Lakhoni

by Jared Garrett

  Silence fell again. Lakhoni’s thoughts raced. He couldn’t lose focus; he had to get out of the village before Mibli did something serious. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to go. But now there was Simra.

  He shifted backward, his eyes flicking all over the hut, nervous about looking at Simra’s face. Now there was Simra. His family and village murdered. Alronna taken. Months with the Separated. The terrible winter. And because of it all, there was Simra. Why?

  Why would the Great Spirit set him on a path of justice and grief only to have that path end with . . . this? With Simra. But it can’t be over. I have to find Alronna. And I have to get them . . . show them that they can’t get away with murder.

  He had to leave her.

  Lakhoni leaned forward, tight energy building in his chest. He took Simra’s hand.

  But he would come back. He would survive and return to her.

  “Simra,” he said, his voice soft.

  The shadows in the hut had grown as night fell. As he waited for her to look up at him, he noticed gold and orange flickering on the walls of the hut. The cook fire had been built up; its light was squeezing through the cracks around the door.

  The door. The guard.

  “You’ve been in here a while,” Lakhoni said.

  She nodded. She raised her right hand, the one he wasn’t gripping, to her face and scrubbed.

  He hadn’t seen the tears falling. A tight ache squeezed his throat, anguish filling his soul. What had he done? Impulsively, he rocked forward and knelt next to her, wrapping his arms around her. “I don’t know what to say—or feel. I . . .” He searched for the words. “I know . . .” He cleared his throat, trying to push the tightness away. “I have to go, and I know I—” He trailed off.

  He pulled her close; she leaned on his chest.

  He could say no more.

  “It’s my fault too.” Her voice was muffled.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  She shook her head against him. “It doesn’t matter. You have to go tonight.”

  Surprised, he dropped his arms and moved to a crouch. “Why?”

  “Because you can’t stay. Mibli wants his control and after their fight and what he said, the village is worried. He’ll torture you until you’ll say anything. He’s convinced you’re a Usurper.” Simra looked up, eyes and face dry.

  “I was going to leave tonight anyway,” Lakhoni said, reaching under his blanket and pulling out his bag.

  “Good. If Mibli decides you’re a spy, he’s likely to send you to the brick fields,” Simra said.

  “Brick fields?” Lakhoni asked.

  She shook her head and stood. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve been alone in here long enough to raise all kinds of suspicion.”

  “What are the brick fields?” He saw an image of wide swaths of pasture that were filled with oven-baked clay tiles instead of green grass.

  “Slave labor, basically,” Simra said. “I have to go. Finish your dinner.”

  He stood and grabbed her wrist, a sudden need that he couldn’t deny overtaking him. He pulled her close and kissed her again. This is wrong. But it wasn’t. Everything else was muffled—all his worries and his illness. All the fear of life with the Separated. It all went away with the touch of her lips.

  She pushed away after a moment. “There’s no time. Finish getting ready. Listen for the cry of a nightwing in a few hours.”

  Confused, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll get the guard away from the door. When you hear the nightwing, go out and turn right and go behind the hut. Find two trees that are twisted into one about a hundred paces north of the village. I will meet you there.” She turned, and with the soft whisper of her dress against the stones of the doorway, she was gone.

  Lakhoni stood still for a moment, a thick, confused fear beginning to well up in him. “What’s a nightwing?” he asked in a quiet voice. He turned to his bag and hefted it, then opened it to see how much space he had left. He considered rolling the blanket up tightly and stuffing it in the bag too.

  No, he wouldn’t steal from the village.

  She will meet me there? Why would Simra meet him at the trees? Was she gathering supplies for his journey? Or was she planning to go with him?

  His earlier fear grew into a cloying, stifling sensation. She couldn’t come. He couldn’t take her to Zyronilxa, where he planned to kill the king. She would be killed or worse. He would not put her in danger. She had to stay behind.

  But maybe she would just have supplies for him.

  A nightwing. What was that? An image of a sleek, strong bird with a wingspan as wide as he was tall came to him. Maybe she meant the whisperwing. It only came out at night and it could carry off a month-old puppy if it was hungry enough. Its wings were usually dark. That had to be it.

  He stood again, moving to the door and peering through the gap between the door and the wall. The noises he had been hearing for some time now were matched by the activity around the fire. Some hunters must have returned at some point, because Lakhoni saw a haunch of what must have been a wild boar roasting over the fire.

  The smell came to him, but he was too worried to be hungry.

  He paced in the hut for a few minutes, digging through his memories to form a picture of how close he might be to Zyronilxa. A long, low whistle sounded, like the wind singing through the caves he had explored with Lamorun and his father.

  That was Simra’s signal.

  Chapter 29

  Meeting

  Lakhoni gathered his bag and the packet of his things that Neas had collected. His dagger, his tattered cloak. He couldn’t find the extra tunic he had brought with him from the Separated. And his bow was gone, probably claimed by a villager by now.

  Time to go. He hoped that whatever Simra had said or done to get the guard away from the door had been good and that the man was still gone.

  He crept to the door and peered through the cracks surrounding the tough wooden planks. The flickering fire had died down now to glowing embers and he saw no movement anywhere in the village. Doors were closed.

