Chapter Text
The fires were roaring and she could hear the loose, undisciplined chatter of people deep in drink, celebrating the bonding. Neal had drunk deep from the cup she’d laced with sleeping herbs and she could hear him snoring. It was time to slip away while attention was focused elsewhere. They would be allowed a few hours of privacy to consummate the bonding, before they were expected to re-join the celebrations in the morning.
She made herself as compact, as invisible as she could, and made her way to the outskirts of the village and then onwards to the forest. She kept expecting to hear alarms being raised and it wasn’t until she was several minutes away with no signs of pursuit that she allowed herself to relax a little. But not much; Neal’s father would be furious the moment he realised she was gone.
Over the course of a few weeks, she’d stowed the gear she would need in the forest, away from the main trails. She moved quickly through the undergrowth, her feet sure and steady, even in the dark; she knew these trails like they were a part of her. It didn’t take long before she reached the base of the tree her gear was in. She made her way carefully up the tree, moving from branch to branch until she reached the one the oilskin pack was lashed to.
She was nervous. Everything had gone perfectly so far – too perfectly, perhaps – and now, with clear air in sight, she started to feel the weight of what she was doing more acutely. Her fingers fumbled at the knot in the rope, and she had to remind herself to settle and breathe and take the time she needed. She still couldn’t get it undone, and she had the horrible thought that all of her planning would be for nothing, just because of a knot tied wrong. Finally, she managed to work it loose, and she started to make her way back down the tree.
There was the sound of a twig breaking somewhere nearby, and Emma’s already racing heart sped up even further. She listened intently, and a moment later, she heard a rustle of leaves as someone or something moved through the dense undergrowth. It had to be someone following her; none of the creatures of the forest would move that heavily or clumsily.
She’d always enjoyed the thrill of the hunt – was one of the best in the clan at tracking – but now she was experiencing the unwelcome sensation of being prey and had an uncomfortable moment of empathy for all of the creatures she’d chased down.
She clamped down on her instinctive urge to reach out with her mind; she couldn’t risk being detected, and that was the surest way of being found. She made herself small again, drawing her mind down into herself, hoping that whoever had followed her was as clumsy at mind-tracking as he was at physical tracking.
There was a moment when she thought she was okay, but then she felt the brush of a mind against her own, and an insistent whisper, quiet but forceful.
“Emma.”
It was Neal. Her heart sunk, as she realised that he must not have had enough of the herbs and heard her leave. She pulled in tighter on herself, hoping that he would fail to find her a second time and write the contact off as a mistake.
It was no use, though. There was a second, probing contact, and Neal’s voice in her head, even more tightly focused than the first time. “Emma, I know you’re up there. I just want to talk.”
She heard him move closer to her hiding spot, and when she looked down, she could see the whites of his eyes glinting in the moonlight as he turned his face up towards her. She thought of the throwing knives stashed in her pack; it would be so very simple – little more than a flick of the wrist – and Neal’s pursuit would be ended. She thought about it, but she couldn’t. If she was to buy her escape at the cost of Neal’s blood, it would be with a fair fight, face-to-face. She owed him that much.
Nonetheless, she reached into the pack to grasp one of the knives, ensuring that she was armed for whatever confrontation might ensue. She was honourable, but she wasn’t an idiot.
She was about ten feet from the ground when she dropped down the rest of the way, landing behind Neal and quickly assuming a fighting stance, knife in hand. He turned at the sound and spread his arms wide, palms upturned.
“I’m not going to try to take you back, I promise.”
He took a step back, arms still outstretched, and this time, he said her name out loud. “Emma, please.”
She suppressed a gasp. She couldn’t remember when she had last heard her name spoken aloud. She wasn’t sure she ever had; perhaps she only recognised it because of the thought that sat behind it. The punishment for audible speech was unimaginable; no one ever talked about it directly, but she’d heard whispers about the terrible things that could happen. There were whispers that that’s what had happened to Jefferson, and why he wasn’t quite right in the head.
