I wrack my mind for his name. Caleb reluctantly throws out Earle Locust-tree, reminding me of the need to hold onto names, especially of those that I work with. “Sure.”
Earle jogs ahead to hold back a skinny tree branch for me. Up close, I can see that it resembles something more akin to scrub or manzanita than the kinds of trees I’m used to. As I pass by Earle, he says, “This portal you’re to make today, how will you do it?”
I shift the straps on my backpack; they’re biting into my shoulders. Why do snacks and water bottles have to weigh so much? And while I’m at it, why does the portal have to be so far away from any conveniences of civilization? Aren’t they more useful when they’re close to cities or something? I’m already beat and we’ve only been hiking for three hours. There are still a good three to go. “You mean, how do I create things in general?”
He nods with a hint of a shy smile. It’s sort of goofy and charming at the same time, especially on this guy, who must be a good twenty years older and radiates some pretty serious amounts of sophistication. But then, it seems most Elves do. Astrid Lotus is a prime example of that. “It’s going to sound a bit nutty,” I tell him, “but it’s like I can ask atoms and molecules to group together.” He appears puzzled, so I add, “I can feel them, like they’re waiting for instructions. Sometimes they do what they need to do themselves, like they’re pre-programmed. Other times, I can make them do what I want.”
He kicks back an overgrown bush, scraggly and rough in texture and appearance. “I guess I can see that. It’s a little like what I can do, too, only I control air molecules.”
That’s right. He’s a Cyclone. Jonah pointed him out to me once, telling me that Earle Locust-tree was good, but he was no Raul Mesaverde. Still, it’s somewhat comforting to know that I have somebody around who can pretty much drive busybodies away by simply targeting a tornado at them.
It must be a hundred degrees where we are when we finally stop to rest. I peel off my button down, despite the rolled up sleeves, grateful I had the foresight to wear a tank top since I’m sweating like a pig on a spit.
“Do you have enough water?” Earle asks. He perches next to me on a petrified log, rooting through his backpack for bottles.
I hold up my own drink and shake the little bit left. “Got three more. My fiancé went a little overboard this morning, insisting I bring so many.”
“No, that’s good.” Earle smiles. His teeth are crooked, which makes it all the nicer. “It’s definitely better to have more than you need than not enough.” He takes a swig. “You’re engaged to Jonah Whitecomb, right?” After I nod, he’s the one to look over at Kellan, brow scrunching. It doesn’t take a mind reader to know he’s wondering why, if I’m engaged to Kellan’s twin brother, there hasn’t been a single word between us during the entire trip so far.
And that’s really just a whole lot of salt in my still raw wound, which I cannot allow. Time to take the focus off of me. “What about you?” I motion to his hand, like the ring on his finger doesn’t already tell me. “Married?”
Earle’s face falls. I’m about to apologize for words I had no idea were painful when he says quietly, “Was.” My lips go as round as my eyes, so he holds out a hand. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” Tears build in his eyes, so he closes them, blowing out a hard breath.
I scramble to find something appropriate. “I am so, so sorry,” I tell him. I can’t help but place a hand on his arm. He’s too young to have found love and then lost it forever.
Earle’s smile is no longer charming. It’s now painfully brittle. “Can you promise me something, Chloe?”
Okay . . . um . . . he wants something from me? Not that I’m opposed to helping him, but what in the worlds could I do to help him with grief? I can barely manage my own at any given moment. Even still, I nod.
He stares at the dirt below our feet. “I know what you’ve done with the Elders in the past, how you were able to trap some in Annar. I wasn’t there when you did it, I was on a mission, but the Guard still talks about it.”
My heart sinks. No, no, no. Please, Earle, do not tell me that you lost someone to the Elders, too.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. When he looks up, his eyes are fierce. “Don’t give up on getting them. Swear you’ll do whatever it takes to stop the killings.”
There’s no hesitation, even though it scares the crap out of me to say it. “Of course.”
“They killed him.” His eyes hold so much sadness and anger. “Like he was nothing. Took every last bit of soul out of him and left behind a shell. What does one do with that? How does one go on?” He laughs; it’s a gurgle that borders on a sob. “I haven’t figured it out yet. Work, they tell me. And time. And you know what?”