Nada's Escape

69- Epiphany.

Transport. Food and Water. Navigation. We're getting there, I think, even as I avoid Finley's glances. I refuse to cling to the musketeers like a worm, so I let them go do their own thing after the heist, even though Finley is waiting for me by the front gate. Luckily, on entering my bungalow we find another bustle of Seveners as Beth conducts the 'cooking' of a mudpie for the gala tomorrow. Since we seem relatively safe from enthralment when we're in a crowd, I gesture Finley to take a seat at the far end of the kitchen table, barely outside the range of cooking mess.

He explains in a low voice, that he's got another idea for the plan. Instead of sneaking off into the night without a word he tries to convince me to leave a note for the Huntsmen and council. I can't help a few sceptical glances at his face to make sure he's serious.

"Just tell them why you've gone," he suggests. I don't need to speak to convey what I'm thinking I just use one of those sceptical glances; I'm leaving because I hate them. How will that help?

"I mean," Finley continues, "Tell them you've left on religious pilgrimage." I give him another sceptical glance; do I look like a nun?

"You've been feeling closer and closer to the Warrior Mage," Finley expands, "And you got a vision telling you to leave Norgara and seek a big bad fey in the outside world."

My next sceptical glance doesn't quite convey the complexity of my thoughts so I elaborate to the curtains behind him, "Wouldn't that be sacrilegious? For you I mean, I don't give a rat's ass about him-slash-her."

Seeing Finley's expression change, I flick my gaze down to catch his bemused smile.

"Are you worried about my eternal soul?" He asks. I roll my eyes sardonically in answer.

"And so how would a great prophet like yourself explain that I'm taking all the Seveners with me. Not to mention you." I ask flippantly, wincing as something clatters in the sink behind me.

"Simple." Finley's smile widens, "You've taken the faithful with you."

And you know what's crazy? There's enough beatific charisma in that smile, even from half a glance in my peripheral vision, to convince me. Plus, I figure if I, an unbeliever, am convinced the rest of the Huntsmen will be too.

Though I run all over town looking for Macie, to help me craft the words of the letter, she's mysteriously missing.

Turns out that Tanja can come up with some pretty turns of phrase that make the letter just flowery enough to come off as religious. Finley chips in some details about Warrior Mage lore, but mostly supervises silently. I agonise over the ending and the bits Tanja says I should write myself until the sun has sunk well below the horizon.

By this time Finley's off to dinner with his father and Tanja's over at the other bungalow, being a worm about the gala tomorrow. I mull over where to leave the note. It needs to be the right place. It has to be found late enough that we're well gone, but just before they start sending out search parties. It ought to confuse them and at the very least, delay the search parties and our condemnation

I shrug and tuck the note in its envelope into the sole of one tennis shoe for now, gathering up the small mountain of drafts and dropping them in our convenient metal wastepaper basket. I set it alight and gaze fascinated at the licking flames. Something of their quick, sly movement reminds me of Darcell. I imagine his face, lit by flames. A light somehow harsh and forgiving at once.

I feel that familiar itch lurking along my spine as the flames fall asleep. I remain still for a moment, letting the itch coil along every muscle, filling each limb with racing energy. I think about letting it out in a rush and racing along the streets just for the fun of it. But the town's busy now, and they'll be someone along the way to glare at me for it.

So instead I use the energy wisely, containing it to the shadows as I creep out my back door and through the gardens behind the Huntsmen's houses. I keep my passing a secret from the couple chatting under a streetlamp and the handful of purposeful walkers on the town's gravel roads. It's instinct and some nagging subconscious drive that steers me to the academy, dashing across the open space when a lull in the foot traffic opens before me.

In the cloister-corridor, striped with windows, I can't avoid two tall Huntsmen. Their sweat smells sour as I duck my head to pass them. They mutter darkly behind me, obviously something derisive about me, though I can't hear the exact words. My anger rises for a moment so that I almost turn back to confront them. Then I remember the plan. That we'll all be gone tomorrow night anyway. Screw those two.

Instead I lean against the training room door, levering it open. Darcell, predictable in this at least, stretches with careful slowness in the centre of the room. He doesn't even turn his head, just throws me a flick of the eyes.

"Hey..." he says softly, lowering his squat, "It's been a few days." He lifts one leg and makes a controlled, balanced rise that would become an upwards kick if sped up. I think I want to leave the letter with him, I realise. My heart jumps into my throat, suddenly nervous like the first time I'd run into him here.

"Yeah, it's been busy." I don't join the warm-up this time, just watch, shifting my weight between my feet for a more comfortable stance. No dice. However, I move I can feel the envelope under the sole of my foot, just barely crinkling.