Marked In Flesh

CHAPTER 10

Windsday, Juin 6

Jean clenched her hands on either side of the bathroom sink. The Gardners, the Simple Life family who were allowing her to stay in their little guest cabin, never commented when they saw evidence of cutting, but she knew they reported it to someone.

Some days she could resist the need to cut by sitting outside the door of her cabin and watching the activity around the farm, listening to the sounds of children playing. Some days she could resist, but today an old scar itched so much it burned.

Dangerous to cut an old scar and have new images overlaying the previous vision. More dangerous to cut across old scars and jumble together the images of several prophecies. Such a cut was rarely useful. More often it drove a blood prophet insane or broke her mind in some other, smaller way. And this scar wasn’t a true cut. This was damage that had been done to her while the Controller’s men were beating her in order to get blood to make the drug called gone over wolf.

Had to cut. And, worse, had to remember what she saw.

Jean pulled out her razor. Then she rolled up a clean washcloth and bit down on it as a gag. Finally, she carefully cut the old scar and set the razor down moments before the agony filled her body and images filled her mind.

Two images, repeating over and over. Ones she had seen before while the Controller’s men beat her.

She stood on a hilltop, looking down at a big map of Thaisia, its boundaries scratched into the earth. Scattered throughout the continent were tiny candles. In the first image, some of the candles were clustered together, perhaps indicating human cities with a lot of people. In most places, there was a single candle. Probably a marker for a town. All those candles. Heavier concentrations along parts of both coasts. More human places than she would have guessed existed.

The second image. The same map of Thaisia, seen from the same hilltop. So few candles still burning now. So few. But a candle still burned for Lakeside, and another burned for Great Island. Only two candles burned for Toland instead of many.

Some candles burned in the Midwest and Northwest, but their position didn’t match the names of any of the towns she’d learned.

Jean spit out the washcloth, then pressed it against the cut. She was on the bathroom floor, and her body hurt too much to try to stand just yet.

Should she write down what she’d seen and share it with Meg? Should she burden the one blood prophet who, as the Trailblazer, was trying to help the rest of them stay alive?

“Meg’s Wolf,” Jean whispered. Yes. He was a leader of the Lakeside Courtyard. He’d rescued her because Meg had asked him to help her. Maybe knowing that Lakeside could survive what was coming would help him make the choices that would ensure that the city did survive.

Shaky, Jean got to her feet. She washed and bandaged the cut, then cleaned her razor and ate a small meal. Having properly cared for herself, she sat down and wrote a letter to Simon Wolfgard.