Burning Bridges

Chapter Six: Thief

Sleep didn't come. With three bags packed, Jules tried to get at least a couple hours of sleep before leaving, but his mind was racing, spiraling with reminders of all the ways this was a terrible idea. Finally, near sunrise, he gave up and grabbed his bags.

He'd left his chest unbound to make the journey quicker. It was harder to fly with so many bags, and Jules didn't use his wings nearly as often as he probably should. The muscles were weak, straining under his weight. Half an hour had his body screaming for rest.

Kirama was one of Emaru's mid-sized cities, the terrain an equal spread of city streets and farms. Walking it would've taken half a day to reach the neighboring city of Chinera, but even flying it would take another four hours. Yuki packed enough food for two days, and Jules brought enough money to keep himself alive for at least a week or two. There were rumors in nearly every city of people seeing Kurayami, but Chinera was where the temple had been destroyed. It was the best lead he had.

Upon arriving in Chinera, however, it took barely two days for Jules' hope to be dashed. Cheap inns, cheaper food. Jules was getting tired of plain bowls of rice, but his money was starting to run low. He'd thought that everyone would be talking about him in Chinera, or there would at least be rumors about sightings. It wasn't as if there were flyers pointing to where Kurayami was hiding, but still. Jules had been gone for five days by the time he even heard someone say Kurayami's name.

"Up in the north, I heard," one man said in a crowded shop. They were on the opposite side of the aisle as Jules, but he strained to hear them.

"No, no, my sister said she saw him near the tea house two streets over," said another.

"Oh, and your sister knows what Kurayami looks like does she?" said the first.

They continued arguing about whether or not anyone actually knew what Kurayami looked like, but Jules' heart was hammering. These were just rumors, but it was something. After checking out, Jules wandered around the area looking for a tea house. When the owner knew nothing about Kurayami being nearby, he kept walking. And walking. He spent the rest of the day talking to strangers and receiving answers at varying degrees of annoyance. Finally, at dusk he found a small, cheap inn.

"Are you alright sweetheart?" The woman at the desk asked. Jules wasn't sure what part of his bound chest, choppy hair, and coat came across as feminine.

"Fine," he said. "Could I get a room for the night?"

The woman hummed but looked at her sheet and read out a couple options. Jules held his breath. He was getting closer and closer to the center of the city, so it made sense prices were higher. But there was no way he could spend that much on a room for a single night—not if he wanted to eat for the next three days.

So he thanked her and spent his first night of many on the streets. He ate little, slept less. The more rumors Jules heard, the more led him to a single long street. It was just a few blocks from City Hall and the ruined temple. But three days of sleeping in parks under a pile of jackets hadn't brought him any closer to finding Kurayami. Jules' plan to do anything of merit—fight Kurayami head on or prevent another attack, he wasn't sure—became less realistic each day. He had just enough for two meals a day if a piece of fruit and the day old sandwiches stores left on the sale shelves counted as a meal.

Nights were cold, and Jules had no way of telling whether he was feverish or his forehead felt cold because his hands were. Probably, he should've one home. But every morning when he found a public restroom and bound his chest, every time a stranger gendered him correctly, he was reminded of why he left. How would Grandfather react? Would he be angry? Would he even realize Jules had left? No matter how awful he felt, the idea of going home never grew to something more than an idea. More than anything, Jules didn't want to know how easy he was to replace.

On the third day Jules spent on the streets, he found a small park across from a row of closed restaurants and set his things down to rest. A group of teenagers perhaps a couple years younger than Jules walked through the park, laughing and passing bags of chips around. One of them locked eyes with Jules and grinned, whistling.

Jules flipped them off, but he was already motioning his friends over.

"Late night picnic?" One of them asked, earning snickers.

Jules had already unbound his chest, so he unfolded his wings and flapped them a couple times angrily.

The first boy whistled again, holding his hands up. "No need to get riled up we're just joking around."

Why wouldn't they just leave? Jules head pounded and he was sure now that it was a fever. He was dehydrated and hungry and pissed. It would be stupid to pick a fight with idiot teenagers, but he'd been itching to pick fights ever since Grandfather taught them how to win one.

"Ah, sorry," Jules said, reaching out a hand toward the ground. His wings opened wider, deepening his senses. Bits of stone and rock in the dirt jumped into Jules' hand, combining with loose pebbles in the streets to create a small knife. "I do just get so riled up."

With a curse, they boys scrambled to get out of the park. Most Grounders had no idea how to use their magic to create weapons, how to carve it into a blade sharp enough to cut. Even with years of practice, though, it exhausted Jules' feverish body. He sank back into the grass and wrapped his wings around himself. And yet, despite his exhaustion, sleep wouldn't come. Every few minutes he was either shivering or burning up. There was a booth across from the park with water but the counter was unattended.

No one behind the counter. Jules wasn't going to pretend he was above stealing. Especially when he thought he was probably quite sick. There wasn't as much relief from the bottle of water as Jules had hoped, but it was a welcome cold against the fever and soothed his sore throat.

"Hey." A hand wrapped around Jules' wrist. A boy near Jules' age snatched the bottle away, glaring. "Thief."

Jules flapped his wings, trying to hit the boy's arm or head to get his grip to loosen, but he held tight. The little blade he'd made was just a pile of stones again in the park, and with the fever, Jules was too weak to summon it from so far away. The exertion of trying to wrestle his grip away had sweat beading on his hairline and upper lip, but Jules tried to stay moving. His free elbow caught the boy in the stomach and he grunted, but his grip didn't waver.

"Thief," he said again.

A door opened behind the booth and when the boy glanced over Jules kneed him in the stomach. His grip loosened enough for Jules to slip free and stumble back a couple steps. The boy was talking to whoever had come through the door, but Jules' ears were full of cotton. He staggered toward the booth's wall, using it to keep himself standing. Weighs dragged his eyelids closed for longer and longer each time he blinked. The voices grew nearer before a single clear word made its way through as Jules passed out.

"Shit."

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WC: 1291

Total WC: 7,309