It was this risk, this act of defiance that made her relax her guard and believe that perhaps Neal could be trusted.
“What do you want, Neal?”
“Like I said, I just want to talk. Then you can go.”
“Then talk. Quickly.” She was impatient to keep moving. The longer she tarried, the greater the chance she would be caught by someone other than Neal.
“I understand why you’re running. I didn’t want this either,” he said. Then he showed her an image of Tamara, confirming suspicions she’d long held about Neal’s affections.
“And if I’m gone…”
“Tamara and I might have a chance to be together.” He finished her thought for her.
“How long have you known I was going to run?” If Neal knew, then who else…
“I figured it out yesterday, when we were rehearsing the first dance. Your guard slipped for a moment and as close as we were, I couldn’t help but overhear some of your thoughts. And then, I saw you slip something into my cup tonight, so I only pretended to drink that lovely concoction you’d prepared for me.”
He sent her an image of himself, surreptitiously dumping the contents of the cup, before pretending to drink. She rolled her eyes; he’d always been a little too good at sleight-of-hand. There had been many times he had entertained her when she was younger with his prowess at picking the pockets of the older clan members.
“Did you let it slip to anyone else? Does your father know?”
“No. Just me. And it’ll stay that way.” He was telling the truth. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his words.
He held out his hand. “Give me your clothes. Shoes too.”
She was more than happy to shed the wretched dress she’d been forced to wear for the bonding. She hadn’t been willing to risk the time it would take to change, so she’d been forced to wear it during her dash through the forest. She was less happy about handing over the brand new pair of boots she’d received as a bonding gift, but for the purposes of her escape, she was better off wearing the old pair she’d stowed in her pack just in case. She changed clothes and tossed the dress to Neal.
He smiled as he caught it, and said, “I’ll lay a trail heading towards the river south of the village. I’ll make it seem like you’ve fallen in.” And she would go north, across a much greater, more treacherous river, putting as much distance and water in between herself and anyone who might think to look for her.
He closed the distance between them and she tensed up, still not entirely certain that he wasn’t about to turn her in. He pulled her into a quick embrace, and she’d only just relaxed when he stepped back again.
He pressed something into her hand – it was small and cold and hard – and when she opened her hand, she saw it was a stone, darker than the night around them. It was so dark that it seemed to suck the light into it.
She frowned in confusion.
“I’ve been working on it for a while. It absorbs leaky thoughts, dulls their resonance. It’ll make it harder for my father, or anyone else, to detect you.”
She started to respond, but he interrupted her. “Don’t worry about it, I have another almost finished.”
“Thank you.”
“Now go.” She turned and walked away, not looking back, and as she drew away, she felt one last gentle touch of his mind against hers. “Goodbye, little sister. Be safe.”
*****
Neal had obviously kept his promise, because there had been no signs of pursuit, none of the tell-tale echoes of minds searching for her own. She kept moving, though, just in case, never lingering more than a couple of days in the one place.
Summer had come and gone since she’d run and there had been times when she’d been tempted to turn around, to find her way back. It was lonely out here. Even though she’d never quite felt like she fit in, had always been the orphan living upon the sufferances of others, there was a degree of intimacy that came just from being around others, feeling the brush of other minds against her own.
Now, she might as well be the only person in the world. And perhaps she was. She had expected at some point to encounter other settlements, other signs of life, but no matter how far she roamed she found more of the same untouched wilderness. It made the hunt easy; far away from the village, prey animals had not learned the same wariness as those that roamed where humans trod.
She didn’t go back though. There had been a certainty driving her onwards that there was more for her out there somewhere. To stay with the clan would have been to settle, to deny herself the chance at something greater.
She held on to that faith, and it sustained her through the darkness and the loneliness, until one night, drifting off to sleep, she felt the touch of another mind against her own for the first time in several cycles of the moon.
It was a touch that was both wholly foreign and yet strangely familiar, and it drew her deeper and deeper, enmeshing with her in a way that should have been alarmingly intimate. Should have been, but wasn’t. After all this time, this was the truth that she had been seeking.