Neeka Featherstone

by R. J. Lucas

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “I’m just great,” he slurs, the krum taking its toll.

  “Have you been here all night?” I ask.

  “Maybe,” he says.

  “Are you having a good time?”

  “I’m having the time of my life,” he jokes.

  “I understand if you don’t want to join us,” I say. “I only asked because we need your help, but I know this isn’t your fight.”

  “What would you know about it?”

  “All I know is you are a good fighter, and you won’t be pushed around.”

  “That’s right,” he retorts. “Especially not by you.”

  “Your freedom is important to you, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he says. “I didn’t realize how important until we left Arcmire. I’d never been free. I was in prison in that stinking hole and before that, I was a protector, which was its own kind of prison. When we stepped into the Dread Wastes, I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. I was free for the first time in my life.”

  “I can imagine,” I say.

  “No,” he barks. “You can’t.”

  “Well, I have news for you. You weren’t free then and you’re not free now. You can drink all the krum you want, but you won’t be free until Solomon is out of power.”

  “Solomon is a million miles away.”

  “We can see Solomon’s palace from this very town. And do you think a man like that will stop trying to control this place? He’s got protectors all over this town! All it takes is one infraction and you’re back in prison!”

  “I’ll die before that happens,” he argues.

  “Better to die with us than in the street trying to fight off a cadre of protectors.”

  He finishes what krum is left in his cup and slams it down on the table. “Goatnuts,” he says. “I guess you are right. I need something to keep me busy anyway.”

  “You can’t know how much this means to me,” I tell him.

  He closes one eye and tilts his head to the side. “There is something different about you.”

  “Maybe it’s all that breathing and focusing bobblegash Isaiah is trying to teach me.”

  “No…” he says, still eyeballing me. “It’s something else.”

  “Maybe you’ve had too much krum,” I joke. “Come on, let’s go.”

  When we enter the training ground, Isaiah introduces us to the person in charge. His name is Commander Thomas Bennett. He is a tall, black man with an air of confidence about him. His physique is thin, yet muscular. He holds his arms behind his back and strolls in front of the trainees as they perform different exercises.

  “Get your arm up under the chin, Kettle,” he says to a wiry man wrestling another to the ground.

  “Commander,” Isaiah says to him. “I’ve got two new soldiers willing to join the cause.”

  Commander Bennett stops his pacing to assess us. His eyes widen when he looks at Braam, but he huffs when he sees me, like a balloon being deflated.

  “There is a lot we can do with this brute,” Bennett says, stepping closer. He sniffs; leans closer to Braam and sniffs again. “If we can get him cleaned up.”

  “He cleans up nicely, Commander,” says Isaiah. Then he adds, “This is Neeka Featherstone.”

  A small group of soldiers begin to congregate around us, like raccoons investigating a shiny object. It makes me wonder how often they get new additions.

  “I can probably place the girl as a cook. Maybe an archer,” Bennett says, like he is doing me a favor. “Can you even shoot a bow, girl?”

  “No,” I say, and there is suppressed laughter from the onlooking soldiers.

  “We’ll have to see if you can learn.”

  “I don’t want a bow,” I tell him. “A bow is too slow.”

  “Too slow?” Bennett laughs. “Aside from a blunderbuss, do you know of a ranged weapon that is faster?”

  I don’t react to the men’s laughter at my expense. I just look across the field at the targets on the far side. There are ten of them, all shaped like a man and mounted to wooden stakes.

  “Your targets are…” I try to estimate the distance. “About forty paces out. Yeah?”

  “Forty paces from the shooting line,” Bennett confirms.

  “And who is your best archer?”

  “Dasim!” Bennett yells to a man piling weapons on the far side of the training grounds. Dasim looks up when his name is called and drops the bundle to run over.

  “Yes sir,” he says, standing at attention before Bennett. He is pale and looks to be not much older than me, though he is muscular and fit. His face is soft and blemish free and a patch of blonde hair sits atop his head.

