by M. A. Roth
“Hurting doesn’t even begin to cover it Mum.” I see the hurt, and I hate that I put it there, but I can’t lie and tell her it’s okay because it’s not.
I walk away from my mother and find Alana where I left her, looking into the flames. I plop down beside her. She throws me a sideward glance. I shake my head to let her know I don’t want to talk about it. So she returns to looking at the flames. A group of children are watching us. A few of the older ones are egging on a young girl of maybe four or five to come over to us. She makes her way over, glancing back over her shoulder at her encouraging friends. “Hello, princess,” she says shyly with her hands behind her back, swaying slightly. I push my anger down and look at the little girl; her eyes are huge and brown. She is adorable.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Mei.”
“Mei, that’s a beautiful name.” I pat a space beside me.. “How old are you, Mei?”
Her little face looks up into mine. “four and a half years old now,” she says very maturely.
Alana is listening to us. “Mei, this is Alana, my personal guard.”
Mei’s face squishes up. “A girl can’t fight.”
Alana raises an eyebrow. “Really, and who told you that?”
Mei looks at her hands shyly. “My granddad said when I was fighting with my cousin that girls don’t fight.”
I suppress a laugh. “Well, Alana here is a great warrior.” Her eyes light up as she looks at Alana.
“Your granddad has never seen me fight,” Alana says proudly.
“Maybe you could show me. My cousin always fights with me.” Her little face looks angry. I can’t stand to see a child bullied.
“Did you tell your granddad about your cousin?” I ask gently, seeing as Mei is really upset and at four years of age, this is a big deal.
“No, he is always busy.”
“What about your mum or dad or have you any older brothers or sisters?”
Her big eyes look sad. “My parents are dead and my brother…” She dwindles off. “I am not allowed to speak about him, granddad said.” The poor child. I notice Musa moving through the camp with Ndee. They are clearly looking for someone. Ndee’s face relaxes when she sees Mei. “Mei, your granddad is looking for you.”
Musa approaches and Mei jumps to her feet. “Mei, I told you to stay close,” he says in a stern voice, but love for this child radiates from his eyes.
“Sorry, Granddad, I was just talking to the princess.”
Musa smiles at me and picks her up in his arms. “Bed time.” She grumbles but curls into his arms as he carries her away.
“Time for your marking,” Ndee says, full of excitement. I want to back out of it. Pain isn’t something I look forward to, but I follow her to a makeshift tent where a man waits with a tray of ink and small look-a-like needles.
He’s slimmer than most men I have seen around here, but he’s also a lot older. His blue tunic covers him from head to toe. With a balding head and a surprisingly dark black beard, it’s a contradiction to the age that shows around his blue eyes.
“Where would you like it?” he asks as I sit down. Only one shoulder is bare, so I opt for there. It isn’t as painful as expected and the tattoo is just two small, fluffy wings. They look really nice when they’re complete.
“Thank you.” I tell him and he gives me a little bow.
“You are very welcome princess.” That was another thing, I didn’t like everyone calling me princess. It tied me too closely to Morrick and honestly I didn’t want to be put in the same bracket as that man. Once I leave the hut, I don’t return to the celebrations. I’ve had enough of people for today, instead I go back to my hut.
***
The next day, Ndee takes me to the kilns as she promised and we are accompanied by Mei. She hops along beside us to keep up. The kilns are positioned near the beach, embedded into the large cliffs. The heat in the stone structures is intense, coming from two large ovens that are about six feet tall and six feet wide with large doors on the front. I can see pipes running from one side of the kilns and disappearing behind them, then reappearing on the opposite side.
“The water will be hot today?” I say to Ndee while wiping sweat off my forehead. She laughs at my red-hot face.
“Yes, indeed. This is where the pottery is made.” She gestures to several wooden pottery wheels that are covered in dried bits of clay. “The pottery is shaped here.” Across from the pottery wheels, wooden tables are positioned; they are only the width of two benches. “And here we use a knife to inscribe our designs. The pottery then goes into the oven. When it’s baked, we leave it in the cooling area.”
