“I fear for the safety of our village! That is my duty.”
“And it is my duty to look to the health of our people here,” Neas said. “We would be sick indeed if we allowed a dying boy to rot in front of our fire. And we are sick if we don’t offer him our hospitality.”
“That’s all fine, but that doesn’t mean I should let him carry weapons and sneak around behind me and my hunters as we search for food.”
“You make a good point. He shouldn’t hunt by himself and of course we must be careful but what could he say that he has not already written that would convince you that he doesn’t lie? That he really is an orphan who needs a new home?” Neas surveyed the crowd. “At what point in our hope for safety do we sacrifice compassion?”
Neas’s words pierced Lakhoni. He knew that at nearly fifteen years old, he was almost old enough to start his own family. He figured that his age had to be fairly clear to the villagers. The idea that Neas meant to provide him a new home had never occurred to him.
“So you want to adopt him?”
“Maybe the village should adopt him,” Neas said, his voice quiet.
“Maybe you just don’t think any of the young men of the village are good enough for your precious daughter,” Mibli said, “and you want to groom this one to be her husband. First Fathers know you’ve had her spending a lot of time with him.”
Silence followed Mibli’s insinuation. Many of the villagers nodded in agreement. There had to be a history here, something Lakhoni hadn’t detected before.
Neas stepped closer to Mibli, who took a small step backward. Simra looked like she wanted to explode. This was getting bad. Whatever had happened before, Lakhoni was causing it to get worse. He had to stop it. It would probably mean he would be thrown out, and would surely mean Simra would be upset with him for not telling her earlier. It didn’t matter.
“Please,” Lakhoni said. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
His voice, rough and raw, cut through the tension between Neas and Mibli.
“He talks!” Mibli crowed, spinning to glare at Lakhoni. “You see! He was lying all along.”
“No!” Lakhoni said. “Just for the last week.” He stared at the frozen ground, not wanting to see Simra’s face. He knew she would be hurt at his deception. He just hadn’t wanted to answer all of the questions he knew would be asked.
“Why should we believe that? He lies about not talking. What else is he lying about?” Mibli turned in a circle, his voice growing louder. “Why would a stranger fake illness and infiltrate our homes? Can’t you see? He’s a Usurper, come to spy on us!”
Shock stabbed Lakhoni like a cold spear. “No,” he said, his voice still cracking. “Why would you—”
“He’s a liar!” Mibli crowed. “I told you from the start we shouldn’t allow him to stay. Everyone’s heard of the Usurper spies near villages to the west and north. He’s one of them!”
“He is not,” Simra said. “He’s one of us.” Her dark eyes darted to Lakhoni’s then away.
“You would say anything to protect him, of course,” Mibli said.
“Look, I’ll just go,” Lakhoni said. “I’ll leave today.” He wished Simra would look back at him.
“No, you’re not going anywhere,” Mibli said. “We will confine you until you tell the truth. Then you will see what we do with invaders like you.”
“I’m not a Usurper,” Lakhoni said.
“Neas, he will be confined in the hut,” Mibli said.
When there was no response from Neas, Lakhoni looked up. Simra and her father stood in close conversation, their words too muffled for him to hear. Neas had bent forward so his shaggy head was closer to Simra’s. She shook her head firmly several times as they spoke.
“So since nobody objects, boy, confined you will be,” Mibli said.
Lakhoni met Mibli’s angry stare. “My name is Lakhoni.”
“Mibli, I believe you are wrong,” Neas said. His deep voice commanded the villagers’ attention. “But it does not hurt to take care. He can be kept in the sick hut for now, with a guard on the door.”
“He should be bound,” Mibli said.
“There are no weapons in there,” Neas said. “Your warriors can surely stop a young, unarmed boy, can’t they?”
Mibli glared. “Fine.” He gestured to a nearby man. “Take him.”
As Lakhoni was led through the crowd, he glanced over his shoulder. Simra’s deep brown eyes finally met his. As he looked away, he was sure he had seen pain in those eyes. He wanted to go back and try to explain. He wanted to protect her. If anyone knew the fullness of his intentions in Zyronilxa, they would never let him go. And if they somehow did let him go and anyone near the king found out about help he had received, Simra’s village would be in danger.
But there wasn’t time to tell her this. They’re going to question me. Lakhoni couldn’t take the chance that he would let his plans slip. He had to get away.
The man leading him grabbed Lakhoni’s bow, wrenching it from his hand. He pushed Lakhoni hard through the doorway and shut the door behind him. Lakhoni spun to a crack between the door and the wall and watched for shadows and movement. The man shuffled to the right of the door and leaned against the outer wall.
Lakhoni would wait. The man’s attention would lag. Maybe he could wait until darkness was falling.
Lakhoni turned to face the hut, searching the shadows. He would need food. A weapon would be helpful. First though, he would need a bag.
And he would need to listen for movement outside so that anyone coming in would not see him making preparations to leave.
