Page 7 of The Last One
Will any of us be left standing at the end of this day?
Some villagers close their eyes and pray:
“Strike down this creature, Supreme.”
“Banish it from our presence, in Your name…”
Cold sweat creeps across my forehead.
Strike down?They’re praying for my death!
“Sweep this pestilence from this earth.”
“Protect us from this vile one.”
I just want my things. Why can’t I just have my things? My stomach roils again, and that surge of sickness I’d experienced earlier makes me close my eyes.
“You move again, and you die,” the gruff-voiced man warns. “Now. Slowly. Take your hands off her.” But his voice doesn’t sound as solid as his swords.
Still, I’m not interested in dying today. I growl at the girl trapped beneath me, then slowly release my grip around her neck, leaving behind two scarlet bands on her pale skin.
The man sheathes one of his swords, yanks me by my elbow to my feet, and spins me around to face him. He shudders as he looks up at me, then shrinks back until he squares his shoulders, remembering thathe’sthe one with dual blades.
The faces of the traders manning the closest carts are twisted in fear and shock. They move in front of their trade, arms folded, to protect their potatoes and pottery from being destroyed or stolen in the commotion. Other traders are closing up shop altogether, shaking their heads and glaring at me for causing a disturbance.
“Those eyes!” a tinkly-voiced woman behind him exclaims. “Do you see her eyes? They’re gold, like a cat’s.” She tugs at his filthy tunic and cries, “You’re the guard, Johny! Do something! Stop her!”
Stop me?From doing what? He’s the one holding a weapon on me.
Johny sheathes his second blade, tightens his grip around my arm, then pridefully lifts his lantern jaw. “We don’t like mudscrapers in this town.”
Mudscraper? I’m no mudscraper.
If anyone looks like they’ve been scraping mud, it’s this man, with his goofy rusted helmet and shabby, stained smock.
Be better than them, Johny. You can do it! I need you to be better!
“That Gorga attacked Olivia for no good reason!” Copperhair yells as she tries to pull Olivia to her feet.
I snort, then say, “Oh, I have averygood reason.”
Olivia falls back on her rear, out of breath. She manages to croak, “She assaulted me!”
“Don’t look at her eyes,” that tinkly-voiced woman insists. “You’ll be cursed if you look at her eyes!”
Everyone ignores Tinkly Voice’s warning as they gape at me.
Coil-haired Nightstar Sparkle, who’d stood by the basket weaver, now comes to stand beside me. She’s stooped, older, as I see her this close. She quickly sweeps her hand over my ear.“You can’t be here,”she whispers. But she isn’t whispering—she hasn’t even opened her mouth.
What new trick is this, and why can I hear…?
As she gathers the shawl around her thin shoulders, the woman’s voice buzzes in my head.“You don’t belong here.”
My jaw goes slack. How can I hear her?
“This is a gift,” she says—no, shethinks.“Don’t expect any others from me.”
My shock quickly converts to ire, and I now glare at her.
