Lakhoni

by Jared Garrett

  Lakhoni caught up to the girls and matched their swift pace as they hurried south. He worried that if he was too pushy, they might talk about him, but he had felt for a moment like he’d made a connection with this girl. “I don’t want to bother you, but what do you mean?”

  “By what?” Ona asked.

  “Hush,” the other girl said.

  “I can talk if I want to,” Ona said. “You hush, Liya.”

  “I just wondered what you meant that they choose you,” Lakhoni said.

  The dark girl, Liya, huffed a sigh. “Every year we go to the plaza and the priests make their choices. Then we get our—”

  “Brands,” Ona interjected.

  “Our tattoos,” Liya said, glaring at Ona and tucking her basket between her right hand and hip and flashing her left wrist at Lakhoni. A dark mark that looked like two interlocking circles had been tattooed in her skin. “This means that we work in the temple.”

  “Cattle,” Ona muttered.

  Lakhoni looked from Liya to Ona, then back as understanding dawned. “Oh. So you were chosen.”

  “Yes.” Liya glared at Ona again. “And we have work to do. Spring flowers don’t gather themselves.”

  “Thank you for talking to me,” Lakhoni said, letting the girls get ahead of him. Brands. She called them brands, like they make the servants property of the king.

  They didn’t respond, but he thought he heard Liya scolding Ona as they hurried down the street, their bare feet slapping the packed dirt and rock road.

  That was when he had been jumped and beaten, and his bag was stolen. He hadn’t had time to grab the dagger hidden under his layered clothes. Luckily, his boots had been laced too tightly for the men to pull off quickly. The fact that Lakhoni hadn’t died of starvation was due entirely to the last words of advice Regg had offered.

  “Don’t keep all yer coin in t’bag. Put some in yer boot. You never know what c’n happen in a city like this.” Lakhoni had listened and had been able to buy a few more nights in an inn and several days’ worth of food.

  Since the attack, he had continued to watch the compound during the day, having nothing else to do. It turned out that every servant who worked in the compound had the same brand as the girls.

  A week spent on the streets, mostly sleeping in alleys between homes near the temple compound, had helped him gain an understanding of the rhythm of the place. He had learned quickly that you could not spend any length of time just wandering the streets of the First Tier of the blagros. Soldiers patrolled those streets and even the alleys regularly, and they very firmly removed anyone whose look they didn’t like.

  Lakhoni had the bruises to prove it. Not only did he have bruises, he also had a plan. And for now, that plan demanded he finally catch a fish and have more to eat than discarded scraps.

  Chapter 39

  Fish Bones

  Lakhoni slouched a little more against the water casket, carefully looking around and listening for any activity. He was still alone. He bobbed his line up and down a few times. Come on, fish. It’s dinner time. Had the tiny piece of red silk come loose from his improvised hook? Fathers, guide a fish to me, please.

  The seed of his plan had begun to germinate on his third day on the streets, when a bunch of dogs appeared from the temple. Every day following, the same thing happened. The dogs burst out of the gate and bedlam ensued, the same three young men running helter-skelter to try to round the animals up. After several minutes of chaos, the boys got the dogs pointed in the right direction and the noisy group disappeared down a street leading toward the south gate. The dogs were his plan; he just had to be patient.

  Patient. His stomach had given up rumbling and had settled down to an ache that got worse whenever he straightened.

  Something bumped his string. He fought the urge to jerk the string up, praying that it was a fish investigating his hook. He teased the line, then the string jerked. Lakhoni snapped his wrists up. Minutes of fighting and patience later, the fish flopped on the boards beneath his feet. Placing a booted foot on the fish, just behind its head, Lakhoni pulled out his dagger and slid it through the gills, piercing the brain and instantly killing the fish.

  A week on the streets had taught him well. As he crouched to clean the fish, he looked around again, praying nobody had heard the splashing of the fish. Though he waited for at least a minute, Lakhoni saw no movement.

  The fish looked like an adult river panther. He and his father had caught plenty of them in the wide rivers near the village. Splotched with gray, green, and dark brown splotches, the fish had a mouth full of teeth.

