The Outcast and the Survivor: Chapter Eight

“Any suggestion that I let you find me just shows how ignorant you are of your own loathsomeness.”

He laughs lightly, though I’m not sure how amused he is.

“More likely it was for a very special guest. Where is she?”

“Far from here,” Julienne says boldly. “And you know you won’t catch her. Nor will you get any more out of me.”

The playful smile on the man’s face becomes a scowl as he steps forward and grabs her by the throat.

“You may have your enchantments and spells, but I can still hurt you in ways far beyond whatever magical incantations you might utter. Just hope that I never have to use them.”

He then shoves her back into the arms of the soldiers. It upsets me so badly that I am about to charge forward when Astor suddenly tugs me back slightly, restraining my temper a little.

“Take her,” the man then orders.

The room empties as quickly as it was filled, leaving just myself and Astor. His face is firm, reactionless, like he is not letting himself feel what is going on. Instead, he gestures toward the passageway, and together we wander into the dark.

A little further down, Astor lights a torch, which helps us navigate the many tunnels and stairs in the strange labyrinth the passage leads us through. Many twists and turns confound the way, but Astor moves forward confidently without hesitation, that is until we come across two sets of stairs, one up and one down.

“Did you forget which way?” I ask.

“No,” he says with a hollow voice, pausing. “She didn’t have to tell you to not let me go after her.”

“She probably knew you’d be listening.”

“Still, she didn’t have to say it,” he says again, a sort of childish whine in his voice as he lets out a sigh. “So much depends on us now. I wouldn’t throw it all away just to save her.”

“One of these stairs goes to where they’ve taken her,” I infer.

He doesn’t respond, instead glancing at the stairs leading upward for a moment. His head then goes down again.

“If I say we should go that way, it’s not because I’m considering doing something foolish. She and I have said so many goodbyes not knowing whether we’d see each other again that it has become a simple assumption, one we don’t mention anymore.”

“Then what’s up there for us?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it would be good to take a look.”

There is no sign of emotion on his face, nothing that says he’s acting rashly, so I nod and we start the ascent. More hallways greet us at the top, along with another set of stairs. We walk in silence until I ask where exactly we’re going.

“To the courtyard in front of the palace,” he explains. “That’s where they put captured criminals on display. With the light of morning fast approaching, my mother should be there.”

We don’t speak again for a few more moments as we travel through a number of corridors with light pouring down from grates above, some from torches and others from the golden haze of the sky above, the faint glow that precedes the day.

“That soldier who spoke to your mother, who was he?” I say quietly, fearful of what listening ears might be close by.

“Sebastian,” Astor answers sharply, “one of the City Men. That’s what they call their high captains here, a small council of military leaders who have ruled Vanguard since my people were banished. None of them is particularly pleasant, but Sebastian makes the others look like decent folk. He has made it his personal mission to hunt all of us until we’re extinct.”

This description makes me wonder if Sebastian could be one of the reapers. Yori mentioned once that people started to disbelieve and distrust the rangers when no evidence could be found that the reapers were real, but the rangers were convinced that these dark beings who could take the form of men, or even influence their minds, could be hiding anywhere, including among the people of the cities. The thought terrifies me too much, however, to even mention it to Astor.

As I start mulling over this possibility, I slowly trail further behind Astor, who doesn’t seem to notice given h

is quick pace. He turns a corner sharply maybe fifty feet ahead, and I am left in a dark, diagonal hallway unable to see the way to catch up.

At that instant, a strange coldness settles over my skin. It starts with my arms and legs and then slowly spreads inward until it reaches my chest and heart. I start to shiver and breathe deeply as it continues to spread up my neck and down into my lungs.

“Astor,” I try to call out, but my voice is gone.

I become weak, and my thoughts become cloudy. My legs nearly give way before I lean up against the wall to stabilize myself. The way ahead becomes even hazier, and I close my eyes in hopes of somehow withdrawing into myself and finding a place of safety from this overpowering force.