Heal yourself, Starkeeper.
“Yousaidthatalready.”
My mouth can’t keep pace with my brain’s erratic thoughts. The crone floats toward me. Her features morph back into place. Only this time no wrinkles line her face. Her skin is smooth, pale, and glistening. She is so radiant that I can’t focus on her in my befuddled state. Cool fingers feather across my cheek, the butterfly touches igniting a rush of heat. Sands, is she even real? I laugh out loud at the evolution of my neurosis. Whatever those tricky Scavs drugged me with is making me trip something fierce. I wonder groggily if there’s more of it.
“Yourenotrealareyou?” I murmur.
You have been intoxicated. You must purge it now or risk becoming a Scav yourself.Wake now,Starkeeper.
Becoming a Scav? What the actual—?
Her luminous palms press against each of my temples, and a bolt of what feels like lightning surges between them. My brain goesblank, and my entire spine cracks. The rush of awareness is instant. And excruciating. I swallow and cling to the thin thread of clarity that’s tethering me to her withered form. Somewhere deep down, my fragile mind understands that she’s the only escape from whatever toxin is binding me in its grasp.
Jade.
Those rotten fucking pricks. Focusing on a shuddering exhale, I rub my hands together, the loud rasp of skin on skin like sandpaper in the silence. A pale radiance emanates from them, but not much more. Everything inside of me feels uncontained, like sand falling through a sieve. Gritting my teeth, I summon my power again, and silvery sigils erupt over my skin. A kernel of heat unfolds inside of me, pushing outward and purging my Jade-saturated veins. With each breath, light fills me.
They are coming.
With that, the crone vanishes.
Trembling from the effort, I lie still on the ground and even out my breathing. I’m not fully back to myself, but at least I’m feeling clearer. Clear enough to fight for my life, if I have to. I can still feel the residual effects of the Jade lingering in my muscles and brain tissue, and the yearning for more leaves me terrified.
The stench of my warden reaches me before he does. I peek up through my lashes and almost wish I’d resisted the urge. Unlike the previous Scavs I’d seen, this one appears to be female. Stringy hair in balding patches dangles around her gaunt, lupine face, and shiny metal bars are embedded into the puffy flesh of her cheeks. She prods me with the toe of her boot through the cage wall, and I keep my eyes closed.
“Good price,” she mutters, reaching for a key connected to her belt as she approaches the entrance. That’smybloody dagger in her waistband! Belatedly, I recognize the nasal female voice from when Roshan, Aran, and I had hidden in the rocks. She must have takenit then, when I’d been captured. Through my lashes, I see her open the gate. She’s not a frail woman—I have one shot to take her down.
Swinging my legs around, I swivel and hook my ankles around hers. She topples forward, smashing face-first into the grated floor. Without hesitation, I slam a knee into her back and wrap my forearm around her neck. I ignore the stench of infection and squeeze my arm toward me. She bucks upward, almost tearing out of my grip, but I squeeze harder until her struggles finally weaken. I release her only when she goes quiet in my arms, and I pant in relief.
No one comes running, thank the stars. I’ve barely made any noise, other than the thud of her body hitting the floor from my first strike. Working quickly, I remove the unconscious Scav’s clothing: a half-armored vest, a tunic, a metal-plated skirt, leggings, and a gear belt with my dagger that I place on the floor. Her odor is ripe with sweat, blood, and a sour tang like vomit, making me gag as I pull them on, but I don’t have much choice.
She’s bigger than I am, but I manage to hook the skirt in place before throwing on the rest as best as I can. Using the linen strips I’d been wearing, I tie her hands and bind her mouth. Similar raw, half-healed lesions that had covered the other Scavs riddle her stomach and legs. I recall the itchy sensation of my own cheek and shiver. The scouring beetle irritation must be a side effect of the Jade. I can’t even imagine being so desperate as to scratch holes into myself. Hoisting my blade, I point the tip at her chest and swallow hard. I’ve never stabbed anyone in cold blood before. But I can’t risk her waking and sounding the alarm.
Something in her gear belt catches my eye: a silver injection device. I remove it carefully, turning the small crossbow-shaped contraption in my hand. A glass vial is connected at one end. I stare at it, watching the shimmering, iridescent, multicolored fluid undulate like mercury. My mouth goes dry with longing, its siren call compulsive, and I reach for the injector, my breath flattening into pained rasps.
I’d only do it one time, and then I could go look for Roshan and Aran.
It’d only be an hour at the most.
One time...
No! Stop, stop, stop.
A wild trembling grips me, and I realize that the hollow needle is dangerously close to my thigh, the tip poised and ready to insert its beautiful poison. With a strangled curse, I hitch my arm back and empty the shot into the Scav’s leg instead. She doesn’t make a sound, but I jealously imagine the liquid pleasure racing through her veins. It’ll keep her occupied for a few hours at least, enough time for me to find the others. I pull her body into the corner of the cell where I’d been lying and throw the tattered blanket over her.
Buckling the gear belt, I finger-comb my hair into a curtain over my face and pull on her smelly hood. With any luck, the disguise could work. Or not, as I stare at my unblemished and much too clean arms. To pass for a Scav, I need to look like one. I take my dagger from its sheath on the belt and slice a shallow cut across my thigh. Stooping to scrape some of the filth from between the floor vents, I mix the dark grime with the blood from my wound. I try not to dwell on what the gore is and smear the muck on my face and arms.
When I’m done, I slip through the door and lock it behind me. The outer passageway is empty, but I can hear low grunts and murmurs. Occupants of the nearby cells? Hoping that one of them contains Roshan or Aran, I creep my way down one end, keeping to the shadows. Twice I encounter other Scavs, but they don’t look twice at me.
At the ninth cell, I spot a pair of hairy legs in the dim light. I pray the key I have works for all the cells as I quietly place it into the lock.
“Aran? Roshan?”
The person murmurs and turns, then pulls himself upward. It’s a fucking giant of a man. Jaxxian, if I had to hazard a guess. He stares at me with bleary eyes in a pockmarked face. Thank the stars he, too, is drugged. He mewls, stretching his arms toward me, and I backaway, scraping at the gate behind me, but I’m too slow. He lumbers at me just as I get the key into the slot and the door swings open. I fall backward—right into the barrel chest of another Scav.
“Awake?” he asks me in a grating whisper that sounds as if his vocal cords have been hacked apart and sewn back together. I recognize that voice too—it’s the one from the Dustlands. It takes a second for me to realize that he’s asking about the condition of the prisoner. Righting myself, I make a noncommittal grunt. I peer at him through my hair and nearly lose the meager contents of my stomach. A huge, seeping welt runs across the Scav’s throat. That would explain the gut-clenching rasp. I hide a shiver and try not to gag.
He kicks the oncoming Jaxxian savagely to the floor and then doses him with Jade.
