Mine to Tarnish (7 page)

I slam into the water. It surrounds me, then I’m thrust back to the surface. Waves crash over me. I thrash, trying to stay above the surface. Trying to find something to grab on to. Trying not to drown. I break against something. Pain jars through my back. The current starts to pull me from it. A large rock. I turn and attempt to hold on.

My fingers grip the slick rock, but the waves push and yank and drag. Banging me into the rock, trying to beat me into going downstream. Fingers slip. Grip loosens. Struggle to keep hold. Water crashes over and over. Tumbled about.

Cold.

Chapter Ten

I
cough, choking up water. My eyes sting. The sand is gritty. Sand? I wipe the grime from my eyes and blink several times. Land. Somehow I made it ashore. I cough a few more times and collapse back on the sand. My body aches. My wrist is a mess of searing pain.

I clench my teeth and roll over, letting the sun warm my face. Sun. It’s nice to have sunshine instead of a ceiling made of rock. Once I’ve collected myself, I stand and look for Charles. The ache in my body focuses in on my chest. What if he didn’t make it?

Thinking like that is not allowed. He made it. I just need to find him. I try to call out his name, but a croak comes out instead. I survey the bank on both sides of the river as far as I can see. Nothing. Only sand, rocks, trees, and broken bits of rowboat. I knew that thing didn’t look safe.

Which way should I search? I’m so turned about, I don’t even know which way is the way we came and which way is closer to safety. The sharp ache concentrated on my wrist makes it even harder to think. I scan the banks again but still nothing.

“Charles?” I call again. This time it’s actually audible, though probably not loud enough to hear more than a few feet away. I follow the water's edge, going in the direction the river is flowing, cradling my injury to my chest. That has to be the safer way to go. But will it lead to where Charles is? What if I’m wrong? I glance back and search again. Nothing.

I press on, scanning both sides of the river for any sign of him. The sun creeps further down in the sky, a growing reminder that every moment that passes is one more moment for the warlocks to discover me. It doesn’t matter. I can’t give up looking for him. But I’ve walked so much. He can’t be this far down, can he? My instinct says no. I must have chosen the wrong way.

It’s hard to turn back, hard to move toward the warlocks, but I force myself to anyway. Charles has given me so much help. He must be somewhere along here. My steps are faster now, my eyes still scanning the rocks, tree riddled banks, and rowboat bits strewn about. Suddenly I stop. Something doesn't look quite right. My pulse pounds with hope. There’s a brown tree fallen on the other bank, except for a stripe of brown that isn’t the same as the rest around it. It’s more uniform in color and smoother.

I think it might be… Is it…? I hurry backward, not taking my eyes from the spot across the river. There’s a spot of white above the brown, a spot that looks very much like that back of Charles’s bald head. It is him!

But he’s not moving. I have to get to him. He has to be all right.

The river is swift through here, but I have to cross it. If I slip in…Can't think about that. I glance upstream. No sign of warlocks. The spells would probably be the first sign of them anyway.

“Charles!”

No response.

I call his name several more times, but either the rush of the river is drowning me out or he’s still unconscious or—

No. It’s only that it’s loud through here and he’s unconscious. Nevertheless, I step into the river. It’s coldness tugs at my skirts, trying to pull me back into its clutches. I scan out a path of rocks and the dead tree Charles is lying next to. I have to make it, and I have make it now.

The water tugs harder on my skirts, the threat to yank me downstream growing. Charles is still not moving. I call his name, but the response is as lacking as before. Please don't let him be hurt.

I tug my skirts up and drape them gently over my arm with the hurt wrist and use the other hand to hold on to the rocks as I cross. The water still tugs at me, but without my skirts to pull on, it’s not as fierce. It's a few inches above my knees. The rocks are slippery. I focus on my grip, taking one step at a time and Charles in my mind pressing me forward.

When I reach the other side, I use the fallen tree to help pull me through the last few steps and rush to Charles.

As soon as I’m at his side, I fall in the mud next to him and put my hand on his back. Nothing. My chest tightens, the burn behind my eyes strengthening. But then, beneath my hand, his back moves. Slowly, but he’s breathing.

The burn behind my eyes spills out, splashing tears all over him. I found him, and he’s alive. At least he’s already wet. Except he may be breathing, but he's not awake. I have to help, only I don’t know what to do.

“
Charles.” I tap his shoulder. Nothing. “Charles.” I shake his shoulder.

He stirs but doesn’t wake. I rock back, wondering what to do. Why isn’t he waking up? I check him over for wounds, but there’s nothing visible. If there’s something else I’m supposed to do, I don’t know what it is. I wish I was strong enough to move him. It feels too exposed here. He may be fairly hard to see, but I’m clearly visible, and the memory of that hex numbing me is strong.

This isn’t helping. I stand and search around a little, yet don’t stray far. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but there has to be something to help. Lots of rocks and trees, though the ground is rougher here, grittier. Even away from the beach, the dirt is more rocky than compact. Charles groans. I hurry over to him. Only to jump back as he lifts his head and vomits. He rolls to his side and groans again.

“
What do you need?” I say, brushing my fingers against his arm.

He grunts and puts his hand over his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t make a move. It would be easier if there was something I could do to help. Some way I could help him feel better. I want to get him a drink of water, but the only water is from the river and if it’s unclean it may only make him sicker. Remembering it took me a few minutes to feel well enough to do anything after coming to, I attempt to wait, eyes shifting between watching him breathe and searching upstream for signs of warlocks.

His clothes are as wet and dirty as mine, though his were already wearing thin and now have several holes. Probably part of the reason he was so difficult to spot. If we aren't caught and punished or killed, perhaps I can find time to mend them. I take off my pack and open it. The movement helps warm me from the growing cold.

