Page 14 of Light Locked #1

The Fire

C LEA AWOKE WITH a loud gasp. Her heart pounded, a droplet of sweat traveling along her brow as she sat up and wiped her face.

Ryson was sitting beside the fire. She was relieved to see him, having only a vague recollection of her nightmare, which seemed to make the experience that much more daunting.

The memories of their travels came flooding back to her. She exhaled. “A dream.”

“A nightmare,” Ryson corrected, tossing a nearby twig into the fire. He watched the flames dispassionately as they danced and crackled. “Expect many more to come. It’s the forest’s way of contributing to your exhaustion.”

She released an exasperated sigh. She remembered how they’d set up camp last night.

She’d eaten, and had been eager to sleep.

Her experience discouraged her. They’d been traveling for over a week, and the forest was now following her into her dreams. There would be no escaping it.

Granted, she’d take nightmares over beasts, and oddly enough, there had been no signs of the latter.

When she left Virday on her own, it had only taken a day for the reapers to find her.

Maybe Ryson’s navigating skills were really that spectacular, but it was still vaguely unsettling.

She kept waiting for something to jump out of the trees, especially since he insisted on lighting a campfire every night.

She appreciated the light and the warmth, but it seemed oddly counterintuitive seeing as he never did anything but watch it burn.

She knew the medallion was partially to blame for her nervousness.

The medallion’s effects on her ability to recover her ansra were weighing heavily on her.

Normally, she would have recovered enough ansra by now to fight off a reaper hoard.

Instead, she was barely at half-strength, going to sleep tired and waking up only slightly less tired.

It was like fighting off an infection, which she imagined her body was doing in its own way.

Shivering, Clea pulled the black cloak closer around her. She glanced at it in confusion and looked up at Ryson. “You gave me your cloak?” she asked.

“You were shivering,” he replied.

She smiled at him. “Thank you. But aren’t you cold?”

“No.” He poked and prodded at the flames with a stick. He was still wearing the same clothes as always and never seemed to change, day or night. Maybe some Kalex just didn’t sweat or smell.

Oval contraptions fixed into the folded knee of his boot reflected the firelight with a distinct brightness. Earlier in the week, she would have considered asking him what those parts of his boots were for. She knew him well enough now to know it would be best to find out on her own.

He wore the same clothes religiously, and yet none of them seemed to be functional.

His jacket had but one sleeve, exposing a bandaged arm.

It had multiple collars, one of which was folded over his chest with yet more straps.

The jacket itself had no buttons, simply a long belt that wrapped the waist twice before stopping beneath his bandaged arm.

And the bandages on his arm. What in cien’s name were those for?

Wide coattails that extended to the backs of his knees hinted that the design followed a fashion of sorts.

Perhaps it was a Kalex trend? There were so many sub-groups and classes of them, Clea was constantly reminded of what little she knew.

“Your clothing is strange,” Clea blurted out.

“You never really think before you speak, do you?” Ryson asked.

She scooted closer to the flames as she folded her legs.

She shrugged the cloak farther over her shoulders and noticed something stuck in her hair.

She fished it out, inspected it, and then tossed it into the fire.

“Interesting choice of words coming from you. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Strange isn’t bad.”

“I think before I speak,” he said, “and I would beg to differ that most Veilin don’t see things that way.”

Clea sighed. She often had to remind herself that he intended to be rude and disagreeable. No doubt, he did choose his words carefully.

“You couldn’t sleep?” she asked after a while.

He tossed the stick he was holding into the flames.

“Sleep is an additional form of gaining energy to me. It’s not a necessity,” he explained in the same monotone voice that always irked her. Nevertheless, his response was surprising.

“You never sleep? Not even simply to do so? Aren’t you bored?” Some Kalex were nocturnal, but she’d never met one who didn’t sleep.

He leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. “I would much rather be bored than visit the horrors that would welcome me otherwise.”

Clea assumed his dark and blunt response was meant to deter further inquisition. She recognized it as a defense mechanism of his when he wanted her to quit talking, which was always.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into any forest beasts yet. Is that normal for you?” she asked.

