by Nicole René
“Oh yes.” Tana nodded as she scrubbed a pair of breeches rather viciously against a rock on a particularly dirty spot around the knees. “It was a day like this, but with heat heavy in the air. Each breath you took was as if you were drinking steam. Quite a few women got sick.”
“That sounds miserable,” Leawyn frowned.
Tana nodded in agreement. “It was, Lady Chief.”
“I hope it’s not like that this summer. Otherwise you’ll have to manage the laundry without me!” Leawyn teased. “I’m already hot as it is.”
“Would you like to cool down, Lady Chief?” Garnette, who was there helping her mother, Micka, asked innocently in her sweet, child voice.
“I would to love cool down, Garnette,” Leawyn smiled over at her.
“Okay.” Garnette grinned mischievously, and—before her mother could stop her—she scooped up water with her hands and threw her arms forward, splashing Leawyn.
All the women stilled, holding their breath.
Leawyn looked down at her soaked front in shock, strands of her hair sticking to her face. Slowly, she looked up to Garnette, who seemed to have realized her playful action wasn’t the best idea.
“Oh, you’re going to get it now!”
It was the only warning Garnette received before Leawyn hauled her into her arms and tossed her away from her. Garnette let out a little squeal right before she sunk into the water.
Garnette reappeared with a gasp, blinking against the water in her eyes as she wiped her face. “Not fair!” she shouted, swimming her way back to them.
“Is too!” Leawyn laughed, matching the glare on Garnette’s face mockingly.
“That was a mature response, Leawyn,” Namoriee snickered. “Garnette, you still have clothes to wash.”
Leawyn and Garnette looked at each other, before turning their attention back to Namoriee. The matching grins on their faces made Namoriee instantly nervous. “Don’t you dare,” Namoriee warned them.
It was too late.
Leawyn and Garnette charged Namoriee—Garnette letting out a mighty battle cry as she did—and tackled the handmaiden into the water.
It was a good many hours later before the all-out water war ended, and the women continued their work.
“You’re sure?” Yoro asked. He looked to Xavier, who stood across from him.
Xavier met Yoro’s eyes and nodded.
Xavier, Tristan, and Tyronian, along with Yoro and Kisias, had their most trusted men in their war councils gathered around a large wooden table. They were all looking down at a massive map sprawled out in front of them.
“It had to have been someone who knew the land,” Xavier said, frowning gravely. “Likely a member from Rhoxolani, or someone who was familiar with that landscape.”
“It’s the only way that makes sense,” Tristan agreed.
The room fell silent. Lost in their own thoughts.
It was a troubling thought indeed. To think the destruction of the Rhoxolani tribe was done from within.
“If what you say is true, and the Rhoxolani had a traitor in their midst, then we’re all in danger.” Kisias sighed. His expression was apologetic when he met Xavier’s gaze. “These are troubling times. We were wrong to doubt you.”
Yoro hummed in agreement, frowning in thought at the map below him. “When did you say was the last time you came across this army?”
Xavier shared a look with Tyronian and Tristan.
“Few months back. They captured a child from my tribe...and my wife.”
Yoro and Kisias snapped their heads up to stare at Xavier. “They captured your wife and a child? Here?”
Xavier shook his head, holding back his smirk. “No. My wife followed them and managed to get the child to safety by sending her off on her horse before she was captured as well.”
Kisias and Yoro both raised an eyebrow, which caused Tyronian to chuckle under his breath, and Tristan to grin.
“Your wife went after the girl?” Yoro said slowly, not quite believing it.
“She’s very...” Xavier searched for the right the word to describe Leawyn. “Stubborn.”
Tyronian snorted.
“Most women are,” Kisias agreed.
“How would you know? You haven’t had a woman in years.”
Yoro dodged the punch Kisias aimed at him, the men around them snickering.
“I’m a Siraces. I have lots of women!” Kisias defended, spreading his arms out to his side proudly, grinning. “Look at me!”
