Morrighan - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,9

kindness was as rare as a clear blue sky. We had come upon one of the cellars from Before. There was still some food to be found in those days, pantry stockpiles that hadn’t yet spoiled or been raided, but it was risky to venture into such places. The leader saw us coming and waved us away, but your papa intervened, pleading for us, and the leader relented. They allowed us in and shared what little food there was. It was the last time I ever tasted an olive, but that small taste was the beginning of something far more … satisfying.”

Pata rolled her eyes, and the other miadres laughed. Far more. The hidden meanings of Ama’s stories no longer escaped me.

* * *

“Where are you in such a hurry to?” Ama asked. “The beetles of the field will take you to task if you’re late?” Her tone held suspicion. I had seen her watching me as I raced through my morning chores.

I slowed my steps, ashamed that I hadn’t told Ama about the building of books—or Jafir. But not so ashamed that I came forth with the truth. One thing I had learned was that Ama could not read my mind as I had once believed. But she knew my mind. She breathed it. She lived it. Just as she did with the whole tribe. It was a heavy weight for her to bear. Part of that weight would one day pass to me.

“Is there something you need, Ama?”

“No, child,” she said caressing my cheek. “Go. Gather. I understand the need for solitude. Just stay aware. Don’t let this time of peace cause you to let your guard down. The danger is always there.”

“I always watch, Ama. And I always remember the dangers.”

Chapter Eight

Morrighan

I flew through the fields. Ran breathlessly down the canyon. The day was already hot, and sweat rolled down my back. I stopped to gather nothing, my empty bag flopping wildly in my fist. When I reached the trail that led to the old building of books, I saw his horse tied to the low branch of a tree. And then I saw him.

He stood in the middle of the wide porch entrance between two pillars watching me approach. He was early, just as I was. I slowed at the base of the steps, catching my breath. I looked at him in a way I never had before—in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to see him. How tall he had become, a head taller than me. His ribs no longer poked out pathetically, and his knotted ropes of hair had somehow become a thing of beauty and power. They fell gracefully over his shoulders, which were now wide and muscled. My gaze traveled to his chest, broad and strong, the chest that had brushed my back yesterday.

He watched me walk up the steps but said nothing. I said nothing, but I knew today would not be like yesterday or all of our days before that. When I reached the landing, a small quiet hello escaped from my lips.

He stepped back and swallowed. “I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I just came to tell you I won’t be coming anymore. There’s better hunting elsewhere.”

My gut turned hollow. My mind spun with disbelief.

“I can’t waste my days here with you,” he added.

In a single beat, my disbelief ignited into anger. I glared at him. “Because being friends with a girl of the Remnant is one thing, but being—”

“You don’t know me!” he yelled as he pushed past me, almost hurtling himself down the steps.

“Go, Jafir!” I yelled after him. “Go and never come back!”

He untied his horse with quick, angry jerks.

“Go!” I yelled, my vision blurring.

He paused, staring at the saddle, his hands clamped in tight fury on his reins.

My heart pounded painfully in a long hopeful beat, waiting. He shook his head, then mounted his horse and rode away.

Whatever air was in my lungs vanished.

I stumbled back into the ruin, my hand sliding along walls for support. The cool darkness swallowed me. I reached a pillar and slid to the ground, no longer trying to hold back my tears. My thoughts tumbled between grief, resentment, and rage. I will never come back here again either, Jafir! Ever! I will forget everything about this valley, including you!

But even in my anger, I ached for him.

I ached for all our yesterdays.

A door had been opened that couldn’t be closed again, no matter how angry