  In just a few moments, the fish’s gut was sliced open and its organs and waste floated in the waters of the bay. He cleaned his dagger on the bottom of his breeches and threaded the string through the mouth of the fish and out through the gills, tying it off tightly. Then, still crouching behind the water cask, he spun, checked for activity, and made his way back to the city.

  Once through the east gate, he tucked the fish under his left arm and tried to keep to the shadows. Most of the city slumbered, but plenty of people still walked the streets. Guards patrolled; merchants dragged their carts home. Lakhoni still had trouble fathoming how many people lived in the city.

  Lakhoni had learned to keep his gaze down but constantly moving so that he could be aware of anything happening around him. As he walked, he snatched up bits of straw and sticks. Before long, he came to the base of the southeast guard tower. There were four of the tall towers, two in the north end of the city and two more in the south end. The southwest tower was in the flovils, which were the worst parts of the Third Tier. So Lakhoni had made a place for himself at the base of the southeast tower. He never left anything in his little alcove, but there was some shelter offered by what must have been older stone work, because there was something of a ledge about four feet off the ground. The city wall also offered some shelter.

  By the time he made it to his alcove, the smell of the fish had grown stronger and he had gathered a goodly sized pile of burnable material. He arranged half of the sticks and straw in a pile and used the pommel of his dagger and a stone to start a fire. Lakhoni coaxed life into the small fire, adding sticks until it was a little bigger and hotter. Then he took his fish, skewered it on his dagger and, thankful for the leather wrapped around most of the pommel, held his dinner over the fire.

  The fire burned too quickly to cook the fish completely, but it was enough. Lakhoni tore skin off the pale flesh of the river panther and had to force himself to not simply inhale the entire thing.

  Long before his hunger was quieted completely, Lakhoni held only bones in his hands. He cleaned his dagger again, replaced it, and headed for the nearest canal, flinging bones into a dark alley corner. He had to wait for a crew of canal cleaners to move to their next job, then he knelt at the side of the narrow stream of water which had been built into the streets of the city. He cupped water and washed his hands off, then drank deeply. The water was the flavor of mountain snows that had traveled through rock and a warm day.

  When he was done, he dropped the fish bones into the water, letting them get swept away. Back home you go.

  Chapter 40

  To the Dogs

  Tucking his dagger into his waistband and draping two tunics over it to keep it out of sight, Lakhoni made his way through the crowds. Today was the day. He felt strong, refreshed after the fish. He’d had enough energy for a training session last night. If he could get cleaned up, he could execute his plan today.

  That meant not being arrested for using canal water. He’d seen soldiers haul off somebody who had been bathing in a canal. Why would there be a law against using water?

  He found a good spot and sat near the canal, pretending to repair a boot. He watched the rhythm of the traffic, trying to find the right time to dip in the water. He noted the position of three narrow alleys that sliced through one of the Second Tier blagros, and he saw that the shadows in one indicated that it turned sharply after onl
y a few feet. Men, women, and children flowed by individually and in small groups. He wouldn’t have much time. A pair of women walked by, each bending under bulging sacks.

  Folding himself forward, he reached out with both arms to the cold water, scooping handfuls up to his face and scrubbing. He glanced around, still nobody. He scrubbed his neck with another double handful, then splashed enough on his hair that he was dripping. He worked his fingers through his hair, then splashed more water to rinse. As he scooped water to his face, drinking some of it and using the rest to wipe his face clean, he heard the shout.

  “Boy!”

  Lakhoni shot to his feet, and immediately saw the source. Two soldiers, each with three red stripes on their sashes, had just rounded the southern corner of the nearest blagro. Both broke into a run, reaching for the short clubs patrolling soldiers wore on their left hip. “Stop right there!” called the one with a completely bald head.

  Lakhoni exploded into a leap, easily clearing the canal, which was only two paces wide. He dashed toward the alley that looked like it turned sharply, sparing a glance over his shoulder. The soldiers were giving chase, shouting. They had already jumped over the canal.