“We are. That’s why we don’t believe you,” Tyronian said dryly. The men around the table burst into more laughter.
Xavier held his hand up, and the room slowly quieted and gave him the attention he commanded.
“I know not when they will attack, or how many their numbers are,” Xavier said seriously. “But I do know they’re smart, and deadly. It’s not a matter of ‘if’ they will attack again, but when.” He met the eyes of the men around him, the severity of his tone registering with them all. “We need to be prepared.”
Yoro and Kisias looked at each other again. “We are with you,” Yoro told him, speaking for them both. “What will you have us do?”
Xavier hid the relief on his face and leaned forward so both his hands braced the edge of the table. “Keep a lookout. Scout your areas every day and night, focusing on these places.” He pointed to the areas on the map. “Don’t travel alone, try to keep everyone inside your village. Assign guards if they travel outside the borders.”
Xavier stopped and looked around to make sure they understood what he was saying. Seeing he still had their attention, he continued. “At the end of each week, we will report to each other and compare our findings.”
“How will we send word?” Tyronian asked.
“It’s too dangerous using horseback.” Xavier paused. “Use your birds to give the message.”
Yoro and Kisias nodded in agreement.
“Then what?” Tristan asked, frowning at Xavier. “Even if we do all these things, that doesn’t change the fact one of us will be attacked by them. How will we be any different than the Rhoxolani?”
Murmurs of agreement went around the room.
“We need to know where they’re coming from. We can’t do anything without knowing where they are, and having all the tribes in one place is too dangerous. They want that, but it might be the only way to draw them out.”
“Then what?” Yorick, one of Kisias’s men, spoke. “We wait for them to attack us? Like sitting ducks?” The man scoffed in disbelief. “I say we strike now, and hard. Let them dread the day they tried to go against Samaria!” Yorick slammed his fist on the table with his point, the men from his tribe riling behind him.
Tristan narrowed his eyes at Yorick, while Tyronian stiffened. Xavier’s facial expression however, remained smooth, not relaying his growing ire.
“Tell me, Yorick,” Xavier leveled him with his stare. “How many battles have you fought?”
“He’s always fighting!”
Yorick grinned at Kisias’s joke.
“That’s not what I asked,” Xavier said lowly, silencing the room. “How many battles have you fought?”
Yorick paused, his body stiffening. Though Xavier’s question seemed harmless, Yorick reacted to the tension that suddenly filled the air.
“Well?” Xavier asked sharply.
“None.”
“None,” Xavier’s voice was soft but deadly. It carried a heaviness that was palpable, as if each vowel could strike out and draw blood at any given moment. The atmosphere in the room dropped in an instant by the presence that was Xavier. “Killed a man?”
Yorick’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed loudly. Gone was the cocky man he was before, and instead stood a man who sensed danger when it loomed before him. “No.”
Xavier rose slowly, keeping Yorick ensnared with eyes, reflecting the great warrior he was.
“I have killed many men. Boys too, much like yourself.”
Yorick tensed
at Xavier’s softly spoken threat. Sweat slowly beaded across his temple and slid down the side of his cheek.
“I could sever your head clean off your shoulders with a flick of my wrist before you even saw it coming,” Xavier growled. “And while your head was too busy falling to the ground in a bloody heap, I would have already had three more deaths to my name.”
Try as he might, Yorick couldn’t hold back from flinching when Xavier suddenly moved so that they were nose to nose.
“I could do all this easily, and without remorse. Because I have killed my entire life.”
Xavier stood suddenly, leveling his ferocious glare to every man in the room. “Izayges have protected you for years. We protected you against foes you didn’t even realize you had. Our blood soaks the ground you all step on, all for the sole reason yours doesn’t.”
Xavier turned his attention to Yoro and Kisias, who were both stiff. “My men are the deadliest on this earth. I’ve been in more battles than I could count. Never have I been beaten, and never have I been caught unaware. Until now.” He turned his heated gaze down to the map on the table spread out in front them.
“Until this army.”
