by A. G. Henley
My eyes are dry; dry as the deserts Peree once told me about. I have no more tears. Peree clears his throat before going on.
"The next morning she was gone, and from that day on Coyote lived alone. He still hunted under the blue sky and the bright sun, but he was never again happy. He rarely saw his mate. Yet sometimes, in the lonely darkness of night, they called to each other across the wind-swept mountains, sharing plaintive howls of grief and loss. And all that heard them prayed to be spared from such sorrow themselves."
Peree falls silent. I can't speak at all.
"I love you with all that I am," he finally says. "If I could, I would give my heart to you. But I'm afraid that even giving you my whole heart won't be enough to heal the damage done to yours."
I feel the compassion in his words, and the fear. I'm afraid, too. So afraid of losing someone else I love. I've been wondering if loving people is really worth it.
Because I know now—with painful, absolute certainty—that to truly love someone means risking everything: safety, security, contentment. Maybe forever.
"You’re all I want." His arms tighten around me. "If it were up to me, I would partner with you as soon as possible. Tomorrow. Today. Right now. But I can wait until you're ready. I can wait until your heart is healed."
That's the problem. I don't know if my heart will ever heal. If I'll ever be truly carefree and happy again. I love Peree with every fiber of my body, but why do I deserve to be happy when Eland and so many others will never have that chance? What would they think of my selfishness?
Peree's arms stay frozen around me, like time has stopped, as he waits for my response. How can I tell him I won't partner with him, after everything he's done for me, for us? He's lost at least as much as I have. He does deserve to be happy.
And that's when it hits me. My broken heart is irrelevant. How Eland or Aloe would feel doesn't matter much, either. It's far too late to worry about that. But I can make Peree happy. I can do that.
Isn't that what love really is, after all? Setting aside your own problems to be there for the other person when they need you? It's what Peree's always done for me.
I put my hand in my pocket and pull out the bird carving, holding it up. "Do me a favor? Make a new cord for my necklace. I want to wear it for the ceremony. That's part of the Lofty tradition, right?"
He traps the bird tightly with his hand, as if he's worried it might fly away like the cassowary woman did in the story he told me not so long ago. His voice is tight with emotion when he speaks. "Are you sure? I don't want you to agree only for me."
"For who then? After the Feast of Deliverance you asked me to be your future. That's what I want, too. A future with you. Today, tomorrow . . . and every day after.”
Peree's whispered words of love and devotion help curb the bleeding of my heart. In return, I kiss him desperately, passionately, giving him what reassurance I can.
My heart may never be hardy and whole again, but I don't want to be like Coyote's mate, living alone with my grief. Instead I will pour myself into Peree, and accept him in return, hoping that by sharing our sadness, somehow it might be easier to bear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We set the date.
Kadee insists on organizing a feast for us for the day of our partnering ceremony. She suggests using a blend of our traditions to mark the moment, an idea that Peree and I love. We'll exchange bonding bands—leather bands that we'll wear around our arms to symbolize our partnership—as Groundlings do.
I'll wear my bird necklace, and I'll remove the feathers from Peree's hair during the ceremony, as Lofties do. Apparently the action symbolizes that he no longer needs to attract a mate. I have to laugh at that, which sort of offends him. Which ends in me apologizing. And us kissing. Then again, everything we do ends in us kissing these days.
Peree and I will also share the story of how we fell in love, and we'll give an offering to the runa as the anuna do. We'll have to prepare our people for that. It will be the first time they see the sick ones after a few weeks of drinking from the Myuna.
Fortunately for my raw nerves, I don't have much time to dwell on the impending ceremony. Peree and I are needed all over the village, helping out as our people learn the ways of Koolkuna. It's odd to be the experts now, when we were lorinya here ourselves not long ago.
For the most part the anuna seem to accept the intrusion of so many people into their village with good graces, but it’s hard to approve of the likes of Moray and his brothers. I hear the anuna grumbling about their rudeness by dinner on our first day.
Most of the Groundlings choose homes on the ground, while the Lofties decide to stay in the trees. Old habits die hard, I guess. But Moray and Cuda select a house in the trees. They seem as fascinated by the ascending platform, the intricate walkways, and the homes perched in the branches as any Lofty. Conda, on the other hand, decides to stay with Konol for a while, on the ground. I would think it was an interesting choice if I had much time to think about it.
Moray insists that Frost stay in the trees near him, even though it means another family has to give up their home for her. I wish I could say it was out of love, or true concern for her well-being, but he's only interested in keeping her pregnancy viable. He could care less about her, so long as she's growing his child properly. It's disgusting.
Maybe I'll forgive Moray at some point for saving my life. But not yet.
Bear decided to build his own house on the ground. The site he chose is about as far away from Peree and me as possible. I understand. At least he's here in Koolkuna.
It will take him a few weeks to finish building, so he's staying with Kora's family for the time being. Her four-year-old brother, Darel, is now permanently attached to Bear's leg as he moves around the village.
I meet up with him to gather water together at the water hole, about a week or so after we arrived. We're alone—if you don't count Kora, Bega, and Darel.