  He reached the alley, pelting down the narrow space and tucking his shoulders inward somewhat so he could make it through. Hopefully the soldiers would be too big for the space.

  The shouting behind him dashed that hope.

  He had been correct; the alley cut sharply to the left. Lakhoni ran hard, not slowing for the turn. A feather. He leapt and extended his right foot, bending his leg slightly and maintaining tension in his muscles. His foot touched the wall, and he pushed hard off it and landed lightly, still running full speed. The turn had not slowed him at all.

  A light perhaps sixty paces ahead indicated the end of the alley, but there were at least three places where new alleys branched off to the right, and one to the left. He pushed harder, fighting to keep his feet light. He still heard the guards’ shouts and footfalls, although they weren’t as loud as before. The feather leap had worked.

  It was time for another leap, this one harder. He passed the first right-branching alley, loving the returned feeling of strength and speed. Lakhoni pictured the movements he would make, allowing his body to make the adjustments necessary for his timing to be right. He tried to run a little more to the left of the alley. When he was two paces from the second right branch, he leapt again, this time angling his body at the alley’s entrance and extending his left foot and arm. His left foot hit, knee bent and muscles tight, followed immediately by his hand. He pushed off the wall, feeling for a moment as if he were flying—if he had pushed off harder he might have been able to scale the walls of the houses to his left and right. Instead, he landed in perfect balance on his right foot and never stopped moving.

  Another branching alley on the left—and another on the right. He poured all of his strength into running, praying he could turn down the right alley, which by his judgment led to a main road, before the guards made their turn. He hoped to effectively disappear.

  He repeated his last leap and found himself ten paces from bright light. Crowds of people rushed up and down the street ahead. Lakhoni ran hard, then slowed to a walk in the last few paces, coming out of the alley and melting into the crowd smoothly. He resisted the urge to look behind and see if the soldiers had emerged. An idea hit and he wasted no time, pulling his top tunic quickly over his head.

  Now they shouldn’t be able to recognize him from behind.

  A few tense minutes later, Lakhoni finally allowed himself to relax and made his way to the outskirts of Victor Plaza to wait for the dogs. As he walked, he watched for an opportunity to find food. He made a point of ducking through a few alleys so that he could pass behind some of the bigger inns he had discovered in town.

  Disappointed, Lakhoni emerged from a dim alley and sought a spare space along a building’s facade. There he crouched, marveling again at the incredible numbers of people that packed the city of the king. He understood that the bay provided a perfect place for merchant ships to dock and that the river running just to the west of the city provided essentially a crossroads for trade. He also remembered what Regg had said about why people lived in the city, but the crowds, the smells, and the extreme poverty he had seen still confused him.

  Why would people pack so tightly into a place that too often provided only a miserable existence? They must be hoping for things to improve, but surely they could bring that hope to pass by finding a better place to live.

  Loud barking and shouting cut through the steady beat of humanity. Lakhoni stood, putting his second tunic back on and doing his best to straighten his clothes and hair. He didn’t want to appear to be homeless or desperate.

  The dog-tenders finally rounded up the huge animals and got them moving in the right direction. As the young men jogged after the exuberant dogs, Lakhoni shadowed them, making his best effort to not appear to be skulking or hiding as he moved. Lakhoni followed the yapping and shouting group out the south gate, trying to blend in with a large cluster of men and women who were heading out of the city on a journey of some kind.

  As they had done every day that Lakhoni had watched, upon smelling the fresh aromas outside the city, the dogs set to chasing each other and tearing around the large meadows that extended for miles just south of the city.

  Lakhoni thought back to the funeral pyre, laying his beloved Ancum to rest. He hoped again that he hadn’t desecrated the memory of his village and family by adding his dog to the pyre. At least now, all the time that Lakhoni had spent with Ancum should help him in his task. It was apparent these dog-tenders had never learned how to treat a dog. Why have them work with the dogs if they have no idea what they are doing?

