Without looking at him again, Simra set his hand down onto the blanket. She rose gracefully and leaned down to pick up the soup bowl. Before she turned to leave, her voice came quietly.
“Your name. I would like to know your name.”
The door closed quietly behind her, a draft causing the small fire to twist and dance.
Chapter 25
Conversations
Lakhoni was waiting for her when she came in the morning. After she had left the night previous, he had sat with his back against the pelt for a long time. Not long before falling asleep, an idea had come to him.
So he had woken early, excited to see his plan through. He had been tempted to push himself to his feet and go find Simra, but he wanted to maintain the surprise.
She walked in the door, a bigger dish in her hand this time, her face in shadow due to the strong light behind her. It was only a few steps from the door to his sleeping mat. As she knelt, she looked at his face. She noticed the wall next to him.
“Lakhoni,” she read.
Eyes widening in surprise, then stretching in delight, she turned to him. “Your name is Lakhoni?”
He nodded, fierce joy filling him at her reaction.
She smiled at him for a moment and shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
Lakhoni grinned and held up the piece of charcoal that he had used.
Simra closed her hand around his hand that held the charcoal. “Your name is Lakhoni.”
Brown eyes held his for a long, heart-pounding moment.
“Lucky I can read,” she said. She cocked her head to the side, a musing expression on her face. “Lucky you can write.” She gently released his hand, sitting back on her legs.
He made a show of looking around, waving his hand in the air.
“You need something you can write on.”
Lakhoni nodded.
She rose to her feet and ambled around the hut. “Maybe a flat stone, or even a tough piece of leather. It will have to be a light color.” She paused and addressed him. “You’ll have to tell me how you learned to write. Father taught me because he is the healer and he expects me to help him, but who are you that you’ve been taught?” She turned back to her search.
Lakhoni set his charcoal down and reached for the deep plate she had brought in, the smell of eggs and fried vegetables too much for him to resist. Real food.
“I hope you can write fast, Lakhoni. I have lots of questions for you. Lakhoni, that sounds like a name from the west—one of those warrior names. Is that where you’re from?”
He looked up, his mouth full. He had decided the story he would tell her would be as close to the truth as possible. He nodded.
“Hey! You’re supposed to wait for me to help you.” She made to move toward him.
He shook his head and used large movements to show her he was well enough to feed himself.
A strange expression flitted across Simra’s face. She looked sad for a second. Isn’t she glad I’m getting better?
As he gobbled the food, he watched Simra wander around the hut. Eventually she stepped out the door. He guessed she was still looking for something for him to write upon. He scraped the last of the eggs and vegetables off the clay plate and into his mouth, setting down the pronged stick Simra had brought with the food and using his fingers to clean the plate off.
A thought occurred to him. He looked closer at the plate. He turned it upside down.
He was writing as small as he could with his awkward-shaped piece of charcoal when Simra came back in, holding another, far cleaner plate.
“Lakhoni, I think this plate will be perfect—Oh.” She walked quickly over to him. “But I am sure I thought of it first.”
He flashed a smile at her, shook his head and pointed at his chest, and went back to his writing. The charcoal smudged easily if he wasn’t careful, but it showed up very well on the pale brown plate. He heard Simra settle to a seated position next to him. I wonder if she would visit me if her father hadn’t made her take care of me.
A moment later, he held the plate out to Simra. Before she took it, he pointed at the other side of it, reminding her it was dirty.
“Yes, I know it had your breakfast on it.” Simra took the plate. “And no, I’d rather not touch it, thanks.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and pointed at the plate she held.
“Fine, relax.” She made a show of peering at the plate, cocking her head to one side and forcing a confused expression. “Wait, are you sure you know how to write?”
He wished he could shout at her to get on with it, noted the irony of his wish, and flicked her arm gently with one finger. The crafty smile she offered him from under heavy-lidded eyes set his heart pounding.
“Okay.” She cleared her throat and began to read aloud. “I’m from a village far to the west. Everyone was killed in a raid.” She gasped softly and looked up at Lakhoni. “Really? I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, ignoring the sudden pain in his throat.
After a moment of searching his face, she turned back to the note he had scrawled. While she read, he grabbed the clean plate she had brought back with her and began to write.
“I was hurt bad,” she continued aloud. “They thought I was dead. I think my sister might be alive too. I think they took her.”
He glanced up quickly as she finished what he had written and held up a hand for a moment. In another minute he was done with the second note.
They traded plates and she continued reading as he scrubbed the first note off and began writing again. “I tried to follow them, but I was hurt. When I got better, I came as quickly as I could. I need to find my sister.”
In his haste to keep up with Simra, his writing had become larger, giving her less to read on each plate. They traded again.
“Someone was trying to capture me, so I traveled in winter to get away from them. I can’t say if they followed.”
Another trade.
“I ran out of food. I tried to kill a deer and broke my string. I ate part of my cloak.” At this, Simra burst into laughter. Lakhoni laughed too, although the noises he made sounded like a dying dog. “I ate winter moss too.”
