- CHAPTER ELEVEN -
Wasteland, ii

There was a greatness I felt for a while, but somehow it changed
Some kind of greatness I used to protect me from all of my stains
Yeah I wish this was vertigo
It just feels like I'm falling slow

-Needtobreathe, "Wasteland"

The thing about a small island like Skorghjil was that there wasn't much to do.

There were chores, of course. The three Araluens were still prisoners of war, in all likelihood future slaves—so of course, all the cooking and washing up fell to them. But even with a wolfship's crew of rowdy Skandians to clean up after, much of the day was left unaccounted for.

It was Gilan's job to fix that.

Or so he thought. In truth, he wasn't actually certain this was the case. But he sensed that the empty time they'd spent moping and sitting around had done nothing good for his young companions' states of mind. As the oldest of the bunch, it seemed reasonable that it was his job to change that.

But moreover, there was the matter of Will's training. And this was where Gilan truly felt uncertain as to his role. He wasn't Will's master. He was far too young to even have an apprentice of his own, being the most junior silver-leaf in the Corps to begin with. Yet he felt responsible for the youngster. Halt had entrusted Will to his care. And Will was eager to learn—he'd proven himself to be an adept pupil throughout their time in Celtica, and Gilan had enjoyed teaching him. Will was an apprentice. Halt wasn't present to continue Will's training. Gilan was.

And if it was true that Gilan was the youngest silver leaf, it was equally certain that his freshness and youth did not make for a lack of skill.

Which was how they'd ended up here.

Gilan winced as Will's fist hit his ribs. It wasn't so much that the blow hurt—though admittedly it did (Will might not have been the strongest man on the island, but his long hours with the bow meant he was certainly no slouch). It was that Will used his fist at all.

"The best weapon you have access to?" he prompted as he neatly stepped backward to avoid a second strike. Will paused. He seemed wholly reluctant.

"The elbows," he responded. "But—"

Gilan shook his head. "But nothing. You won't hurt me—not too badly, at least. And hand to hand is like any other Ranger skill: The only way to truly practice it—"

"Is to do it in real life," Will finished, the familiar saying of Halt's rolling off his tongue as easily as it had come off of Gilan's.

That morning, Gilan had briskly announced that he would be beginning Will's training in hand to hand. As he had explained, the bow and knives were a Ranger's primary weapons—but there would always be occasions when those weapons weren't available.

(Such as their present one.)

"You won't always have your bow," he'd told Will, "and sometime or other you'll certainly end up without your knives. You'd best learn how to fight dirty if you want to stay alive."

As Gilan had hoped, the training was a welcome distraction for Will. Will was again proving himself to be a dedicated learner. And, as an added bonus, Gilan found that training alongside the apprentice helped maintain his own skills and fitness, which had taken a blow during their period of inactivity on the ship.

Will stood down, dashing sweat off his forehead with one forearm. He gave Gilan a half-smile. "I know it's got to feel real. It's just difficult to fight you, I guess. Feels wrong."

"Oh, I'll make it easier," Gilan promised with a grim certainty that masked his amusement. He was rewarded with the sight of Will's eyebrows pulling together as his brown eyes clouded with sudden worry. "And in any event," he added, unable to resist one last tease, "easier for you to hurt me than to hurt Halt."

Will's eyes went wide at the mere thought. "Halt made you spar with him?" he asked, incredulous as only a relatively new apprentice could be. Gilan snorted. Sometimes it was evident that Will still had the vast majority of his apprenticeship before him.

"Who else would I have practiced with?" Gilan asked rhetorically. "That's the only way to learn, after all. He taught me, and then we would go out back and practice again and again for hours." Or at least, it had felt like hours, at the time. No reason to clarify, Gilan thought to himself.

Will appeared a combination of baffled and wary. "You sparred with Halt," he repeated. "Then, surely, he wasn't angry with you for hitting him?"

Gilan shrugged. "I never said that."

Will's eyes got wide again, and Gilan decided to put the poor boy out of his misery. "In any event, you'll have to practice with full Rangers at some point. That's the only way to learn. Might be easier with me, since I won't assign you extra chores every time you land a hit."

