Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Fifteen: Torn Apart

Aqie forced her eyes open against the fading light and the sound of the hunters relaxing a little ways off from the road. No one had looked at her for a long time. Maybe, if she moved very slowly, she could open another bag or ease away. She rolled onto her front and swallowed a groan. Her side screamed, the little water she'd managed to drink earlier threatened to come back out again, and her headache spiked so much she had to close her eyes again. Forget it. The hunters weren't watching her because they knew she couldn't run away. She could barely turn over. There was no way she could escape.

Her stomach clenched uncomfortably. What was the point of running away? The darker-haired hunter had promised to protect her. She was trusting his promise, right? But he hadn't stopped the hunters arguing over her before and he took her kaprae. He lied about her clothes and the Scrolls and he was only carrying her some of the time. Whenever the other hunters carried her she was always afraid they were about to hit her, and one of them was rough so her head bumped painfully on his shoulder.

He'd kept her safe so far though. Aqie thought she remembered him saying something about this being the way he'd protect her. And if she was wearing her kaprae, the hunters would surely realize she was a Larkwing and kill her, so maybe it was better she wasn't wearing it. Maybe he was trying to help her when he took it away.

No! It's mine! It was her kaprae, her symbol of being a Larkwing, the last thing she had to remember Mom and Dad by! Even if the hunter was trying to protect her, she couldn't let him keep her kaprae. Right now, while he was gone, she had to find it—she only had one more bag to check—and once she found it, she wouldn't let anyone take it away.

Aqie clung to that thought and forced her eyes open again. She thought they had been by the road for a while now, since the light was fading and she'd fallen asleep at least once. The hunter would come back soon. She had to find her kaprae before he got back. She only had one more bag to check. If she had her kaprae first, then he couldn't take it back again. The other hunters would notice and be angry. Right? Her head throbbed and Aqie almost forgot what she was doing. Reach for the bag in front of you, Aqie told herself. Open it. Find your kaprae. Don't forget! Don't fall asleep like earlier!

Aqie clenched her teeth and inched her hand forward. Its bandage scraped across the ground and caught on something, and she had to concentrate almost as hard as flying to lift it off the ground. She grasped the bag's wooden clasp and pulled, but her hand wasn't working right and the clasp didn't open. Oh. Had she used the arm that'd been broken? It had bandages, right? What was—focus, the bag. Finally, the clasp fumbled and came free, and the flap hung loose, ready to flip open and look inside.

A tear slipped down Aqie's cheek. Why was everything so hard? Her head was pounding and her sight was wavering and all she'd done was open a bag! How was she ever going to find the strength to lift her head and look inside the bag for her kaprae? I have to find it. Aqie heaved herself forwards and opened the flap. Her stomach roiled and she just barely kept her water down. Taking a small breath, she looked inside.

There were some stinky clothes and a big pot made of metal. Aqie blinked several times to make sure. Did hunters just carry metal stuff around all the time? All of them had metal swords, so did Mongors have lots of forges to make other metal stuff too? Maybe because they weren't afraid fire would bring the hunters down on them? Did that mean they had lots of metal things that didn't break?

"Natan! Over here!"

Aqie hastily pushed the bag away. Was a hunter yelling at her? But when she slowly looked over, the russet-haired one was standing up and waving, and the others were sitting up to look at something. Oh no. Did that mean the hunter was coming back? Then they'd want to look at their bags and she hadn't found her kaprae yet! She reached inside the bag and fumbled around blindly. Clothes, the pot, something sharp and smooth, a little carving of something—no kaprae.