Chapter 17
The Missing
Ree padded down the granite stairs, her eyes fixed on the light streaming through the doorway at the bottom. As she descended the gloomy staircase, she brushed her fingers lightly against the walls. She enjoyed the sensation of the smooth stone under her fingertips. With snow on the ground and the air outside cold enough to freeze a flying bird’s feathers, she was looking forward to the ever-present heat of the kitchen. It was so cold that she could feel the chilly stone beneath her feet even with her leather shoes on.
As she approached the doorway, the voice of Agmoda, the head cook, echoed up to her ears.
“Hush now, Lina. That’s quite enough out of you.”
A voice that Ree guessed belonged to Lina, responded. “I’m sorry mistress. It’s just my brother—he’s gone.”
“We all know that Mastopo is always out of his mind,” Agmoda chided, her usually high-pitched voice muffled. “He’s wandering, or it’s probably because of a girl.”
Ree stopped, catching herself by leaning on the wall. Who’s Lina? And Mastopo?
“But Mastopo never leaves for so long,” Lina said. She sounded as if she had been crying.
“I said that’s enough,” Agmoda said harshly.
“Yes, Mistress,” Lina said. Ree descended the final steps before she could be discovered, coughing loudly as she hit the landing and passed through the doorway.
The warmth of the multiple hearths in the long kitchen enveloped her before she had taken two steps. An aroma of baking bread filled the room, the warm sensation contrasting with the cold stones under her feet.
“Mistress Ree,” Agmoda said, not missing a beat as she violently kneaded a huge ball of bread dough. She lifted the dough high, then slammed it down to the table with a loud thump. “You know your father doesn’t want you in here.”
“I know Aggie—Agmoda,” Ree said.
“Then you’d best be moving along,” Agmoda said, trying to disguise her laughter with a stern voice. Ree had known Agmoda her entire life and the cook had been trying to get Ree to stop calling her Aggie for years.
Ree approached the heavy wooden table Agmoda was working on. She leaned her elbows on the table and tried to keep her search casual. At least ten other women were working in the kitchen, all of them wearing the same kind of brown dress and rough apron. Which one is Lina?
The bread dough slammed onto the table again, making Ree’s elbows twitch involuntarily. She glanced at Agmoda. The cook’s thin frame appeared too small to be able to wrestle the huge ball of dough she was now breaking into smaller wads.
Ree cast her eyes about the kitchen again. “Can’t I have some fresh bread before I go? And an apple for Titan?”
“Of course,” Agmoda said. “Doba! Bring a loaf and an apple!” Agmoda’s voice cut through the hubbub of the kitchen like a sharp knife through chicken meat.
Lina had sounded like she was crying, Ree thought. She scoured the faces in the room. One particularly small woman, a girl really—she couldn’t have been much older than Ree—turned and Ree got a look at her face. Red-rimmed eyes. That had to be Lina.
“Looking for something, Mistress?”
Ree turned, pushing a smile onto her face. “Just wondering where you’re hiding tonight’s dessert cakes.”
“You will never know,” Agmoda said, smiling with mischief.
This was the Agmoda that Ree loved. Behind her stern demeanor and the rigidly organized kitchen staff, Agmoda loved to play word games and talk about almost anything. It’s terrible, but Aggie’s my only real friend here. Ree’s smile fell at the thought.
“What’s wrong?” Agmoda asked.
“Nothing,” Ree said.
“Is it another nightmare?”
Ree wished she hadn’t shared the nightmare she’d had a few weeks ago. Agmoda put a lot of stock in such things and had spent forever trying to interpret its ‘symbols.’ Ree just wanted to let the images fade.
She hadn’t told Agmoda about Shelu. She worried that Agmoda would talk to her father about it.
“No. It’s nothing.” Ree glanced around, trying to catch sight of Lina again. The girl had disappeared. She was probably carrying food to the dining table. Maybe I can find a way to talk to her sometime and find out what happened to her brother.
