CONTENT WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THEMES OF DRUG ABUSE WHICH MAY BE UPSETTING FOR SOME READERS.

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Jiro's heart thumped against the cage of his ribs as cold air filled his lungs, coming in a heave. As they rode on the nyx, his vision shadowed in and out. He had hurled several times on the side, unloading the contents of his stomach until there was nothing left but pain. The revolting tang of vomit and blood clung to his skin and clothes.

"He can't be dead," he whispered to the night. "He was still alive. They could save him." He was assuring himself, but he already knew it was a lie. Too much blood spilled from Tata Ero's throat, and too much blood crusted on Jiro's fingers.

In his mind, the scene kept playing on repeat—he saw the blade plunge into Tata Ero's neck. His grip on the metal handle was weak, and it had not buried up to the hilt, but he knew it was deep enough for a kill. He'd killed animals the same way before, slitting their throats, the most common way for a quick death. He knew exactly how deep the wound needed to be and how much blood needed to be drained from the body. Tata Ero should have died the moment the knife sunk into his skin.

"He can't be dead," Jiro repeated, trembling behind Alet. He clutched onto her back like it was the only thing keeping him from slipping into madness.

He hadn't noticed how long they had ridden, but sometime during the night, they reached a creek or two. Alet led the nyx to follow the stream. It felt like heading back south, but the direction they were heading did not matter to him as he tried to focus on his breathing. Like drowning, his head swirled with the constant spasming of his body. His shoulders ached with the tension of his clenched muscles. He was convulsing, but he still held onto Alet.

He might have imagined her talking and calling his name now and then, telling him to stay with her and that things would be alright. Exhaustion fell on him, but he clung to her voice, imagined or not, trying to be calm and to keep himself from falling off the saddle.

By sunrise, when the sun painted the sky with a pinkish hue, Alet had guided them into the woodlands, where the trees sprouted tall and massive. Giants. Their trunks grew wide. Grooves chiseled onto their moss-covered barks. The tiny yellow petals on their branches fell, enveloping the overgrown shrubbery of the land. The vegetation caressed the body of the nyx and their ankles as they passed through.

Alet was quiet now. He could no longer hear her voice calling his name. Only the hushing of the wind kept him anchored to the present. But his mind persisted on reeling back to that moment of blood and anguish.

"Stop." His own voice sounded muffled to him.

Alet did nothing.

"Stop," he said again, straining his throat to speak louder, but still, Alet did not comply. "Please." His word cracked and quivered the way his body had, and when he could no longer take her disregard, he unclutched his hands from her waist. The ground immediately pulled on him, and he allowed it to drag its body to fall. He slammed on the dirt with a thud, tumbling and scraping more than an elbow. He groaned under the shrubs and crawled up on shaking legs.

"Jiro," Alet called. Finally, she pulled the nyx to a stop. She looked at him over her shoulder before leading the animal to turn back.

This time, it was Jiro's turn to ignore her. He strode away from her even when his exhausted body forbade it. He used the turmoil inside of him as his strength. The shrubbery crawled up to his waist as he willed himself to keep walking.

A numbness came over him, and something painful exploded in his chest. He fell to his knees beside a giant tree where the surrounding grass diminished, but the ground was still showered with yellow petals. Their sweet scent played against his senses. He pressed his palm to his heart—a heavy beating thumped beneath, a struggling animal trying to break free.

Ero's silver eyes flashed in his thoughts. Then he saw the vision of blood dripping from the blade and drenching the front of his vest.

Jiro clawed at his chest and neck, still feeling the fresh slime even when all that was left was dried and crusted.

"No!" Jiro finally cried—a word he had held back, still wishing with the delusion that Tata Ero had survived. But the admittance came now. "No, no, no!" They came out with his tears. He screamed his frustration, and all his false energy went out with his voice. Gravity dragged on him again, and he collapsed on his knees, pressing his forehead to the damp soil. "I'm sorry," he said into the dirt. "I'm sorry," he repeated the words with intensity as if doing so would undo what he had done.

"Jiro." Alet's warm hand pressed on his back. "I know how you feel."

He pushed her away with shuddering arms. He growled at her and got up, stumbling toward the nyx as he reached for his rattan bag tied to the saddle. His hand frantically searched its contents until the ragged edges of stones grazed his skin. Pulling out the flints, he fished out a pouch from his pocket and stomped to a near-flat rock large enough to be a table.