“Would you like me to go find one?” he asked.

Her eyes locked onto him, a reflection of the intensity with which she mulled over his response. She’d backed down before, but she’d gotten to the point of wanting to prod further despite the nature of his replies.

As if sensing the focus of her gaze, Ryson met it with his own. He did nothing for a moment, like he was expecting her to look away. She knit her brows and pressed her lips firmly together in a focused, studious way.

“What?” he said with a heavy flatness despite how his flickering eyes displayed the dance of the fire. The way the light of his eyes contrasted the movement of the flames made it looked like his soul was burning .

She was convinced there was much more to him than what he showed her.

Veilin that focused on healing could often get a sense of people’s wounds, physical and otherwise.

Sometimes someone’s suffering felt empty, sometimes full, sometimes silent, other times loud.

With Ryson, the sense of his pain left her at a loss for descriptive words.

It was entirely new to her and perplexing.

“Ryson, I would like to get to know you more,” she said at last, the summary of all her flurried thoughts.

He smirked and then lowered his head as if to hide it. He shook once and then laughed, surprising her. His laugh was almost musical, but dark.

She observed him with intrigue, amazed that he was capable of producing such a sound. She had no idea what amused him. His every characteristic had either heaviness, sharpness or darkness. There were no traces of those qualities that so often defined the light.

His laughing quieted, and he returned his gaze to the fire.

“No. You wouldn’t,” he replied, white teeth suggesting the coming presence of a smile.

“How would you know that?”

“Trust me. We had a deal. That deal involved that I transport you to Loda. I treat you with as much neutrality as I can muster, even though my own inclinations dictate differently. With that medallion dangling around your neck, I can already guess that your mind is subject to additional stress, and I can’t have you losing your mind, can I?

The kindness I show you is forced, and therefore is not symbolic of a partnership.

We aren’t allies, but temporary acquaintances. That’s all we can be.”

“Friends?” Clea replied.

Ryson broke his gaze from the fire, which he always seemed to find so fascinating. His brows rose incredulously, and his jaw went slack to form an expression that made her feel like a dumb lamb. She resented that feeling and didn’t think she deserved it, shoving it off her like a wet blanket.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said with impatience as she leaned toward him, grasping her hands in front of her like she were begging him.

“I only need someone to talk with. I know little about you, and traveling with a silent guide is exhausting. Every time I try to start a conversation, you quit talking! You’re rude and sarcastic for no reason. ”

“So, you want to use me to escape your boredom?” The more enthusiastic she seemed, the more emotionless he became.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she snapped. “By cien, you would take it that way. Must you be such a cynic?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” She threw the word like a hook, hoping to draw him out into anything, a discussion, an argument, an explanation at least. She had nothing to talk to.

The plants were fake. The animals were fake.

She didn’t have anything to read. She’d replayed conversations in her head so many times that they’d started their own dialogues and she was losing track of who actually said what in reality.

She was driving herself mad and the only little piece of life in this entire forest to connect to was insistent on being left alone.

“It’s just who I am.”

“That’s a lie.” She pushed harder, leaning forward more, raising her voice higher. She imagined hitting a walnut against a rock, trying to get it to break. No. She imagined being alone on a deserted island with a walnut, and no other food, trying to get it to break.

“It’s not.”

“ Yes , it is,” she said.

He didn’t reply. Clea was almost leaning on her hands with a full and confrontational stare, waiting in the wake of yet another sudden silence. This time, she wasn’t content with letting the conversation die. It felt like she was withering away in perpetual silence.

“See? Why do you do that?.” She leaned back again, as if to recharge for her second full-scale attempt. “Don’t you want to talk? Get to know each other? Have a conversation?”

“Because it’s the only way you stop talking. You’re like a small, yapping dog.” He was irritated now. His tone didn’t show it, but she knew more words meant that she was stirring him.

“Well, at least I’m not a pompous, old hound,” she shot back.

“I’m so hurt,” he mocked, deadpan again.