Everything is soaked. The food doesn’t look edible. I pull out a mash of watery, paste-like bread, but set it aside anyway. Maybe we can salvage it. Using my good hand, I pull out my change of clothes and underthings and set them in the sun to dry along with my sewing kit. Hopefully it didn’t get wet enough to ruin anything.

Several minutes later Charles sits up. “Let’s not do that again.”

“
I concur.”

He glances at the things laid flat to dry, and I feel myself warming when I realize this includes my underclothes. I hurry to distract him.

“How are you feeling?”

“
Like I almost drowned.” He sounds like he almost drowned too. “You?”

“
Same. Only I’ve had more time to recover.”

“
Your wrist?”

The truth about its mind-tripping pain won’t help. I shrug.

“That good, huh, Kat?” My heart gives a little flip at the shortening of my name. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. “How long have I been out?”

“
Don’t know for certain. Perhaps half an hour since I first woke.” Feels as if it was longer, trying to find him and then wait for him to revive. Much, much longer.

He grunts.

While he’s not paying me any mind, I hurry to grab my wet things and put them back in my pack.

He sits up and looks at the soggy food. As he wraps it up, he says, “It’s unfortunate this is all we have to eat. Should have been smarter and kept a pack close like you, though the food would still be wet. Might be able to find us some rabbits or squirrels.”

“You can catch those?”

“
And skin them and cook them. You have to be able to live off what you can find when you’re in hiding so much,” he says. “But we need to take care of the spell first. We’re still in danger as long as you are attached to your ribbon. If they get close enough, they’ll be able to find us, even if our tracks are hidden.

Once again, I curse myself for not taking more time to pack. “Is there anything that can be done about it?”

“I just don't know.”

There's has to be something. Why do I have to be so attached to it? Wait— Why do I? “What if I was no longer attached to it? What if I broke the ownership it had over me?
My attachment to the memories?”

Hope sparks in his eyes. “That could do it, if you can manage it.
”

I think of the navy ribbon, worn thin from years of worrying. “It feels impossible.”

“It very well may be without time, but we don’t have time. We’ll have to try,” he says. “Where did you get it?”

My mind instantly races back to all those years ago when I was a small girl. “I was very young, only three years old, just starting class. I hated class so much the memories are still too vivid. The other girls were rude, and the warlocks that came in were demanding. At home, things were more relaxed. Father was usually at the shop with mother while Tilda tended me. I cried to her often that first week.

“One day after coming home from class in tears again, Tilda gave it to me. I don’t even know how she acquired it. Very likely she stole it from Father’s shop, though I don’t know why she would chance such a thing. When she gave it to me, she said I could keep it with me to use any time I needed help thinking of her, to think of mother and how nice our time together was. Even when the girls were rude and the boys were mean, I could use the memories to escape.”

“
It was brave of her to give it to you.” I don’t know when it happened, but sometime during my story he scooted closer and gently taken my bad wrist. While he looks it over he says, “What happened after that?”

“
Not much changed. The boys were still rude, but it did help to have something. It’s the only thing I have to remember her by except those memories. I grew out of all the dresses she helped make. The ribbon was the one thing I kept hidden from Father. I don’t know how I left it behind.”

His fingers brush against mine, the loneliness and longing in me ebbing. “You've remembered her all this time, even without it.”

“I suppose.”

He says nothing further as if waiting for me. And there really is nothing further to say. Tilda will always be in my thoughts. As much as I treasured the ribbon she gifted me, it’s not her.

“I don’t truly need it anymore. Her memories are with me regardless of the ribbon being left behind.”

“
T think you've discovered how to break the hold if you can internalize it enough.”

“
Is that enough?” I ask, hoping it is.

“
We can’t be sure unless a spell comes for you. I think at the very least the hold will be weaker.” He groans as he stands. “We’d best be on our way. How does your wrist feel?”

“
It’s a little better.” I put my pack on. “Where to from here?”

“
We need to get away from the river. They’ll probably have an idea where we are from the pieces of boat, but there’s too many for us to pick up. Our best chance is to get as far from here as possible. Walk that way—” he points straight away from the river, “—and I’ll find you.”

I glance at the forest, dark and rocky, and a chill shudders through me. “Aren’t you coming?”

“After I erase signs of our being here I’ll follow.”

The bank is littered with spots where I walked, matted the grass down. I left quite a trail. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It won’t take long. I’ll try to make it look as if we chose the other side of the bank since most of your footprints are already there.”

“
Would you like some assistance?”

“
Just start walking. I’ll find you.”

Swallowing my fears, I give him one last look as he fluffs the flattened patch of grass. As I turn away, I can’t help but keep the image of him in my mind. The forest isn’t as dark as it looked from the outside. The sun shines through breaks in the trees, lighting my way better than I supposed it would. I’m more conscious of my steps now. I don’t want to make work for him, yet I also don’t want him to entirely lose track of me. I keep my steps careful and trust that he’ll find me as he said he would.

I’ve been walking perhaps an hour when his voice says, “I’m right behind you.”

I jump and let out a squeak. Thankfully it wasn’t loud, but that doesn’t stop embarrassment from shaking through me.

“Sorry, I was trying not to startle you.”

“
I’m not usually so jumpy.”

“
Nothing about this is usual.”

I think of everything he’s done for me, how he treats me and the other tarnished. “No, this is most definitely not usual.”

He leans closer, and I find myself swaying toward him. His hazel eyes framed with tattoos pulling me in. The burst of sunlight radiating through my body makes me want to sway all the way to him. To be close enough to feel his arms around me. A shiver trills through me, pulling both of us apart, breaking whatever the feeling was.

Horrid timing. I want to know what that sunny feeling was. I want to feel more of whatever it was. But it really is cold. The sun is down, and the forest is getting as dark as I expected it to be when I first entered.