by Misty Moncur
I knew how his guilt had plagued him, how he had not expected to ever gain his daughter’s forgiveness.
I left them alone and took the rest of the dishes I had cleaned with the coals inside the hut where I found Mother talking to Muloki. They glanced at me but kept talking, knowing I didn’t understand a word they said. It was strange that they spoke in the old Lamanite language because Muloki could both speak and understand Nephite quite well by then. I wondered, naturally, what they were discussing, but giving up eavesdropping as hopeless, I just put the dishes away and turned to leave again.
My sling caught on a hook near the door, the one we used to tie back the mat when it was too warm inside the hut. I untangled it, but when I went to replace it at my belt, I paused.
It was my first slingshot, the one Seth had given me on that long ago day when Helaman had let me join the army. Gideon had stepped forward to spar with me. Micah had introduced me to Seth. And Seth had given me the sling.
Stepping back into the recesses of the hut, I brought it to my nose. The smell of the leather brought back so many memories. I thought of my first battle with the sling—retreating from the army at Antiparah, leading them away, turning to face them.
Was there anything as noble as that yet to come? Had I any adventures left? When I looked to the future, I felt bleak inside. If Zeke didn’t marry me, I probably would not marry at all. What man would take on a feisty, man-killing warrior like me for a wife? For the mother of his children? I had heard the things they called me, even here in the village. And what else was left to a girl who did not marry and bear children? The future stretched out endlessly empty.
Muloki seemed less interested in marriage as he got to know me better, and Zeke had not even bothered to come home to me yet. He had not so much as written a letter or sent a message to me.
Gideon had wanted to make some kind of statement with that unwise and embarrassing kiss in the street, but in the end, he hadn’t wanted to marry me either. He must have been so relieved to have gotten away, to have escaped to the army, and I had let him do it so easily.
How I wished I could go back to the army too—the only place I felt I truly belonged.
“You miss it,” Muloki said from behind me.
I turned and realized Mother had gone, and we were alone. Strange that Mother had left us alone like that, but I felt the sling in my hand and knew why she had gone.
“Yeah,” I said. “I miss all of it. The training, the fighting, boring guard duty, marches, patrols, my unit.” I looked up at him morosely. “Do you ever miss it?”
He considered. “In some ways.”
I nodded. There were certain parts I would not miss either.
“It’s not so much that I miss the war. It’s more that I don’t feel I belong here at home.”
“What do you mean? You have a wonderful home. A family that loves you. Friends.” He grinned and put his fist to his chest. “Me.”
“I know.”
He sobered and studied my face. “You have the heart of a warrior.”
Not the heart of a homemaker. But there was so much more to it. I didn’t belong anywhere.
“That girl you met at the gate of Antiparah,” I said quietly to Muloki. “The one who lied to you and had a hidden dagger strapped to her leg—she was the real me.” I pointed one of my fingers to myself and jabbed it into my chest. “So much more real than this one.”
Muloki took a stool at the table and said calmly, “I think you’re wrong.”
I shook my head. “I’m kidding myself here.” I gestured to the inside of the hut, the domesticity of it all. “This is the lie.”
“You should seek the guidance of the Spirit.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Do you think that thought has never occurred to me? I ask in prayer all the time what I should do. I get no answer.”
“Perhaps you are asking the wrong question.”
I started to protest, but his words sank in, and I stopped.
“Or perhaps you think too much,” he went on.
“What? I don’t have anything to do but think.”
“While you milk the goat. While you grind the maize. Tend the garden, sweep, weave, cook, carry water, launder clothing—”
“Stop! Yes!” I laughed.
He stood and went to my hammock. He crouched and gathered all of my weapons, carrying them to the table with his large hands and dropping them with a clatter. “Stop doing these things that do not challenge you, that leave your mind to wander.”
“But I’m supposed to cook and sweep and weave.” I eyed the weapons wistfully.
“So do them. And then do what you love.” He motioned to the weapons. “Your problem is this. You want to be doing all the proper things all the time so that when Zeke strides into the village he will see you doing them. He will see the girl he wants you to be.”
Curse his perceptiveness! He was right. I didn’t even have to acknowledge it.
“But what else is there for me? Zeke is the only man who wants me, and I’m not even sure about that anymore. You know he’s stationed in Judea now.”
When he just looked questioningly at me, I sighed and said, “That’s where Eve lives.”
Muloki chuckled. “Every man wants you. These men keep their distance because you claim to love Zeke.”
I looked at him doubtfully.
“There are many men who want a warrior for the mother of their children. But nobody wants a wife who loves another man.” He stepped closer to me. “You wear this like a shield.”
At least he was speaking my language now, but I frowned. Wore what like a shield?
“What do you mean?”
“I will show you.” He moved closer to me, his eyes intent on mine. “If you put your shield down, something like this might happen.”
In the soft light from the low fire in the stove, Muloki leaned down and rubbed his cheek into my hair. I felt him brush a kiss there. Then I felt him take my slingshot from my hand and slip it into the belt at my waist, threading the rawhide through it with nimble fingers. It weighed heavy there because this belt was made for fashion, to match my sarong, not for combat.