Xavier looked back up to his fellow leaders. “We need to be prepared. We need to plan, and when the time is right—we need to strike. Hard and fast. Because if we don’t,” Xavier paused, his brows furrowing together as he met the eyes of every man in the room. “There will be no more Samaria. Only echoes of our despair will remain as our bones turn to dust.”
It was silent, each man processing the foreboding outcome Xavier envisioned to themselves.
It was Yoro who broke the heavy silence. “What’s your plan, Chief Xavier?”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Lady Chief?” Namoriee frowned down at Leawyn, who was in the same position she found her in—huddled up under a blanket on her bed pallet.
“You look sickly. I think I should get the healer.” Namoriee worried her lip between her teeth, her eyes concerned.
Leawyn did feel sickly. Her normally lightly tanned skin was now a shallow pale white. Her slight frame was every so often wracked with shivers as if she were cold, but she was hot and sweaty.
Her symptoms pointed to fever. “I’m fine, Namoriee,” Leawyn all but croaked out, which did not help to alleviate Namoriee’s worry in the slightest. If anything, her handmaiden looked even more concerned. “I think the heat just got to me today.”
Namoriee’s frown deepened, unconvinced.
“Lady Chief— “
“Leawyn,” she corrected in a halfhearted mumble, which caused Namoriee to roll her eyes in response.
“Fine, Leawyn,” Namoriee amended wryly. “You need to see the healer.”
Leawyn shook her head, pulling the blanket higher up on her shoulders and closing her eyes. “I just need to rest. I’ll feel better then.”
Namoriee’s mouth opened to respond, but she was interrupted by Leawyn’s hut door opening.
Namoriee tensed when Tyronian’s tall, blond frame ducked through and closed the door behind him. He caught her eyes when he turned to face them, and his lips pulled up in a smirk.
“Ah, my two favorite beautiful ladies—just who I wanted to see!” Tyronian said jovially as he made his way to them. “I’ve come to escort you to the feast. Xavier is a bit indisposed at the moment.”
Namoriee turned away, looking down so her mop of brown hair covered her face and shielded her from his view. Tyronian’s smirk broadened at the action, but he otherwise let it go. He turned his attention to Leawyn instead, and his smile immediately disappeared into a frown.
“You look terrible. You should see the healer.”
“Not you too, Tyronian,” Leawyn groaned tiredly. “I just got done telling Namoriee I was fine and needed rest. Which is the same thing I’ll tell you.” She shut her eyes when they became too heavy to hold open. “I need rest,” she mumbled into her pillow.
“But, Lady Chief—” Namoriee started to protest.
“Enough!” Leawyn snapped, eyes popping open again with her frustration. “I’m fine, I just want to sleep!”
Namoriee shut her mouth and looked down while Tyronian tensed, eyeing Leawyn.
“Please,” Leawyn said less sharply. “Just let me rest a moment, and I’ll meet you out there.”
“Yes, Lady Chief,” Namoriee mumbled softly, giving her one last worried look before she turned to make her way from the hut and to the feast.
Namoriee’s body tensed again when a warm hand grasped around her arm and drew her to a sudden stop.
“I’ll walk with you,” Tyronian said lightly, as he drew up beside her. Leawyn noticed he didn’t give her much of a choice when he forcibly tucked Namoriee’s arm into the crook of his elbow and guided her with him to the door.
“Sleep well, Leawyn,” Tyronian called over his shoulder as he opened the door and ushered Namoriee out with a hand resting on her lower back.
The distant sounds of loud laughter and chatter floated into Leawyn’s hut for a briefly before the door closing instantly silenced it.
Leawyn sighed in relief as she burrowed deeper into the comforts of her bed.
A few moments later, she was sound asleep.
The farewell feast was already well underway when Xavier emerged from the meeting hut. His muscles ached from being in a slouched position as he went over the plan for hours. He wanted to make sure they didn’t miss anything, and they were prepared to have a course of action if they did.
