“Could you swim?”
“Sort of. But it didn’t come to that, fortunately. I had a stroke of genius, or so I thought. I tied the anchor to the other end of the line and lowered it over the opposite side of the boat. The weight pulled the fish up and I cut the line at just the right moment.”
“That’s some smart thinking for a nine-year-old.”
Ko-Jin laughed. “I thought so too. I was proud as could be when I brought that monster home. I still don’t know how I managed to carry it. I came in, beaming and covered in fish blood. But my mother and step-dad were furious. For going out on my own, and for losing the anchor. Apparently it was worth a lot more than the fish.”
Zarra gave him one of her huge smiles and his heart thudded dully in his chest. She turned back to the shore, and he followed her. As she waded up out of the water, she said, “Being Chisanta, you must not see them much. Your parents.”
Zarra took a seat on the shore, and he sank down beside her. She began wringing water from her hair. “No, not since I was marked. But my step-dad died shortly after I left home.”
“Spirits, you’ve lost two fathers already? That’s bad luck,” she said.
“Yes. Though the first one isn’t dead, as far as I know.” Ko-Jin leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the stars. “He left my mom when she bore him a deformed son.”
“What a bastard,” Zarra said.
Ko-Jin shrugged. “I never knew the man. But it’s why I’m none too fond of the name Sung. That’s his name. My step-dad was Dalish.”
She nodded, but didn’t apologize. They sat for a moment, listening to the lake lap on the shore.
“I’ve always wondered how big it is,” she said.
“What?” he asked, jumping slightly.
“The Chisanta mark,” she clarified. “Is it the whole side of your neck or is it small?”
He took hold of her hand and guided it to his mark. “See for yourself.”
She quirked a brow. “See?”
He sighed. “I swear, I’m not doing that on purpose.”
She smiled, clearly unperturbed. Her finger traced the mark slowly, languorously, gliding along each circle. Her touch made his palms sweat.
When finished with the mark, her intrepid finger began to roam down the line of his jaw.
It froze. “Do you mind?” she asked, and there was something like vulnerability in her tone. “I’d like to know your face.”
“No. I don’t mind.”
He sat perfectly still and quiet, with only the pounding of his heart to breach the stillness of the night, as she leisurely ran her forefinger along his chin, up the curve of his jaw, along the outer ridge of his ear. He felt, suddenly, oddly conscious of the skin on his face. Her touch left a tingling trail in its wake.
The explorative fingertip continued its journey along his cheekbones, up over his brows, and down the ridge of his nose.
Finally, she came to his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as she traced the contour of his upper lip. He held his breath as the pad of her index finger turned at the corner of his mouth and brushed along his bottom lip, pulling it gently away from the upper.
“Is this standard procedure for the blind?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically husky.
“No.” Her voice sounded much closer than he had expected. He opened his eyes and found her face mere inches from his. “I’d like to kiss you, Sung Ko-Jin.”
He went momentarily dumb, even his mind mute, as strange flashes of heat ran up his body. He’d never kissed a woman before; wasn’t entirely sure how to best go about it. Was he meant to aim for the upper lip, the lower, or smack in the center?
“Okay,” he breathed.
She took the initiative, and their lips met with tentative slowness—a kind of tremulous, tender uncertainty. He braced his arms on the shore to hide the slight trembling in his hands, closed his eyes, and let instinct take control.
They seemed to be sharing breath. He could feel her pulse.
It was sublime, paralyzing. Searingly peculiar. Perfect.
The next afternoon, Ko-Jin found himself once again attempting to find his footing atop mounds of volcanic stone, wooden hilt clasped firmly in hand. Artello, once more refusing to enter the stony pit, bayed at his mistress from the grass.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Zarra called. “You great, dumb beast.”
“I’ve noticed that your seeing-eye dog tends to walk behind you. Kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” Ko-Jin said.
She laughed. “True. I’m more his guide than he is mine.” She whipped her waster and readied herself, her bare feet somehow finding purchase in the shifting terrain beneath her. “Ready, Sung?”
The animation drained from his face. “You’re really going to call me that? After what—”
“The things that hurt us can either strengthen or weaken our spirit. You shouldn’t give that man such power over you. It’s your name.”
He let out a long breath. With it, he had the curious sense that some inner burden—a weight he hadn’t known he carried—eased. He grounded himself as best he could and lifted his blade. “I’m ready.”
He lunged, his feet sliding in the pebbles. He allowed himself to skate on the earth, and leaned his weight in the opposite direction to slow his momentum. His blade caught her unsuspectingly in the rear. She squawked, then visibly endeavored to regain her composure. “You’re getting better.”
“Not fighting like a stupid man anymore?” he asked.