Bega takes careful notes on what we're saying so she can report the exact details of our conversation to anyone who will listen. At least I imagine that's what the doll is doing, given the gossip she's shared with me about the anuna. I have to assume the information flows both ways. Darel runs around and around us, alternately jabbering in the first language and repeating Bear's name.
We fill large clay jugs and water sacks to carry back to the village. Kora and I can only manage one unwieldy container between us, so I'm grateful Bear and his broad back are there. He lifts a jug easily out of the water and sets it on the ground next to us.
"If you knock this over, you're getting the next one," he warns Darel.
"What do you think of Koolkuna?" I ask him as we fill a sack together. I asked Peree almost the same question once.
Bear thinks about it. "It's nothing like what I imagined. And yet, in a way, everything I hoped for." He hoists the sack up. "I didn't expect it to feel so . . . safe, I guess. At home I was always on alert—watching for the flesh-eaters, calculating how far it was to the caves and how long it would take for me to get there. I hunted, fearing the Scourge would catch up to us. I repaired people's shelters, wondering how long they'd get to live in them before the fleshies came again. It was like my life, almost every minute of it, was focused on the Scourge in some way. Here, nothing is. The anuna don't even carry weapons. It's strange. Everyone has a job, but they don't work all that hard. They take time to enjoy themselves. I can't figure out if that's just how they are, or if maybe not being afraid all the time makes them that way. But I like it."
He picks up a filled jug. The next moment it crashes down between us, shattering and splashing water all over my legs. I jump away.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
Bear steps in front of me, yelling for Darel to come to him. I reach out to Kora, automatically pulling her into my side.
She slides out of my reach. "You don't need your spear, silly Bear. The runa is only thirsty. I'll give it some water."
I hear the sick one now. Not a
howl or a moan, but words. It's asking for water, the voice as ruined as the jug at our feet. I put my hand on Bear's arm, hoping to calm him.
"Kora, Darel . . . don't get near it!" Bear says as the children move away from us. The muscles and tendons of his arm are rigid under my hand. I hear the sick one drink thirstily. "I can't believe this," he says, wonder in his voice. "Is this real?"
I slide my hand into his, and we stand side by side in the cool air by the water hole as all that he believed to be true splinters and reforms into an unfamiliar new shape. I know the feeling.
"It's real," I tell him.
"What is this place?" he murmurs.
"Home," I answer. "The way it always should have been."
A few days later I go with Kadee to the gardens to help with the late-summer harvest. It's a novelty to be able to spend so much time in the sun and the fresh air after years of working in the caves. And I feel closer to the memories of Aloe and Eland as I dig in the earth. Maybe it's the scent of rosemary and freshly turned soil, but it's the only place I find real peace.
As I walk home from the gardens, covered in dirt, I hear a familiar voice. Kai. I haven't spoken to her since we returned to Koolkuna. Bega told me she was upset by the news that Peree and I are partnering. I’m not surprised; I knew she developed feelings for him the last time we were here. I also can't say I feel all that bad about disappointing her. She'll have to get used to the idea that he's officially going to be mine soon.
So I try—really try—not to feel jealous when I hear the voice of the man who's going to be officially mine in the next moment.
"That's it. Pull the arrow right to your chin . . . and release. Good. Let's try another."
Okay, they're practicing archery together. Big deal. Peree and Konol have been practicing with everything from knives to spears almost every day, getting ready for a hunt.
Peree calls to me. I wrench my lips into a smile and wave at them, but I keep walking. I can be mature about this, can't I?
I can, until the arrow whizzes by my head. I hit the dirt.
"Watch it, Kai!" Peree yells.
"Oops," she says.
Peree jogs over and helps me up. "You okay?"
Blood boils into my face, but I dig deep and nod. "No harm done."
"That's enough for today, Kai. See you around." He guides me away, keeping a tight arm around my back. He’s probably worried I'll explode like I did with Moray.
"Fennel," Kai calls. I turn back toward her. "Congratulations. You're lucky." Her words are nice. Her tone? Not so much.
I smile again. It comes more naturally this time, because I know she's right. "Thanks."
A moment later an arrow slams solidly into its target nearby, making me jump. "But if anything happens to you, he's mine."
My smile vanishes. We walk on, and Peree sort of stutters. I think he’s speechless.
My laugh is hollow. "Well, at least I know where I stand."
The day of our partnering ceremony arrives. Kadee is busy pulling the feast together, so Arika helps me bathe and dress. Moon came by earlier to wish me luck, but she went home to take a nap. Yani is delightful, but a good sleeper she is not.
I was at a loss for what to wear until Konol brought me the dress that his mother, Yindi, wore when she partnered with Nerang.
"We thought it might fit you," he said gruffly.
And it does. The dress is elaborate by our standards, made from some sort of soft, supple hide adorned with patches of thick fur and feathers here and there. I feel a little self-conscious, but I want to look the best I can for Peree. I haven't spoken to him since he slipped out of our home this morning with a promise to meet me later.
