The Immortal Chronicles | | b o o k 2

16. stowaway

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IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK ONE : neox

. . .

Neox knew men like Colonel Evžen. She knew what they were capable of, and his sort of craft was something she didn't have the strength to deal with. As a manipulator, he could rally the forces of malleable minds, like the lot he led with him to the cabin in the woods. As an orchestrate, he honed the skill of leadership and direction, and the ability to command these minds who follow him without question. To do so, he was an intellectual, someone "worthy" of that sort of absolute respect.

People were drawn to ambition as well, and the passion to finish whatever he or she started. Neox felt as if she unwillingly started something when she stole his horse, but the odds certainly weren't in her favor of gaining any of their respect.

She sighed dreadfully against the mane of Evžen's horse and muttered, her language slurred between her homeland and this uncharted territory, "Sally was right—I should have learned to fight before going on this inane quest."

The trees seemed to condense around her, gathering together and blocking out anything beyond the path as far as she could see. It made the world seem so much darker, and she shrunk against the horse as they continued, their walk steady and brisk. At the slightest stir in the woods—an owl, a wolf, a meager rabbit—she would start and cause the horse to pick up it's pace a bit, worried by her slight panic. For what appeared to be a warhorse, it was quite shaken by just about anything that spooked Neox, which didn't help in the slightest.

When she began to droop with sleep, she would startle herself awake and urge herself to stay alert—Evžen could be on her heels any second, and she couldn't bare the idea of stumbling across him again. Even if she feigned complete innocence, there was no looking past the fact that she stole his perfectly good steed.

"I wish I knew your name," she murmured, stroking the horse's neck. She groaned, searching for some Evžen-esque name, but came up short. It was such an odd name to begin with—did everyone here have strange names like that? Attus and Mose seemed likely enough, if a little bland.

Huffing, she decided she had plenty of time to name this fine horse—naming took time, anyhow. They continued until dawn, when she realized the reason they were moving so slowly was because her steed was dragging its hooves. She glanced behind them where the forest engulfed the road far off in the horizon, and debated the chances of being caught if she set up camp on the side of the road.

She dismounted the horse—walking funny after riding for so long—and guided it between a break in the foliage. She didn't care much whether or not she found a clearing, so she hooked the horse's reigns around a tree trunk and removed the saddle bags. Eventually the horse lowered itself to the ground, it's legs folded underneath it's powerful body, and Neox found peace laying against the warmth of the saddle bag.

Neox slept through to the afternoon, when it became increasingly difficult to ignore the sunlight and Neox woke up to urge the horse awake again. It had grazed away at the surrounding grasses, and she felt guilty at not having a proper meal to give it—or herself for that matter. They continued half the day without spotting a single soul, but in the light of day Neox found herself walking more than riding, observing the beauty of the trees as they expanded and grew hundreds of feet over her head.

The day was calm and cool, but she felt desperate for food of some kind—water, even. She hadn't seen a creek at all, or heard one at least, so it didn't seem likely she'd find water at all, especially when she thought she saw rain, but when it touched her cloak, it was white. Snow.