She smirked at him. “Well, less stupid at any rate.”
“You’re a hard woman to impress.”
She rested against her blade, its tip digging into the ground. “I’ve been thinking about that fishing story you told.”
“Have you?”
“Yes,” she said, her face serious. “You don’t fight with that kind of creativity. You rely on your strength and your Cosanta trickiness.” He laughed at her word choice. “But you don’t go beyond that. I expect that if you did you’d be unstoppable.”
“Well, I had to think like that then.”
“Yes. Most people would never need to. Not like you and me. But that’s what makes us better. And you more so, because you no longer have your handicap, but you should still have the benefit of ingenuity and quick thinking.”
Ko-Jin’s gaze drifted out to gray clouds, a storm coming in. Suddenly, Hervenne’s words about being weakened by his gift made a kind of sense. She was right. He didn’t think like that anymore.
“Let’s go again,” he said.
She inclined her head and raised her blade. He felt the breeze stir his hair; he curled his fingers tightly around the smooth grip. But he did not strike. This time, he paused to think.
How is she able to anticipate me? It must be sound—maybe smell as well. He could do little about his odor, but the noise he made? Yes, that he could alter.
She was listening, but he did not move. He kept his breathing regulated.
And then he kicked at the stones beneath him, sending them to the right. She turned to the sound, jabbing with her blade. But he moved left, catching her in the shoulder.
She righted herself, then beamed. “You finally used my blindness against me.”
“Said like that, it sounds pretty bad.”
“You should always use an opponent’s weaknesses against them.”
“How sporting.”
“Come here,” she said.
He wondered if she would kiss him again—or would that be inappropriate while they were teacher and student? He stepped up close to her, his breath coming quicker than it had while they fought.
She swung out her foot, sweeping his left leg up and sending him flat on his back. “That is your weakness. Sporting or not, any opponent can take advantage. You need to learn to center yourself.”
Ko-Jin shook his head self-deprecatingly, feeling foolish for his unfounded hope. Then he hopped back to his feet.
They prepared themselves for another fight, b
ut the sound of a voice calling Zarra’s name halted them. The person—man—shouted again, closer.
“Nevrre?” Zarra answered.
The large Adourran man soon appeared, running as if the Spiritblighter itself were on his tail. Given his size, it was an impressive sight.
“We have a problem, Za—Ms. Elver,” he said as he came to a stop, panting.
“What’s going on?”
He answered her question in rapid Adourran, Ko-Jin presumed for the purpose of leaving him in the dark, as all three of them were fluent in Dalish.
Zarra’s milky eyes grew wider, and her lips parted. “We’d better come right away, then.”
Ko-Jin jogged in their wake. “Zarra, what’s—”
“Two more pupils have gone missing,” she said through labored breath. “Colson and Tev. And Grandfather is away for the weekend.”
Blight it. He sped his steps, charging down the slope. “What are we going to do?”
“Search for them, of course. In pairs. With everyone looking…” She trailed off and Ko-Jin lapsed into silence, his thoughts troubled.
He pushed his legs to carry him faster, despite the ever-present ache in his muscles.
Nevrre scowled. “Your grandfather would want me to remain with you. If he were here—”
Zarra crossed her arms, and her dark brows rose. “You and I know the land best. It makes the most sense for us to look separately. Ko-Jin and I will go east, you take Alton west.”
Nevrre’s narrowed eyes swiveled towards Ko-Jin, the threat fully articulated without words. Ko-Jin bowed his head in a solemn promise—though, in truth, he doubted Zarra was the type to ever need protecting—and they turned east. “Come, Art,” he said, slapping his hand to his thigh.
The great beast barked and bounced to Ko-Jin’s side, ears perked, and the three of them set out into the hot, dusty evening.
They walked a long way in silence, while Ko-Jin scanned the landscape for movement. Zarra chewed on her bottom lip, and Ko-Jin had the sense that she was intently focused on the sounds and smells of the road. Artello padded with blissful unconcern between them, sniffing the road and swishing the air with the steady wagging of his tail.
In the distance, the clouds turned an ominous shade of charcoal. The air was thick with static.
“Do you see any shelter nearby?” Zarra asked. As if to punctuate her question, a crack of thunder resounded, sharp as a snapping tree branch. Artello whimpered.
“I’ll run up to higher ground and see. Stay here.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ko-Jin sprinted up the nearest hill. The countryside spread before him: dry grasslands of rolling hills, dotted by the occasional baobab or sizable black boulder. The storm crouched over the land in thick clouds, spreading inky fingers. A flash of lightning startled Ko-Jin back to his senses. He scanned the nearby landscape and spied a small, rundown hunting shack not far off.
