He was one of them.
He stepped back out of the hut, taking another bite of the meat.
“Hungry tonight.”
Lakhoni turned and grunted at Corzon, nodding.
“You’ve eaten half a haunch yourself,” Corzon said.
Trying not to grimace with discomfort as he swallowed, Lakhoni nodded again. “Yeah. I feel like my stomach is a bottomless pit. It’s like I can’t get full. I’m tired of chewing though.”
“You’re probably going through a growth season.” Corzon paced toward the fire, his hand filled with his eating utensils. “Just be careful you don’t let the growth go to your nose.”
“Don’t want to end up like you,” Lakhoni said, shoving the last of the venison on his small knife into his mouth. He felt like he had eaten an entire deer. But he wasn’t finished. He had to fill his stomach, get every bit of food into his body tonight that he could.
“That’s right,” Corzon said. “So skinny the girls worry they’ll break me if they hold me tight.”
“No.” Lakhoni followed Corzon to the fire. He sliced another piece of meat off the haunch that dripped steadily into the glowing coals. “I thought they were worried you would put their eyes out in the heat of passion.”
“You see,” Corzon turned to Lakhoni, a sad expression on his face. “I can’t win!”
“Well, maybe it’s better to stay away from the girls than to be like Anor.”
“Anor is doing his manly duty,” Corzon said. “It’s about time you got to it as well.”
“Right.”
Corzon smiled and raised his eyebrows. “What? You don’t think the girls are interested in the newest addition to the Separated? You don’t think they would swoon if they got the chance to wrap their loving, shapely arms around the poor lad who’s the lone survivor of a tragic attack?”
Lakhoni fought down the sudden desire to leap at Corzon and slam his knife into him. How could he talk like that? He gritted his teeth and forced a smile. “But that would be taking advantage of their pity.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
Lakhoni opened his mouth to offer a retort, but found he had none. Instead he took another bite of venison.
“See? Nothing at all. You get your pick of the lovely young ladies and maybe you’ll find one you like.” Corzon lowered himself to sit on one of the large stones surrounding the fire.
Lakhoni snorted. He had to admit he had noticed some of the girls of the Separated. Their glinting eyes, shapely legs, and smiles had certainly left an impression. But he had never believed that they would be interested in him that way. He dropped onto a wood stump near Corzon.
Besides, his village had gone about things much differently than the Separated. Here, until you were joined to a single mate like Gimno and Vena, you had your pick of partners. In his village, the young men and women were expected to save themselves and then offer themselves as a gift to the new marriage.
“I’ve got you thinking, don’t I?” Corzon grinned wide. “You’re probably thinking about Hana or Jasnia right now, aren’t you?”
Jasnia’s wide smile flashed through his mind. He shook his head. “No. The time’s not right.”
“Lakhoni,” Corzon said. “The time is always right.”
Lakhoni laughed. “Or never, in your case.”
Corzon adopted a wounded expression. “Joke about such a sensitive subject, will you?” He glanced around, then leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Truth is, me and Melana are promised to each other. But you can’t tell anyone.”
Shock hit Lakhoni like a ball of snow in the face. How? How can they go about a normal life when they murder and won’t let anyone leave? He realized that he must look like a dying fish. “Wow. That’s amazing, Corzon. Congratulations.”
“You have to keep this quiet.” Corzon cast a quick look about the circle of huts. “Her father doesn’t know yet.”
Melana was not much older than Alronna—maybe fourteen years old. Lakhoni wondered what his father would have done had one of the village boys courted Alronna. A twinge of pain flared, but he paid it no mind. It was becoming easier to fight back the grief. He wondered if he should be happy about that.
“Of course,” Lakhoni said. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Especially Anor. He would take pleasure in ruining this for me.”
“Especially Anor,” Lakhoni said. He realized he hadn’t taken a bite of venison for a few minutes. He eyed the dark meat on his knife. He let out an uncomfortable grunt.
“Not hungry anymore?”
“No,” Lakhoni said, flicking the meat into the coals. “I guess not.”
