by S. S. Segran
Hutar elbowed his way through the masses and found Matikè in the throng. He grabbed her arm. “What is going on?”
She grinned broadly. “The search party has returned!”
Hutar’s eyes stretched wide. Uncle, he thought, finally cracking a hint of a smile. He had been waiting for this moment for days. He pushed past the other villagers until he reached the front of the crowd, his spirits raised. Matikè and Relsuc came to stand beside him and all three saw the search party walking toward them. Hutar counted two men on stretchers but couldn’t tell who they were.
“I thought four men were sent out,” Matikè murmured. “Where are the others?”
Hutar watched in silence. The search party halted in front of the anxious crowd, greeting them and trying to find a way through to get to the convalescence center. Hutar strode forward, Matikè and Relsuc following close behind, and gazed down at the two men who lay unconscious on the stretchers. Neither was Aydar. He looked up at the search party.
“Where is my uncle?” he asked quietly.
The woman in the red bandana looked back at him. When she recognized who he was, she paled and took a few moments to answer. “We could not find him, Hutar.”
Hutar moved closer until his breath ruffled the stray strands of platinum hair that had escaped her bandana. In a soft, cold voice, he murmured, “Say that again?”
“We looked for him, we really did,” she said, sorrow brimming in her eyes, “but we could not find him, and neither were we able to locate Keno. I am so sorry.” She reached out to give him a hug but he leaned away. She slowly lowered her arms. “If it is any consolation, Hutar, four members of my team are still searching for them.”
Behind Hutar, Matikè and Relsuc exchanged nervous looks. They saw Hutar’s fists clench and unclench, and heard him repeat in a disbelieving tone, “Could not find him?” He turned around and pushed past everyone, heels digging into the dirt. Matikè and Relsuc followed but kept their distance.
Hutar stopped when he reached the river. “My uncle . . . was sent out by the Elders . . . to die.”
Matikè rested her hand on his forearm. “Do not say that, Hutar. You do not know that he is—”
In a flash Hutar had his hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing, eyes ablaze with fury. “Do not tell me that!” he spat. “You saw for yourself how badly the two men were hurt. If the search party could not find my uncle, what do you think happened to him?”
She tried to answer but he had an iron grip around her neck.
Relsuc took a wary step forward. “Hutar, let her go.”
Hutar ignored him. Matikè’s face started to turn blue.
“Hutar, stop!” Relsuc shouted.
Hutar released Matikè and shoved her away. Relsuc caught her from behind before she fell and held her as she gasped for air. “There was no reason for that,” he snapped.
Hutar disregarded his words and turned his back to them. “There is one more thing I want you to do tomorrow.”
Relsuc listened grimly as Hutar gave new instructions. When he finished explaining, Relsuc kept his mouth shut and, resting a hand on Matikè’s back, guided her away, leaving Hutar to himself.
Hutar stared at his reflection in the water, noticing the bags under his eyes. He scratched his cheek absently, feeling the stubble that he’d have to shave for the next day. The element he wanted to add to his scheme the following evening was unplanned, and his followers would protest—if they had the courage—but the return of half of the four-man team tipped the scale. It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if one of the two men found was his uncle, but that was not the case.
His uncle was the only thing that had kept him reasonably sane since his father’s passing seven summers before. His mother died giving birth to him, so he never got to know her. His father had raised him single-handedly and had been his rock and guide throughout his young life. Hutar had grown strongly attached to him and often refused to be anywhere but at his side.
On the day Hutar turned eleven summers, his father took him out on their canoe to a pond famous for its fishing and campground. Normally, the younger boys in the village would wait in anticipation until they turned twelve, for it was only then that their fathers would take them on this ride to the pond, as was tradition. The boys would impatiently hop around and whine to their parents after watching the older ones return with the extra swagger and exaggerated stories of their adventures.
The pond was known among the people as the White-water Pond. It wasn’t because the water was white, but because on the way to it, the villagers had to paddle their boats along a rapid river that forked in two. One arm led to a slower-moving tributary that eventually flowed to the pond, while the other led to treacherous white waters that ended in a thundering, three-hundred-foot waterfall.
Hutar had wanted to ride the river into the pond for years. He would beg his father to take him; there was always a thrill to be had from being around danger. On his birthday, his father agreed to finally grant him his wish. Having watched his son grow, he was impressed with the boy’s skill. For someone Hutar’s age, it was outstanding how he handled himself.
It was a flawless afternoon as father and son climbed into their canoe. Elder Tayoka had been wandering around the area and came to greet them. “Good afternoon, Daltair!”
Hutar’s father smiled up as he passed a paddle to his son. “Good afternoon, Elder Tayoka.”
“This is not a river for fishing, so I assume you are taking Hutar to the pond?”
“Yes. My young one has been asking for this for a long time.”
“Hm . . . the last I checked, this youngling here does not turn twelve for another year,” Tayoka commented with a wink. Hutar looked worriedly at his father, thinking he might call off the trip, then realized that the Elder was jesting.
“He is quite capable, Elder Tayoka,” Hutar’s father said. “I have watched him and I think he is ready for this challenge.”
