"So? Which way, Bellamy?" Clarke's voice cut through the heavy silence of the treeline. She was vibrating with a restless, frantic energy that Raven hadn't seen since the dropship landed.
Octavia stepped up beside her brother, her eyes were also scanning the brush infront of her, "Come on, Bells. Which way did you guys go initially? Where did you guys separate?"
Bellamy paused as he looked at the dense canopy to the north, then at the muddy trail leading toward the valley. He pointed a finger toward a ridge in the distance. "That way. We split near the creek, but the tracks lead toward the lowlands."
"Okay, so why are we stopping?" Clarke challenged, already taking a step forward. "Let's move and catch up to Jason before he does something we can't undo."
Bellamy caught her arm with a expression grim. "Clarke, look at the sun. Jason's been sprinting for over an hour. At the pace he moves? It's impossible to just 'catch up.' We're looking at at least a two-hour hike just to reach the perimeter of where he might be."
Raven adjusted the strap of her pack, "Well, then we better get moving, shouldn't we? Standing here talking about the math isn't getting us any closer."
The Village of Tondc
The air in the clearing was thick with the copper tang of blood and the high-pitched wails of the terrified. Jason hadn't shouted a warning; there was no time. From the moment he saw Finn's finger tighten on the trigger, the world had slowed into a series of lethal frames.
He launched himself from the where he was and collided with Finn mid-air just as the rifle roared.
The impact was violent, a mess of tangled limbs and heavy gear slamming into the churned dirt. As they fell, the rifle discharged a second time. The mechanical recoil of the bolt hissed back, biting deep into Finn's palm, spraying a mist of red across the boy's panicked face.
But the bullet, wild, unchecked, and screaming with kinetic energy that tore through the air. It ripped through the meat of Jason's shoulder with a searing white-hot iron that punched straight through his tactical vest and out the back.
The redirected round didn't stop there.
It hissed across the clearing and found a mark in the crowd of hostages. A young boy, no older than twelve, let out a wet, choked gasp. He stumbled back, his hands flying to his neck where the round had struck him square.
"NO!" Murphy's voice cracked with a rare sound of genuine horror as he stumbled back from the sight of the boy.
Jason was on his feet in a second. Despite the hole in his own shoulder, he moved like a storm. He kicked the rifle away, sending it skidding across the dirt, and pinned Finn to the ground with a look of absolute, cold-blooded fury.
"Stay down! Don't you move!" Jason roared.
He didn't wait for an answer. Ignoring the white-hot stinging in his shoulder and the blood soaking his own sleeve, Jason dropped to his knees beside the fallen child. His moved forward with desperate speed to staunch the arterial spray from the boy's neck.
"Hold on, kid. Stay with me," Jason hissed through gritted teeth. "Look at me, stay with me!"
A man with long, braided hair and intricate, swirling tattoos covering his skin rushed forward from the huddled mass of terrified villagers. He pushed past his people, his hands trembling with a mix of terror and duty.
"Let me! I am a healer!" Nyko cried out in English and Jason could the urgency in his voice.
For a few agonizing minutes, the "Butcher" and the Healer worked side-by-side in the mud that slowly drank the child's blood. Jason gripped the boy's hand, trying to provide some anchor as the child's breathing became a wet, rattling struggle.
"Nyko..." the boy whispered and Jason saw a single tear tracking through the dirt on his cheek as he choked on the copper taste of his own end.
Jason watched, helpless, as the boy's eyes rolled back. He felt the small, frail frame shudder one last time in his arms before going completely limp. The light faded from the child's pupils, leaving only a hollow, accusing stare directed at the indifferent sky.
Nyko let out a heartbroken roar that seemed to shake the very trees. He surged to his feet, his eyes looked wild with a grief that had curdled instantly into murderous rage. His gaze locked onto Finn, who was sitting in the dirt, staring at his hand, stunned into a catatonic state by the realization of what he'd done.
Nyko lunged with an intent of tearing Finn apart with his bare hands.
In a flash of steel, Jason was there. Even wounded, he was faster than the enraged man. He stepped between the enraged healer and the broken boy, his sword drawn and the tip hovering mere inches from Nyko's throat.
"Don't," Jason warned with that low and dangerous edge that seemed to promise death, "Back off, Nyko."
"He murdered a child!" Nyko screamed with a heaving chest, he moved forward till his chest was pressing right against the point of the blade, "He brought death to those who had no part in your war! The one-eyed man, Delano, tricked you! He stole your clothes and you killed two innocent people because of a lie!"
Jason didn't flinch, though the mention of the trickery made his jaw tighten. He glanced back at Finn, his eyes cold and filled with a deep, simmering disgust.
"Finn! Look at me!"
