I whirl around and punch him with the side of my fist. When he stumbles back, I strike with fear. He drops his knife as though I punched him in the gut, but doesn’t otherwise move.
I do. Fueled with the backlash of the terror I just dealt, I run, limping, toward Azmar. I focus on the two men fighting him—one lies on the ground—and push out my fear.
Qequan only said I couldn’t use it against the trollis.
I’ve never done it this way before. I’ve always been able to see their faces. See their eyes sparkle and skin pale when the terror touches them. But the fear still takes. One backs away, shuddering as though Azmar has grown twice in size. The other attacks with renewed vigor, fighting over fleeing.
His knife tip nicks Azmar’s arm. Azmar snatches him by the elbow, and a sickening crunch nearly makes my stomach empty itself as the arm breaks. The man shouts and runs. Azmar lets him.
The man who held me dashes away, back through the trees. Homper races north, after the other two humans, a shrinking gray dot on the amber landscape as the sun sets against him.
I limp to the fallen man first, not the one quaking in terror. He still has a pulse. The cowering man, who covers his head as though fire were raining from the sky, is barely a man at all. I think he must be fifteen, sixteen at most.
Azmar and I exchange a look. He tips his head toward the adolescent.
I approach the boy, hiding a grimace as the skin on my thigh pulls when I kneel beside him. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you.” If only I could pull the fear back in the same way I dole it out. But I can’t. I’ve tried before.
He lifts his head, his face dirty and streaked with sweat. “Then why did you attack?”
I frown. “You attacked us.”
“Y-You chased.”
“You trespassed.”
His eyes, a bright blue, shift from me to Azmar. He swallows. “Why do you help them?” he whispers. “We could free you.”
“I’m not a slave.” I say it as compassionately as I can. My thigh stings, my hair sticks to my neck, my legs ache from the run. “We just want to know who you are. Why you were spying on us.”
“We weren’t . . .” But he doesn’t finish the sentence. Glances uneasily to Azmar.
I cut the air with my hand. “Oh, he’s hardly terrifying.”
Azmar lifts an eyebrow, curious, if not surprised, at the statement. The boy looks unsure.
“My name is Lark,” I try. “What’s your name? And his?” I gesture to the unconscious man. He’s starting to stir. Azmar notices and moves to stand guard.
The boy watches Azmar’s every move. “T-Tayler,” he says, low, so only I’ll hear him. “That’s my cousin.”
“I think your cousin will be okay.” I look up in the direction Homper went. I don’t see him, and I don’t see the injured human and his companion. I hope they’re safe. “Just tell me, please. We’ll let you go if you tell us.”
I give Azmar a look. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t speak against the idea.
Tayler hesitates. “We’re just . . . We’re just low on supplies. Mountain runoff dried up. Knew about the troll city. Were only watching to see where they got their food from. Nothing says only trolls can harvest the land around the bridge.”
“You wanted their resources.”
“Weren’t going to take it from them.” He shoots a scathing look to Azmar. “Just . . . Just see where it came from. How their lures work, or if there was a river . . . I don’t know. My pa had me come. We’re not thieves.”
I rest a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t say you were.”
He relaxes a fraction. “You’ll let me go?”
Azmar says, “That’s all you wanted?” He sounds skeptical.
The tension surges up in Tayler’s frame. “I’m not a thief. I’m not a liar.” He turns to me and, almost pleading, says, “I mean it. We’ve come a really long way. We weren’t going to hurt no one. This was just self-defense!” He looks around, either for injured friends or for a way out, I’m not sure. I silently urge him not to run, for Azmar might not be gentle if he tries. “Should have brought Baten. You’d listen to him.” He says the last bit to Azmar. “But they said it wasn’t a good idea, even though he’s faster than all of us.”
Tayler’s companion groans and rolls over.
“Baten?” I ask.
Tayler chews on the inside of his cheek. “He’s one of them.” He tips his head toward Azmar. “Half, anyway.”
Just like Perg. I lean back, then wince when it pulls at my injury. “You have a half trollis in your camp?”
Tayler glowers, skeptical. “Why not? Their kind won’t take care of them.”
Azmar looks equally stunned, though I try to keep my focus on Tayler. “We . . . There’s a half trollis in Cagmar as well. He’s a friend of mine. His name is Perg.”
Tayler eyes me, but I think he believes me. And then I’m aware of Azmar standing near me, the sun casting his shadow long across the ground. His kindness to me. His arms around me in the waterworks.
I swallow, hard. “Your township accepts him?”
Tayler shrugs. “He’s been there since he was a baby. He’s older than I am.”
“Where is your township?”
Tayler’s face closes off instantly at my thoughtless question. Of course he won’t tell me where he lives, not with Azmar right there. Wherever it is, it’s far enough away not to be on my father’s maps.
I look around, licking my dry lips. The monotonous land has little in the way of notable formations or vegetation, save for the copse of spindly trees. Then I realize something.
There’s a township I haven’t been to. Another place of refuge.
The Cosmodian, the only person to instill hope in my fearful heart, might live there.
I want to know. I want to know so desperately that a chirp escapes my lips. At the very least, to be able to thank her . . . and if given the chance, I want so badly to learn from her. To learn more about myself and the workings of the gods and their messages in the stars. To understand my place in the universe and, one day, to brighten the future of someone else, the way the Cosmodian did for me.
It feels too forward to ask outright. I think for a few beats, then pull close to Tayler. His eyes widen, but I seek only to reach his ear. “The flowers that grow in the canyon’s shade are edible. They can be replanted.” I think of my schedule. “The day after tomorrow, if you can, would you meet me here? If your camp isn’t moving too far. I want to know more. I know you can’t trust me now, but I want to know.”
I pull back. Tayler studies me. I can feel the weight of Azmar’s stare as well, but I don’t meet it. Tayler mumbles, “Give me four days. Evening.”
Relief puffs up like the smoke of a newly lit pipe.
I stand, faulty on my injured leg, and say, “Let them go, before Homper gets back.” I turn to Azmar. “Please.”
His mouth sets into a line—I imagine this goes against his training—but he nods.
Tayler moves like a snake, bolting toward his cousin, who blinks, confused. Tayler hauls him to his feet. The cousin sees Azmar and reaches for his belt, but his weapon is gone. Tayler mutters something to him and drags him north. I watch them go. After about thirty feet, they both take off at a run.