The two dumped their packs inside the tent, Darwe unrolling the single, wide bedroll they had packed. Seeing as they would be avoiding making any fires to fend off the cold desert night air, they would need to share body heat in order to make up for it. It wasn't a novel concept to either of them by any means, but Namida still found her palm sweating a little at the idea. Darwe was a handsome young man, even if he was more like an older brother to her than anything. She didn't want things to change between them because of something as seemingly innocent as this. She frowned as she sat down on the far side of the tent, watching him fuss with the blankets while she retrieved some dried jerky and fruit from her pack, as well as one of the canteens. She tossed the canteen to him as he straightened, smirking as he fumbled with it for a moment before grasping it firmly. He shot her a half-hearted glare.
"Not nice," he murmured, plopping down beside her with a huff. She gave a little smirk as she popped a piece of jerky in her mouth, offering him some. He grabbed a few pieces with a murmur of thanks. "How long do you think it'll take us to reach the capital?"
She could see the worry on his face despite his nonchalant expression. It flickered in his eyes and showed in the slight crease in his forehead, visible even in the shadows of the tent. The night had fallen quickly around them, and the only light that snuck in through the tent flap was that of the half moon and stars that dusted the night sky above, illuminating a slit of the canvas between them. Namida's eyes moved to her hand. For some reason she found the sight of the moonlight stretching between her and Darwe somewhat unnerving.
"About a month, maybe more. It depends how the weather fares. We'll need to find shelter around midday and continue on towards the evening, but even then we might run into sandstorms or rain that will slow down our progress." She accepted the canteen as he passed it back to her, taking a healthy swig before replacing the cap and setting it between them. "Here, I have..." she swallowed thickly as her throat threatened to close, swollen with emotion. "I have Master Dorozi's old map," she finished, and it was an effort to keep her voice from wavering. "I'll show you the route I think we should take. We can follow the Ngozi River for part of the way so we can refill our water supply."
Darwe shuffled across the line of moonlight to peer over her shoulder as she awkwardly unrolled the parchment with her one hand, and her heart gave a painful squeeze as he reached to help her hold the edges down. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It felt like he was stretching to bridge the gap that yawned between them, and she blinked back unexpected tears at the thought. She wasn't sure if they were of sentiment or frustration, though. Likely both. Sentiment, for he was the brother that she had lost all those years ago to her own magick-corrupt blood, the brother that didn't blame her or haunt her dreams with his glossy, dead eyes; frustration, for she had sworn to keep herself from falling prey to such sentiment. She was a warrior and the vengeance of her people; the one that would rise up from the ashes of her old life and strike down the foes that had caused her such heartache, the ones that had stolen her youth and innocence. Namida pursed her lips, shoving her weak thoughts aside, smothering them until they were barely a tiny, nagging whisper in the back of her mind. She had no time for weakness. She was a warrior on a mission, and she needed her focus to be entirely in the present. She traced her finger along the black line that snaked through the uninhabited desert, looping north towards the blank spot on the map where they were currently traveling before dipping southeast towards the capital.
"There," she murmured. "If we make good time, another day's travel and we'll reach the river. We should have enough water to last us until then." They still had three full canteens, after all. She had made sure to count them when they had stopped to make camp. They were doing a fair job of rationing so far. It helped that they were taking the shortest route possible to a water source to replenish their supply.
Darwe was silent for a moment, and even though he still leaned close to her, it felt as though the distance were stretching between them once more. The loneliness ached in her bones.
"Are you sure about this?" Darwe asked, his voice soft. The concern in his voice was palpable; smothering. "I know Queen Gawela may seem like the lesser of two evils in this war, but you and I both know she's not entirely innocent, either. Going to her for help seems almost like...selling your soul."
She flicked him a glance, but couldn't hold the intensity of the gaze he looked at her with. How was it, she thought, that he seemed to be able to see straight into her soul with his dark brown eyes? She shook her head as though to shake the thought away, frowning.
"I know," she said with a quiet determination. She would not back down from her decision. She was following her own path, no matter how right or wrong it might be. "You need to understand though, Darwe. I need to do this. I won't be able to rest until I do." Silence fell between them as she splayed her hand over the map, and it seemed as though the entire country fit perfectly beneath the span of her fingers. "I don't feel like I've had a moment's peace since Master Dorozi died. And even before that...well," she said with a wan half-smile. "You know how angry I've been since you brought me to the complex." Her fingers curled around the edge of the parchment as she began to roll it up, watching the worn ink drawings slowly fold in on themselves to be replaced by the smooth, blank back of the sheet. "It's like they're all still with me, breathing down my neck, and I just can't—" She cursed herself as her voice broke, and she took a deep breath, relaxing her fingers before they could crumple the delicate parchment between them. "I can't rest when the spirits of my past haunt me like this. I need to lay them to rest. And the only way I know how to do that is to find Kaska. To find the man who's responsible for having them put down, and put him down." Her eyes burned as she turned to look at him, her expression fierce. She wanted him to understand. She needed him to understand. He was the only one she could talk to about this, her only human friend. Her brother. As much as she had never wanted him to come with her, had never wanted him to risk his life like this by following her into the maw of self-destruction, she didn't know if she would be able to carry on without him. He was her rock, the one thing anchoring her to reality when her chaotic mind longed for nothing more than to float away in the sea of revenge and loathing she found herself perpetually immersed in.
