Under the Never Sky (Under the Never Sky #1)

Under the Never Sky (Under the Never Sky #1) Page 15

“Does that have some sort of meaning?” she asked.

He took garments from the crate and shook them out. They were army fatigues from the time of the Unity. Camouflaged cargo pants and button-down shirt. He tossed them to her. “Clothes.”

She dodged aside and then peered at the coarse mounds of material. “Can we boil them first?”

No answer again. She slipped into the shadows and pulled them on, moving as fast as she could. They were huge on her, but warmer and easier to move in. She rolled and tied them at her wrists and ankles and used the gauze as a belt again.

She stepped back toward the firelight. The Outsider was sitting where he’d been before. He had on a dark leather vest, similar to the kind boys wore in Gladiator Realms. Another navy blanket like hers was rolled up at his side.

He took quick stock of the adjustments she’d made to the clothes. “There’s food in those,” he said, nodding to a row of jars he’d set by the fire. “One’s filled with water.”

“Aren’t we leaving?”

“I’ve seen the way you move through the dark. We’ll sleep now and travel by day.”

He lay down and closed his eyes as if that were that.

She drank some water but couldn’t manage more than a few pieces of the dried fruit. The figs were too grainy, sticking to her throat, and the constant swirl of anxiety in her stomach didn’t allow room for hunger. Aria leaned back against the cold granite. The soles of her feet throbbed. She was sure she’d never be able to sleep.

The Outsider didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. She could look at him more closely now that he was asleep. He was covered with imperfections. A faded blue bruise spread over one cheek, matching the one she’d seen on his ribs. Pale scars hashed small lines through the scruff on his jaw. His nose was on the long side and had a bend toward the top, where it had probably been broken more than once. It was a nose fit for a gladiator.

The Outsider peered at her. Aria froze as their eyes locked. He was human. She knew that. But there was something soulless about his bright stare. Without a word, he turned so he faced away from her.

Aria waited for her heartbeat to settle. Then she tugged the blanket over her shoulders and lay down. She kept an eye on the fire and the Savage, not sure which repelled her most. Soon her eyes grew heavy and it occurred to her how often she was wrong. She would sleep.

Even now. Even here.

Chapter 14

PEREGRINE

Perry woke at first light, second-guessing his deal with the Dweller. How would she make the harsh journey with the cuts on her feet? But she was probably right. He doubted she’d survive the time it took him to get to Marron’s and back. He knew one thing for certain: She’d need shoes.

He tore off the first book cover with an impatient tug. The girl shot upright, waking with a startled yelp.

“What is that? Is that a book?”

“Not anymore.”

She touched the device over her eye a few times, her fingers fluttering and skitty. Perry looked away. The eyepiece was disgusting. A parasite. And it reminded him too much of the men who’d taken Talon. He went back to work, tearing the other leather cover off. Then he took his bag and knelt in front of her. He lifted her foot, pushed the bandage aside.

“You’re healing up.”

She sucked in a breath. “Let go. Don’t touch me.”

The cold scent of her fear came at him, flickering blue at the edges of his vision. “Steady, Mole,” he said, letting go of her foot. “We have a deal. If you help me, I won’t hurt you.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the ripped covers. Her pale skin had nearly gone white.

“Making you shoes. There aren’t any in the supplies. You can’t travel barefoot.”

Cautiously she gave him her foot. Perry set it on the book cover. “Be still as you can.” He took Talon’s knife and traced the outline of her foot with the tip of the blade. He was careful not to touch her as that triggered her panic.

“You don’t have a pen or anything?” she asked.

“A pen? Lost it about a hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t think Outsiders lived that long.”

Perry looked down, hiding his face. Was that a joke? Did Dwellers live that long?

“Are you a shoemaker or something?” she asked after a moment. “A cobbler?”

Did she think this was what he’d come up with if he were? “No. I’m a hunter.”

“Oh. That explains a lot.”

Perry didn’t know what it explained other than that he hunted.

“So you . . . kill things? Animals and things?”

Perry closed his eyes. Then he sat back and gave her a wide grin. “If it moves, I kill it. Then I gut it, skin it, and eat it.”

She shook her head, her eyes dazed. “I just . . . I can’t believe you’re real.”

Perry scowled at her. “What else would I be, Mole?”

She kept quiet for a while after that. Perry finished outlining her feet. He cut the impressions out. Poked holes into the binding with the tip of the blade, working as swiftly as he could. This close, her Dweller scent was making him sick.

“My name is Aria.” She waited for him to say something. “Don’t you think we should know each other’s names if we’re going to be allies?” She arched a dark eyebrow, mocking his earlier use of the word.

“We might be allies, Mole, but we’re not friends.” He laced the leather cord through the holes and then tied them around her ankles. “Try those.”