  Easing the door open, but knowing he needed to move with confidence, he stepped out of the healing hut with a firm stride, searching for movement in all directions. Nothing. He slipped around the side of the hut and melted into the shadows behind it, wishing there were trees nearby. He would have to get some distance from the hut and then turn north to find the two twisted trees.

  Would she still be waiting?

  He stood motionless in the shadow of the hut, taking stock of his surroundings and trying to come up with a plan. Despite his fear of having Simra join him and be put in danger in Zyronilxa, he wanted her to come. He wanted her to be waiting with supplies packed, ready to travel with him.

  He didn’t want to leave her behind.

  Glancing around again and seeing nobody, he darted out of the shadow of the hut, grateful that the moon was waning and that there was little light to illuminate his movements. His shoulders tensed, he hunkered down and ran in a curving direction to the beginning of the woods that lay fifty paces from the northwest edge of the village.

  He slipped among the trunks, trying to remember the training he had received at the hands of the Separated.

  “This Dance you speak of,” Gimno had said. “This Dance with the Forest you say your brother taught you. This is a beginning.” Gimno moved smoothly backward, the bright sun emerging from behind his head. “Your senses are greater than you think. You must allow them to move your body and remove your thoughts from the matter.”

  The tall man took a long, slow breath. Lakhoni saw all tension leave his body.

  Then Gimno moved, faster than anyone Lakhoni had ever seen. But it wasn’t an explosion of movement. It was as if Gimno somehow moved without thought and with total grace. Instead of leaping between trees, he flowed, his body completely free of tension and concern.

  Gimno came down from his first leap onto the balls of
his feet, his knees bent and arms out. He made a peculiar movement with his arms as he came down. As Lakhoni watched him leap again, he understood. That smooth flap somehow eased the impact of his feet on the ground, making him completely quiet.

  Now, joining the sentinels of the woods outside Simra’s village, Lakhoni tried to do the same. He felt his feet firmly on the ground, his energy smoothly flowing in a two-way stream with the earth beneath him. Centered, he began jogging slowly through the trees, letting his senses quest out in this new Dance with the Forest. At first, the intermittent shadows cast by the weak light of the stars and moon threw him off. But as he moved east and north, seeking the twisted trees and Simra, the jumble of trees sorted itself into a pattern.

  He grabbed a branch, whose buds he could just barely make out, and swung himself over a small bush. As he made his way toward the meeting with Simra, he pulled his thoughts together, knowing he had to have a plan for how to deal with her if she stood ready to join him. And he had to know how he was going to be able to leave her behind.

  A noise, behind him and to his right. From the village. A man’s shout. His absence had been discovered.

  Dogs barked. More shouting came.

  Lakhoni ran faster, flowing through the forest. Movement caught his eye. He stopped and crouched, seeking the movement again.

  Twenty paces away, a little to his right, stood a short, thick tree. One of its branches curved up and then down, nearly touching the ground. Not one tree, two. Probing the darkness around the tree with his eyes, he saw the source of the movement.

  Simra paced just to the north of the tree.

  Lakhoni crept closer, his communion with the forest broken by his worry over what he would do. He couldn’t allow her to come. He wanted to be with her. He didn’t want to leave her and be without her.

  He tried to empty his mind and start again, trying to think clearly and logically. She can’t come. I can’t let her get hurt. It’s that simple.

  He circled somewhat north, wanting to see what supplies Simra had brought. If he could see whether she had brought only enough for him, or enough for two, he could go into the meeting prepared to make sure she realized it was too dangerous for her join him.

  As he circled, he could see her better. He felt a branch under his foot and adjusted his weight, moving his foot so he would not break the branch.

  Her voice came softly through the woods, more a worried outburst than encouragement. “Hurry, Lakhoni!”

  He made to step out of the cover of the trees to meet Simra, but then he saw the two bulging bags at her feet. She wanted to go with him. But she couldn’t join his quest for vengeance. It was easier and better to just go now. She would eventually realize that he had gone. Maybe she would understand why.

  The voices from the village had spread out into the woods. Some were closer. He had to decide.

  Would she get in trouble with her village? Probably. Whatever she had done to move the guard from his door would almost certainly implicate her. And if she was found in the woods with all of those supplies, it would be clear that she had helped him.

  She would avoid all of that if she came with him.

  But she would stay safer if he left her to the protection of her village.

  He turned to leave, pausing for a moment to try to see her face in the weak light of the stars and waning moon. He wished he could send his thoughts to her, tell her how he felt and why he was doing this. A pale glow reflected off her cheek. Leaving her like this, with no goodbye or explanation pulled at him—it was a betrayal. Of her and his own heart, which was stuck in his throat.

  I have no choice.

  He clenched his fists, fear for Simra vying with a need to take her in his arms one last time. He wondered again why the First Fathers would lead him to a place like this while he was on a quest to rescue his sister and mete out justice. Air squeezing through a tight throat, he turned away. He wanted to shout his frustration at the sky, wanted to take his dagger and cut through all of the complications. He wanted to be with her.

