The Feral Sentence (Book 1, Part 2) (2 page)

Although it
wasn’t in my nature to be assertive or confrontational, I reached
into my pouch and extracted one shiny pearl.

“
One,” I
said, holding the single pearl out in front of me.

She eyed me
carefully from top to bottom, and I became uncomfortable. I stood
there, with my arm stiff out in front of me, refusing to back
down.

“
You’re
the new girl, aren’t you? The one Murk’s assigned as an Archer
among the Hunters?” She rubbed her chin with her thumb and index
finger.

I
nodded.

She
stared at the bar of soap for a moment.

“
Consider it a welcome gift,” she said.

I
hesitated. Was this a game? A test? Why would someone hand over
free merchandise? This had never happened to me before. I’d never
had anything handed to me for free.

“
Don’t
overthink it, sweetheart,” she said. “I happen to have a working
relationship with you Hunters… I’d like to keep it that
way.”

And
there it was—leverage.

She
smiled. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll be in need of ingredients
farther out on the island, and you’ll be the one to help
me.”

“
Sounds
fair,” I said, realizing that our exchange was mutually
beneficial.

“
I’m
Tegan,” she said.

“
Brone.”

“
You
need anything else, you know where to find me.” She walked to the
back of the tent and sat on a thick piece of log. Beside her were
coconut shells, plants of different lengths and colors, powders,
feathers, skins, and many other ingredients thrown into a pile for
future creations.

I was
about to leave Tegan’s tent when I realized something.

“
Tegan?”
I asked.

“
Yes,
doll?”

“
Where
do I clean myself?”

She
smiled at me the way a teacher would her student—with patience and
kindness.

“
Anything on this island look like a shower to
you?”

Had this
been a joke? Of course not. Had I seen some magical shower, I’d
have… “The waterfall?” I suddenly realized.

She
nodded. “Word of advice, though… Don’t stand directly underneath
it. It’ll knock you right off your feet. Most women stand at the
edges or use the pool of water underneath it to bathe
in.”

I
thanked her and left.

When I
stepped out into the Village, the first thing I noticed was the
silence. There were no women arguing about fighting the Northers;
there were no footsteps nearby; there was no fire at the center of
the Village.

Had we
been attacked? There was no sign of struggle or damage.

I rushed
out through the Village’s entrance, where trees were slanted to
form an arch. How could so many women disappear so quickly? I could
feel my legs trembling, but I had to keep moving. Although I’d
never gone to the Working Grounds alone, I knew which direction to
go.

I ran
over the path that had been gradually constructed through usage
over the last few decades: broken branches, flattened leaves, and
hardened mud. I knew this path quite well now, having travelled it
several times to train as an Archer near the Working Grounds’
waterfall.

I’d been
running so fast—so blindly, being led by fear and adrenaline—that
I’d failed to see her running in my direction. I felt the impact of
our bodies before I heard my name, “Brone!”

It was
Rocket. She had both hands gripped around my arms, and she was
breathing heavily, although not quite as heavily as I was. She was
a runner—a true hunter. I had a lot of catching up to do,
physically speaking.

“
Where
were you?” she asked.

My heart
regained its natural pace, and I slowed my breathing.

“
I… I
was just buying something.” I raised the seaweed and coconut soap
for her to see, only to realize my fingers’ tight grip had melted
holes into it. I sighed.

“
Nice.”
She laughed at me, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“
You’re
supposed to keep products like that in your tent and on the ground,
where it’s coolest,” she said.

I stared
at her as if to say, ‘How was I supposed to know that?’

“
Anyways,” she said, “you can’t clean yourself now. You’re a
Hunter, Brone, which means you report to Trim every day after
breakfast. We train or work until suppertime. Then you get clean if
you want.”

She
reached for my deformed soap and placed it at the base of the
nearest tree. She then covered it with several leaves and
branches.

“
There,”
she said.

“
And how
am I supposed to remember where that is?” I asked.

