String Lights

Part III: This is Lustro (Chapter 8)

It was impossible to tell whether or not the pounding in my ears was the retreating footsteps of my enemies or the rapid beating of my startled heart. But as one subsided the other slowed, until both were faint to the point of silence.

Clearly, I wasn't the only one who noticed that my pursuers had withdrawn from the area. My company exhaled a silent sigh of relief, releasing his viselike grip holding me against the trunk of the tree. His wary eyes scanned our surroundings, then flickered back to me.

The fire in his gaze. The cloth tied around the lower half of his face. Everything about this man fascinated me. Even his peculiar hairstyle caught my eye: Resembling neither the traditional Chronicles topknot nor the closely-shaven style of the Vodrians, his hair was cut short and choppy, stray curls waving around in the wind in a way that would have been considered improper in both cultures.

I blinked, bringing myself into reality. It occurred to me that this strange man had saved me. In that case, an expression of gratitude was now in order.

"Thank you." I couldn't keep the bewilderment out of my voice. "Really, I don't know what I would have done—"

"Crashed into that vehicle of theirs, most likely," said the man, who had knelt on the forest ground to rummage around in his pack. His voice was deep yet young, noticeably muffled by the fabric covering his mouth.

I watched the top of his head for an awkward moment, then took a step backward.

"I really appreciate everything," I began hesitantly, "but I should be heading off—"

"No. You mustn't."

I stopped in my tracks. "Excuse me?"

He stood, slinging his pack over his shoulder. Looked straight into my eyes with a squint in his own, as though surveying my face.

"I told you," said he, "you belong with us. And you need to come with me now, quickly. Before they return."

This was so unbelievably bold of him that I nearly scoffed.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I retorted, "but I, for one, find it incredibly absurd that I'm being made to follow a man equivalent to a stranger into the woods, even more so as it's the dead of night and you could easily be a traitor or a spy who happened to save me by chance . . . ."

He watched me silently before giving a curt nod of his head. "You are, of course, correct in every which way, young Haven."

I gaped at him in surprise. "How do you—"

"But is it really wise to refuse your only chance of survival out here in the wild? What, you would rather play yourself into their hands?" He gestured with a wave of his hand toward the direction in which the Ereban vehicle had left. "I personally think you would be risking a whole lot less if you took your chances with a man who saved your life and greeted you with an anti-Vodrinth slogan that, frankly, should not be unfamiliar to you."

"'Down with the Dictator,'" I whispered, and felt my spine tingle at the words.

"You catch on quickly," he said. He turned and began walking further into the woods as though expecting my obedient company.

And after a moment's hesitation, I began to obediently accompany him.

･･･⛧･･･

"So . . . where are we going, exactly?"

It was difficult catching up to my savior's long strides, and I had to hop like a rabbit after him, making more noise than I wished to.

Discouraged at the man's silence, I tried again.

"Do you know where you're headed at all?" Hesitance, even doubt, seeped through my words. "It's already been a couple of hours, and it doesn't seem like you're following any path or even a map . . ."