by Mara Duryea
“Good,” said Rindar. He offered me a spinning blade. “You know how to use this?”
I held my scarred hand out. “See? That’s where one of those cut me. He said I have to press it to get it out of the tree.”
“Who said?”
“My…My…” I frowned. “My somebody. The one over there.” I pointed towards the tug.
“Ah.” Rindar handed me a spinning blade. “I teach you, then.”
Fingering the shiny black surface, I located the slits where the blades emerged.
“You have to throw it hard,” said Rindar, “or the blades not come out. Like this.” He hurled one at a tree. The blades emerged from the spinning sphere and embedded with a crack into the red bark. Blood-red sap bled from the wound. “You do it now.”
I chucked the weapon, but the blades just peeked out and it bounced against the tree. Rindar accompanied me to the fallen projectile. He stepped on it and the blades snapped back inside.
“Again,” said Rindar. “Close it how you saw me do it. I gonna cook now, so you keep practicing.”
He left me to my own devices. Sometime around throw number fifty, the blades finally whipped out and embedded into the tree.
“I did it, Grampa!” I yelled and climbed up beside it to pull it free.
“Zhin,” said Rindar, catching my hand, “you gonna cut yourself again. Watch how I get it out.” He pressed the top and bottom of the sphere with both hands. The blades snapped back in and the sphere dropped into his hands. “See? Now you not have to rip it out of the tree. The sap inside, though, so now we have to boil it off. Is time to eat.” He smiled and my heart leaped. I knew that smile! It was the same as…as…I sighed in frustration. I couldn’t remember.
***
The trees whizzed by in a red and dark green blur. The golden veins in the leaves glittered like hidden gems. I stood up, attempting to see how well I could balance on a moving kiderrin back. The beast hopped over a root sprawled across the road and I flew out of the frame.
“Anyat!” Rindar snatched me by the arm and yanked me to his side. His face had gone rigid. “Sit down, boy! I can’t fix broken bones! You think you can fly?”
Monster Mother could have kicked me around all day and I would have borne it. Grampa’s sharp reprimand pierced my baby heart and I broke down.
“You scared me, Zhin,” said Rindar. “You want me for to cry if you break your head?”
“No,” I mumbled.
“Then sit down when the kiderrin moving.”
“Okay.”
He took a shuddering breath. “Tell me stories.”
Ah, I had stories to last for hours! Forgetting the reprimand’s sting like it never happened, I rattled off my imaginary adventures. I was thoroughly convinced Grampa considered me fascinating.
As Evening Sun set in, I finished my tenth tale. “Do you want to hear another one, Grampa?”
“We have to look for one bunker now,” said Rindar. I may have driven him insane.
I leaned against the frame, watching the roadside for the square cement opening of an underground tunnel. “I don’t see anything.”
Rindar’s hands tightened on the reins as his ears twitched for sounds of predators. He didn’t know when the Danger Periods began. In the vast wilderness, who did know but the map and roadmakers? Our road was little-used, meaning dangerous.
Strange howls wailed in the distance, and the kiderrin glanced over its shoulder. I gripped Rindar’s shirt as I realized it sounded like m’kriths. The forest grew murkier, until it was nothing but a black canvas. The howls amplified, and Rindar yanked me into his lap.
“What if they come?” I said.
“We find one bunker soon.”
The pale square of a cement opening appeared beneath a star tree. Rindar took a breath for both of us as his muscles relaxed. Leading the kiderrin inside, he lit his fire stick and hopped off next to the door. He pulled on the welded three-foot handle. The door didn’t budge. He pressed his ear to the metal surface.
“Zhin,” he whispered, “hide under the blankets and don’t come out until I say.” He pounded on the door. “Somebody, let me in!”
Warm light flooded the tunnel as the door grated open on rusty tracks. The aroma of food wafted into the passage, along with another scent. It smelled better than the food.
“Get inside,” a man said.
Rindar pulled the kiderrin inside, and the door slid shut behind us.
“Thank you,” said Rindar. “I’m Rindar.”
“My name is Kijeren,” said the man. “This is my wife Kellavee.”