  “We are going to have a marksmanship assessment.”

  Dasim gives a slight bow and retrieves two bows and two quivers of arrows. We line up at the firing line and he tells me he’ll take the five on the right and I should take the five on the left. He offers me a bow and a quiver, but I shake my head. He looks at me with furrowed brows and the other soldiers laugh.

  “What are you going to do? Throw rocks?” Bennett chuckles. “Dasim is my fastest and most accurate archer.”

  “Just call it,” I say as I squat into position like a runner at the start of a race.

  I glance over at Isaiah and Braam who are both standing with their arms crossed and smug grins on their faces. I’m not sure who is going to enjoy this more, me or them.

  I hear some of the men snicker and mumble amongst themselves.

  “Is she going to run over and hit them with a stick?” One guesses.

  “Can she even run on those shotty proths?” another asks.

  “Ready?” Bennett asks.

  Dasim nods.

  I squat down and take a handful of dust in my hand and shake it out onto the ground; feeling it slip between my fingers; feeling like I know how each particle of dust got here; like I know the name of every grain of sand.

  Fly like the wind, I think to myself. Strike faster than a desert rattler.

  “Go!” Bennett shouts.

  As Dasim reaches to pull an arrow from his quiver, I launch into the air, floating forward as if I have wings. Before I hit the ground, I release three knives in fast succession, hitting three of my targets in the head, neck, and chest. I land about thirty paces out from the firing line. Only ten from the last two targets. As I land, I roll and spring up from my hands, pulverizing the fourth target with a swift kick. The fifth one is demolished half a second later from a follow up round house.

  I stand tall and straight and look down the row at the five targets on the right. One arrow sticks out from a single target.

  Dasim, Bennett, and the other men stand there dumbfounded, their mouths hanging open like they’ve just had the shock of their lives.

  Braam laughs a deep belly laugh that echoes across the yard and slaps Dasim on the shoulder, throwing him off balance. “Guess you’re not the fastest anymore.”

  27 - Constellations

  We train through the day. Bennett has Isaiah lead us through calisthenics, then we train in hand-to-hand combat, and finally, after a lunch of dried rations, we get to weapons training. Bennett assembles us at the end of the day and tells us we will work on tactics and field operations tomorrow. The possibilities wash over me and fill me with excitement. I have always excelled in these realms, but having formal training is helping me see how to apply myself and work more efficiently as part of a team.

  After training, Isaiah, Braam and I head back to the homestead. You would think I would be tired after a day of physical exertion, but the thought of spending time with Amari invigorates me. We find her waiting on the edge of the property and she smiles at the three of us as we return.

  “Something looks different about you too,” Braam says to Amari. “Are you doing Isaiah’s ritual as well?”

  She doesn’t answer, confused about Braam’s comment.

  “Come on,” Isaiah says to Braam. “Let’s leave the young ones to
the young ones.”

  I look into Amari’s smiling face and we feel like we’ve been cut loose, set free. We don’t even have to say it, but we know we’ll be heading to the river west of the vineyard. We hold hands as we run, the wind blowing through our hair, the touch of one another’s skin making us feel complete.

  On the way to the river, Amari and I are ambushed by Cornelius and Maggie, along with their friend, a little boy who is about Maggie’s age.

  “This is the lady we told you about,” says Maggie to the little boy.

  “She never saw water?” he asks Maggie as if I am not there.

  “Never,” says Cornelius. “They only got mud in Coghaven.”

  “What else don’t she know?” he asks.

  “I don’t know your name,” I tell the little boy who has come to gawk at what a rube I am.

  “His name is Zeb,” Cornelius tells me. “He don’t know how to swim neither.”

  “I do too,” says Zeb who shoves Cornelius. “At least I’m not a fat fatty.”

  Cornelius pushes him back and whines, “I’m still growing.”

