Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [70]
Dreslya's quiet fears for her sister were revealed in Sameska's words. She wept, heedless of Baertah's rolling eyes and disinterested sigh as he left her alone in the sanctuary. She was more alone than he knew. She felt the final loss of her family descend on her shoulders and bear her to the floor.
* * * * *
Quin glanced toward Elisandrya as she gathered her equipment, checking arrows and bowstrings for dampness.
She didn't look up at him as she fidgeted with her pack. He'd wandered to the edge of the road after her confession about the prophecy, unable to speak for the tempest that raged within him. He did not blame this warrior woman who'd helped him and fought by his side. Faith in and of itself was not an offense to him. This high oracle and so-called prophecy, however, he could not entirely accept. He didn't-couldn't-believe it.
Eli stood and kicked at the dying remnants of their campfire, the embers hissing as the wet soil smothered them. He watched as she double-checked her sword and her newly repaired bow. She chanced a look toward him, and he turned away, afraid that she might misunderstand his sudden silence. Still afraid that she might fear him.
Quietly she approached him from behind. Clearing her throat, she spoke first, breaking the awful quiet.
"You do not plan to continue on to Littlewater, do you?"
Quin shook his head slowly and fixed his gaze south along the curve of the Low Road. Though he was curious to know why he was being sought by Littlewater's guards, it was obvious they were not the reason he was called to the region. Elisandrya's tale of prophecy had proven that.
He held his tongue. He had seen towns disappear because of prophecy and complacent faith. The ruins of Char were still fresh in his mind, the blackened bones on ancient pews. The bloodied gates in Logfell were not far from his thoughts either.
His wounds still ached, having grown stiff while he rested. He needed the healing winds of the shadowalk to prepare him for what lay ahead. Sleep had returned the mystical current of darkness to his spirit, allowing him access to that supernatural ability. Despite his desire to feel whole again, the warrior woman stood behind him, her eyes full of questions.
He felt obligated to explain himself to her, for saving his life and tending to his wounds. He sensed a kindred spirit in her, a love of the road and a desire to act rather than wait for things to get better. She had defied her elders in coming to find him. He owed her as much as he could summon himself to admit.
Turning to face her, he forgot much of what he'd thought to say as their eyes met.
"I am no champion-barely a Hoarite, and certainly no priest. I am led by an oath I made long ago, and I place no weight in dangerous prophecies. I have been called ghostwalker, but this is just as often an insult as a description."
"What are you saying?"
He leveled his gaze once again to the south, narrowing his eyes and collecting his thoughts.
"I think this Sameska has endangered her people by giving them a false hope when they should be arming themselves against whatever lurks in those trees." He looked back to her. "And I'm saying that you feel the same way, otherwise you would not be here." Though his words were presumptuous considering the short time they had spent together, he felt confident they were true and awaited her response.
"Fair enough. What do you propose we do about it?"
His lips curved in a grim smile. "We're going to Brookhollow."
"But that will only strengthen Sameska's stance against defending the city. With your arrival there, the prophecy may go unopposed."
He placed a hand on her shoulder and his smile grew broader, a mischievous light dancing in his strange eyes. "Humor me."
His sudden change in demeanor startled her, and she looked at him curiously. Though dark forces seemed gathered against all she knew, she waited in his pearly gaze. He could not help but be astounded by her.
"Fine. But we must get moving quickly," she