Page 6 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

No. I stop so abruptly that Damien almost loses his balance trying to match my pace. He’s looking at me, expecting an explanation, and I’m looking at the homeless who line the septic, their missing limbs and decaying teeth, wondering how long I could survive as one of them. Because that’s what I’m about to be, considering that I won’t leave. Not this time.

“What was she doing?” I ask with my eyes ahead of me.

“She seemed scattered.”

Packing.

My entire life, it’s been one forced departure after another. It didn’t matter if I liked a place or hated it, we stayed until Mom said it was time to go, then we left. It’s a curse that’s followed me everywhere I’ve gone: the perpetual loss of everything I know. So when I look back at Damien, at his comforting brown eyes and shaggy auburn hair, I can’t help but grab his wrist and run, jerking him along with me into the woods.

“Hang on, Red,” he says with a laugh, but I can tell he’s concerned. I think we could survive in the woods. If I could figure out how to use the Flame I could cook our meals, maybe even kill some of the bigger corenths with it. We could do it. We wouldn’t be like the homeless living on the streets of the septic. We’d be like the corenths. Sure, hunted, but also free. I keep running.

The keepers don’t come this far into the woods, so when we’re almost to where we hunt in the mornings, I stop. Getting in isn’t the problem, it’s getting out, so I’ll convince him that we don’t have to get out.

“What is it?” he asks me breathlessly, but I say nothing. I don’t even shake my head, though I want to. Maybe I could just tell him about the dreams. Right here, right now. Say, Damien, I’ve been dreaming of starting fires and killing Folk. A lot of Folk. Do you still want to be my friend, or do you think I’m losing my mind?

“Will you stay here with me?” I say instead, looking down at the dirt. “Just for the night.”

He’s looking at me like I’ve just asked the impossible, and I’m trying hard not to show my desperation. A lump moves down his neck when he swallows.

“Yes,” he says, and I am in awe. That’s it. He can see how easy it would be to live here, and we can stay. I won’t have to lose anything.

We have hours until sundown, which means hours left to hunt, and all my worries of food for the night disappear. It’s better out here anyway, without keepers and with Damien.

Then he’s pulling something out of the bag. A handful of orange berries—which he must’ve gotten from his mom; a jug of nectar, which I have no idea where he got; and a bottle of rena.

A bottle of rena.

Rena is Lorucille’s makeshift alcohol for the poor, yet most of us here could never afford it. Damien must’ve read my face, because he says, “I traded a dagger for it.”

He only has two. Well, one now. One from his dad and one he traded for. I always used the latter, not because he didn’t let me use his dad’s, but because it never felt right.

“Why would you do that? You aren’t a droozy in hiding, right?” I joke with him, though I’m kind of serious. I can’t imagine why he would trade any dagger for a bottle of rena.

“No,” he laughs, “no. I noticed you’re on edge lately. I thought doing something fun for once could help.”

So much for hiding it. The way he’s looking at me is scaring me. His lips are slightly parted, and his naturally long and curled eyelashes make his eyes look almost romantic. If there were ever a time to tell the truth, this would be it. It’s funny, because I could, it wouldn’t take much work to say the words.

But it’s not just the words, and it’s not just the dreams, it’s what lies under them. It’s the fear. Not just about my powers materializing and not just the imminence of my death due to the Flame. It’s the murders, the endless murders. The proof on my palm that I am not regular. Maybe even more prone to death and destruction than the rest.

It’s showing him the target and handing him the knife.

“I have fun hunting,” I say, and for a moment it feels like nothing in the world has changed. For a moment, it feels like yesterday.

“It’s good to enjoy it.” Damien pulls the cork out of the glass bottle. “Because you’re not very good.” I can see the line of his smile behind the glass bottle. I smile back at him when he hands it to me. I’ve never had rena before, but I’ve always wanted to try it. It’s an ugly color, like someone added dirt to water, and it tastes like it too while also burning my throat. The few Folk I’ve met that have had vesi—the real alcohol from Soma—say that it goes down like silk. The rena feels like drinking the tart acid from an underripe orange berry.

“So what’s going on, Red? You ever gonna tell me?”

There are times when I want to tell you everything.

“What?” I smile and take another sip of the burning liquid, closing my wounded left hand so he doesn’t see the scar. “Nothing’s going on.”

Damien takes the bottle back and puts it in the leather bag before he scales up a tree like an austec. He looks down at me over his shoulder. “Coming?” The only time I ever climb trees is when I am looking for freshwater, and even then, I hate it. He still asks every time.

I shake my head no. He pulls his dagger from his boot and throws it down to me. Our routine. Only I feel guilty using his dad’s dagger after he traded his other for rena, for me, and I can’t even tell him why he thinks I need it.

I run my thumb over the orange stone engraved at the tip of the handle. Looks like a memor, one of Lorucille’s precious stones. It doesn’t belong in my hands. But when an austec falls from the tree, still squirming and unable to run, it’s my instincts that kick in and send the blade just under the ugly thing’s throat. The rustling leaves tell me Damien is climbing higher into the tree.

By the time he comes down, I’m starving, our bag is full, and the sun is setting. I shave a stick until it’s something sharp, start a fire, and Damien has an austec skinned. The purples and blues from the sunset are fading from the sky fast, and by the time I’m pulling a leg off the austec for myself, the sky is black.

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