“Keyzha,” said Kellavee, “don’t touch the kiderrin.”
“Okay, Mommy,” said a small girl.
Kellavee turned her attention to Rindar. “It was good you found us.” She sounded a little familiar, but I couldn’t be sure.
My mouth watered. Kellavee, and not the girl, was the source of the delectable aroma.
“Have you seen any bloodhearts, Rindar?” said Kijeren.
I heard Rindar begin to unbuckle the kiderrin frame. “No. Why?”
“We’ve been hearing them for the last few nights. You don’t have a child with you, do you?”
Rindar was smooth. “No.”
14
The Strangers
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my lids were sticky, my flesh baked bone deep, and on top of it, I was about to pee on myself. Rindar hadn’t given permission for me to come out, but times were desperate.
I poked my head over the kiderrin frame. Red embers in a fire pit glowed on the dark cocoons of sleepers rolled in blankets. Kellavee was close, but I wasn’t hungry after Grampa had slipped me some meat. Daylight gleamed through the corners of the door.
Creeping down the kiderrin’s back, I hurried to the door. It didn’t have a beam to keep it shut, but a large hook that slipped into a heavy ring on the wall. I pushed it up with Rindar’s spear and forced the door open. Daylight and cool air dispersed the sweltering darkness. Racing down the tunnel, I jumped into the bushes and relieved myself.
“Great Cubons,” I squeaked.
Straightening my shirt, I stepped out of the bushes. A little girl around four years old stood in the tunnel. She had soft, bitable cheeks and little round shoulders.
The rest of her was strange. White hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of feathers and melded with her fluffy tail, much like a Veerin. Her legs and round Berivor ears were veiled in white fur. Her skin was creamy and her eyes were light red. She was a Misikri, which was a person who exhibited more than one race. But nobody had red eyes except soulless. I didn’t know at the time. I just knew she wasn’t the delectable smell in the bunker. Bloodhearts didn’t eat soulless children, just like the bloodhearts didn’t eat Miranel in Bellecaro.
On thinking of it later, the girl wasn’t a bloodheart, orilas, evergrin, or Uveliel. She could have been mistaken for an Ash Child, except she had red eyes and exuded an eerie aura. She was a wimberon. They emerged from Midnight Gates as children and then grew up. These gates opened when a Perilith child was killed, but not by its own parents. Looking back, I often wondered why she had parents, for wimberons didn’t nurture their own.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Zhin.”
She put a finger in her mouth. “Are you a wild boy?”
“I don’t think so. Who are you?”
“Keyzha. Do you want to play with me?”
“Yeah.”
Keyzha led me behind the star tree and surveyed the chosen playground. The wiggly trees generated a loopy obstacle course surrounding a clear patch of ground. The girl turned to me.
“We’re little boolahbows,” she said. “We hop, hop, hop!” She began bouncing all over the place, but on two feet. Dropping to all fours, I sprang after her.
Boolahbows were furry creatures about a foot long. Their black eyes were so big they couldn’t move them in their skulls. They had little round ears, short tails, and tiny paws. They jumped a
bout a hundred times their height.
“Hey,” Keyzha said, “you’re really good!”
“So are you.” Climbing atop a root, I bounded over her head.
Her mouth fell open. “Oh, wow! You hop really high!”
“It’s easy if you hop on your hands and feet.”
She crouched on all fours. Smiling, I led her squarish frame up the root and leaped off. She followed, landing beside me with a triumphant squeal. Her hair spilled around her smiling cheeks. A normal child might have gotten injured, but Keyzha was a wimberon.
“You learn fast,” I said proudly.
Keyzha beamed until her eyes scrunched up. The game improved after that. We gallivanted through our “obstacle course.” Keyzha made a fine little monster. Monster Mother would be proud to find I had obtained a protégé.
“Wait!” I pulled the Misikri to a stop.
Keyzha glanced around. “What is it?”
“I hear monsters. Can you hear them?”
Keyzha pricked her supple ears. “Yeah.”
I gave her a little stick. “Here. We’re going to sneak up on them and kill them.”
Keyzha set her jaw. “Okay.”
