Thief Eyes - Janni Lee Simner [60]
Ari stumbled, caught himself, and stumbled again. I stroked his fur. “Just a little further,” I said, hoping it was true.
Ari put on a final burst of speed as we left another town behind and headed into a broad valley. Grassy hills rose to our left, and a rocky field stretched out to our right. Ari wove around a herd of sheep that were sleepily crossing the road. Unlike the horse, the sheep didn’t seem to see us.
The horizon turned gray. Drizzle fell, sizzling as it hit my hot skin. Not panicking, not panicking … The rain rolled right off Ari’s white fur. He slowed down to look at a road sign. I shined the flashlight on it. Ari nodded and sped back up. Several more times he slowed to read signs and squint at the farmhouses beyond them.
Abruptly the pavement ended. The sky was brighter now, and I didn’t need a flashlight to see the sign at the roadside: Hlidarendi, it read. Ari turned left and headed up a steep gravel lane, damp with rain. Around us, yellow and orange grasses were dotted with dandelions gone to seed. Raindrops clung to their fuzzy white tops. We passed another farmhouse, rounded a bend, and headed toward a small red-roofed church. On the slopes beyond it I saw more farmhouses.
Bright light broke through the dripping gray clouds. Ari staggered, and his fur rippled beneath my hands. I lost my grip and slid to the ground, even as Ari shrank, fur withdrawing into skin, head and arms and legs all pulling back, reshaping themselves into a human face, human limbs. In moments Ari’s white hair was all that remained of the bear he’d been. He crouched on all fours, looking at me. I couldn’t tell whether his skin was drenched with sweat or rain.
“Sorry,” he said. “I guess you’ll have to walk—the last few meters—” He tried to stand, but crumpled to the ground.
“Ari!” I knelt beside him, ignoring the fire that burned on in me, ignoring sore hips and aching hands and the rain that continued to fall. His eyes were closed. I leaned close to his lips to make sure he was breathing.
Ari’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave a shaky smile. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?” He slowly sat up. “I’m okay. Just—a little tired.” His breath came out in gasps.
I remembered Svan talking about berserks. Strong enough during a change, not much use after. “Can you stand?”
“I can,” Ari said. “But I—would rather—not if—it’s all—the same to you. Gunnar’s home is somewhere—past the church, I think. You should be able to make it—the rest of the way—on your own.”
“Hell no. We got this far together. I’m not ditching you now.”
“Being ditched doesn’t sound—so bad. Just give me a few minutes.”
I rubbed my arms. Through the nylon and fleece, I felt the heat from my skin. How long could I wait?
Something must have showed in my face, because Ari nodded grimly and draped his arm over my shoulders. His legs wobbled as I pulled him to his feet. He shivered in the thin light. “Your skin is burning, Haley.”
“I know.” I unzipped my jacket. The fire burned on, sweat plastering my T-shirt to my skin. Ari looked at me, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I continued up the hill, dragging him with me. The path was steeper than it looked. My thighs ached as we climbed. Ari’s legs trembled.
“What you did,” I said as the rain kept falling around us, evaporating when it hit my skin. “That was amazing.”
Tired as he was, Ari grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I think I could get used to being a bear.” He stumbled; I caught him. “Only the hangover the next morning? That part sucks.”
The gravel ended at a parking lot behind the church. From the roof, I heard chittering. A half dozen black-capped arctic terns were lined up there, staring at us through tiny eyes.
We walked faster, across the parking lot and up the hillside. Ari panted as we climbed through grasses slick with rain. Sheep grazed on the slopes above us. A stream trickled downhill a few dozen feet to our right, and a small wooden bridge arced over it. “I’m supposed—to go—here on—a class trip—next year. I don’t know—the exact spot