by Aimee Moore
I rested my head on Dal's shoulder with a sigh. “Your mind is too much sometimes.”
Dal's chest rose and fell with laughter. “You are intrigued.”
“And you are arrogant.”
“A statement of fact is only arrogant if it is used to preen one into betterment. I have no need for such a thing.”
“You see, complete arrogance,” I laughed.
Dal’s laughter rumbled alongside my own. We were silent for a time, me tracing the tattoos on Dal's fascinating skin, and him twirling locks of red between his fingers while running his other hand up and down my bare back.
“You wouldn't be happy with humans,” I whispered.
“And you would not thrive among Kraw.”
“It doesn't seem possible to be together, Dal.”
Dal made a noise in his throat. “Kraw would not fear you, Sera, but living among a large, strong race such as ours would put you in danger often. Even in my world, among civilization. Humanity would fear me, and there is danger in fear and numbers. You would be cast out with me at your side, possibly finding yourself as feared as me.”
“Where is the simple place that your dreams reside, Dal? The one you mentioned before when I asked? I wish to go there with you when this is all done.”
“You do not wish to return to your village?”
I frowned. “No, there is only death there now.”
Dal's voice vibrated a short hum of acknowledgment. “The simple place is in my world. We do not have trees, such as you do, but towering plants like… mushrooms. There is a place, deep in the warm depths of one such forest, lush and dark and alive with rainfall and peace. I wish to be there, away from the demands of my people.”
“Can I survive there?”
I could almost hear Dal's brain working as he thought. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Then I want to go there with you after all of this.” It was a different from my sun kissed, green velvet hills as night and day. And I didn’t care, I wanted to be there with him.
“You would never see another human again, Sera. And fewer Kraw. If we cannot bear offspring then you would be lonely and childless.”
“I am not lonely with you, Dal.”
Dal gave a nod, brushing a hand over my hair. “Then, Sera, when this war is over, if you still wish it, I will take you to that place with me.”
I wrapped my arms as far around Dal as I could and squeezed. “Thank you.”
“Snuff the flame, Seraphine, you need rest.”
I began to rise, and Dal pulled me back. “No. From here.”
I smiled as I lay back down, kissing Dal again, before reaching within me for that flame. But this time I didn't try to give it a command, I let it wash over me, and the flame across the room was no longer out of my reach. I blew toward the flame, and it snuffed as if I were standing next to it.
Dal brushed a kiss across my temple. “May your dreams be as pure and dazzling as the stars falling above us now.”
“Yours too, Dal.”
Chapter 13
Sunflowers and Hornets
Dawn pierced the room quicker than I would have liked, and I lifted my head from the muscled shoulder I had fallen asleep on, looking up into the sleeping face of the man that was my world.
He stirred with a soft grunt, opening long-lashed eyes and looking at me with warmth.
“Good morning,” I murmured.
“Let us do better than good,” Dal growled.
I laughed as he rolled atop me and spread my legs.
The morning far surpassed good.
When we were both spent and our stomachs growled too insistently to ignore, we dressed and made our way to the river, where we took our time bathing each other in the rushing water.
“Mindrik took all the food,” I said as Dal ran a soap over my shoulders.
“He does not wish to be left behind,” Dal said.
I pulled my hair aside for him to continue, my body tingling with satisfaction and desire all at once. “That's odd, we haven't tried to leave him yet.”
“He suspects the nature of our relationship, and he knows that we could continue without him with ease. It was logical of him, although I am capable of finding more nourishment in the event that he is lost.”
“Don't tell him that.”
There was laughter in Dal's voice. “I need not bother.”
We finished our bath, Dal giving me a rough pull for one last kiss, then dressed and made our way for Mindrik's borrowed house. When we got there, the door was locked, so I pounded on the door.
“Mindrik! It's past sunrise, we have to leave.”
There was no answer. I waited for a few minutes before pounding again.
“Come on Mindrik, we need to go!”
“Step aside,” Dal said.
I did so, and gasped as Dal smashed the door in with a single swipe of his fist.
“I shall prepare the mounts while you wake the human,” Dal said, then stepped away.
Shaking my head, I stepped into the home. A cascading tumble thudded in the far stairwell, and soon Mindrik appeared, half clothed, wild eyed, hands raised into claws with globs of water swimming about them.
I smiled. “It pleases me to know that you are ready for battle at any moment.”
Mindrik straightened, the water splashing to the floor, and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “What in the seven hells was that crash?”
I gestured toward the door.
Mindrik looked past me and paled. “The beast did that?”
“Yes.”
“But that was solid oak, bolted in three places.”
I shrugged. “Kraw,” I said in a soft voice.
Mindrik huffed an angry sigh and marched back upstairs, hollering over his shoulder as he went. “And you thought not to give me ample warning that the door was to be destroyed in such barbaric fashion?”
“You said yourself you sleep through anything, how were we to wake you?” I looked at the trinkets in the fine home as I spoke. Golden magnifying glasses, gorgeous spun glass vases, books, and very old knick-knacks made of bone adorned the home. Mindrik carried on upstairs, hollering about beasts, but I was no longer listening when I stopped next to a lavender blanket.
