18
Refuge from the Night
OCTAVIA
I am standing in the heart of the empty village and I am all alone. And I can feel the loneliness rising within me. And the air is cold around me. And the air is cold within me. There is a familiar weight in my hands and I look down at them to see my own face smiling back at me from the pages of Lincoln's journal. And I wish Lincoln were here. Nothing else will quell this loneliness.
I hear a soft voice call my name and I look up and suddenly I realize I am not alone. Not alone at all. Children are chasing each other about, laughing and hooting and hollering, and there in the center of it all is Lincoln. He smiles softly at me and holds his arms out and I want to run to him. I want his strong arms to wrap around me so tightly that I feel my boots leave the ground. I want to fall apart in his arms. I want him to hold me together.
But before I can run to him I realize it is snowing and in surprise I turn my eyes to the gray sky above me. The flakes fall earnestly all around me and I catch one in my naked palm. And I smile down at its whiteness. But my smile droops and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. Because the flake doesn't melt. Because it is not snow. It is ash. And the gray sky above me is thick with smoke. And when I look back down at my hand, the flake is gone and I am holding a small seashell instead.
And I realize the village has gone silent again. The laughter has stopped as abruptly as it began. And I look for the children running and playing, but they have all fallen. They are lying in the mud, silent and still as the fire burns around us and the ash collects on them like a blanket. And I turn my gaze to Lincoln. He is kneeling in the mud now and his head is cocked as he stares up at the smoky sky and he is whispering something. And I think I am meant to hear his words, but even in the silence I cannot make them out. And then the blood is raining from his temple and he falls sideways in the mud.
And I am running towards him now and I am screaming, but still there is only silence all around. I drop to my knees beside him in the red and white and brown, sinking into blood and ash and mud. And I roll him towards me so I can look at his face.
And as I turn him, his heavy body grows light and I realize it is not Lincoln that I hold in my arms. And I have to brush the tangled dark braids out of her face to see her. She looks up at me with loneliness in her hazel eyes. And then she looks past me and her eyes grow wide with fear. And I turn to see the wolf snarling, circling us, its ugly yellow teeth bared. And there is hunger in his eyes and streaks of white across his blood-stained muzzle. I reach for my blade but it is not there. And I am powerless to stop the wolf as it lunges forward and snaps its powerful jaws around my ankle and pulls. And he drags me. And he drags me. And he drags me.
...
I am not aware that I was moving until the sudden stop drags me from my nightmares. The wolf no longer has a hold of me but my ankle still burns as fiercely as when his fangs were lodged in it. My entire body aches and my head is swimming and when I open my eyes and see the light I think maybe I am still dreaming. But I close my eyes and shake my foggy head and when I open them again the light is still there. And now I am thinking I must have bashed my head so hard that I am hallucinating again.
But at least the white light is no longer flashing like it did when the stone collided with my temple. The light is constant and steady and I hope that is a good sign. There is darkness far above me, but all around me the light combats it. It is soft, silvery white, like moonlight enveloping me. It is altogether eerie. And it is altogether beautiful.
I am still draped like a sack of potatoes over the shoulders of a horse and I wonder how long I have been lying here unconscious, because my back hurts like hell. I let out a groan and try to pull my aching body into a seated position. Indra's arm wraps around me and helps prop me up onto my backside and I feel my jaw drop as I finally have a proper view of the world around me.
The soft white light is emanating from the bark of the hundreds of trees surrounding us. Their trunks glow silver in the darkness of the night. The glow of their limbs goes from silver to white as they branch out further and become thin and spindly. The light spills from the trees and collects on the ground like puddles of moonlight and I feel myself blinking because the utter beauty of the forest around me is absolutely overwhelming. And I think to myself that maybe I should bash my head against rocks more often.
"Ai laik Indra kom Trikru." Indra speaks into the quiet of the night and I wonder who she is talking to, because I see no one. And I wonder again how hard I hit my damn head. And I wonder if maybe Indra hit her head too, because we are completely alone and she is still speaking as casually as if someone is standing right before us. "And I seek light's refuge from the night."
"Indra?" I ask groggily. "Who are you..."
But Indra shushes me quickly. "We're being watched." She whispers in my ear.
