Lakhoni (17 page)

Lakhoni
was waiting for her when she came in the morning. After she had left the night
previous, he had sat with his back against the pelt for a long time. Not long
before falling asleep, an idea had come to him.

So
he had woken early, excited to see his plan through. He had been tempted to
push himself to his feet and go find Simra, but he wanted to maintain the
surprise.

She
walked in the door, a bigger dish in her hand this time, her face in shadow due
to the strong light behind her. It was only a few steps from the door to his
sleeping mat. As she knelt, she looked at his face. She noticed the wall next
to him.

“Lakhoni,”
she read.

Eyes
widening in surprise, then stretching in delight, she turned to him. “Your name
is Lakhoni?”

He
nodded, fierce joy filling him at her reaction.

She
smiled at him for a moment and shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think
of that.”

Lakhoni
grinned and held up the piece of charcoal that he had used.

Simra
closed her hand around his hand that held the charcoal. “Your name is Lakhoni.”

Brown
eyes held his for a long, heart-pounding moment.

“Lucky
I can read,” she said. She cocked her head to the side, a musing expression on
her face. “Lucky you can write.” She gently released his hand, sitting back on
her legs.

He
made a show of looking around, waving his hand in the air.

“You
need something you can write on.”

Lakhoni
nodded.

She
rose to her feet and ambled around the hut. “Maybe a flat stone, or even a
tough piece of leather. It will have to be a light color.” She paused and
addressed him. “You’ll have to tell me how you learned to write. Father taught
me because he is the healer and he expects me to help him, but who are you that
you’ve been taught?” She turned back to her search.

Lakhoni
set his charcoal down and reached for the deep plate she had brought in, the
smell of eggs and fried vegetables too much for him to resist.
Real food
.

“I
hope you can write fast, Lakhoni. I have lots of questions for you. Lakhoni,
that sounds like a name from the west—one of those warrior names. Is that where
you’re from?”

He
looked up, his mouth full. He had decided the story he would tell her would be
as close to the truth as possible. He nodded.

“Hey!
You’re supposed to wait for me to help you.” She made to move toward him.

He
shook his head and used large movements to show her he was well enough to feed
himself.

A
strange expression flitted across Simra’s face. She looked sad for a second.
Isn’t she glad I’m getting better?

As
he gobbled the food, he watched Simra wander around the hut. Eventually she
stepped out the door. He guessed she was still looking for something for him to
write upon. He scraped the last of the eggs and vegetables off the clay plate
and into his mouth, setting down the pronged stick Simra had brought with the
food and using his fingers to clean the plate off.

A
thought occurred to him. He looked closer at the plate. He turned it upside
down.

He
was writing as small as he could with his awkward-shaped piece of charcoal when
Simra came back in, holding another, far cleaner plate.

“Lakhoni,
I think this plate will be perfect—Oh.” She walked quickly over to him. “But I
am sure I thought of it first.”

He
flashed a smile at her, shook his head and pointed at his chest, and went back
to his writing. The charcoal smudged easily if he wasn’t careful, but it showed
up very well on the pale brown plate. He heard Simra settle to a seated position
next to him.
I wonder if she would visit me if her father hadn’t made her
take care of me.

A
moment later, he held the plate out to Simra. Before she took it, he pointed at
the other side of it, reminding her it was dirty.

“Yes,
I know it had your breakfast on it.” Simra took the plate. “And no, I’d rather
not touch it, thanks.”

He
rolled his eyes dramatically and pointed at the plate she held.

“Fine,
relax.” She made a show of peering at the plate, cocking her head to one side
and forcing a confused expression. “Wait, are you sure you know how to write?”

He
wished he could shout at her to get on with it, noted the irony of his wish,
and flicked her arm gently with one finger. The crafty smile she offered him
from under heavy-lidded eyes set his heart pounding.

“Okay.”
She cleared her throat and began to read aloud. “I’m from a village far to the
west. Everyone was killed in a raid.” She gasped softly and looked up at
Lakhoni. “Really? I’m so sorry.”

He
nodded, ignoring the sudden pain in his throat.

After
a moment of searching his face, she turned back to the note he had scrawled.
While she read, he grabbed the clean plate she had brought back with her and
began to write.

“I
was hurt bad,” she continued aloud. “They thought I was dead. I think my sister
might be alive too. I think they took her.”

