22

Mud and Ash

OCTAVIA

"Something's not right." Indra whispers as the firs start to thicken around us. I take a deep, easy breath, gulping in the forest air, feeling the greatest sense of "being home" that I've felt since Lincoln's arms last enveloped me. "A scout should have greeted us by now. They were instructed to keep watch for our return."

"Maybe no one has spotted us yet." I try to ease her worry. "We are riding under the cover of darkness, after all."

But within minutes I know Indra is right. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. Flames flicker in the distance and even in the darkness I can see the black silhouette of smoke billowing into the night sky ahead. The acrid scent of burning wood fills my nose and stings my eyes. I usually enjoy the smell of fire. It makes me think of warmth and safety and the promise of a hot meal. But this fire smells different. It smells like destruction. It smells like death. And the stench makes my stomach churn because the smoke is coming from the direction of Ton DC.

"We're too late." I whisper into the silence. "We're too late."

The words leave my own lips and they fall on my own ears and still I cannot believe them. I give Helios a sharp kick and I race through the shadows as fast as he will carry me. I know Lil' Chief is struggling to keep pace behind us, but I cannot slow down. I cannot slow down.

I am on my hands and knees in the heart of the village when I feel the soft weight of Indra's palm against my shoulder. As though they had been waiting for it, at her touch the tears finally break free of my lashes. They roll relentlessly down my cheeks, carving rivulets through the caked mud, one after another. And I am powerless to stop them. I try to push myself up out of the mud and the ash. But I am powerless to rise. I am powerless.

I expect Indra to pull me up. I expect her to put me on my feet. I expect her to set her jaw and tell me that a warrior does not mourn the ones she's lost until the war is over.

But Indra just falls to her knees beside me. And I see tears rolling hot and wet down her own cheeks. And I know that she is powerless to stop them. And she is powerless to rise. And she is powerless.

Her hand slips from my shoulder and her fingernails claw into the dirt and ash and she lets out a violent cry that is more animal than human. And I recognize the notes in it because I have uttered that very same cry. It is a cry of despair and pain and rage and all-consuming grief. It is the cry of the broken. It is the cry of the powerless.

And I think of my dream and I think of Lincoln and I think of lonely hazel eyes. And I open my own mouth to let out my own cry. But just like in the nightmare, only silence escapes me.

I find Indra's hand and I grasp it in my own and we fall against each other. And for one moment we stop playing the game. For one moment we stop pretending to be fearless and strong. For one moment we stop trying to hide the pain. And we allow ourselves to hurt.

The moment lasts an eternity. The moment is utterly too brief. Somehow we find the strength to rise. And I find my voice for the first time since I entered the village.

"Where are the bodies, Indra?" I ask, the hairs on my neck rising as I gaze around the empty, smoldering village. "What have they done with the bodies?"

Indra doesn't answer and I'm not sure if it is because she does not have the answer or if she simply cannot muster the courage to utter the words. I've never seen her look so broken before. I've never seen her look so lost. And her face is as haunting as the silence around us.

"Come on." I say gently, pulling her by the fingertips. She doesn't resist, but she looks completely dazed as she climbs into Cedar's saddle and I'm worried that maybe she is going into shock. She doesn't ask me where we are going as I guide us through the trees the way I've gone a thousand times before.

We were too late for Trikru. But maybe... Just maybe... We aren't too late for Arkadia.

I hear a rustling in the underbrush as we weave slowly through the dappled moonlight and I draw my sword, swiveling in my saddle. We are being followed. I scan the black forest for a face smudged in white and already I feel the anger rising. But the anger rushes out of me along with my gasp of surprise. Because the face that peeks at me through the trees is smudged in brown, not white. And from beneath the dark mess of tangled braids, wide eyes look up at me, as much a mixture of fear and loneliness as they are of mossy green and honey brown.

"Eevie!" I cry out as I sheathe my sword and leap from my saddle, still struggling to believe my own eyes. She must not have been in the village during the attack. She looks like she is about to run off into the forest again and I drop to my knees quickly and hold out a hand as I call to her once more.

"It's OK, Eevie." I say softly. "I have someone I want you to meet..." I nod my head in the direction of the colt and I watch as the light enters her hazel eyes, eclipsing the fear.

"Come." I whisper and she finally takes my hand and lets me lead her to the colt. As I approach him, Lil' Chief whinnies uneasily and paws at the ground and I freeze, afraid that he might buck. But Eevie releases my hand and there is no fear in her eyes as she walks calmly right up to the horse. And I watch in wonder as she holds out her tiny hand and the colt sniffs at it and then nuzzles into it. She rubs his cheeks and strokes his neck and combs her fingers through his tangled mane and at her touch he closes his large brown eyes and stands calmly, still, without so much as a flick of his tail. And when he opens his eyes again, I look into the glassy orbs and I search, but I cannot find the loneliness.

I approach them cautiously and, with Eevie by his side, the colt tolerates my presence. "This is Lil' Chief." I whisper to her. "And I think he's lonely. You see... He has no family. And he could sure use a friend." I pause to kneel before the little girl so that our faces are level. "Will you be his friend?"

She gives me a small nod and I look into her hazel eyes and I search, but I cannot find the loneliness.

I lift the girl's tiny frame into the air and set her gently in her saddle. I guide her feet into the stirrups and though she is too small for the saddle and too short for the stirrups, she straightens herself as much as she possibly can. And she sits tall and proud on her young steed. Indra nods at me as I climb into my own saddle. She looks sadly at the girl and I watch as she sets her own jaw and straightens in her own saddle until she too, sits tall and proud. And I set my own jaw. And I straighten myself as best as I can as I lead all that is left of Trikru through the shadows of the silent forest.

...

I sense him before I see him, and my sword is already drawn by the time his face appears out of the darkness between the trees. Black warpaint is smudged diagonally across his sharp brow, the bridge of his nose, the swell of his cheek. The breath that escapes me is something between a sigh and a gasp, as much shock as it is relief. This warrior is Trikru. And this warrior is breathing. And this warrior stands before us on the outskirts of Arkadia. And my mind is struggling to make sense of what my eyes are shouting at it.

"Indra kom Trikru!" The man greets us, excitedly. "You have returned!"

Indra looks as startled and confused as I am by this man's sudden emergence from the shadows.

"Montun?" Is all she can manage.

"Do you bring Trikru good news?" The man asks as all around him more faces divide the spaces between the trees, all smudged in black, all blinking up at us, holding their breaths, waiting for Indra to find her voice.