Page 69 of The Last One
We turn to look back at the girls. Philia still holds the reins, but her head bobs as if she’s about to doze off. Behind her, Olivia is absently twisting a lock of Philia’s hair around her finger. She whispers in the redhead’s ear. Philia nods and asks, “Can we stop soon?”
“We will but not here,” Jadon says. “I’m looking for a spot that offers a better vantage point. The grass is too high, and the fog is too heavy.”
“Just hold on a little longer,” I say, scanning the path before us.
Nothing glows yellow or blue.
“It must be hard for you right now,” Jadon says, eyes on the plains. “Not remembering something as simple as the way you want to love someone.”
His insight is an ambush—I didn’t expect it at all, and now, a lump forms deep in my throat. “Yeah.” I suck in my cheeks. And fold all those wonderings into the larger ones, like,Who am I,Why am I here, andHow is it that I’m able to push wind from my hands.
Am I a good person or not…?
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Jadon says, his eyes turning into slits, “and I’ve come up with a new theory. I think you’re a gifted mage and warrior. You can wield a sword, a garden hoe, and wind—that’s an incredible feat for anyone except you. I think you hated your village. It was too small, in thought and in size, and so you struck out on your own. Though you’re gifted, you’re still young and you don’t know enough to master your gifts.
“I think one of your spells backfired. Olivia said you fell from the sky. Maybe that was your magic backfiring, and whatever spell you cast sent you soaring to the sky, and you fell back, and your descent looked like a starburst to her. You landed in that forest, and it was a rough landing, and the force may not have broken you into little pieces, as it would’ve anyone else, but it did drive every memory you’ve ever collected into the great nowhere. That means you can’t remember who you are or where you came from. And you can’t remember your magic, although now, slowly, very slowly, it’s all coming back to you.
“I also think… When youfinallyremember everything, you won’t spend another minute here. This time, you’ll forget Maford, Olivia, and slimy leeks—”
“And you?” I brave a glance at the man riding beside me.
He keeps his eyes on the horizon. “If you’re lucky, even me.”
We ride in silence for a while until I say, “That story needs a happier ending.”
His lips slant, ready to warble into a smile. “I’ll work on it some more.”
Jadon pulls his horse to a stop. He sits up, rigid. “Shit. Do you see that?” He leans forward, squinting into the foggy distance.
I follow his gaze, barely making out what he sees, but I see enough to make my heart pound. “Oh no,” I whisper, clutching the reins tighter to steady my trembling hands.
An abandoned campsite. A large flag flaps in the wind, familiar symbols embroidered into its fabric. But there are no soft orange glows from any campfires. No soldiers sleeping with bundled tunics serving as pillows. Has the army moved on to invade the next town and force people to their knees?
I know this flag—those leopards are unforgettable.
Emperor Wake’s men.
“What now?” Philia whispers behind us.
“We can’t turn back,” I say.
Jadon whispers, “We won’t turn back.”
With dread pooling in our stomachs, Jadon and I exchange a worried glance.
All we can do is pray that we make it to the other side…alive.
18
We ride on, and my heart pounds with uncertainty as the landscape around us changes. The silence is interrupted by the rustle of cloth snapping in the breeze and the crackle of dead and brittle things beneath our horses’ hooves. We near the source of that flapping—it’s the flag in the middle of the burned-out campfire, and now, the fog lifts and the wild grasses lose their height, becoming matted and clumped, as though some great beast made its nest here.
No, it’s worse than a great beast.
Parts of this meadow have been scorched black, and as we look down from our horses, we see they are stepping over broken blades, broken bones, and abandoned pieces of armor—a greave over there, a pauldron over there, breastplates and gauntlets everywhere. The air still holds the acrid stench of fighting and death. This smell is too weighted, too coarse, and my nose burns. There’s the flag that we saw, one corner tangled around the branches of a burned tree and another corner end tied around the neck of a dead man shorn apart by arrows and axes.
There’s another trampled flag of the emperor over there, stomped to its death and left in that muddy grave. Over there, a trampled flag of a kingdom with a sigil of a golden griffin, soaring pine trees, and green hexagons. There’s a decomposing hand with a thick-banded ring still on its finger and clutching both Wake’s flag and this mystery kingdom’s flag.
Thatmakes me sit upright in my saddle.
