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Olive’s Bible dried beside a crackling flame. Rush shivered beside it, watching, wishing the heat could undo the damage. Everywhere ached between sore muscles and bruises. The sun slipped behind the trees and a breeze sprang up, only causing him to shake more.
Rush looked in his bag again to see the ruined food. There was no way he could continue on like this, not unless he found another week’s worth of food. And from what he knew of the Arcian border, there were barely any towns out here, let alone any place that had enough extra to donate to his cause. Raiders had long since flattened all the settlements this far north.
He tossed and turned through a sleepless night. The question pounded him again and again: What should I do?
As the moon sunk below the horizon, he finally found an answer.
When the sun rose, he rose with it. He lifted the sagging book from beside the cold remains of the fire, brushing his hands across the smooth pages. Though they were dry, water stained and blurred them. He flipped to the front to see Olive’s name, but it too was gone. The tears of the previous night threatened to return; he pushed them back. Now was not the time for weeping. He knew what he must do. Rush dumped the sorry remains of his rations near the fire and returned the Bible to his bag.
Rush studied the Pinnacles. They loomed ahead, stretching into the clouds. The first roots of the mountains were only two days’ journey away. His emotions warred with his last scraps of reason. Even if he could muster up enough strength to travel that distance without food, there would be days more searching for the rebel’s base. And a half-starved skeleton that could barely support a blade would be no threat to Ward, or anyone else.
And if he continued now? He’d be breaking his deal with God. Rush had seen enough divine resistance in the past week; he was not inclined to fight it anymore.
But that made the decision no easier.
Be not overcome with evil.
He took one last, lingering gaze at the mountains.
Swallowing the pain, he tore his eyes away and faced south.
His feet remained rooted in place.
It took an extraordinary act of will to lift one shoe and place it down. Another step. And another. Each became easier until he could walk without resistance. Face fixed straight ahead, he let the Pinnacles fade from memory.
A weight dropped from his shoulders, but another replaced it, wrenching his heart. All his collected anger melted and flowed out in grief. His eyes watered, but he wiped them clear. If God was forcing him to endure this pain, he might as well get numb to it. He couldn’t cry about it like some child. That would just make it worse.
By noon, as hunger twisted Rush’s stomach, smoke floated from the horizon. He sighed with relief. If he was to make it all the way home, he’d need at least a week’s worth of provisions. At the moment, he had none. Rush trekked toward it.
Buildings and wooden palisades sprouted from behind grassy hills. Columns of smoke rose from every chimney to ward off the winter chill. A line of travelers streamed in and out of the front gate along a cobbled path. And a stone tower stretched far above the rooftops.
Rush froze.
Beside the tower hovered an Arcian airship.
The white compass rose, plastered across the side, made its allegiance clear, and across the hull was painted the name, H.M.S. Herald. Rush let out a breath even while his chest tightened. It wasn’t the Embark, so no one on board would know his face. But…it wasn’t the Embark. He cringed at the memory of the ship being torn apart by dragons and prayed, not for the first time, that everyone on board survived.
He backtracked and rounded the city until he neared the cobblestone road. It crested a wooded hill, and Rush slipped between the trees, hiding under low-hanging leaves as all manner of people passed by. Glancing around trunks, he spotted a family with several children making its way toward town, all chattering away. When they came close, he stepped from the trees into the flow of bodies. His eyes stayed glued to the stone underfoot.
A wooden archway ahead bore an engraved sign that read, “WELCOME TO BRECKLY.” A pike-wielding guard stood on either side, their eyes roaming across every face. Rush’s heart sped up, and he forced his head down, holding his breath. Might they recognize him? Had Vance already spread the word about his betrayal?
“Oy! You there!”
The boy hunched and quick-stepped past the soldiers.
“’Bout time you showed your face again.”
He tensed to run, to fight, to escape.
But another voice shouted from behind. “You won’t take me! I—I have rights!” Rush spun around to see the crowd clearing away from a bedraggled man. His eyes darted around and he backed up like a cornered animal. The guards left their posts and closed in, leveling the pikes.
As spectators inched closer to the brewing fight, Rush strode under the arch and into Breckly. He darted into an alley. The breath he held finally spilled out.
