Page 137 of The Last One
Traitor to our holy rite.
Against the laws training all,
This treacherous rebel scrawls
Across the Light’s unchanging guise.
This turncoat stalks his precious prize.
Hear the echoes of love untold,
In starlit nights, in stories old.
A plea that hastens Supreme’s might.
Slay the fiend and win the fight.
Cosmos weep for fallen clans.
This tragedy upsets plans.
Perfecting life for souls facing death,
Realms sicken as they misspend breath.
—An Elegy by Veril Bairnell the Sapient
41
Olivia is being taken to Weeton, which is almost as far a journey to the southwest as Mount Devour is to the north. Caburh is partway between and will add a few days to our journey.
“If I am to survive without my amulet long enough to reach Weeton, I need stronger armor, which means traveling to see your friend in Caburh,” I tell Veril as we leave the protection of the Renrian’s forest.
Jadon starts to speak but stanches it as I spin to face him. “Go on to Weeton without me, then,” I say. “But if you need my sword, then you should do everything possible to keep me strong enough to lift it. Especially since I’m without my amulet. Understand?”
He holds my gaze, unblinking, and then, begrudgingly, he nods.
For now, I wear the most protection I’ve had since waking up nearly naked outside of Maford. Beneath Veril’s borrowed armor, my clothes fit snug against my skin. The power of every elk and owl, spiral and lightning bolt, flows through me. Instant strength and balance—my body can breathe again. But it won’t for long. Sybel told me that. Ifeelthat even though I’m stronger than before. Without my amulet, I’m nothing like I could be.
Jadon walks beside me, gauze covering the markings on his hand again.
Philia walks ahead of us carrying a bag heavy with her own possessions and Olivia’s items I didn’t throw into the fire, including the stolen jeweled book. I’d insisted that Philia be armed as well, and she chose the mace. Chin lifted, she’d told Jadon, “Yes. I’m a hunter, adept with a bow and arrows. While my father also taught me to identify weapons made of steel, my mother taught me how to use them.” She lifted her chin, then added, “My father had many drunken friends. Bows and arrows didn’t work well in close quarters. Knives did.”
I’d bristled hearing that about her father and his friends. She didn’t say it plainly, but I knew immediately what she’d experienced dealing with drunk men in small rooms. Wherever he rots now, Philia’s father should be grateful that he and I weren’t in Maford at the same time. He would’ve become one more hot dish for the giant snake that swallowed Johny the guard.
Knowing more about her family life, a small part of me has softened toward Philia. She’s shown a determination different from the girl I met.
As we walk through the forest, Jadon tries to make small talk with me.
“The emperor has three trained falcons.”
“It’s hot tonight—more than usual for this time of year.”
“I sharpened Little Lava, since she’d dulled from that fight in Azzam Cavern.”
But I’m not interested in anything he says. I remain quiet, unresponsive, indifferent. Not one grunt. Not a single cocked eyebrow.
He finally picks up what I’ve been putting down and slowly…slowly…drifts behind me.
