’t hope to fight off an entire wolf pack.

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into leaving the laser guns behind.” His jaw clenches, his back teeth grinding as he drops the deer. He presses it up against the base of the tree and works to cover it with leaves. His bare fingers tremble as he claws into the ice, fighting to free large chunks of snow.

A breeze unsettles my hair, whipping it around my cheek. It carries the scent of dog, wet and unclean. “Eamon, now!”

I grab his forearm and yank him toward me. The scent of pine invades my senses as I emerge from the small space. A single howl rises from the valley below. Goosebumps rise along my arms as a resounding chorus quickly joins the hunting cry.

“How far?” I whisper, peering into the night.

“They’re close.”

As I run, I stare at the dark stain across Eamon’s back. Even if they will leave the deer behind, one or all of them will most likely track Eamon too. “Toss away your jacket.”

“What?” He calls back over his shoulder. Winds whips at his hair, unsettling his curls into his eyes.

“You’ve got blood on you. They will smell it.” He wiggles out of his jacket, wadding it up as he tosses it to the side. I trample over it, stomping it into the snow before racing behind him.

Evergreens hem us in on both sides as we flee north over the rough terrain. I can barely make out the path before us in the light of the moon. The frozen river must be around here somewhere. How did we get so far off course?

The sound of wolves crashing through the forest chases after us, nipping at our heels. I cling to Eamon’s spear, so small and insignificant against the pack. There is little chance we will make it back to camp.

“Can you do something about this?” I hear him shout as my steps falter. My bare hands plunge into the snow as I stop my fall. The cold damp seeps in through my pants.

I try to summon my powers, but it’s too hard to concentrate. I toss out my hand behind me and a tree trembles but remains rooted in place. “Apparently not. Where’s your radio?”

I push back to my feet and scramble up the hill after him. His breath hangs before him as he pants, holding his side. “It was in my coat.”

I peer down from the ridge and can just make out the glint of the stream nearly thirty feet below. If we stick to the ridge, we would run into camp within a half hour, but we don’t have that much time. “I have an idea,” he says, yanking my arm in the opposite direction.

“But this is heading away from camp.” I protest, gasping for breath. The air up here is thinner than I’m used to.

“I know.” His feet pound the ground as he attacks a small incline. At the top, I realize the brilliance of his plan. We skirt along a narrow ridge, no wider than Eamon’s shoulders. The wolves will be forced into a single file line and might give us a small advantage on the open ground beyond.

Calloused hands reach down to encircle my wrist and Eamon tugs me forward as he hits a clearing. My legs weaken as I struggle to keep up. I’m burning through what little energy I had left after our arduous hike earlier. My lungs constrict, wrenching every drop of oxygen from them.

“I can’t do this,” I cry out. The pain growing in my side is like a serrated blade jabbing between my ribs.

“You have to. We can’t stop now.” He shoves me ahead of him, positioning himself between the beasts and me.

The wild howls ricochet off the trees and rocky cliffs behind us. How close are they? I imagine I can feel their breath on the back of my neck and it spurns me on.

The frosty night air lassos around my legs. New blisters along my feet threaten to burst as I slide around in my boots. My coat flaps in the wind, barely offering any resistance against the falling temperatures.

“I see them,” Eamon shouts.

My head jerks around to see a large gray wolf emerging from the far tree line at a sprint. Five more wolves, each with varying shades of earthen-toned fur coats, quickly flank it. They’ll be on the narrow land bridge in only three bounds. “What do we do?”

“Just run. Don’t look back.” Eamon’s hand presses against my back.

My hair whips around my face as I force my legs to work. The moon shines brightly overhead, illuminating our path. “Almost there,” Eamon shouts as the braying intensifies. The wolves have crossed the land bridge. We are running out of time.

I swerve down the steep hill, praying my feet keep up with my momentum. I try to jump when I reach the bottom, but gravity pulls me down.

“Not that way!” Eamon’s cry comes too late. The soles of my boots make contact with a large patch of ice and I sprawl to the ground. My arms and legs flail against the ice as I spiral out of reach. The spear disappears into the shadows. My stomach lurches as the world hurtles around me.

I know what is coming even before my feet slide over the edge of the cliff. A waterfall of snow cascades past me, falling to the depths of the ravine. My hands bury into the snow and grasp the exposed roots of a tree growing up from the cliff face.

Pain spikes through my shoulder as I slam to a halt. My legs smash into the dirt wall; debris rains down onto my face. I clamp my eyes shut and will my frozen fingers
to hold fast.

“Hang on. I’m coming for you,” Eamon shouts. I can hear a loud thump followed by raucous growls.

“Eamon!” My scream spirals down through the canyon.