Arika uses some unfamiliar dyes on my face to "heighten my beauty," and she arranges my long hair artfully in a style full of braids, twists, and knots—a physical reflection of how my insides are starting to feel. Kora and Darel are so excited about the festivities that they're whirling around the shelter like dirt devils. Arika, normally sweet and soft-spoken, finally loses her temper.
"Come you two! We must collect the wild flowers for Mirii and Myall."
She marches them out of the shelter. I shake my head, imagining Aloe ordering me out to pick flowers when she was upset. I wish Aloe was here now, temper and all. Kadee has been wonderful, but it's not quite the same. I miss my mother; and my brother; and my best friend.
Calli would have loved all of this. She'd be talking nonstop, nervous for me. She wouldn't have left my side. But this day wouldn’t have been possible at home; it wouldn't have been allowed. Everything that's happened—good and bad—seems unavoidable now, like it couldn't have gone any other way.
I finish fiddling with my hair and sit carefully on the edge of a pallet, afraid to mess up Yindi's beautiful dress. I have nothing to do except think. My head buzzes and my stomach rolls. My hands grow cold; I blow on them to warm them. Just when I think I might burst open like a boiled berry, spewing sizzling anxiety, there's a soft knock on the door.
"Fennel? You ready?"
Hearing Peree's voice makes the overwhelming emotions floating around inside me snap back into perspective. The doubt, the sadness, the guilt—they don't exactly go away, but they fade to the background where they should be. I wish my family were here. But the only one I need with me now is him.
"I'm ready." I take a calming breath and step out the door.
"Wow. You look . . . I don’t think there are words.” His voice is sort of awed. He takes my hand gingerly, like I'm something of value that might break with a rough touch. So I have no choice but to plaster myself against him.
"Thanks," I whisper. "Wish I could say the same about you." He groans at my bad joke.
I skim my hands over his shoulders and chest. He has a new shirt on—a kind I've never felt before—soft leather with intricate stitching all over it. His exquisite honeysuckle scent is strong; it always is after he bathes.
"Kai was right," I say. "I'm incredibly lucky."
He kisses the hollow at the base of my throat, then reaches around to tie my bird necklace into place. "I'm the lucky one. Lucky to be able to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you."
I touch his face, running my fingers along the smooth ridge of his jaw and tracing his lips. "I love you, too. I wish so many things had been different, but not that. Never that."
Our mouths meet again . . . and someone clears their throat. We both jump back like guilty children.
"The anuna are gathered. If you two can find the time to join us for the ceremony?" Nerang asks, the quiet laughter in his voice. "Ah—you look beautiful, young one. Yindi would be pleased."
"Thank you, Nerang," I say. "And not only for her wonderful dress. For everything you've done for us."
We make our way to the water hole, where the ceremony and the feast will be held. I can already smell roasting meat and the scent of toasty bread. It reminds me of the Feast of Deliverance—a very good memory. The sun beams down at us as we walk along the path, and the birds sing in the trees like groups of small, flighty choristers. It's an absolutely gorgeous day.
Peree and I link arms, following Nerang to the front of the gathered crowd. Moon and Petrel embrace us along the way, Yani in their arms. Bear hugs me, too, whispering that he's happy for me. His voice holds only a touch of sadness. Several of the anuna press my free hand as I pass, and offer me their blessings, as do many of the other Groundlings and Lofties.
The last few weeks have been the most challenging of my life. And that's saying something. But no one ever said that doing the right thing would be easy, or that it wouldn't involve sacrifice. No one said everything would work out for the best. It hasn't. I've hurt people with my decisions, even when I was determined not to.
Yet, at this moment, I'm proud that Peree and I honored our promise to those of our people who wanted to listen, like Moon and Petrel, Ivy and Dahlia. Even Frost and Moray. Groundlings and Lofties alike. We brought them here, to safety. Now they can put down roots toget
her in the fertile soil of Koolkuna and shelter and sustain each other as I'd always hoped.
And Peree and I? We’ve earned our chance to be happy. I'm determined to make the most of it.
That's how I'm feeling . . . until the screaming starts.
Someone runs toward the clearing, shouting in the first language. People cry out. I can't understand their words, but it's obvious that something's horribly wrong.
Peree's hand on my arm tightens painfully. "It's Arika."
Dread claws at me, tearing up the contentment that barely had a chance to take root.
"Her head is bleeding," he mutters.
"What has happened?" Nerang's voice is somber, but as calm as ever.
Arika gasps for breath. She speaks in the second language now, for our benefit, I'm sure. "The children . . . they're gone. Frost and I were in the forest with them, collecting the wild flowers. The people attacked me, and they took her . . . and the children."
More shouts of alarm and sorrow rise from the crowd.
"Thrush was with them!" I hear Moon cry.
"And Kora and Darel," I say. This can't be happening.
"Who attacked you and took the children?" a man asks.
"I don't know. They wore strange clothes, and their hair was painted," Arika says. "They carried weapons. And they were all women."
From the confused sounds of the crowd, no one knows what to make of this description.
"How long ago was this? We must follow them," someone shouts.
