The Defiance (Brilliant Darkness) (7 page)

I miss her more in this moment than I have since I first learned she was dead. I'd felt stronger grief and sorrow, but I really
miss
her calm strength right now.

"How are you doing?" I ask. "I mean about . . . her."

He shrugs. "I'm okay."

We haven't talked much about losing Aloe. But I want him to know he can. So I tell him how
I
feel. "It hurts. Every day it hurts. I miss her."

"Yeah."

I wait, but he doesn't say anything else. "Don't want to talk about it, huh?"

"Not really." His voice is thick.

I hesitate. I don't want to make things more difficult for him, but I don't want to lose an opportunity to draw him out, either. It's hard enough for
me
to talk about her. I try a different approach.

"You know what I miss? The way she smelled."

 "Rosemary," he says after a pause.

"And something else, too. Something sort of sharp smelling. I miss her hugs, too. When she hugged me, it was like she gave me some of her strength. It kind of oozed out of her and into me. Know what I mean?"

His hair whispers against the wall as he nods. I tuck him in closer to me. Voices and footsteps pass by outside. It's been surprisingly quiet. Maybe these shelters are built sturdier than ours, like their furniture.

"Remember our midnight swims?" Eland asks.

I laugh. Who could forget? We weren't supposed to swim after dark—too dangerous—but Aloe said her mother used to take her and she was going to take us—rules or no rules. She didn't swim; she stayed on the shore to listen for trouble.

Eland and I loved those rare nights slipping through the cool water, staying far enough away from land to almost feel like we were the only people on earth. It was as peaceful as it got as a Groundling.

"I think I saw him once. While we were swimming," Eland says.

"Who?"

"Peree. I didn't know who he was then, but I think it was him. There was a really bright moon that night, and he was standing on the platform that looks out over the water. He was just leaning on his bow, watching us swim. He looked kind of sad. I wondered what a Lofty would be sad about."

"You'd be surprised," I say gently.

Someone pounds on something nearby. It must be a door, because wood scrapes together, and a voice answers. I can't hear the exchange.

"Nothing amiss there," a woman says. Her voice is clear now . . . because she's right outside our door.

"Moving on, then," a man replies. Chill bumps press up all over my body and my pulse quickens. It’s Osprey—the man who told Peree that Eland and I shouldn’t be in the trees. The door to our shelter shakes as the people bang on it.

Eland and I huddle together. The huge tree trunk should hide us from sight if they open the door. But not if they come all the way in and look around. My stomach knots like the roots of a plant with nowhere else to grow.

The door creaks open, and footfalls cross the sitting area on the other side of the tree.

"Look what we have here. A couple of Groundling fire bugs."

I hang on to my brother's arm, fighting the queasiness prompted by rushing through the dark night sky, moving up and down walkways at a near run. I'm still sweating, partly from fear and partly because the air is warmer and more humid. Rain is coming.

I tried to ask the Lofties what they intended to do with us, but neither one spoke after they found us. They seem to be trying to make as little noise as possible. All I can hear are our hurried footsteps and the groans of the sick ones below. Even the night insects are hushed. I wonder if it might be worth shouting or making some other noise to draw attention to us. But I'm frozen in place by the weapon at my back and the hostility I feel boiling out of Osprey and the woman.

Before I can formulate any other kind of plan, we're back inside a shelter. This one feels smaller and more cramped than the other two Lofty shelters I've been in. My nose wrinkles. It smells like the place holds some kind of compost pile. Eland and I are shoved on to the dirt-covered floor. I try not to think about what kinds of creepy crawlies might be under us.

"What are you going to do with us?" I ask the Lofties again.

"You'll be disposed of," the woman answers curtly. The absolute lack of emotion in her voice sucks the last of the warmth from my body, the way rolling into the freezing Hidden Waters did. She clearly means what she said.

"Why? What did we do?" Eland asks. His voice is shaky, but he also manages to sound a little defiant. It makes me proud.

"Don't act like you don't know. You deliberately set a fire. That's an act of war," Osprey says. "And once
you're
gone,”—I have the feeling he’s speaking to me—“we can go back to some semblance of normal.”

"Normal? Is it normal for your people to
dispose
of twelve-year-old boys?" I ask.

"The boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time and definitely keeping the wrong company," the woman says.

"Then let him go," I argue. "He won't say a word about this—right, Eland? Let him go, and you can do whatever you want with me."

"Too late, I'm afraid," Osprey says.

Without another word, the Lofties step back outside, bolting the door as they leave. The wind has picked up; it carries off the sound of their footsteps and anything else they might have said.

"Are you okay?" I whisper to Eland after a minute.

He exhales in a small
whoosh
of pent-up tension. "I guess. Except for the smell. It's pretty bad in here."

He stands and tries the door, but it doesn't give at all.

"Let's both try pushing on it," I suggest.

"I don't think it will help."

He sounds half-apprehensive, half-mutinous—like he used to when he knew Aloe was going to be angry with him for some mischief he'd made—but less frightened than I might expect. I'm reminded again of how much more mature he seems than a few short months ago. Everything has happened so quickly since I got home; there hasn't been time to process all the changes. Now we may be out of time.

I wish Peree would come home right about now. This is his territory. I'm lost in the trees. Those thoughts scatter the next moment like leaves across the forest floor. I've never relied on anyone to save me before, and I'm not going to start now.

"How do you think they knew we were up here?" Eland asks, sitting again.

"Maybe someone saw one of us with Petrel."

A grasping, choking thought sprouts in my head. What if Petrel or Moon told Osprey where to find us? Did they falsely accuse us of having set the fires? Maybe Petrel believed Eland really
had
set the fire when he saw him clinging to that tree.