“I’m fine.” He grunts, appearing overhead. He wraps his hands firmly around my wrist and tugs. The muscles along his neck pull taut. His jaw sets firmly as he pushes back against the tree trunk. My feet scramble for traction against the wall, but the dirt crumbles. The tree quakes, rattling my teeth as the roots shift from their foundation. “Eamon!”

“I know!” He yanks on my wrist so hard it feels like he’s going to crush my bones. My shoulder screams in agony as I twist, flailing for something to hold on to.

I can feel a wave of energy sputtering across my body, sparking as it fizzles out in the wake of my terror as a throaty growl rises from behind Eamon. His eyes widen in fright at the sound of its approach, but fierce determination quickly replaces it. “Don’t look at it. Look at me. I’m not going to let you go.”

“I know.” And I do. I glance down into the darkness, unable to see anything beyond my feet. The drop must be at least fifty feet.
Maybe something will break my fall on the way down.

“Don’t even think about it.” Eamon’s fingers tighten. My gaze rises to meet his as a hulking shadow appears over his shoulder.

“You have to let me go,” I cry, prying against his hold. “I’ll be fine.”

Eamon’s nostrils flare. His arms have already begun to quiver under my weight. With or without the wolf’s presence, he won’t be able to hold me much longer. “You’re insane. You can’t survive that.”

I tighten my grip around the roots, testing my weight. The tree shifts and I look back up at him. “Do it.”

My heart freezes when his fingers tighten their grip. The coppery scent of blood seeps from the pack leader’s fangs as he appears next to Eamon’s ear. A feral snarl rises from its throat.

“Let go!” I scream. The wolf’s hackles rise as it crouches low, ready to attack. Eamon doesn’t look to the side. “Please,” I beg.

“No!” I toss out my hand as the wolf attacks. A pained yelp echoes in my ears as it hurtles backward and out of sight. I hear crunching of bone followed by a chorus of howls.

“Illyria?”

I’m shaking, consumed with protective anger. My fingers curl inward as I feel myself slip and my terror rushes back in.

“Don’t let go!” Eamon latches onto me as the final inches of the roots slip through my fingertips. The tree groans as it plummets over the edge. A rain of dirt and snow follow.

I swing wildly, screaming as my stomach rushes to beat the tree to the ground below. Vertigo immobilizes me as Eamon struggles to pull me over the edge, using both of his hands just to keep me from tumbling into the ravine.

“Help me,” he rasps. I reach up and clasp his forearm. “See if you can get your leg up here.”

My fingers dig into his flesh as I throw my torso to the left and jerk back right. All I manage to do is get a mouthful of earth. “Again, Illyria.”

His command spurns me on. I spit to clear my mouth as I rock. The tip of my shoe just misses the ledge. I swing back again, stretching my foot out, and my ankle hits snow.

My hold on the cliff is precarious at best, but with Eamon’s help, I manage to hoist myself up. I lie in the snow, sucking deep gulps of night air into my lungs. My pulse hammers wildly in my ears. I smile as the howling grows faint as the wolves retreat.

Eamon collapses beside me. I can hear his labored breathing over my own. “Next time we’re bringing the guns.”

Eight

The next two days are just as maddeningly strenuous as the first we endured after entering the woods. Eamon keeps a solid lead ahead of the pack while I amble at the back, ever on alert in case the wolves return. We’ve heard their braying in the distance, but they haven’t ventured close to us since I killed their leader. All of us carry our guns at the ready, just in case.

The alpha wolf provided us with the meat that we needed to continue on. The gamey flesh made me sad as I slowly ate it, reminding me of the times Eamon would bring me bits of roasted meat while in the caves, knowing I would turn my nose up at it. Now, he hardly showed a reaction as he skinned and gutted the fallen animal.

None of us talk much. Losing Arlo has been a grim reminder of the reality of our situation. Caldonians may not patrol these woods anymore, but the dangers are still present. Even Carleon has taken the hint and has fallen into a sullen silence.

Despite Eamon’s threats that if I didn’t heal myself he would send me straight back to Kyan, we continue to trek through the wilderness. From time to time, we spy a campfire off in the distance, but we stay clear, sometimes going miles out of our way to do so. We avoid towns, abandoned roads, and farms that we come across, sticking with the rugged wilderness for safety.

My feet are a mess of blisters. I tried to tough it out for the first few days, but when my limp became prominent, Carleon insisted on healing me. I tried to wave off his concerns, but as his healing warmth flowed over my pockmarked feet, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be whole again.

The sore flesh around my waist has scabbed over nicely now that I’m no longer wearing my pack. After a rather irate tantrum on my part, which I’ll admit to not being entirely proud of, Eamon allowed me to carry one of the lighter sling packs that hangs below my waist so it doesn’t hurt.

I could have healed myself, but I chose not to. Not just to spite Eamon, but to prove to myself that I’m tough
enough to endure this trip. If I can’t handle a four-day hike, how can I even think I can handle the full scope of my mission?

