Lakhoni (18 page)

“We
still don’t know who this boy is!” Mibli’s voice carried throughout the
village, bouncing off of huts and back at Lakhoni. The small, powerful man
fairly jittered with frustrated energy.

Lakhoni
stood with his back to the fire, facing the group of people and animals that
had gathered. The scene felt familiar, although it took him a minute to place
it. That first night. A hot back and cold front.

But
much had changed. His energy had returned. After his first day in the sun, with
Simra stopping by regularly to offer him water and food, his recovery had
accelerated. A spear of shame cut through Lakhoni. Nobody knew his voice had
returned yet.
Just another few days to recover all of my strength.
And to
be with Simra.

His
strength had returned enough for him to help carry wood for the fire and help
with other work around the village. He was strong enough to run, even to hunt.
Simra had found a new deer gut string for him and he had decided to work outside
near the central fire. Mibli had noticed what he was doing and had confronted
him. When Mibli demanded to know if Lakhoni meant to hunt and Lakhoni had
nodded, Mibli exploded.

“We
still cannot trust this boy! He acts like his voice is gone, but maybe that’s
all it is! An act so he won’t be caught in lies!”

Mibli’s
words struck far too close to home.

Neas
emerged from the crowd, Simra right behind him. “But what reason do we have to
distrust him?” he asked. “He has told Simra his story. He arrived here near
death. Why would he lie?”

The
rest of the villagers seemed content to let Mibli and Neas have it out. Lakhoni
wondered if this was a normal occurrence. And would they support whichever of
the two won the argument? Mibli stepped closer to Neas, anger visible in each
quivering muscle. “You seem happy to allow a boy we don’t know to just walk in
here and live off of our hard work. By the Sword, Neas, you would let him hunt
with us and join our village, our life, without knowing who he is?”

“I
know who he is,” Neas said. “He is Lakhoni. He is an orphan. And why shouldn’t
we let him join our lives. We have space, don’t we?”

Lakhoni
glanced away from the argument, catching Simra as she looked over at him. She offered
him a small smile. He began to wonder if he should have been more open with her
so he could deserve her kindness more.

He
wished he hadn’t chosen to work on his bow that morning. Lakhoni was glad Neas
had come to his defense, but he wondered if he should have told Simra and
Neas . . .

It
was too late now.

“You
trust too blindly,” Mibli said.

“You
fear too blindly,” Neas countered.

“I
fear for the safety of our village! That is my duty.”

“And
it is my duty to look to the health of our people here,” Neas said. “We would
be sick indeed if we allowed a dying boy to rot in front of our fire. And we
are sick if we don’t offer him our hospitality.”

“That’s
all fine, but that doesn’t mean I should let him carry weapons and sneak around
behind me and my hunters as we search for food.”

“You
make a good point. He shouldn’t hunt by himself and of course we must be
careful but what could he say that he has not already written that would
convince you that he doesn’t lie? That he really is an orphan who needs a new
home?” Neas surveyed the crowd. “At what point in our hope for safety do we
sacrifice compassion?”

Neas’s
words pierced Lakhoni. He knew that at nearly fifteen years old, he was almost
old enough to start his own family. He figured that his age had to be fairly
clear to the villagers. The idea that Neas meant to provide him a new home had
never occurred to him.

“So
you want to adopt him?”

“Maybe
the village should adopt him,” Neas said, his voice quiet.

“Maybe
you just don’t think any of the young men of the village are good enough for
your precious daughter,” Mibli said, “and you want to groom this one to be her
husband. First Fathers know you’ve had her spending a lot of time with him.”

Silence
followed Mibli’s insinuation. Many of the villagers nodded in agreement. There
had to be a history here, something Lakhoni hadn’t detected before.

Neas
stepped closer to Mibli, who took a small step backward. Simra looked like she
wanted to explode. This was getting bad. Whatever had happened before, Lakhoni
was causing it to get worse. He had to stop it. It would probably mean he would
be thrown out, and would surely mean Simra would be upset with him for not
telling her earlier. It didn’t matter.

“Please,”
Lakhoni said. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

His
voice, rough and raw, cut through the tension between Neas and Mibli.

“He
talks!” Mibli crowed, spinning to glare at Lakhoni. “You see! He was lying all
along.”

“No!”
Lakhoni said. “Just for the last week.” He stared at the frozen ground, not
wanting to see Simra’s face. He knew she would be hurt at his deception. He
just hadn’t wanted to answer all of the questions he knew would be asked.

“Why
should we believe that? He lies about not talking. What else is he lying
about?” Mibli turned in a circle, his voice growing louder. “Why would a
stranger fake illness and infiltrate our homes? Can’t you see? He’s a Usurper,
come to spy on us!”

Shock
stabbed Lakhoni like a cold spear. “No,” he said, his voice still cracking.
“Why would you—”

“He’s
a liar!” Mibli crowed. “I told you from the start we shouldn’t allow him to
stay. Everyone’s heard of the Usurper spies near villages to the west and
north. He’s one of them!”

“He
is not,” Simra said. “He’s one of us.” Her dark eyes darted to Lakhoni’s then
away.

“You
would say anything to protect him, of course,” Mibli said.

“Look,
I’ll just go,” Lakhoni said. “I’ll leave today.” He wished Simra would look
back at him.

“No,
you’re not going anywhere,” Mibli said. “We will confine you until you tell the
truth. Then you will see what we do with invaders like you.”

“I’m
not a Usurper,” Lakhoni said.

“Neas,
he will be confined in the hut,” Mibli said.

When
there was no response from Neas, Lakhoni looked up. Simra and her father stood
in close conversation, their words too muffled for him to hear. Neas had bent
forward so his shaggy head was closer to Simra’s. She shook her head firmly
several times as they spoke.