* * *
Lakhoni had struggled to keep himself awake, even as he made his breathing even and kept his eyes closed. He had counted the stones making up the wall next to his sleeping mat three times after the last sound of activity had faded.
Now he carefully turned, trying to make it appear as if his sleep were restless. Unless they were feigning sleep as well, Anor and Corzon now slept deeply. Corzon’s nightly chorus of snores was just warming up.
Lakhoni rolled back, this time to face the wall. He pulled a leather bag he had found two days previously out from under his mat. He didn’t know whose it was and, to tell the truth, he didn’t care. After tonight, they couldn’t do anything to him. Moving as quietly as possible, he pushed a tunic into the bag, then all of the apples. Next he pushed his second pair of breeches into the bag. A pouch of smoked meat followed the breeches into the bag, then two loaves of bread he had hidden over the last three days.
He would wear his last tunic, his boots, and breeches. He would also take his blanket to help ward off the cold. For this first night, he would not have to worry about finding a protected place to sleep; he would be on the move until well into the next morning.
Still moving carefully, Lakhoni got dressed, leaving the boots off for now and tying them so he could drape them over his neck. He picked up his bag, gripping it tightly in his left fist, and stepped toward the door. Almost forgot! He padded back to his sleeping mat and grabbed his knife in its sheath. He slid it into the tight waistband of his breeches. Finally, he looped his bow and quiver over his shoulder.
He peeked out the door. Breathing through his mouth, he stepped out of the hut and quickly departed Gimno’s circle. As he padded in bare feet along the wall of the cavern, he wondered if he should feel sorry or sad to go. He looked inward.
Nothing. He had always known he would never feel at home here. Even with someone like Corzon who was almost a friend. And Gimno who treated him like a son. Vena who had been so concerned about him when he first came.
As he thought about each person, he found that there was an undeniable feeling of warmth and affection for them. Even for Anor, despite the young man’s gruff treatment of him.
But he had no concerns about leaving. They might miss him, but he was sure they would happily kill him if they knew he was planning to go directly to the king’s city.
Keeping to the darkest shadows in the inky-black cavern, Lakhoni quickly made his way to the entrance corridor. There was usually a guard on duty to make sure that nobody stumbled into the cavern by mistake, but since that never happened, it was common knowledge that the guard usually went to sleep in one of the alcoves next to the shaft. Lakhoni had seen the blankets there.
As long as Corzon and Anor slept soundly and nobody else happened to discover he was gone in the next few minutes, he would get out of the lair of the Separated. The next issue was getting far enough away in the snowstorm that had begun the previous day.
He crept along the corridor, pausing with each step to listen for any noise. As he rounded one turn, he began to hear the soft song of the winter wind. Many careful steps later, he found himself at the bottom of the shaft. He hung the strap of his bag over his shoulder, checked to make sure his boots were still tied tightly, and reached up for the first handle.
Lakhoni had climbed up and down this sh
aft so many times that before he noticed any effort, he was already outside. He looked to the sky. No stars were visible. Merely a heavy, gray mass could be seen. Wind blew hard against his face, the snow on the ground scraping at his feet with frozen claws.
But no snow fell. Should I go back and wait until a night when I know it’s snowing? His heart beat loudly in his chest. After all of his preparation. He couldn’t go back and wait again, worrying that he might never get away.
Surely it would snow more tonight, or at least in the early morning.
Lakhoni stepped away from the hole and hissed as his bare foot landed on the winter-dead talons of a bush. He stumbled, going to all fours as his feet slipped out from under him in the slippery snow. A whisper of noise caught his attention. He turned and saw a clump of snow slide down the entrance of the cavern. He dove away from the entrance, flinging himself to his feet. Stupid! The guard would hear the snow. Would he be suspicious?
He had to move—
Voices! He couldn’t make out the words, but one of the voices sounded like Anor.
He glanced at his bare feet, felt the boots strung around his neck. No time, and bare feet might be better for stealth. Hugging his bow tightly against his body and using his other arm to hold the boots and his pouch, Lakhoni tore into the forest, shards of frozen snow stabbing into his feet.
