Lakhoni (5 page)

The
painful walk through the trees lasted more than an hour, the silent, glinting
wraiths gliding all around him and Gimno the whole way. They followed no path
that Lakhoni could discern. At times they bore north, but the twists and turns
that Gimno and his people took certainly had no pattern that Lakhoni could see.
All he could tell was that they were going east. The dark shapes of the
mountains far ahead had grown only a fraction by the time they stopped on a low
hill. Gimno stood at the crest of the hill and shadows of the Living Dead
flowed around him and—disappeared. Lakhoni blinked, peering into the deep
darkness. Were these people more than mortals?

“Come,
cub,” Gimno gestured for Lakhoni to approach. Unsure of what to expect, Lakhoni
strode carefully up the hill. When he got to Gimno, he followed the tall man’s
gesture with his eyes and saw a hole in the ground. It was just wider than the
shoulders of a large man.

“Down,”
Gimno said.

Lakhoni
crouched to get a better look. There, perhaps three or four hand lengths below
the hole’s rim, was a thick length of wood, sticking out of the earth. Below
that length was another. This was some kind of ladder. He looked up at Gimno
again.

“I
would still like to have my evening meal, cub.”

Lakhoni
lowered his legs into the hole and probed with a foot for the branch. Finding
it, he began to lower himself slowly, feet questing for each foothold and
gasping at the stabbing pain that awoke all over him.

“A
warm
meal, cub.” Gimno’s voice floated down.

Lakhoni
tried to move faster. There was a pattern to the placing of the branches; they
were spaced at intervals of around five hand lengths and they were very nearly
in a straight line, descending into the darkness that yawned below.

He
silently thanked the Great Spirit that he had not inherited his father’s fear
of tight spaces. Several years previous, before Lamorun had gone off to fight,
the three of them had gone on one of their eight-day hunts. They had followed
the spoor of some deer to the foothills of the mountains to the east and
happened upon a cave in the dark gray rocks of the hills. After throwing many
rocks deep into the cave to be certain an animal hadn’t adopted it as a home,
Lamorun had led the way in. They had come to a bend where the cave narrowed
severely. Lamorun had volunteered to forge ahead somewhat to see if the cave
widened.

After
a few quiet minutes, Lakhoni and his father had heard Lamorun’s voice calling
to them that there was a cavern full of crystals. Lakhoni had immediately
darted forward to join his brother. Their father had called out for them to be
careful with a strange sound in his voice. When he had joined his brother, the
two of them called for their father.

“Father,
the crystals!” Lamorun had insisted. “They’re wonderful and I think we could
sell them.”

Their
father’s voice had come back, “Not today, boys.” After a few moments of
silence, he had said quietly, “If you were in danger, yes. But I’m not fond of
tight quarters.”

Lamorun
and Lakhoni had exchanged incredulous looks. They could hear the fear in their
father’s voice. “You mean,” Lamorun had said, his voice taunting, “that you’re
afraid
of ‘tight quarters.’”

“I
find them unpleasant,” had come the dry response.

Lamorun
had laughed. “You mean you don’t panic or anything, you just avoid them at all
costs.”

“Watch
it, boy,” his father had said. “I have my reasons.”

Lakhoni
felt a smile on his face at the good memory. He and Lamorun had ribbed their
father mercilessly for weeks afterward until he finally revealed the experience
that had led to his fear of tight places. As a teenager, it turned out, Zeozer
had been exploring with his own father in a system of caves in the western
mountains and had gotten stuck, spending most of a day in the darkness until
his father had been able to pull him out.

He
would never have come down here,
Lakhoni thought.
But Lamorun would have.

After
long minutes—long enough for his arms to become quivery with fatigue—Lakhoni’s
left foot touched solid ground. As he stepped away from the wall and turned to
look at where he had arrived, he heard Gimno’s voice waft down from above.

“Cub!
Stand back.”

Lakhoni
looked up, stepping farther away from the ladder in order to give Gimno more
room. He could just barely make out Gimno’s shape against the backdrop of the
star- and moon-lit sky. Suddenly the man dropped, moving far too quickly to be
using the rough ladder of tree branches. Lakhoni looked closer and saw that
Gimno was in a controlled free fall, bouncing lightly from side to side of the
shaft. The warrior landed lightly on the hard stone.

Lakhoni
stared in open-mouthed stupefaction. How could a man possess such strength and
speed? Was it possible that the Living Dead truly did have devils inhabiting
their flesh? Suddenly Lakhoni questioned the wisdom of trapping himself so far
inside the earth.

“You
look like a dying fish.”