“
Monkey
Brush,” she said.

“
Monkey
what?” I asked, shifting my attention to the trees
overhead.

“
Right
there.” She pointed at a strangely shaped plant that resembled a
snow brush, only it was vibrant red and orange.

“
Did you
just make up that name?” I asked.

Rocket
chuckled. “No, it’s the actual name. I did a project on it in high
school before I dropped out.

Always stuck
with me.”

I’d been about
to ask her how she’d landed herself on Kormace Island, but even I
knew that interrogating a felon about their life in the real world
was a faux pas. It didn’t matter what she’d done— who she’d
killed—because life on Kormace wasn’t the same as life in the real
world.

“
Come
on.” She turned around. “Trim’s waiting on you. No one makes Trim
wait.”

I followed her
into the Working Grounds, where I received several impatient glares
from the new Battle Women who’d been forced to wait for me before
beginning their training.

“
You’re
late,” Trim said. She threw me my bow, but I wasn’t ready for the
catch and it landed in the sand.

Laughter
erupted around me, and I felt like a complete klutz. How would I
ever hunt an animal if I couldn’t even catch my own bow? I’d never
hit my target. I suddenly remembered the blurry sight of Sunny
being dragged away by the dark figure in the mask, and I couldn’t
help but feel responsible. If only I’d known how to shoot… if only
I’d been as good as Eagle, I might have been able to save her.

I picked up my
bow, its smooth wood feeling even softer than usual against my now
calloused palm. I was turning into a true Islander, with my rough
skin and dirty fingernails. It disgusted me.

Women fought
around me with sticks, rope, and their bare hands while Trim led me
closer to the waterfall to continue practicing target shooting with
two other Archers, Pin and Hamu—two Asian twin sisters who’d been
selected for their perfect vision and small builds, which, as Trim
had mentioned, was advantageous for the purpose of stealth.

For the last
few days, Pin and Hamu had managed to shoot their arrows several
feet away from the target, which was far better than anything I’d
managed to do. If the arrow didn’t fall out of my hands, it landed
mere feet away from me; it was both embarrassing and frustrating. I
began to wonder if Murk had made a mistake in assigning me the task
of Archer.

But today was
different. Their movements were sloppy and their aim was terrible.
It made me feel better.

“
You’re
supposed to get better, not worse.” Trim moved in, eying them both
curiously.

“
Sorry,
Trim,” Pin said. She was the more vocal of the two, and unlike Hamu
who hid her face behind her hair, Pin appeared to be quite
confident. Hamu barely spoke, and she followed her sister like a
puppy on a leash. “We’re just really tired.”

“
I don’t
care if you’re tired,” Trim said. “We’re all tired. We’re all
tossing and turning in our sleep, afraid that there might be an
attack in the middle of the night.”

She tore the
bow out of Pin’s hand and picked up an arrow from the pile beside
us. Without hesitating, she raised the bow, positioned her arrow,
and pulled the bowstring. There was a snap, and her arrow
penetrated the middle of the blood-drawn target.

“
Tired
or not, we still have enemies,” she said, before turning away and
toward the Battle Women.

“
You
young people are too impulsive…” I recognized Flander’s old voice.
She was leaning up against a large flat rock at the base of the
waterfall’s cliff, observing the new Battle Women spar.

“
You old
people are too slow,” Rocket said. She swung her fighting stick at
the shins of the woman she was battling before tackling her to the
ground.

Flander
smirked, unoffended by Rocket’s words. It was as if she were proud
of her overly freckled, leather-like skin and colorless hair—as if
it represented wisdom.

“
Always
keep your guard up,” Rocket said, extending an open palm to the
young Battle Woman lying in the sand.

The girl
smiled and grabbed Rocket’s hand. I could tell she was soaking all
of this in. She was eager to fight, and she was willing to take a
few punches to become as good as Trim’s crew.

