Page 8 of The Last One
First of all, I didn’t ask her for any gifts, especially to hear the thoughts of others.
And second:“NoshitI don’t belong here.”
I mean…these people are praying for mydeath.
The woman gives me the smallest headshake.“I know.”
I shudder. She heard me?
Her lips become a tight line.“Yes, I heard you. Now, listen: leave as soon as you can.”
I lift my eyebrows.“How am I supposed to dothat?”
Above us, the sky turns heavy and those puffy white clouds roll back to let charcoal ones roll in. Around me, some villagers and traders gape at the sky as an excited hush settles over a town that hasn’t seen rain in ages.
“Isaid, what’s your name?” Johny the guard shouts, shaking me by my arm. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
My mind spins at his question but stays blank. I can’t even suggest one possibility. My mind stops spinning, leaving me with the soft noise of empty space.
Not good.
Still, I lift my chin and stick out my chest. “You may call me… Call me…” Sweat now beads along my forehead, and my mind starts wheeling around my head again. “My name is…”
Cassandra? Rose? Marget?
None of those sound right.None of thosefeelright.
Why do I know these names but I can’t remember my own?
Johny squeezes my arm.
Yeow!My knees buckle.
“And where are your clothes?” His beady eyes linger on my thin bandeau and the curves beneath it. His gaze sits like a boulder on my chest.
I nod toward the thief named Olivia. “Shehas my clothes. Shestolemy clothes.”
Here I’d hoped that Johny would be better than them. By the way his leer claws at my skin, though, I see that he’s worse.
I yearn to scratch out his eyes. And I will. Sooner rather than later. First, I need my stuff.
“Arrest that mudscraper!” a woman wearing a dirty bonnet shrieks. “Arrest her for attempted murder! For indecency!”
The air turns even thicker as the clouds push down and the villagers press closer around me. I’m overwhelmed by the pungent scent of a hundred bodies, their sweat and fear mingling with the smells of sheep, dust, and rotting vegetables. Market days are supposed to smell of spices, fruits, and freshly baked bread. Not shit and sheep.
The villagers continue to babble.
“Nothing good ever happens when strangers come here.”
“She’s cursed by Supreme. Just look at her!”
“Them circles on her bandeau! Witchcraft.”
“Can you see the drawings of elk and whirly things on her pants?”
Some think their thoughts while others whisper to one another and to the skies like they’re wishing upon a star. So many judgments against me, in fear of me, a witch and now a sorceress, and their words collide in my head and burst my heart. All of it hurts and threatens to rip me apart. All this glowing amber light makes my eyelids twitch, and this noise makes recalling my name impossible, and I want to close my eyes for relief and to remember. But there’s no time or space for that.
I don’t belong here?No shit.
