Book 3 - Page 50 (1/2)

“I can be armed again in two seconds,” I warned.

“Your speed is well-known to us, Deuce the Huntress.”

“How did you find me?” I was proud of how steady my voice sounded, as if he weren’t turning my world upside down with each moment we stood with the river flowing behind us in the moonlight.

“We followed your banner. It, too, is well-known.”

Momma Oaks would be pleased to hear it. Gavin had kept the pennant safe through summer and fall, until the Freaks recognized it and charged in rage … or avoided us, depending on their goals and allegiances. I had so many questions, but they wouldn’t coalesce in my brain. Conflicting emotions warred for dominance, leaving me dull.

“I thought your kind couldn’t swim,” I managed to say, as fear rushed in.

If these Freaks had found a way across the river, it couldn’t be long before the horde followed. Rosemere would be decimated. Sickness roiled in my stomach, churning the rich food I’d eaten moments before at Stone and Thimble’s table. I had to think of a way out of this mess, and there was n.o.body here to help, just my inadequate wits against endless weight.

“No,” he replied. “But we can build.”

That is not good news.

“Boats, you mean?”

He inclined his head. “They are not so fine as yours, but they suffice.”

Now I pictured them las.h.i.+ng logs together—as we had for the primitive town we built in the forest—constructing rafts that would carry them across the river. Please don’t let the horde have seen them. They don’t need any help to destroy us. Taking a deep breath, I reined my dread.

“Say your piece quickly.”

I can’t believe I’m not attacking this strange creature.

“I am Szarok. In your tongue this roughly means He Who Dreams.”

Astonishment stilled me for a few seconds. I’d never imagined that Freaks named their brats or that their language could translate with such elegance. Before this moment, I saw them only as monsters to be destroyed at all costs. Cold p.r.i.c.kles crept up my spine as I considered how many of Szarok’s brethren I had slain.

“You speak it well,” I whispered.

He acknowledged the compliment with what I’d take for a smile in a human face. “I studied. I learned. This is the way of the young.”

“Why? Killing us is your favorite pastime.”

“No. This is all our forefathers know because they remember too much about the hate and pain of their creation. But the lastborn see farther. We have memories of kindness.”

“Kindness?” I asked.

“Will you take my hand, Huntress?”

I couldn’t credit how peculiar this seemed. If this was a trap, it was too bizarre for me to fathom. Maybe this creature knew it couldn’t defeat me in a fight, and it had some new trick in mind, some new ability I’d never seen, like venomous skin. Yet I heard Tegan whispering in my ear, as if she were standing here. She had become the new voice in my head, replacing Silk.

Trust has to begin somewhere. For peace to take hold, one person must first stop fighting.

I pushed out a shuddering breath. “Go ahead.”

Szarok’s hand was strong and warm. The claws p.r.i.c.kled as he wrapped his fingers around my wrist. Impressions flickered through my mind; I had nothing to compare it to, but I saw a young Freak wounded and near death. A child in Otterburn tended it; she was too small to understand they were enemies. She saw only pain, not ugliness, and she healed the creature. And that beast fathered Szarok. I saw the connection in blood and bone, and I realized he could spin these memories in his mind, just as Dr. Wilson had predicted.

When he let me go, I reeled back, not in hurt but wonder. “What’s it like to be able to trace your path back so far?”

“Beautiful. And ugly. The world is always both.”

Those words resonated with me. “It is. Are the memories you carry from your forefathers always that sharp and clear? Can you call them at will?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s blessing and curse, I think, as you can see in the old ones. They cannot forget or forgive. They cannot move past the pain.”

I imagined the mad jumble of images the Freaks in the horde stored in their heads, marching all the way back to their human origins. No wonder they hated us. People never raged so hard as against the flaws they perceived in themselves. The feral Freaks weren’t smart enough to understand their instinctive antipathy, but I did. And it saddened me.

“You said your name means He Who Dreams. So tell me yours, Szarok.”

“I dream of peace … and a world where neither side judges the other by their skins.”

It sounded like a worthy goal, if an improbable one. “What did you have in mind?”

“An alliance.”