I try to pinch off the poisonous shoot in my mind, but it’s not easy. Why do I think I can trust Peree's family?
My
friends don't trust
him
. Why would Moon and Petrel feel any different about me? If they got rid of me, they'd have Peree back and all would be right in their sunny, leafy little world again. But how could they involve Eland?

I want to believe that family means the same thing in the trees that it does on the ground. We take care of each other; we don't betray one another. But family has never included Lofties when you're a Groundling. Or vice versa.

The wind dashes and dodges through cracks in the shelter around us. Fingers of rain begin to drum against the roof. I hold Eland's hand, ignoring the filth.

"I think she knew she was going to die. Mother.” He stops. From his choked tone it sounds like he's wanted to let go of this for a while. When he speaks again, his voice is halting, and haunted. "She looked bad at the end, Fenn. Really bad. Kind of shriveled, like a thirsty plant in the garden. She didn't smile anymore, not even for me. I was scared, because Moray's brother and his knife were always hanging around me, but I was just as scared about what was happening to her." I squeeze his hand, letting him know I'm listening.

"She came to me a few days before the Reckoning. She told me she thought there was a chance you'd still come back. That she trusted you and knew you would do whatever you could to help our people. She said if you came back, you would take care of me, and I should take care of you. I didn't know why she was telling me all that stuff. She sounded . . . like she'd given up. Mother never sounded like that." He sniffles.

"And she said something else. Something I haven't told you, because I didn't know why she said it. It didn't make any sense. But it makes more sense now, after you told me what the Three did to you.” He hesitates. “You know, to your eyes."

A foreboding feeling slithers through me—one I've learned the hard way to pay attention to. The rain beats on the wood over our heads now, and thunder snarls in the distance. The storm sounds louder and feels closer this high up in the air.

"What did she say?" I have to raise my voice over the noise.

"She told me, 'Don't trust the Three. Not now. Not ever.’"

I only have a moment to wonder at Aloe's message before lightning explodes over our heads, and the door creaks open.

"Groundlings, listen to me. We don't have much time."

I try to place the voice, but I don't think I've heard it before. She sounds younger than me, and her tone is soft and rushed. "I'll help you get out of here, but I need you to promise me something first. Promise you'll take a message to someone. One of your people."

"Who are you?" I ask, totally confused.

"It doesn't matter."

"Who's the message for?" Eland asks.

"Moray," she says.

 I almost snort. "
Moray?
You want us to give
him
a message? About what?"

"We'll give him the message, whatever it is," Eland says quickly. "Please help us."

The eagerness and relief in his voice brings me to my senses. Of course he's more frightened than he was letting on before. He's twelve. And he's right. Whatever the message is and whomever it's for, we need to deliver it so we can get out of here. So much for not relying on other people to rescue me.

"I want your word, too, Water Bearer," the girl says.

I can't imagine what a Lofty would want to tell Moray, but I say, "We'll bring him your message. I promise."

She's quiet for a moment, probably deciding if she can trust a couple of dirty Groundling hostages. "Then follow me.
Quietly
. Osprey and the others are sheltering from the storm, but the moment it stops they'll be coming for you."

Her words focus me. We have to get out of the trees. Now. Eland helps me up and wraps my hand around his arm. Goosebumps rise on his skin like spirits called forth by the howling storm. The branches scrape and groan around us, whipped into a frenzied dance by the wind, and the rain soaks us in a matter of moments.

We move forward, the sound of our footsteps thankfully drowned out by the storm. I have to rely on Eland's sight because I can't hear anything. After a minute or so we stop, and he speaks into my ear.

"I think we're going a different way than the other Lofties took us. We have to use one of those ropes to swing." He can't hide the thrill in his voice. I can't hide my grimace.

We situate ourselves around the rope swing. I give it a strong pull to be sure it's tied securely, then I wrap my arms around Eland’s thin torso.

We take a few steps and push off. It's only when we're mid-swing, my feet dangling and my stomach trailing somewhere behind me, that I wonder if we can even trust this Lofty.

Too late now.

The storm rages over us as we walk on, following the Lofty girl. Instead of being frightened, I'm grateful for the cover it provides. I don't think anyone could possibly hear us. But
seeing
us is another problem entirely.

The girl mutters to hurry up in a tone so low it's almost lost in the wind. We pass a few homes. Narrow pools of light spill out in the darkness, probably from small fires lit inside as people wait out the surging storm.

"We're going through the main area now. Lots of shelters here," Eland whispers. "Be extra quiet."

I squeeze his arm to let him know I understand. I have to remind myself to ease up; I'm probably leaving bruises.

My shoulders brush the wet, wooden walls of the shelters as we creep along, hesitating at every squeak of the boards under our feet. At first I don't understand why we're staying close to the structures containing an untold number of hostile Lofties, rather than as far away from them as we can get.

Until I hear a door open in front of us. A new Lofty woman speaks, so close it sounds like I could reach out and touch her. I don’t know where our guide is, but Eland and I go rigid against the wall of the shelter next to us.

"I wonder what they'll do with the Groundlings," the woman is saying.

"Don't know," a man answers.

I imagine that the couple is standing inside their open door, looking out at the storm. The one we're standing a mere few feet from. I clutch Eland's arm, willing him not to move. From the tense set of his muscle, I needn't have worried. The scent of cooking food makes my stomach protest loudly. I hope they can't hear it.

"I suppose we have to do something," the woman says. "First there was the raid on the trees, then this fire. But it doesn't seem right. They're children. Even if they are Groundling children. What kind of people sends their young to do something like that?"

"Nothing happens down there without the approval of their Council. They had to know someone was about to set the fire. Or it was their idea." His voice is grim.

"I don't understand it."

The man grunts. "I don't understand half of what the bottom-feeders do."

"I feel badly for Peree, though. First his father, now the girl."