At first, Reed thought he was dreaming. A child's voice called to him, and a soft hand gently tugged at his palm. Reed brushed it off, chasing away the mirages, until he felt a sharp blow.

  "Get up!"

  As Reed opened his swollen from fatigue eyes, he went rigid. Meredith lay right next to him, hiding among the bushes and tall grass

  Terror splashed in her eyes and tears welled up. Her lips trembled and she shook as if in a fever, yet she still tugged at him, trying to wake him without drawing attention. Reed wanted to slap himself to make sure this wasn't a dream. He looked her over. Meredith looked just as she had in Argain, and the horror gave her face a slightly mad look.

  "Am I dreaming?" he croaked, trying to find a flaw in the apparition.

  "I haven't heard you talk in your sleep," Meredith giggled nervously, covering her mouth with her palm.

  Reed glanced back at the overseers. Some of the kreyghars remained by the fire dozing. No wonder, if Reed drank that much, he would meet the Great Mother already. The dawn was far away, and a decent pile of kegs already lay around. The most resilient had gone for more, others sat by fire, and one slaver was sprawled right on the cart with the belongings taken from the future convicts. Sometimes, looking at that cart, Reed thought he saw his belongings there too, but he was never certain. Maybe they were there, maybe not.

  "We need to go," Meredith whispered, looking around nervously. Her hand trembled as she reached for the chains shackling Reed.

  "Don’t be silly," Reed smiled weakly. "You can't take them off, even if you really want to. If it were that easy..."

  He fell silent as he met Meredith's gaze. Malice and confidence appeared in her eyes. It seemed she wanted to hit him but was restraining herself with great effort. He was seeing her like this for the first time.

  "I came," she hissed. "I won't leave alone."

  "And what's the idea?" Reed tried not to turn toward her and spoke quietly so no one would hear him. His chain-mate was sleeping like a log, but others had started to stir. He was drawing attention after all.

  "Hurry."

  Meredith stared silently at the chain and frowned, and then Reed was speechless. The chain began to snap as if an invisible force were tearing the steel from the inside. When Reed looked over his hands and feet again, there were no shackles on them. Only fresh wounds and bruised skin.

  His eyes in that moment were almost mad. He had expected anything, but not this. While Reed grappled with the shock, other prisoners had already noticed his miraculous liberation. A murmur went up, and some intentionally clanked their chains. They called out, begged for help, and asked what kind of miracle this was. Yet Reed was silent, looking over his hands.

  "Free them too," he asked, shaking off the numbness.

  She silently shook her head.

  "Trust me," he covered her palm with his. She measured him with a desperate look, glanced toward the slavers, and sighed. "Please."

  Reed asked her to do this not out of the kindness of his heart, but solely for personal advantage. First, the convicts had already started making noise. If Reed ran, they would wake the overseers, and both Reed and Meredith would be killed. The prisoners would do it just because, out of resentment and despair. If they weren't free, then no one was free. Second, if everyone was released, chaos would unleash. The kreyghars would start scattering in all directions, creating a crush and turmoil. Some would even try to fight. And while this little patch of land was consumed by chaos, Reed and Meredith could escape without risking to get a knife in the back.

  Some convicts had already seen Meredith and were now reaching out to her, begging and raising a clamor. This frightened Meredith, and she shook her head again.

  "It's okay," Reed whispered, squeezing her fingers in his palm. "Do it for me."

  Meredith measured him with her gaze one last time, lingering on his face as if she herself had forgotten what Reed looked like. Then she crawled closer. Extending her hand, she formed a sign. Similar to the one that had gifted Reed an unforgettable flight through the house wall. She sharply jerked her palm upward, and the chains began to snap just as before, as if something were destroying them from the inside. Pieces of metal fell to the ground, ricocheting in all directions and leaving scratches on the prisoners’ bodies, but they didn't care anymore. No amount of pain could drown out the joy of freedom.

