Halo (Blood and Fire Series (A Young Adult Dystopian Series)) (34 page)

He goes to move around me but I grab hold of his arm. “You don’t think I feel the same way when I think about you fighting? Why do you think I was even there in the first place, Ryka? I couldn’t bear not knowing what was happening to you.” I’m too angry to be surprised that I’m admitting this to him
―
to myself, to anyone else standing within in a mile wide radius. “Now tell me, if you had a chance to not feel like that, if you could just be numb to all of it, wouldn’t you take that chance?”

His eyebrows pinch together, and he looks…hurt. “No, Kit. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Why not?” I try and see the sense in feeling so much pain and worry.

“Because.” He sighs. “Life isn’t just fear and horror all the time, y’know? The sweet moments are usually worth the suffering you go through along the way.”

I laugh sharply. “I haven’t had many sw—”

Ryka’s quick when he steps towards me, and I’m surprised when his strong hand cups the back of my neck. He pulls me to him so our chests meet, our hips and our legs. His brown eyes are sad when he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. It’s a gentle kiss, lingering and so much sweeter than I ever imagined it would be. My very first kiss. My body seems to know what it’s doing, no matter how little experience I have in this area, and before I know what I’m doing I’m kissing him back. He huffs slightly as I lean into him, cautiously reaching up my hand to carry out something I’ve denied myself for too long. I touch my fingertips lightly over his hair and brush it back out of his face. There’s a second when I think he’s about to pull away and I can’t help but exhale in a sigh.

That seems to light a fire in him. He drops the bag to the floor and buries his hands into my hair, locking hold of my head. The kiss deepens. Breathing suddenly doesn’t seem that important when it comes to deciding between a fresh lungful of air and letting Ryka go. I never knew my heart could pump this fast. It goes even faster when he steps me back and I sag onto the bed. He never releases his hold on me. As he positions himself over me, careful to keep his weight off my chest, the pressure from his mouth increases and mine opens in response. His tongue works its way past my lips, and the shock of the sensation, warm and sweet and intense, feels like a jolt of electricity firing through my body. I let out a surprised groan and Ryka responds. I’ve never experienced anything like this. The sensation is pure and deeply personal, connecting us together in a way I didn’t even know could happen. My hands move of their own accord and I find myself clinging onto Ryka. Clinging onto him like I will fall straight through his bed otherwise. His tongue moves in languorous sweeps over mine, and it’s natural that I follow his lead. The muscles in his arms flex as he lowers himself just enough that I feel the satisfying weight of him on me, but then he pulls back.

Too breathless to say anything, I just lie there staring up at him with my lips still parted, feeling awestruck.
Damn
. Ryka stares back at me, his brown eyes half concealed by his lowered eyelids. Three seconds pass before he clears his throat. He sits back and perches on the edge of his bed, his back to me. I don’t know what I imagined ever happening between the two of us, but it wasn’t this. To share something like that and then have him so far away feels wrong. I sit up beside him, our shoulders pressing together, and he sighs. I open my mouth but he shakes his head.

“Don’t. You’re going to say something snarky or rude, and you shouldn’t. I want you to sit here and think about what just happened, Kit. How it felt.” His shoulders round in on his body a little, and he seems momentarily self-conscious, which is ridiculous. The great Mashinji Ryka, abashed. The laws of physics will be disintegrating next. He angles his body towards me and leans forward. I’m a statue, too astonished by the last three minutes to do anything other than remain upright as he presses his forehead against mine. Up this close, the smell of him, that wild outdoor scent that is all forest and river and Jada and freedom, rushes my senses and fills me up to bursting.

“You asked me if I would numb out the bad feelings, and I said no. This is why. Because, for me, the possibility that we could be…this,” he hesitates before he laces his fingers through mine. “The possibility that there could be something bright, something to look forward to for both of us, after all the suffering and death
―
it fills me with hope. And it gets better, Kit. It’s not just how kissing you feels. It would get so much better than that, I promise you.”