Lakhoni
forced his mouth closed, but could not tear his eyes away from Gimno. The tall
man wasn’t even breathing hard!

“You
liked that, didn’t you?”

Lakhoni
had to admit to himself that a large part of him would love to learn how to
move the way Gimno did. He found himself nodding. The idea of a devil in this
man, or any man, seemed too outlandish for him to hold on to.

 “I’ve
never seen anything like that,” he said. “How did you do it?”

“You
will learn,” Gimno said. “In time. Come.”

Lakhoni
followed Gimno into the darkness of the deep, downward-sloping tunnel. He could
only see the faint outline of the man a few paces ahead of him. They passed
through three sharp bends and suddenly there was some kind of light source
ahead of them. The sharp bend kept the light from reaching the entry shaft. Had
the Living Dead somehow created this cave as a hiding place?

After
a few more twists and turns, the narrow tunnel they had been walking through
opened suddenly into a massive, brightly lit cavern. Lakhoni had to shut his
eyes tightly and blink quickly for a full minute before he could focus on the
home of the Living Dead.

This
did not look like the eerie tombs that the stories said the Living Dead lived
in. The cavern was wider around than his village and stretched as high as the
tallest tree he had ever seen. The underground village was organized in a
series of circles, the largest around the edge of the cavern, following the
long wall. Many of these outer circles had fires burning in the middle of them
and buildings that appeared to be houses.

The
next series of circles was farther from the walls. A stream of water bisected
the huge cavern, and many of the second layer circles appeared to have been
arranged around that stream.

People
washed clothes in some of those circles, while in others children played. He
saw several groups of people working with wood and tools while others scraped
at animal hides. Still other circles hosted basket weaving.

In
the very center of the cavern was a large, nearly empty circle, occupied only
by a pile of neat stones. An altar. His village had one too, but nowhere near
as big.

“Not
what you expected,” Gimno said. It was not a question.

“Nothing . . .”
Lakhoni turned toward Gimno. “How?”

“We
found it sometime after we followed Malganoza away from Zyronilxa,” Gimno said.

“It
just looks like a normal city,” Lakhoni said.

“Yes,
but it’s the city of the Living Dead. The Separated.” Gimno’s voice went deep,
but Lakhoni heard a smile in it.

Lakhoni
grimaced.

“Of
course you’ve heard the stories. We’re ghosts, spirits who will steal you from
your bed if you don’t mind your mother and father.” Gimno chuckled and started
walking down a path that led through the middle of the cavern. These paths
crisscrossed the stone floor, winding between circles and homes. “We don’t mind
the stories. They keep people nervous.”

“The
tattoos help, too,” Lakhoni said.

Gimno
cocked a wry smile at the boy. “Yes. They do.” He quickened his pace. “Enough
talk. I’m hungry.”

Lakhoni
followed closely, letting his eyes wander as they walked. How could they
breathe with all these fires burning in a cave? He followed the smoke upwards
with his eyes. A little smoke gathered at the top of the cavern, but it was
wafting toward the far wall. There were several small openings above the tunnel
entrance that he and Gimno had just come from. On the far wall were more holes.
There had to be a current of air traveling through those holes that drew the
smoke out.

Gimno
led Lakhoni to a circle of houses near the left side of the cavern. Entering
the circle of homes, Gimno called out, getting the attention of several people
bent over the fire. “Where’s my dinner?”

A
tall, raven-haired woman laughed loudly and detached herself from the group of
people at the fire. Her head was shaved on the sides and back, her black hair
growing only from the top. “Did you bring fresh meat or just this beat-up
squirrel cub?” she asked.

“Anor
should have arrived long ago with my kill. What? Have you burned it and buried
the evidence under my bed?” Gimno smiled at the woman.

She
smiled back. “No. I gave it to my other husband.”

Gimno
roared with laughter and caught the woman in a tight embrace. Lakhoni turned
away, sudden grief slamming into him with the force of a charging bear. The
exchange was too much like those between his father and mother.

“Who
have you brought us?”

A
hand took his chin, turning his head. He looked up into warm, smiling green
eyes. The hand slid up his cheek to the top of his head, then to his wounded
shoulder.

“And
what have you done to him?”

Lakhoni
glanced at Gimno.

“Not
me,” Gimno said, moving to the fire and spreading his hands before it. “Zyron’s
attack dogs. His name’s Lakhoni. They left him for dead. He needs curing,
Vena.”

The
woman, Vena, caught Lakhoni’s gaze. “Yes. Food, rest, and healing. Welcome,
Lakhoni, to the Separated. You have come home.”