A shiver runs down my spine as I look all around us, scanning the silver-white forest. But still I see no one. Indra gives Cedar a nudge in the side and we take a few cautious strides forward.
"I am Indra of the Woods Clan." She repeats. "And I seek light's refuge from the night."
Suddenly a body falls out of the sky and lands gracefully on its feet right in front of Cedar's nose. He bucks in surprise and if Indra's arm wasn't clamped so tightly around me I would have had my body bashed against the ground once again. The girl holds a long bow in her hand, but I am relieved to see that it is not drawn. The bow's riser glows silver-white and I realize it must have been fashioned from the bark of the mysterious glowing trees. Like me, the girl has braids running through her hair, but she has woven thin twigs through the braids so that they glow like strands of tinsel in her dark locks. The effect is beautiful, mesmerizing.
The girl gives Indra a soft nod as other Grounders fall gracefully from the branches of the trees around us, landing soft and silent on the forest floor. Indra was right... We were not alone. Not alone at all.
"Ai laik Malika kom Trishana." The girl speaks. "And we've been expecting you, Indra kom Trikru."
...
"Secure your animals here." Malika instructs us. "Visitors to the Glowing Forest must enter by foot."
Indra leaps from the saddle behind me and I follow suit. But as soon as my feet hit the ground my ankle crumples beneath me and I fall to my elbows with a shriek of pain. The fire in my ankle is so fierce that I am struggling to breathe as Indra's hands hook under my armpits and she pulls me to my feet. I balance awkwardly on my good leg as she wraps a steady arm around my torso.
"Ste yuj." She whispers in my ear as she props me against the glowing trunk of a thick tree so that she can tie the horses to another. On my own, I feel dizzy. I feel weak. But when Indra wraps her arm around me again I struggle to find my strength. I hobble along beside her as Malika leads us deeper into the glowing forest.
If my jaw were not clenched in pain I'm sure I would feel it drop again. The dwellings of Trishana are not cabins or huts or caves or tents or buildings. The villages of Trishana are not built on the solid ground. They are built entirely in the trees. The walls of countless tree houses wrap around the massive trunks of the strange glowing trees. The houses are linked by a complex series of bridges, ropes, and platforms running between them. There are multiple levels of tree houses, some built around the trunks of the trees low enough that I could almost graze them with the tip of my sword if I held it out above me and stood on my tip toes. Others sit high up in the very tops of the giant trees.
But the most amazing thing about the city of tree houses above us isn't its complex layout or elegant construction. It's the fact that every dwelling, every platform, every bridge, is glowing as brightly as the trunks from which they were crafted. And it is like the city is forged directly from solidified moonlight and I cannot pull my eyes from its beauty.
Only twice in my life have I ever been this blown away by the sheer beauty of the world. The first time was on that fateful night when Bellamy snuck me out of the prison cell of our room on the Ark to take me to the masquerade ball and I caught my first glimpse of Earth. Her surface was a shiny, swirling mess of green and blue and brown and white shining boldly in the black void of space like an old woman wearing a technicolor muumuu to a black-tie event. The second time was just after we crash landed and I found myself in the midst of a swarm of butterflies glowing a brilliant fluorescent sapphire blue against the trees.
I manage to pull my eyes from the city above us to look around at the ground level of the forest as I realize there are no ladders or ropes leading up to the structures above us. And even as I am wondering how the hell I am going to climb my way up into these trees when I can barely manage to stand upright, the girl leads us to a glowing square platform on the forest floor. Four thick ropes run from the corners of the platform and meet in the middle in a massive knot. A caribiner is fastened to the knot. We stand on the platform stupidly, waiting for something to happen.
Then Malika calls out to someone above us. "Teeko, let the rope down!"
A boy's face appears over the ledge of another platform above us. He peers down at us with a smirk on his face.
"Would it kill you to ask nicely, just once in your life, Malika?" He says with a teasing laugh. Malika rolls her eyes.
"Teeko, let the damn rope down." Malika repeats, irritably. "Please."
A thick rope drifts down to us from above and I am about to dodge it when Malika effortlessly snatches the carabiner on the rope's end out of the air above me as if she has done it a thousand times before. She secures the rope's caribiner to the matching caribiner in the middle of the platform then calls back to the boy.