“Very well, then. Have fun. But be careful, my friends. Do not forget the two arms of the river. Always stay to the right when you reach the fork, because the right side is the right side.”
“Thank you. We will.”
As Hutar and his father guided the canoe away from shore, they took in the beautiful shades of green from shrubs of junipers that wound along the riverbanks. Beyond them, the mighty pine trees and the occasional spruce filled their view.
Paddling downstream on the sapphire-blue water, Hutar asked, “This river is not that unsafe, is it, Father?”
“It can be to those who have never navigated it before.” Daltair reached ahead to ruffle Hutar’s black hair. “But I have, so there is no need to worry.”
Hutar grinned. As he helped his father paddle, he noticed a gentle increase in the current. “It feels as if we are moving faster now,” he said, wriggling in anticipation.
“Yes, we are,” his father said warmly. “It will keep getting faster until we reach the fork.”
They soon noticed white crests on the water up ahead. His father pointed. “See that, Hutar? That is where the river begins to fork. We will see a bank in the middle of the river shortly, and that is when we need to paddle toward the slower waters on the right.”
“And the left arm of the river goes to the waterfall?”
“Yes, a magnificent waterfall. You will be hearing its rumble in a bit.”
After a few strokes, a faint sound reached Hutar’s ears. He pulled his paddle out of the water and listened, then twisted around to look at his father, blue eyes bright. “I hear it! I hear it!”
His father laughed and shouted over the water, “Start paddling on the left side!”
They entered the rapids just a few moments later and the ride got rougher. The canoe went over the churning waters as Hutar and his father paddled hard to switch directions. Two hundred yards ahead of them was the fork. The canoe gained speed and Hutar’s heartbeat quickened in response. Behind him, his father called out, “Everything is fine, Hutar! This is ho
w the river is. Just keep paddling.”
Hutar obeyed. Things seemed alright until the canoe accelerated again and the ride became palpably uncomfortable. “Why is it getting rougher?” Hutar yelled. “Why are we not moving toward the other bank?”
“Keep paddling, Hutar! The current is stronger today!” There was an edge in his father’s voice.
They worked the paddles frantically. Even as the nose of the canoe pointed toward the right, the boat itself was forced down the rapids. The current dictated their course and they had no control over it. They overshot the right arm of the river and were dragged headlong toward the waterfall. Hutar could hear its thunderous roar growing louder.
The boat began bouncing violently over the frothing rapids. The boy, overcome by panic, turned to yell for help but his pleas were pulled back down his throat when, for the first time, he saw an expression of sheer terror on his father’s face.
“Hold on tight, Hutar,” Daltair called shakily just before the canoe hit a submerged rock, tipping the boat. In an instant, the rushing water filled the canoe and capsized it, throwing both its occupants into the raging river.
They were helpless as the current swept them along. Hutar’s head momentarily went under the water but his father grabbed him and pulled him back up with all his might. Daltair looked around, searching for something they could grab onto as the swift current carried them, but found nothing.
They were less than fifty yards from the brink of the waterfall. Hutar, tucked in his father’s arms, sputtered and coughed as water gushed into his mouth. As he was about to scream for help, he saw a figure at the edge of the water. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was Tayoka.
His father must have seen him too, because with uncommon strength, he lifted his son and hurled him as far as he could toward the Elder, shouting, “Save him!”
Hutar landed with a splash about fifteen feet from his father, gaining a precious few seconds from the edge of the waterfall. As he raised his head, disorientated, he saw the shape of a man sprinting weightlessly over the water at a blurred speed. When the shape was close to Hutar, it landed in the water and grabbed him around his waist, then swam with incredible power back toward the shore.
In a moment of clarity, Hutar knew he had just been saved by Tayoka. But his thoughts were not for himself. He looked past the Elder and saw his father being dragged toward the brink of the waterfall and started to yell at Tayoka to save him. Before the words left him, he saw his father, one arm raised, mouth open in a wordless call to the heavens, plummeting over the edge.
“Father!” Hutar screamed. “Father!”
He struggled against Tayoka as the man brought him onto dry land. The Elder set the wailing boy down and sprinted along the bank to the edge of the waterfall, searching for Daltair wildly through the treacherous three-hundred-foot drop. He bellowed the man’s name, voice growing hoarser with every desperate cry. Hutar clamped his hands over his mouth, trembling as he listened, and knew in his bones that his father was gone.
Tayoka returned, eyes wet and red, and reached out to console Hutar but the boy squirmed out of his grasp and fell backward, tears running down his face.
“You could have saved him!” he yelled. “You could have saved him!”
Tayoka stood there, speechless, a storm of sorrow clouding his gray eyes. Hutar pushed himself to his feet and stumbled into the trees, shivering and crying. The father was gone, his final moments forever etched into the son’s mind.
Hutar slumped down against a tree and wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth, sobbing until he was gasping for air.
Tayoka followed and knelt beside him, drawing him into his arms once more. Hutar shut his eyes and fear flooded his mind between sobs. What was going to happen to him? Who was going to look after him? Who would care for him and guide him like his father did?
