She reminded me of a flower that used to bloom in Relhok. The scarlet buds once dotted the hills outside Relhok City. They were wrapped up in my earliest recollections, tangled amid memories of sunshine on my skin. The flower had faded from existence a few years after the eclipse, like so many things since then.
From the moment I could walk, my nurse had taught me to avoid them when we went outdoors. I would lie in the tall grasses surrounding the castle, directly beside one such flower, and study the red petals. So beautiful and delicate in their seeming harmlessness. I would hover a fingertip over a petal, tempted to touch for myself, to delve into the deeper darkness nestled at the root of those petals. One day I did.
It was only the slightest brush of my finger, but the burn had been swift like a wasp’s sting. My hand swelled and my nurse had clucked at me, shooting me fearful glances as she applied a salve to the injury. It was not that she thought the sting would kill me . . . but that I would kill me—a boy who had to touch and see for himself what danger felt like.
Luna was like that flower: innocent on the outside, but dangerous to anyone who got too close. Even me.
She kept up, following me as we ascended a steep crest. When we reached the top it would plateau to the exact place I had spotted the nisan weed. Was that only yesterday? It felt like a good deal more time had passed since I first met this girl.
“You’re taking a long, dangerous journey based on rumors.” Her words circled me like an insistent gnat. She didn’t know when to quit. “What if you cross the continent and find it’s not even there—”
“It’s there.” My steps hit the ground harder. “You talk too much.”
“You’re angry,” she announced, her tread quickening to match my pace.
“No.” My tone and brevity didn’t seem to affect her.
Usually a scowl worked. Or a look. It was something in my eyes. When I left Relhok City, Govin, the bowman who trained me and the only person left I felt compelled to say farewell to, had told me that my eyes were dead.
I’d seen a lot of dead eyes over the years. It was impossible to understand unless you witnessed it happening—the moment life departed and slid away like a wisp of smoke. The light in one’s eyes, a light you didn’t even realize was there, faded to nothing.
She’d never have to witness that. Scowls and dead-eyed stares were useless on her.
She pressed on, blithely unaware. Or indifferent. “What if it’s not as you say though? What if dwellers are there?”
I stopped and faced her. “Then it won’t be any different from any other place, will it?”
“Except you will have gone so far. . . . What about your home—”
“I’m trying to forget where it is I come from.”
We topped the crest. Sprawling bushes rose up before us. I stopped before the thick hedge of nisan.
“We’re here.”
Luna reached out a hand to touch the wild bramble.
“Careful,” I warned. “There are thorns.” I squatted, flipping open my satchel. She followed me down, her hand reaching out and gently touching the flowers. A soft smile lifted her lips. I couldn’t remember the last time I thought about any girl’s smile. Blinking, I looked away. I started to pull at the herb, stuffing it in my bag.
“Wait, stop. Don’t pull up the root.” She removed a dagger from the sheath at her waist and carefully began to snip bits of the plant’s flowers. “We want it to regrow.”
“Optimistic, aren’t you? That it will ever regrow with so little sunlight? It looks as though it’s barely hanging on as it is.”
“And yet it’s here. Seventeen years after the eclipse.” She worked intently, her forehead creasing as she carefully snipped at the nisan and tucked it into her satchel. “The eclipse can’t last forever.”
“It can’t?”
She turned to face me. “There was light before. There will be again.”
“That’s what the Oracle has been saying for years and it hasn’t come to pass.”
“It will though. She’s right.”
The Oracle was not right. Everyone could play tribute at her altar, but not me. She was a puppet for the king. As bad as he was.
She continued, “Maybe we won’t be lucky enough for it to happen in our lifetime, but it will happen again someday. This happened before. I’m certain you heard the folk tales.”
“Yes. So.”
“Well, it happened before and it ended before. We merely need to hold on until then.”
“You’re a fool to put faith in anything except what’s before you.” Rising to my feet, I snapped, “Come. We need to head back.”
We moved swiftly, conscious of passing time.
I scanned the area. Just because it was midlight didn’t mean it was safe to relax. This was the one time of day when people could move without fear of dwellers. Everyone came out of hiding, including the good and the bad, and there were more of the bad. Desperate times brought out the worst in people. Opportunists and scavengers abounded. The good were too trusting. They had perished first, many lost in those early years of the eclipse.
As we hastened back to the tower, I peered where the branches hung the thickest. Rumors of a curse in the Black Woods didn’t keep everyone out. It hadn’t kept me out.
We were making good time when suddenly I realized it felt too quiet.