  “Stop, stop…” I say and push the two apart. “Maybe you can teach us, Cornelius. Do you think you can?”

  Cornelius seems to like the idea. He smiles and nods.

  “I can teach you too,” says Maggie.

  “And Maggie can help,” I say to Cornelius, who looks at her through slitted eyes, but does not object.

  We all run to the water with the kids leading the way. Amari and I don’t hold hands, but we exchange looks. We are in a world we never dreamed possible.

  Cornelius is as strict and demanding a teacher as Commander Bennett. He has me and Zeb lie back in the water and try to float, but my bottom half just sinks. Zeb is a fast learner, though. Not only can he float, easily keeping his head above water, but he can also move himself from place to place. Though he is not as fast or as competent as Cornelius or Maggie, he is leagues better than me.

  I know I will need to put practice into swimming the same way I am putting practice into weapons and hand-to-hand combat training. We splash and play, dunking each other’s heads under water. It almost feels like we are a family, one made up of disparate and broken parts.

  After a while, Lydia calls for the children to come home. Amari and I are in familiar territory. We are alone, wet and in the water, our nerve endings tingling from touching one another.

  “Do you want to eat?” she asks me.

  Even though my stomach is churning from hunger, I shake my head. I don’t want to leave this space and return to stealing glances across the dinner table. I wouldn’t trade this rare alone time with her for any amount of food.

  With our skin wrinkled from too much time in the water, we wade to the shore, dry off and make our way up the mountainside to the spot I now think of as “ours.” We settle into the grass, lying back to watch the sun disappear and the stars come out of hiding as the brilliant colors of the sky fade to dark.

  We find it effortless to talk to each other and the conversation flows easily from the animals we see and how annoying we find the bugs, to the many stars in the sky. We chat about everything and nothing, but it feels like we are discussing something special, exchanging something unique between the two of us. When the sky is finally inky black, yet scattered with a million stars, Amari sits up and reveals she has bread in her bag. Retrieving it, she breaks the small loaf and offers me half as I also rise to a sitting position.

  Taking the offered bread without hesitation, I speak without thinking.

  “This is one of the reasons I love you so much. You’re always thinking ahead.”

  I watch her face closely for a reaction to my unintentional outburst of love. Will she take it seriously or as a passing comment?

  Although it is night, I can see by starlight that a blush is creeping into her cheeks. I watch for a moment longer, realizing her mask blocks so much on the left side of her face.

  “You look cute when you blush,” I tell her. “Will you allow me to see you without the mask?” I cautiously reach to remove her mask, but she stops me, her hand gentle on mine.

  Our eyes are locked on each other, searching, and trying to read what the other must be thinking.

  Without breaking eye contact she kisses the back of my hand and replies, “Not yet. This is how I want you to think of me right now.”

  “The way I think of you won’t change at the revealing of your scars, Amari.”

  She nods her head but does not let go of my hand or show any sign of changing her mind at keeping the mask securely in place. After a moment I drop my hand back to my side, knowing one day she will show me what is beneath her mask. One day she will reveal her entire self to me.

  She has gone silent, and I sense a quiet sadness in her. The last thing I wanted to do was make her sad or cause her to doubt herself. I ache to comfort her and bring back the dancing light in her eyes that was there only moments earlier.

  Without thinking, I scoot closer to her and reach my hand up. I gently place my fingers against her jawline and turn her face to me. Her skin feels like silk and radiates a warmth that draws me in. Watching her eye for any sign of doubt, I lean in and kiss her, gentle yet sure. Her lips are tender as she responds without thought, causing my kiss to intensify. She moans ever so slightly, and it sounds like whispers to my heart.

  My hand travels from her jawline to her neck, pulling her face closer. My other hand goes to her waist and then to her back. She is slight and easy for me to move. Without effort I lift her and settle her, facing me, on my lap. She wraps her legs around me and I feel her quiver.

  I feel as if I can’t get close enough to her and every part of my body is reacting to her nearness.