As the sun begins to rise, Eamon calls us to a halt. “We’ll stop here.”

That’s all he says. I frown, confused as to why none of the men begin to search for firewood or unpack their bags. Something is different about this camp.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Carleon, but he just shrugs.

“I don’t think Eamon trusts me anymore,” he mutters and plops down on his pack. I follow suit, groaning under my breath as I work the kinks out of my calves. Already I can feel the frosty night air beginning to change. Soon, the sun will rise and with it the temperature. Up ahead, I can hear the clanging of pots and my stomach growls in appreciation. At least we will eat before we push on.

“We need to talk.”

I turn around to see Eamon standing beside a tree, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Carleon shoots me a quizzical look before he mutters an excuse and hurries off. Eamon comes around the side of the tree and shoves my pack out of the way. I watch and wait, but he neither moves to sit nor offers to help me stand.

“I’m all ears, although if I start snoring, just kick me.” I yawn, stretching my arms high over my head.

Eamon tucks away the flyaway strands around his eyes and then immediately shoves his hands back in his pockets. Sighing, I push up to my feet, ignoring the stern protests of my legs. “I assume you want to do this outside of earshot?”

He nods and turns without saying a word. I shake my head, tired of all of the mind games, and follow him. We walk for several minutes before he slows. I wait for him to turn and look at me, but he doesn’t. He continues to peer out into the rapidly brightening woods. Light greens, pale yellows, vivid oranges and reds bursts to life as the sun’s rays beam down onto the forest. Any other time I would have stopped to marvel, to notice every detail, but not today.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to make me guess what all of this is about.” I shift my weight, wincing at the needles that have begun to prick my calves. “My wounds are fine. Nothing to worry about there. I’m pretty sure Kohen has forgiven me for that rash joke, and Nixon is just as weird as usual. Bodhi… well, everyone has been complaining about his snoring so I don’t think you can really blame me for—”

“It’s time,” he whispers, cutting me off.

“Time?” I rub my hands down my sleeves, wondering for the hundredth time why Caldonians never made white uniforms. They would’ve blended so much better in snow and been cooler in the summer.

Eamon turns slowly, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. “This is the extraction point and the end of my mission.”

“Oh.” I wrap my arms about my waist, only vaguely aware that I hardly feel any pain from doing so. “When… when will they come for me?”

“Soon.” His gaze is riveted on the ground, as if the intricate tree root system weaving around our feet is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re saying good-bye?” This feels wrong and completely awkward. Why can’t he just give me a hug, a peck on the cheek, and say, “See you soon,” like most boyfriends would? Why does everything with him have to be such gloom and doom?

When he doesn’t respond, I take a step toward him, weighing his reaction. When there is none, I step again and again until I am only a couple feet from him. “I’ll be back in a few days. A week tops if I have to walk all that way again.” Inwardly, I’m praying to the God of Earth and whoever lives on Calisted that’s not the case.

I stretch out my hand and wait. Eamon’s sandy-blond curls shift as he lifts his head and stares at my hand. I begin to fidget when he doesn’t move, doesn’t react.
Is he really going to make this harder than it should be?

His hand surges forward, clasping around my wrist and yanking me toward him. I stumble forward, slamming my chin into his chest. He winces but quickly steadies me as I regain my footing. I can see the softness in his eyes
encroaching back in, stealing away the firm set of his lips and the hard line of his jaw.

I blink rapidly as I begin to see a year of bitterness and sorrow melt away from his face. The hand that rises to cup my cheek is gentle, his thumb lightly brushing over my skin as he searches my eyes. I can feel a yearning within him, making his fingers tremble as they press against my cheek.

His other hand slides around my waist, pressing against my spine, drawing me closer to him. I step forward and into his embrace. He feels warm and firm, but not with the rigidity I’ve come to know over the past few months.

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against his chest. He doesn’t speak. He simply holds me. A thousand unspoken apologies pass between us as I wind my arms around his back, clinging to him.

I’m terrified of what lies ahead and regretful of what is behind. So much of this year has been wasted with indifference, cold shoulders, and bitterness.

All I ever wanted was my friend and now he is here. Not the Eamon who professed his love for me with awkward pleading or the Eamon who eagerly accepted Kyan’s assurance that we were meant to be together, but the Eamon who used to hold me in the long hours of the night simply to be close.

No expectations. No drama or heartache. Just us. The way we were always meant to be.

“This is nice,” I whisper as I lean up onto my toes and press my cheek into his neck.

He nods and wraps his arms around me, sealing me into his embrace. I close my eyes as the first tears form and I hide them in his shoulder. There are some things I still can’t show him. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against my hair.