It had the trademark double loop weave of my village, complete with a single braided tassel among the many loose ones to mark Lambston's finery. I pulled it out from under other blankets and spread it as wide as I could before pressing it to my face. Unfamiliar smells of flowers and other people's home mixed with the familiar scent of cleaned wool.
I had helped clean wool on some summers when demand for textiles was high. A traveling lute player had come to our village once, and his songs were the only things we could sing while rolling in dandelion fluff and tall weeds that summer. We would sing them while cleaning the wool. Those songs lilted through my memory now as the smells of summer fields and wool came back to me, and the jaunty tune spun itself on the wind of those memories, the dandelion fluff posing as notes.
“Seraphine, are you listening to me?”
I lowered the blanket quickly and turned to Mindrik, who was now dressed. “No, I'm sorry.”
Mindrik furrowed his brow and looked at me, hiking a bag over his shoulder. “My dear woman you look as if you've seen a ghost.”
I gave Mindrik a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Just remembering.” I looked down at the lavender colored blanket, then held it out for Mindrik to see. “My village made this.”
Mindrik looked at the blanket as if I'd handed him something as plain as a blank slip of paper. “It looks like an ordinary blanket, how can you tell?”
“The double loop weave, here, was invented by the head spinner's great grandmother decades ago. And this single braid, for those who don't know what to look for.” I looked up at Mindrik, who was not looking at the fine craftsmanship, but at me.
“You should keep it, Seraphine, for good memories.”
“I think I shall.”
Mindrik sm
iled. “Come, let’s get those walking skeletons for mounts moving.”
We went outside to find Dal patting the three leathery creatures down.
“What are you looking for, Dal?” I asked.
“These mounts are starving, and will soon perish.”
“I'm fairly certain they perished from starvation decades ago,” Mindrik said under his breath.
Dal flicked irritated eyes at Mindrik before looking at me. “They will not get us to the capital.”
“What do they eat? We should get them food,” I said.
Dal stood with a sigh, gesturing toward the mounts. “We cannot offer them nourishment; they can only survive on the husk of a plant from the Kraw home world.”
“And yet they've survived here for months,” Mindrik drawled.
Dal shook his head, straightening the saddle on the tallest mount. “The husk is farmed and sent to warring clans on distant worlds to aid in the battles. There will be no husk sent to us, and so the beasts shall perish.”
I looked at the odd steeds, which appeared to be drooping more than normal. Their scorpion tails were lank, their marbled blue eyes dull. Even the leather of their stretched skin seemed worn and lifeless. I pitied them.
“We should let them go die in peace, Dal, not ride them into their graves.”
“They have maybe five days at best; their days are numbered whether we use them or not. Our days are not numbered, and our chances of survival are greater with their use. It is logical to use them.”
I let off a heavy breath, not liking the idea of warring with guilt and pity the whole ride. But Dal was right, logic needed to come before emotion.
“Can I have a few minutes before we leave?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dal said with a nod.
I nodded, and dashed back to the house Dal and I had stayed in. The bed was still rumpled from our lovemaking. The sheets still smelled of him. I smiled to myself as I grabbed my bag of newfound treasures, stuffing the blanket into it, and walked out. I walked past Dal and a confused Mindrik and stopped at the field of fresh mounds of dirt.
A soft wind billowed my dress and hair toward the graves, and I tried to focus on each mound of dirt and wish them all a safe journey to the afterlife. I murmured respectful things to each mound, apologizing for things that I wasn't sure if I should be sorry for or not. I promised that I would do everything I could to right the world for them, even though they were no longer in it. A large hand rested on my shoulder, and I looked up into Dal's eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Dal gave a slow nod, looking out over the field of graves as well.
“They are at peace now,” Mindrik said.
“We have much travel ahead of us,” Dal said.
We went back to the village center and mounted our drooping steeds. I got my own this time, and we were off.
We rode for days, stopping now and again for food or rest. Dal and I stole a sweet kiss when Mindrik wasn't around, but he seemed to stay awake longer than us, and so our slumbers stayed innocent. Despite our waning food source and our withering mounts, we traversed the land at exceptional speed.
As one long, windy day crept into dusk, we slowed at a sign pointing us to another village, Sunwold. The biting cold in the air and the rustle of wind made the outdoors seem more unwelcome than usual.
“Dare we stop at that one?” Mindrik asked.
“I do not think it wise to stop at any of them,” Dal said.
“I had forgotten what a luxury a bed is. Wumbleton offered such a luxury,” I said. Dal and I exchanged a glance, and I looked away, trying not to smile. When I looked at Mindrik, he was glancing between us.
“I should like to find more food, it has been a day without,” Mindrik said, lamenting our depleted find of pickled and dried food.
“Then let's go to the village and see if we can procure some meals,” I said.
Dal set his face in a grim expression.
“Dal, you need not bury the dead of every village we stop in. I shall learn to look away,” I said in a gentle tone.
“That is not what worries me,” Dal said.