“So
since nobody objects, boy, confined you will be,” Mibli said.

Lakhoni
met Mibli’s angry stare. “My name is Lakhoni.”

“Mibli,
I believe you are wrong,” Neas said. His deep voice commanded the villagers’
attention. “But it does not hurt to take care. He can be kept in the sick hut
for now, with a guard on the door.”

“He
should be bound,” Mibli said.

“There
are no weapons in there,” Neas said. “Your warriors can surely stop a young,
unarmed boy, can’t they?”

Mibli
glared. “Fine.” He gestured to a nearby man. “Take him.”

As
Lakhoni was led through the crowd, he glanced over his shoulder. Simra’s deep
brown eyes finally met his. As he looked away, he was sure he had seen pain in
those eyes. He wanted to go back and try to explain. He wanted to protect her.
If anyone knew the fullness of his intentions in Zyronilxa, they would never
let him go. And if they somehow did let him go and anyone near the king found
out about help he had received, Simra’s village would be in danger.

But
there wasn’t time to tell her this.
They’re going to question me.
Lakhoni
couldn’t take the chance that he would let his plans slip. He had to get away.

The
man leading him grabbed Lakhoni’s bow, wrenching it from his hand. He pushed
Lakhoni hard through the doorway and shut the door behind him. Lakhoni spun to
a crack between the door and the wall and watched for shadows and movement. The
man shuffled to the right of the door and leaned against the outer wall.

Lakhoni
would wait. The man’s attention would lag. Maybe he could wait until darkness
was falling.

Lakhoni
turned to face the hut, searching the shadows. He would need food. A weapon
would be helpful. First though, he would need a bag.

And
he would need to listen for movement outside so that anyone coming in would not
see him making preparations to leave.

Pleased
that his body no longer protested much whenever he moved, Lakhoni searched the
hut. It wasn’t long before he found a pile of familiar items on a small wooden
table. Everything he had brought to the hut, minus his bow. His bag, a pair of
breeches, his chewed cloak. Even the dagger he had carried from the cavern of
the Separated. Neas had obviously forgotten about leaving Lakhoni’s things in
the hut.

Maybe
he hadn’t forgotten.
Lakhoni wondered if Neas had deliberately made it seem like he would be
helpless.
Does he want me to escape? Does he think it will go badly for me
if I stay?

It
didn’t matter; it was time to go. He held the bag open and shoved the dagger
and breeches in. He would need food. If he could get his bow back, he would be able
to hunt, especially since winter was drawing to a close. He scoured the hut for
food, finding an empty clay box that sat under a wood shelf containing
bandaging supplies. He grabbed some of the bandages. It never hurt to be
prepared.

He
sat on his bed, waiting for dark to fall and adding up the days. He had left
the Separated in the dead of winter and had traveled for nearly two weeks. He
had been in Simra’s village for another five or six weeks.

Spring
had come already, so it should be safe for him to travel.

As
he sat waiting for nightfall and the moment for his escape, he practiced the
centering techniques Gimno had taught him. He eased his weight backward
slightly, straightening and firming his spine and crossing his legs in front of
him. He rested his wrists atop his knees, breathing slowly through his slightly
open mouth.

Finding
a dark whorl on the pale wood door, Lakhoni focused on it, willing air smoothly
in and out of his lungs. He considered lighting a fire to ward off the chill of
the waning day, but dismissed the idea. Better if the light source was outside
if anyone came in—they would make an easier target and their eyes would take a
moment to adjust. That moment could be the only chance he had.

He
shook the thoughts away.
Focus
.

It
took him longer than he expected to find his center. Images of Simra’s face,
reminders of the shame he felt at hiding that he could speak—they all crowded
into his mind. Simra’s kindness, and that of her father, reminded him so much
of his first impressions of Gimno’s wife, Vena. It reminded him of home, too.

He
reflected on the possibility that he might actually stay in the village. Maybe
he could convince Mibli he wasn’t a Usurper. Maybe he could have a new home. He
could leave his journey behind. What were the chances of his finding Alronna,
much less rescuing her, anyway?

He
forced the thoughts away. His course was set.

Breathe.
Focus. As he finally pushed all thought away, the whorl on the door seemed to
become at once less defined but larger. He closed his eyes, opening all of his
other senses to the world around him. Center. Gimno had taught him that in this
state, he could extend his awareness somewhat, almost see what was happening in
the world around him, despite his eyes being closed.

Smell
came first. Someone was cooking deer over the fire outside. Flatbread too. Then
hearing and more. Children played with dogs nearby. Somebody walked close
enough to the hut he sat in that he felt the tremor of the earth under their
feet.

Now
Lakhoni, still in his deepened state of consciousness, willed his muscles to
relax, but remain ready to move at a moment’s notice. He connected with the
earth beneath him, feeling its pulse.

Somebody
was walking toward the door of the hut. Lakhoni stuffed his bag of things under
his blanket, sliding backward and to the side so that his back leaned on the
stone wall. He glanced down, assuring himself that the bag was well hidden.

Voices
came through the door, then the door opened outward. Simra stepped through the
darkening shadows of the day, golden flame reflecting on her skin. She held a
plate of food in one hand, the other propping the door open. She stood that way
for a long moment, her face flat—as if she was forcing all expression away.

Lakhoni
forced the guilt away, even as his heart leapt at the sight of her.

“They
said I could bring you some food.” Simra crossed the hut in a few strides. She
lowered the plate to Lakhoni.

He
took it with a flat smile.

She
turned back toward the door.

“Simra,”
he said without meaning to.

She
stopped, but didn’t turn back.

“I’m
sorry I didn’t tell you.”