"That does sound like Halt," Will muttered. Then he frowned. Gilan had come to recognize that this expression from Will usually preceded a question, so he waited patiently to see what it would be. Sure enough, it was only a few seconds later that Will spoke.

"So, when you're fighting someone hand-to-hand, you're supposed to take every opportunity you can get." Gilan nodded.

"That's right."

"So—" Will's brow furrowed. "Back in Celtica, when you were teaching Horace to fight and showing us the double-knife defense. What happened to that noble way of fighting you both were going on about?"

Gilan hid a smile at how Will's awkward words very much conveyed his lack of understanding. "That's true," he allowed. "Things are different when you're fighting with weapons. And things will always be different for you than for Horace, because that is true of a sword especially. It's a weapon with a few honorable expectations attached. Even with your knives, you'll want to treat an opponent—particularly one who's challenged you in a single combat situation—with some degree of honor. You'll want to play fair if that's how they set the terms." A wolfish smile ran up the side of Gilan's face. "Usually by the time you're facing an opponent with your fists, all bets are off. You're fighting to disable, or to get away. There's no honor here. We play by different rules than knights. He'll want to hurt you. You'll want to hurt him worse."

Gilan was deadly serious, and when Will nodded so was he. He was young—technically not even a full year into his apprenticeship, if Gilan's math was right. But he knew what it meant to be a Ranger. He knew what he was getting into. And he knew that when Gilan told him to fight, he meant it.

"I have a question," Evanlyn piped up from her seat to the side. "Why does nobody teach this sort of thing to knights? Seems generally helpful. Do you Rangers just keep this to yourselves, or…?"

Gilan turned toward her, amused. "You could always join us, you know," he commented, shaking his messy hair out of his face. He had no qualms about training a girl. She might not be able to keep up with him and Will, due to their extensive head start regarding skill level, but she had proven her grit at the bridge. He would instruct any person with the drive and dedication to learn. The matter of her gender was irrelevant to him.

But Evanlyn shook her head. "No, thank you," she said carefully. "It doesn't seem like something I'd do well in."

Will shrugged. "I was pretty terrible at everything when I started off," he said by way of encouragement.

Gilan gave him a side glance. That's not what I've heard. But out loud, he agreed: "We all start out that way. No shame in that."

But Evanlyn shook her head once more. Gilan shrugged. "Suit yourself. Again, then, Will. Try to knock me backward this time. Don't be afraid to use your elbows, either. I'll live."

Will frowned. He knew that the likelihood of him landing one of his elbows on Gilan was slim to none, but he also knew better than to say so out loud. So he stood ready, on the balls of his feet, and waited for Gilan to call him forward.

He was right. Gilan was a good teacher, pausing every now and then to explain a potential move to Will or to correct his form or strategy, but he was also seven or so years older and more experienced (as well as six inches taller). Not for the first time, Will appreciated the skill his older friend possessed—though he admitted to himself that it made training difficult, like training with Halt had been difficult back home. Gilan's extreme capability was both something to aspire to and a high bar for attainment.

"Let's rest a minute," Gilan suggested at last, and Will was all too glad to nod along. Both Rangers were quiet as they caught their breath.

Off to the side, Evanlyn frowned. "Can I ask a question?" she ventured, and when Gilan nodded she continued. "I mean no offense by this, Gilan, but—why? All this—" she made a sweeping gesture with one hand—"what's it for?"

It was a valid question. Gilan had several times wondered about the usefulness of such rigorous work. After all, what was the point of all this running and combat training if they were to be sold off, or worse, captured and questioned? But the alternative was to do nothing. And as Halt always said, slacking off always left one open to being caught unawares.

Besides. It wasn't the Ranger way to sit idly by and wait for things to turn out how they would. Nor was it in Gilan's nature to do so.

"It's wise to be prepared," he said at last. "Maybe we won't have any chances to escape. That's quite possible. Or maybe we will—and then we'll be ready. Either way, there's no harm in it."

