King Zyron was a descendant of one of those two older brothers. The Usurpers, somewhere far to the north, often invaded, trying to claim all of the earth for their greedy power, but Zyron’s people—the People of Promise—had always fended the Usurpers off.
It was said that the Usurpers practiced all kinds of evil, sacrificing humans and doing unthinkable things with animals and innocents.
Now the Usurpers had made it farther south than anyone could remember seeing them.
And, for some reason, they had visited Lakhoni’s village, and maybe even gone into his family’s hut. Why?
Lakhoni drifted away from the crowd, heading in the direction of one of the training rings in the middle of the cavern. The Usurpers’ motives were none of his concern. His only thought now should be to do all he could to gain the total trust of the Separated so that he could find a way to escape and get to Zyronilxa. And there he would find his sister and guide the sword of justice to fall upon those who had murdered his family.
He stepped between the two tall stones that had been placed as a portal to his favorite training ring. He had run, dodged, ducked, and rolled around this training circle enough to know where all of the depressions and bumps were. Looking around, he was glad that most of the people were still at Gimno’s circle, leaving him free to work alone. He didn’t like having an audience, especially when he was practicing feather leaps.
He placed his feet shoulder-width apart and closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. He focused on the feeling of his feet on the stone, willing his body to become completely still. In a brief moment, he had centered, his body feeling one with the stone beneath him. Gimno said that he would learn to center so well at some point that if a running boar were to slam into him full-tilt he would not be moved.
Lakhoni didn’t know yet if he believed that, but he knew that more strength infused him with each moment that he stood still and calm.
Willing his heart to beat calmly, Lakhoni began to flex his leg muscles. He pushed them to become tighter and tighter, forcing his breathing to remain even. When he felt his legs might snap, he bent his legs slightly and launched himself forward. He stretched his right leg forward, aiming the ball of the foot at a small rise on the ground. He tightened the muscles of his leg until the moment before his foot came into contact with the rise. Pushing off almost before he landed, he flung himself to the left now, his left leg tight and his foot aimed carefully at another small rise.
This was the feather leap; it was how Gimno had descended the entrance shaft to the cavern of the Separated on the night that Lakhoni had first been taken in. The objective was to be in such control of your muscles and actions that you could push off anything quickly and easily—and through this be able to change your direction with astonishing speed. Gimno insisted that a man could dodge arrows from an army with the feather leap.
Lakhoni could probably dodge a stone thrown by a child, but that might be the limit of his abilities. He intended to master this technique. Pushing off his left leg, he sprang across the ring to another rise, and then another. Soon he was nearing the portal stones. Elation filled him. He was spending too much time on the ground before each succeeding leap, but he also knew he was doing better than ever before.
Gathering all of his strength and forcing it into his right leg until it practically hummed with tension, he pushed off the last rise. He shot off the ground and reached toward the top of the stone. Gimno had done this and had leapt easily to the top of the same portal stone two weeks previously.
He was going to make it!
His knees slammed into the stone with an explosion of hot pain. Just as he began to slide down, he understood that if he were to hit the ground askew as he was, he could break a leg. He instinctively pushed off the stone with his arms and feet. He arched his back as far backward as he could, envisioning himself doing a back flip and landing on all fours. He had to tuck his legs—like this—tight up to his body and fling his arms hard in the direction of his mid-air tumble.
He hit the ground, balls of his feet landing first, his legs bending fluidly to absorb the impact and his right hand coming down immediately after. He stopped moving, feeling as if he had landed lighter than he could have hoped for.
Lakhoni stayed that way for a moment. The dark brown and black hues of the cavern floor filled his vision. By the Fathers. He glanced at his posture. He had landed like a cat, or a spider—lightly and in total control. The flip he had done passed through his mind; he could see what he had made his body do.