“Follow me.”
I traversed the “obstacle course” and discovered monsters not far away. Bellowing to make Monster Mother proud, I assailed a clump of mushrooms. Keyzha squealed and dove in with her stick. She was a pretty good monster-killer, too.
When the mushrooms had suffered annihalation, save one red survivor, I plucked it up and offered it to my new friend. “Eat it. You can eat the red ones. Monster-killers eat mushrooms. You can’t eat the others, though. They’re poison.”
Keyzha nibbled on the mushroom in deep contemplation.
“Keyzha,” Kellavee called.
“I’m over here, Mommy,” she said. “I have a new friend.” She looked at me. “Come on, Zhin. You have to meet my mommy.” She led me back to the bunker by the hand.
We stepped from among the star-shaped leaves not five feet away from a blue-eyed Adenzhen woman with gray-green scales. She wore a brown knee-length dress tied with a blue sash. Black hair plumed from her head to her waist. Earrings weighed her ears down, and a tattoo had been inked into her bare shoulder. She wasn’t a wimberon. I’ll say it now: neither was Keyzha’s father.
Kellavee was familiar to me. Maybe I was familiar to her, but I was becoming a bloodheart. As soon as she laid eyes on me, her smile contorted. Screaming, she stumbled backward into the star tree. Her legs folded under her and she sat down. I stared at Kellavee as a red haze blurred my vision.
Keyzha scurried to her young mother’s side in an attempt to console her. “He’s my friend, Mommy. Don’t be scared.”
A tall Hatrin man with light gray fur, black hair, steel gray eyes, and arms festooned with tattoos suddenly darted between me and Kellavee. For a split second, I thought he was Sizhirin, but it was Kijeren. He aimed a heavy kick at my chest. The blow would have killed me instantly, but Rindar rushed up behind him and yanked him backwards. At the same time, Rindar put himself between me and Kijeren.
“He’s harmless,” said Rindar.
Kijeren’s sharp eyes darted from Rindar, to me, and back to Rindar. His fingers curled into fists. “Liar! You travel with a bloodheart!” He pounded Rindar across the face. Grampa collapsed beside me, his jaw tight more from anger than from pain.
Rindar wiped the blood from his lip and stood back up. “Ehyosat.” There were several Vaylanian phrases for ‘stay back.’ They warned of danger in order to protect, another was to wait, don’t follow, and the like. ‘Ehyosat’ was a threat.
Kijeren had no idea what Rindar had said, but he understood his tone well enough. The Miricor’s ears flattened as his claws extended. The Hatrin said nothing in response, but positioned his feet for battle.
Both meant to defend their own. There could be no explanations for Rindar and no reasoning with Kijeren. As far as he was concerned, I was a bloodheart. He had let Rindar into the bunker in good trust, and Rindar had brought a bloodheart into the same room with his underage wife and child. I could have devoured both of them in the night. Those who didn’t often deal with soulless had little knowledge of them. I don’t know if he knew Keyzha was soulless, but he knew she was a child. And bloodhearts ate children without prejudice.
They attacked. Blades and claws flashed in the sunlight as blood flecked the ground and stained their clothes. Kijeren’s blows were like powerful hammers, staggering Rindar every time he blocked. The Miricor parried as many as he could instead. Knocking Kijeren’s arms wide, he punched him in the jaw. Grampa could have killed him, but he understood Kijeren’s plight. The Hatrin staggered backward and blocked a heavy kick. The force knocked him down nonetheless.
“He’s my grandson,” said Rindar. “He not—”
Before he could finish, the Hatrin flung a handful of dirt at Rindar’s eyes. He kicked Rindar down and lunged at him with knife held high.
Using the momentum, Rindar rolled backward and onto his feet. The knife cut the dirt and stuck. The Hatrin didn’t care. He propelled himself at Rindar and raked at his eyes and neck. The Miricor dodged each blow until his back bumped into a tree. If he didn’t do something, one of them would die.
Catching Kijeren’s wrist, Rindar yanked him forward and twisted it. He flung the Hatrin onto his stomach, forcing Kijeren’s arm to stretch the wrong way behind him. He shoved the limb forward like a handle and snapped Kijeren’s shoulder. The Hatrin let loose a strangled scream and lay still. His fingers dug into the dirt.
