Doran shrugged. 840’s mind wasn’t spinning as much anymore, and the ground looked a lot more solid. He was still holding onto Doran’s arm, so he let go.
“I don’t know,” Doran said. “I asked him about Hjeva, and what he was doing so far away from home, when he grabbed my arm and went down.”
“Something you said?” Naavah Ora raised one eyebrow again. She did this a lot when she wanted to smile but changed her mind at the last moment.
Doran shrugged—he did that a lot when he pretended not to care even though he did. “Must have been. Feeling better, Ginger?”
840 nodded and tried to stand. Doran put an arm around him to steady him. 840 didn’t mind. In the village, he’d been punished when he’d been bled and couldn’t stand on his own afterward, but Doran didn’t seem to mind his weakness in that moment.
“I’m okay.” Why did 840 bother? They’d likely see right through his lie. “I just remembered something I shouldn’t have.” He couldn’t say more. In the village, when he’d as much as hinted at remembering his old life, they had bled him more to drain the memory away. Lavender. His mother’s smile. Pebbles from the beach. All staining the ground under him crimson.
“You shouldn’t remember your home?” Naavah Ora didn’t raise her eyebrows this time. She was serious.
“Don’t press him,” Doran said. 840 was grateful for it. “If it causes him pain, it’s probably for the best. Who knows how he ended up in that village?”
840 wanted to tell him it didn’t hurt, that he wanted to remember, but then he thought of the Elders watching his every move and the small curves on his lips where smiles should have been, and stopped himself.
A strong warrior, not a weak child.
The sentiment no longer gave him the comfort it once had, but he had nothing else.
Naavah Ora crossed her arms. “But it could tell us what they’re up to. They never sacrifice boys, don’t you think that odd?”
“A lot of odd things have happened to me lately, you’re just the most recent development in a series of strange events. Leave him, elfling.”
Naavah Ora looked like he’d slapped her. She huffed and returned to her position a good distance away from them.
“Can you walk?”
840 pulled free from Doran’s arms, but felt weaker without them. He didn’t need the help. He could walk on his own.
A strong warrior, not—
“Let’s get to Alt Võina,” 840 said, and walked away from Doran.
But my wait is almost over. I have slept for so long, but I’m waking up. I can feel my mind focus. I can feel new life fill my veins.
Chapter 15
Doran
Doran was having the strangest day. First he made Naavah Ora of all people laugh, and then Ginger fainted right into his arms. Ginger had pulled away from him with so little effort it was obvious that he wanted the comfort. Why couldn’t he allow himself to be held? What was wrong with being comforted?
There was so much going on he didn’t understand. Doran hated that he couldn’t figure out what was going on with either of them. Naavah Ora knew more about the events in the cultists’ village than she was willing to share, and some terrible things had happened to Ginger. For some reason, he refused to remember his home. Had he been traded to the village as a slave? Had he been sold? Had they raided his village back in Hjeva and kidnapped him?
Likely it was much more disturbing than that.
To an extent, Doran understood. He didn’t want to remember that small farming town near the cliffs in Ceidir, either. Too many bad memories lay that way. He still had bad dreams every night. He had hoped he’d be too old for nightmares by now, but he still saw Rhys’s broken body every time he fell asleep. But as guilty as he felt he’d never fainted.
He’d earned the memories. He’d earned the torture they promised whenever he closed his eyes.
But he doubted Ginger had anything like that in his past. Ginger wasn’t a murderer like him. Ginger was covered in different scars, inside and out. Maybe they covered his entire body. Doran had only seen Ginger’s chest, but he couldn’t think of a good reason why the cultists would stop there.
Thinking about it angered him. Who cut a child so much his scars didn’t heal? Doran had seen many different shapes of evil since he’d left Ceidir, with him being the first example. People mugged each other, blackmailed each other, and raped girls younger than Naavah Ora, but somehow what had been done to Ginger topped it all. Ginger had been indoctrinated, had been made to want the pain.
Doran didn’t believe Ginger wanted to die. The young man pretended otherwise, but he was glad to be away from the village.
Neither of them had said a word since Naavah Ora had walked off and they’d followed her from a small distance. Ginger’s step was unsteady, but he held his head high and put on a brave face.
Doran shouldn’t have called her elfling after what she’d told him, but Ginger had just fainted because of something he didn’t want to remember. Naavah Ora would have questioned him. Doran was as curious as she was to know more, but there was a time and a place for everything.
It was getting dark. He was used to walking everywhere, but Naavah Ora had slowed and Ginger’s eyes were distant. They needed a break or it would take them even longer to reach Alt Võina.
“We should set up a fire for the evening,” Doran said.
Naavah Ora didn’t say anything, but stopped and looked around. At least he knew she agreed. He had meant what he’d said to her—two weeks would feel longer if they kept snapping at each other. He needed to apologise to her. Calling her elfling had been rude and unnecessary. She wasn’t an idiot; she would have backed off.
Ginger slowed down too.
Doran nodded to his left. “The forest looks dense enough. If bandits come past tonight they shouldn’t see us from the road.”
“I don’t need to rest,” Naavah Ora said.
Her attitude irked him. “Yes, you do, and we all need to eat. We can rest tonight and move on at first light.”
“And if bandits do see us from here?” Ginger asked.
Doran shrugged. He’d been lucky so far, but perhaps his luck was just starting to run out.
“They’d never stand a chance,” Naavah Ora said. She was supposed to be a skilled sorceress. Doran already felt sorry for anyone stupid enough to attack them. Her words were sharp enough to kill any enemy even without magic.
Doran smiled. “Then it’s decided.” They’d all feel better in the morning. Maybe their tempers would have cooled a little too.
They walked into the forest until Doran was sure the road was far enough away. He made a small fire pit out of branches and rocks. Naavah Ora lit it without being asked—a simple wave of her hand, a small flame igniting in her palm, and the branches he’d stacked together caught fire. Doran didn’t see magic as the cause of all evil like the rest of Ceidir, but he still backed away. She didn’t even blink—she thought it, and the flame appeared. Real fire, just like that. Too much power for one person.
Her fire seemed too bright in the dark shelter of the forest. The sun was setting, but under the cover of the trees it was much darker than it’d been out there, on the open road.