"Pull us up, Teeko." She commands. "Please." She adds, begrudgingly.
The platform jolts beneath us as the ropes grow taut and we start to rise through the chilly air towards the city above. Only a moment passes before our platform is level with the boy's. I see that he raised us by pulling the rope through a pulley, but it appears the scrawny boy had no trouble raising all three of us. My eyes follow the rope through the treetops and I realize there are so many complicated pulley systems attached to it that the boy could probably lift hundreds and hundreds of pounds without breaking a sweat.
"You're welcome, Malika." Teeko says sarcastically and I can tell by the glare she shoots him that they must be siblings.
Our platform sways slightly as Indra and I hobble from it onto Teeko's. But his platform is solid and steady beneath me and I am grateful.
Malika turns to Indra. "Turlino instructed us to bring you directly to him upon your arrival, Indra kom Trikru. But it seems your friend might benefit from a visit with our healer."
"She would indeed." Indra nods to the girl. "Your kindness and hospitality are much appreciated, Malika kom Trishana."
"My father always spoke well of the warriors of the Woods Clan." Malika replies. "As children, he always told us the story of how he owed his life to one long gone."
Malika turns her gaze to her brother and immediately her courtesies are overridden by annoyance. "Teeko," She says. "Take..."
She pauses to look at me awkwardly. "Octavia kom Trikru." I provide through gritted teeth, still struggling just to remain standing.
"Take Octavia kom Trikru to Healer Orna's." Malika commands her brother.
Teeko looks like he's about to argue with her simply out of habit until his eyes fall on mine. He gives me a ridiculous smile, and even in the strange white light of the trees I can see his cheeks flush. I can also see the acne riddled across them.
"Sure thing, Sis." Teeko says, holding an arm out to me. His scrawny arm is about a third of the width Lincoln's were and I almost refuse it. But I can't stand on my own, and as Indra's arm releases me I fall against the boy's side.
"I'm Teeko kom Trishana." The boy tells me as if I am too stupid to have picked up on that by now. I just grunt in reply as we hobble from the platform onto a swaying bridge and I feel like I might pass out with the effort of staying upright.
One ramp, three platforms, and two bridges later we finally stop outside a door and I lean against the wall of the tree house, fighting the urge to vomit.
"Well," The boy says awkwardly, nervously. "See you around, Octavia kom Trikru. Hope you get better soon."
And I just grunt again as he leaves me to knock on the door. An old woman answers. Like Malika, she has twigs woven into her wispy curls, glowing white against white. She eyes me up and down without saying anything, her eyes lingering on my face and hands before falling to my ankle. Then she nods me in and points to a cot sitting in the corner of the room. I realize there are no candles or lanterns inside. All of the illumination is being provided by the walls of the room itself as well as the massive trunk running through its center. I've never been inside of a tree house before and the sensation is strange, like being both inside and outside at the same time.
The woman fiddles in the opposite corner, and I hear the clanking of bottles and vials. Then she approaches me with a shallow bowl of a light lavender liquid. She dips a cloth into the liquid and presses it to my cheek and I suck in a sharp breath at the incredible sting of it, biting my tongue to keep from screaming. The woman ignores my flinching and wincing and gasping as she silently proceeds to clean my face and neck before moving to my arms and hands. And by the time she stands up and retreats into the opposite corner again I feel like my whole body is on fire.
She approaches me again and, despite myself, I cower before her as if expecting her to strike me rather than hold out a small vial of greenish-gray liquid.
"Drink." She tells me, speaking for the first time and her voice is shaky with age.
"What is it?" I ask, nervously accepting the tiny vial.
"I have to reset that ankle." She replies, eyeing my swollen leg. "And, judging by how you handled Crocusjus, I'd say you are a tough girl. But, Still... tough or not... I don't think you want to be awake for what comes next."
I take her advice and down the vial she gave me. It tastes all at once like cabbage and broccoli and lemons and pickles and it burns like Monty's moonshine on the way down. I nearly gag. But I don't have to deal with the aftertaste for long. Within seconds even the eerie white glow fades to darkness around me.
...
I'm so warm and comfy I don't want to open my eyes just yet. The air smells like pine and bark and damp earth and it reminds me of Lincoln and for half a second I think if I roll onto my side I will feel him warm and solid and real beside me. For half a second I forget that he is gone. But I reach out and there is only cold empty space beside me.