A large woman, her apron bursting around her midriff, approached with a loaf of bread in one hand and an apple in the other.
Agmoda gave Ree a look, then turned back to the dough balls she had made. She began to form them into flat discs. “Set them on the table, Doba.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the large woman said. She made her way back to the other end of the kitchen.
“And you, Mistress Ree,” Agmoda said, indicating the bread and apple, “are better off eating the apple too. Give your old horse a handful of oats and that’ll be fine. You need more than bread for your breakfast.”
“My old horse?” Ree asked, feigning offense. “Titan is not just an old horse. He’s a nobly bred warhorse with more battles under his saddle than any man living today. He probably killed a thousand Usurpers himself.”
“You mean he was a warhorse. Now he’s a doddering nag.”
“A nag? Doddering? Are you sure you’re talking about my horse?” Ree grinned as she snatched up her bread and apple.
Agmoda offered a quick smile, her eyes twinkling. “Actually I was talking about you by the time you wed if you don’t learn to brush that hair of yours!”
Ree flounced away. “I don’t want to get married anyway! I just want to work in a kitchen my whole life.” She took a bite from the still-warm loaf as she pushed open the door to the outside with her foot. A blast of cold air froze her front side even as her back was still enjoying the heat of the kitchen.
She forced herself all the way through the doorway into the frigid courtyard. She crossed the courtyard quickly, the frozen mud feeling sharp beneath her feet even through her shoes. I should have brought my shawl. Knowing that the stable would be warm from all the horses and cows, she hurried faster, tucking her food close to her chest.
She shouldered the stable door open and ducked into the low stone building. No torches burned, but there were enough cracks around beams and tiles in the ceiling that she could see as well as she needed. The straw underfoot felt much more comfortable than the rough ground outside, and the smell of horse filled her with a sense of warmth, despite still being able to see her breath.
Her mind went back to the conversation she had overheard. That sounds awful—Lina’s brother going missing. She wondered if Lina would be willing to talk to her about it. But why should I bother her about it? It’s none of my business.
She snorted. A horse snorted back. “Exactly.” She hurried toward Titan. “When have I ever minded my own business?”
Chapter 18
Test
Lakhoni’s pulse pounded in his ears. He weaved among bare-branched saplings and trees with their deep green winter gowns borne down heavily by a cloak of snow. The snow was icy pinpricks on his ankles and calves, the flakes and chunks he was kicking up as he ran often landing on his legs. A flash of gratitude sparked in his heart for the winter boots Gimno had given him.
This was it. He had to bring home a buck today. Had to prove himself for a final time in order to—
He forced his heartbeat to slow even as he sprinted through the snow-laden forest. For a moment, he remembered that day outside the village, allowing the Dance with the Forest to run through him as he ran desperately to warn the village of what he had seen.
His head no longer throbbed, but the crown retained a memory of the blow.
There: a break in the snow. So small it might not be detected if he hadn’t been watching carefully for it.
He stopped abruptly, sucking in a long, slow breath and trying to speed his recovery from the all-out sprint. He hunched over, examining the divot in the snow. He quested around the area surrounding the track.
Another. Now that he had it, he
could easily make out the pattern.
Deer tracks.
He had found it again, just when he had worried he had lost it.
Home?
No. The cavern of the Separated was no home.
Lakhoni stood, taking a brief moment to inhale the forest in its winter slumber. Crisp air filled him, waking every sense.
Then he was off, slower this time so as not to lose the track. As he ran, he pulled the bow from off his back. It was already strung, so all he needed now was to nock an arrow. He slowed to a walk. He was getting close. His eyes moved deliberately from the track to the forest ahead.
No, the cavern was not a home. Not like the village. In his village he had friends and a family who loved him because he was theirs and they were his. He had never doubted he had a place there.