Darwe said nothing as his fingers silently wrapped around the parchment, gently taking it from her and replacing it in her pack as he placed his other arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his side. She exhaled shakily as he leaned his head on hers, her eyes sliding shut involuntarily. It was all she needed, the silent acceptance that he gave her, the quiet reassurance that he was there and that he was not going anywhere anytime soon; that she was not alone in this. It filled her heart until she was sure it would burst, and this time she couldn't stop the silent tears that slid down her face. She was glad it was dark, the sliver of moonlight barely illuminating the tent as it slipped in behind them, casting halos on their dark hair.
Their journey may have only begun, but despite the feeling that her crumbled heart had perhaps finally begun to mend, she could not help the ominous feeling that washed over her as she thought of those they had left behind and those that had gone ahead. They may not be alone, they may have each other, but suddenly she was not sure if that was enough to counteract the death and betrayal they had been haunted by ever since this war had started.
It only strengthened her resolve to end it by her own hand.
o—O—o
Namida and Darwe followed the river by day, curling back-to-back in their bed roll at night with Nyago's warm bulk sprawled across their lower legs. It had been just shy of a fortnight that they had been traveling, their almost frantic pace slowing as the days went by and the miles stretched between them and the complex, the capital growing ever closer as Namida lapsed into silent contemplation of her choice to go to Queen Gawela. While it was true that it would make things much easier to be in cooperation with the Queen, that they would be grant
ed the resources and political freedom they would desperately need if they were to try and track Kaska down, she couldn't help but find a bitter taste in her mouth at the thought of accepting help from the woman whose lack of concern for her own citizens had played a crucial part in the destruction of her village. Darwe's statement rang true in her mind, that it felt as though she were selling her soul for the chance of revenge. What other way was there, though? With no work and no gardens like they had at the complex to grow their own food, they would need provisions in order to search for Kaska and his camp. There seemed to be a general consensus that his main base was somewhere in the northern half of the country, but that was a much wider spread than they could feasibly search on their own without taking years to do so, especially given the fact that at any time, Kaska could uproot and move his camp without them knowing. If it were only the two of them on the lookout with no informants to keep an eye out for any possible troop movements, there was no way they would be able to track them if that were to happen. The more she thought about it, and the more she loathed the idea of going to Queen Gawela, the more her rational mind came to the conclusion that there was really no way around it. She would have to sacrifice her pride and disgust for the Queen's uninvolved manner of ruling, bow her head and ask for help. She gnashed her teeth at the thought.
Night was falling once again when they finally stopped to make camp. They were only a day's travel yet from the capital, the city outline clearly visible on the horizon. Namida breathed deep the night air, the cool dryness of it filling her lungs as it brought with it the scent of night-blooming desert flowers. The jani flowers that grew along the riverbank unfolded like bolts of silk the color of the night sky, reflecting the deep midnight blue on the ground as it spread out above them. She couldn't help but think about how she would have appreciated them so much more if she had been viewing them with her mother. The thought still stung despite the years that she had been gone, and her thoughts turned dark as she remembered Nyago dragging her out of the burning house, seeing her mother's headless body sprawled in a pool of red just inside the doorway...
A cold, wet nose pressed against the back of her hand, bringing her out of her torment. She looked down at Nyago's bright yellow eyes, seeming filled with concern as they regarded her. She grimaced, but scratched the hound between the ears. He gave an approving whuff as she did.
"Darwe," she called, about to ask the older boy about their food supply as she turned to where he had been setting up the tent. "How are we for—"
The words died on her lips as Nyago stiffened under her hand, his fur bristling as he growled menacingly. Darwe stood next to the tent, sagging at one side as he had not finished pitching it, a dagger pressed to his throat by the smirking mercenary lurking behind him. Darwe's face remained perfectly impassive despite the seemingly hopeless situation he was in, and she could read the emotion that flickered in his eyes as they darted from the dagger to her, the tips of his fingers twitching almost imperceptibly. She gave a slow blink to show she understood, not trusting that the man would miss it if she were to nod.
"So," the mercenary said in an almost casual tone, as though he weren't poised to slaughter her only friend at the slightest move against him. "The great swordmaster Dorozi's two star pupils, traveling to...what? Ally themselves with the Queen?" The man gave a sarcastic laugh. "I find it funny that it took his death to drive you into finally choosing a side in this war." His eyes turned to flint as his expression formed into one of malice. "It's just too bad you couldn't have chosen the right one."