Lakhoni
wondered if the spirits of his family and friends were frowning on him in
disapproval. He sat on a smooth, gently cupped stone just a pace from the large
fire in the middle of Gimno’s family’s circle. In one hand he held a thin stone
platter, and in the other a blade Gimno had lent him. Slicing tender mouthfuls
of venison from a still-juicy chunk Vena had carved for him, he felt as if the
suddenly pleasant circumstances were somehow a betrayal of the leaden grief
that still filled him. Gimno’s extended family spread around the area in the
middle of the homes in Gimno’s circle, many of them laughing and chatting, but
mostly just producing an all-too familiar harmony of voices and chaos.

He
should be grieving. He had never finished the dance. He should never have left
the village untended.

He
should be doing something to make his village somehow hallowed ground. He had
no right to be enjoying such a meal and such company. His family, his friends—they
deserved more. Their deaths—so violent, cruel, and stupid—cried for answer. And
Alronna, wherever she was, had to be terrified. An image came to him of her
laughing with friends back in the village. He had to find her.

The
venison, so juicy moments before, tasted like dry grass in his mouth. He
reached down and lifted his cup to his mouth. The cool water helped him choke
the meat down.

Lakhoni
looked down at his plate, at the pink and red juices of the roasted meat. His
gorge rose. He fought it back, setting the platter on the stone ground. He
looked up, praying nobody had seen him. He didn’t want to insult his hosts. He
didn’t want them to know how weak he was. He wanted to learn to move like a
ghost; he wanted to be able to strike fear in others the way these people did.
He got to his feet, his heart thumping rabbit fast in his chest.

No,
he wouldn’t run from the Separated. But he couldn’t allow the gaiety around him
to steal his purpose. He had to focus. Alronna needed him. The blood of his people
cried to him from the ground, pleading for justice.

“Lakhoni.”

He
turned, realizing only then that tears were wetting his cheeks. He quickly
scrubbed them away, keeping his face down.

“Your
wounds,” Vena said. “You need treatment. And you need rest.”

He
glanced up, briefly meeting her gaze, then looked away. “I’m okay.”

“Gimno
told me what happened to your head. You’re not okay. Not yet, at least.”

He
didn’t know what to say, so he stood silently.

Her
hand brushed his cheek, moving to his uninjured left shoulder. It felt strong,
warm, and kind. “I’m so sorry, Lakhoni.”

Her
words touched the grief he held in his core. His throat tight, he mumbled, “I’m
okay.” He was done with tears. He would hold the grief inside and use its heat
to push him toward his sister.

She
pulled gently on his arm “Come with me, we will get that side fixed and take a
closer look at your head.” Her green eyes met his again. “And I will show you
where you will sleep. You are part of Gimno’s tribe now, so you will stay in
this circle.”

Lakhoni
walked next to Vena, listening and looking around. He wanted to know his way
around so that he was not so dependent on these people.

“Anor
and Corzon have space in their hut,” Vena said. “We will lend you what you need
until you can get your things from the village.”

They
came to a hut on the outskirts of the communal circle. Vena preceded him in.
When he stepped into the dimness, he saw that another person was already there,
sitting on a short, hide-covered rock at the far side of the hut.

“Lakhoni,
this is Corzon. He is good with injuries. Will you let him look at your head,
shoulder, and side?” Vena said.

Lakhoni
nodded.

Vena
squeezed Lakhoni’s shoulder once more. “Get some sleep,” she said, her voice
soft and difficult to hear over the tumult outside.

She
left and the animal skin door fell back into place behind her. Lakhoni turned
and peered at Corzon in the dim light of the hut. Corzon stood and Lakhoni
realized that this man was the tallest person he had ever seen. He must have
been nearly a full hand-length taller than Gimno.

Corzon
smiled and made a sound of disapproval. He moved to the doorway and hooked the
skin to the side, letting more light into the small home. “I’ve got to be able
to see what I’m doing,” he muttered.

 In
the better light, Lakhoni watched Corzon go to a large stone box and dig around
in its contents. Corzon was not only the tallest man Lakhoni had seen; he also
had the largest nose imaginable. It was magnificent; it jutted out nearly
straight from under Corzon’s eyes, then dropped like the side of a cliff. It
then came back to his face in another straight line.

“Lakhoni,
is it?” Corzon said. He sucked his upper lip into his mouth, working it for a
moment. “Well, let’s take a look.” Corzon stepped back toward Lakhoni. “Go on,”
he pointed at a smooth stone, “have a seat.”

Lakhoni
obeyed, trying not to stare at the incredibly skinny man’s nose.

“Give
it up,” Corzon said. “You’ll never tear your eyes away from Nose Mountain.”

It
took a moment to sink in. Lakhoni burst out laughing.

