Page 74 of Red Demon
“I’ll rest a while longer,” I lied. Asher’s military company camped far to the east, and I’d be leaving today. A pang twisted in my gut as she gave me a clap on my shoulder, and I gave her an Asri salute.
“Farewell, Jesse.” Her face tightened.
“Goodbye Far,” I said.
She cocked her head at that. “Far?”
I shrugged, trying not to smile. “Try to remember me if we meet again.”
Her eyes went distant before her gaze fluttered down to roost on me. “I always remember the people I trust.”
She took quick steps away through the brush before I could respond, then broke into a run when the trail cleared. I watched her go as far as I could, with her last words taking root in my mind.
Within minutes, I’d packed up all I needed, tying up a few extra supplies into my century-fabric go-bag. Wearing my old clothes that Far had mended for me, I strapped Istaran at my side, planning to be in Nunbiren as soon as possible to bury my taam and friends.
Scarlet and orange fallen leaves and brittle twigs crunched underfoot. Sunlight filtered through the leaves still hanging on, dappling mosaics on the path. I drank in the crisp air, feeling strong, restless. There wasn’t a hint of pain left anywhere in my body, and my legs wanted so much to run. So I did.
Five minutes, ten, fifteen, and my lungs met each breath with relish like never before. My body anticipated every curve, every log in my path, reacting to jump and dodge each hurdle. The stamina shocked me the longer I kept going, even as I savored the freedom of this new strength. I pushed on, trying to wear myself down and find the edge where I’d be panting at my limit.
Thirst found me first, then ravenous hunger by the time I reached the old dam around noon. But I only felt tired when I sat down, looking out on the sparkling water I swam with Mira, so much colder than the day I was dumb enough to kiss her.
I walked the rest of the way to Nunbiren, but only because I did not want to miss any clues; I wondered if there were ghosts around I couldn’t see. But it was just my familiar forest with its towering trees and tangled undergrowth. The thought of Galen and my friends decaying on the cold ground spurred me onward. I had to brace myself for what I’d see, what I’d feel.
The Asri believe that to join their ancestors in Oria, their bodies have to return to the earth before their souls fade. They bury the dead as fast as they can—same day or next. Some souls fade more quickly than others, and sometimes they fracture into ghosts regardless. Beyond that, I don’t know how it works exactly, but I believed Galen was home. Maybe it was Istaran, maybe a drop of blood was enough for Oria to cradle his memories. But I would bury as many of the rest as I could, just in case it wasn’t too late.
The clouds were clearing over a misty afternoon when I stumbled out of the woods near the town walls. I met a lingering smoke in the air, acrid, the unsettling birdless silence like when the wild dogs attacked. My heart kept time as I forced my feet closer. At first, I saw nothing to explain the smoky taste of the air. The skyline was intact, but it all made sense when I saw the mound just inside the gate.
It looked much like the Chaeten town I stumbled on years ago. The bodies lay burned: only a few pale bone fragments lingered in the gray ash. I was too late. Overcome, I fell to my knees in the dusty street.
I stayed that way for a while, saying what funerary words I could remember, repeating each name and asking Oria to accept them. It wouldn’t work, but I needed to do it anyway.
Then I walked home, passing looted houses on every street, open doors and broken furniture. I was surprised to find the forge door locked and undisturbed. Fishing out my key, I walked in, embraced by familiar walls, unfamiliar silence.
I could not bear to stay there long, to light a fire and sit in this empty shell of a home. I changed my clothes, shaved my face, and resupplied. To keep it together, I pretended Ash and Galen were just on an errand, and they would be home for dinner soon. When I’d had enough of that pretense, I gathered the things I wouldn’t want looters to find, planning to hide the bag in the woods. I would make sure Asher had a chance to wear his century robe again.
By the time I’d reached the edge of town, I was crying like an idiot, grateful no one was there to see me.
Then I saw the four graves, freshly dug with loose heaps of fragrant sod. And as I drew closer to read the script on the hasty wooden grave markers, I realized I knew that messy scrawl of handwriting from a familiar leather journal.
“The girl in the pink nightgown.” “The man by the carpenter shop.” “Atalia Takashi.” “Galen Eirini.” I traced each knife-stricken word, each copied from Faruhar’s journal, realizing that I hadn’t fallen apart, not really, until just then.
Chapter 33
The Deal
It didn’t surprise me that the coordinates I had for Ash were in the middle of nowhere, deep in the forests of eastern Noé, not the South Bend. If Mahakal hunted rebels who resented the joint society of the empire, they’d be on the edges of it, in the hollows of the wild.
I was much better prepared than when I’d wandered the woods so many years ago. Since then, I’d stocked my go-bag with all the essentials I’d need if I ever got the chance to hunt the Red Demon. I had a military-grade compass, my favorite solstice gift ever from Galen, where I plugged in the coordinates I’d memorized from the field station. My Chaeten-fleece pants and shirt regulated heat on the coldest nights. I had the best armor that a civilian could buy. These twenty days in the field should be livable.
I did not plan for my recent surge in energy. It took me about thirteen days to jog most of the way, feeling like I just came from morning practice, albeit much hungrier. I could eat a whole rabbit in one meal now, and still wake up hungry in the morning.
When I arrived at the coordinates, I spotted disturbed ground and the cold remnants of campfires. I’d just missed them. Dozens of soldiers and at least a few horses left a clear trail.
The Fall Festival passed a few days ago. I imagined Asher walking around these woods, communing with Oria in this patch of trees, thinking of me. If anyone could hear Galen, it would be Ash, and I’d hoped he’d been able to sense that I was alive, looking for him.
Six days of tracking later, the long shadows of dusk cast through the trees as I found what must be Mahakal’s camp. A neat square of tents and tarps lay nested atop a hill, with lichen-thick ruins of gray stone. I kept hidden, scoping them out with goggles to make sure I had found some of Mahakal’s troops and not the rebels they were chasing. The camp bustled with activity, smoke curling from cook fires and clusters of huddled men gesturing at shared screens or scurrying between tents. Red military uniforms, the raven on the shoulder of an officer.
Taking a deep breath, I hid my bag of supplies, then circled from a new direction to enter camp. I refused to leave Istaran, but I snapped its comforting light into its scabbard so as not to spook them.
