Outcast
Page 2
Shawna glances our way and catches me watching her. Her mouth snaps shut, cutting off her laughter. She crosses her arms over her chest and presses against the door frame like she thinks somehow just attracting my attention is a death sentence.
I want to ask her why she thinks the elders would allow us to teach tree-leaping to the Early Learners if we’re such a threat to everyone’s safety, but I don’t. Instead, I look away and tell myself it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. Not when there isn’t a single thing I can do to change the way the villagers look at us.
“Quickly, before your teacher calls you back inside,” Willow says. “Why do we live in the trees?”
“Because of the beast,” a little girl says.
“And because we don’t want to obey a city-state leader,” another girl speaks up.
Willow nods. “That’s right. Because beneath the ground lives a fire-breathing creature who tunnels up and destroys what it finds. And though the city-states have discovered a way to keep the beast at bay, we build homes in the trees where we’re safe, because we want the freedom to live as we choose.”
“I’m not leaving the village, so I shouldn’t have to learn how to tree-leap.” A boy with knobby knees and dirty fingernails raises his chin in defiance.
“What if you have to leave?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle. “What if something happens, and you have to flee the village?”
“What could happen?” Eliah asks, his wide eyes meeting mine.
“Highwaymen could attack us. Soldiers from one of the city-states could decide to force us to fight for them. A fire could—”
“But that’s your job. You protect us from the bad people so that we never have to leave.” A girl with soft pink ribbons in her hair speaks with the uncomplicated confidence of the innocent, and it’s all I can do to hold her gaze while my blood churns and something heavy lodges in my throat.
If only the things Dad required us to do were as simple as protecting the village children from people who might want to harm them.
“Yes, that’s our job.” Willow saves me from having to answer. “But you don’t want to grow up relying on other people to keep you safe. You want to know how to take care of yourself. You want to be strong and independent.”
“Like you?” The girl looks at Willow while behind us Shawna calls for the children to go inside.
Willow flashes a quick grin. “Like me. Time to go back to your classroom.”
The children groan in unison, but obediently walk toward Shawna, who flaps her hands at them to hurry them along and then slams the door without ever once glancing at Willow or me again. I shrug off her reaction and turn away.
For a moment, the morning is perfect. The warm scent of Harvey Eagleclaw’s pumpkin rolls drifts from the bakery to the left of the school. Bright-red cardinals hop along the smooth railings of the village walkways. Beside me, Willow’s smile matches mine, the cold edge that lurks inside her banished beneath the enjoyment of teaching others what comes so naturally to her. My chest still aches from Eliah’s faith that if I’m the village protector, I must be brave.
But then Willow’s smile uncurls into a thin, flat line, and I turn to look behind me.
Dad stands at the edge of the playground, his long, dark hair pulled back with a frayed thong and his leather coat—stained in places with the blood of those he declared his enemy—flapping in the breeze.
Silently, Willow moves to his side, her shoulders drawn back, her chin held high. I wipe my face clean of all expression as I follow her.
“Intruders spotted a half day’s journey to the east.” The creases around Dad’s eyes deepen as he scowls at us. “Time to stop playing with babies and do your real job. My bet is they’ll be here after nightfall. We’ll give them a proper welcome, won’t we?”
His smile twists something inside of me, and I hesitate a beat too long before nodding along with Willow. Dad’s expression goes flat and cold, and his scarred hands become fists.
“Won’t we, boy?” he asks with quiet menace.
My tongue feels too thick for my mouth as I say, “Yes.”
Yes, we’ll give them a proper welcome—the kind Dad has beaten into us since the day we were born.
I don’t know who is foolish enough to approach our village, but I’m sure of one thing: None of them are going to survive the night.
I’m also sure that Eliah was wrong. I’m not brave at all. I’m trapped, Willow is trapped, and every time I give in to my father I come a little bit closer to losing what little I have left of myself.
Chapter Two
Dad, Willow, and I rest for the afternoon in preparation for the night’s hunt. Just before the sun goes down, Dad receives a final report from the village scouts—the intruders are a band of highwaymen. We move east of the village to establish our position in the trees and wait for them to arrive.
The wind rattles the brittle branches of my tree as I wait. I pull my fur-lined hood closer and flex my hands inside my deerskin gloves to keep the circulation flowing.
Soon they’ll show themselves. I’ve been hearing the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots for a while now.
Fools.
Trying to sneak up on our village is a difficult task even on a clear night. Trying to sneak up on us with a crust of icy snow underfoot is suicide.