He ducked around trees, careful to keep his bow from catching on branches. After a hundred paces, he paused and threw a glance back toward the cavern. Dark shapes emerged, streaming into the winter night. He counted ten men before he yanked his attention away. He burst into a run again, applying all he knew about stealth, making not even a whisper of sound.
Seeing his tracks in the snow, he understood that his silence wouldn’t make a difference. He dug through his memories of the area and the skills he’d learned, desperate for a plan. His mind offered nothing.
His tracks. They would find him easily, no question. He couldn’t just try to keep ahead of them, either. He was young, but these warriors were hardened, toughened by years of battle. His youth and tracks would work against him.
He had to make one or both of these work for him. Now, with the problem clear in his mind, his feet and legs flinging him through the forest, a picture of a nearby creek came to him. He angled south, toward the creek, feeling branches whisper past his ears, the crisp night air chilling his lungs.
He wished the Separated made noise. Knowing they were chasing him, but being totally unable to hear them, terrified him worse than the feral growls of the king’s raiding party. Slowing as he neared the creek, he stopped at the bank, slashing his bow through the thin layer of ice formed above the running water. He cleared the ice upstream and down, as far as he could reach. Next, he put his boots on the ground, pressing them firmly into the snow. Crouching low, he set his bow down and plunged his hands into the icy water, pulling several rocks free from the creek bed. He threw these, shattering the ice downstream. He grabbed four more and threw these as well; he had to make it look like he had run downstream to avoid making tracks in the snow. To his delight, he saw that he had weakened the ice enough that the running mountain water swamped the ice farther downstream.
Hands and feet nearly frozen, his body jittering from the cold, he lifted his bow and set the boots back around his neck, knowing the Separated would appear at any moment. Carefully, he walked backward, placing his feet in the tracks he had left moments before.
Lakhoni felt as if his body were freezing from each extremity, the cold marching ever closer to his core. The taste of his throat, shredded by the frigid air, made him think of raw flesh. He ached to roll himself into a tight ball next to a blazing fire. He had been outside for only minutes! Can I do this for another few days?
He stretched to reach another of his tracks. He had followed his footsteps around a few trees and now, heart pounding fiercely, he reached high into the tree he stood under and wrapped his frozen fingers around a branch. Shaking in the cold, wishing he’d had more time to bundle up, he hauled himself into the tree, careful to not leave any markings in the snow along the branches or break any twigs off. The pine tree’s jagged bark cut into his frozen feet, although the pain was numbed by the cold. He climbed fast, but carefully, watching the ground beneath him. Ten feet up, now fifteen. At twenty feet, he stopped, seeing movement down below.
Separated warriors, barely lit by the stars, flowed around the trees, several of them bent low, studying his tracks. They glided beneath his tree and toward the river. Lakhoni slid close to the trunk, hugging it tightly, willing himself to become part of it. He adjusted his things, trying to blend in with the tree trunk.
Ahead, he heard low voices. They had to be at the creek. Would they believe his ruse? A few moments later, his heart sank as the shapes of two warriors glided back into view. They moved slowly, attention moving between the ground and the trees. Lakhoni held his breath, clinging to the rough bark. Where were the rest of them? He heard voices again, still at the creek and peered through the branches to try and make out what was going on.
The next few minutes passed slowly, as Lakhoni heard men call to each other. It sounded like some men had crossed the creek and were trying to pick up his trail. The two warriors who had passed beneath his tree earlier returned. Gradually, the low voices faded, the men moving off.
Fighting the urge to lower himself to the ground and light a fire to warm up, Lakhoni studied the surrounding trees. Shivers wracked his body; his teeth felt as if they would shatter against each other.
Several branches of the tree he clung to extended far enough into the branches of a tree closer to the creek for him to climb across. Testing each step, moving like an old man made wise from many falls, he eased along the branches. Heart-pounding minutes later, he grasped the new tree’s trunk, preparing himself for another branch journey.