  Lakhoni shook his head at himself. No. He would come back. This was a new part of his plan. Before, he had thought to give his life in trade for justice upon the king. But now . . . no. He would rescue Alronna, then find a way to deal with the king without dying at the same time.

  He melted into the woods, glancing over his shoulder every few moments to try to catch another glimpse of Simra. But it was too dark. He would come back.

  He would find Alronna, bring her with him, and he would be with Simra again.

  A shout broke through the branches and his thoughts. This one was much closer.

  Lakhoni broke into a run, pushing his thoughts away and embracing the purity of the Dance with the Forest.

  Chapter 30

  Change

  Loud voices came from the village; it sounded like they were coordinating a search. Simra peered through the trees between where she stood and the village.

  Mibli’s voice, high-pitched and angry, pierced the night. “Find him! And find that girl!”

  What was wrong with that man? Simra wanted to scream back at the awful man and defy his horrible accusations. Who did he think he was?

  She searched the forest around her without moving away from the tree. Where was Lakhoni? He’d had plenty of time to find her by now. Had he gotten lost?

  She tried to remember the directions she had given him. She’d said the twisted trees were north of the village, right? He couldn’t be lost; he had found her tiny village after traveling what must have been a hundred miles through the desolate winter.

  He should have been here by now.

  A terrible thought occurred to her. Had Lakhoni left already? She ran over the events of the last few weeks in her mind. Lakhoni hadn’t . . . he hadn’t used her to escape, had he? Her eyes darting in every direction, Simra whispered his name.

  He wouldn’t have used her like that. He wouldn’t have lied to her, acted like he had those feelings. Indecision filled her. The voices were getting closer; they would find her within minutes.

  What do I do? She glanced down at the bags which leaned against the twisted trees. Another thought came to her as she considered her options. Had Lakhoni known that she had planned to go with him? How could he? He wouldn’t just abandon her here if he did. He wouldn’t.

  But he had.

  Fierce anger filled her. She was instantly certain that she had figured out what had happened. Lakhoni had thought to make her decision for her, probably to protect her or something similar. When will they get it?

  She didn’t have time to try to find Lakhoni and point out to the silly boy that it was her decision, not his. Simra snatched up the bags she had packed, slinging one over each shoulder. She had to figure out a plan, a story to tell.

  For whose benefit? Who did she have to assure that she wasn’t a simple-minded girl following after an interesting stranger? Mibli. The other men of the village. Her father needed no convincing; she knew that he trusted her, that he knew her better.

  A rush of anger, grief, and frustration filled her. Then loneliness. The weeks with Lakhoni shone warmly in her mind.

  She set the bags back down on the dark ground, finding a halfway comfortable place to sit on the gnarled trunks. She watched the darkness for movement. Not for the first time, she wondered how much different life would have been if her mother had not died in childbirth . . . Neither her mother nor the baby had survived.

  She shook the memories away and composed herself. Any moment now.

  Simra needed no story.

  Someone was pushing through the shadows, the pale light of the stars illuminating his chest and face intermittently. She tried to figure out who it was before he could emerge from the trees, but there wasn’t enough light.

  Simra waved. “Hello. Looking for me?”

  This would work. She would buy time for Lakhoni.

  The young warrior, Asaph, stepped between two trees and stopped. Even in the weak light of the stars, she
saw surprise on his face. He opened his mouth, but Simra raised a hand and cut him off.

  “No, please. Allow me.” She tilted her face up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Asaph has found me! I’m over here!” Her shout bounced off the trees, filtering between the branches clustered with early spring buds. Within a few minutes, eight men crowded around her as she perched on the bench of gnarled tree trunks. She kept her silence.

  Finally, Mibli pushed through the small throng of men, breathing heavily. He stood for a moment, fixing her with a glare that she supposed was meant to be threatening.

  “You helped the spy escape, admit it.”

  Nervousness threatened to push her to speak, but Simra fought it back, keeping her composure.

  “Asam told me how you drew him away from the door,” Mibli said with a sneer.

  If nothing else, Simra thought, Mibli knew how to get to her. Blood and heat rose in her neck and to her face. She wasn’t proud of what she had said to Asam, the looks she had given him. Fighting to keep her voice even, she met Mibli’s stare. “Lakhoni is no Usurper. And you should train your warriors better. Asam is no more appealing than his twin, Asaph. If he believed that I would really want him that way, it’s a reflection on his trainer and teacher, I would think.”

  Mibli took a fast step forward, raising his hand. “You watch how you speak to me.”

  She stood fast, not wanting to have him looming over her. “Or what? You’ll hit me?” She would show this bully no fear. She had to make him believe she wasn’t scared of him.

  “It’s not your place, girl. You forget the way of things,” Mibli said.

  No, I don’t forget. And I don’t accept it either.

  “Where is the spy?”

  Simra spoke slowly. “What spy?”

  Mibli stepped closer, his sweaty face in hers. His breath smelled of the fermented apple concoction that was so popular amongst the warriors. “I’m not stupid. I know you helped him. Where is he?”

  She wiped his spittle from her face, cringing at the unpleasant sensation of his closeness. “You must be talking about Lakhoni. I don’t know where he is.”