Travis pays for travel to the next train station, which should be along in the next hour or so. I lift my head from his shoulder, sleepy, but unable to rest. I'm dead inside, and the only color I know is black. The black of darkness coiling through the valleys of my mind. It is enveloped in a fog so thick and suffocating, that I am not even certain if I have formed a single coherent thought since it happened.
Travis holds my hand and I am nearly too exhausted to tell him to let my hand alone. But the sight of Nathan in my heart strengthens my tongue. "Please," I pull my fingers out from between his, "don't do that."
"I'm sorry." That is all he says, before settling a minute or two. He holds his breath as if to speak, but decides against it before reaching his arm into the folds of his jacket. He brushes his fingers against my arm tenderly to draw my silent attention from the passing of nature outside the window. The compartment we are in is tiny, but comfortable. The leather seats bring more comfort than when you initially inspect it. I half expected to sink like a ship into them.
A golden-edged book rests in his palm. I thought I had lost it when we abandoned Nelly. Not to mention I owe Lee a new pistol. I study the hard edges of Travis's face. "You saw me reading this the first night at camp didn't you." I say it as a statement instead, and his hesitation to respond confirms everything.
"Forgive me...Nyrah." My brows lift, at a loss for breath. He is looking at me in that certain way again. He has never once called me by my first name. I tug firmly at the book glued to his grasp, and he smiles, red coloring his cheeks.
"Mr. Travis?"
"Yes?"
I stare at him longer, stalling as much as possible before I hurt the man. After all, he has been a true friend this past week of working with one another. But I know his affections are more than friendship. And it is best to tell him as soon as possible that I don't return his interest. I swallow hard, the heaviness of the book weighing deeper into my soul.
"Thank you for retrieving the book." But what if I am wrong about him? I was wrong about Lucas. I was wrong about Nathan. I was majorly wrong about Jude. Why should I bring up a subject that might, in fact, be totally made up in my scrambled imagination? After all, I am not in the position now to think rationally.
"You can call me Jai. Travis is my last name...you're welcome." He gestures to the book.
I don't say anything, and I open the book to distract myself from the grand canyon expanding in my chest. My neck aches because of the purple bruises surrounding it. Sol was very marked in her direction of skill. And her skill was a swift punch. Thankfully she had never used that staff on me. I would have been done for. Her training was far more extensinve above mine.
I study the words carefully, occasionally glancing at Mr. Travis to ensure he actually is unable to understand the language. I am quite certain this book is very important, and cannot merely pass on to anyone.
The Code of Authors:
1. An author must never use the power of blood to pen as a weapon of selfish or personal gain.
2. It is forbidden to alter concrete historical records. (Stories)
3. An author must always value truth and write the truth.
4. The power of decree by which the pen is wielded must never be abused for frivolous or evil purposes.
5. An author must always have an integrity towards life, and must never seek to harm it or seek the pen's power to manipulate life or personal will.
6. An author must be of authorian blood.
7. An author must forever be bound to fulfill their role until death, in which or unless the author selects a successor.
8. Transporting a character from one story to another is forbidden.
I haven't even gotten through the first nine codes, and already my blood has frozen to ice. Jude has broken most of these. But why? Why is he so full of hate? What drives him to do the unthinkable? I read on, drinking in what each rule means and itching to know the consequences of breaking such a code. This is what my brother was talking about. He needs an authorial successor in order to no longer be an author.
I skim over the next thirty pages or so of the endless rules and the paragraph at the end up until some key words catch my attention. I scroll back up and read again.
I, , do solemnly vow to uphold these codes of blood and of honor. I shall seek to be as courageous as the first author always sought to become. I shall fulfill these bonds in the loneliness of soul, never to rest in one place. A wanderer I shall be, until death take me, or until an heir relieve me. I shall cast aside dreams of forever love, deny self, and if I shall dare to live viciously and rebel without repentance, I shall pay an ultimate price when the time has come.
I blink back the salt pooling in my eyes. Why would anyone sign this? To live as an exile and stranger, to never have home or love to welcome you. And somehow...Jude is bound to this life or pay the ultimate price. My fist clenches. Now to find out about this ultimate price. But the book does not say anymore about it.
I swipe through more information, unclear of where to look next. The rest of the book is an assortment of different definitions of terms. I look for any sign of who the first author was, but I search in vain. Instead, I focus on sources of how to identify authorial blood, which interests me equally.