She gestures for Mei and me to follow her. We leave and go through a wooden door that brings us into a smaller room, but it’s much cooler. A woman is seated at a desk, painting a mug in a vivid red color. The swirls that have been engraved on the side of the mug are painted white.
“And this is where we paint and glaze the pottery.” Ndee seems so proud of what they did and she should be. “Do you want to make something yourself?” she asks.
“Yes, that would be great, wouldn’t it, Mei?” The little girl beams up at me at being acknowledged, and she has been so quiet throughout Ndee’s talk. “Yes, princess.”
She’s doing her cute little swaying thing again. I can’t help but smile at her. Ndee shows skills of a great teacher. Her instructions and patience make what I’m doing seem so easy. Once I have a bowl shaped, she sets it in the kiln. It isn’t perfect, but I’m delighted with it, even though Mei produced a perfect vase.
“We will come back and check on them later,” Ndee announces while putting Mei’s vase in the oven.
“But we better get Mei back and feed you, princess.” My stomach grumbles on cue.
I tidy myself up in my room, making sure nothing has gotten on the beautiful blue wrap that Ndee left out for me. I return to the main room. There is nowhere for cooking, but a plate filled with food is laid out on the circular table. I sit down. The chair under me has a soft cushion. The plate is colorfully dressed with lettuce, baby tomatoes, and the rest I can’t name, but I start on the fish. Ndee brings over a pottery jug and pours me out a mug of water. “Thank you, Ndee.”
She smiles. “You’re welcome, princess.” Ola arrives then with another plate of fish and a mug. She lays it out across from me. I stop eating. “Is someone joining me?” I ask.
“I am,” Tristan says from the door. He has washed and changed into a simple black tunic and trousers. Not a bit of leather in sight. His hair is loose around his face. My stomach somersaults and I try not to stare as he dismisses Ola and Ndee, who scurry off as if they are afraid of him. Tristan pours himself some water and sits down as if it’s normal for us to eat dinner together.
I just sit there, staring at him. “What is this about?”
He chews the fish slowly and then looks at me. “Does it bother you?” He doesn’t smile or grin.
If I said Hell yes, eating with you bothers me, he would win. So I cut up my fish. “Of course not, Tristan.”
“Good,” he says, self-assured.
We eat in silence. He didn’t come here to have dinner with me—something is up. It’s hard to eat with him so close. I feel weird; I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a normal conversation with him. I know then he is looking at me; my skin tingles.
“Your face is healed.”
My head shoots up and I search his green eyes for something, anything, but nothing shows. Morrick’s angry face just before he struck me comes to mind. Then Clive’s body. I drop my knife and fork abruptly and try to wash down the images with water.
Guilt tightens in my chest. Every time I think of Clive dying, the look of horror on his face, when he realized it was his father. “That boy didn’t deserve to die.” I say knowing he will leave. He’s like my mother, he would stand by Morrick no matter what. I look at Tristan from under my lashes.
His jaw is tight, his eyes on me. “It was unfortunat
e that he attacked you.” Is his answer.
“If he didn’t attack me, he would be alive.” The words tumble from my lips, and now I think if I hadn’t gotten up for food, would he still be alive? If I hadn’t been kidnapped and taken to this place, he would still be alive. So many if’s and buts.
“It is not your fault.” My eyes snap to his, his words I don’t expect. This kindness I don’t expect either.
My heart pounds in my chest. The way he is watching me has me shifting in my seat. “Why are you here?” I whisper now as my heart refuses to slow down. He doesn’t answer straight away. “To get to know you.” I laugh but he doesn’t and my laughter dies down.
“No really why are you here?” I ask again through narrowed eyes this time.
“I thought that it would be nice to get to know you.” A let out a heavy breathe.
