Chapter 4

When Edward arrived at the small, secluded hut at the edge of the jungle, he was surprised to find a small crowd gathered outside.

"We weren't the only ones who saw it fall," said Emmett mysteriously. "People have put the clues together, and when they saw us with her, they knew."

"Saw you with who? What did they know?"

"Come inside and I'll explain."

Edward, growing more irritated with Emmett's evasion by the second, stepped easily through the parting crowd and entered the house, closing the small, wooden door behind him as he did.

What he saw made him freeze.

His uncle, tousled and troubled, knelt by the edge of the fireside cot— the one reserved exclusively for those patients that Carlisle deemed most ill. Edward remembered the many bodies he had seen there after the raids last summer, all bloodied, and beaten, and dying. Beside him hovered his Aunt Esme, who spared him only a fleeting glance from where she knelt by the head of the cot, her back to the fire and her hands buried in the furs. He saw the blonde head of his brother, bent and unmoving, in a chair by the window, but Edward could barely spare him a word before his eyes snapped to the body in the bed, his mouth growing dry.

It was a woman— a small, thin creature, with arms and legs as white as lilies. Sweat slicked her ashen face and dried salt dusted her hair, and Edward would have thought her dead had he not seen the ragged rise and fall of her chest beneath a wrinkled, torn piece of clothing such as he had never seen before. He watched, stricken, as Carlisle used a knife to strip her of it, leaving her bare to the world with only a thin scrap of fabric to bind her breasts. He wanted to look away— he knew he should have looked away— but he was frozen in place, unsettled by the sight of her, so agitated and ill…

For who could have inflicted such injuries upon her, and where, in God's name, had she come from?

From the time he was small, a large portion of Edward's education had been devoted to learning the names and occupations of all the families that made up his kingdom. He knew the millers, who ground grain out in The Rocklands, and the anglers who fished off the northern coast. He knew the farmers and the carpenters, the healers and the builders… every family in his kingdom carried with them the knowledge of some essential trade, and that knowledge was passed on from Father to Son in such a way that Edward knew that neither his people nor his villages would suffer for lack of skilled workers. Marolando might not be perfect— in fact, it was far from it— but Edward knew that none of his people would go hungry or homeless so long as that familial learning was properly passed on.

But this woman— this bruised, and beaten, and broken creature in his Auntie's cot— was as strange and unfamiliar to him as the elusive Gods themselves.

"We found her on the beach," Emmett said as Carlisle continued his work. Edward watched as angry bruises and oozing, festering wounds were revealed by his uncle's tender hands. "Lying in the sand, half-dead…"

"We?" Edward spoke numbly. "Who else was with you?"

Emmett did not answer, but when Edward peeled his eyes away from the broken body, he saw how his General watched the corner, where his little brother sat hunched and tearful. Edward gave a start— he had almost forgotten about the boy in all the chaos— and a rush of guilt struck him hard when he saw the child wipe his eyes on his sleeve, his eyes rimmed red from crying.

"Jas," Edward sighed, sounding as exhausted as he felt. "Come here."

And he did. Teenage bravado forgotten and pompous arrogance left at the door, Jasper came to him, unsteady and sniffling as his brother held out a hand. Edward knew that the last year had been tough on him. Edward himself had not quite come to terms with the loss of their parents, but he knew that this upheaval had wreaked havoc in his brother's young life. Jasper was not old enough to understand— not really— and that only made it worse. Edward had known the risks. He had understood the chance his mother and father had readily taken when they'd snuck away in the night, desperate for a peace that they would never come to know. Edward knew that his father had not expected to emerge victorious, had watched as his mother had kissed her sleeping boy over and over again until she could stand it no longer and wept, bitter, broken sobs, telling him that she loved him, and that she would miss him…

But Jasper, slumbering and peaceful, had not heard her, and thus, he did not know. And their loss had made the boy angry. He had always been a sweet child, 13 years Edward's junior, but that sudden shift in power had made his only brother taciturn and hostile. He hid his hurt behind his arrogance, and that new, pompous hubris was so grating that Edward sometimes wondered if the boy had any sense at all.