In the cavern, in Gimno’s circle, he had no place. He was borrowing a sleeping mat. He was building a debt to those people with every bite he took of their meat and grain. There was no giving and taking with the sense of community that existed in the village.
In the cavern, there was a sense of everything being measured. A sense that everyone’s place was temporary.
And last night’s conversation had confirmed this feeling.
“Does anyone ever leave?” Lakhoni had asked between bites. Corzon and Anor sat nearby, half facing him. “I mean, leave the Separated?”
“Leave?” Anor had spat. “And go where?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they just want to live a different life.”
Corzon had smiled around a drumstick. “And be separated from the Separated?”
Anor snorted. “That’s stupid. There’s nowhere else to go.”
“Sure there is. I could go and live in my village. It’s empty.”
“No, dummy, you couldn’t go live in your village.” Anor tore a chunk of bread out of the small loaf he held. “Even if it is empty. It’s dead.”
Pain and anger flared in Lakhoni’s chest.
“What Anor means,” Corzon said, putting out a hand as if to ward Lakhoni off, “is that after you’re officially one of the Separated, it’s like your previous life is over.” He smiled and swallowed. “This is life now.”
“And nobody leaves because nobody can know where we are.” Anor said.
“I don’t understand,” Lakhoni said.
“Pretty simple, dummy,” Anor said. “Can’t have people finding out where our hideaway is.”
“What Anor means, again, is that Zyron would probably hunt us down,” Corzon said. “He’s not happy we left. He even sent an army to find us. If he knew how to find us, he would destroy us.”
“Why?”
“We pose a threat,” Anor said, his smile marred by food sticking through his teeth. “We’re strong, we’re mean, and we’re going to kill him.”
“Really?” Lakhoni thought back to all of the talk of birthright.
“Of course,” Corzon said. “He has no right to rule the People of Promise. Nor do the Usurpers have a right to the northlands. The true leader will come from the land of the Dead—from the land of the Living Dead.” He paused for a beat. “That’s us.”
“So if Zyron found out where we were, he would send an army to destroy us?” Lakhoni asked.
“Right,” Corzon said.
“And that’s why nobody leaves,” Anor said.
Lakhoni understood. There could be no danger of whoever left sharing the location of the cavern. So nobody was allowed to leave.
But I will get away, Lakhoni thought as he lowered into a crouch behind some bedraggled, leafless bushes. I’ll pass this test and will be fully trusted. Then he could get away.
Lakhoni crept through the snow. He was very close now. He paused a moment; he was downwind. Perfect. He stayed still for long minutes, his joints stiffening in the cold, despite the breeches and fur he wore.
There. A gentle movement, like a mother’s touch on her child.
The buck moved forward, its stride heavy yet graceful. Lakhoni heard its hooves break through the crust at the top of the snow. The magnificent head lowered to the base of a tree. Soft noises as it pushed aside snow to get at winter moss reached Lakhoni’s ears. He smoothly slid an arrow out of the quiver hanging from his belt.
Cupping the nock in his hands to muffle any sound he might make, Lakhoni set the arrow. Moving entirely by feel, Lakhoni slid his left palm up to the grip on the bow’s shaft, gently adjusting his hand until the grip sat comfortably in his palm. He fixed his eyes on the buck. Its antlers spread at least ten hands wide.
The buck stepped forward as it dug for more moss. Its head was now partially obscured by the trunk of the tree. If he didn’t hurry, the buck would move too far and he wouldn’t be able to take the shot he wanted.
He breathed out, waited two heart beats, then breathed in slowly. Too far back and the arrow would probably shatter on the ribs. Too far forward and the muscle of the shoulder would stop the arrow cold. Just behind and below the top of the shoulder, before the ribs.
The buck stepped forward again.
Have to hurry!
No. Calm. He smoothly raised the bow, pulling back on the string until it was well behind his right ear.
A breath in—he sighted down the point of the arrow, placing the sharpened stone point half a thumb length below the spot he was aiming for. The deer was close; he had to allow for lift in the arrow’s flight path.