  With our faces almost touching, I speak. “I’ve never been with anyone before.”

  “Nor have I,” she says and giggles.

  We both smile and she runs her hands through my hair, traveling down my shoulders and to my back. She pulls my smock over my head and I remove hers as well. We sit in silence, breathing each other in as her hands caress my breasts. My hands cup around her buttocks pulling her as close to me as humanly possible.

  I never knew another body could be so beautiful or feel so good. My hands and mouth want to do nothing but explore her. My body responds with shivers as we delve into an ecstasy so pure and sweet, I later feel as if I must have glimpsed heaven.

  After we make love, we lie very still, all tangled together, and I memorize the rhythm of her breathing. She eventually sits up and I analyze her every move. She tilts her head causing her hair to fall forward and hide her face from me.

  After a long moment she brushes the hair back and tucks it behind her ear. The motion gives me a clear view of her eye. The intoxicating silver of her iris glimmers clear and bright. I have looked into that one unhidden eye hundreds of times, yet the beauty never stops amazing me.

  She notices my stare, our eyes connect, and I feel rooted in place. Her gaze is piercing, yet deep and full of emotion. It feels as if she holds a world of wisdom and compassion that reaches out to me in this moment of direct visual connection.

  I take a needed breath when she breaks our trance and turns her body, scooting to sit her back in the curve above my hip. I am still lying flat on my back but turn to my side, placing my bare stomach against her lower back.

  As magnificent as the night sky is, I am more interested in this breath of life beside me. Even in the dark, her skin is beautiful. In fact, it almost seems luminescent. I study it the way she studies the sky. Her back is smooth and soft but appears to carry its own constellations. There is a pattern to her skin that seems to ebb and flow from light to dark. Certain areas appear to have no color pigment whatsoever. The entire upper half of her back resembles a galaxy or maybe an abstract work of art.

  “Can you tell me about your back?” I ask while outlining the patterns with the tip of my finger.

  “No, I can’t,” she says and shrugs, still staring out at the stars
. “It has always been that way. Hugo said the patterns were birthmarks.”

  “I’ve never seen solid white birthmarks before.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “Do you think they make me ugly?”

  “I think you look like you carry the universe on your back,” I tell her as I sit up and slowly kiss the mesmerizing patterns. “Your marks look like constellations in the night sky. You should wear them proudly.”

  28 - Springrazors

  I have learned to enjoy training with the resistors. That’s what they call themselves. And although I could easily take down almost anyone here, I can’t let the power of my legs go to my head.

  Training happens every day and most resistors take a day or two off, even Commander Bennett. But I decide there is too much to learn. As much as I want to spend entire days and weeks with Amari, I know I do not have that luxury. Not when there is a brutal dictator that needs to be dethroned.

  Today, I am learning how to disarm an opponent without using my legs. It’s always best to be prepared for any scenario. Dasim is using a wooden carved replica of a blunderbuss for the exercise and even though I have him pinned to the ground, he is continuously able to keep me from getting the weapon. Every time I think I’m about to steal it away, he does this strange spin move that blocks me. He is very skilled in this technique and, as he keeps reminding me, even if I manage to tackle an armed protector, all it takes is one second for him to pull the trigger and blow my head off.

  “Normally,” I say to Dasim with a smug grin. “I wouldn’t tackle my opponent. I would just explode their chest or head with my foot.”

  He just smiles and says, “Again.”

  I try to focus on the exercise, but the memories of the night before with Amari swirl in my mind. I try to push them out of my head so I can concentrate on training, but it is hard. The memories of her seem to wash over all my thoughts.

  After we had been intimate and explored every inch of one another; after we talked until the sun was almost ready to come up; we snuck back to the barn and I scaled the wall, climbing into a window so I could unlock the door for Amari. Even as Dasim reverses my mounted position to end up on top of me with his weapon in my face, I am still thinking of the outline of Amari’s body.