Pleased that his body no longer protested much whenever he moved, Lakhoni searched the hut. It wasn’t long before he found a pile of familiar items on a small wooden table. Everything he had brought to the hut, minus his bow. His bag, a pair of breeches, his chewed cloak. Even the dagger he had carried from the cavern of the Separated. Neas had obviously forgotten about leaving Lakhoni’s things in the hut.
Maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Lakhoni wondered if Neas had deliberately made it seem like he would be helpless. Does he want me to escape? Does he think it will go badly for me if I stay?
It didn’t matter; it was time to go. He held the bag open and shoved the dagger and breeches in. He would need food. If he could get his bow back, he would be able to hunt, especially since winter was drawing to a close. He scoured the hut for food, finding an empty clay box that sat under a wood shelf containing bandaging supplies. He grabbed some of the bandages. It never hurt to be prepared.
He sat on his bed, waiting for dark to fall and adding up the days. He had left the Separated in the dead of winter and had traveled for nearly two weeks. He had been in Simra’s village for another five or six weeks.
Spring had come already, so it should be safe for him to travel.
As he sat waiting for nightfall and the moment for his escape, he practiced the centering techniques Gimno had taught him. He eased his weight backward slightly, straightening and firming his spine and crossing his legs in front of him. He rested his wrists atop his knees, breathing slowly through his slightly open mouth.
Finding a dark whorl on the pale wood door, Lakhoni focused on it, willing air smoothly in and out of his lungs. He considered lighting a fire to ward off the chill of the waning day, but dismissed the idea. Better if the light source was outside if anyone came in—they would make an easier target and their eyes would take a moment to adjust. That moment could be the only chance he had.
He shook the thoughts away. Focus.
It took him longer than he expected to find his center. Images of Simra’s face, reminders of the shame he felt at hiding that he could speak—they all crowded into his mind. Simra’s kindness, and that of her father, reminded him so much of his first impressions of Gimno’s wife, Vena. It reminded him of home, too.
He reflected on the possibility that he might actually stay in the village. Maybe he could convince Mibli he wasn’t a Usurper. Maybe he could have a new home.
He could leave his journey behind. What were the chances of his finding Alronna, much less rescuing her, anyway?
He forced the thoughts away. His course was set.
Breathe. Focus. As he finally pushed all thought away, the whorl on the door seemed to become at once less defined but larger. He closed his eyes, opening all of his other senses to the world around him. Center. Gimno had taught him that in this state, he could extend his awareness somewhat, almost see what was happening in the world around him, despite his eyes being closed.
Smell came first. Someone was cooking deer over the fire outside. Flatbread too. Then hearing and more. Children played with dogs nearby. Somebody walked close enough to the hut he sat in that he felt the tremor of the earth under their feet.
Now Lakhoni, still in his deepened state of consciousness, willed his muscles to relax, but remain ready to move at a moment’s notice. He connected with the earth beneath him, feeling its pulse.
Somebody was walking toward the door of the hut. Lakhoni stuffed his bag of things under his blanket, sliding backward and to the side so that his back leaned on the stone wall. He glanced down, assuring himself that the bag was well hidden.
Voices came through the door, then the door opened outward. Simra stepped through the darkening shadows of the day, golden flame reflecting on her skin. She held a plate of food in one hand, the other propping the door open. She stood that way for a long moment, her face flat—as if she was forcing all expression away.
Lakhoni forced the guilt away, even as his heart leapt at the sight of her.
“They said I could bring you some food.” Simra crossed the hut in a few strides. She lowered the plate to Lakhoni.
He took it with a flat smile.
She turned back toward the door.
“Simra,” he said without meaning to.
She stopped, but didn’t turn back.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
A few seconds passed. She took another step, then stopped. “Typical.”
He could see the disappointment in the set of her shoulders. “What?”
“It’s typical, that’s all.” Now she turned so he could see her face. “The first words you say to me are an apology. Because you lied. It shouldn’t be a surprise.”
He heard the anger in her voice, but there was more than that in her face. Pain in her eyes and mouth.
“Simra, I . . .” he had no idea what to say. “I’m not a Usurper.”
“I know that,” Simra said, her voice tight with anger.
“I don’t . . . I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Nobody ever does.” Moisture glinted at the edges of her eyes, but she appeared to will it away. “You’re no different.”
Something in the way she said that pierced him. He wanted to be different, although he didn’t understand what she meant.
“Will you at least tell me why you hid that you got your voice back?”
Lakhoni’s throat tightened. He wanted to make her feel better, wanted to figure out what to say or do that would work. But he had no idea what that might be. Finally, he met her gaze and nodded. “It’s because I was worried I would have to talk more about what happened to my family. And why I’m here.”
Simra tilted her head to the side for a moment, her eyes searching his face. “Good start,” she said. She waited.
“And . . . I just don’t want to put anybody in danger. What happened to my family and village . . . it could happen here too.”
“Is that really why?”
He considered for a moment. “Mostly.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. He was sure she was going to leave, furious with the way he kept things to himself.
Instead she lowered herself to her knees. “Another good answer. Can you tell me the rest?”
He stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure her out. I guess honesty. Honesty even if I don’t tell her everything. And I tell her when I’m not telling her everything.