But even so, when the shaking fingers clutched his, desperate for some sort of comfort, Edward gave it readily, letting the boy wrap an awkward, gangly arm around his waist in a half-hug.

"I thought she'd die," he said, the sounds muffled in Edward's sleeve. "I thought she'd be gone before we got her here…"

Edward noted, with a hint of surprised pity, that the thought seemed to terrify the boy. That spark of humility— the admittance of fear that Edward knew Jasper would interpret as weakness— shocked him, and as Edward caught a glimpse of the sweet, sensitive child he had known not so long ago, he gave his brother an affectionate, reflexive squeeze.

"She might very well have." Carlisle spoke sharply. "I don't know what kind of beast could inflict injuries such as these, but I tell you, Edward, if this was a man's doing, then he'd best be hanged."

Edward, shocked, did not know what to say. His uncle was the very definition of pacifism— no violence, no conflict, and always full of maddening compromise…

"She'll live," said Esme quietly, speaking for the first time. "I promise you that, Carlisle. This child will live. If I have to sit with her day and night to keep her well, then so be it."

"She is no child," Carlisle replied. "She is a woman grown, though where exactly she did that growing, I cannot say. Perhaps…"

Carlisle grimaced as he gazed through the western window, his eyes locking on the distant mountains that shielded them from the hostile Alia… the Others. Edward had seen more than enough of what they did to fleeing refugees who tried to escape them…

"She did not come from the rocks, Carlisle," said Emmett softly. "La princo and I saw, didn't we, Jas?"

Jasper, still sniffling, gave a soft nod.

"It's true," he said, and Edward was surprised to see those familiar blue eyes peering beseechingly into his own. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"Saw what?" asked Edward. The boy looked terrified.

"I…" The boy grew agitated. "It's mad, Ed..."

"Tell me," insisted Edward. "We must know, for her own safety, if nothing else."

Edward could tell it was as hard for Jasper to speak as it was for Edward to listen. How often had the two clashed over the past year, with Edward thrust into the role of parent to a grieving 12-year-old, and Jasper, bitter over his brother's authority as he tried to repress that desperate, yearning ache for lost family? Edward resented his brother's freedom— how often had he been forced to sit, stoic and regal, while the boy ran wild in the jungle? While Edward was the face of leadership— a task to which he knew he was not equal— his brother was as free as a bird.

But with that freedom came a loss. Gone was the sweetness, the gaiety of boyhood that had been his way, and in came the discord, the sullenness, and the anger…

"I…" Jasper worried his lip. In the cot, the girl gave a muffled cry, which forced Carlisle to jerk his hands away with a hiss.

"It might be important." Edward knelt to look him in the eye. "What did you see?"

"Fire," said Jasper finally. "I… we saw fire."

Emmett nodded his assent, and Edward's blood ran cold.

"Where?"

If the jungle was burning… Gods above. If the jungle was burning, no one was safe. Not a single man, woman, or child… The villages would fall. Their grain would turn to ash. The wild beasts in the trees would escape to the refuge of civilization, and the very air they breathed would turn sour and toxic...

"In the sky," Jasper said, and Edward was jerked roughly back to the present. The look of shock on his face must have shown, because at once, Jasper backtracked. Edward saw the irrational rage— that hot-headed temper that was so quick to rise in him— and fought to bite his tongue.

"I told you it was mad!" Jasper's voice rose in pitch. "I knew you'd think I was a liar… you always think I'm lying!"

The child was not wrong, but Edward shushed him quickly.

"Hush," said Edward, wiping a tear from his dusty face. "I believe you. What happened after?"

He calmed, with only a little suspicion.