“So what, Morrick will like you more?” He cuts up more of his fish and I watch as he puts a forkful in his mouth. My focus lingers on his lips.
“You aren’t making this very easy Princess.” He says and his lip tugs up slightly before returning to his normal serious expression.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realise I had to. Is that another rule here?” I wasn’t making this easy because I wasn’t exactly believing him and some pathetic part of me wanted him to really want to get to know me. But I didn’t think that was why he was here. But if he wanted to play this game, I would.
“Okay tell me about you first?” I say and he raises an eyebrow, his lip tugs slightly again and I focus on my food instead of staring at him.
“I’m…” he starts and stops as I freeze. I can’t breathe. Tristan reaches out to me from across the table. “Sarajane?” he questions as I try to pull air into my lungs, but nothing is happening. I’m standing up but, my knees give way from under me. Tristan moves and my eyes can’t track him, he grabs me before I hit the floor.
“Sarajane.” I can hear the panic in his voice. I grab at my chest, horrified. Dots swarm in front of my eyes. A man steps out of the shadows. He must have been there all along. Tristan lets me down and reaches out his arms towards the man. I can see the man go numb and slump against the wall, a look of astonishment on his face. The air fills my lungs almost immediately. I take in large gulps. The man’s astonishment fades and is replaced with anger.
Tristan kneels down to me, holding my face. “Are you okay?” he asks. I cough and nod.
The man behind us is now standing and an axe releases from his hands, coming directly towards me. Before I can scream, Tristan turns and grabs the axe in mid-air and flicks his wrist. The man seems to be frozen as panic runs across his face. Tristan flings the axe and embeds it right between his eyes.
Before I can react, Tristan scoops me up in his arms and holds me to his chest.
“Are you all right?” he asks. I’m speechless from the urgency in his voice, but I answer to calm his trembling body.
“I’m fine.” My voice betrays my assurance by quivering. Tristan leans back and his green eyes search my face and then his gaze falls on the dead man. His jaw becomes hard with anger. The door bursts open as twenty men pour in. Tristan pushes me behind him and breaks a leg off the nearest chair as a weapon. The first three men attack. Tristan uses the wood like a sword, hitting all three men with such force they lie unconscious and bleeding on the ground. They’re down before they even realise what hit them. Every man that comes for him, he disarms, and they join the rest on the ground. I’ve never seen anyone so fast. At least ten of them are down now. The others can see there is no point coming in threes so they surround him, moving in. He takes out another three before the rest overpower him.
Tristan throws his head back, breaking the man’s nose behind him. The man grabs his face and howls in pain as blood pours through his fingers. I can see one move up slowly behind, but I don’t get to warn him in time. The man smashes Tristan in the back of his head with a chunk of wood. Tristan falls to his knees and the rest jump on him, knocking him completely to the ground. He still struggles under them, but they finally overpower him. The men are huge, there’s nothing I can do to help. Shouting at them to leave him alone falls on deaf ears, and I feel like a mortal in a world of immortals.
Morrick and Musa walk in then, taking in the room. “Let him go,” Morrick commands.
The men look to Musa and he nods. “Leave us.”
Tristan gets up, touching the back of his head. It comes away sleek with blood. The room empties; the others help carry the ones that are unconscious out of the room. I just stand there, dazed. Trying to take calming breaths.
“What happened here?” Morrick asks, absolutely furious. Tristan looks at Musa. “One of your men attacked the Princess so I disposed of him and then we were swarmed.”
Tristan doesn’t even flinch. “You did more than dispose of him. I felt the pull. We are all connected in this tribe.” Morrick steps towards Tristan, trying to control himself.
“You didn’t use your powers? Tristan, tell me you didn’t.” There is a pleading in Morrick’s voice.
“He tried to kill her, Morrick. What else could I do?” Tristan’s own anger is rising.
“You managed to disarm fourteen of Musa’s best warriors, yet you had to drain one.”