The clicking
of sticks and fighting cries continued, and I was suddenly thankful
to have been given the title of Archer. I wouldn’t have lasted two
minutes in a fight with a wooden stick. At least, as an Archer, I
could shoot from a distance. The only thing I had to worry about
was not getting shot by one of the enemy’s Archers.

“
Always
stay hidden,” Trim had told us Archers on our first day when Sunny
had been by my side. “The enemy always tries to take out Archers
first, so they can attack on foot.”

I remembered
Sunny’s dandelion-yellow eyes and the way she’d nodded at Trim’s
every word. She too had been eager to fight alongside the Hunters.
I wondered why I lacked such eagerness. Maybe I was still too
fresh. I still possessed this notion that we, as human beings,
should be able to cohabitate without wanting to slit each other’s
throats. What was the purpose of this war? Why did the Northers
want our heads? What had we ever done to them?

I knew there
was a lot I didn’t know and a lot I had to learn.

I was still
shooting arrows into the sand when I noticed Fisher move in slowly.
I’d been intimated by her since the first day I’d seen her. She had
such a badass look with her long dark hair pulled back into a tight
ponytail and protruding cheekbones—the type of girl you didn’t want
to make eye contact with.

“
It took
her a while too, you know,” she said, a crooked smile on her
lips.

I eyed her
curiously. I couldn’t tell whether she was being nice to me or
blatantly degrading me.

“
Eagle,”
she clarified.

I lowered my
bow. There were dozens of arrows sticking out of the sand several
feet away from the wooden target, which was completely
undamaged.

“
It
takes time, kid,” she said. “Here.” She moved in closer and
signaled me to get into position.

I placed an
arrow into the bowstring and pulled my shoulders back.

“
Knees
bent a bit,” she said.

Pin and Hamu
were now standing still, trying to absorb any bit of advice Fisher
had to offer.

“
Don’t
hold your elbow straight like that.”

I did as I was
told and sighed, not quite understanding how my stance would change
the direction of my arrow.

“
It’s an
art, really,” she said. “There. Now pull back, up to your lips, and
keep your eyes on the target.”

I followed her
instructions and kept my gaze on the target’s bloody circle, but it
was hard to concentrate with her practically pressed up against me
and her breath warming the back of my shoulder.

“
Visualize the arrow hitting your target, and when you’re
ready… let go.”

I held onto
the idea of a Norther standing in front of me—the very same Norther
who’d maimed Eagle. I didn’t know what she looked like, but I’d
drawn myself an image for the purpose of directing my hatred: torn
garments, arms full of faded ink, facial piercings, and yellow
plaque-coated teeth.

I released the
arrow.

There was a
loud crack, and the hanging target swayed gently from side to side
upon impact. To my surprise, I’d managed to strike just above the
bullseye. I couldn’t believe it. I glanced back at Fisher, but
she’d already walked away.

Pin and Hamu
hopped into position, prepared to follow Fisher’s advice. The
practicing continued, and although I didn’t hit the bullseye, I
managed to hit my target more than once. I’d been so caught up in
the moment that for the first time in several days, the cacophonous
bickering of female felons became nonexistent to me. I couldn’t
hear women swearing or yelling at each other, fighting sticks being
knocked against one another, the waterfall’s static noise, the
inconsistent chirping and whistling of insects, or the faraway
screams and calls being emitted by the jungle’s wildlife.

The only thing
I knew in that moment was the feeling of the bow’s wood against the
skin of my calloused palm. The target ahead seemed to blur out all
surrounding objects. It felt instinctual.

I’d been about
to grab another arrow when Biggie came by, almost waddling due to
her size. A beam of sunlight landed across her face, and she glared
at us through the bright light. I couldn’t help but wonder why
Fisher was Trim’s right hand, when Biggie was the size of a
full-grown man—six feet tall, at a minimum, and definitely weighing
more than two hundred pounds. I could only imagine the kind of
damage she was capable of causing.