“How did I do that?” he asked the ground. He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around. Nobody was near; nobody had seen. He briefly wondered why he cared that none of the Separated had seen him, but the thought left him as a glimmer of understanding lit his mind. “I thought I was going to make it. I lost focus on my actions and forgot the moment.” He knew this was why he hadn’t gained the top of the portal stone. Gimno had said, countless times, that he had to be in total control of each muscle and that anticipation, fear, and other emotions too often got in the way of that control.
That must be how I did the flip. It was like I was watching myself. Lakhoni shook off the surprise at what he had done and focused on his state of mind during the flip and his landing. He needed to be able to do that kind of thing again. It must have been the danger of breaking my leg. I knew I couldn’t afford to do that. I wouldn’t get out of here for months. It had been the need that made him focus. The urgency of staying healthy had cleared his focus until it was sharp as the edge of a fine obsidian dagger. I need to be able to do that again.
The pain in his scraped knees faded as he walked slowly inside the perimeter of the training ring. He thought about justice and rescue; the mission he felt commanded by his family to fulfill. He strode across the ring again, centering himself instantly. He flung himself forward. He feather-leapt from rise to rise, feeling a delicious strength and clarity fill him.
As he leapt, he considered trying the portal stone again. He decided against it. He would try another day when he was stronger.
He landed lightly back in the center, every muscle calm and feeling as if he had taken a refreshing walk.
“Cub!”
Tingles of surprise splashed up his neck and on his scalp. He spun toward the voice.
Gimno leaned casually against a portal stone, regarding him with bright eyes. “Well done! Still needs work, but you’ve been practicing, I see.”
Digging for the crystal-clear focus he’d had moments ago, Lakhoni grinned at the tall, fiercely tattooed man. With a feeling of sudden rightness, Lakhoni felt his focus return.
“Who needs practice?” he asked.
“You still do, but that is good work.” Gimno smiled at Lakhoni’s insolent tone.
“I’ve got time.”
“You do.” Gimno turned and gestured for Lakhoni to follow. “Come now. You are due for a haircut.”
Lakhoni followed, stroking his head with one hand. Gimno was right. Lakhoni hadn’t noticed it, but he now had thick fuzz covering his entire scalp. And his youth patch along the top of his head was almost a half-thumb length.
He followed Gimno as the tall man wove between huts, making his way toward a side of the cavern Lakhoni had never been to. This was the side where the small man who had led the sacrifice of the boy lived.
Lakhoni could tell by Gimno’s body language where the man was heading: directly toward the hardened leather-covered wood door of the spiritual leader of the Separated. Was it possible that the man who had killed the young man was to be the person who would shave Lakhoni’s head? Would he use the same knife that was used to make the sacrifice?
A tremor of fear ran the length of Lakhoni’s body. Fury followed on the fear’s heels. Then fear came again. How could Lakhoni hide his revulsion from this man? And if the man detected Lakhoni’s true feelings, there was no doubt what would come next.
Gimno stopped a few paces in front of the door and clapped loudly three times. Lakhoni glance
d around, wondering if he could make his escape now.
It would be certain death.
The door to the hut swung outwards, and one of the red-dyed men, the Consecrated, stepped out. He looked at Gimno questioningly. Gimno spoke, “This cub is due for a haircut.”
The red man glanced at Lakhoni. Fear made Lakhoni’s muscles go soft.
“Come,” the Consecrated said and turned back into the hut.
Gimno followed, ducking slightly to avoid knocking his head against the top of the doorway.
Lakhoni stepped forward, the darkness inside the hut and the darkness he knew to be in the murdering man who lived there filling him with terrible fear. But that darkness beckoned him forward and he would not shrink from it.
Chapter 14
The Grooming
Flaming torches flickered in the hut’s interior, brightly lighting what Lakhoni guessed was the home of the spiritual leader of the Separated. Lakhoni wondered that he had no idea how he should address this man. He had never heard Gimno, Corzon, or Anor—or any of the other Separated for that matter—ever make mention of the man.