He lets go of my hand and moves silently over to the small chest of drawers beside his bed. The top drawer makes a grating sound as he pulls it open and takes out one of his black shirts. He unravels it onto his pillow. The battered silver circle of my halo tumbles out and lies there, glinting in the semi-darkness. He picks it up warily, as though the naked metal is going to burn him. He holds it out, but when I go to take it from him he doesn’t let go. We both remain there, him standing, me sitting on his bed, joined together by our fingers looped through the collar.

“It wasn’t up to you when they put this on you. You wearing this was something they
did
to you. If you put it back on, they’re winning, okay? And you’re letting them. You say this is your choice, Kit, and you’re right. I’m begging you not to choose this. Choose something else. Choose the possibility that there could be something else worth feeling all the bad stuff for. Choose me.”

He uncurls his fingers and lets the halo go. I grip onto it tightly, only because I need something to hold onto, something solid that will keep me grounded. Ryka gives me a small smile, his eyes sadder than ever, and then he picks up his bag and goes.

MEETING

I spend hours sitting in Ryka’s room doing exactly what he told me to do. I replay our interaction from the second I stormed in through the door
―
how angry I was
―
to the moment he left, trying to work out where I stand now that a whole other bunch of thoughts and screwy feelings have been thrown into the mix. There doesn’t seem to be enough nouns for all the emotions I’m experiencing. Sadness, happiness, anger, annoyance, elation: the different strands of sensation are like a rainbow of colours all churning together inside me to create something wholly muddy and unattractive. I’m sure there isn’t a name for this. For now, until I learn otherwise, I have officially termed my state of being as ‘Ick’.

Jack comes to find me later. Much later, after I’ve fallen asleep on Ryka’s bed. It seemed like an okay thing to do, seeing as he left me sitting here in the first place. The old man smiles briefly when I wake with a start. The smile dims when he sees my halo lying next to me on the bed. “So August figured it out, then? He’s skilled, but I didn’t think this would be within his capabilities.”

“It wasn’t,” I mumble, trying to shake off my sleep. “He said there were others from the Sanctuary who knew how the halos worked. They helped.”

“Oh.” The bed creaks, the wood complaining, when Jack sits down heavily next to me. “And what are you planning on doing with it now, Kit?”

He might as well just come straight out with it and ask me if I intend on shackling the thing around my neck again. I glare down at the halo with my hands clasped in my lap, not willing to blink. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Not knowing means you’re considering your options, doesn’t it? At least you’re not blindly rushing to get it back on without even mulling over the alternatives.”

I smile, a warped, ugly-feeling thing on my face. He’s giving me far too much credit.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” That’s all I’m good for saying right now. Olivia could have probably got a few other syllables out of me, but with her gone I’m feeling pretty flat. “Was the High Priestess annoyed that I didn’t fight in the last two days of the matches?”

Jack grunts and looks up at the ceiling of the tent, a burnt orange colour from the lamp he brought in with him. “How could she be? You were delirious. If a fighter can’t remain conscious for more than thirty seconds, there’s little that even the High Priestess can do about that.”

“She’s made me Tamji so she can kill me off, hasn’t she?” I ask.

Jack scratches at his grizzly white stubble and grunts again. “Likely. We’ll work that one out. In the meantime, Ryka won’t be back for a couple of days, child. You’re more than welcome to stay here if you like.”

Surprised by the offer, I’m stuck for what to say. “I don’t think so, Jack. But thank you.” Sleeping in Ryka’s bed would be weird.

Jack laughs. “I meant in Olivia’s room. She won’t be needing it, after all.” There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice, although he seems resigned to the fact that his granddaughter is gone. I haven’t really processed it. Everyone else has had six days to come to terms with her absence, while I’ve been spinning around my bed in a catatonic daze. “The choice is yours,” Jack says. More choices for me. Great. He rises from the bed and stretches his back. “Shame Ry’s not here. We’re having a meeting up at the big tent tonight and he’s going to be annoyed he missed it. I think you should be there, Kit. Out of everyone, you need to be there.”

