Seven: still chained
752 Words
The fire was warm on my face.
I could smell smoke.
Feel holy iron eating my wrists.
Hear the priests chanting.
_“By ash and oath,”_ the old one said. _“By light and law. Let the rot be cleansed.”_
Dionne was at the treeline.
Hair wet. Eyes black.
She mouthed my name.
She broke the chains.
Her hand was cold in mine.
“Run,” she said.
We ran through the marsh.
She leaned on me.
“I didn’t kill you,” she said.
“Then we’re monsters together.”
_“Finally,”_ the voice said.
I exhaled.
And woke up.
Cold wood under my cheek.
Rope on my wrists.
No fire.
No smoke.
Just the smell of sap and damp leaves.
I was in the cart.
Chained.
Moving.
Lirael was riding next to me.
Cael was asleep across from me, arm still in a sling.
No pyre.
No priests.
No Dionne.
_“It wasn’t real,”_ the voice said. Quiet.
“I know,” I said.
My chest hurt.
Not from burning.
From nothing being there.
Lirael looked down at me.
“You were making noise,” she said. “Talking in your sleep.”
“What did I say.”
“‘Run.’ A lot.”
She tossed me a waterskin.
I didn’t drink.
We were still in the Ward.
Trees above us.
No border.
No priests.
Not yet.
The dream had felt real.
The cold of her hand.
The weight of her.
The way she said my name.
_“She’s not here,”_ the voice said. _“Stop looking.”_
“I wasn’t,” I lied.
I tested the chains.
Still iron.
Still real.
Still going to the border.
Still going to burn.
Unless I did something.
Lirael was watching me.
“You thought she was coming,” she said.
“Who.”
“The girl.”
I didn’t answer.
She sighed.
“The Elder was wrong,” she said. “The forest doesn’t want you dead. But the priests do. And they paid us well.”
“So why tell me.”
“Because you pulled those things off Cael,” she said. “And because I don’t like watching boys burn.”
She didn’t unchain me.
Night fell again.
They made camp.
Chained me to a tree.
Same as before.
I didn’t sleep.
If I did, I’d dream it again.
And waking up would hurt worse.
_“We can break these,”_ the voice said. _“Now.”_
“No,” I said. “Not until the border. Too many of them.”
I stared at the dark between the trees.
West.
That’s where she’d been in the dream.
That’s where she’d run.
Was she really there?
Or did I make that up too?
The tug in my chest was faint.
Fainter than in the dream.
Maybe real.
Maybe not.
Cael came over with bread.
“You okay, Prince?”
“No,” I said.
He nodded. Sat down anyway.
“Lirael says you’re not rot,” he said. “Just stuck.”
“With what.”
“With her,” he said.
He left the bread and went back to the fire.
I didn’t eat it
Dawn.
They loaded me back in the cart.
We moved out.
Toward the border.
Toward the priests.
Toward the fire that was real this time.
I kept my eyes on the treeline.
Waiting.
For black lines.
For a voice.
For her.
Nothing.
Just trees.
_“She’s not coming,”_ the voice said.
“Shut up.”
Lirael rode beside me.
“You’ll get one shot,” she said quietly. “When we hand you off. The priests won’t be expecting it.”
“Why help me.”
“Because the last time we burned someone who came back, the marsh got bigger,” she said. “And I’d rather deal with you than that.”
She didn’t look at me again.
The cart rolled on.
The forest thinned.
I could smell smoke again.
But not from a dream.
From the outpost.
From the pyre they were already building.
My wrists burned under the iron.
And I thought about her.
About the dream.
About her hand in mine.
_“When we get out,”_ the voice said.
“When,” I said.
But this time I wasn’t sure if I meant in the dream or in real life.
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