Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Four: Focus, Don't Forget.

Agrata could not help but stare at the bloodstains on his shirt. He had an overwhelming urge to clean them, but nothing to do it with. He was tired, but it did not register past the memories that tried to surface in his thoughts. He remembered a girl much younger than Katerin, ripped apart by dogs while onlookers laughed at her terror. He remembered a boy with so many whip lashes on his back that no one could tell where skin began or scars ended, and he remembered how he always felt envious of their treatment, seeing it as so much better than his own. He remembered—with a feeling of unease—the first time he had ever picked up a bow, and how many people died because of it. Of how that was the last time he had let himself feel rage.

It was midday on their third day on Luminya, and Katerin still had not woken. The silence of the camp was only interrupted by the crackling of the meager campfire that Agrata kept going, if only to keep his hands warm and give him something to do. He did not expect anyone to come looking out here. The cabin was ashes now, and Lugaria had gone off to Hearth-Home.

Whoever had done this to Katerin had left her to suffer, or had not cared enough to finish the job. Either way, Agrata did not feel particularly threatened by his surroundings. The pine and shrub forest was peaceful, and Lugaria had only waited so long to go to the city, to make sure Katerin would not die before he returned.

So Agrata sat quietly under the trees, watching Katerin to ensure she kept breathing. He wondered if she had done the same to him, when she had found him and Lugaria in that tree. He remembered her face vaguely from that day. Wide eyed and full of uncertainty.

She had lost most of that.

He had pondered many times what called Katerin to come out here. What had driven her to make such a dangerous call? And he had wondered, too, of who gave her such injuries. She was an excellent fighter, and a cunning one too. And yet here she lay, beaten. So he pondered whether or not that would haunt her, and his thoughts answered him with a resounding yes.

Of course it would. Mistakes were always haunting, more so if they had been committed in desperation.

Two days had crept by, and he had done little. A little hunting, a little scavenging, and a lot of thinking. They needed to get back to Itrea. Katerin still needed a healer. Sometimes he wondered if she really would make it through the night. But without her magic, teleportation was nothing more than a dream.

Lugaria said she would survive. Said she was too stubborn, or too proud to die in the woods after whatever monumental mistake she had made. The slight tone of hope in his voice when Lugaria said those things, almost let Agrata believe it.

Hearing a quiet noise, Agrata stood, ignoring the cramps of his muscles and his thoughts. Without a sound he was up a nearby tree, perched in the branches, his crossbows ready and in hands before he had taken three breaths.

Lugaria approached with one hand in the air, and Agrata let his aim falter, dropping out of the tree as quickly as he had climbed it.

Lugaria carried his pack on one shoulder, and his posture relaxed as he crouched by the fire, removing a great many things from it. Namely, more bandages, and a few potions.

"Bad news," Agrata said, knowing the look in Lugaria's eyes. It was cold, grumpy. It meant he learned something he did not want to acknowledge.

Lugaria's jaw worked for a long moment before he spoke. "The Tower is gone. Soldiers roam the city in formation, and no one is leaving their homes. No shops were open."

"There's no teleportation." Agrata's face twisted. So much for escaping the worry.

Katerin groaned in her sleep, and pulled both their glances to her, momentarily.