He leaned down and kissed my neck, drawing tingles up and down my arms, and all I could do was close my eyes. I should have moved away, but I felt the hard handle of my axe as he placed it into my hand.
He moved his fingers up my arms, wove them into my hair, and placed his last kiss on my lips. He didn’t stop kissing me until a long, slow moment had passed.
At last he drew away and looked deeply into my eyes. He wasn’t looking for acceptance of his kiss. He reached out to lift my dagger from the table and tied it onto my arm, pulling the rawhide thong tight so it pinched my skin with a familiar sting. He lifted my bow and laid it over my shoulder, just where I liked to wear it.
His eyes fell on my sword, sheathed in its leather, lying dormant on the table. He turned slightly toward it and unwrapped it. Holding it between us, firelight glinting off its beautiful obsidian, the shadows hiding the blood-soaked areas of the wood and highlighting the mysterious words inked in blue, Muloki said, “If you drop your shield, your dramatic, beautiful nature may shine like the moon again. If you drop this defense, you will have the freedom of motion to take an offensive stance.”
I couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t know if what he said was true, but the way he said it was, at least for me. It was the first thing that had made sense to me since I had left Manti.
“If you drop this shield, you would have to admit—” He broke off, and his eyes slipped past me. I heard the mat at the door fall back. I turned but there was no one there.
“Darius,” Muloki said. “He took one look and left.”
And after Muloki said, “Think about this shield you carry,” he left too.
The next morning, Darius went with Micah to purchase sheep, a small herd our families would share.
While they were gone, I went to see Cana who was still so happy she was glowing. She really
was. A light shone around her face and her person, and everything she said made me smile. In a way, I wanted to be jealous of her happiness because surely it came from being at peace with who she was and where her life was headed. But I couldn’t. She deserved happiness.
Micah did too, and I was sorry for what I had said to him.
I bid Cana goodbye and went to meet Micah and Darius in the pasture outside of town in the hills where they kept the sheep. I found them kneeling together mending one of the fences. I passed by several other small herds before I reached them, and by then they had noticed me, and Darius had made some excuse to leave.
I watched him walk away while Micah continued to work on the fence alone. After a moment of silence I said, “You chose fine sheep. They will give beautiful wool.”
“Thank you. I think so too.”
“I just saw Cana. She looks so happy.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he said around the rawhide lashings he had just clamped between his lips.
“I’m sorry for what I said. About Kenai. I didn’t really mean it.”
He took the rawhide from his mouth and lashed it tightly around two adjoining posts. “Yes you did. But it’s okay.”
“No it’s not. I love you. It’s not okay to be unkind to people you love.”
He laughed. “It’s not okay to be unkind to anyone.”
“You’re right, as always.”
He cut off the unused portion of leather with his knife, one of Father’s knives, like mine was. I stared at the top of his bent head, his hair shiny black in the sunshine, until he finished and stood. We began to walk toward Darius and the sheep.
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Do you really think I would be so heartless as to take no thought of Kenai’s feelings? He is my brother. When Father died…”
He trailed off for a moment. I thought he was considering his words carefully, but I looked over and saw him swallow hard, attempting to push past a lump in his throat.
“When Father died, I became his father too, in a way. Do you think I don’t know he enlisted in Moroni’s army because of me? Because he couldn’t face coming back here? If he dies there—”
“Micah,” I said, but he waved me off and continued speaking.
“At first I had a feeling in my heart, when we were in Cumeni—starving, humble. I prayed a lot during that time—you know we all did—and the Spirit put the thought of marriage to Cana in my mind. I had never considered it before, though I can’t think why now, and so I pushed the idea aside many times.”
“Oh,” I said. I wished he had told me that before, but I could see it was very special to him and why he would have wanted to keep it to himself. There were things in his life, especially as we grew older, that were not his sister’s business. I wished I could have realized that sooner.
“Finally, the impression was so strong, that I sought out Kenai and discussed it with him. I knew a little of how he felt. I had seen them together as you had.” I wished someone had told me that too. “His disappointment showed, but he agreed I should act on the prompting. So I did. I talked to Hemni, as I already told you, but I also talked to Cana. I couldn’t imagine being married to her if she was in love with my brother. I had to know it from her.”
We neared Darius. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know all that.”
“Let’s just move on,” he said quietly.
“You forgive me then?”
He looked down at me. “Before you even knew you were sorry.”
Chapter 18
That afternoon I winced as I held the rawhide between my teeth and cinched the knot tight above my bicep. I slid my blade into its scabbard and strapped on the rest of my weapons—the bow, the quiver of arrows, the axe, the sling, the sword—and I went to the falls.
The trek through the trees was familiar. I passed the turnoff to the old training ground, the place Muloki had called humble. I remembered this with a light heart. In fact, the closer I got to the falls, the lighter my heart got. I could hear the rushing water before I emerged from the trees, but I passed through the mists and dropped most of my gear in the meadow beyond.