Finn looked up at Jason, his face looked pale with shock and burgeoning realization.
"Clarke is back at the camp," Jason growled, the words hitting Finn with the force of a physical blow. "She's safe. She was never here. These people never had her and you did this and killed innocents for nothing."
Finn's jaw dropped and Jason could see something in the boy finally break. "Oh, God," Murphy whispered, looking from the dead elder to the dead child.
The weight of it finally settled on Finn's shoulders, the bodies of the old, innocent and young boy. It was a a killing born of his own spiraling madness, fueled by a ghost that didn't exist.
Nyko stepped back slowly, his eyes narrowing to slits as he looked at the bodies of the elder and the young child. The grief in the clearing was being replaced by a cold look. He looked at Jason, then at the trembling Finn, and finally spoke.
"Jus drein jus daun," Nyko whispered, "Blood must repay blood."
—————-
The silence of the woods was shattered as Clarke burst into the clearing, It literally felt like her lungs were burning and her heart hammered against her ribs. Bellamy, Raven, and Octavia were right on her heels, weapons drawn, ready for a fight. But as they cleared the final line of trees they were met with a very strange scene.
Clarke skidded to a halt, there were several grounders here. Her eyes darted to the side, finding Finn sitting on a mossy log with his head hanging so low his chin touched his chest. Murphy stood a few feet away with his arms crossed.
Then, her gaze fell on the two shapes covered by threadbare, blood-stained cloths. One was clearly an adult; the other was small, "What happened here?" Bellamy asked with a slight tremble in his voice. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his rifle, feeling the palpable, suffocating hatred radiating from the surviving villagers.
In the center of the square stood Jason, Raven scrambled over the uneven ground, reaching Jason and grabbing his upper arms. She forced him to look at her, searching for the man she knew behind the mask of the "Butcher." What she saw there made her blood run cold: a raw, simmering rage that looked ready to swallow the world.
"Jason," Raven whispered with a trembling voice, "What happened? Talk to me."
Jason didn't blink as he looked at her, he didn't even seem to feel the wound in his shoulder. "Finn broke," he said and for some reason, the words fell like lead stones, "He convinced himself they had you, Clarke. He wouldn't listen to Murphy. I got here, but I wasn't fast enough to stop the first rounds. I tackled him, but... the damage was done."
"Shit," Raven breathed, leaning her forehead against his chest for a fleeting second before pulling back to look at the carnage.
Octavia rushed toward Nyko. The healer was still on his knees by the small, his shoulders were shaking with silent, rhythmic grief. She began to speak in frantic, hushed Trigedasleng, Jason could vaguely tell what she was trying to say, her voice sounded like a person giving an apology to the one in mourning, but Nyko didn't even acknowledge her existence. He stared at the red dirt with a heart hardened into a diamond of hate.
"You guys have to go," Jason commanded as his voice snapping them back to the reality. He looked toward the deep shadows of the valley, where the first low mournful note of a Grounder horn echoed in the distance.
"The Grounder army, will be here soon," Jason continued, his eyes meeting Clarke's with a haunting intensity. "If you guys are still here when they arrive, none of you make it back to the Ark. They won't ask questions. They'll just kill everything that breathes."
"Wait, what?" Raven's voice spiked with a mix of confusion and mounting dread. She gripped Jason's arm tighter, refusing to let go.
Jason didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the tree line.
"What do you mean 'we' have to go?" Bellamy stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What about you? We aren't leaving you behind in a village surrounded by people who want our heads."
Jason finally turned, his eyes tracking over the blood-stained dirt and the covered bodies of the innocent. "I'm staying here," he said with a flat voice, "I'm going to wait and meet whoever the Grounders send to claim this mess."
"No! Absolutely not!" Clarke stepped in, her voice rising in a desperate argument. "Jason, you're wounded. If the riders find you here, they'll just execute you."
"Think about it Clarke," Jason countered, "We already have too much on our plate. We're fighting the mountain men, we're dodging Reapers, and we're trying to find survivors from the other Ark stations who are probably scattered and dying in the woods. We don't have the luxury of a two-front war with the Grounder army as well."
"Then come back with us and we'll fortify the camp!" Raven shouted with her eyes shimmering with anger.
"And then what? They siege the camp and we all starve?" Jason asked gently with his voice softening just a fraction, "Someone has to stay. Someone has to see if there's a leader among them with enough sense to negotiate. And if there isn't..." He glanced at his sword hilt. "Then I'll do what needs to be done to clear the room of another enemy. I'm the only one who can survive that meeting."
The argument raged for minutes and to say Raven was pissed would be an understatement, while Clarke tried to appeal to his logic. But Jason was a wall. He knew that if the Grounders declared another war on the Ark right now, Camp Jaha would fall within forty-eight hours at most. Gun or no gun, the grounders had the number.