She took the next plate. “I kept going because if I stopped, I thought I would die. I want to find my sister. I found your village.”
When Simra finished reading the last note, she straightened and gave Lakhoni a stern glare. “That was somewhat abbreviated, wasn’t it? Are you sure you can’t give any more details?”
Lakhoni raised his eyebrows and hands in question. Like what? He was proud of the story. There were no outright lies.
“Like why your sister would be in Zyronilxa and who took her and killed everyone in your village. Or maybe about who you thought was trying to follow you. Or maybe about how you survived on pieces of cloak and winter moss while you traveled through the heart of winter?”
Lakhoni picked up a plate, using his hand to clean off the previous note. She read while he wrote. “I think the king’s warriors did it.”
She sat back quickly. “Why would you think that?” she asked.
He wrote, “I saw them.”
“And you think they kidnapped your sister and now you think you can go find her? And what? Do you plan on getting revenge?”
He held up one finger and nodded. Then two fingers and he shook his head.
“Yes to the first question and no to the second one?”
He nodded and wrote one more line. “I just want to find my sister. She’s my only family.”
Simra regarded him for a long, quiet minute.
Lakhoni hoped she would be satisfied with his story. He didn’t want to try to explain the Separated or the murder of the young man. Every time he tried to understand those people, he ended up just becoming confused. And he wasn’t seeking revenge; he was going to be the agent of justice. But she couldn’t know that—such knowledge could endanger her entire village.
He tried to think of something mo
re to write that would end the somewhat awkward moment. As he searched Simra’s face for a clue to her thoughts, he had the impression that she was trying to decide if she would believe his story.
She nodded.
Tension he had been holding in his shoulders left him. He leaned forward to try to push himself to his feet. He had been sitting and lying down long enough.
“I know there’s more you aren’t telling me.”
He glanced at her face, her brown eyes, but looked away quickly. Pushing himself to his knees, he met her gaze again. He nodded. I can’t. For lots of reasons.
“Maybe you’ll decide you can trust me,” Simra said. She put out a hand to steady Lakhoni as he eased himself to his feet. “Until then, I suppose that story will have to do.” She rose with him, clearly ready to either catch him or slow his fall if he couldn’t keep his feet.
The room didn’t spin, although his legs shook bonelessly. His breath came fast, his heart beating wildly in his ears.
“Take it slow,” Simra said. “Give it time.”
He stepped off the sleeping mat. He felt shaky like an old man, every muscle in his legs and torso protesting. He extended a hand toward a hut wall, but Simra was there. She stepped under his arm and wrapped her left arm around his back.
“I’ll help,” she said.
He pushed a small smile of thanks onto his face, taking another step. It was as if he had been running for miles. And this is just walking!
He stopped and tried to gather himself.
“Just make it outside. You can sit in the sun for a time,” Simra said.
Her hand and arm were warm and strong. This was a new experience for Lakhoni. He wished he could savor the experience of her touch on his back. But it was all he could do to stay upright.
After a minute of standing still, his heartbeat had slowed considerably. He pushed forward, taking one step, then another. Maybe two more paces to the door.
On his next step, his foot bumped against a slight rise in the dirt floor of the hut and in a moment of panic he knew he didn’t have the strength to keep from falling. He clenched his jaw and stepped back, leaning heavily on Simra. Her arm tightened and she grabbed his hand.
Her voice was soft in the hut that had been his home for over two weeks.
“It’s okay. I won’t let you fall. We’ll do this together.”
Chapter 26
Breakthrough
Lakhoni fought to catch his breath as Simra approached, trying to hide how hard it was for him to not gasp from the exertion of making it to the doorway. The cool, early spring sun shone down, a nice change from the warmth of the healing hut.
“A week later and you can stand and walk all by yourself.” Simra looked him up and down, her lips pursed. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Lakhoni raised his eyebrows in mock offense and nodded.
Simra burst out laughing. “You look like a kicked puppy dog.” Her cheeks suddenly went red and she looked down.
Lakhoni swallowed against the suddenly renewed thundering of his heart. How could every expression she made be so graceful and captivating?
Simra met his gaze again. “Admit it, you’re about to fall over.”
Lakhoni shrugged.
“Need help?”
He grimaced and nodded, pointing around the fire circle in the middle of the huts.
“How many times around this time?” Simra asked, draping one of Lakhoni’s arms over her shoulders and pulling his side tightly to hers. The arrangement felt both familiar and intoxicating.
Lakhoni forced his concentration to return to the task at hand. He held up three fingers.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Try as he might to hold his own weight, Lakhoni felt himself leaning more and more on Simra. His breath came in short gasps. “Enough?” Simra asked as they completed the second circle.
He shook his head, feeling like he was constantly swallowing a trickle of moisture. He cleared his throat as they started around again. A heavy, thick cough tore through him. Another came, and then he had to fight to stay upright as the attack felt like it was tearing something loose in his chest and throat. He grunted and coughed, hacking up things he didn’t want to look at.