  As Reed expected, chaos was brewing. Some ran away, while others rushed at the overseers. One of the slavers was killed immediately, his weapon taken. Cries of joy and screams of pain filled the night air, stirring up the sleeping village the convoy stopped by. It wouldn't be long before those who went for booze returned, and then the most interesting part would begin.

  The prisoners vented their malice and the ecstasy of unexpected freedom on their overseers. They were taking revenge for every moment of their pain, and it looked terrible. Reed gestured for Meredith to stay put, to lie on the ground. He also collapsed on his side, pretending to be exhausted. Meredith watched this spectacle with horror, understanding nothing. Reed merely winked at her, letting her know that everything was going according to plan.

  Soon, the clatter of hooves and the clang of armor could be heard in distance. And then the slaughter began. In the darkness, it was difficult to distinguish who was who. And sounds didn’t help to tell who was winning.

  Reed lay still. Who would rush at a prisoner who couldn't even stand, while all the others were using their bestowed freedom to the fullest? The failed convicts threw themselves at their tormentors with screams, beating them with whatever as weapons could only be taken from the dead. Even despite the numerical superiority of the prisoners, gaining the upper hand was not easy. Reed doubted the fight was necessary at all. They could simply run, but rage drowns out the voice of reason, pushing men to certain death.

  When the chaos reached its peak and no one was even looking his way, Reed jumped up and offered his hand to Meredith. He swayed from hunger and fatigue, but freedom granted him some strength. Skirting the trees, the two of them ran through the madness-gripped camp. Some overseers tried to stop Reed, but all he could do was dodge and hope that his pursuers would soon be dead. Reed ran as fast as he could, ignoring the noise in his ears and the mad beating of his heart. He didn't feel his buckling legs, only Meredith's palm. She squeezed his hand like a steel vise.

  A predatory whistle of an arrow sliced the air inches away. Behind them, relentless steps gained ground, closing the distance. Reed turned, but it was already too late, although he had neither the strength nor the opportunity to defend himself. His weapons had been taken long ago. The slaver chasing them swung, throwing a knife right at them. In that same moment, Meredith spun around, her eyes wide and manic with terror. She flung her hand upward in a jagged, desperate arc. The cart to the left of the overseer sharply tilted, and then collapsed, crushing the kreyghar. Reed saw blood gush from slaver’s mouth. Even if Reed didn't hear the ribs crack, he knew the bones turned into shards, tearing lungs, heart, and liver.

  Meredith stood nearby and didn't move. It all took no more than a couple of moments, but still, she didn't move. He looked at her, and in that same instant, she toppled back into his arms like a broken doll. The knife the kreyghar had thrown was buried deep beneath her collarbone.

  Reed screamed like he had never screamed before. He spared neither his vocal cords nor the strength spent on the scream. Scooping Meredith up in his arms, he ran, right through the forest strip, as far away as possible. No one chased them anymore. Although the sounds of battle, screams of pain, and rage were still raging behind. Reed didn't hear them anymore, as if he had gone deaf entirely.

  ***

  He stopped only when his legs began to betray him. A village spread before him, unfamiliar. It was one of those places where nothing interesting ever happens, where people live in a slumber, waiting for a miracle or simple entertainment.

  Reed was beyond mere exhaustion. The raw wounds where the shackles had chafed stung as sweat and road dust seeped into the sore flesh. Meredith had lost consciousness while it was still dark, yet he kept running, driven by the hope to save her. Had he his bag, he might have managed on his own, but he had nothing on him anymore. He could only run to the nearest settlement or let her bleed out. And the second option was out of question. Reed had bandaged her shoulder hastily without pulling out the knife, and it was all he could do.

  Her head lolled limply; disheveled hair tickled his legs. She was pale, bordering on a ghostly blue, but she was breathing. Reed wanted to howl at the mere thought that she might die. So, he didn't spare himself, running until his body began to fail. Seeing the village, he sighed with relief and then looked around, frantically scanning the surroundings. The sun had barely risen. The silence was all-consuming, broken only by Reed's heavy, wheezing breath. His lungs were burning, but he barely noticed. His head spun from hunger, and he looked like a wild beast hunted by the King's party.

