Out

Chapter 13

Cerani Encampment, 324 Era Vulgaris, Centennial 24 - Present day

I return to consciousness with a violent jolt. Outside the tent, I hear rigorous chanting from a large group and loudest of all, Aron's pained screams. A whip cracks. I burst through the tent's opening and immediately collide with several bodies. Hands shove me back.

"This is not your concern," a voice growls at me. Saga Idida.

"Yes it is," I protest, pushing against her.

The votaress' hands are iron vices around my wrist. I snap my free hand out and grip the votaress by the throat. She shrieks, and all chanting ceases. Even the whip stops lashing. Only Aron's voice continues, breathing my name as he exhales. Idida drops my wrist and whimpers.

I shove the votaress away from me and focus on the last place I heard Aron's voice. I hold my hand out before me; without Aron to lead me, I have to find my way alone. I remember the way I sensed Aron with the electrical currents, and I focus on stirring up a buzz. It is not difficult with how angry I am, and soon, I am able to create a basic map for myself out of the electricity in the air. I sense him several paces away, huddled on the ground. The clumps of people part before me as I make my way to him. I listen for the rhythm of his breath, the shallow bursts that usually indicate his constant readiness, but it is his voice I hear, a mere whistle of breath over teeth.

"Zafre," he gasps very close to me. I crouch down and outstretch my hand to find him. My fingers find his cheek as he leans towards me.

"What did they do?" I ask. I trace his jaw and along his cheek, but my fingers are met with congealed blood, an all too familiar feeling. He winces as my fingers near his eye.

"Nothing," he exhales, "which I did not deserve."

"You do not deserve to be killed!" I exclaim, gripping his shoulder. "Who did this?" I stand, raising my voice above the low hum of my audience.

"Antista, this is none of your concern," Riva says from behind me.

I turn towards her voice. Her breaths are deep and even. Her composure is infuriating, but I know I am in no danger. She needs me. She will not harm me.

"He is your son, Riva," I seethe through gritted teeth. "If you kill him, you will be no better than the officers who imprisoned us. If you kill your own blood, you are savage! You prove them right."

"He is my bone. I bore him into this world, and I may take him from it," Riva says. She steps close to me and I read her prickling anger.

"Not unless you take me too," I whisper.

The silence is deafening. None of the Cerani speak and most of them hold their breath. Aron's labored breathing is the only constant sound.

"It is the way," Aron says.

"No. I am the way," I say. I crouch down to Aron again. "Put your arm around my shoulder," I instruct. He does so gently. He will not defy me. I grasp his wrist in one hand and wrap my arm behind his back. "Can you stand?"

"I can," he says.

"All right. I will bear your weight if you get your feet under you," I say.

"You are disrespecting our law—"

"Aron is your bone, Riva? Well, he is my blood," I say, rocking back onto my heels to prepare for Aron's weight. He leans forward with me but a violet shudder betrays his struggle.

"Without law, we truly are savages," Riva protests, but her shortened breaths betray her. She has lost.

"Law has no place where blood is concerned. If you truly want to be better than the Arci, do not kill your own. Make your law forgiveness," I say. I have insulted them, and I do not care. I will not have them killing each other. If I am in control of anything anymore, that is it.