"What is that?" Alet asked as she trailed him.

The pouch almost fell from Jiro's trembling hands. He patted the grime off the surface of the rock but his shivered movements made him unsuccessful. It didn't matter if he licked off the dirt on everything in this forest. It didn't matter if he ate the moss on all the stones around them. He needed this. He opened the pouch to pinch a bit of the ashen powder, sprinkling it on the surface to form a tiny mound.

"Is that—?" Alet grabbed his elbow.

Jiro whirled at her. "Don't!" He shouted and stared at her calm blue eye. Blood stained her cheek and her forehead. Looking at her face gathered up a vile of sickness in his throat. "You don't understand." He begged.

Alet parted her lips to speak, but she paused and then closed her mouth with resolve. Her eye shimmered, and she stepped back. "Don't inhale the powder. Only the smoke," she said, her face was grim, but she took another step away, allowing him to do the only thing that could help now.

The breath in Jiro's lungs escaped with a quaking sigh as he turned back to the garak he'd placed on the rock. He hit the flints together, and after several attempts, a spark ignited, and the powder began to burn. Jiro pressed his nose close to the smoke, taking in his refuge—his temporary sanctuary.

✧

The dome of leaves and yellow flowers soared too far above.

He blinked. Darkness.

The nyx munched on the grass around it.

He blinked. Darkness.

A worm crawled over his boot.

He blinked. Darkness.

Alet's face hovered over him, and she was gone.

Darkness.

Jiro's memory of the past few hours was in fragments. His mind wanted to stay in the blank space. A location of nothingness. The hard rough bark of a tree pressed on his back. His eyes focused, and he saw Alet, studying a parchment in her hands.

"Are you sober now?" she asked without looking away from the paper.

The dryness in his throat made his words come out in harsh breaths. "I'm—" he swallowed in pain. "What happened?"

Alet turned her head to him. Dried blood still smeared her face, her green eye hidden under the cascade of her black hair. "Why are you carrying garak?"

The effects of the drug had not yet left his head. Garak was meant for relaxation. At least, that was what he learned at the den. But he was not relaxed now, and rage triggered inside of him at Alet's judging question. "What do you care?"

Alet's face flashed with hurt for a moment before she looked back down at the parchment. "There's a small river nearby. We can wash up there."

It occurred to Jiro that she was holding his map. His father's map. "What do you think you're doing with that?" He tried to push up from the tree, getting on his feet, but his back still leaned to the trunk for support.

Folding the map and tucking it back into Jiro's bag, Alet didn't answer him. She untied the nyx from a branch and guided it to Jiro. "Climb on."

"I can walk," he said, and he tried to take a step. His knees buckled, and he fell face first, eating grass when he collapsed.

Alet approached him and hoisted his arm over her shoulders, pulling him back to his feet. Though Jiro didn't physically feel anything from his fall, humiliation overcame him, but he lacked the strength to fight her. He allowed her to help him mount the nyx, and she herded them to a river.

It was not a proper river, but it was good enough for them to clean the blood off their skins.

"We can rest here," she said.

She had gone into the water first. Without regard for privacy, she threw off her boots and trousers and tugged her tunic over her head. Only her undergarments clung to her body, and those didn't do much to cover her.

The fragile-looking girl turned out to be all lean muscle underneath the fabric. The strength of her torso showed in distinguished carved packs, and her legs stretched into slender meat over bones. Her shoulder blades and her arms were beautifully sculpted. She looked almost frightening but also majestic. And a long scar tainted her golden-brown skin, crawling from the top of her shoulder to the tip of her elbow.

Jiro had stayed sitting on the shore for hours until his high had gone and his control over his muscles returned. He withdrew his eyes from Alet as she bathed in the river that deepened only up to her knees. She washed her clothes and spread them over a flat river rock to dry under the afternoon sun.

When Alet returned to shore, her drenched undergarments clung to trace her curves. Jiro pretended to fiddle with the dirt and dried blood under his nails. "I have extra clothes in my bag," he said, keeping his head down.

Alet snorted. "Don't worry. I have my own."