Tristan holds Morrick’s gaze. “He caught me off guard, a mistake that will never happen again.”
Morrick steps closer to him. “You said that after Alana.”
Tristan flinches at this as if it is a blow. “That was different—”
Morrick cuts him off. “Yes, it was. You didn’t know what you were doing then, but you were fully aware this time.” Everyone becomes silent and Morrick’s gaze falls on me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SARAJANE
I’m still trying to calm my pounding heart and Morrick’s narrowed gaze on me has me tightening my fist. I feel like he’s saying ‘now look at what you have done.’
“What is this all about?” Musa asks calmly. Morrick takes a deep breath. “Tristan has unusual gifts. He can take anyone’s powers once he intercepts where it is coming from.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but it explained why the man had gone limp when the air filled my lungs.
“Anything else, Tristan?” Musa asks, still calm.
“Yes, I can shield all powers used against me.” His gaze flicks to Morrick, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“How could you, Tristan? I don’t understand. You could have disarmed him.”
Tristan looks at me for the first time. “He was going to kill her, Morrick.”
Morrick grabs Tristan’s arm. His voice is low but laced with torment. “Don’t look at my daughter like that.” His voice rises.
“You have no right to her.” Heat rushes across my chest at his words. What the hell? I don’t get to linger on that as Musa clears his throat. “Morrick, this is my land, and you came here as my guest. You didn’t feel this was important enough to tell me?” Musa is angry now.
“Musa, I swore I would never use these powers again, so therefore, Morrick had nothing to tell.” Musa approached Tristan. “Yet you used them. Stay right here until I decide what to do.” He turns and leaves the hut. I want to call after Musa not to go. I don’t want to be left here with Morrick and not how he is looking at me now.
“And you, fix your dress.” Morrick’s face is red with rage. I’m confused but when I follow his angry eyes, one shoulder clip is loose. My own face reddens as I retie my dress at my shoulder with shaky hands. “This might be acceptable behaviour in the mortal world, to fling yourself at a man…” Morrick stops as Tristan stands beside me. A muscle twitches in his jaw with his temper.
“You are seeing all this wrong. Leave her out of it.” Morrick’s eyes become wide with anger, but his voice is no more than a whisper. “Be careful, Tristan, you’re not the king yet. I am still your king and don’t you forget it.” Morrick turns his back on us, his shoulders heaving with anger. Tristan’s hand brushes mine and I snap my head up to him to find him lo
oking at me. He gestures for me to leave the room. I’m moving without a second glance. I don’t want to be in that room for one more second. I inhale deeply, willing myself not to cry. That’s all I seem to do in this place. At moments like this, home is fading, like a dream. The more I cling to it, the more it fades.
It feels like forever I pace my bedroom floor before the door opens. Morrick looks over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes as he speaks. “Musa thinks it’s best if you come out to hear what he has to say.”
My legs begin to shake with each step I take towards the door. My stomach turns with nerves. What will happen to Tristan? I’m worried for him. He was after all protecting me. Everyone is seated. Musa and another tribe member sit on the couch while Mirium and Tristan sit on armchairs across from them. A third armchair is vacant beside Mirium. Musa gestures towards the chair. “Princess, please sit.”
Mirium gives me an encouraging look as I sit down stiffly. Morrick sits at the table where I had dinner, all signs of my earlier meal gone. This feels like court.
“This is Kia.” Musa introduces the man beside him. He looks nervous; a sheen of sweat coats his bald head. His eyes are focused on his feet. “Ziar was the man that tried to kill you. This is his cousin,” Musa explains to me.
“I am sorry.” Guilt gnaws at my stomach. But he tried to kill me first.
Musa acknowledges my sympathy with a nod of his head, but Kia just keeps his head down.
“Tell them what you told me, Kia.”
Kia looks at Musa, startled “But…”
“No buts. Kia, tell them.”