“What’s the meeting for?” I don’t like the tone in his voice. Something big has happened, I can tell.

“Just come along, Kit. We’re going to be discussing a topic that you’re uniquely equipped to provide insight on.” He shuffles out the room and leaves me on Ryka’s bed, but suddenly it doesn’t seem so okay that I’m here.

******

I go to check on Jack later, but he’s already made his way up to the meeting. The meeting that he told me nothing about, other than I would want to be there. I really don’t want to be there, not one bit. But that doesn’t stop me trudging through the mud, skirting around the night fires of some of Freetown’s more secluded residents. I’m weak and feel like my bones are made of straw, so my progress is frustratingly slow. It takes a while to reach the massive tent where Jack and the others are waiting, and by the time I get there I’m feeling distinctly unwell. My arm is throbbing like there’s too much blood being forced into it. Like it might be on its way to falling off. I haven’t even looked under the fresh bandages for fear that gangrene has set in.

Voices ring out into the stillness of the night as I approach the tent, and I think about turning around and going straight back home. That seems pointless now that I’ve dragged myself here, however. I chew on the inside of my cheek, swallowing down nerves as I push back the tent flap and try to sneak inside without anyone noticing. Unfortunately for me the sound of voices I heard wasn’t the hum of a large crowd; it was five people shouting. Their argument stops mid-yell as everyone turns to look at me. Jack and James’ faces are sketched in dramatic shadows as they lean into the fire, their elbows resting on their knees, and the woman from before, the one who washed me down, angles her head towards me, softly smiling. The other two men, one portly with ruddy cheeks, the other slim as one of the support posts holding up the tent, scrutinise me with sharp eyes.

“Welcome, Kit,” Jack says.

“She’s the one you told us about?” Tent Pole asks. His face crinkles as he squints at me. It looks like he’s trying to figure out what I am. “
She
killed Sam?”

A hot stripe flares across my cheeks like I’ve been struck. “Yeah, I did,” I say. No point in avoiding what I did to Sam. A whole lot of people saw it happen, anyway.
 

Jack gets up and collects a chair from the ever-present stack on the left hand side of the room, then sets it down next to him. “Join us, child. We need your expertise.”

I frown but do as he suggests, sitting down beside him. This close to a fire indoors, I don’t feel warmed. I feel like I’m in hell, unlucky enough to have received an invite to the very front row, right next to the furnaces.

“This is Alistair.” Jack points to the chubby man, who inclines his head to me politely. He barely seems to even care that I’m here. “And this is Bartholomew.” I feel like sticking to Tent Pole in my head, as Jack introduces the skinny man. He doesn’t smile at me. Doesn’t offer out his hand. There’s something spiteful about the narrow way he picks me over, something calculating. I find myself not liking him very much.

“Now that Kit’s here, we can ask her a little more about the Sanctuary. From there we can discuss this matter knowing our chances of success. Ella, you can begin.”

Ella, the woman whose name I struggled to remember earlier, shifts in her chair, and the sound of small chiming bells fills the tent. Smiling, she turns to me. “Kit, I’m so pleased you’re feeling a little better. How is your arm?”

I shrug. “It throbs.”

“That’s good. Means it’s healing. It’ll start to itch soon. That’s when you’ll know you’re well on your way to recovery.”

I offer her a weak smile, not so sure I’m as pleased about the prospect of itching as she is. “Thank you for taking caring of me,” I tell her.

“Think nothing of it. Anyway, we were wondering if you would be able to tell us of your escape from the Sanctuary, Kit. If you could recount your experience from leaving your home to meeting up with Ryka and finding your way to Freetown, we would be most appreciative.”