Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 12 of 42

They ran until the shouting thinned to nothing behind them. Maren kept one arm hooked under Gisela's shoulder. Miller came up on the other side, rifle across his back, and took most of her weight without a word. Gisela's boots dragged through the ferns. Her breath came in short, wet pulls. Every ten steps she stumbled, and every ten steps Miller caught her. Voices carried through the trees behind them. Not close. Not far enough. A dog barked once and stopped. "She can't keep this pace," Maren said. Her own lungs burned. "They'll hear her breathing before they see us." "I've got her." Miller shifted his grip and lifted Gisela nearly off the ground. He moved through the brush like she weighed nothing. Maren fell in behind, watching the trail for prints. They cut down a slope and across a shallow creek. Miller took a hard turn along the bank, then another, doubling their line. The voices behind them grew confused. A man shouted a direction. Another shouted a different one. Then the woods went quiet except for their own steps. Miller stopped in a stand of pine and lowered Gisela down against a trunk. He crouched beside her and put two fingers to her throat. "Fast. But steady." Gisela's head tipped back against the bark. Sweat ran through the dirt on her face. She caught Maren's sleeve. "We have to finish it," she whispered. "My mission. The ledger." "No." Maren knelt in front of her. Her voice cracked. "You were almost dead in that cell. We can't move you like this. You're too weak to stand, let alone run." "Maren—" "No." Gisela closed her eyes. Her chest worked hard for each breath. Maren pressed the back of her hand to her sister's forehead and felt the cold sweat there. Four days back to any road she trusted. Gisela would not last four days. Something shifted in Maren's coat. The winged leopard cub climbed out from the fold at her hip, dropped to the pine needles, and padded straight to Gisela. It stepped into her lap and curled there. A soft blue light rose from its fur. Not a flame. A steady glow, like water lit from beneath. The light spread across Gisela's chest and down her arms. Her breathing slowed. The gray under her freckles faded. Color came back into her mouth. Gisela opened her eyes. They were clear. "This cub," Maren said. She couldn't finish. A word came into her head as if someone had set it down there. Not a guess. A name she suddenly knew. "Eir," she said. "Its name is Eir. It means help." The cub blinked up at her, wings folded flat. Gisela sat forward on her own. She flexed her hands. "I can run now," she said. Miller stood and picked up the rifle. "Then we run."