I touched my other finger to the back of my Concealed hand. My skin remained smooth and pliant, despite looking jagged and rigid.
All the while, Terrick kept a light hold on my wrist. His fingers grew cold and sweat-slick as I poked, prodded, and marveled at my Concealed flesh. Once he let go, my hand returned to its normal shape and color.
I stared at him, excitement simmering in my chest. “Can you Conceal the bush next? Or the tree?” I pointed to a thin pine.
Terrick laughed, even as he wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow. “No, lass. My abilities are not so powerful. And not nearly as ostentatious as what other hybrids can do. Especially the Illuminators! They are quite a marvel to behold. Aiden is an Illuminator—he is my neighbor. Well, it has been a few years since I left Swindon, so Ihopehe is still my neighbor.”
I swallowed. This wasn’t the first time Terrick had mentioned this place.Swindon.He’d been journeying there when he found me.
“You’re recovering your strength quickly now. And you’ve kept your meals down for the second day.” Terrick’s palm rested upon my shoulder.
I had, indeed, successfully consumed three small meals of berries and dried meats, after days of fighting with arebelus—rebelliousstomach that had rejected everything I ate. This was a good thing, Terrick kept telling me. It meant the last of the fever had left my body.
But now my stomach began churning again.
“I’d imagine you’ll be well enough to travel in a few days,” Terrick continued. “You’lladoreSwindon, lass. There are no Wraiths there…”
A Wraith-free city.
Conn had spoken of this notion before. Only once. And his words had come with dire consequences.
* * *
“There areCelestials on our side. Not many, mind. But enough. And humans once fought beside ‘em, they did.” Conn’s hands flew through the air as he recited his tale. It was dusk, and adults often sent small children away from their dwellings while The Offering was prepared. Conn was always eager to keep us entertained. He’d seen us gathered in the alleyway between the rows of dwellings and had sat on the cold, muddy ground beside us. As Conn was only a few years away from adulthood, he looked abnormally long and gangly as he hunched in that dark alley with us young ones.
“‘Twas a land not far from here. The humans there said, ‘we don’t want to serve the Celestials.’” Conn swiped a hand through his gnarled brown hair as he continued. He was too exuberant to be still. “And the Celestials—the good ‘uns—they said ‘help us win and you’ll get your wish.’ So the humans—they weren’t much for fighting, mind—they made their own weapons and stood beside the Celestials. ‘Tis said Ramiel ‘imself was there…”
A few children squealed in fright. I stayed silent, only because my heart seemed to have taken residence in my throat.
It was a name we knew well. Ramiel. The Conqueror. The Celestial we all feared the most.
“Ah, but ‘e did not have a mind to attack the humans,” Conn chuckled at our terrified faces. “‘Twas his brethren he wished to fight. So the Celestials fought each other, and the humans fought the Wraiths—ah yes,” he whispered when another murmur of fear traveled around the group. “They foughtWraiths.They were brave souls, them humans. Many lives were lost. But the humans won. And they was given the freedom they asked for. Never again will Wraiths haunt those lands. Never again will humans go hungry while Celestials feast on their crops. They arefree.” He became breathless, his dark eyes glistening with excitement. And, naturally, he’d gotten the children tittering (this is a word, is it not?) withexhileration—exhilarationas well.
We loved Conn’s stories.
But such tales were not permitted in Detha.
Two days later, Conn was whipped until his back was torn and bloodied.
Open wounds became angry wounds if not tended properly, Mama always said. Angry wounds led to fever.
Conn’s wounds became angry.
The last time I saw him, he staggered through the alleyway where the children gathered at dusk. His normally sun-kissed face was whiter than a fresh sheet of snow. Sweat dripped from his brow, despite the winter’s chill. His fever-bright eyes were focused on something in the distance. He did not stop. We called out to him, but he ignored us.
Death visited him that night.
A week later, a group of boys—Conn’s friends—mutinied.
Ice coated the ground that morning. I slid on it as I stepped outside our dwelling.
“Careful, love.” Mama grasped my arm as a wet cough bubbled inside her.
Above us sat a heavy, gray sky. Something cold slithered inside my gut, although it was not caused by the dull, early morning light.
Dread. Mama had always called that sensationdread.
She seemed to feel it too. Her fingers trembled around my arm.
