The night of her first proper resistance lesson–”it’s not really resistance so much as distraction” –Mara dreamt, of course, of Davy. They spent the duration of the dream in a tangle of want, forgoing the exchange of words for shared heat, mingled sweat, and the dance of limbs and breath. Davy spoke to her only once, as they lay in the rumpled sheets in a blissful, well-used haze.

“Be bright for me today, Mara.”

Sometimes, it was easier to accomplish his tasks than others.

The day she was meant to be bright–their sixteenth day in Loftland–the change in landscape was no longer a subtle, magical thing. The canopy, once lofty and open, crept down throughout the day to hover dark and close above their heads. On the forest floor, a tangle of undergrowth rose up to meet the shrinking trees, catching her feet with vines and forcing their party to adopt a serpentine path to avoid thick brush and stands of densely packed vegetation. A bank of featureless gray clouds kept the air brisk and damp, well into the late afternoon. Even Eli changed, less talkative with Nick, face fixed in careful, neutral lines of practiced calm. With every little noise–every snapping branch, every flap of wings, every skittering animal–he tensed minutely, angling an ear toward the noise, unmistakably focused and alert.

Be bright, Mara thought to herself, drawing Nick over to a small patch of Garden Pods. They crouched together, picking the ripe purple pods from the thorny green stems, and she showed him how best to split the pods, with one nail along the seam, and how to scoop out the sweet beans with his teeth. He made a mess of it, and she laughed as she wiped the mush from his face.

Be bright. Davy’s voice hummed in her ear when they stopped for lunch, and she drew a taciturn Eli into conversation. She’d learned, during their time together so far, that two subjects worked best to rouse him from the pensive cloud he occupied whenever Nick was otherwise engaged. The subjects were healing herbs and field craft.

“I found this by the Garden Pods,” she said, holding a sprig of plumperry in front of his face.

He blinked at it, then at her. “Oh?”

“It’s plumperry. I told you about this one, remember?”

He plucked it from her fingers, studying the stiff, evergreen leaves, the fat purple flower budding at the top that gave it its name. He twirled it once, took a sniff, and passed it back. “For fevers. And swelling.”

“Yes!” she gushed—brightly. “For fevers and swelling. Do you remember its reactants?”

His lips pressed together, eyes narrowing. “Poison cherry.”

“And?”

“Anything in the goldroot family.”

“And?”

He shook his head, brow furrowed.“And?”

“There’s one more thing. It’s not a plant.”

“Oh. Right. Pregnancy.”

Her questions answered, he went back to his previous task of leaning against his pack and staring moodily into the woods. Mara glanced at Nick, playing happily in a small creek a few feet away, and tucked the plumperry sprig back into her pocket.

“Is something the matter?” she asked quietly. “And before you answer, remember you promised not to lie to me anymore.”

He slid his eyes sideways at her. “I don’t remember making that promise.”

“It was implied. Tell me. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re being sullen. Is it because we’re leaving Loftland?”

He breathed a sigh that straddled the thin line between exasperation and amusement. “I am being more watchful because we’re leaving Loftland, yes. The magic here is more diffuse. By tomorrow morning we’ll have left the forest’s protection altogether.”

Mara swallowed hard as the ball of dread–a perpetual presence, sandwiched between her lungs and her gut–tripled in weight.

“Mara.” She looked up, and Eli’s gaze found hers and held. “You’re only losing Loftland’s protection. You still have mine. It’ll be alright.”

Unkind thoughts leapt like carrion birds at his earnest attempt to comfort her. By now, she’d decided that Eli was kind and capable, and that he meant only to help her. She trusted him to keep her and Nick fed and sheltered. She trusted him to know the way to safety.

But protection?

On his watch, she had been shot. On his watch, Davy had been killed. What proof did she have that his protection was anything more than a brittle veneer?

“Do we need to change anything?” she asked, her mind a whir or half-formed contingencies, ways to make his job easier. “Should we walk closer together, or maybe farther apart? Should I keep Nick with me? Do we need to stop making fires at night? I’ll try to persuade Nick to be quieter. Maybe I could–”

“Mara,” he stopped her, nudging the toe of her boot with his. “We’ll talk about this tonight, after Nick goes to bed. We’re safe enough today.”

“You promise?” she pressed, narrowing her eyes and invoking the fragile trust between them.

“I promise.”