“Eat before it gets cold,” Simra said.
He glanced down and automatically took a bite of the meat. “There is more, but I don’t feel right talking about it. I think . . . I think it might put you and your village in danger.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell me you could talk because . . .”
Hadn’t he already explained this part? “Because talking is faster than writing. When I write, I can control our conversations better.” And because there are other words I fear to tell you.
“Fathers curse you,” she swore. She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. “When you get honest, you really do it right.”
He decided that was a good thing. He leaned forward, scooting out from the wall a little. “And, the truth is also that . . . I still don’t like to remember what happened.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the door, then leaned forward on her hands and moved closer, dropping her volume. “But maybe I can help you with whatever you’re trying to do. Find your sister, I mean.” Their eyes locked. Moments passed, measured in heartbeats. “I’d like to help.”
She meant it. He took a moment to watch the door, then moved closer to her, not wanting anybody outside to hear. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I think the people who . . . who took her were Zyron’s warriors. I think she’s in Zyronilxa.”
“King Zyron?” Simra sat taller, tension in her body. “You think your sister is a captive of the king?” At least she’d had the presence of mind to whisper, although it had been a harsh whisper.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“They left me and everyone else for dead.” Lakhoni inwardly flinched as memories of his murdered family and friends struck him. “She wasn’t there.”
Simra’s expression softened somewhat. “You looked for her?”
He nodded, tears threatening to spill. He cleared his throat and stared at the hut floor. “If she had escaped, she would have come back when it was safe.” Lakhoni looked into Simra’s deep, dark eyes. “They have her.” His mouth dry, he clumsily took another bite of food. He still meant to get away this night; he would need plenty of food in him.
“And you think you can rescue her from the king’s city?” Simra asked.
“I don’t know. But she’s my sister.”
The simple statement put an end to Simra’s questions. The final tension slid out of her body. As she slid from her kneeling position to sit on the ground, Lakhoni realized that in their desire to keep their conversation quiet, they had moved quite close to each other.
He jabbed at the next piece of meat to hide his discomfort.
“It’s already dead,” Simra said.
“Are you sure?” he said. “I thought it moved.”
“Positive.”
The air between them grew thicker after she spoke. He wanted to look up from his plate, knew it would be strange if he just kept staring at his food. He forced himself to raise his head and found her eyes.
“Lakhoni,” she said. “I’m sorry about your family. I wish I could help you find your sister.”
“Alronna,” he said. He couldn’t tear his eyes from hers. His heart thundered in his chest. He had to push it away. He couldn’t let Simra, or how he felt, slow him down. He had to move.
“What?”
“Her name is Alronna.”
“Oh.”
He tried to find his center, but he was talking before he could stop himself. “Simra, I . . . you . . . I mean, you’re the most . . .”
“Please don’t say it,” Simra said.
“Don’t say what?”
“Just . . . boys tell me I’m the most beautiful girl they’ve ever seen. But all they want is a woman. To keep the hut, to scrape their hides. To . . .” she looked down.
In that moment, Lakhoni understood her self-doubt and her directness. He finally saw why she felt uncomfortable so often and the conflict he had seen in her made sense. He set his pla
te aside. It took all of his courage, but, holding his breath, he reached out and took her hand.
“I was going to say that you’re the most unusual, giving person I’ve ever known.” He didn’t know where the words came from, but their shape was right.
In a heartbeat, her reddish-brown eyes filled his vision.
“You are beautiful, but not just on the outside.” He swallowed. “You could never just be someone’s woman. You would be a companion. A help meet.”
Simra blinked. She squeezed his hand and stared hard at him.
The moment lengthened.
“Lakhoni,” she said. “You . . .” Suddenly she broke into a wide smile. It set his heart to thundering. “You have a way with words.”
He could think of nothing to say. If she hadn’t been squeezing his hand so hard, he would have been trembling with the emotion that her smile and touch awoke in him. He knew, as her eyes grew bigger and a force both outside and inside of him pushed him closer to her, that he had to get away from her village. Rescue his sister. He had to get away from her.
His heart stopped as her eyes filled his vision completely. Soft warmth touched his lips. She filled every sense with sweetness.
The world dissolved.
Chapter 28
Nightwing
Simra broke away first, pulling back from the kiss with a deep breath. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, then dropped. “That . . . I don’t know . . .”
Thoughts roiled in Lakhoni’s head. Her name kept flashing through his mind, as if it were an anchor his brain was trying to grasp hold of. I can’t leave her. But he had to get to Alronna. She had to still be alive. Even as he wanted to kiss Simra again, he knew he had to fight the urge. He was going to have to leave her. He didn’t want to make it harder.
“I know you have to go,” Simra said, her face in shadow.
“I . . .” Lakhoni didn’t think he had the courage to say the words himself. How could he do this to her? Suddenly ashamed of himself, he looked to the ground. The sounds of activity outside returned as he searched for what to say. “I’m sorry.” He knew it wasn’t enough.
“No,” Simra said. “I’m sorry. I should not have . . .”
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