Lakhoni

by Jared Garrett

  Lakhoni reached for the door to his family’s hut.

  “What is that?” Gimno asked.

  Lakhoni turned back. “What?”

  Gimno pointed above Lakhoni’s head. “That shape.”

  Lakhoni took a step back. A memory stabbed painfully. His father had smiled mischievously whenever Lakhoni asked about the strange shape carved in the keystone of their home’s doorway. It was a circle with lines radiating out from it and a longer, thicker line piercing it from one side to the other. It almost looked like a sun setting or rising on the horizon. “I don’t know. My father never told me.”

  “It has some special meaning?” Gimno glanced around the village. “None of the others have a pattern such as this.”

  “I told you I don’t know.” Bitterness filled his throat. “My father liked pictures. He never said if it meant something!”

  “Cub.” Gimno placed a hand on Lakhoni’s shoulder. “You must leave him in his peace. You yet live.”

  The taste of bile coated his tongue. “I know.”

  Stepping into the dimness of his home, Lakhoni thought about what Gimno had said about using anger like a burning ember. He remembered the day he had spent gathering his family’s and friends’ bodies. He remembered the hot, yet . . . stone-hard feeling that had filled his muscles. The memory tasted purer than bitterness. He knew this pure anger that Gimno spoke of. I have already felt that strength. He looked around the hut, seeing nothing that he cared to claim. And you, Gimno, have added to it. You and your people.

  An image of a glinting dagger point plunging downward flashed through his mind. The revulsion had faded over the weeks since the sacrifice ritual, but fury at his own inaction still blazed in Lakhoni’s stomach.

  A shiver ran through him. He had tunics somewhere. And his warm bear skin that he wore in the winter. Surely it would get cold even in the caverns of the Separated.

  If he was still there when winter had fully arrived.

  Lakhoni searched the hut, quickly finding his tunics. He had to get away from the Separated soon, but it was still too early. The Separated would not let him go easily. Their hidden home under the ground was far too valuable of a secret. It was possible that they might hunt him once he got away in order to keep him from telling others about the cavern. He knew that Gimno was watching him closely. And Corzon, though friendly, constantly glanced at him during meals and gatherings.

  No, Lakhoni thought, I can’t leave any time soon. I’m still too new, still untested. I have to become nothing unusual, something commonplace. If he could get to a point where his comings and goings were unsupervised and unquestioned, he would be ready.

  It occurred to Lakhoni that he had been absentmindedly searching for his bear skin for quite a while. He checked under sleeping mats and in every nook in the small hut. He couldn’t remember wearing it any time recently, and he was sure nobody else had used it.

  “The raiding party,” he murmured. Thieves and murderers. They had taken the bear skin, of course.

  He realized suddenly that he lived with thieves and murderers, that he was trying to be counted as one of them. He had to get away soon, even if it meant leaving in the dead of winter. Every moment he stayed with the Separated was one step closer to the death of his soul.

  “Cub!” Gimno’s voice easily carried through into the hut. “We cannot tarry long. The daylight is not our friend.”

  “Coming,” Lakhoni said. He dropped his mother’s sleeping mat back to the ground. Dark flecks scattered in the wind raised by the falling mat. Lakhoni turned to the door, then stopped. The floor of the hut was pale, packed dirt. Where had the dark specks come from?

  “Cub,” Gimno said again. “You need to see this.”

  The serious tone made Lakhoni look toward the door.

  “Okay.”

  Lakhoni lifted his mother’s sleeping mat again. He saw the normal pale, hard-packed dirt. But at the center of where the mat usually sat some darker dirt gathered. Lakhoni quickly folded the mat back on itself and knelt, his hands in the dark dirt. He ran his fingers through it, then felt something hard and straight. Bending closer, he brushed dirt away from the hard thing. He blew on it and revealed an outline, a straight edge and a corner. Knowing Gimno could walk in at any second, Lakhoni quickly blew again, using his fingers to completely uncover a pale stone that matched the color of the dirt perfectly. It was completely square. Jabbing a finger under one corner, Lakhoni lifted.