His uncle would. Aydar eventually filled his father’s shoes, taking the boy under his protective wing and raising Hutar to the best of his abilities.
Hutar came to love his uncle as much as he loved his father, and had begun to repair the rip in his heart as time passed. Aydar became his minder and his tower of strength, and Hutar had believed that life had given him another guardian—another father who loved him unconditionally despite all his shortcomings and budding darkness.
A short breath forced its way out from between Hutar’s lips as he tore himself from his memory. He was still crouched by the river, staring at his reflection in the calm waters. Grief and resentment threatened to knock him off balance as thoughts of his father and uncle spun like a whirlwind in his mind.
His legs gave way, and he dropped to the ground. Leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees, Hutar hung his head. He was truly on his own now. No parents. No uncle.
No family.
A lone tear slowly trailed down his cheek.
46
The gates of the training ground opened and the friends filed out with Akol. When they learned that the search party had returned with only half of the four-man group, Huyani had rushed out to tend to Rikèq and Breyas. Without her around, the friends’ training had been more strenuous than usual and they were glad for a break.
Jag had had a particularly difficult conversation with Tayoka before the end of his session. Akol, of course, had been there to offer his assistance with the language barrier. “Jag,” he’d said. “Before we leave, there is something I would like to speak with you about, and it is something Nageau wanted me to approach you about for a while now.”
Jag had looked up from where he’d been, fanning the hem of his shirt to cool himself off. “Yeah?”
“You have great potential, my young apprentice. Very great.”
“Thank you, Elder Tayoka.”
“I do not mean this with your innate abilities alone, my boy.”
The phrase had rendered Jag wary. The Elder continued, resting his hands on Jag’s shoulders. “You have skill sets that are natural and must be developed, and I do believe that they are progressing. However . . . may I ask, Jag, why is it that you tend to repress your instincts to lead?”
Jag clenched his jaw. He was torn between wanting to scream I really don’t want to talk about this! and How can you even tell?
Rather than beating around the bush, he said through his teeth, “Because we are all equals. That doesn’t give me the right to lead. And I’ve made a few mistakes before—an especially bad one that really hurt a good friend of mine.”
Tayoka placed a consoling hand on the side of Jag’s head for a moment. “Yes, we are all equal in status, but not equal in roles. It is completely understandable that you are afraid of making mistakes that prove costly to others. But letting that fear cripple you is a mistake in itself.”
Jag wanted so badly to retort, to argue and prove the Elder wrong. But he couldn’t. Tayoka was right; beneath his numerous layers of righteousness and denial and preservation, leading did tend to come naturally to him. The fear of hurting another whom he cared for, though, wasn’t something that could be washed away.
Elder and apprentice said nothing more after that, but Jag wasn’t able to shake off his mentor’s words.
The Elders followed the friends out, closing the gates to the training area behind them, and the group made their way past the temple and down the hill. Tegan quietly took in the valley, lost in her thoughts. As they reached the bottom of the slope, she saw a figure running out of the convalescence center toward them.
“It’s Huyani,” Kody said. “What’s her hurry?”
As Huyani got closer she tried to slow down but couldn’t and barreled into Akol, who helped stop her momentum. She was out of breath but her face glowed. “Father is awake!”
Akol let out an elated yell and threw his arms around her. She hugged him back, then saw the Elders over his shoulder. “Father has regained consciousness,” she repeated.
“What is his condition?” Nageau asked; the joy on his face nearly made Tegan smile.
Akol let go of his sister so she could face the Elders properly. “He is able to talk,” she said, “and he insists that he must speak with you as soon as possible.”
Nageau looked at the Elders and they nodded at him. He turned to the friends. “We will not meet to continue training after your break. I am uncertain how long this will take, therefore you will have the rest of the day off.”
The friends maintained their poker faces as they dipped their heads at the Elders.
“Your drinks are all prepared in my neyra,” Huyani told them as she and Akol started toward the convalescence center with the Elders.
The friends strode toward the bridge to cross to the other side of the valley. When they were sure they were out of earshot, they turned to each other and high-fived. “A break!” Kody exclaimed. “We can lounge around all day now!”
They passed a few villagers who smiled amiably at them, and they smiled back. A group of boys around six years old jumped up and down and waved at them from where they wrestled under a tree. Tegan waved back.
The friends stepped onto the bridge and saw three figures approach from the other end. They greeted the approaching youths and tried to maneuver past them, but the youths blocked their path. “Good afternoon, my friends,” one of them said, leaning on one of the railings.
Jag recognized the speaker. “Hey, Hutar, right?”
“Yes. And if you remember, this is Aesròn and Matikè.”
“Man,” Aari said. “We haven’t seen any of you in a while.”
Hutar chuckled. “I know, and it is a shame.” He and Aesròn smiled beguilingly, their eyes briefly meeting Tegan’s and Mariah’s before looking away. The girls glanced at each other and did their best not to blush.
“Some of the youths are having a gathering tonight after dinner,” Hutar told the group. “We would love for you to join us.”