A breath out—he steadied himself.
A breath in—totally still, he focused on the string in his right fingers.
A breath out—release.
A puff of wind in his ear, a soft impact on his leather-wrapped left forearm.
He kept his eyes on the spot behind the deer’s front leg. In a moment, the arrow sprouted from the area, a little below where he had been aiming. The buck sprang forward, grunting.
Lakhoni leapt to his feet, pulling another arrow from his quiver.
A moment later, he replaced the second arrow as the buck fell after running about twenty paces. He had done it.
Now he had to clean the carcass and haul it back to the cavern.
Lakhoni looked to the cold, white sky. To the east, a thickening could be detected in the clouds. They hung lower, the shadows in them more pronounced. Snow was coming.
Maybe he would escape during the coming storm.
Lakhoni knelt in the snow, his leather breeches shielding him only briefly from the wet and cold underneath him. Pulling out the steel dagger Gimno had given him a week or two previously, he slid it point first into the snow. He removed his tunic and, standing momentarily, hung it on a nearby branch. He didn’t want to cover his good winter clothes in blood.
As he set to cleaning the buck, Lakhoni ran over the list of supplies he would need if he wanted to escape in the coming snow storm. He had already stashed some extra food in a small cavity in the wall of the hut he shared with Corzon and Anor. With the food were several spark stones to light fires with, along with an old but usable shirt that he had crumpled tightly and wedged into the cavity with a rock to disguise the stash.
These boots should work fine, but I need something to carry everything in and I probably need another shirt—or a cloak of some kind.
He didn’t know how long it would take him to make it to Zyronilxa. He knew that it was in the direction of the mountains that ran near the coast to the east. He had been told it was a ten day journey to the ocean, so he guessed that the city of the king would be at least a few days closer than that.
I need more food.
Not necessarily.
He glanced around as the thought came to him. He knew nobody was watching, but the instinct to make sure overrode his reason.
He didn’t have to bring all of this meat back to the cavern. The buck was big enough that he could find a safe place to stash the meat and the snow would keep it fresh until he could come pick it up. He was about a half day away from the cavern, so there was little chance that somebody else would find the stash.
He
could clean the hide, roll the fresh meat in it, and bury it deeply. He could explain the absence of the hide by saying he had been so eager to show his kill to Gimno that he hadn’t been careful with the cleaning.
And maybe he could stretch the hide over hot coals on one of his first nights away and then use it as a cloak.
There was more work to be done, but the burden did not weigh him down. Lakhoni glanced around at the stark forest of naked trees, their dark brown branches vivid against the backdrop of white on the ground and in the sky. He felt lighter, further from anger and frustration, than he had in many weeks.
He finished carefully removing the deer hide, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand and his prayers of thanks to the First Fathers.
As he began to scrape, a wave of giddiness washed through him. With a little more planning and care, this was going to work. He was going to get away. Soon.
Chapter 19
Escaping the Dead
Lakhoni tucked the wrinkled apple under his arm, allowing the folds of his tunic to hide it. With his other hand he lifted a speared piece of roast venison to his mouth and tore a chunk off. He knew the meat tasted good, that the hot juices were supposed to fill his mouth with pleasure, but his stomach was already so full of meat that he could no longer taste anything. He eased into his hut and crouched on his sleeping mat, moving the hidden apple from his armpit and putting it under the small pile of clothes to the side of his mat.
He had to catch two other apples that tried to roll away and shove them back under the clothes.
Forcing himself to chew, he stood again, looking over his hopefully discreet preparations. Nobody had said anything, and he wasn’t getting any unusual looks.
And why should he? He had been with the Separated for months. He had trained with Anor and Corzon, had been Groomed, and had witnessed the murder of a young man. He had helped the newest halkeen complete his journey to join with the Bonaha’s cadre of special servants.
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