  The stone was heavy, but Lakhoni was able to get more fingers under it, then his other hand. A hole, as deep as the length of his arm, gaped at him. It reached down deep enough to reach the moist, dark soil underneath. Whatever had been inside had recently been taken out.

  What was in here? Did the raiding party take it?

  Lakhoni felt movement outside the door to the hut. He dropped the stone, replaced the mat and moved to stand up.

  Too late. Gimno stood in the doorway.

  “What is taking so long?”

  “I can’t find my bear skin.”

  “And you think it might be on that bed? Were you planning on taking a nap?”

  Lakhoni stood. “I thought it might be under a bed, or around one somewhere.”

  “Obviously the king’s dogs took it.”

  “Probably.”

  Gimno fixed Lakhoni with a hard look. “They are thieves, almost as bad as the Usurpers. The Usurpers took the birthright from their elder brothers—the greatest sin committed by any of our people. But Zyron’s dogs kill and steal with the sole purpose of getting gain for their master.” Gimno gestured for Lakhoni to follow him. “Not probably, cub. They took it.”

  Lakhoni followed Gimno out of the hut, his mind racing. What had his mother been keeping under her bed? Who else had known about whatever it was?

  The possibility that the king’s raiding party had slaughtered the entire village for the sole purpose of finding what his mother had been hiding struck him. It was clear that somebody had been forced to search at length, with some deliberation, before finding the mysterious thing.

  “Look here.”

  Lakhoni glanced down at the ground Gimno indicated. Around him, the other members of the group gathered items to carry back to the cavern. Forcing down his anger at the looting, Lakhoni crouched and looked closer. A footprint, the toes pointing toward his family’s hut.

  “So?”

  Gimno smiled fiercely. “Overcome the limited teaching of your previous life and use your brain. Unless it is scrambled permanently from that blow you took.”

  Lakhoni gritted his teeth.

  “Look closer,” Gimno said.

  He did so. He quickly noticed something he hadn’t seen before. It was a footprint, but there was no outline for the toes. Even if the print was older than a week, there should still be a sign of toes. “Somebody wearing a shoe of some kind.”

  Gimno struck Lakhoni on the left shoulder. “There! How do you know it hasn’t worn away?”

  “It’s not the stormy season. Early winter is almost always still and dry.” Lakhoni looked around some. “No animal tracks. No signs of any kind of weather. This print has not faded or deteriorated much. So no toes means a shoe.”

  “Good. What else?”

  Lakhoni sat back on his haunches, considering. “Nobody in my village wore shoes this early in the year. Neither do your people.”

  “Our people,” Gimno said, his voice firm.

  “Our people.” Lakhoni carefully kept his emotions under control, his face still. He stood and walked carefully around the immediate area, scouring the ground. “This one’s on top of older prints without shoes. Probably from one of the king’s raiding party.”

  “A good guess. It might be that Zyron’s dog’s wore boots of some kind.” Gimno raised an eyebrow. “But keep looking.”

  Lakhoni hunkered down again, trying to take everything before him in. He looked around the village center, trying to order events in his mind. He ignored the other Separated who were gathering items from
the huts and making a pile near the well. A glimmer of a thought came to him. He turned to the dirt again. In a moment, he found it: blood from the attack on the village. Once he found the first patch, he could distinguish the dark patches in the dirt. He looked back at the print.

  “But this print is on top of blood. On top of my old prints too. Someone came here after that night.”

  Gimno nodded. “Yes.”

  “Not the king’s men. This is someone else.” Confusion struck him. “But who else would have come here?”

  “That’s a stiff leather boot. Someone prosperous.”

  Lakhoni stood and faced the tall man, a feeling of unease creeping from his neck to his lower back. “Who would have come? And why?”

  Gimno also stood, the lines in his face hardening. He looked out over the dark trees, in the direction of the cavern of the Separated. “I can tell you who. It is a guess, but my gut tells me I am right. But I cannot tell you why.” He started toward the trees, gesturing at the other men. “We leave now.”

  With arms full of blankets, pots, and other things culled from the village, the men of the Separated melted into the trees.