I went to the tree into which I had learned to throw my axe. It had grown, and the scar had healed over.
But it was still there.
I traced it with my fingers much the way I had traced Muloki’s scar—the way that had put my mother into such a panic. I smiled at the memory of it. I had been more interested in the battle wound than I had been in Muloki.
I pulled in a deep breath and took my axe from my belt. Bouncing it a little in my hand, refamiliarizing myself with its weight and feel, I positioned my grip, and another memory surfaced.
Hold it here at the end of the hilt. Feel that?
For the first time in a long time, I did.
I moved back from the tree, first the twenty paces Gideon had taught me to throw from, then ten more.
I turned, and I threw.
The blade lodged into the tree with a hard thunk and in the quiet that followed, in the soft intake of my breath, I knew I had been dying at home in the village. I had let myself wilt like a moonflower in the heat of the morning.
I went to fetch the blade from the tree and saw that I had opened the old scar.
Again, showoff.
Satisfied, I moved back ten more paces for my next throw.
When I went home for the evening meal, my heart was light, and I knew I would not stop going to the falls to practice with my weapons.
“You look happy tonight,” Mother said during the evening meal.
“I am happy,” I said on a shrug and smothered a grin.
The next morning I did my household chores, but instead of staying in our courtyard to weave with Mother through the afternoon, I suggested she seek out some of her friends instead. I felt her eyes follow me as I ducked through the mat at the door with my weapons, but risking her disapproval anyway, I dropped them with a clatter and began to strap them on. I took a deep breath, but when I turned to her, I caught the glimpse of her smile as she tightened the threads of the pattern she worked on her loom. Filled with pleasure, I made the trek back to my own training ground.
The third morning, I didn’t walk to the meadow. I ran.
Though I was weighed down with my weapons, I ran with wild abandon. I hopped over limbs, bounced off of rocks. I was fast and light. I was free. Nothing could make me stop, and nothing could catch me.
So it was strange when I felt eyes watching me from the trees as I dropped my gear near the river and knelt for a drink of the clear, cold water. I shook the water off my hand and wiped my mouth with the back of my arm as I leaned back on my heels and glanced around.
I didn’t feel that prickle on my neck. No warning from the Spirit. The only thing I felt was the light touch of silent eyes.
I set up my targets near the trees and counted off my paces until I was farther away than I had ever been before. I took my axe from my belt—not the useless belt that matched my sarong, but the thick woven one Reb had made me—and I jostled it into position in my palm. I turned, and I threw it hard at the tree.
When I inspected the mark it had made, I saw that I had deepened the groove I had opened two mornings before. The old scar was almost obscured by the new damage.
I felt Gideon’s presence as sure as I felt the breeze lift my hair off my neck. There was no way to be in this place without thinking of him.
I yanked my axe from the tree and threw until my arm ached. Each time when the axe left my hand, I knew it would hit my mark.
This training for nothing was ridiculous, but it felt right. My mind was clear, my heart was light, and my future did not look so bleak and pointless. Even my appetite was heartier.
If I had to be lonely, I wanted to do it here in the mists at the base of the waterfall where I could be honest with at least myself. Here in this meadow where I had so many memories that were good.
And only a few that weren’t.
Suddenly, I dropped to the ground
, rolled to the side, sighted, and shot an arrow at my target. Again and again I did it until I had shot from a number of different angles.
I wished Pontus hadn’t sold those fine arrowheads. All the arrows in my quiver were quite worn. Perhaps I would run to the place I had found the obsidian, gather the pieces to make more, and ask Kalem or maybe Muloki to help me do it. The army had taken a lot of the obsidian, but surely there were a few shards left for me.
Yes. I would sit with Mother—she could weave, and I would hammer arrowheads.
I could just see her face.
I ran all the drills I remembered from training with the army, and I did the extra exercises Gideon had taught me, the ones to increase my strength. I was surprised at how my muscles had atrophied and also pleased to find it did not take long to strengthen them again.
I stopped when evening began to fall, and I knelt near the river again for a drink. I had nearly forgotten about the silent eyes, but I felt them much heavier than I had before. Someone or something was here in the meadow.
My mind went back to the golden mountain lion I had seen on the hunt. I had looked up to see him staring at me. I had followed him and irrevocably taken his life. I had never seen a lion here, but it was not impossible.
I stood panting from exertion for a moment, hands at my waist, looking around. I pretended to be looking at the sky, the waterfall, the distant horizon, but I was searching the woods for a sign of another presence.
I hadn’t really expected to find one, but I did, and my heart began to pound.
I slowly made my way closer, gathering my weapons as I went. The silent eyes were assuredly watching me now.
I thought I imagined the flowers gently bobbing in the water. But they were really there. A piece of rough bark was caught up in some reeds at the edge of the river, and on it floated three beautiful moonflowers. The large white blossoms had barely begun to open in the early evening.