By the time he wove his arms around the trunk of his first tree on the far side of the creek, Lakhoni’s body trembled uncontrollably. Would the Separated return and hear his teeth chattering? His bones knocking? He tried to find his center and failed completely. He had to go farther, had to leave nothing to chance.
His muscles felt frozen into the shape of the tree’s trunk. He couldn’t do it. How long had it been? Would they come back? Exhaustion joined the freezing cold; he could sleep here. This would be fine. The tree was soft and welcoming, the heavy clouds above smiling. Sleep would be fine. In the morning he would go back to the village and laugh with his father.
His father’s eyes, gray and lifeless, burned through the haze enveloping Lakhoni. He yanked his thoughts back together, mentally kicking himself. He had to keep moving or he would freeze to death. He pried his fingers from the bark and blew on them, eyeing the path he would take to the next tree. Body shaking, feet and fingers numb, he moved again. Dimly he noticed that these trees across the creek grew on a rise, and that the ground was getting closer with each tree he moved to.
Two trees later, his frozen hand slipped. He fell. His bow caught on a branch, wrenching his shoulder. He hit the ground. He rolled onto his back and pulled the boots from around his neck. Their soft leather and hard soles were frozen in the cold night air. Making sure his feet were dry, he forced his feet into the boots. The pain that greeted his feet as they squeezed into the boots told him he was in luck; no frostbite yet.
He stood, wobbling. He blew on his hands. He drew his second tunic out of his bag and put it on. Lakhoni turned east, thankful he had been out enough to be able to know the direction without depending on the stars.
His first steps sent pain stabbing up through his legs. He wiggled his toes with each step, trying to warm his feet. Soon tingles sprouted in his feet. As he walked, he tucked his hands into his armpits.
His lips stiffened in the frigid wind. The wind would be all right if it brought snow. For now, it only made Lakhoni feel he was taking two steps for every step of progress he made.
The icy gusts cut through his tunics.
He had to get to the d
eer skin he had hidden and wrap himself in it. He regretted not stealing one of Anor’s warm cloaks.
With his feet feeling warmer, his boots somewhat more flexible, Lakhoni began to jog, hoping to warm his body with the movement. He kept up the pace for an hour, his hands tucked again into his arm pits and his head ducked against the wind.
Please First Fathers! Bring the snow! He glanced behind, easily seeing his footprints in the snow through the gloom of the night. If the warriors of the Separated ranged far enough, they would find his new tracks. The wind was helping somewhat, blowing snow around a little and softening the pits he was leaving in the snow, but he knew it wasn’t enough.
After another hour of jogging, his face felt like a block of river ice. He had taken to cupping his hands on his face every few minutes, allowing his breath to warm his lips and nose. But the effect didn’t last long.
As he moved, he made sure to follow the path to his stashed meat in the hide. The split tree there, the rock formation that looked like Corzon with his huge nose under the skinny birch.
This is it. The pale light of the winter night illuminated the marker he had left. He had placed a pile of rocks on top of the hole he had dug, not wanting to take chances with scavengers. He moved the rocks, placing them in what he thought looked like natural positions on the ground. He pulled his tunic sleeves over his hands and dug through the snow, quickly finding the loose, frozen dirt underneath. With his knife, he dug into the earth, stopping at regular intervals to blow on his hands.
The hide was cold and hard under his fingertips. His breath came quickly as he freed the package from the ground and tucked it under an arm. He would keep it out of the bag so that if it began to thaw, the blood from the meat wouldn’t destroy his food and clothing.
He threw a look down the path behind him. His trail was clear, easily seen by even a child. He started up again, cupping his face, jogging just enough to stay warm and not work up a sweat.
He thought he had covered three miles or more by the time the clouds at the eastern edge of the sky began to glow with the new sun. As if they had been waiting on the day, a few snowflakes fell. Exhaustion slammed into Lakhoni along with relief. He sought a pine tree with low branches and burrowed under the first one he found. He kicked snow off the thick bed of needles in the cave created by the bending branches.
Lakhoni Page 10
