Home > Endurance (Razorland #1.5)(2)

Endurance (Razorland #1.5)(2)
Author: Ann Aguirre

That freed everyone else from unnatural stillness. While chaos exploded around her, Thimble crouched, beckoning to the frightened brats. They had no idea what was going on, and they were too young to take sides; they only knew their world was dissolving.

“Come!” Thimble called quietly. “Hurry!”

A few obeyed instinctively, whimpering with fear, but others ran, wailing, from the cook space. Tears burned in her eyes. Oh, Stone. I need to find you. He was the only friend she had left since Deuce had gone. But she couldn’t turn away. The brats took priority.

“This way,” she urged.

There might be no safety anywhere, but she had to try. Five brats whose numbers she didn’t know trailed close as she led them through the enclave. The battle raged all around, fighting on all sides, and the sweet, coppery stink of blood hung heavy in the smoky air. If we don’t fight, we’ll be all right when the conflict ends. They won’t kill neutral survivors if they want the enclave to endure. They’ll need us to rebuild and repopulate.

It was a faint, desperate hope, and one that permitted her to weave a dangerous path toward the far end of the brat dorm. Twice, she came up against an armed, blood-spattered Hunter, looming over her in the dark, and Thimble nearly died of fear. With a brat clinging to each hand, both her legs, she couldn’t fight. And even if she had a weapon, she lacked the skill and coordination.

So she whispered, “Please.”

She wasn’t too proud to beg for their lives. In piteous unison, the brats echoed that single word.

Both times, the Hunters stepped back and permitted them to pass. There was no telling where their allegiances lay—to Twist or Whitewall—but they weren’t murderous monsters. From their first breaths, they had trained to protect the enclave, not prey on its most helpless citizens. Thimble stumbled onward, trying to get far, far away from the impossible. The unthinkable. At last, she reached safety, where she found other brats cowering. They crawled to her with bloody hands, palms split from their panicked flight. Most likely, the Hunters hadn’t meant to hurt them, but accidents happened. Thimble drew down one of the fabric dividers and arranged it around them in a pitiful attempt at concealment. The young ones curled around her while they listened to the screams of the dying.

Chapter 2

Stone had never killed anything. Not an animal. Not an insect. His most sacred charge came in preserving life; he tended the brats when they took ill. He fed them. Played with them. Sometimes he taught them small things, like how to cut meat or tie a knot—nothing significant, the elders argued. It wasn’t as if he played a vital role in enclave life, not like the Wordkeeper. Anyone with two hands could clean the filth off a brat’s backside.

Fearing a freak attack, he’d stumbled into the common area, ready to pitch in, and found that his fellow citizens had gone crazy. Thimble had mentioned something about unrest, but he’d ignored her. He had thought, You worry too much. As it turned out, she had been right. I wish I’d listened. But

how could anyone expect this? All around him, they fought with whatever weapons fell to hand. People were bleeding and dying; death hung heavy in the air.

He backed away, thinking only to hide, but a Hunter stopped him with a look that promised Stone’s end, unless he did something really right. The boy shoved a weapon at him; Stone took the blade awkwardly, stupid with shock.

“Fight or die,” the Hunter demanded. “Are you with us?”

“With who?” He heard the break in his voice, knowing distress made him weak—unsuited to any task but breeding and caring for the young. A smarter male would know what to do, so maybe it was best he had been given only simple work. But that lack left him helpless now.

“Twist, or the elders. Whitewall’s dead, and the Wordkeeper’s corpse is right over there.”

Stone fought his urge to look but in the end, he couldn’t help it. The elder lay sprawled on his side, a dark pool spreading from his cut throat. Behind him, blood spattered the wall. His stomach lurched, and he tightened his hand on the knife to try to control the nausea.

There was no way out of this nightmare. “What side are you on?”

“I’m with Twist,” the Hunter snapped, like that should have been obvious. Maybe it would’ve been to anyone else.

At the best of times, he wasn’t quick to connect puzzle pieces or work things out. He’d always had Thimble for that. An ache sprang up in his chest.

Where is she?

The look in the Hunter’s eye told Stone that if he answered wrong, he’d get a dagger in the chest and end up in a pile next to the Wordkeeper. From this point on, everything would change. No matter who won, the enclave couldn’t continue as it had. Too many lives had already been lost.

“Me too,” he said quickly.

At that, the Hunter gave a satisfied nod. “I’m not surprised. You must’ve have noticed how unfair the rules are and how few lawbreakers actually did anything at all. Your best friend went on the long walk, didn’t she? Took the blame for you.”

The pain in his heart increased. He’d known what she was doing. Stone had pretended to believe in Deuce’s confession to settle any doubts the elders might have about him. He’d been thinking of the brat in his arms, the little one he wasn’t supposed to love. Unfortunately, he knew which one belonged to him, the little guy with his eyes and his smile, and it was impossible for him not to care. It just was. He would’ve said anything to keep his brat safe, and he had. Turned his back on his best friend and left her to die. The guilt of that moment would always haunt him. But maybe his moments were numbered, and it didn’t matter anymore.

Apparently he’d just joined the rebellion.

He went with the Hunter into battle, and only luck let him endure the massacre. Stone stuck close to his companion and slashed with desperate doubt at anything that came close. His size helped; it was rare for anyone to grow so tall. The Wordkeeper said he was a throwback, whatever that meant, a relic of a time when people ate better and grew larger. Stone only knew his long arms let him slam people away. He didn’t want to hurt them. The idea of using this blade on someone—his stomach turned. But he couldn’t help it. Stone tried, but they kept coming. Just shoving them away wasn’t enough, and the Hunter was staring at him.

Someone else lunged at him; and he reacted. With one thrust, he killed a girl, a Huntress, who’d come up in Deuce’s class. She wasn’t experienced, strong, or particularly skilled. Her throat yielded to his knife like the meat he cut for the brats, and hot blood poured over his fingers. The smell was coppery and sweet, and it made his tongue feel thick to breathe the heavy air. Her body plopped, and another Hunter rushed at him.

   
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