Mindrik scoffed. “Since everything seems to worry you we’ll call it jitters and press on. In the very least, we need to find more food so that we can maintain everyone's strength. Come, let us visit more dead,” Mindrik said, urging his steed forward.
I cut Dal an apologetic look, and he sighed and followed Mindrik down the road to the village.
But when we got there, dead were not what we found. We found unguarded women, children, and men, all thin and dingy looking, and all glaring at Dal. Three men approached us before we made it past the first building.
“You cannot enter our peaceful village with that at your heels,” the tallest declared, pointing a sword at Dal.
Mindrik sat up to his full height in the saddle. “My dear sir, we are not in search of trouble.” All eyes went to Dal. “We wish for peace, a hot meal, and a bed.”
“You cannot bring your hulking beast into this village; he will be killed in his sleep. His filth is not welcome among our kind.”
I glanced at Dal, who showed no sign of understanding their language.
“Please,” I said, cutting off Mindrik before he could speak. “He is my guard. We shall help perform any tasks you ask in exchange for food and shelter for the night.”
“Anything?” One man asked with a slow smile.
Mindrik spoke up. “I am a Gifted of the university, prodigy follower to Sol Creljin, third elder of the council. I have much coin to my name, and can offer handsome payment for what appears to be scant hospitality.”
The middle man laughed. “Unless you can pay us in food, your coin is worthless.”
Mindrik and I cast each other worried looks. “Perhaps there is no food here,” I whispered to Mindrik.
It was then that Dal spoke. “I am stronger than any horse you possess, and can perform the work of twelve men on my own. Allow me to work for the shelter of my companions and I shall take peace outside the city.”
My mouth popped open. “No, you either come with us or we don't go,” I said.
“The beast knows our tongue,” one of the men said.
Dal sighed. “You are in need of nourishment and rest more than myself. A chill rain comes to claim the night, and you will need shelter. It is one night, Sera. Find rest and comfort with your people, for it is apparent that I shall find none with them.”
The thought of spending a night without being curled in Dal's arms was crushing.
“Wait here,” one of the three men said, and they walked back into town, disappearing into the throng.
“I shall not spend a night away from my guard,” I said once they were gone, glaring at Dal. “I'd rather share a starving belly and a patch of dirt with you than have a hot meal alone.”
“You cannot stay out tonight. The dying forests provide no shelter from the freezing wind and rain,” Dal said.
I frowned up at the clear skies. “There's not a cloud in the sky, Dal. How do you know it's going to rain?”
“Kraw have senses you do not.”
We dismounted from our steeds to save their depleting strength, eventually sitting on the side of the road. Minutes spanned into hours. Dal shared Kraw symbols in the dirt with me, which were similar to letters, and I was amazed at how elegant Dal's script was. He showed me the symbol for dragonfly, arcing his symbols with a surprisingly elegant twist of his wrist, then glanced up to see that I had been watching him and not the dirt.
“That is a complex loop with a slash through it and some wavy lines, it means nothing,” Mindrik said in a stubborn tone.
When the three men approached again, they looked grim. We stood.
“You may enter upon payment from the self-proclaimed prodigy of Sol Creljin. Then the beast will work under armed guard before leaving for the night. The two of you may then have food and shelter.”
I frowned at Mindrik, who appeared to not enjoy that proposition eithe
r.
“What is the payment sum?” He asked.
One of the men handed him a piece of parchment. “To be signed and sealed by you,” the man said.
Mindrik scowled. “Have you any idea how much coin this is? I could purchase a week in the capital's finest whorehouse for this much.”
“Pay it or leave,” the man said.
Mindrik scowled at the paper, then glanced at Dal and myself.
“Let's just leave,” I said. “We'll be fine.”
Mindrik shook his head, uttered some foul tempered words, then took the man's quill and slashed out a graceful signature with a few odd symbols next to it. Then he waved his hands in the familiar weaving sensation, calling water, and a small glob formed between his fingers. He pinched it on the corner of the scroll, closing his eyes and chanting something I did not understand. His knuckles became white.
When Mindrik let go, the corner of the paper was wet, and appeared to be stamped with Mindrik's finger prints. In blue. He thrust the paper back at the man, who nodded and pocketed it.
“What are your names?” The man asked.
“As the paper says, I am Mindrik.”
“My name is Seraphine,” I said. “And this is Da—"
The man waved a hand, cutting me off. “I don't care. He will be called Beast while in these walls, because that is what he is.”
I slouched as I looked at Dal, who bore the abuse with indifference.
“Tell the beast to hand over the weapon,” the man said.
“He can understand you just fine,” I said in a flat tone. “And how is he to protect himself from your hostile town without his weapon.”
“We don’t give a rat’s ass.”
Dal's deep voice interrupted the conversation as he handed his sword over. “Do not worry for me, they are no threat.”
One of the men ripped the sword from Dal's large hand with a snarl. He nodded toward a distant house, and four more men came out, bearing axes and swords, holding them to Dal. Dal handed the reins of his mount to me and walked in front of us, looking horrifically captive.
