The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

8. Eight

Eight

The Jig is Up

A fter a thorough discussion about the others and how best to present the situation to them, Coy and Archer couldn't decide what to do about Huck. He seems to be the only one who won't take kindly to my staying here until I can safely leave. As the captain of this section of the camp, his say is final.

If Huck wants me gone, I’m gone. Not only for his sake, but for my own.

Being unwanted is the worst feeling in the world. It’s part of the reason I left home in the first place. It’s what made it easier to leave. I wasn't welcome there anymore.

Archer explained that before Huck took the position, he was the captain for years, serving the Arion Warriors with leadership and wisdom through his early thirties and forties. His father had served as second in command, so Archer was practically raised for the job. Without this prior knowledge, I can see the lingering shadows of a leader within Archer. It's in the way he walks, the way he speaks to the others, and how they respond to him. Just the way he holds himself in a room is telling enough.

But when Huck came along training to become one of the youngest captains in the force, Archer was all too eager to step down and have someone else take over the role. After years of leading the others through brutal battles and training, it wore on him, chipping him down over time. As the oldest of the group, Archer seems to serve as a kind of sounding board for the others now, even Huck—someone they look up to for guidance and direction.

Regardless of Archer's history as captain, Huck now fills the role and is respected as such. Archer would never overstep when it came to questioning authority, especially for someone like me.

"My father taught me to always respect the title. Because one day, that warrior may be what saves you from certain death. Your life is in their hands, and true leaders know how incredibly heavy that can be." The dynamic between Huck and Archer seems to be one filled with respect and honor and I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it for myself watching them interact with one another.

Except in this case, when Coy and Archer have decided to cross a line for me. My stomach coils with guilt at the thought of them putting themselves in a compromising position for my well-being. My intentions were never to cause chaos amongst this group. I wonder how Huck’s reaction went when he discovered Whip. I don’t dare ask, as I already feel like I’m prying into these warriors’ lives.

So, we decide against telling any of them at all. The less people who know about me, the better. But I do find a small comfort that two out of seven will back me if discovered, especially by Huck. They believe he will not stand for harboring anyone in the warrior camp, regardless of the situation. Even though I am running from my murderous mother. He will not care that there's a target on my back, which has me wondering, again, what situation brought Whip here.

Just hearing Huck’s name spoken sends a cold chill down my spine, icing over each vertebra. I suppress the instinct to reach for my dagger.

It shouldn't surprise me that Huck feels this way. These are groomed warriors. They fight in battles and are trained to defend by any means necessary. Blood flows through their fingers as easily as sand and they live and breathe by order and protocol. But it seems the others might have a scrap of decency left.

Our routines are more or less the same that night when the group comes home. But I can sense Coy cracking under the pressure as time goes on. I thought Archer knowing about me would ease the tension for Coy, but it seems to have made it worse. His eyes are rimmed with worry as he moves through the cabin. He's quieter than usual. Skittish. A few times I see Archer give him a glaring look that says, "Keep it together, man." All the while I observe from the wooden slats of the closet, listening to conversations flow .

Something seems to be bothering Aspen tonight more than usual, his tall lanky figure making a beeline to his cot. I've noticed he almost always heads directly to his bunk after getting back from the day, grasping the sides of his head, always laying his hat over his dark eyes.

"Worse than usual today, Aspen?"

A grunt comes from the bottom bunk in response, his ankles crossed over the bedframe.

"I can put on a pot of tea." Terran's kind suggestion seems near futile as Aspen groans in pain as he rolls onto his side, facing the wall, seemingly blocking out the world. His chestnut hands cradle his head as he curls in on himself.

Without direction, Archer puts on a pot like they've done this routine before. I feel for Aspen. The pain he seems to be in must be torturous while training as a warrior. I don't know much of what the warriors do all day, but I can't imagine it's easy, even without any ailments plaguing you. I don't know how he endures it.

I watch through the small slat as Terran, the cheery one that's always smiling, brings Aspen a wet cloth for his head.

"I'm sorry, brother. We should have more elixir for you next week. You just have to hang on until then." Terran palms his shoulder lightly before leaving him be.