“Yes,
it’s quite the feature. A gift from my father,” Corzon said. He lifted
Lakhoni’s right arm. “Keep it up please.” He prodded gently at the wound in
Lakhoni’s side. “Keep your eyes open; the Mighty Nose sometimes forms its own
weather system. You might see clouds.”

Lakhoni
snorted. Then he hissed as Corzon found a tender spot.

“Right.
This is going to need some sewing up.”

Lakhoni
sat quietly as he watched Corzon putter around in his box again. When the tall
man returned, he carried a small pouch and a drinking gut. He handed the gut to
Lakhoni. “Why doesn’t it just fall off my face? That would be a gift from my
mother. No woman would marry this nose, so I will always be my mother’s baby.”

The
aroma from the drinking gut hit Lakhoni hard. Some kind of fermented fruit
drink. “What’s this for?” he asked.

“Take
the pain away. The sewing will hurt. A lot.”

Lakhoni
lifted the gut to take a swig. He stopped just before he got there.
I will
take this pain
.
This is my consecration. Nothing will stop me from
saving Alronna. And if revenge will bring justice, I will do that too. Taking
this pain is the sign of this oath.

He
lowered the gut. “I can handle it.”

“No,
you can’t,” Corzon said. “Drink the wine.”

“No,”
Lakhoni said. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears and he worried he might
offend Corzon. “No, really. I want to feel this,” he said.

“You’ll
still feel it with the wine in you. But you won’t pass out from the pain, and I
need you to stay upright until I’m done.”

Lakhoni
considered for a moment.
No
. He had to show his dedication. His people
had died painfully and he had survived. This wasn’t a penance, but a sacrifice of
his own blood on the altar of justice. He stared straight ahead. “Just do it.”

Corzon
rested an angry gaze on Lakhoni. “You will scream like a pig, cry like a baby,
and then faint like a woman.”

Lakhoni
met Corzon’s eyes. “My village was destroyed. My family murdered.” He forced
his muscles to relax. “Do your sewing.”

Corzon
shook his head and grimaced at Lakhoni’s foolishness. He handed Lakhoni a strip
of leather. “Bite that. Try not to faint.”

Lakhoni
put the leather in his mouth. The first poke of Corzon’s needle in his side was
not bad. The sensation of the thin twine sliding through his skin was a little
worse.

It
was the pulling of the two sides of injured flesh together that sent the
blackness before Lakhoni’s eyes.
NO!
He fought the darkness away, trying
not to think about the gouts of flame-like pain searing his side and spreading
to fill his body. The needle pierced again, the twine slid again, and the raw
agony tore through him again. His teeth felt as if they would slice through the
leather in his mouth. His breathing came quickly, desperately.

“Not
too late for the wine you know,” Corzon said.

Shaking
from exertion and pain, Lakhoni shook his head.

Corzon
muttered something disapproving and continued with his work.

After
a few more pulls on his damaged flesh, Lakhoni remembered what his father had
taught about pain. How you could direct it out of your body if you were one
with the earth. He imagined the pain was a kind of energy flowing into him,
then sliding down his legs and out into the stone underfoot. This helped only a
little.
Maybe it gets better with practice
. The agony was still there,
especially each time Corzon tugged the two sides of the wound closed. Lakhoni’s
fingers practically dug into the stone seat as he forced himself to bear the
pain.

Corzon
stood and stretched his long legs, his job finished. “Well, you haven’t passed
out yet. Not bad.”

Lakhoni
tried to get himself back under control.

“Your
side will be fine. No major damage, just torn flesh.”

Lakhoni
nodded.

“Now
your head.”

Lakhoni
reached up and pulled the leather from his mouth. “No problem. It’s tough.”

“We’ll
see.”

The
head was worse. Apparently Corzon had to do some sewing up there too, and it
hurt even more than his side had. Several times, Lakhoni was certain he was
going to faint from the pain. Each time, an image of his mother or father would
flash behind his eyelids and he would find a way to fight the blackness back
again.

“You’re
tougher than you look.”

Lakhoni
opened his eyes, the pain in his jaw telling him how hard he was biting on the
leather strap.

“But
now it’s time for sleep.” Corzon pulled the strap from Lakhoni’s mouth.

As
Lakhoni waited for Corzon to prepare a sleeping mat and a blanket, he tried to
picture his next steps. He would find Alronna. If she still lived, he would
rescue her and—and what? Kill all the king’s raiders? Kill the king?

Sleep
overcame him moments after he lay down. His dreams were bright, lit by a
blazing sun. He moved through them like a panther through a jungle, confident
that all around him feared and trembled.