Page 82 of The Last One
Then those lavender eyes drop down to my amulet, and they widen. He takes a quick breath, then says, “You’re here.”
23
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“Kai?” Jadon calls. “Where are you—?” He breaks from the trees, sword at the ready, and comes to a stop behind me.
Seeing Jadon, the stranger recoils and backs away. He mutters, “I must,” and then, “Oh dear.” Without another word, he turns and runs back into the forest.
“Hey!” I shout after him, but he doesn’t stop.
“Who wasthat?” Olivia asks as she and Philia catch up.
Jadon slips his sword into its sheath and helps me up from the ground. “What happened?”
But I can’t answer him, not that I know anyway. Right now, my brain is fuzzy and wavers like a mirage. That man’s eyes, that vibrant color of lilacs, are unlocking a memory. But only flashes—nothing recognizable or substantial. Biting back the pain from my injuries, I stagger through the woods, trying my best to keep up with the stranger. He is many,manyyears older than me, yet I’m struggling to catch up. How is he running so fast?
I direct my focus to the distant violet glow emanating from the ouroboros on the old man’s staff.
That staff, that snake, it symbolizes…
A name snaps into my mind, and I stumble, bracing myself on a tree to break my fall.Renrian. The order of enchanters. I take off again, leaves crunching beneath my feet as I pick up speed. I’ve met a Renrian before. I know I have. As I run, I coax the memory from my mind’s shadows.
A banquet table…and golden cups of wine…applause and…shouts…glistening lavender eyes and air that shimmered and…goodness. Kindness. I don’t remember much else, but I do recall that Renrians like parties. Renrians are also wise and kind, and obviously good in a fight. The old man clearly helped us defeat the burnu and didn’t turn his staff on Jadon and me. He’s seen my injuries, and I’m hoping, since Renrians are good, wise, and kind, he’ll assist in some way. Bandages. Soap. Rum, maybe.
“Kai, wait up!” Jadon shouts.
I look over my shoulder but don’t stop my stride—I may not be able to start again, not with this bright-white pain shooting through my body.
Jadon runs behind me, his giant sword ready, the blade sharp and sticky with dead burnu. Farther back, the girls follow, twigs snapping under their frantic footfalls.
I trip over a log and fall into the dirt. Tangled tree roots and vines snag my clothes and yank my hair. Jadon scuttles from behind and helps me free myself from their grasp. With his help, I stand and sway, but the forest now tilts and swings, and hot spasms of fire convulse up and down the left side of my body.
“Kai.” Jadon’s voice sounds far away. “Hold on to me!”
I blink but see only reds and blacks, then smoke, reds and blacks. I grasp his arm with my hot hands, my core hotter. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m okay,” but I dare not let him go.
We stagger through the forest, and sometimes my feet touch ground, sometimes my body feels light.
“Almost there.” Jadon’s arms around my waist are steel buckles keeping me from collapsing. His hands feel like balms and fire. His lips singe my forehead.
The forest is a jumble of sticks and branches, rocks and trees. Though my head swims, I know that we’re staggering up and out of the woods. The cold, loose air tells me that we’ve stepped into a clearing. There, ahead of me, a cottage perches on a small bluff, and a column of smoke puffs from its chimney. The house is cloaked in a sea of mist, droopy branches, and the dark leaves of weeping willows. No light escapes from behind its shuttered windows—but thereisthe cobalt glow of an old man shining through the walls.
“He’s in there,” I whisper.
“Hiding?” Philia’s out of breath, and her voice is strained and shrill. “Didn’t he see you were injured? You need help.”
We lurch up the flagstone walkway, and Jadon bangs on the solid oak door with the side of his fist. “We know you’re in there,” Jadon yells. “Either you open the door right now, or I’ll—”
The door swings wide, and light spills out. “Or you’ll what?” the old man growls, snapping back the bell-shaped sleeves of his robe.
“Please, let us in,” I say, gasping as pain overwhelms me.
The old man hesitates, and his unsettled gaze shifts from my contorted face to the girls huddled behind us to Jadon’s giant sword.
“She’s injured,” Jadon says. “We need help. We won’t ask for more than she requires.”
“Help me,” I beg. “Please?”