When Alet removed her undergarments, Jiro turned to the water and decided to bathe. He kept his back to her, removing his clothes and dropping his boots and belt on the ground. When he jumped in, the gushing water was cold, jolting his senses. He rubbed his skin harshly to remove the stains, and even when the blood was gone, he still scrubbed until his skin became red and sore. He also washed his clothes in the river. At first, he planned to throw his woven vest, but he didn't want to lose the one thing he had with him that made him an Aradacko—a Maharlika.

The word was a sting to him. Maharlika were warriors. He was not one of those. He was nothing but a murderer.

He had placed his clothes beside Alet's on the river rock, and when he came out of the water, his hands trembled again. The memory of blood threatened to flood his mind. Thinking about the garak, he patted his leg to feel his pocket. When he realized he was not wearing his trousers, he rushed back to the river and checked his clothes, but the pouch was not there.

Did I drop it in the water? Did I drop it somewhere else? He looked around in panic.

Alet snorted from the shore, and he turned to her. She had come to stand on the river's edge already clothed. "Did you want another hit?" She raised the small pouch to him.

"Give it to me," Jiro demanded. When she tossed it to him, he caught it, feeling the lightness of the small bag in his hand. He walked back, stomping to the shore to secure the pouch in his bag before he changed into dry clothes.

Alet had already started a fire. Jiro didn't know when she had gathered the firewood, but she had piled enough to cook a meal.

"We can't stay here," Jiro told her, watching the flames brighten the darkening surroundings. "Hako and Shoka will catch us."

She tended to the fire, poking it with a stick to stoke the flames. "Don't worry. They won't catch our tracks that fast."

"What do you mean? They're hunters. They will find us," he argued.

She rubbed the back of her neck before she looked at him. "Those men knew we were heading north. We crossed two streams last night. I followed both south."

"What? Where are we?"

"In the Forest of Zinar."

Of course, the giant trees with yellow flowers were narra. They only grew here in these lands. Jiro recalled learning this from field guides. "Are we going back to Kimracka?"

"No." Alet dropped the stick into the fire and found a comfortable seat in front of the warmth. "We've headed westward. It will take us two days to get to the edge of the forest and reach the west coast of Kimara. But we don't have to do that. We can head north from here, but we will be in this forest longer."

It made sense. Hako and Shoka would follow north, and when they realized that Alet headed south instead, it would be too late. They would only find days-old trails if they found them at all. And the boys would delay. They would need time to burn their father's body. The thought threatened his mind. Tata Ero was dead. Murderer.

A knot tightened in Jiro's throat, and his breath came in ragged pants, then he fell to his knees. His body spasmed again, and his mind swirled with the color of blood.

The garak. He needed the garak. He looked at his rattan bag tied to the saddle of the nyx, but Alet was at his side at once. She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked at him with both eyes. Blue and green shimmered with the flickering light of the flames. She pressed her hands over his shoulders.

"Look at me, " she ordered. "You're safe. Breathe."

He tried to listen to her voice and focused on the air coming in and out of his lungs. "I need the garak," he rasped.

"No, you don't." Alet pressed harder on his shoulders. "Look at me," she commanded, and their eyes locked. Her face appeared dependable.

"You don't understand," Jiro gasped and clutched at his chest.

Alet gave him a slight shake. "I do understand, Jiro," she said firmly. "I've killed before, and I remember their faces. I do understand."

Somehow, Jiro had forgotten what Alet was, and he had looked at her only as a girl. But this girl was also a soldier. Yes, she had probably killed more people than he could count with his fingers and toes. She might have done it without remorse, for he had seen her fight without penitence. But the look in her eyes now told him to trust her.

"Blame me," she told him.

"What?"

"It's my fault you had to fight him. I should have done something. I should have been the one to fight them," she said.

But Jiro knew that it was wrong to blame her. It had been his choice to attack Tata Ero. It had been his hand that drew the knife. Alet only tried to protect him, and he had wanted to do the same for her. He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." Then he looked down at his shaking hands. "I just don't know what to do."

"I know." She said the most simple words that convinced him that she did understand.

Jiro lifted his chin and looked at her again. He swallowed the pain and the gasp of air that felt like spikes in his neck. He pushed the garak from his thoughts and focused on Alet, allowing himself to trust her. "Please... tell me what to do." 

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