The Unforgiving Moon

87.

I took a step back as he got up, his entire body straining against the movement. He hissed as his hand shot toward his ribs—a broken man.

His clothes were torn and shredded, and revealed marred skin underneath. Blue and purple marks colored his skin, and dried scabs tagged him all over. He had been handled, gravely.

His body—which was normally toned and healthy—was now weakened and sick. His skin was a few shades too light, and his cheeks were sunken in. Under his clothes, I was sure his bones would show. 

And nothing remained of his usual smell—not a trace of the spicy wood, the warmth he always carried. Instead, he reeked of the rotten stench of Fire Moon. A stench I knew much too well—one I had plastered on my skin for far too long, too.

What happened? I asked. I hoped he wasn't weakened too much by his physical state so he could hear me. His wince as he looked at the ground told me he wasn't.

"Beckett," he said, simply. As if that explained everything. His voice was hoarse, and so dry it must have hurt to speak. Yet he still did as he asked, "Are they all dead?"

My head dipped, though I kept my eyes on him. I would see every single reaction—it would tell me the truth. Yes, I thought.

Jerr cringed. 

Can't you smell it?

Jerr sighed as he leaned against the tree, and his lungs were trembling. He quickly had to readjust his position, because the hard wood had touched a sour part of this skin—though judging by the looks of him, that included everything.

He closed his eyes—squeezed them shut in horror. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his head placed against the tree as well. His one hand kept steadying his ribs, and I hated to think of how much pain he was in, and how much some stupid part of me still cared.

How are you here? Tell me everything, I ordered him. 

Jerr swallowed, and the gulp sounded dry and raw. But he nodded and kept his eyes closed as he started talking. I took another step back. 

"After we met in Apicya, I... I ran away," he started. Every word sounded strained and forced, but still, he talked. "I was roaming at first, I didn't know where to go. I had nothing left. Eventually, I wanted to go back to Newmire. Just to know... To see if there was anything left of them. 

"I had ended up somewhere around the border between Fire Moon and Life Moon at that time, and the safest way to reach Newmire was to cross through Scent Moon. I thought... I thought it was safe. But somehow, he was there. Beckett had some men there. They were armed. They recognized me, and they captured me and they..."

Shudders slithered across my body, the same way they probably covered Jerr.

Captured. By men who had only been there because they had been after Aven and I. 

Jerr opened his eyes, but did not look at me as he continued. "I tried to run away. But they hunted me down. And I tried to escape, but..."

A heavy silence passed between us, making the air even more unbreathable, more pungent and sour than it already was.

"They took me back to Spitta. To... him."

A shudder passed his spine, and his shoulders tensed at the memory. I hated how much I felt for him, how twisted my mind was to still care. After all he'd done. After everything he caused.

"First, he took me to one of those weird cells where he kept Aven. I was... I think you know."

I knew. The picture before me said enough—words needn't be spoken about it.