I dig my fingers into his back, praying that this moment will not end, but as with all things, there is almost a finality to it. Before I’m ready, Eamon unwraps my arms from around his neck, clasping them against his chest.

I can’t remember the last time we stood like this. Was it beneath the shadow of the Shard after Bastien left me? No, I don’t think even then it was this pure. It must have been before that.

“I’m afraid,” I whisper as I lay my hands against his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heart beating just beneath the surface.

“Me too.”

“Not just of this mission. Of everything. I have been for a long time. I just…” I trail off as I see the flash of hurt cross his face. It is fleeting but present all the same.

He releases his hold on my hands and steps back. “Isn’t it ironic how we wish for so many things at the end, when we thought we had all the time in the world to mend the hurts?”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. Things should’ve been different between us. Instead of lashing out at each other, we should’ve bonded together, stood strong side by side to face what would come. Instead, we broke.

“I don’t blame you,” I whisper. “I mean, it hurt, but I know you didn’t back away to cause me pain.”

“Never.” His lower lip trembles as he shoves his hands back into his pockets. “There has never been anyone but you, Illyria. That’s why I need you to stay with me. Don’t go on this mission.”

I close my eyes to his pleading, knowing if he’d said these words sooner, I might have been swayed. “It’s too late now, Eamon.”

“I know.” He slumps back against a tree and hangs his head. “A guy can still hope, right?”

“Always.” My voice cracks and I can feel my control starting to fragment. I rush forward and throw myself into his arms, burrowing into his chest one last time. The warmth of his tears patter against my face. I clench my eyes shut, praying he isn’t right, that we will see each other again soon.

A whimper rises in my throat and I thrust back, needing to flee. I turn to run and stop short, shocked into utter silence.
Bastien!

I can’t breathe. My lungs literally refuse to expand as I stare across the small clearing at Bastien. An odd, croaking sound rises from my throat as I step hesitantly forward. “What…?” I swallow, feeling as if my throat is suddenly parched. “What are you doing here?”

Bastien looks beyond me, his expression darkening. “I assumed you would know I was coming.”

His brow pinches with disapproval as Eamon stands up beside me. When Eamon reaches for my hand, I wrench away from him, stepping back. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to. I tried to but…” He glances away, appearing to struggle to swallow. “It doesn’t matter. He’s here now.”

“Doesn’t matter?” The pitch of my voice rises to glass-splintering heights. “How can you say this doesn’t matter? Didn’t I have a right to know? You can’t just drop this… him on me and expect me to be okay with this!”

I begin to pace, wringing my hands before my stomach. All hope of playing this off cool went out the window after the first unattractive croak. Now all bets are off.

“Should I come back?” Bastien asks, clearly uncomfortable, yet I realize also infuriatingly amused by the scene he’s stepped into.

“No!” Eamon and I both shout at the same time. I double over and grasp the back of my knees, fighting for a calm that I know is currently residing about a hundred miles from here. “I just… I need a moment.”

I can feel my panic rising.
I can’t handle this. Why does fate have it in for me? One gut-wrenching good-bye wasn’t enough? Now they have to throw an imploding heart into the mix as well?

I’m acutely aware of Bastien crossing the clearing, his steps strong and confident. I used to love that about him, but right now it’s driving me mad. I hold out my hand and he stops less than ten feet away. “Please. I can’t…”

From upside down, I see him raise his hands in surrender. I suck in another breath and count to ten. It doesn’t help so I hold out for a full twenty count before I release my breath.

“Does she always do this?” Bastien asks.

“Never seen this before,” Eamon responds.

I rise back up, my ponytail whipping past my vision as I take my time to glare at both of them. “I’m standing right here.”

Bastien’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing. Eamon starts to protest but cuts off when I shoot him a withering glare. “I want answers and I want them right now.” I plant my hands on my hips, widening my stance in attempt to keep my knees from quaking. My control of my powers is tremulous right now. Ripples of energy vine down my arms in waves, sparking over my clothes.

“Illyria…” Bastien reaches out his hand toward me but draws it back.

“Start talking, Eamon.” My fists clench tightly against my hips, my nails carving deep ruts into my palms. I can feel the warmth of the blood that spills around my nails, seeping between my fingers, but I don’t release my grip. I can’t. Not until I have myself under control.

Eamon clears his throat and I try to focus on his face. He is paler than usual, making the ruddy tint to his cheeks all the more prominent. “Kyan hinted that someone from Bastien’s base would be coming to collect you. I swear I didn’t know he would come himself.”

“Of course you did,” Bastien growls. I can feel the pent-up anger writhing beneath his calm exterior.
Perhaps he isn’t as amused as I first thought.
“Do you really think I would entrust her safety to anyone else?”

Eamon kicks at the ground, obviously less than thrilled to be put on the spot. “I didn’t think––”