Huck stands in the far corner of the room, leaning against the window ledge, brooding as usual, as if he were actively trying to suck the life out of the room. But Terran walks over pleasant as ever, like he can’t see the dark clouds forming over Huck's head, and hands him a glass with an inch of amber liquid swirling at the bottom of it. Liquor. Huck downs it in one swig, his throat bobbing as he gulps the drink. The muscles in his jaw contract as he clenches his teeth together, setting the glass down on the window's ledge. I would say he’s in a mood, but when isn’t he?

The next two nights go on without issue and I begin to wonder if these warriors ever use this closet at all. It might as well be empty. But I also know it's just a matter of time before someone opens that door in need of something—someone who isn't Coy or Archer. So far, Coy has volunteered to get the very few items needed from this closet, keeping my presence hidden. But we're playing with fire, and I am all too aware of how much it burns.

Now I sit in the back of the closet, listening to the group discuss strategy on how we should be taking the offensive instead of simply defending the southern borders. Some believe we need to push out and show the other territories that we don't back down from a fight. Others believe that we should hold onto what little peace we still possess. I don't know enough to form an opinion of my own, but I’ve never been one to advocate for war.

Just as dinner dies down, along with the discussion of where their efforts would be best placed, Bear, the meatiest of the group, pulls out a surprise bottle of what appears to be whiskey which seems to be stolen from the shock on everyone's face.

"How did you get that?" Whip asks with a grin spread wide across her face, red nose sniffling from her ever-present allergies. “I thought we finished the last of our supply.”

"Can't reveal my sources. It might ruin the flavor," Bear jokes but I'm not entirely sure he doesn't believe it's true.

Archer grabs more glasses from the cabinet and sets them in a cluster on the table, the glass clinking against the wood in a solid chime. Even Aspen, despite his tired eyes, gets up to partake. This must be some spectacular liquor, indeed.

My eyelids become heavy as the warriors enjoy their nightcap and converse softly amongst themselves when I hear a crash followed by splashing. My eyes fly open as the group rushes around for something to clean up the spill that I assume created the chaos. I peer through the slats and see it was Huck, and I'm surprised. I assumed it would have been Bear or Whip's glass, but Huck's? He never does anything by mistake.

"Sorry. Sorry. Let me get more towels." Huck heads towards me, each thud of his boots echoing my beating heart as he nears the closet door, though his voice sounds anything but sorry.

Coy rises from his stool, nearly tumbling over himself as he tries to intercept Huck. "No, no. It's okay. I can get it." His palms rest on Huck's broad chest, physically stopping him from going any further. I cannot see Coy's face, but one glance at Archer's wide eyes tells me something is about to go down. I stand in a defensive position on the other side of the door, dagger at the ready. My pulse beats in my eardrums in anticipation.

Huck eyes Coy curiously, almost in amusement. He grabs Coy's hands, lowering them from his chest as he takes another step forward like he's toying with him. I can see the hesitation in Coy's shoulders, see the panic in his stance.

"Coy. I am more than capable of cleaning up my own mess." Huck's voice is low but firm as if in challenge.

"I can help," Coy's voice wavers, and I silently curse his soft demeanor that once graced me with kindness. He's about to crack.

"Why is that, Coy? It's almost as if you don't want me to open the closet." Perspiration heats the back of my neck and tingles my scalp as adrenaline begins to pump through my body. Coy says nothing and Huck takes another step. The room is silent, save for Huck's slow footsteps. He's taunting him.

"Is it perhaps because you don't want me to find the stowaway you've been hiding?"

The tension in the room is palpable. No one speaks. Archer squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head in defeat.

"I-I don't have the faintest idea . . ." Coy begins, but Huck cuts him off with a raise of his hand as if he is king of this cabin. Bastard. I know he is the leader of this section of the camp, but does he have to push his superiority around so brazenly?

"Do you really believe you could keep the girl a secret from me? Do you really think of me as so naive?" The warriors look at one another as if to see who else knew about me. Huck takes the last stride towards the closet door and places his hand on the knob. I back up a step, ready to strike as my magic buzzes beneath my skin, not that it will do me any good trapped within my body. There is no way I can take him on, but there is also no way I am going down without a fight.

Huck's large frame has blocked out my line of sight into the cabin, but I'm only staring at the door knob from inside the darkness. Even with the door separating us, I can feel the heat radiating off of him from his ability. Tendrils of it enter through the slats and find their way to me. The knob turns and I rock my weight on my back leg, squeezing the hilt of the blade tight. The door begins to open, warm light flooding into my view, and I lunge at the warrior with all my might.

All hell breaks loose.