Hours and hours Xavier stood over the map. He thought over every angle and possibility, and something didn’t sit right with him. The idea of asking Leawyn if she knew someone within her tribe who could have been a traitor crossed his mind multiple times. But each time it surfaced, he quickly pushed the thought away. But still...something felt wrong.
Xavier growled under his breath in frustration.
“Hungry, or angry?” Tyronian asked in amusement.
Xavier hesitated for a moment, the move barely distinguishable, before he sat down at the table, his mug instantly filled with ale by a serving girl.
Xavier glanced at Tyronian out of the corner of his eye. He hid his smirk around his cup as he took a deep pull of the pale liquid inside.
Namoriee was, once again, perched on Tyronian’s lap, looking as uncomfortable as ever as Tyronian softly twirled a strand of her chocolate hair. His arm wrapped tight around her waist to anchor her there.
Xavier frowned, lowering his mug down on the table. Namoriee was there but...
“Where is my wife?”
Namoriee stiffened in Tyronian’s lap at Xavier’s growl. Tyronian’s hands paused before he continued to stroke his fingers through her hair, as if to soothe her.
Xavier gritted his teeth when no one answered him.
He turned his full attention to Namoriee, who seemed to shrink into herself under his gaze. “Why isn’t she here, and why aren’t you with her?”
“I-I was b-but…”
Xavier’s impatience with her halted answer was evident, which seemed to make Namoriee more frazzled.
“I stole Namoriee away from my dear cousin earlier when they were in your hut,” Tyronian drawled, calmly turning his attention to Xavier. “She’s probably still there.”
Xavier’s expression darkened. He stood from his chair and looked down at the sixteen-year-old. “Your job is to be with her. I can easily find someone else to replace.”
“Yes, C-C-Chief Xavier,” Namoriee whispered, quickly looking down so her hair hid her face. Tyronian’s grip around Namoriee’s waist tightened.
Xavier turned back to Tyronian. “The second your little obsession interferes again—she’s gone.”
“Perhaps you should look after your own little obsession better then, instead of bullying mine,” Tyronian replied coldly, his heated stare steady with Xavier’s.
Namoriee sucked in a quick breath in shock.
Xavier ground his teeth together but said nothing in reply before he stormed off.
He took long, angry strides towards his hut, his anger mounting with each step. He was still seething with anger when he burst into his hut. “Leawyn!” he bellowed angrily.
“Leawyn, where are you—”
Xavier froze at the sight before him before he quickly moved into action. “Leawyn!”
Leawyn stared out at the dark ocean, watching the white foam fly high into the air as the dark green waves crashed against the cliffs, the force of the collision creating a deafening boom akin to the sound of thunder.
It was hypnotizing to watch...the dance of the ocean.
It was a constant game of catch and release. The ocean water formed into a great wave, recklessly charging up to the jagged cliffs, unafraid of the doom that awaited. Then, when the wave slammed home, its foamy white water flying in all directions, the calm current would gather the destruction in its watery, comforting arms. Over and over, the daring and heartbreaking cycle would repeat.
Catch and release. Catch and release.
It comforted Leawyn to sit and watch the playful but deadly dance. It was why she often found herself sitting in this exact spot, in this exact position, when her mind was troubled and her emotions too strong for her to hold.
Here, on the cliffs. Watching the waves with her knees pulled up to her chest, she hugged her legs with her arms as she rested her cheek against her knees. Her hair blew playfully behind her, the golden locks catching the light of the moon as it whipped and twirled in the wind.
The salty air stung her cheek as the single tear spilled over it before being swept away.
She felt so alone.
Leawyn’s throat burned from the effort it took not to let the sob caught in her throat break free. She needed to be strong.
Her people needed her to be strong.
But...they were dead. How could she be strong for people who no longer existed? Whose only evidence was their blood staining the ground and bones turning to dust or being feasted upon by the wilderness?
“Why?” Leawyn whispered to herself, her question caught in the wind, floating soundlessly before it was carried off and drowned out by the symphony of the ocean.