I finally open my eyes to the soft white light of morning and I blink against the light, trying to figure out just where the hell I am and why my bed is outside. No... My bed is not outside. The massive trunk beside me is inside. And it takes my foggy, achy brain a very long second for the memories to come rushing back. And with the memories comes the anger. And this time there is no one I can direct it at but me.
Because the man had stepped aside and the man was letting us pass and all I had to do was fight the anger a moment longer. All I had to do was breathe one moment longer. But I had let the anger rise. I had welcomed it. Because Luna is right... I let the anger intoxicate me. And I am addicted to its rush. And now war is charging towards me and I can only hobble out to greet it.
Afraid to look at my swollen ankle and find that it is as thick as the tree trunk beside me, I put off the moment of truth by staring up at the ceiling instead and trying to wiggle my toes. My ankle throbs with the effort. But last night it had felt like my leg was on fire and the flames had climbed up my calf and inched down my foot to lick at my toes. This morning I am relieved that the fire seems to have burnt itself out and what is left is a dull throb and a strange heavy pressure. Mustering my courage, I finally wrench my body into a sitting position to inspect the damage and I realize my ankle has been encased in a sort of cast, running from the ball of my foot halfway up my shin. And I sigh because how the fuck am I supposed to go to battle with a chunk of concrete wrapped around my foot? And I sigh because this is all my fucking fault.
"The plaster..." A voice speaks and my heart jumps into my throat. I had no idea the old woman was beside me. Has she been here the whole time? "Will grow softer as the bone grows stronger. When it is soft enough to cut through with a knife you will again be strong enough to stand on your own."
"About how long will that be?" I ask.
She ignores the question and instead wraps a wrinkled hand around my wrist, pulling my arm out towards her for inspection. I only now notice the thin layer of what looks like fern fronds wrapped around it. She peels the fronds off and examines my wounds, her lips puckered in apparent approval. There are dashes and scrapes up and down my skin, but I am surprised to see that they have already closed and scabbed over and have begun the healing process. The woman releases my arms and suddenly shoves a bowl in my face with the simple command of "Eat."
The brown broth steams slightly as it sloshes around in the bowl and I warily eye what looks like some kind of wild mushrooms floating in it. Remembering the horrid taste of the tonic she gave me last night, I hesitate before nervously taking the bowl into my own hands and lifting it to my mouth. I take the tiniest sip I can. And then I take a long, deep swallow. Because the broth is warm and savory and delicious and it sinks into my stomach like a tonic. And, maybe it's my imagination, but already the aches of my body seem to be lessening.
"Thank you." I say to the old woman. "For everything... I mean... You don't even know me. I'm not even from your clan. But you helped me. Thank you." I repeat.
A small smile adds yet another crease to the woman's lined face. "I am a healer." She tells me. "In my eyes there are no Trishana or Trikru. There are only the sick and the injured and those in need of my touch."
I look into the woman's eyes, and though the skin around them is worn and sags with age, the eyes are bright and clear and the same chocolate brown as Lincoln's. And I see the same kindness in them that I saw in his. And I wonder what the world would look like if everyone saw it through eyes as clear as this woman's, as clear as Lincoln's. But I know the rest of the world has eyes like mine. The first things we ever see are the tattoos and scars and warpaint and clothes that mark us as different, rather than the needs that we all share that mark us not as Trikru or Trishana or Azgeda, but simply as human. And I wish I could have eyes like hers. I wish I could have eyes like Lincoln's. But I don't.
A sudden "thud, thud, thud," on the door rumbles through the small room and the woman places one fragile hand on my shoulder as she rises. Her hand is so much smaller, lighter, frailer, than Lincoln's but the tenderness of her touch is so similar it nearly gives me goosebumps. The fingers only linger for the briefest of moments before the eyes that are so much like Lincoln's turn away from me.
And I feel my own eyes roll at the sound of the boy's voice.
"Sorry to disturb you, Healer Orna. I've come for..." I see Teeko's carrot-top head peek around the door frame and his freckled face lights up as brightly as the glowing trees of this forest as he spots me.