In the tree directly across from me, Willow stretches along a branch, her arrow strung, her bow drawn. She flashes a quick glance my way, her smile a shade too bright for my comfort.
I want to ask her why she thinks the elders would allow us to teach tree-leaping to the Early Learners if we’re such a threat to everyone’s safety, but I don’t. Instead, I look away and tell myself it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. Not when there isn’t a single thing I can do to change the way the villagers look at us.
“Quickly, before your teacher calls you back inside,” Willow says. “Why do we live in the trees?”
“Because of the beast,” a little girl says.
“And because we don’t want to obey a city-state leader,” another girl speaks up.
Willow nods. “That’s right. Because beneath the ground lives a fire-breathing creature who tunnels up and destroys what it finds. And though the city-states have discovered a way to keep the beast at bay, we build homes in the trees where we’re safe, because we want the freedom to live as we choose.”
“I’m not leaving the village, so I shouldn’t have to learn how to tree-leap.” A boy with knobby knees and dirty fingernails raises his chin in defiance.
“What if you have to leave?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle. “What if something happens, and you have to flee the village?”
“What could happen?” Eliah asks, his wide eyes meeting mine.
“Highwaymen could attack us. Soldiers from one of the city-states could decide to force us to fight for them. A fire could—”
“But that’s your job. You protect us from the bad people so that we never have to leave.” A girl with soft pink ribbons in her hair speaks with the uncomplicated confidence of the innocent, and it’s all I can do to hold her gaze while my blood churns and something heavy lodges in my throat.
If only the things Dad required us to do were as simple as protecting the village children from people who might want to harm them.
“Yes, that’s our job.” Willow saves me from having to answer. “But you don’t want to grow up relying on other people to keep you safe. You want to know how to take care of yourself. You want to be strong and independent.”
“Like you?” The girl looks at Willow while behind us Shawna calls for the children to go inside.
Willow flashes a quick grin. “Like me. Time to go back to your classroom.”
The children groan in unison, but obediently walk toward Shawna, who flaps her hands at them to hurry them along and then slams the door without ever once glancing at Willow or me again. I shrug off her reaction and turn away.
For a moment, the morning is perfect. The warm scent of Harvey Eagleclaw’s pumpkin rolls drifts from the bakery to the left of the school. Bright-red cardinals hop along the smooth railings of the village walkways. Beside me, Willow’s smile matches mine, the cold edge that lurks inside her banished beneath the enjoyment of teaching others what comes so naturally to her. My chest still aches from Eliah’s faith that if I’m the village protector, I must be brave.
But then Willow’s smile uncurls into a thin, flat line, and I turn to look behind me.
Dad stands at the edge of the playground, his long, dark hair pulled back with a frayed thong and his leather coat—stained in places with the blood of those he declared his enemy—flapping in the breeze.
Silently, Willow moves to his side, her shoulders drawn back, her chin held high. I wipe my face clean of all expression as I follow her.
“Intruders spotted a half day’s journey to the east.” The creases around Dad’s eyes deepen as he scowls at us. “Time to stop playing with babies and do your real job. My bet is they’ll be here after nightfall. We’ll give them a proper welcome, won’t we?”
His smile twists something inside of me, and I hesitate a beat too long before nodding along with Willow. Dad’s expression goes flat and cold, and his scarred hands become fists.
“Won’t we, boy?” he asks with quiet menace.
My tongue feels too thick for my mouth as I say, “Yes.”
Yes, we’ll give them a proper welcome—the kind Dad has beaten into us since the day we were born.
I don’t know who is foolish enough to approach our village, but I’m sure of one thing: None of them are going to survive the night.
I’m also sure that Eliah was wrong. I’m not brave at all. I’m trapped, Willow is trapped, and every time I give in to my father I come a little bit closer to losing what little I have left of myself.
Chapter Two
Dad, Willow, and I rest for the afternoon in preparation for the night’s hunt. Just before the sun goes down, Dad receives a final report from the village scouts—the intruders are a band of highwaymen. We move east of the village to establish our position in the trees and wait for them to arrive.
The wind rattles the brittle branches of my tree as I wait. I pull my fur-lined hood closer and flex my hands inside my deerskin gloves to keep the circulation flowing.
Soon they’ll show themselves. I’ve been hearing the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots for a while now.
Fools.
Trying to sneak up on our village is a difficult task even on a clear night. Trying to sneak up on us with a crust of icy snow underfoot is suicide.
In the tree directly across from me, Willow stretches along a branch, her arrow strung, her bow drawn. She flashes a quick glance my way, her smile a shade too bright for my comfort.