  With the last of his strength, he reached the village outskirts and began pounding frantically on the door of the first house he found. He knew they might chase him away. He didn’t want to ask kreyghars for help, but he wasn't asking for himself. He would have been content if they helped Meredith and left him to rot on the street, not even letting him cross the threshold. Reed was used to such treatment, even deserved it, but Meredith shouldn't die in the arms of a mercenary.

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  The door opened just as he had almost despaired of seeing anyone. A woman stood there: sleepy and disheveled. Wrapped in a shawl, she swept a gaze over Reed. Disgust flickered in her eyes, quickly eclipsed by fear when she saw Meredith in his arms, the knife still buried under her collarbone.

  "Help," Reed squeezed out, barely able to stand.

  The woman reached out, scooping Meredith up. She was stout, and it seemed the girl's weight was no heavier to her than a sack of flour. She disappeared into the house, holding Meredith. A clatter and noise followed, but Reed remained standing at the threshold, motionless. Meredith's blood had soaked into his clothes and dried on his arms and thighs. It seemed the blood was everywhere, and it was no longer clear which was his and which was hers.

  Everything swam. The world pulsed, threatening to pull Reed into darkness, and he didn't resist. If asked what the woman looked like, or what the house or village was like, he wouldn't have been able to answer. Nothing from the real world found a response in him, for only the pain was real. His legs hurt; he swayed; his arms ached; his insides felt as if they were turning out. His mouth was dry, and though he dreamed of water, the hunger was stronger.

  A woman's voice came from the house, but Reed didn't catch the words. It was as if he were sleeping with his eyes open, unable to distinguish reality from fantasy.

  "I caid, come in. Before anyone sees," the woman growled, looking out. She grabbed Reed by the arm and dragged him inside.

  Meredith lay on a wide bench, as if asleep, though pale. Looking at her made Reed's eyes sting. He didn't care what he saw or who she was. She had returned his freedom, and only the Mother knows how much courage it took for a child to decide on such a thing. And for whom? Reed didn't think he was worthy of such bravery, but Meredith apparently thought otherwise. Why did she follow him? It was clear the plan was dangerous, perhaps useless. And still, she followed him, even risking to be exposed when using her magic.

  The woman bustled around Meredith like a hen over an egg. She stripped the girl to the waist, cutting the dress, and examined the wound. Reed turned away. He didn't want to look.

  "Who is she?" the woman asked.

  "Daughter," Reed said barely audibly, leaning his back against the wall. His legs held him no longer. He sat on the cool floor, running his fingers through his hair.

  "Who?" she asked again, looking Reed up and down. Her gaze caught every detail: his face, hands, wounds, clothes, and overall appearance. Reed's bare feet didn't escape her attention either.

  "Daughter," his voice was hoarse, and Reed barely recognized it as his own.

  "Doesn't look like it," she grumbled, looking him over once more.

  Reed laughed, a tired, heavy sound. The laugh tore from his chest like a death rattle.

  "What's funny?"

  "Children only look like fathers, right?" he almost spat the words out, not looking at Meredith. He was afraid to see her stop breathing, to see life leave her body. Reed had never been so afraid of death as he was then.

  "What happened?"

  "We were attacked."

  "Who?"

  "Bandits."

  The woman grunted and asked no more questions. While she was busy with Meredith, Reed fell into a heavy sleep that swallowed him like an abyss. And the embrace of that abyss was pleasant.

  Reed didn't know how long he slept. It was dark when he woke up. He was no longer lying on the floor but on the bench where Meredith had lain before. He didn't see her, so he jumped up sharply. His head nearly burst, spinning. For some time, he sat, trying to come to his senses. He had been washed somehow and changed into peasant clothes. There were tight bandages on his wrists, hiding the wounds from the shackles. With a groan, Reed bent down and lifted his pant leg; his legs were bandaged too. The fabric smelled of something tart and sharp, definitely herbal.