"You have to come back," Raven whispered as she reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. "Do you hear me? You don't get to be a martyr today."
Jason let out a short, dry huff that might have been a laugh. He looked at her and offered that trademark, dangerous smirk. "Who do you think I am, Raven? I'm too stubborn to die in a place like this."
He watched them disappear into the brush, Bellamy leading them back the way they came, while Octavia looked back one last time with a look of grim understanding.
Jason turned back to the center of the village. Nyko was standing now, looking at him with a look as cold as ice and as hard as stone.
"You are a fool, Skaikru," Nyko spat. "They will not speak to the 'Butcher.' They will peel the skin from your bones. You will be killed."
Jason sat down on a stump, resting his good hand on the pommel of his blade. He looked up at the healer and shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm not so easily killed, Nyko. Your people should know that by now."
————
A few hours later, he sat in the exact same spot, the dried blood on his shoulder stiffening his vest.
From the treeline, riders emerged, scarred men on horseback, followed by a phalanx of warriors in blackened bone armor. They didn't come with a shout; they came with the heavy, rhythmic thud of a war party. At the center of the line, a rider with a face painted in charcoal stopped their horse.
Jason stood up slowly, rolling his injured shoulder to loosen the joint. He was suddenly confronted with the tips of fifty spears locking onto his chest.
"Well then," Jason muttered to himself, his fingers ghosting over his weapon. "Here goes nothing."
Slowly, Jason reached for the hilt of his blade. The spears lurched forward, inches from his skin but he didn't flinch. Instead, he unbuckled the scabbard from his back and let it drop.
Thud.
The heavy weapon hit the dirt, Jason held his empty hands out to his sides, his palms open.
"I'm not here to fight you today," Jason said, his voice carrying clearly through the silent clearing. He looked directly at the lead rider. "I'm here to talk to your Commander. One of my people did this but he doesn't speak for the rest of us. I'm the one who stopped him from finishing the job. Check the healer if you don't believe me."
"He speaks the truth, Gustus," Nyko said, stepping forward from the side. Nyko looked into Jason's eyes for a moment before continuing while pointing at one of the dead bodies, "He held the boy while he died. He saved the others from the shooter. He chose to stay and face us."
Gustus, the Commander's most trusted advisor and shadow, narrowed his eyes. He signaled for his men to hold their spears, though they remained ready to strike at the slightest twitch. He dismounted his horse with a heavy thud, walking right up to Jason until they were chest to chest.
"I recognize you. My people, the ones who faced you and lived to tell of it spray about you. You are the Butcher," Gustus rasped, "You have killed many of my brothers and comrades. Why should I believe you want peace now?"
"Because if I wanted war, I wouldn't be standing here alone and bleeding," Jason countered. He didn't back down, his gaze locking onto the larger man's eyes. "I'd be back at my camp, waiting for you to walk into my sights. I'm here because there's a bigger enemy in that Mountain, and if we spend our time killing each other over the mistakes of a broken boy, the Mountain Men win."
Gustus stared at him for a long, agonizing minute, searching for a lie. He saw the gunshot wound in Jason's shoulder, the way the warrior stood despite the pain, and the absolute lack of fear.
"You will come with us," Gustus finally commanded. "The Commander will decide if your head stays on your shoulders or not. Bind him."
The warriors moved in. They didn't show any mercy for his injury, roughly jerking Jason's arms behind his back. He hissed through his teeth as the movement ground the bone in his shoulder, but he kept his face as a mask of iron. They looped heavy leather cords around his wrists, tightening them until his hands went slightly numb.
Jason was shoved toward a horse. As they rode away from the village, he looked back once.
The journey to place where the grounders were taking him was four hours away. By the time they reached the Grounder capital, the sun was already starting to dip, He was dragged off the horse and hauled through the village, he could see the Grounders lining the paths to spit at him and shout curses. To them, he was the face of the Skaikru violence and most of all a monster.
Gustus didn't stop to address the crowd. He led the guards toward a heavy, reinforced door built into the side of a half-collapsed brick building and towards a cellar that had survived the apocalypse.
The guards kicked the door open. With a brutal shove, Jason was sent sprawling into the dark, damp interior. He hit the stone floor hard.
As the door slammed shut and the heavy iron bolt slid into place, the only light came from a small, barred grate high above. Jason groaned, rolling onto his side.
"Jason?"
A voice came from the shadows of the cell. Sitting against the far wall were two men. One he hadn't seen in a few days and another he hadn't seen since… well never really, except in memories of him as Jason.
"Jaha? Kane?" Jason looked surprised as a bitter laugh sounded from him at the irony of the situation. "Well... I guess the welcoming committee is the same everywhere."