Page 15 of The Arrow and the Alder

“L eave me be, mortal,” Marks warned as she neared.

“It’s Seph ,” she replied, “and trust me, I would like nothing more than to leave you be , but you have the only source of light in this cursed place.”

He picked up a rock, slipped a knife from his belt, and carved something onto it before tossing it over his shoulder. Seph ducked on instinct, but the rock did not strike. Whatever symbol he’d carved shone like moonlight, and the little rock floated before her as if suspended by some invisible string.

Well.

Seph glanced at Marks, who walked faster now, and she quickened her steps to keep pace with him while her little light followed.

He stopped and looked back at her. His eyes stormed. “What is it now?”

Seph stopped in her tracks, feeling fully exposed beneath that stare. She knew the kith were fickle, but his mood had shifted—and surprisingly fast. “I don’t know the way to the Rift.”

“I told you the way.”

“You said east, as if I have any idea which way east is.”

Before Seph could even register that he’d moved, Marks was standing immediately before her. He gave her a patronizing look as he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to the right. “That way. On foot, it should take you a fortnight.”

A fortnight ? How could she survive that long? She had no food, no coin, nor anything to protect herself, but Marks had already released her shoulders and was walking away from her. Again.

Seph sniffed, straightening her shoulders as a dam broke inside of her. All of her frustration—past and present—came flooding out of her pores. She trudged after him while her enchanted light followed. “Is this what you did to my brother, you selfish boor? Did you bargain with him for freedom, and then abandon him to the depraved the first opportunity you had?—”

Suddenly, Marks was before her. In a blink, he had gone from being five paces away to standing immediately in front of her—so close, she had to tilt her head to look up at his face. His entire being bore down upon her, all that lethality and wildness, and in that moment, Seph felt that he was kith. Inhuman and otherworldly. Dangerous. There was not a drop of levity about him now. A visceral static rippled over her skin, raising the little hairs upon her arms, and the ring upon her breast flared with warmth.

Seph had made him very, very angry.

He leaned closer still, and his fire-hot breath brushed her face. “You forget your place, mortal .”

Her place.

His words were a reflection of the baron’s, and the ever-burning inferno inside of her roared to life.

“I never forget my place, kith ,” she spat. “Every day of my life, I am reminded of it. I watch men who think they are better than me take what I’ve earned with my cracked and bleeding hands while my family starves and dies. My place has no power to stop them, so survival is all I’m left to fight for, because no one fights for me.”

He looked at her, and…

Looked at her.

Marks leaned his head back a fraction, as if to better see her face. A crease formed between his brows before he glanced past her, at the mist, where his gaze grew distant. He was like a hearth grown cold, as if her words had splashed water over flame.

“No one will fight for you here, either,” he said at last. Something softer laced his words this time, but he still took a giant step around her and walked on.

For a moment, Seph watched him go, knowing he hoped she’d give up and go east. Instead, she clutched his coat close and followed. He didn’t look back again, or speak, though she still trailed him. Seph had so many questions, but she was too weary to ask them, or talk anymore. She was depleted of both physical and emotional strength. All the running, and surviving, and the basic lack of sleep was catching up to her, and it required all her attention just to keep pace with him, to not succumb to exhaustion.

The night dragged on, and Seph wondered if Marks intended to travel straight till dawn. She would’ve asked, but she was too tired and didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. She made every effort to keep up, but her steps began to drag, and it wasn’t long before a boot caught and Seph collapsed.

Get up, she told herself, groaning as she shoved herself up. Her motions were sluggish and lazy, and by the time she climbed to her feet, she half expected Marks to be gone.

He wasn’t.

He was standing a dozen paces ahead, studying her, though his expression was indecipherable. “There is an old watchtower ahead, about an hour away. Can you make it?”

Seph could not hide her relief, and she nodded with heavily lidded eyes. “I will make it.”

He studied her a moment more before turning to walk on.

Seph couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to have slowed his pace a little too.

They eventually reached a wide stair, cut out of rock, that hugged the side of a sheer granite wall. Marks took one fleeting glance back at her before ascending, and Seph staggered after, trailing her hand along the wall for support. The stair ended at a small lawn, where an old stone tower stood, partially obscured by mist.

The tower looked like it hadn’t been used in a century. Vines and grasses climbed the outer walls as though trying to drag the structure back into the earth. The windows were dark and broken, and moss carpeted the fissures and cracks upon the outer wall. It was like looking at a memory, a ghost of the past, forever haunting its perch.

As Marks neared the door, Seph noted the symbols etched into the lintel, though she could not read them. He stopped at the threshold, surveyed the shadows within, and ducked inside, taking his enchanted light with him. Seph clutched his coat tight and followed.

The tower had been hollowed out inside, providing a single cylindrical room with dirt flooring, narrow windows, and a winding wooden stair that led to a hatch in the roof above. More kith symbols had been etched into the wooden rafters, upon the shutters, and into the stones surrounding the windows. Enchantments, Seph presumed. Altogether, it was very simple, its function no more than the name: a secure tower for keeping watch. An old weapons’ rack sat off to one side, though it was empty and blanketed in thick cobwebs, and a single broken bed frame stood beside it. There was no pallet to sleep upon. Only rotting slats of old wood.

Marks crossed the room and let his pack slide down his arm and fall to the floor. He unhooked the bow and quiver from his shoulders, leaning them carefully against the weapons’ rack. Now that they weren’t walking, she noted the symbols etched into his bow and quiver. Seph might have liked to get a closer look, but she was so tired, she slumped to the ground beside the bed frame and closed her eyes. She knew she should have taken more precautions for their safety, but right then, she was too weary to care.

A moment later—or at least it felt like a moment—wood creaked and groaned. Seph forced her eyes open a sliver and spotted the kith climbing the stairs. “Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.

“To keep watch. Go to sleep,” he answered, but she didn’t hear.

She was already asleep.