“My little one not hurt your baby,” said Rindar breathlessly. He didn’t know Kellavee was underage. “He would have already.” He cast his gaze to the Adenzhen woman. She held Keyzha tightly to her breast. “I sorry, Kellavee.”
15
Sinking Mountain
Rindar held his bloody hand out to me, and I grabbed it. We reached the entrance to the bunker, where the kiderrins had already been prepped for journey. As I scurried into the kiderrin frame, Grampa mounted the kiderrin and we rode away.
“Why you outside, Zhin?” Rindar’s voice had become a snarl.
I covered my face with my hands lest he strike me like Sizhirin and Monster Mother had.
“Answer me!”
“I was gonna pee on myself,” I moaned. “Keyzha wanted me to play with her.” I broke down in tears. If Rindar struck me, my baby heart would break.
“Zhin…” Rindar sounded strained. “You…you not want to eat her, did you?”
He spoke of Keyzha, but I thought of Kellavee. I sucked my lips in. What could I say? He might throw me off the kiderrin if I confessed.
“Did you?”
I jumped and nodded.
Rindar’s brows knit and he turned his face from me. Taking a red bundle from a corner of the frame, he tended to his wounds. Kijeren had slashed him several times with his knife. Rindar had no other recourse than to stitch the gashes himself. Being a powerful Kabilor, he wouldn’t succumb to his wounds.
Stopping the kiderrin, he settled on a root and began sewing his own flesh. His face contorted in pain, but he continued his gruesome task without pause.
I huddled on a rock, flinching every time Rindar groaned. Not only had I caused him pain, I had turned him against me. He couldn’t possibly love me anymore. No sooner had the thought invaded my mind than a reddish haze veiled my sight. Unconciously standing up, I padded into the forest.
“Zhin,” Rindar called somewhere behind me.
My feet twisted up on themselves and I collapsed on my hands and knees. Something was draining out of me. It wasn’t fluid, but energy…my soul. I was seeping out of my own body.
“Zhin!”
I glimpsed Rindar’s blurry form speeding towards me before I blacked out.
***
“Minamee, limmet…limmet…”
Limmet…wake up…
A pair of deep green eyes blurred into view. “Eenyet!” Thank goodness! Rindar folded me in his arms and
pressed his face to mine. “Why you wander away?”
“I don’t know.”
He kissed my head. “You stay with me.”
My lower lip trembled. “Are…are you still mad at me?”
“No, no. I almost lose you twice today. It makes me upset. I love you, you know.”
A strange weight in my chest lifted, and I hugged his middle. “I love you, too.”
I drifted to sleep again. When I woke, Rindar still cradled me, but we resided in a bunker. A fire cooked meat in the firepit and glazed the dirt walls in orange light. The kiderrin slept in a corner.
“It’s night?” I mumbled.
“You slept all day, minamee,” said Rindar. “Is time for to eat now. Remember I tell you you have to eat cooked meat?”
“Yup.”
“Always remember, never people meat, minamee.”
“Okay.”
He removed some meat off the spit and dropped it in a bowl. “Did you dream about anything?”
“No.” I rubbed my chest as the tug suddenly throbbed.
“What is it?” said Rindar in alarm.
I frowned. “He’s sad.”
“Who is?”
“The one we’re going to.” I wiped sudden tears from my eyes.
“Is okay, minamee. He probably be happy to see you when you come.”
After we ate, we lay down to sleep. I was still tired and didn’t feel like doing much else. Rindar’s bandaged silhouette loomed against the dying embers. He showed no signs of pain, but he moved carefully.
“Grampa,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Can you stay with me after we find him?”
Rindar paused a moment, and then he said, “We’ll see.”
I sat up. “But you have to stay.”
“Remember I have to find my wife?”
“But we can help you find her. And then she can stay, too.”
Rindar rolled on his back and looked at me. “You think so?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s this: I stay if the one you looking for says okay and says he gonna help me find her. Is good?”