The walls of the hut were round, curving out and back to Lakhoni’s right and left. A heavy, almost wet aroma that made his nostrils tingle filled the house. It smelled like nothing he had ever experienced. It was spicy, like one of the ointments Salno had used to clean wounds, but also cool, like a mountain breeze. But there was also an undercurrent of meat that had been boiled too long.
Lakhoni followed Gimno, who followed the Consecrated, deeper into the hut. He had to skirt around small tables and stones covered in the hides of all kinds of animals. A badger skin, looking almost wet, was draped on a flat, round stone. Nearby was another, smaller stone covered with a beaver hide. On the beaver hide were gathered a variety of shining gems.
Hundreds of bone and wooden pegs had been driven into the stone walls, and hanging from those pegs were more hides and skins along with weapons, raiment, instruments, and things that Lakhoni could not identify. The curving walls should have been bowing under the weight.
One long item caught his eye. In the bright torchlight, the thing’s handle looked to be made of polished white stone. The base of the handle was wrapped tightly in deep, black leather and the haft extended the length of Lakhoni’s arm, ending in an oddly shaped head. The head was a combination of a hatchet on one side, and a long, wickedly serrated knife on the other. A jagged spike also extended from the top of the head, making the total length of the thing almost as long as one of Gimno’s legs.
Lakhoni hurried to catch up to Gimno, noticing that the hut was bigger than he had thought. He had assumed that the back wall of the hut would be the wall of the cavern, but it was now clear that the hut had been built to take advantage of a cave that branched off from the main cavern.
More than a cave, Lakhoni realized as they passed a small cavern to their left. A series of caves.
The entire complex was filled with the aroma that had greeted them when they entered. As they walked, they passed more caves, some with hides stretched over wood planks for doors and some open. Lakhoni snuck a glance into one of the open caves, but even as he saw piles of glittering things, he heard Gimno’s harsh, quiet whisper.
“Cub! Respect this place, it is the home of a great spiritual leader, brought to us after the coward Malganoza perished.”
Lakhoni met the tall man’s eyes and nodded. He lengthened his stride, curious about this Malganoza.
They came to a ladder. The Consecrated stood to the side of the ladder and gestured for Gimno to ascend. Without a sound, Gimno flowed up the ladder, Lakhoni following.
At the top, Lakhoni stopped in total stupefaction. The cavern floor was completely covered with luxurious animal hides, as were the walls. A fire blazed in a large hearth on the far side of the room. A huge table that looked to have been cut from one massive tree dominated the room. The top was flat, while the bottom appeared to be the rounded trunk of the original tree. The table had been polished to a gleam in the firelight. Wooden chairs, made comfortable with soft hides, surrounded the table. There had to be at least twenty chairs, one of which was larger and more ornate than the others. This one had been turned to face the hearth.
Hoping they hadn’t noticed his surprise, Lakhoni pushed himself off the ladder and stood next to Gimno, the soft hides under his feet surprisingly warm.
“Bonaha,” Gimno said, respect in his voice.
“Gimno, my boy.” The voice flowed slick and smooth, like oil, from the ornate chair. Nothing else stirred.
“The cub,” Gimno said.
“Of course,” said the voice. Now Lakhoni saw movement. A small form—Lakhoni recognized its size from the sacrifice of the young man—separated itself from the chair. The figure’s hair no longer stood on end, but this was the same person who had murdered the young man.
The man stepped toward Gimno and Lakhoni, a bright smile on his pointed face. “This is the cub you’ve spoken of?”
“Yes, Bonaha.”
The man—Lakhoni couldn’t tell if Bonaha was a title or name—squinted and examined Lakhoni for several long minutes. He turned to Gimno.
“And you have brought him for his grooming?”
Gimno nodded. “Yes, Bonaha.” Lakhoni heard the respect and adoration in Gimno’s voice. It was strange for such a tall, imposing man to give such great respect to this small man.