"We…" Jasper wiped his persistently wet cheeks on his sleeve. "We saw…" He struggled to find words and Emmett, showing him a rare mercy, spoke up.

"It crashed, whatever it was," said Emmett, and Jasper seemed to sag in relief. No longer put on the spot, he retreated back into the shadows, though his fingers still clung to Edward's tunic with white-knuckled worry.

"The fire fell into the sea, about three leagues out." Emmett gestured vaguely south. "I have no idea what it was… nothing like anything we've ever seen before."

Edward sighed. In her bed of blood, the girl began to twitch and Carlisle cursed.

"It gave a mighty bang," Emmett continued, "and smoke rose high into the air, but we could see no detail in the rain, and nothing seemed to come of it. So la princo and I, we camped. Just as we said we would, in the exact same place as always. But when we woke in the morning…"

"The smoke was gone," said Jasper. "And there was just… nothing."

"Nothing?" Edward felt his chest tighten as he watched Carlisle turn the girl onto her side, her whole body convulsing…

"Nothing," confirmed Emmett. "But when we got to the beach…"

Edward bit the inside of his cheek. It had been he who had insisted that Emmett take Jasper with him on his weekly patrol, to show the boy just what it was that Edward worked so hard to preserve. He had known, even then, that the boy was too young. He had hoped it would teach him discipline. Emmett would have never led Jasper into danger, would have never let him come to harm, but Edward knew better than most just how common it was to find a corpse along the beaches at the southern shore. The currents were strong, and many— too many— had thrown themselves from the high, grey cliffs on the western side of the Bay of Tears to escape the horrors they'd suffered under enemy rule.

"She was there," supplied Jasper, his gaze glued on his brother's. "Emmett thought she was dead. He called her a jumper…"

The word seemed to confuse him, but when neither adult gave any hint of explanation, he moved on.

"But I saw her move," he finished, his eyes flickering to the still-ashen, but finally still, face of the mystery girl. Edward saw that the fit had finished and she lay still, eerily so, as Carlisle pinched her foot and tweaked her fingers, trying to elicit some response— any response— from her limp and lifeless body.

It was only when Edward saw the moist fog on the silver spoon Esme held to her cracked and swollen lips as evidence of breath that he sighed with relief, glad that for now, at least, that death was kept at bay.

Emmett cleared his throat and went on.

"And so we got her— she spoke to us, though we could not understand her— and she fainted as we got her on the horse. We rode hard, Edward— I think I'll have to give that poor beast a rest to compensate— but she never woke. We got her here and…"

He glanced plaintively at Carlisle, who gave a deep, troubled sigh.

"Here she is," he murmured. Edward watched as he sat back on his haunches, mopping his brow with a shaking, tired hand. "And all the worse for it."

"Will she live?" Jasper piped up, and Edward watched as his uncle's eyes grew sad. Carlisle often grew sad at the sight of suffering.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "All I know for sure is that she's alive now, and that's worth something."

The boy worried his lip.

"But we will do our best," he continued. "We will always do our best."

Edward watched, troubled, as the ghost of a frown crept across his brother's face. The boy had seen too much. The boy had felt too much. He knew too much, and yet at the same time, he knew too little, and did not understand. In that moment, Edward would have given anything— his crown, his home, his heart— just so long as that pained, vulnerable brightness in his brother's eyes went with it.

"Your best is not always enough," said Jasper finally, and Edward's heart clenched. The boy glared at Carlisle with vehement accusation. "Sometimes, it's not even close."

"Jasper…" But Edward's reprimand held no weight. Carlisle had done his best. He had done everything he possibly could to revive those still and pale corpses, borne back home on a wild stallion through that western mountain pass…

But without another word, Jasper fled from the room. He ran away from Edward's hesitant, offering arms, past Carlisle's sad countenance, and through Esme's quiet, plaintive embrace, to escape into the wild, where he bolted into the trees.

Translations:

La Princo
The Prince