Seeker (Riders #2)(83)

"Don't bother."

He sits alone and eats.

My body is so spent, physically and emotionally, that I find myself sagging against the rough bark, my chin resting on a knot. I curl my legs and arms into the nook between the big roots. Beneath me, white flowers spring up, pillowing my limbs with their velvet softness.



       
         
       
        

I pray for Gideon. Then Riot.

Then Bas, Jode, and Marcus, that they're on the outside and safe.

I keep going down the list. Mom, Dad, Josie. Isabel. Maia. Ben. Low. Low's son.

The far side of the creek fills with white flowers.

Samrael's attention swings to me; he's waiting for my reaction. He doesn't know this is normal. A gift that the Rift gives me.

I close my eyes to better feel Mom's presence, and only realize I've fallen asleep when I feel a gentle jostling of my foot.

I rocket to my feet, mind racing to catch up.

Samrael stands before me-tall and straight. Watching me with marble-green eyes. The mare is saddled again, and the light slants through the trees in soft afternoon beams.

"It's time," he says.





CHAPTER 32

GIDEON

"Water for you. To drink." The Harrow's voice sounds like rocks scraping together. "Drink it into your body." It brings a wood bowl to my mouth with its bony hands.

I turn my head. "Wait. Where's the girl?" I rasp, sounding worse than the Harrow. Pain flares deep into my throat. I feel like I was hit by a baseball bat on the Adam's apple. "The two people on the gray horse? Where are they?"

Tell me they got away. Tell me they're long gone.

"No talking. Water for you. To drink. Drink it into your body?"

I'm dehydrated and I need the water, so. I drink it into my body. My head throbs with every gulp but I finish every drop. Then I lean back against the tree I'm chained to.

I didn't think it was possible to hate these trees any more than I did, but I do.

I hate these trees.

"What about my horse?" I try to turn to see what's behind me. Explosions of pain detonate along my left leg and inside my foot.

The woods spin. The water comes back up.

Every drop I just drank.

The Harrow looks at the puddle beside me with the vacant holes where its eyes should be. How does it see? "Worry not, I bring more. Worry not?"

"Okay. I won't worry."

The thing smiles at me. Its mouth looks like the inside of a cave, teeth like stalagmites. "I return with water to drink and you worry not. You drink the water I bring."

"Good plan."

The smile goes bigger. Then it walks off, stooping, black cloak flowing behind it on invisible tides.

I make the weirdest friends.

I settle against the rock, moving centimeter by centimeter to keep my leg still. In addition to my pulverized bones and bruised windpipe, my shoulder sockets are screaming from having my hands tied behind my back for hours. 

All day, I've been fading in and out.

Mostly out.

There are dozens of Harrows around me. Gathered around trunks in heaps. Pitched all over the branches, like the trees decided to wear black sweaters. They're completely still. My Harrow buddy is the only one awake. The rest are deep asleep, many of them making a sinister purring sound. Their scent is so thick I can taste it, a taste like watered-down ashtray.

Smack in the middle of the Harrow slumber party, I see Daryn's backpack. Sitting there, on the dirt, like it's nothing of value. Like it doesn't have our only hope of ever leaving here tucked inside.

I don't see Riot anywhere. I don't feel him nearby.

I can't think of him without seeing him drowning or covered in chains and pinned to the ground.

I hope he's still alive. And that I stay alive.

I have no idea what the Harrows have planned for me.

Why didn't they just kill me?

My situation assessment is getting too depressing, so I think of the positive things that have happened.

Bas got out. And Jode and Marcus got out.

That's pretty good. Not bad.

My buddy comes back with more water.

"You have a name?" I ask.

"Name?"

"Yeah. How do your friends get your attention?"

"Friends?"

"Shit. Never mind."

"You must sh-"

"No." I almost laugh. "I don't have to go. You're like a parrot. You ever seen Pirates of the Caribbean? The movie? There's a parrot in it called Cotton, I think. Talks just like you."

"Cotton?"

"Fluffy white stuff. Super soft. Perfect name for you, actually."

It says nothing. I think I've confused it.

"More water?" it says after a moment. "Drink. More for you."

As I drink, I notice its attention on my prosthetic. "You curious?" I shift a little so it can see my hand. "Go ahead."