  “Gimno,” Lakhoni said. “Who? Who came here?”

  His tattoos glistening in the sun, Gimno continued into the trees. Lakhoni hurried to catch up, his heart beating quickly. This hurry and the weight of the tall man’s voice told Lakhoni that the warrior was scared.

  Gimno’s voice rasped through the shadows of the forest. “The Usurpers. The Usurpers came to your village.”

  Chapter 12

  Useful Secrets

  Death. The rich, sweet stench of rot assaulted her. Ree reeled back, spinning to get away from the gaping maw before her. She felt sure that a hand, gnarled and clawed, would reach from that pit to grab her if she didn’t move fast enough. Before she could take a step, her pathway was barred by indistinct, looming figures. Their hazy shapes looked like wide, stunted trees, but with pale yellow eyes glowing from their shadowed faces.

  She spun again, heart hammering in her chest, desperate to find an escape. Long arms, deep with shadow and menace reached for her. The stink of the pit filled her head and body.

  All strength left her and Ree screamed in hopeless terror.

  She was sitting in her bed, sweat making her skin feel sticky and chilled. Cold light filtered through the nearly translucent animal skin covering her window. Heart beating wildly, she looked around quickly.

  A dream. It had been a dream. She was home, safe. In her father’s temple, in her room.

  Ree hugged herself tightly, then, still too cold, snuggled her woven blanket around her. She could still smell the stench of that horrible pit, feel the hands of those figures just behind her shoulders.

  What had the dream meant? Her father’s spiritual advisor, Omnio, claimed that all dreams had a meaning, that dreams were messages sent by the First Fathers and the Great Spirit. Omnio said that most people were just too blinded by their flesh to understand the messages. What would he say about this one?

  Ree shook her head, deciding to try to put the images out of her head. She sidled to the edge of her raised sleeping pallet and lowered her feet into her soft skin slippers. She briefly considered going to her father’s throne room to try to puzzle out the lock on his stone box, but discarded that idea. There would be guards and she just needed to do something to get her mind off her dream, not get into big trouble.

  Ree reached up and removed her cloak from the carved bone that had been stuck into the stone wall of her room. Tossing her blanket onto her bed, she donned the cloak and circled the room. She idly picked up trinkets as she passed them on their shelves. A shiny bronze set of earrings that her father said were shaped like shells felt smooth and good in her hands. She wondered if she would ever see the ocean. It was only three days’ journey to the east, but her father had never allowed her to make the trip. He had to protect his precious flower.

  Ree put the earrings down, picking up a delicate wood figurine of a beautiful woman. She had found this one on the colorful mat spread out by a young boy in the market square of Zyronilxa. The boy had claimed that the carving was of one of the First Mothers, but Ree preferred to think it was a carving of her mother.

  Whenever she asked her father about her mother, his answer came quickly: “She died in childbirth.” Ree would often ask about siblings and other family, but Zyron always insisted that her mother had no family. Ree wondered why she didn’t just believe her father, but he always pushed Ree off the subject, as if he were hiding something. But what could he possibly feel like he had to hide? Her father was king; he could do whatever he wanted.

  Carefully replacing the carving, Ree decided that a walk in the night air would help her calm down and slow her racing thoughts. She let her door close slowly and made her way down the hallway to the main corridor that wound in a slow circuit around the inner, second-story walls of the temple. Down the stairs and out into the courtyard or to the terrace? Feeling too lazy to go down stairs and then have to climb them again, Ree opted for the terrace. Her slippers whispered on the heavy stones of the floor as she walked. She held her cloak more tightly around her body, keeping the chilly night air away.

  She soon came to the doorway to the terrace and slipped outside. A blue-white moon hung heavily in the sky almost directly overhead. It was surrounded by a thick carpet of stars that glinted and shimmered in the autumn air. Ree took a slow deep breath, soaking in the evening. An image of the stench-filled pit flashed through her mind, but she fought it off, opening her eyes wide to take in as many of the stars as she could.