Simra practically carried him back to the hut. Concern tightened her eyes as the coughs racked through Lakhoni.
“Do you need tea? Water?” Simra knelt to help Lakhoni lie back.
Lakhoni pictured his throat opening wider to let air through, forcing himself to breathe slower to try to stop the coughs. Another cough tore through his chest. It was as if a blunt claw was scraping his chest clean. He turned and spat, nodding.
Simra suspended a blackened clay tea pot above the fire, then brought Lakhoni fresh water from the well. Clenching his hide blanket, Lakhoni forced some calm into his breathing and took a few sips. That seemed to help the strange sensations in his chest.
“Better?”
He nodded.
“Tea?” Her dark eyes, filled with concern, captured him. He felt lost and found.
He nodded again.
Lakhoni watched as Simra steeped some roots and leaves in steaming water, adding a dark syrup and stirring. He cleared his throat carefully, wary of setting off another coughing attack. What was that? His throat felt somehow more open, cleaner.
He took the tea from Simra’s hands.
“Do you need help?” Simra asked.
He smiled, hefting the thick cup and taking a sip. The sharp, warm liquid coated his throat with soothing tingles.
“Fine, so you can drink on your own,” Simra said. “Father needs me. I’ll check on you later.”
Lakhoni smiled again, the urgent need to cough having subsided. He watched her leave as he sipped more of the heavy tea. Maybe it would be better if I never fully recovered. Life could be worse than this.
After a few more gulps of tea, he set the cup down and leaned his head back against the stone wall. He let a long, slow breath out, licking dry lips. He glanced at the plates he and Simra had used earlier to communicate. One of them still held the last sentence of a story he’d told her about Lamorun and him hunting a strangely elusive deer. Her laughter had been like music.
So far he hadn’t slipped up, hadn’t revealed the truth of his mission. Being forced to write everything he said slowed conversations down enough that he could be careful. Perhaps losing his voice had been the Great Spirit’s way of protecting Simra and her village. If it came out that they had harbored the king’s future assassin, there would be no mercy for them.
And spending time alone with Simra isn’t bad either. Visions of her smile filled his mind as he closed his eyes. “Simra.” Even her name was beautiful.
He sat up, swallowing fast. He’d said her name aloud. He licked his lips again and tried swallowing again. Fear and eagerness battled within him. He tried it again. “Simra.”
It was a breathy, rough croak, but it was a voice. His voice.
Lakhoni wanted to spring up, run and tell Simra, shout to the village, the world, that his voice was back.
The sudden energy flooded out of him with the next realizations: no more slow conversations, and the end of his time with Simra.
He slumped back to the hut wall. “Oh no.”
Chapter 27
A Voice
“We still don’t know who this boy is!” Mibli’s voice carried throughout the village, bouncing off of huts and back at Lakhoni. The small, powerful man fairly jittered with frustrated energy.
Lakhoni stood with his back to the fire, facing the group of people and animals that had gathered. The scene felt familiar, although it took him a minute to place it. That first night. A hot back and cold front.
But much had changed. His energy had returned. After his first day in the sun, with Simra stopping by regularly to offer him water and food, his recovery had accelerated. A spear of shame cut through Lakhoni. Nobody knew his voice had returned yet. Just another few days to recover all of my strength. And to be with Simra.
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His strength had returned enough for him to help carry wood for the fire and help with other work around the village. He was strong enough to run, even to hunt. Simra had found a new deer gut string for him and he had decided to work outside near the central fire. Mibli had noticed what he was doing and had confronted him. When Mibli demanded to know if Lakhoni meant to hunt and Lakhoni had nodded, Mibli exploded.
“We still cannot trust this boy! He acts like his voice is gone, but maybe that’s all it is! An act so he won’t be caught in lies!”
Mibli’s words struck far too close to home.
Neas emerged from the crowd, Simra right behind him. “But what reason do we have to distrust him?” he asked. “He has told Simra his story. He arrived here near death. Why would he lie?”
The rest of the villagers seemed content to let Mibli and Neas have it out. Lakhoni wondered if this was a normal occurrence. And would they support whichever of the two won the argument? Mibli stepped closer to Neas, anger visible in each quivering muscle. “You seem happy to allow a boy we don’t know to just walk in here and live off of our hard work. By the Sword, Neas, you would let him hunt with us and join our village, our life, without knowing who he is?”
“I know who he is,” Neas said. “He is Lakhoni. He is an orphan. And why shouldn’t we let him join our lives. We have space, don’t we?”
Lakhoni glanced away from the argument, catching Simra as she looked over at him. She offered him a small smile. He began to wonder if he should have been more open with her so he could deserve her kindness more.
He wished he hadn’t chosen to work on his bow that morning. Lakhoni was glad Neas had come to his defense, but he wondered if he should have told Simra and Neas . . .
It was too late now.
“You trust too blindly,” Mibli said.
“You fear too blindly,” Neas countered.
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