He
glanced up quickly as she finished what he had written and held up a hand for a
moment. In another minute he was done with the second note.

They
traded plates and she continued reading as he scrubbed the first note off and
began writing again. “I tried to follow them, but I was hurt. When I got
better, I came as quickly as I could. I need to find my sister.”

In
his haste to keep up with Simra, his writing had become larger, giving her less
to read on each plate. They traded again.

“Someone
was trying to capture me, so I traveled in winter to get away from them. I
can’t say if they followed.”

Another
trade.

“I
ran out of food. I tried to kill a deer and broke my string. I ate part of my
cloak.” At this, Simra burst into laughter. Lakhoni laughed too, although the
noises he made sounded like a dying dog. “I ate winter moss too.”

She
took the next plate. “I kept going because if I stopped, I thought I would die.
I want to find my sister. I found your village.”

When
Simra finished reading the last note, she straightened and gave Lakhoni a stern
glare. “That was somewhat abbreviated, wasn’t it? Are you sure you can’t give
any more details?”

Lakhoni
raised his eyebrows and hands in question.
Like what?
He was proud of
the story. There were no outright lies.

“Like
why your sister would be in Zyronilxa and who took her and killed everyone in
your village. Or maybe about who you thought was trying to follow you. Or maybe
about how you survived on pieces of cloak and winter moss while you traveled
through the heart of winter?”

Lakhoni
picked up a plate, using his hand to clean off the previous note. She read
while he wrote. “I think the king’s warriors did it.”

She
sat back quickly. “Why would you think that?” she asked.

He
wrote, “I saw them.”

“And
you think they kidnapped your sister and now you think you can go find her? And
what? Do you plan on getting revenge?”

He
held up one finger and nodded. Then two fingers and he shook his head.

“Yes
to the first question and no to the second one?”

He
nodded and wrote one more line. “I just want to find my sister. She’s my only
family.”

Simra
regarded him for a long, quiet minute.

Lakhoni
hoped she would be satisfied with his story. He didn’t want to try to explain
the Separated or the murder of the young man. Every time he tried to understand
those people, he ended up just becoming confused. And he wasn’t seeking
revenge; he was going to be the agent of justice. But she couldn’t know
that—such knowledge could endanger her entire village.

He
tried to think of something more to write that would end the somewhat awkward
moment. As he searched Simra’s face for a clue to her thoughts, he had the
impression that she was trying to decide if she would believe his story.

She
nodded.

Tension
he had been holding in his shoulders left him. He leaned forward to try to push
himself to his feet. He had been sitting and lying down long enough.

“I
know there’s more you aren’t telling me.”

He
glanced at her face, her brown eyes, but looked away quickly. Pushing himself
to his knees, he met her gaze again. He nodded.
I can’t. For lots of
reasons.

“Maybe
you’ll decide you can trust me,” Simra said. She put out a hand to steady
Lakhoni as he eased himself to his feet. “Until then, I suppose that story will
have to do.” She rose with him, clearly ready to either catch him or slow his
fall if he couldn’t keep his feet.

The
room didn’t spin, although his legs shook bonelessly. His breath came fast, his
heart beating wildly in his ears.

“Take
it slow,” Simra said. “Give it time.”

He
stepped off the sleeping mat. He felt shaky like an old man, every muscle in
his legs and torso protesting. He extended a hand toward a hut wall, but Simra
was there. She stepped under his arm and wrapped her left arm around his back.

“I’ll
help,” she said.

He
pushed a small smile of thanks onto his face, taking another step. It was as if
he had been running for miles.
And this is just walking!

He
stopped and tried to gather himself.

“Just
make it outside. You can sit in the sun for a time,” Simra said.

Her
hand and arm were warm and strong. This was a new experience for Lakhoni. He
wished he could savor the experience of her touch on his back. But it was all
he could do to stay upright.

After
a minute of standing still, his heartbeat had slowed considerably. He pushed
forward, taking one step, then another. Maybe two more paces to the door.

On
his next step, his foot bumped against a slight rise in the dirt floor of the
hut and in a moment of panic he knew he didn’t have the strength to keep from
falling. He clenched his jaw and stepped back, leaning heavily on Simra. Her
arm tightened and she grabbed his hand.

Her
voice was soft in the hut that had been his home for over two weeks.

“It’s
okay. I won’t let you fall. We’ll do this together.”