  Lakhoni made sure to stay out of sight as he skirted wide around the meadows, hiding behind copses of trees and staying downwind of the dogs so they wouldn’t get curious. He lost sight of the animals several times, but was easily able to keep track of them because of their barking. By the time he made it to his selected vantage point, the sun was directly above and had burned the chill out of the air. Lakhoni briefly considered removing his second layer, but thought better of it; best to not look like he was carrying everything he owned.

  The time came to gather the dogs. Lakhoni heard the shouts of the young men and saw the dogs ignore them. Perfect.

  He got to his feet and moved quickly but casually towards the road, angling so that he would walk directly through the chaotic, milling group of dogs. One of the dogs, its shoulders as high as Lakhoni’s waist, noticed him first. It immediately stopped moving, lowered its head and growled at him. Lakhoni stopped moving too, facing the dog directly, standing up straight and spreading his shoulders so he presented as big and wide of a figure as possible. He met the dog’s eyes.

  They stood facing each other, the dog growling deep in its throat, slobber dripping from its lips. Lakhoni made no sound and no movement. He stood like that for long moments, staring the large animal down. He knew that Ancum had obeyed him because the dog had accepted him as its master. Of course, Lakhoni had raised Ancum from when he was a pup, so this would be different, but the principle was the same. After a long time the dog’s growls subsided into heavy panting. Lakhoni was no longer perceived as a threat. Now to establish dominance. He reached out, letting the dog sniff the back of his right hand. The cool, moist nose brushed his hand gently. Suddenly Lakhoni was back in his village as images of tossing a tough ball of deer hide for Ancum, and the small dog’s happy barking and whuffling, washed over him.

  Careful to keep his teeth hidden so he wouldn’t appear as a threat anymore, Lakhoni stepped closer and murmured soft, soothing noises at the large dog. “What do they call you?”

  The dog’s hair grew short and tight, a few small clumps of winter hair spotting his sides and back.

  “Nobody’s brushing you, are they?” Lakhoni stepped closer and eased his hand onto the dog’s nose, stroking carefully. The dog was clearly tame, b
ut completely untrained. “What do they call you?” Lakhoni scratched the dog’s dark brown snout and stood right next to it, showing the animal that he was much bigger. Within moments the dog went from a carefully curious stance to sniffing Lakhoni all over and licking his hands.

  “That’s right,” Lakhoni murmured, crouching low and using both hands to pet the dog.

  This dog was very similar to Ancum, with the light-brown color and short hair. But this dog had to be twice the size of Lakhoni’s old dog—and it was still young, as evidenced by the animal’s gangly looks and large paws.

  His throat sore with tightly stored memories, he pushed resurgent grief back. He looked for a stick under a copse of trees. He grabbed one and waved it around to get the dog’s attention. “Want to play?”

  The dog immediately barked and began leaping about. Lakhoni threw the stick, aiming in the general direction of where he heard the dog-tenders shouting. He jogged after the dog, wanting to close the distance between himself and the dog tenders. The dog ran back and dropped the stick at Lakhoni’s feet, continuing to run in playful circles.

  Lakhoni picked up the stick, held it up and stopped walking. “Come,” he said, using a firm, deep voice.

  The dog barked and went low on its front legs.

  “First, come.” He motioned with his left hand, pointing to the ground at his feet.

  The dog barked and leapt around for a few seconds before settling low again, waiting to chase the stick.

  Lakhoni lowered the stick. “You want to play?” He held the stick out toward the dog.

  The dog ran to him, going for the stick then running back to wait for the throw.

  Lakhoni raised the stick. “No.” He lowered the stick again. “Come.” He pointed to the ground at his feet again.

  The dog barked and ran over, nipping at the stick.

  “Good.” He patted the dog, scratching it just above the ears. He threw the stick hard and followed the dog up the hill, moving closer to the frustrated shouts of the other young men. When the dog brought the stick back, Lakhoni repeated his actions, teaching the dog to come. By the time they were at the bottom of the last hill between him and the other boys, the dog would come even when Lakhoni had tucked the stick out of sight