She believed that he believed in his conviction. But she did not feel bright.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

~~~

True to his word, as she’d come to expect, Eli seated himself beside her that night after Nick had gone to bed. He spread a map over his lap, and she scooted closer to peer at the parchment, lit half by silver moonlight and half by the red glow of the fire.

Unlike the map in her pack, which encompassed all of the Provinces, this one appeared to just depict Ashfall. She saw “Loftland” in tidy script towards the western border of the map, and The Great Ribbon winding its way across the northern edge. To the south lay the sea, but she put that looming decision out of her mind to focus on the present.

“We’re here,” Eli said, indicating a spot on the western side of the map, just beyond the Loftland border. “The most direct route to Cinder is through the valleys,” he traced his little finger along the path he described, “and there’s a footpath that starts about here.” His finger stopped over a small blue splotch she assumed was a lake, about midway between their current location and the little dot that was Cinder.

“But?” she guessed, judging by the tone of his voice.

“But, as you well know, Ashfall is known for illicit activity. I’m generally less wary of outlaws than I am of Order patrols, but I’d prefer not to run into either.”

“Me too.”

“My recommendation is that we keep to the hills. It’ll take longer, and it’s harder travel, but there’s unlikely to be any outlaw bands so far from the sea route, especially if we avoid waterways.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.” When he didn’t go on, she looked up and found him watching her, as if waiting. “What?”

“Which would you prefer?”

She stared. “You’re leaving it up to me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, the one you recommend, then. Keep to the hills.”

He nodded and refolded the map, handing it to her. When she didn’t take it, he gave it a little shake. “In case we’re separated. That map you have is useless in terrain like this.”

That map she had was chosen by Davy, and she wanted to snap something. The map was fine, the map was perfect, he had no right to criticize the map. But Mara was an adult, last she checked, so she kept the thoughts to herself.

“You’re making me nervous,” she said, reluctantly accepting the map. “Do you think something is going to happen?”

“No. But I’d still rather you be prepared.”

She chewed on her lip. “Should we have a plan in case something does happen? And a rendezvous point or something?”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he thought. “If we are separated, just head towards Cinder. I can track you easily enough.” Another chill raced up her spine at the thought of finding her way in these woods alone–finding her way anywhere alone–and she rubbed her arms to ward it off. “Let’s take some time tomorrow morning to redistribute supplies, so you’ve got a share of everything essential—the food, the map, the money. That way, if we do split up you’ll have everything you need to survive.”

Mara’s brightness–already at a critical low level–faded to the suggestion of a flicker.

“We’ll have to decide in the moment whether you run or hide,” Eli went on, oblivious or perhaps just unaffected by her growing anxiety. “It’ll depend on how much warning we have and where we are. If you do run, head uphill. They’ll expect you to go downhill since it’s easier. Maybe throw something down to make them think you’ve gone that way. Just not your pack, because you’ll need that. Nick, maybe.”

Her imagination was so wound up, playing pictures of running up through the looming hills from faceless monsters, it took her a moment to register what he’d said. When she did, she could only stare, mouth agape. Eli stared back, eyebrows raised.

“You’re a monster!” she gasped when his mouth finally twitched.

“You looked distracted. I wanted to know if you were paying attention.”

“A monster!” she declared more emphatically, smacking his arm with the back of her hand.

He laughed, knocking away her hand when she went to hit him again. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be! What a terrible joke.” But her own lips kept trying to curve up into a smile. If he wasn’t Eli–hadn’t spent the last two weeks toting her son about, inventing stories for him, teaching him little tidbits of woodcraft, and generally doting on him–such a dark joke wouldn’t be funny at all. But he was.

So it was.

If she’d been keeping closer note of what she felt in that moment, perhaps she’d have recognized the glow that came back to life within her. But she wasn’t.

So she didn’t.

“In all seriousness,” Eli said, once her mock ire had faded. “Please don’t keep yourself up nights worrying over this. The threats here are mostly human, and half-starved, disorganized humans at that. I can keep you safe easily enough, if you stay close.”

Mara thought of the way he’d handled the two officers back in the city, of the consistency with which he brought back game, all felled by perfect heart shots. Sure, she would have felt safer with someone like Davy, who wielded authority and radiated power, who had climbed the Order’s ranks as well as the rebellion’s. But Davy had died, while Eli had lived.

“I know,” she said, studying her clasped hands. “I know you can. I trust you.”

~~~

That night, as she lay in Davy’s arms, sweat-slick and spent, she thought of the conversation by the fire.

“Love?” she asked, scratching her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Are you awake?”

“Hmm,” he moaned, his arm tightening around her, a taut band of muscle against her lower back.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You can try,” he mumbled sleepily. They had made efforts, in the past, to talk about deeper matters–how he had died, the rebellion’s plans, the road ahead–but something always stopped them. Once, a sudden storm had blown in outside, slamming the window shut and startling them both out of the topic. Once, a spark had leapt improbably far from the lit hearth and set a small fire at the edge of the rag carpet. Once, she had simply woken up. It seemed this pocket of reality they inhabited together didn’t want them to do much beyond take comfort in each other’s arms, and in soft, heart close conversation.

She cuddled closer, wanting to gather as much of his warmth as she could in case wakefulness swept her away. “Do you think you could tell me a little bit about Eli?”

She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, but the dream held its structure. Davy pulled her higher, until she all but lay on top of him, chest to chest, one leg pressed between his.

“I’d rather not,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against her ear. “Not while you’re naked in my bed.”

“Davy, I’m serious. I’m…” She tugged their clasped hands up to kiss his knuckles, whispering the words to his fingers like a shameful secret. “I’m scared.”

He tensed. “Of Eli?”

“No! No. Just in general.”

“What does that have to do with Eli?”

“It’s just him, Davy. Just him, standing between us–Nicky and me–and danger. You’re–” You’re gone, she wanted to scream. You’re gone. You can’t hold us when it’s cold. You can’t keep us safe.

“Mara,” Davy sighed. “It’ll be okay.”

“It might not be!” she argued, pressing down her frustration, her grief. He’d never rise to the argument, have the real conversation, if he thought it would frighten or upset her. He’d just say what it took to make her feel better. “I know he can fight,” she said, in what she hoped was a reasonable, uninvested tone. “But he’s a healer, not a warrior.” He’s not you.

Davy snorted, his body jerking with the force of it. His fingers trailed up her spine, delicious tingles radiating across her back. “Sweet Mara.” Tangling his fingers in her hair, he lifted her face for a long, deep kiss. When it was over, he captured her eyes with his, the crystalline green so bright, so sharp. “Have faith, love.”

Then she blinked, and his face faded to darkness, which faded in turn to gray daylight. A new dawn. A new directive.

Have faith.