  Ree stepped closer to the edge of the terrace, looking over the city that spread out from the temple. She could see only two or three small fires—or maybe they were torches—in the stone homes that encircled the huge building that was her father’s temple. She walked back along the terrace to the other edge. This side of the terrace dropped straight down to one of the courtyards of the palace. As she approached the edge, she heard a voice.

  Instinctively ducking, Ree almost dashed back inside, but curiosity got the better of her. She lowered herself to her hands and knees, crawling carefully on the chilly stone to the edge of the terrace. Down in the courtyard, she saw the paddock and low stables where horses were kept, the dog pen, and on the other wall, she saw dim light filtering out through the gaps around a door to the slaves’ quarters. She stayed in that position, listening in the direction of that light. After a moment, she heard the voice again. She couldn’t tell what it was saying, but it was a man’s voice.

  The voice got louder for a second. It was Shelu! Ree wondered why Shelu, her father’s favorite warrior, would be in the slaves’ quarters this late at night.

  Then she heard the other voice—a girl’s. It was loud and frightened. Then the girl’s voice suddenly cut off.

  Ree understood why Shelu would want to keep the girl quiet; he was not supposed to be in there. The slaves belonged to her father and he had made strict rules about other men spending time with the female slaves. If King Zyron found out about Shelu’s presence in there, especially this late at night, who knew what would happen?

  Ree decided to tell her father in the morning. She had never liked Shelu and she would love seeing the angry man get in trouble.

  As she eased herself backwards, Ree wondered why Shelu would be visiting a slave this late at night. Ree knew perfectly well what men and women did together, but Shelu had access to plenty of other slaves and servants. Why would he take the risk?

  When she was close to the doorway back into the temple, Ree stood and hurried toward her room. Yes, Shelu was breaking a rule and he deserved to get in trouble for it. She almost stopped as a thought struck her. I can’t tell father, he would want to know what I was doing out on the terrace in the middle of the night. And even if Ree spoke only truth, there was little chance that her suspicious father would believe her.

  Shelu was up to something and it was against the rules. She would find out what the
man was doing and then decide whether to tell her father. If Shelu was doing something really bad, her father would appreciate knowing and would thank her. Then maybe he would see that her curiosity wasn’t only a bad thing. And if Shelu was just being a stupid man following his desires, maybe Ree would keep it quiet until she found a use for the knowledge.

  Chapter 13

  Feather Leap

  The apple crunched satisfyingly in his mouth, sweet juices bursting and then flowing down his throat. Lakhoni edged closer to the fire, looking around at all of the people gathered at Gimno’s fire. The small circle trembled with the intensity of the conversation.

  One of Gimno’s warriors had spotted an apple tree full of ripe fruit soon after leaving the village. They had all filled pouches, blankets, pots, and even tunics with as much of the small crunchy fruit as they could carry.

  When they had arrived at the cavern with fresh fruit and tales of Usurpers in the area, people had flocked around them, asking questions. Many of those people now sat or stood in Gimno’s fire circle, and nervous chatter echoed off the stones.

  Fully warmed after the journey through the cold winter day, Lakhoni wandered around the fringes of the crowd, chewing thoughtfully. He considered making apples his only meal for the next few days. As he moved, he caught snatches of conversation, voices raised in angry tones.

  “—find them and destroy them!”

  “We must take things slowly and carefully. They are the invaders and—”

  “—retrieve our birthright . . .”

  This last caught his attention. It was strange that any of the Separated—a people that had left behind their homes with Zyron’s people of their own free choice—would want to reclaim a birthright that the Usurpers had stolen from Zyron’s great grandfathers.

  Every child of King Zyron’s people heard the story—the chief of the village had told it every year during the mid-autumn celebrations. The First Fathers had fled a wicked people across the great waters to the east, guided by the light of the Great Spirit, when a conflict erupted. The patriarch of the First Fathers had died, leaving the First Fathers and their families without a leader. The middle brother had claimed to be chosen by the Great Spirit to rule, and the younger brothers had raised arms in support. The two oldest brothers, knowing it was a sin to fight family, had taken their families and fled into the wilderness to the south.