"Octavia! I'm supposed to tell you it's time. Your companion is waiting for you. She seems to be in a hurry to leave." He looks disappointed to say. "I can take you to her."
Reluctantly I swivel out of bed and put my feet on the floor. I lace up one boot, and not knowing what to do with the other, tuck it uselessly under my arm. Then I take a deep breath, clench my teeth, prepare for the worst, and stand.
My ankle throbs like a sonofabitch but the cast is surprisingly sturdy, and even better, surprisingly light. And I smile at the look of extreme disappointment on Teeko's face as I ignore his outstretched arm and limp right past him, calling out one last "thank you" to Healer Orna as I step into the sunlight.
The forest around us is no longer glowing, but it is still green and bright and beautiful. As I look out at the maze of tree houses and bridges and ropes, I imagine growing up here must be like living on an endless playground.
"Your face looks so much better!" Teeko says as we move through the treetops. "I mean..." He quickly stutters, and I can see the pink spreading through his cheeks, competing with the red speckles of pimples and making his freckles stand out even further. "Not that it looked bad yesterday. Even banged up your face was still pretty. It's just now, it's even more..." He cuts himself off nervously and I am grateful. "Healer Orna must have given you Crocusjus. Stings like a bastard, right?" He laughs.
I just give him another grunt in reply. He catches me looking up into the branches of the trees and apparently decides I need a science lesson.
"The bark only luminesces at night." He says. "Throughout the day the leaves absorb the sun's rays just like any other plant. But during the process of photosynthesis, natsoncha trees produce an acidic phosphorescent by-product that's stored in the sap and causes the bark to..."
The kid rambles on but I am only half listening. I have absolutely no interest in this scrawny red-headed, red-cheeked, pasty-skinned boy. But, I think with a wicked grin, he might just be dorky enough for Raven. Maybe someday I can introduce them. Teeko mistakes my smile for interest and starts going off about all the various uses of the phosphorescent sap, its medicinal properties and how it can be used as an astringent in facial cream. And I am thinking that his pock-marked face is the exact opposite of a walking advertisement for that cream. And it is a relief like none other to finally spot Indra and Malika on a platform one tree over, waiting for us.
"I don't know how many times Healer Orna's skilled hands have brought me healing and comfort." Malika smiles at me as Teeko lowers us to the forest floor. Malika has the same blue eyes as her brother, almost as blue as Clarke's. But her hair is as jet black as Raven's and the combination is striking. Her olive skin is clear and bright and even without the glowing twigs in her braids she is beautiful. And I can only wonder how it is that she got all the good genes in the family.
"Orna's practiced hands brought both me and Teeko into this world. And after our mother passed to the Land of Eternal Light, she has always been there to look after us when we needed someone. Looks like she fixed you right up. You look a lot better than when you came."
"So I've been told." I laugh as the platform hits the ground and I hobble off onto the cushy forest floor.
Malika turns to Indra and grips her forearm. "May the light ever guide us through the night." She says.
"May it dwell within us ever bright." Indra replies.
Indra joins my side and Malika gives us one last smile and nod before turning her eyes back towards the treetops. "Pull me back up, Teeko." She commands.
"Ask nicely!" Teeko shouts back.
"Damn it, Teeko. Pull me back up!" Malika replies and I find myself laughing as I follow Indra through the trees.
...
"It was not easy to convince him, but Turlino finally pledged to provide Trikru with one hundred and twenty of Trishana's warriors." Indra tells me as I awkwardly throw my casted leg over Helios and struggle to heave myself into the saddle with a grunt.
"One hundred and twenty?" I reply, trying and failing to hide the disappointment in my voice.
"I know it does not sound like much." Indra admits, giving Cedar a kick. "But Trishana warriors are skilled archers. They move silently and quickly through the treetops as effortlessly as the ground. They perch in the branches above you and you do not even know they are there until their arrow lodges into the tender spot between your shoulder blades."
"Still..." I reply. "Will one hundred and twenty be enough to hold back Azgeda? And Boudalan?"
"No." Indra answers. "But it's a start. Trishana marches for Trikru day after tomorrow. Which gives us us just enough time for our next stop."
"Please tell me that we are not taking the Northern Pass." I mumble. Indra doesn't reply, but I sigh in relief as she directs Cedar onto a trail leading Southwest.