He shakes his head. Behind him he opens the pack he’s been carrying and tucks my own smaller backpack inside. Then he carefully slings the whole thing over my shoulder. It’s heavy. He takes time to adjust the strap and hands me a flashlight, which I stash away.
I go now, he signs finally. He adjusts his rifle, slinging it over his back, and takes a step away from me, as though to leave, just like that.
“August.”
The light is fading, and he is doing that thing where his shape gets less distinct the less light there is. It is a shadow that turns back to me expectantly.
“Where will you go?”
The shadow shrugs.
“What will you do?”
See you nevermore.
It’s like being stabbed with three sharp and perfect icicles. Zero. Repeat. Forever. I’m not even sure that Tucker could have been so beautifully pitiful. Not even if he were angling for the best roll of his life. August has nothing to gain from me. He’s just being honest.
“No, probably not. Here, I want you to keep this.” I dig in the bag he’s slung over my shoulder and come up with the slim book, “The Raven,” and my red pencil.
To August, I write on the title page. Take care, from Raven.
I don’t quite have the heart to write “love.”
August purrs softly as he reads the inscription, before tucking the book away somewhere in his armor.
Sad. He makes the sign on his own face first, then repeats it on mine, tracing the track of the single tear I can’t stop. He moves to leave again.
“Will you go back to your people?” He shakes his head. “Why not?”
He makes a new sign, like a little cage with his hand, then he flips it upside down. The meaning is clear.
I’m free.
“You are free, August. Don’t forget that.”
You made me free.
I almost gasp. “No, you did that for yourself.”
He nods, although I get the sense that he doesn’t believe me. Or maybe I misread his signs. It’s possible he meant “You made me a prisoner and now I’m free.”
I have so many things I want to say to him all of a sudden, things I should have said before. And questions to ask, although I’m not sure how he would answer them. I don’t even really know where to start, but I have to get this all out in about thirty seconds, because if I don’t, I’ll never be able to leave him.
“August, just . . . please don’t harm yourself. Okay? I know you think there is nothing in the world for you. I know that. And I know that you are so much better than what is expected of you from your . . . people, whatever they are. I know how you feel about . . .”
I almost say me, but what would be the point of that?
“ . . . things. I know you’re different from the others. You must be.” I’m rambling nonsense. I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t so miserable. The problem is I can’t imagine a future for him that doesn’t involve despair or death, most likely both.
“Find somewhere to hide, August. Just hide away from all this. That’s what I’m going to do.”
With Topher?
“With other humans, yes. We’re going to hide here. You won’t tell anyone?”
No. Forever.
“You won’t . . . harm yourself, will you?”
Promise.
He’s so sincere somehow, without facial expressions or a tone of voice; I believe his promise more than I have ever believed anything in my life. Letting my head fall into my mittens, I release a shaky sigh. Eventually, I feel his hand on my left shoulder again.
“I don’t know why you’ve been so kind to me,” I say, looking up at him. He draws a little swirl on his forehead, which I take to mean something like “I’m confused.” He puts his other hand on my shoulder and slowly draws me forward. I step toward him as though in a dream, one step, two, three, until I am pressed up against his chest, his breastbone at my eye level. Then he wraps his arms around me and squeezes me, so tenderly that my heart seems to contract in my rib cage, and expand again like a bird discovering its wings.
“August,” I whisper, because I can’t think of anything else to say. He’s held me before, carried me like a child, but this is different. I encircle his waist with my arms and lay my head on his chest, letting tears drip down his armor, which is as warm as a hot water bottle. He drops his head and rests it on top of mine. I feel him slip my hood down and pull back the knitted cap. His fingers curl into the unraveling twists of my hair, his rattling, buzzing breath going in and out. I can feel his sorrow almost as acutely as my own and wish there were something I could do about it. I want to tell him we might be together again one day, that everything will be all right, that he makes me very, very happy.
But only one of those things is true.
We stand like that for a while, as the daylight fades. Finally, it is he who steps back. I wipe my eyes on my mittens.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I say. I can’t believe I haven’t said this before. When I think of some of the things I did say to him . . .
There are subtleties to his language that I am just beginning to understand. Things I will never fully learn now. Important differences that matter. Like the difference between me and my. The difference between happiness and pleasure.
My pleasure, he signs. After a moment he adds, Say good-bye.
I try but I can’t. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. August takes my shoulders again, turns me and gives me a little nudge toward the path to the base. I take one step, two, three, before I turn back to see he is walking away, disappearing into the shadows of the mountains beyond. I watch him until he puts both hands on his head. Then his image blurs too much to see.
AUGUST
I walk until darkness covers me, until I’m sure if I looked back, I would not be able to see her, even if she hasn’t moved from where we parted. If I looked back, I would not be able to see the empty place where she stood, the deficiency of her. This is the thing I don’t want to see.
I will see her nevermore.
After the battle in the city Sixth warned me about many things. That was when she still felt some responsibility for me, before I disappointed and frustrated her so much that she stopped caring what happened to me. She warned me not to disconnect below 4,000 feet, by the human measures, because I wouldn’t be able to breathe. And to never disconnect where humans could see. She warned me about the Elevenths and Twelfths, that they were mostly lost, defective, and not to be trusted if I should encounter one. And she warned me about human girls. I listened obediently, watching her hands make signs I knew but barely used. Of all the things she said to me, so many of which I’ve forgotten, I remember this: Human girls will interest you. You will feel things just by looking at them. You will confuse your devotion to me with feelings for them. This is a human trick. They will trick you into sympathy, into letting them go, letting them live. Higher ranks than you have been destroyed because they couldn’t bring themselves to dart a human girl. Stay focused and stay away from them.