  It seemed his body had died long ago, and his spirit was still trying to control the stiff scarecrow he had turned into. Reed ran his hand over his chest and stomach, feeling his ribs protrude. He was afraid to stand up, fearing he wouldn't be able to take a single step. Sleep hadn't helped him recover, but at least his feet didn’t give in and he wasn’t acting like a madman. Reed was sure he wouldn't be able to fight for a long time, which meant he needed neither armor nor weapons.

  He didn't know how to work as anything but a head hunter. He simply didn't know what else one could do, or how to live in one place. Especially, knowing how many enemies he had made. Imagining himself in the role of a peasant, he laughed. Yet his laughter was bitter, full of pain. Who knows, maybe such a life would have been easier than the one he got? In any case, the road back had long since disappeared from view. It was flooded with blood and buried under the bodies of those he had killed. Reed would never be an artisan, a farmer, or a simple worker with simple problems. He would never marry a woman like the one who took them in; he wouldn't be waited for at home. And how could he be, if there is no home? He had nothing, not even a future.

  Reed's future was murky and foggy. He could die any day, but death just wouldn't come. It mowed down everyone around—those who deserved it and those who didn't—but it always bypassed him. Life brought pain but never let the peace of non-existence near him. Suddenly, he realized that he was waiting for his death, craving it, for it would put an end to his senseless existence that held nothing real or meaningful.

  All his freedom, strength, convictions, and principles were like a house of cards that would fall apart if one blew on it lightly. Apparently, Reed was a fool to believe he could live like this all his life. Ermod had proved to Reed that his existence could be easily ended, and he wouldn't be able to stop it. He could be captured, stripped of everything, his postulates destroyed, and all convictions ground to dust. They could blow on his house of cards, and Reed would have nothing left but to submit and accept defeat. Meredith was a gift of fate in this situation. She was a stroke of luck, but not everyone gets so lucky, and not always. And she had nearly died because of him. Reed didn't consider himself worthy of anyone dying for him at all, and Meredith certainly shouldn't have been the one.

  He sat mired in heavy thoughts when someone called him by name. At first, he thought he imagined it and listened closely. In the darkness, he saw nothing, although his eyes should have adjusted by now. Straining to listen to the silence, Reed froze.

  "Hector?" a weak voice called him, and Reed wanted to weep from how much pain was in that voice.

  "Dita?" Reed stood up, trying to scan the room to understand where she was. "Where are you?"

  "Right next to you."

  He found her almost by touch, stumbling and nearly falling. His body was still too weak, and even just walking across the room seemed a task of unprecedented effort. Meredith lay on a small, narrow bed, covered with a thin blanket. Her collarbone was bandaged just like Reed's wrists and feet. The bandages even gave off the same scent.

  "Dita," he squeezed out, falling onto the edge of her bed.

  "She left a candle," Meredith said, reaching toward a small table.

  Reed lit the candle and finally was able to see her. Meredith's face was pale; droplets of sweat stood out on her cheeks and forehead. She reached for Reed's hand with her fingers. Echoes of the horror she experienced the moment the fight between the convicts and overseers began were visible in her eyes. Reed clasped her fingers in his palm and brought them to his lips, but he didn't kiss them. He didn't dare touch even Meredith's hands after everything he had dragged her into, but now he understood that he couldn't have abandoned her.

  "How do you feel?" Reed asked, still squeezing her fingers in his hands. He looked Meredith over again, trying to find signs of imminent death, but found none.

  "I don't know," Meredith responded weakly. "And you?"

  "Same," Reed pulled a smile onto his face, but felt how fake it was. "You almost died. I'm sorry."

  "For what?"

  "It was because of me."