"I'd rather this than sit around," Will chimed in, and Gilan nodded in agreement.

"That too. Plus, I'm personally not hoping to sit around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for rescue once we get to Hallasholm."

"So you think that's where we'll be headed?"

Evanlyn had asked the question, and Gilan nodded to her. He and Will had already spoken of this, and he repeated his conclusions now for her benefit. "That's my best guess. It's the Skandian capitol: Most of their ships dock there, and from what we can tell Erak is a powerful jarl. It seems like he's someone Ragnak would keep close by."

Evanlyn nodded, satisfied with his explanation. "That makes sense. I still don't understand all this, though. It just seems like a waste of time."

Gilan stepped on Will's foot so the boy wouldn't say anything. "Then you don't have to stay here and watch," he said smoothly.

Evanlyn shrugged. "I don't have anything else to do."

Gilan's eyes closed briefly. Teenagers. "Well, then, if you are going to stay here, I'll ask that you keep your thoughts to yourself. Will's an apprentice, and Halt has entrusted me to carry on his training." Sort of. "Circumstances are less than ideal, but neither of us gets to shirk our duty."

Evanlyn drew an affronted breath, nose tilted up and an angry spark in her eyes—but then deflated all at once, as if remembering something she'd forgotten. "Carry on, then," she said dismissively, turning on her heel and walking back toward their huts, and Gilan got the feeling she had wanted to say a lot more than she did.

Interesting, that a servant girl would talk back to a Ranger.

(Then again, Gilan had never really thought she was a servant girl. Her out-of-place actions merely confirmed the suspicions he'd already had.)

Will was watching Evanlyn with a puzzled frown. "What was that all about?" he wondered, totally bemused, and Gilan shrugged. He certainly wasn't an expert in reading people, but he had learned a little from Halt. He thought it was a safe bet their companion's small tantrum stemmed from her fear and frustration at their larger situation rather than the immediate one at hand.

"This is a difficult place to find oneself in," Gilan said instead. "For any person. But particularly for someone as young as either of you. She's probably just anxious and afraid." A wry smile came across his face. "I know I am. I've just had enough experience to handle it without lashing out."

Will nodded, accepting his friend's answer. "That makes sense. I hope she's all right."

Will, Gilan thought not for the first time, was a remarkably forgiving person.

"Still." Ah, there it is. "She doesn't have to be so…" he paused and screwed up his lip. "Princess-y about everything."

Gilan laughed. Forgiving or not, Will was certainly still a teenage boy—and one who had been raised, at least for the past year or so, in an environment that was rather rough around the edges. Thankfully, Gilan had been a teenage boy in that same environment himself not terribly long ago, and he was pretty certain he knew how to redirect his attention. "All right," he said, stepping back and into a ready stance, "that's enough about girls. Come at me again."

Will's eyes went comically wide. "No, Gilan, that's not how things are—" he protested, cheeks pink, but Gilan just took a step back.

"I'm bringing the fight with me," he called, grinning in spite of himself. "You going to take it back?"

"I think I liked training with Halt better," Will sniped, but he jumped forward as Gilan beckoned him and retaliated. Will ducked Gilan's punch and dodged behind him, surprising Gilan by jumping onto his back. The unexpected weight made Gilan stagger and eventually toppled them both onto the beach. So their sparring session quickly devolved into a messy wrestling match, both Rangers laughing as they tussled on the beach in a mess of "ouch!" and "that was my rib!" and "stop, there's a rock!" It wasn't a fair game, of course, since Gilan far and away had the edge in size. But that didn't stop Will from giving as good as he got, and both Rangers were left rosy-cheeked and breathless from laughter and exertion. At last they came to a rest lying side by side on the pebbly beach.

"So much for hand to hand," Will grinned, and Gilan grinned in kind.

"Ah, well. They say laughter is good for the spirit."

That afternoon, Erak called for Gilan. The older Ranger received the summons with some trepidation. This must have been visible on his face, because Svengal hastened to reassure him: "The Jarl just wants to ask you some questions, is all."