It reads:
Often, many authors have sought the wisdom of the great Seer, Alvina. She is a recluse, deep within the depths of Mezmer Hollow. It is said she has the foresight to find the strongest blood for the production of an heir. It is also said she is the mother of the original author, which by the tragic death of her son, her love is what gives her to so intimately know the blood of her child throughout the ages.
Her son was dearly loved, always creating stories, until one day, his stories came to life. It was said he wrote so many new friends into existence that his pen dissolved in his hand. His heart stopped immediately, his son, Ownan, begged for his father to wake up. But his father's stories had bled him dry. There was no more blood in his body to write, for the pen used the power of blood as it's ink. A small fragment remained of the wooden pen, and Ownan forged a new pen in his father's memory, made of precious silver. The fragment still resides in the heart of that blessed tool. Alvina tore her soul apart with grief, and feared the broken bloodline of her son and grandson, and the true magic her son held in his fingertips. She forged and crafted the code of authors, to forever bind and hold accountable every generation to the honor of being an author, a weilder of life and a record keeper of history as we know it. Every story to ever be written. In loving memory of Ronan, the first of many.
I cannot tell if the pain in my gut is from feeling overwhelmed by this strange story, from the death of Sol, or from the strong kick Sol enacted upon me hours ago. This is heavy. And the reason Jude was looking for me makes a little more sense now. I don't agree with his actions, but I am starting to understand them. Even if only the slightest bit. The train whistle shrieks like a banshee, flitting my attention to Mr. Travis once again. He smiles, pointing to the slowing landscape through the window. Clusters of people congregate in anticipation along the edges of the station. Some with pent up anxiety of assuring their on time boarding of the train, others with tears of longing for their loved-ones about to leave them. The hues blur together. All the violets, reds, ivories, and pastels swish together into one brewing pot of conundrums. This is all too much. I wish Nathan were here with me.
"It's time to go." Travis speaks, but I don't hear any words at first. "Nyrah?"
"Um...yeah...let's get out of here." I tuck the book closer to my chest, unwilling that anyone should see it's existence.
"Why don't you let me keep track of that?"
I shake my head, still stewing in the revelations I have freshly received. "No, thank you, but I would rather it not leave my sight."
"What is it, anyway? What language is it you have been reading all this time?" His smile waffles into one of curious doubtfulness.
"I actually don't know." I whisper the next part, "Authorian maybe?" If this were any other time I would chuckle at my own text. But this isn't funny anymore. I can't wave it away and ignore it any longer.
"You can trust me, you know."
"Can I? Mr. Travis, I am not certain of anything anymore. Another betrayal, and I might actually lose my mind."
"Let's just get off the train first." He stands, offering a gloved hand. I take it, allowing him to escort me off the train. The wood and dirt beneath my boots are solid and dependable, offering me the slightest hope to escape the caboose, a transportation of nightmares. Inhaling in deep the sweaty air, I follow Mr. Travis into another billowing cloud of unknowns.
Travis calls headquarters from a mercantile telephone, and we meet with the local authorities. We tell them about Sol's death and the location of her remains. They are sending out men to retrieve her body as we speak. Good news, though. It seems as though Nathan Passed through here two days ago, and was headed toward a westward port. Someone matching Wesley's description was sighted by a group of mounties there. When we camp for the night between towns, I resort to my quiet shell. But each time, Travis has other plans.
"What are you most afraid of?" He asks.
"Of you asking too many questions."
"I see." He sighs, unable to reach me in the way he wants to. "Maybe I do...I'm sorry about your friend. I have lost friends before. Never leaves you the same."
I furrow my brow, lines chiseling into my forehead permanently. He has not the faintest idea what I have gone through, but he is right. You are never the same again. Sol's words are clamourous, clanging their solumn bells into my consciousness. I had accused her of choosing to kill me. To betray me. But her words, "No...I didn't," refuse to fade away.
What if Jude used the pen against her? Bending her will into his own? I cannot understand or think of any other reason why she would become as she was before her death.
"My friend died today. I don't feel like talking if you don't mind," I state, monotone in voice.
Travis stirs the fire with a medium-length stick. "I understand, but let me at least say that I think we ought to head back to Hope Valley. In my opinion, you could use some of it's namesake."
"I am not giving up on Jude or Nathan," I defend.
"It's only a thought."
Gazing at him long and hard, I tighten my hold around the book again. I have other things to think about. More than Sol's death. I will have to grieve her later. This mission is my top priority now.
"Goodnight, Mr. Travis." I lay down, frustrated, facing away from the man.
"Jai," he whispers under his breath, emotion can be heard in his voice, no matter how subtle he makes it to be. "I'm so sorry, Nyrah."