“Well, cub,” the man said. “I am Bonaha Molgar. Bonaha means ‘teacher’ in the language of our First Fathers and Molgar is my name.” The small man raised a hand to Lakhoni’s face. His palm felt soft and moist on Lakhoni’s cheek. It smelled of flowers. “You will call me Bonaha.”
Lakhoni nodded, trying not to squirm under the uncomfortable touch. He forced the images of this same hand gripping a shiny dagger out of his mind.
“Today you will be groomed,” the Bonaha said. “Do you understand what that means?”
Lakhoni shook his head. He knew he should say something, but the revulsion in his heart choked him. I can’t show him. He’ll kill me if I do. He forced himself to swallow past the tightness in his throat.
“What?” the Bonaha said, laughter in his voice. “Can you not speak?” The moist hand slapped Lakhoni gently. “Come on boy, you need not fear me.”
“Show some respect, cub!” Gimno said, nudging Lakhoni.
“Yes,” Lakhoni said.
“Yes what?” the Bonaha asked.
“I can speak.”
The small man gave a satisfied nod, his hand sliding down Lakhoni’s cheek, and then stroking down Lakhoni’s arm. Lakhoni forced back the need to shudder and shake off the corrupting sensation.
“And do you understand what it is to be groomed by the Bonaha of the Separated?” the man’s dark eyes flashed with a wet hunger.
Lakhoni shook his head. “No.”
“With respect, cub!”
“Leave it, Gimno,” the Bonaha said, patience dripping from his voice. He turned back to Lakhoni and smiled. “It is proper to affix ‘Bonaha’ to what you say to me.”
Swallowing again, willing his heart to slow, Lakhoni said, “Yes, Bonaha.” The man was small, nearly the same size as Alronna. His voice was soft and kind and he smiled almost constantly. His touch was light and affectionate.
But something in the man’s eyes terrified Lakhoni. He frantically tried to find somewhere else to look, but the Bonaha had trapped his gaze as effectively as a barbed hook would catch a fish.
“Now, being groomed by the Bonaha of the Separated is an important step in your journey,” the Bonaha said, turning and stepping back toward his chair. “Through this process, you show your strength and determination to join with us in our divinely appointed mission.”
After a long silence, Lakhoni realized he was expected to respond. “Yes, Bonaha.”
“How much has Gimno explained of what you will soon experience, boy?” The Bonaha turned and walked back toward the crackling fire.
At the same time that he spoke,
Lakhoni realized that there had to be some kind of chimney that extended from this cave to the outside world. He watched the Bonaha’s back as the small man lifted his left hand toward the cave entrance. “Nothing . . . Bonaha.”
The Bonaha’s gesture had been a signal to a man Lakhoni hadn’t even seen yet. It was another Consecrated, who had been standing completely still in the shadows at the end of the cave furthest from the fire. This man folded into a deep bow, then, looking over the edge of the cave floor, snapped his fingers.
“That is fine,” the Bonaha said, standing just inside the circle of light cast by the fire. “This grooming takes place sometime around the completion of your fourteenth year—but can change depending on your readiness.”
Taking long strides, the red man moved toward the fire, skirting the huge table and passing in front of Lakhoni.
A moment after the man passed him, Lakhoni caught a strong smell of sweat, blood, and animal musk.
“Gimno has decided you are ready.” The Bonaha turned his gaze on Lakhoni. In the bright glare of the fire, Lakhoni thought he could see the small man’s eyes fill with a frightening intensity. “Not that it matters, but what is your age, boy?”
“In the spring I’ll have finished my fifteenth year.” A memory of the cakes and festivities that happened in his village during that season of birth celebrations flashed into his mind.
“So you are a little old, but that is fine.”
A tall shape appeared at the top of the ladder and immediately crossed the room, followed by another of the red men. These two, with the man who had called them, rolled back the soft hide on the floor near the hearth, exposing rough stone.
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