Gilan found himself supremely uncomforted.

Still, he felt instinctively that the Skandian didn't want to hurt him. If Erak was going to be openly cruel, Gilan reasoned, he would've been so already. So he left Will and Evanlyn with a reassuring smile and a promise to be back soon and left to take the long walk toward the jarl, who was standing several hundred yards down the beach.

Erak didn't acknowledge Gilan when he drew close. He stood facing the ocean, as he had been, and Gilan instinctively did the same. The sea was dark and polished like a river stone, blurring in the distance against the pale grey sky. It had a dismal beauty of its own. No wonder Will spent so much time staring, Gilan thought.

"So." The Skandian said finally. He didn't look at Gilan as his eyes searched somewhere beyond the waves. "Two Rangers."

A taut knot of anxiety settled in Gilan's stomach. This was the proverbial elephant on the island, the issue they would have to address sooner or later. Gilan knew the position they were in. There was nowhere to run. He and his friend would be totally at the mercy of Erak's next words.

He didn't respond.

Erak spoke at last. "I have no intention of telling Ragnak. Or anybody else."

Gilan felt almost as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He resisted the urge to drop his shoulders in relief and instead let out a long breath. "Thank you."

Erak nodded. With his face toward the sea, Gilan thought, there was a sort of rough nobility in his bearing.

Gilan stood uncertainly. Erak hadn't yet turned his head, but neither had he dismissed Gilan. So the young Ranger waited, sensing that Erak had not finished what he wanted to say.

He was right. After a minute or so, Erak drew breath and spoke. "You know, we're an honor-bound people. We have our own code. We value courage. You and the boy both—he may only be half a foot tall, but he's a real warrior." The jarl paused. "We'll sell you at Hallasholm. But we won't hand you over."

Gilan nodded cautiously. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for responding to a pirate who'd simultaneously saved them from torture and sentenced them to slavery. Thanking him didn't seem right. But neither did it seem right not to acknowledge him.

Erak turned his head to look at Gilan at last. "I'm not expecting you to thank me," he said gruffly. "But I wanted you to know."

Gilan nodded. "Then I am grateful to you for that."

Erak inclined his head in understanding. Then— "You can go."

Gilan left him staring at the sea.

The walk back to the huts was a few hundred meters, and Gilan used the time to breathe deeply and settle his roiling thoughts. The news was a tremendous weight off his shoulders. Will's, as well. The boy had been hiding it well, but Gilan knew he'd been anxious over how badly things might go for them once they reached Hallasholm. So Erak's news was a relief. One the other hand, it was a confirmation that they would be sold once they got there. Not exactly pleasant stuff.

As Gilan had suspected, his young companions were both waiting by their hut. Their eyes set on him eagerly when he appeared from behind the craigs, and he waved as he made his way over to them.

"What did he want?" Will asked quickly. Gilan settled down in front of Will and Evanlyn so that the three of them formed a small circle and leaned in. His young friends naturally followed suit.

"He's not going to tell Ragnak that we're Rangers." Gilan directed this at Will, who exhaled in relief and nodded as Gilan continued. "He, or any of his crew."

Evanlyn had a half-smile on her face and a relieved slump to her shoulders, as if they'd collapsed after being held in tension for too long, and Gilan felt a flash of fondness for her. She had barely known the two of them for a month, but it was obvious she had felt real worry for them.

Will spoke up. "That's good news, though," he said, with his typical optimism. "Did he say anything else?"

Gilan nodded. He would've preferred to keep this particular bit of news to himself, to spare his young companions the anxiety, but he knew that to do so would be selfish. Will deserved his honesty, and after everything, Evanlyn did too. They would want to know.

"They're going to sell us in Hallasholm. I'm sorry."

It wasn't unexpected news. Gilan knew Will had been anticipating it. But having it confirmed was something else entirely.

Will had taken the news well, with a philosophical nod. Young as he was, he was a Ranger. He knew the risk. And Evanlyn had taken it well in her own way. She had gone very quiet for a long moment, and then nodded resolutely.