It was as though time had slowed down. She could see the muscles tense in the man's hand, his grip tightening around the hilt of the dagger as he prepared to deliver the killing blow, Darwe's hands darting up—slowly, too slowly, he wasn't going to make it—
And then the man was screaming, dropping the knife as though it had burned him.
Because it had burned him.
The dagger glowed white-hot against the sand, flames licking the metal as the mercenary staggered backward, clutching his burning hand in pain and disbelief. She gave him no time to recover as she rushed past a stunned Darwe, her sword singing as it rose from its sheath. A single, clean slice was all it took to end it, to end him, the very way he had been so close to ending Darwe. He clutched at his throat with both hands, the flames against his palm now long forgotten as he choked on his own blood, collapsing to the ground as he tried desperately to stem the flow of gushing red. His desperation turned into wild, hysterical laughter that bubbled forth from his lips with specks of blood.
"It doesn't—doesn’t matter," he choked out. "They're all dead already. It's just—you two—left."
"What?" she murmured, moving to grab him by the front of his blood-soaked shirt. She shook him as he choked and gurgled, eyes rolling back in his head. "What do you mean? Who's dead, damn it!" It was too late, though, she realized despite her frantic state of mind induced by his dying words. He was dead. If there was anything she knew for certain, it was that the words of a dying man were almost certainly true, for what would they have to gain by lying? But what did he mean, they're all dead? Panic gripped at her heart as a sudden feeling of cold washed over her.
"Darwe," she said quietly. "We need to go back."
He didn't ask where they were going back to. He didn't even insist that they rest before they headed back. She could see the silent worry in his eyes as they traveled, quicker than ever, back towards the complex that they had left behind thirteen days prior. They traveled night and day, barely eating or sleeping, and speaking even less. The panic slowly merged into a deep-seated feeling of dread as, only eight days after they had doubled back, they climbed the hill that normally hid the complex from sight.
Namida choked back a sob. A sea of rubble greeted them, bodies half-buried in the sand. She could see the burnt remains of what had once been the beautiful, sprawling garden, now little more than ash and blackened, broken tree trunks, their skeletons twisted and shriveled as though pleading for a mercy that would not come.
"Not again," she croaked, and it was as though she had stepped back in time, back into the memory that haunted her sleep still after all these years. Why? Her mind cried out. Why her? First her family and village, all wiped out in a single fell swoop; then Master Dorozi was murdered and they were betrayed by a man they had once thought to be a friend. Then Kilish abandoned them, and now...now...
No one deserved this fate, she thought as she sank to the ground, barely registering Darwe's arms as they pulled her close, though she could feel them trembling as a dampness grew on the fabric of her cloak. No one deserved this fate, but especially not such kind, loving people as Chifuya and Mantas had been. Why them? Why two of the last living people that Namida held dear? Why her? It made her angry, and in her mind she screamed at Fate, at its cruelty at singling her out and relishing in her suffering. They didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve it. Damn it, how could Fate betray her like this?
As she came back to herself, she realized she had been screaming, tears streaking down her dirty face, leaving her face feeling tight and her throat hoarse. Her screams quieted, turning into choked sobs and shaky breaths. She could hear Darwe's uneven breathing, the quiet sniffs muffled by the fabric of her cloak, could feel the pressure of his fingernails digging into her shoulders as he held her tight enough it almost hurt to breathe, as though he were afraid to loosen his grip in case someone might come and rip her from his grasp as well. It was a desperation she had never seen in the young man before, not even when Master Dorozi had been killed. It was as though the concept of their own mortality was finally beginning to sink in as the destruction of the war began to corrupt their lives at an alarming rate. Namida's eyes turned to flint as her resolve became that of sharpened steel, her arm wrapping tightly around Darwe as she silently reassured him she was not about to go anywhere, no matter what he might fear.
The Queen could wait. For now, they had a different vengeance they needed to pursue.
&n
bsp; CHAPTER ELEVEN
Twenty summers old. Korrin-ein marked the passage of yet another cycle, the winding down of yet another season of drought as Korrin-los melded seamlessly into the unpredictable, torrential rains of Phan-ein. Namida gave a slow exhale, trying in vain to quiet the cacophony of her mind as she sat, legs crossed beneath her, facing the rising red sun as the day already promised to be scorching hot; the last vestiges of late summer barely holding on with its tenuous but firm grasp. She pursed her lips, her brow furrowing despite her closed eyes. If she had been a typical woman, in less...chaotic times, this would mark her marriage year. Though there was the rare woman that chose to forge her own path, it was Solan custom to marry in one's twentieth year, whether it be for love or arranged by one's family for the woman's benefit, depending on their family and economic status. Though it was true that it was widely believed only the rich could afford to marry for love, it was actually quite typically the opposite, she had found. Usually it was the poorer citizens that married for love, such as her lower middle-class parents had, while the rich tended to marry for the purpose of remaining so.
When Comes the Fire Page 10