Lakhoni
fought to catch his breath as Simra approached, trying to hide how hard it was
for him to not gasp from the exertion of making it to the doorway. The cool,
early spring sun shone down, a nice change from the warmth of the healing hut.

“A
week later and you can stand and walk all by yourself.” Simra looked him up and
down, her lips pursed. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Lakhoni
raised his eyebrows in mock offense and nodded.

Simra
burst out laughing. “You look like a kicked puppy dog.” Her cheeks suddenly
went red and she looked down.

Lakhoni
swallowed against the suddenly renewed thundering of his heart. How could every
expression she made be so graceful and captivating?

Simra
met his gaze again. “Admit it, you’re about to fall over.”

Lakhoni
shrugged.

“Need
help?”

He
grimaced and nodded, pointing around the fire circle in the middle of the huts.

“How
many times around this time?” Simra asked, draping one of Lakhoni’s arms over
her shoulders and pulling his side tightly to hers. The arrangement felt both
familiar and intoxicating.

Lakhoni
forced his concentration to return to the task at hand. He held up three
fingers.

“Okay,
let’s go.”

Try
as he might to hold his own weight, Lakhoni felt himself leaning more and more
on Simra. His breath came in short gasps. “Enough?” Simra asked as they
completed the second circle.

He
shook his head, feeling like he was constantly swallowing a trickle of
moisture. He cleared his throat as they started around again. A heavy, thick
cough tore through him. Another came, and then he had to fight to stay upright
as the attack felt like it was tearing something loose in his chest and throat.
He grunted and coughed, hacking up things he didn’t want to look at.

Simra
practically carried him back to the hut. Concern tightened her eyes as the
coughs racked through Lakhoni.

“Do
you need tea? Water?” Simra knelt to help Lakhoni lie back.

Lakhoni
pictured his throat opening wider to let air through, forcing himself to
breathe slower to try to stop the coughs. Another cough tore through his chest.
It was as if a blunt claw was scraping his chest clean. He turned and spat,
nodding.

Simra
suspended a blackened clay tea pot above the fire, then brought Lakhoni fresh
water from the well. Clenching his hide blanket, Lakhoni forced some calm into
his breathing and took a few sips. That seemed to help the strange sensations
in his chest.

“Better?”

He
nodded.

“Tea?”
Her dark eyes, filled with concern, captured him. He felt lost and found.

He
nodded again.

Lakhoni
watched as Simra steeped some roots and leaves in steaming water, adding a dark
syrup and stirring. He cleared his throat carefully, wary of setting off
another coughing attack.
What was that?
His throat felt somehow more
open, cleaner.

He
took the tea from Simra’s hands.

“Do
you need help?” Simra asked.

He
smiled, hefting the thick cup and taking a sip. The sharp, warm liquid coated
his throat with soothing tingles.

“Fine,
so you can drink on your own,” Simra said. “Father needs me. I’ll check on you
later.”

Lakhoni
smiled again, the urgent need to cough having subsided. He watched her leave as
he sipped more of the heavy tea.
Maybe it would be better if I never fully
recovered. Life could be worse than this.

After
a few more gulps of tea, he set the cup down and leaned his head back against
the stone wall. He let a long, slow breath out, licking dry lips. He glanced at
the plates he and Simra had used earlier to communicate. One of them still held
the last sentence of a story he’d told her about Lamorun and him hunting a strangely
elusive deer. Her laughter had been like music.

So
far he hadn’t slipped up, hadn’t revealed the truth of his mission. Being
forced to write everything he said slowed conversations down enough that he
could be careful. Perhaps losing his voice had been the Great Spirit’s way of
protecting Simra and her village. If it came out that they had harbored the
king’s future assassin, there would be no mercy for them.

And
spending time alone with Simra isn’t bad either.
Visions of her smile filled
his mind as he closed his eyes. “Simra.” Even her name was beautiful.

He
sat up, swallowing fast. He’d said her name aloud. He licked his lips again and
tried swallowing again. Fear and eagerness battled within him. He tried it
again. “Simra.”

It
was a breathy, rough croak, but it was a voice. His voice.

Lakhoni
wanted to spring up, run and tell Simra, shout to the village, the world, that
his voice was back.

The
sudden energy flooded out of him with the next realizations: no more slow
conversations, and the end of his time with Simra.

He
slumped back to the hut wall. “Oh no.”