Mercurial by Naomi Hughes (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

She dropped her hand and scrambled backwards, putting enough space between them that he wouldn’t be able to get to her without standing, which he wouldn’t be able to do very quickly on that leg. Then she stopped and stared down at the boy.

He took a shuddering breath, eyes still squeezed shut. The hand that had gripped her wrist a moment ago was now splayed white-knuckled on the snow, as if he was still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you well?” she asked before she could stop herself, and winced at how ridiculous her question sounded. Of course he wasn’t well. He was in obvious pain. No wonder, if he’d survived the train wreck. It was a miracle that she herself had somehow escaped it unscathed. With the exception of her memory, obviously.

The boy didn’t open his eyes. “My leg is broken,” he said flatly, his voice hoarse and cracking.

“Oh. Of course,” she replied, feeling foolish again. She cleared her throat. What was she supposed to do now? Snow was whipping all around her, beginning to fall more thickly. She needed to find or build a shelter as soon as possible. Trying to help this boy would only slow her down. Still, she didn’t move. As far as she could tell they were the only two survivors of the wreck. That meant they were in this together. And more importantly, she realized suddenly, she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want him to die, which he certainly would, alone with a broken leg in a mountain blizzard. But helping him would be hard to manage too, and not only because of her lack of skills. Their first introduction a moment ago had been a bit of a disaster, and now she was simply standing and gawking at him while he kept his eyes tightly shut, bracing himself against the pain he was obviously in.

She hesitated a moment, uncertain of how to improve matters. Perhaps lightening the mood might help? She held up her amateurishly bandaged hand, then motioned to his broken leg and tried for a smile. “I’m afraid I’m not much use with medical treatments, but I could probably manage a mercy killing if you’d prefer.”

His eyes opened. He turned his head and looked at her, though his face was expressionless. “What do you want?” he asked roughly, his tone raw.

Unsettled by the unexpected emotion in his voice, she took a step back. “I just wanted your pants,” she said before she could think better of it.

The boy stared. A bit of an expression—incredulity, confusion—leaked into his features. Then, suddenly, his gaze sharpened. “Your eyes,” he said. “They’re brown.”

She pursed her lips, glancing from him to the ominous sky. “And yours are green. Now that we are finished stating obvious facts, we need to find some shelter and quickly, unless you prefer that mercy killing after all.”

He was still staring at her. The mercy-killing witticism had apparently not landed as planned. Perhaps an introduction might help move matters along, so he would stop gaping at her and lend a hand, or at least some expertise. Of course, she couldn’t actually remember her own identity, but maybe trying to introduce herself might jar it back to mind.

“My name is…” she started, and then jerked in surprise when the memory of a voice whispered, Do you hear me, Elodie?

She blinked. The words were a memory—a recent one, from the strength of it. A surge of triumph mingled with unease low in her stomach. She had finally recovered something of herself, but whoever had spoken those words in that shred of memory sounded furious. Furious at her, and broken with it.

What had happened on that train?

“Elodie,” she finished, forcing her mind back to the moment at hand. “I think, anyway. What’s yours?”

The boy frowned. His brow crinkled when he did that. “Tal,” he said slowly.

Finally, they were making progress. “Well, Tal,” she said, “I possess an ornamental dagger, a crown, and half a rabbit. What can you contribute to our shared survival?”

He eased himself up onto his elbow, his movements and expression still cautious and confused. Perhaps his memories had been jarred in the course of the wreck too. “Why…do you have half a rabbit?” he asked, eyeing the corpse dangling from her hand. She lifted it up, still proud of her victory.

“I got in a tug-war with a stoat,” she said. “I won. Mostly.” She looked back at Tal, assessing his bearing, his muscles, his soldier-like clothing. “You look like a young man who knows how to start a fire. And perhaps hunt?” she added hopefully. “We’ll need both, if we’re going to make our triumphant return to civilization.” Transport would be a concern too, especially with his leg, but that was a concern for after the blizzard passed.

Tal’s brow crinkled more deeply. “You need me. To start a fire?”

She narrowed her eyes. Was he mocking her? Or perhaps he didn’t know how to start a fire either. “Never mind,” she said shortly. “I’m certain I can figure it out.” She tossed the rabbit onto his lap, where it landed with a squelching sound. “While I do that—and find a passable place for us to weather the blizzard without freezing to death—you can put those blades to use and skin this.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and marched away. The silence at her back lay heavy on her shoulders, which was how she knew he was staring after her. A thought struck her and she turned back. “Do you…you don’t know me, do you? Did we interact at all on the train? Or before that?” Perhaps that was why he was acting so standoffish. She tried to strangle the hope that bloomed in her chest—if he was acting standoffish because he knew her, and not because he didn’t know her, that hardly boded well—but hope was a weed hard to kill. She wanted to remember herself, even if it also meant