WE TRAVELED FOR almost a week with very little conversation. This wasn’t because of any reticence on my behalf. I talked. My whispers filled the space around us. It’s all I could do the first few days.
I was nervous and the sound of my chatter helped fill my own head. It also helped block thoughts of Sivo and Perla. I ached with the knowledge that I would never see them again. That I left them alone to face the eventual return of Cullan’s soldiers.
Fowler never talked, but I didn’t let his silence discourage me. I addressed the back of him, glad for the distraction, needing to forget the ache in my heart.
A nearly impossible task. A lump formed in my throat as I skirted a large outcropping, my palm skimming the rock’s jagged surface. Fowler jumped down lightly before me, the sound of his boots hitting the earth signaling the sudden drop in the ground. I followed suit, bending slightly to brace my hand on the ground and landing smoothly where the ground gave way.
It had taken everything in me to say good-bye to them. Sivo had clasped my hands until they ached in his grip. Swear to me, girl. Promise me you will never come back here.
So I had promised. Not that Fowler would try to stop me if I decided to break that promise. He would probably be glad to be rid of me. Most of the time, he behaved as though I wasn’t even there. Whenever we managed to find a spot to bed down, he would roll out his pallet, and turn his back on me without a word.
So I clung to the diversion of my one-sided conversations.
“How long have you been on your own?”
“How did you meet Madoc and Dagne?”
He never replied. His silence wore on me. I understood he didn’t want me tagging along after him, but must he pretend I didn’t exist?
My steps grew swifter and I began to answer my own questions as though I were him.
I deepened my whisper into an imitation of his tone, angling my head to the side. “I am from a little town called Foolshaven.”
Angling my head in the other direction, I replied as myself, “Never heard of it. Is it anywhere near the village of Idiotsville?”
He made a slight sound, an intake of breath that might have been a laugh or a grunt of disgust.
“It’s a bit near there.” I adopted a deeper voice again, attempting to sound masculine. “A lovely place. I miss it dearly.”
He turned to face me, the air churning with the sudden swirl of movement as he advanced on me.
His presence was too close. I stepped back, unsteady on my feet in my sudden haste to avoid colliding with him.
His low, deep voice rumbled out, making a mockery of my imitation. “A bit of fancy drivel, that. You’d never hear such words from me. There’s no place left in the great vastness of this world that can be called lovely. Not since the dwellers came.”
“Oh.” I tried to sound flippant as his words sank through me like rocks. “Now he speaks.”
“Everything is bleakness and death,” he added, his voice flat, almost reprimanding. As though I should accept this.
How could his voice be so hard and yet reverberate through me with the quietness of wind? Gooseflesh broke out over my skin and the day was not even its usual cold.
I moistened my lips, my fingertips brushing the insides of my palms. My skin felt grimy and I wondered if I looked as dirty and travel worn as I felt. “When we get to Allu, what do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, once we reach there, you won’t be on the road anymore. You’ll be putting down roots.”
“I don’t know. Find a shelter. Build it if necessary. Maybe farm and store up a respectable food supply.”
I huffed out a breath. “Those are the things that you need to do. I asked you what you want to do once you get there. Once you’re safe.”
“I don’t think about what I want. That’s a luxury I don’t have.”
“Well, you might get that luxury there if Allu is all you think it will be.”
“I’ll worry about that when I get there.”
“No.” I laughed. “You don’t understand. Having free time, doing something you want to do, relaxing . . . that’s not supposed to be a worry.” I lifted my chin. “Haven’t you ever enjoyed yourself before?”
His stare crawled over my face, and I sensed his unwillingness to answer the question. Waves of frustration poured off him and I wasn’t certain whether it was a result of me or himself, but I had the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t mind giving me a good shake.
I pushed another question at him: “Do you remember life before the dwellers?” He had mentioned that there was no lovely place since the dwellers came. “They’ve been here for seventeen years,” I added unnecessarily.
I knew nothing of life without dwellers. Nothing of the time when my parents lived and ruled a kingdom awash in sunlight, where the forests ran thick with game and the fields yielded a bounty of crops.
I heard the rustling of his clothing. “Enough. Let’s move.”
My shoulders slumped with the slightest disappointment. I lowered my face, unwilling to let him read my expression if he was even still looking at me.