His thoughts whirled around. Why is an airship here? Perhaps it was usually stationed at the town. But Rush knew better than that—he had seen this very ship at the Prince Nathaniel. It was a scout, and scouts looked for things.
Or people.
Like Rush.
He risked a glimpse of the ship’s underbelly. Two men paced the watch deck, scanning the streets. One locked eyes with him.
He turned away and retreated farther into the alley. What if Vance is with them?
What if Vance is dead?
He wasn’t sure which of the two thoughts was more terrifying.
He had few options for finding food. With no money, he couldn’t buy anything, and his conscience was too guilty already to steal. Not to mention the airship and patrols on the ground that would have a sharp eye out for him. His nose wrinkled at one idea, but the constant pain in his stomach overruled reservations.
Besides, it was a big town. Yes, an airship stared down at him, but as long as he looked down, he could almost forget it was there. He just had to not do anything stupid and he would be fine.
With a glance up and down the alley, he melted back into the human river sweeping down the street. Conversations buzzed around him. Bells tolled from somewhere. A fiddler beside the street drew a crowd. Intent on his goal as he was, Rush couldn’t help but admire the bustle of the town. Hast was never this busy, even during harvest time.
He broke into the town square, a large open space dominated by a sparkling fountain. Water shimmered as it plunged from bowl to bowl. Market stalls and shoppers packed the rest of the space. Meat sizzled and dripped juice into flames; a blacksmith pounded away at some tool; hawkers all but forced their wares into the hands of customers.
Rush’s mouth watered. He just needed to get behind one stall and scrounge up their scraps. The sellers wouldn’t mind, surely.
“Young man!” A finger tapped his shoulder. Rush clenched his fists and kept his eyes straight ahead. If they were going to claim he was Rush Cooper, he would just deny it and walk away. Being caught there was out of the question.
The source of the voice walked in front of him. It was only a dwarf of a man, shorter even than Rush. A chain dangled from his hand, adorned by a rainbow of jeweled rings. “Would you care to pick up one of my world-renowned shiny rings?”
Rush shook his head and pushed past him. The man continued to chatter, listing every reason the boy should buy such a ring, but he tuned out the rambling. He had a job to do. Pushing through the maze of a crowd, he worked closer to the edge of the square.
Someone again tapped his shoulder; he turned. “No, I don’t want to buy any—” His gaze met the man standing behind him and his mouth dropped open.
Captain Vance Hale scowled and crossed his arms. “How has your trip been?”
Rush’s eyes bulged, his jaw slack. Vance Hale? Alive? Uninjured? And…quite upset, though that was no surprise. How could he have survived the attack? And why was he here?
Rush realized he had been staring, wordlessly, for several seconds. “I…uh…you’re…” That wasn’t much of an answer.
Vance glared at him, the expression carrying loathing and pity. Rush cringed under its weight. He had hurt every friend—who was even left for him anymore? The captain reached for Rush, but he ducked and dashed beside the man into the square. Vance lingered before turning and shouting, “Thief! Stop him!”
The words hung in the air like an arcing cannonball before sinking in. Hands reached for him, grasping his clothes. He dodged and darted away. Ahead, an empty side street beckoned him onward.
Three soldiers ambled out of the street into the square, laughing with one another. Rush ducked between them and flew down the alley.
“Stop him! That’s the boy!” Vance said.
Shouts and footsteps bounced between walls. Rush gasped and clawed at air as if it would pull him forward faster. Twist after turn, his pursuers remained. Stars swam before his vision. His side throbbed, but he couldn’t stop. They could hang him. They could throw him in jail.
Swinging around a corner, he slammed into a blue wall.
He stepped back and looked up into the face of Thaddeus. The man fixed Rush with a glare so dark it made Vance’s reaction seem like a mother’s love. He seized Rush by the shoulders and shoved him against a wall, cursing. “So you still came this way, after all. After all the captain told you. After all we did for you.” He cursed again. “You’re no better than those rebels.”
The words bound his tongue. How could he argue? How was downing an airship any more evil than raiding a town? His legs buckled, and he went limp in the quartermaster’s arms.
Vance and the others caught up, surrounding Rush with disapproving scowls. Then, escort in tow, Thaddeus paraded the boy to the stone tower.
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