Some of the remaining boars are in front of the horses, watching them with hands on Their weapons. It looks like two ran off somewhere, but the two attached to the carriage are trapped, the poor things stamping nervously. How the hell did They even know to be here?
Not far in front of the carriage, standing with weapons ready like a human barricade, is a line of Them. One of Them wears white armor instead of the usual black attire. I suppress a gasp. Why do I know that face? He is tall and broad, emphasized by the bulk of his armor. His skin is pale and his hair is just as fair. His eyes are hard and almost as silver as the moon.
"James Castallia," the silver-eyed man says. So it's his voice I recognized. Why? Jem is walked to stand between him and the carriage. "Pleasure to finally meet you." Somehow I don't get the impression that he's lying.
Jem's shoulders are drawn tight, disgust plain on his face. "I can't say the same to you, pig. I don't even know your name."
The man's face hardens slightly. "There's no need for hostilities."
Jem looks at the fallen soldiers assigned to protect him, then turns his glare back to the man. "You're one to talk."
The silver-eyed man is spared having to answer as one of the other boars emerges from behind the carriage, where the trunk holding Jem's notes is. He has the notes in their quiver-like carrying case in his hands. "Ah!" he says, a smile playing at his lips. He takes the case from the boar, slinging it over his shoulder. "Now then," the man says, and looks to the boar with Jem's arm clasped in her grip before turning to leave. She forces Jem to his knees.
"I wouldn't if I were you," Jem says, glaring defiantly at the silver-eyed man.
He stops and looks back at Jem. He just stares at him, reading his face. Jem stares back, his jaw set. Finally, he asks, "And why is that?"
"Because I'm the only one who can read those notes." A hint of suspicion creeps into those silver eyes. "Have a look at them," Jem says. The man quickly takes the case off his shoulder, keeping his eyes on Jem. As he opens the case, Jem continues. "Those symbols aren't from any language. I made them all up." The man's brow starts to furrow as he looks at the pages pulled from the case. "Those symbols can mean single letters, multiple letters, whole words, specific actions—there's no key written anywhere. And there's no diagrams anywhere for you to link specific combinations of them to. It's all in here." Jem lifts his hand and taps his temple, a smile playing at his lips. "It would take decades to decode."
The silver-eyed man's lips pressed into a tighter and tighter line as Jem talked. "Well, then," he says now, with an air of disappointment, "I suppose you don't intend to give that information to us willingly?" When Jem shakes his head, the silver-eyed man rolls his eyes. "Why can it never be easy?" He nods to the boar beside Jem, and she sheaths her weapon and hauls Jem to his feet.
"You aren't going to break me," Jem says, his jaw set and his gaze hard.
"Everyone can be broken. It just takes the right motivation," the man responds disinterestedly, shoving the papers back into the case.
The boar beside Jem pulls out a rope, pulling Jem's arm back. A shock of recognition goes through me—pagbarnian fibers, magic blocking. They're going to take him. Torture him. He won't be able to do anything about it. What if he can't take it? What if he can and they kill him anyway? I can't let that happen, the Resistance practically depends on him, on what he can do. Without him any new recruits would be screwed. I have to do something!
And it hits me. A crazy idea, one that could possibly get us both killed. But, if it goes right...
Jem's concerned, pleading face flashes in my mind. I'm sorry, Jem, but I have to do this.
Untitled Part 10
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