  "You didn't call me with you."

  "Then why did you go?"

  "You're the adult here, you should know," Meredith sighed tiredly. "I don't know, I just went. I didn't want you to be in pain. And you promised you could protect yourself."

  "Yes, I promised," Reed grumbled.

  "Then why didn't you?"

  "Well, you were nearby," a weak chuckle escaped his lips. Meredith smiled too, and then her face abruptly grew serious. She wanted to say something. It seemed an invisible battle was waging in her head to resolve to speak even a word.

  Finally, Meredith sighed heavily and looked at Reed.

  "Will you give me to the Church now?" She asked.

  "What gave you that idea?" Reed asked. If the Great Mother herself had walked into the room at that moment, followed by the Three, Reed would still have been less surprised than he was by Meredith's question.

  "You saw what I am," she answered in a whisper. "That's why they took dad and mom. I'm younger than you, Hector, but I'm not stupid."

  "I never considered you stupid."

  "The Blessed One killed dad because he had the gift, just like me." Tears ran down Meredith's cheeks. She cried, swallowing sobs, looking point-blank at Reed. "Mom said the Church would find us soon, but dad didn't believe it. He said many people were for 'us,' but we were always alone. Mom said that we only have ourselves. No one ever spoke to us; everyone we saw hid from us, and dad had to beg people to sell us food... and then the Blessed One killed him. I heard the people who came for us saying that we were sold for money, and that it would be better for others if the Church took us. They promised us the gallows and said the whole city would watch."

  Reed looked at her, dumbfounded. He was surprised either by her words or by how much she had said at once since they met.

  "Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

  "I thought you were taking me to the Church."

  "And you knew where they took your parents?"

  Meredith nodded. Reed remembered how she had asked if she would see her mother. It turned out she had been trying to find out where they were going. Everything inside him clenched at the thought of who Meredith believed him to be.

  "I would never give you to the Church," Reed said, trying to manage the trembling that suddenly seized him. "At first, I didn't know why the Church hunted you, but when I understood... anyway, I'll die before I let you end up there."

  "I don't want you to die," despair slipped into Meredith's voice. Reed's heart seemed to have withered and died long ago, but in that moment, something stirred.

  Meredith was still crying without making a sound, letting the tears run down her face, get lost in her hair, and fall onto the pillow. She didn't take her eyes off Reed. Shame seized him. How could he have participated in such terrible events in this child's life? How could he have caused her such pain? If a couple of Moons ago someone had told Reed that he would be ashamed of himself, he would have laughed in their face. But now, he couldn't look Meredith in the eye without flinching. She simply reached out to him, and Reed could not refuse.

  He hugged her as if he really were her father, comforting and rocking her. Meredith buried her face in his shoulder and burst into sobs. She hadn't cried like this even when her father was killed. Now, screams of inhuman pain that had been festering for far too long finally shattered her silence, tearing themselves free from her lungs. Finally, she was able to release it. Reed stroked her hair, saying all sorts of nonsense that didn't soothe but was exactly what one wanted to hear, while Meredith choked on her tears, clinging to him as if he were her last hope.

  Reed held her tightly, giving Meredith that sense of safety she had been deprived of since the Wasps found her family. And Meredith accepted this safety with gratitude. He did almost nothing, but they both knew that nothing more was needed. Reed needed to feel that his life mattered to someone, and Meredith needed to understand that she wasn't alone, even if her family wasn't nearby. Reed was her salvation from despair and a constant sense of danger. She was his last hope that something alive remained of his soul, capable of feeling and pushing him toward honest actions. Reed wasn't a master of deep thought, but these conclusions were simple.

  Meredith didn't calm down for a long time. Tears and her wound drained her strength but didn't bring sleep, and Reed couldn't bring himself to leave. He knew she was scared to sleep alone, so he remained sitting there, staring at the dying candle and listening to the breathing of the only kreyghar he could never look at with contempt again, and whom he could not abandon.