She stood and took a few steps, drawing up her pants so she could see her feet. “They’re good,” she said, surprised.

He swept the leftover scraps of leather cord into his satchel. The covers made perfect soles, just as he’d thought. Tough but flexible. Best use he’d ever seen for a book. They’d last a few days. Then he’d have to come up with something better. If she lived that long.

If she didn’t, he’d already decided he would take the eyepiece to Marron’s alone. He’d find a way to send a signal to any Dweller who’d hear it. He’d offer himself and the eyepiece in exchange for his nephew.

She lifted a foot and looked at the bottom. “How fitting. Did you choose this one on purpose, Outsider? I’m not sure this bodes well for our journey.”

Perry snatched his satchel. Took up his bow and quiver. He didn’t have a clue what book he’d chosen. He couldn’t read. Had never learned no matter how many times Mila and Talon had tried to teach him. He walked out of the cave before she could see that and call him a stupid Savage.

They spent the morning crossing hills Perry had known all his life. They were nearing the eastern edge of Vale’s territory, rolling land that climbed out of the Tide Valley. Wherever he looked he saw memories. The knoll where he and Roar had made their first bows. The oak tree with the split trunk that Talon had climbed a hundred times. The banks of the dry creek that first time with Brooke.

His father had walked this land once. Longer ago still, his mother had as well. It was strange missing a place before having left it. Unsettling to realize he had no loft to climb back into when he tired of being in the open. And he was walking with a Dweller. That cast the day in an odd light as well. Her presence made him shifty and irritated. He knew she wasn’t the Mole who took Talon, but she was still one of them.

She jumped at every small sound during the first hours. She walked too slow and made more noise than someone her size ever should. Worst of all, she’d begun to put off a thick black temper as the morning wore on, telling him that grief had followed him. This girl he’d somehow struck a bargain with had suffered and lost and was hurting. Perry did his best to keep upwind from her, where the air was clear.

“Where are we going, Savage?” she asked around midday. She was a good ten paces behind him. Walking ahead held another advantage besides avoiding her scent. He didn’t have to keep seeing the eyepiece on her face. “I think I’ll call you that since I don’t know your name.”

“I won’t answer.”

“Well, Hunter? Where are we heading?”

He tipped his chin. “That way.”

“That’s helpful.”

Perry glanced over his shoulder at her. “We’re going to see a friend. His name is Marron. He’s that way.” He pointed to Mount Arrow. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, frustrated. “What is snow like?”

That nearly stopped him in his tracks. How could a person know about snow without knowing it was pure and silent and whiter than bone? Without knowing how the chill of it stung your skin? “It’s cold.”

“What about roses? Do they really smell so great?”

“See many roses around here?” He knew better than to give a true answer. From what he could tell, she’d never heard about Scires in her stories. Perry wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t trust her. Knew she wasn’t planning to help him. Whatever double-crossing she meant to do, he’d figure it out.

“Do the clouds ever clear?” she asked.

“Completely? No. Never.”

“What about the Aether? Does that ever go away?”

“Never, Mole. The Aether never leaves.”

She looked up. “A world of nevers under a never sky.”

She fit in well then, he thought. A girl who never shut up.

Her questions continued through the day. She asked if dragonflies made a sound when they flew and if rainbows were myths. When he stopped answering, she turned to speaking to herself as though it were a natural thing. She talked about the warm color of the hills against the blue cast of the Aether. When the wind kicked up, she said the sound reminded her of turbines. She stared at rocks, wondering at the minerals that made them, even pocketing a few. She’d fallen into a deep silence once, when the sun appeared, and it was then he’d wondered most what she was thinking.

Perry couldn’t figure out how a person could be grieving and still manage to talk so much. He ignored her as best he could. He kept an eye on the Aether, relieved to see that it moved in pale drifts above. They’d leave the Tides’ land soon so he paid close attention to the scents carrying on the wind. He knew they’d meet with some form of danger eventually. Traveling outside tribe territories guaranteed it. Hard enough to survive alone in the borderlands. Perry wondered how he’d manage it with a Mole.

Late in the afternoon, he found a sheltered valley to lay camp. Night was falling by the time he got the fire going. The Dweller sat on an overturned tree examining the soles of her feet. What healthy skin she’d had left that morning had blistered.

Perry found the salve he’d taken from the cave and brought it to her. She unscrewed the small jar, her black hair spilling forward as she peered at it. Perry frowned. What was she doing? Was her eyepiece some sort of magnifying glass?

“Don’t eat that, Dweller. Spread it on your feet. Here.” He pushed a handful of dried fruit at her along with a cluster of thistle roots he’d dug up earlier. They tasted like uncooked potatoes, but at least they wouldn’t starve. “That you can eat.”