A Girl Named Calamity by Danielle Lori

CHAPTER FIVE

TWO TYPES OF TAILS

The first thought I had as I awoke was of relief when I realized I didn’t get sung anywhere again. I was also itching to leave the city; the rider could have caught up with me by now. I needed to find an escort this morning, and if I couldn’t then I would be traveling alone. The thought left a nervous pit in my stomach, but I couldn’t stay here much longer.

I rolled out of bed to get dressed, and that was when I believed I’d gone crazy.

There had been a table next to the door.

I was positive because I had set my clothes on it, and now they were in a messy pile on the floor. Maybe the innkeeper needed it for something? It sent a chill down my spine thinking he had been in here when I was sleeping, but he hadn’t seemed all that harmful. I pushed the oddity away; I had much more to worry about.

I headed down to the bathhouse, and when I noticed it was empty, I washed up before anyone wandered in. There was some dried blood on my neck from the Red Forest, and I wondered if the assassin had seen it.

It was probably a regular sight for him.

I braided my hair and put my cloak on before heading over to the Smoky Tavern. I was about to go in when I heard a familiar deep voice behind me. “Get your horse and be ready to head out within the hour.”

Thank you, Alyria.

“But I thought I would be lucky to find someone desperate enough,” I said as I turned around. I had no idea why the assassin changed his mind, but it sent the blessed feeling of relief through my body. He knew about the Saccar, and maybe he could teach me how to resist it on the way. Or at least save me from walking to my demise like the night before.

He watched me for a moment, that heavy gaze burning me. “Don’t make me regret this.”

I couldn’t guarantee anything . . .

“Why did you change your mind?”

Could I trust an assassin? I didn’t think I had any other choice.

“Turns out I’ll be heading that way anyway. Might as well make some money on the way.”

It was a reasonable explanation. “Listen. . .” I stopped because I didn’t have a clue of what to call him. I didn’t think ‘assassin’ would suffice this entire journey.

He supplied it before I had to ask. “Weston.”

Weston.I mulled it around in my mind before I spoke. “There might be some people . . .” Well, this isn’t easy to explain. “. . . following me,” I finished.

The gleam in his gaze appeared almost amused, but he only said, “Be ready in an hour.”

Of course he wouldn’t have been worried about a little trouble. Assassins were trouble, and I saw in his eyes that he might have liked it a bit too much.

* * *

“I want you to teach me how to resist the Saccar,” I said while we were riding down the main cobblestone path out of the city.

“I will help you get to Undaley. But no more.”

I frowned. Was it so hard to teach me something while we rode side by side for a month? “What if it tries to sing me away again?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” was all he said before ignoring all my other questions.

After a little while of silence, he finally acknowledged my presence. “We have a tail.”

An image of the inhuman rider popped into my mind, and I shivered. I never saw Weston look behind him, so how he knew someone was following was beyond me. I looked behind me but quickly turned back around. Wasn’t it a rule not to look behind you? Some kind of assassin rule?

In my quick glance, I hadn’t seen anyone there, at least not taking this trail. Every caravan rolling out of the city was taking a different path.

“Let’s lose them, shall we?” he asked. “You see the rocky terrain over that hill?” He pointed to the beginning of an immense mountain range, and I nodded with some hesitation. Why we were the only ones traveling this trail had apprehension clouding my thoughts. “There’s a pass in the rocks. Large enough for two horses.”

“What’s going to keep them from following us?”

He glanced at me. “They don’t have enough water.”

“Oh,” I replied as if that made sense.

An alarm rang in my head when I thought of the one canteen I had filled, but before I could say anything about it, he dashed off. I hurried to catch up, and we raced up the hill. Gallant gave Weston’s black steed a good chase. The wind blew my hood off, and the race was exhilarating. I couldn’t even seem to care that we supposedly had men following us. My only thoughts were of the warm sun on my skin and the fresh breeze against my face. There were flowers in bloom, covering the field like an orange and yellow blanket.

When we reached the top of the hill, I saw the entrance to the mountain range. It was like light and dark compared to the field. Fog covered it like a cloak, and as we got closer, I felt a cold breeze coming from within. I imagined it was the breath of an ice dragon from stories Grandmother had told me as a child.

Cold was one of the most uncomfortable things I’d ever felt, but as we reached the tight entrance of the mountain range, my thoughts on the cold were pushed aside when I felt the urgent need to take a drink. My throat felt so dry that it burned, and I had trouble swallowing. I reached into my saddlebag to get my canteen, but Weston grabbed my wrist. The tight entrance had our horses almost touching.

“You need to save the water,” he told me before dropping my wrist as if I would obey him from just those words. Get real. I tried to grab it again, but he wrapped my wrist in a vise grip.

“I really need a drink,” I said, trying to pull my wrist out of his grasp.

“No,” he said coolly.

Who the hell did he think he was? My throat was on fire. I tried to swallow, couldn’t, and felt as if I were losing my air supply. “You don’t understand. I need a drink!”

“I understand. But you need to save it.”

“Why?”

“Because the further we go into the mountains, the thirstier you will get. We need to save the water we have,” he said.

“I need a drink. Just a small one,” I begged, not being able to think about anything but water. Drinking it. Pouring it all over me.

“The land is cursed. Once we are out of the mountains, it will go away.” He let my wrist go, reached into my saddlebag, stole my canteen, and dropped it into his bag.

“I think I can regulate my own water,” I retorted.

“I very much doubt that,” he said dryly.

He was probably right. But you didn’t go around admitting your weaknesses.

“Why is it cursed?” I asked, the sensation of a scratchy throat hard to talk over.

He sighed like it was a grievous chore answering my questions. “A long time ago, a Mage came through here. He got lost in the maze-like mountain paths and died of thirst. Before he passed, he cursed the mountains. Any man entering would feel the intense thirst he did.”

My brows knitted. “Why would you take me this way?” The thirst was tenacious. I didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like deeper in the mountains.

“It was the least messy way to get rid of the tail, and it’s faster. It would take days to go around the mountains.”

After my body had gotten used to the thirst, and it became more of a severe annoyance than all-consuming, I finally felt how cold the air was on my skin.

“It’s so cold in here,” I said, shivering.

Weston grabbed something out of his saddlebag and handed it to me. A thick fur-lined cloak. I shrugged out of my own cloak; my shirt sleeves were pushed up, and I noticed him analyzing my cuffs. I tensed a little but didn’t try to hide them. I figured I wouldn’t be able to keep them hidden from him, being side-by-side for so long. Might as well get it over with. I slipped the cloak on, and the warm feel of the fur was inviting.

His gaze was cautious, maybe suspicious. “Who are you?”

I thought for a while before I answered the question. I was a farm girl from Alger, and I was supposedly a tool for the destruction of Alyria. But I didn’t want either to define me.

“Name’s Calamity,” I finally supplied through chattering teeth. And at that moment, I hoped more than anything my name wasn’t my fate.

“’Course it is.”