"We did this for our country," she'd said, and Gilan hadn't been able to forget the calm intensity of her words.

There was nothing else to say, really. Evanlyn excused herself a few minutes later to go lie down inside their hut, and both Rangers stood with her. But Gilan had something he wanted to discuss with Will. As Evanlyn disappeared inside he beckoned Will to come closer, and the two of them went walking to talk in private.

"This whole issue of ransom doesn't fit my theories about Evanlyn's real identity," Gilan admitted once they had gotten several dozen yards down the beach, "and it's troubling me."

Will tilted his head, and Gilan continued. "You know I had originally suspected that the story she told us was reversed, that she was a noblewoman and took her maid's identity for protection." Will nodded. "And then I suspected that she was a particularly high-ranking noblewoman, because she was too familiar around the two of us—" he indicated himself and Will— "not to be. The only reason an Araluen citizen would feel so comfortable around a Ranger is if they'd spent time around one. Knew one personally, even. Someone would have to live in the central castle of a fief, for that to be the case. But then, such a high-ranking person would know better than to expect a ransom for two Rangers-which clearly, she did expect."

Will hummed as he mulled it over. "You're right, it doesn't quite fit together," he mused. Gilan blew out a frustrated breath.

"No, it doesn't." He idly ran a hand through his sandy hair and scratched at his head. "To complicate things further, you remember what she said when I told you both that we'll be sold?"

"For our country," Will repeated, and Gilan nodded.

"Right. But what kind of person thinks like that? Rangers, knights, couriers—people who are trained in duty. Not in luxury."

"And not your standard noblewoman," Will guessed. Gilan sighed. He kicked a rock several yards down the beach and sat down facing the sea. Will did the same. Somehow, Gilan thought, it helped to look at something so vast. At something boundless, so much larger than any of their lives. The quiet roar of waves crashing on the beach and hissing over pebbles as they washed back out reminded him of how the wind whispered through the forest trees back home—a familiar song in the wrong key, a jarring dissonance in his ears.

"I don't like unsolvable puzzles," he murmured.

"Sure you do," Will said with a shrug. "You're a Ranger. That's intrigue enough for a thousand men, but it's split it among fifty."

"'Intrigue enough for a thousand men'," Gilan repeated with a half-smile. "We should make that our new tag line. Maybe we'd recruit more that way."

Will snorted. "Recruited? I wasn't recruited so much as I was dragged by the wrist. Literally." Then he paused, sitting straight up. "Maybe she thinks she might be ransomed?" he puzzled out loud, seamlessly returning to their previous conversation. His mind was prone to jumping around like a grasshopper. "If she's in a position to be, but doesn't want to tell us?"

Gilan chanced a look at him. It was a good thought.

"Quite possibly," he mused. "Good thinking. Of course, we'll have to wait and see. We won't find out until she tells us."

"Why won't she?" Will wondered. "What is there to lose?"

Gilan shrugged. "She's scared of something."

Will sighed and stared off toward the horizon. "I wish she would say something already," he murmured, frustration palpable in his voice. "There's enough uncertainty as it is."

Gilan didn't have a response to that.

In this wasteland where I'm living, there is a crack in the door filled with light
And it's all that I need to get by

Holy heck, y'all, student teaching was SO MUCH. I honestly loved it, though. Praise God it was mostly a safe semester for students and staff. Thank you all so much for the well-wishes last chapter! I'm sorry I couldn't get this out sooner, but I am so very grateful for all the encouragement! (Also, if you can't tell, I know next to nothing about self-defense. I just couldn't bring myself to do the research; please be nice to me lmao).

It is strange: When I first started writing this story, I was younger than Will, and obviously he was the character I really connected with...now, I'm nearly Gilan's age (according to my timeline, not JF's). Poor dude. I sympathize with him SO much now. After so many years I really feel like he's my character. So much of this is from his pov because I just keep imagining myself in his position. Thankfully, he's a bit tougher than I am.

(Same music credits as chapter 9, by the way!)