“In the dark. I stayed up all night with the lamps and candles burning.”
Too clearly, I pictured the scene and her lonely vigil. I already knew how the story ended. “Did he find her?”
Momma Oaks drew in a deep breath and nodded. “When he staggered up to the gate, he had the girl in his arms, and he bled so that I don’t know how he made it back from the forest.”
“He died,” I whispered.
“Of his wounds, yes. It took three days, but there was no saving him. He was covered in bites, clawed nearly to death.”
I already knew the answer. “Not from an animal.”
Hatred shone in her normally kind face. “No, it was them. The Muties. They’d attacked the girl, and Daniel saved her. Elder Bigwater gave a speech, honoring him for his heroism, but…” She shrugged. “It doesn’t bring him back, does it?”
Now I wished I hadn’t asked, because I understood how difficult it was for her to watch me go back out on patrol. It must seem like history repeating itself. For the first time, I realized how deeply my actions could affect others, even when I meant them in the best way.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. Not just for Daniel, but for what I was putting her through—making the loss brand-new and forcing her to worry all over again.
“Don’t be. You’re doing an important job. When I’m cooking supper this winter, I’ll be proper grateful I’m sure.” They were dismissive words, but they couldn’t erase the shadows beneath her eyes or the lines beside her mouth.
Our farewells were quiet and subdued, for it would be some time before she saw either of us again. If she did. But she gave no sign of that uncertainty, her expression warm and serene as she waved good-bye from the front step.
“Did you hear?” I asked.
“It’s a small house.” That was my answer then.
“Do you think I should have stayed?”
Fade shook his head. “You can’t live for other people. But I’ve never seen a man cry that way before.”
His soft words rocked me. I imagined Edmund standing on the landing upstairs, listening to their old loss, tears streaming down his weathered face. Caring too much could be dangerous; I saw that now. But the alternative was no better.
Fade led the way to where the growers had assembled. Tegan bounced and waved among them, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. Outside, I heard Longshot’s voice. The rest of the summer patrol had come to escort the planters to the fields; Fade and I would be traded for Stalker and Hobbs. After some discussion, the guards opened the gates, and we went out into the damp, gray day.
With rain trickling down their faces, it appeared that everyone wept, mourning Daniel’s loss. Clearly I was feeling emotional because I had spent too long with Deuce the girl, who indulged her softer side more than was wise. I fell into formation around the growers, setting myself to their protection. The familiar weight of the knives strapped to my thighs made me feel like myself again. This was who I was, even if moonlight and music could make me feel like someone else, even if my foster mother’s faith had shaken me to the core.
I didn’t trust that softness. Not wholly. There seemed an insidious quality about it. If I became the girl in the mirror, I might lose my ability to protect myself, physically and emotionally. I refused to be that girl. Yet, I had two broken halves—and each quietly waged war against the other.
The procession to the fields went well. I kept a sharp eye out for trouble, but the weather was such that even Freaks chose to huddle within their lean-tos, opting to stay out of the wet. If true, that spoke volumes of their sense and our lack, but the growers had to tend the fields.
And it was our job to protect them.
* * *
The summer sped by, despite occasional inclement weather. I grew accustomed to my duties, and the men seemed to accept me. In the fields all around us, plants grew tall and green, well tended by the growers whose safety was our most sacred charge. They were nervous, more unwilling than ever to work outside the walls. I understood their fear. I talked to Tegan when possible, but she kept busy since there were so few growers. When she could, she brought me word from Edmund and Momma Oaks, never anything important, but it helped, reminded me why I was here.
“Incoming!” the sentry shouted, breaking my reverie.
The Freaks hit us in force. Since we’d drilled for this eventuality, nobody panicked. I slid my knives into my palms, bracing for the rush. Rifles barked, dropping the Freaks as they charged. These were big, brutish in comparison with the ones we’d seen in the village, and they outnumbered us by a fair margin.
Thanks to the sharpshooter on the tower, half of them fell in a bloody pile before they crossed the distance to the outpost. I held the line while other guards ran for the fields, bringing the growers in where we could protect them properly. Terror gripped me until I saw Tegan had gotten to safety. My heart drummed like thunder, and I realized how much I’d missed this rush. Fear had no place in a Huntress’s heart. But I seldom felt it for myself; it was reserved for my loved ones.
Fifteen surviving Freaks charged the rise. Glancing to the sides, I found Hobbs and Frank standing beside me. Stalker and Fade met their enemies farther on, and I whirled into battle with a joy that told me I wasn’t quite right. This beast had fewer lesions than the ones in the ruins, but it still stank of rot, and saliva dripped from its yellow fangs as it lunged.
Dodging the bite, I greeted it with a high arc of my right blade. It took the slash along its forearm. Dark blood welled from the wound, but I couldn’t rest until I dropped it. This fight went on longer than they usually did, as the Freak blocked and parried, and then raked at my face with its claws. It took my full reflexes to sidestep, narrowly missing a new scar, this time on my cheek. That set fury alight, as I liked my face unmarked, and I went at the thing with wild determination, my knives a silver blur in the afternoon sunshine. I stabbed three times in rapid succession, using the style Stalker had taught me. Too fast for any counter, it took the wounds and bled out, weakening, slowing, and then I took it with a final thrust to the heart.
All around me, Freaks fell. Rifles cracked, and guards fought with whatever weapons came to hand. When the battle ended at last, I bent over, resting my hands on my knees, catching my breath. The growers wept, but this time, none of them fled. They had seen what happened to those who lost their nerve.