Turning back to the road, he found Zarra coming to meet him on the hill, clearly not inclined to wait. “Anything?”
“Yes, there’s a little place just over there.” He pointed, then mentally cursed himself for yet again forgetting that she could not see. Zarra made no comment, merely gestured for him to proceed and cocked her head, listening to the distant rumble.
Rain began to fall in great, heavy drops, the thirsty earth avidly absorbing each spot of wetness. Ko-Jin was tempted to break into a run, but he held back to remain by Zarra. Rather than hastening her steps, she slowed and tilted her face skyward, eyes closed, allowing the cool drops to pepper her face.
There was serenity in her expression, the corners of her mouth just barely upturned.
And then another boom of thunder, followed by a pathetic whimper from Artello, brought Zarra back to the present, and they arrived at the shed.
To his surprise, Ko-Jin found the hovel unlocked, though the door was so poorly fitted to its frame that it opened only after a mighty tug. Within, the floor was dirt and the only contents were a single bench, a few crates filled with various tools, and a wall lined with Adourran-style short bows.
“It smells dreadful,” Zarra said, as she tapped each of the four walls with her walking stick.
“I’ll leave the door open unless the wind changes,” Ko-Jin said.
She nodded, then stretched her hand in search of the bench, found its rough surface, and eased herself down. “I hope no one’s stuck out in this.”
“I’m sure it will pass quickly,” Ko-Jin said.
“If anything happens it will be entirely my fault,” she said softly. Her features, typically self-assured verging on cocky, had taken on a look of uncertainty.
Artello, perhaps hearing the note of despondency in his mistress’s voice, padded over and placed his head in her lap. She scratched under his ears absently.
“You couldn’t have foreseen this,” Ko-Jin said. He was tempted to reach out to her—hold her hand, perhaps—but something about the way her shoulders were squared, her body language closed off, stayed his fingers.
She snorted without mirth. “Yes, we’ve had a drought all summer; I call for a search party and lo! We have rain.”
As if to confirm her assertion, the deluge began to drum a relentless beat against the wooden roof above their heads. It dripped through a crack in the far corner, accompanying the music of the general deluge with a slower, graver rhythm.
The storm sounded as though it were directly overhead. Ko-Jin had never experienced such weather before. Thunder storms were common enough in Chasku, especially in summer, but they could hardly be compared to this inundation. This storm seemed to hold a kind of violent intent. Ko-Jin could better understand why the people of old Adourra had feared the vengeance of gods.
The sky was alight at all times with dozens of lightning bolts, as though the inky sky itself had shattered and the gleaming light of the Spirits’ Home shone through the fractures. It left spots dancing in Ko-Jin’s vision.
A blinding flash streaked down from the sky, accompanied by an ear-piercing blast, and a tree in the not-so-far distance collapsed. Ko-Jin jumped, the hairs on his arms standing upright. He took a deep breath, pushed a hand to his hammering heart, and turned to Zarra. “Did you see—?”
Zarra’s body was tight as a strung Chaskuan long bow, her hands fisted in her lap. Though she didn’t appear frightened exactly, she did seem exceptionally uncomfortable. With each slap of thunder her hand clutched tighter to the fabric of her dress. Artello’s emotions were under less restraint. He yowled and bounded around the small space on his long limbs. Ko-Jin watched his pointless progress. His own legs felt tense, and he wished he could do the same without looking foolish.
“It’s not on fire, is it?” she asked in a voice of determined calm. “The tree that was struck?”
“Doesn’t look like it.” He studied her face, not sure what to make of her expression. “You alright?”
“I don’t like storms, is all.” She laughed at herself. “Silly, I know.”
“With lightning like this, it’s no wonder.” Ko-Jin scooted down the bench a bit, and she slanted her weight towards him.
“It’s just that I rely so heavily on sound, and with all of the rain and thunder I can’t hear as well.” She turned her face to him. “Usually I can read your mood by your breathing and the sound of your movements. But it’s so loud, I can’t hear you. I don’t know if you’re sitting there, cool as ever, or if the storm bothers you too.”
Ko-Jin took her hand and wordlessly pressed it to his breast, so she could feel the slight elevation of his heart rate, the rise and fall of his chest.
At the contact, her shoulders lowered infinitesimally.
“You can always ask. I’ve no problem admitting when I’m afraid. Usually am, in fact. I’m a notorious coward.”
She laughed, and the easiness of the sound seemed to shatter the tension. “And what sorts of things scare you, Sung?”
Ko-Jin reclined back against the wall, stretching his legs. “Oh, everything. Bats�
�large cats…spiders…women with red lips…”
Zarra snickered. “Aren’t all lips meant to be red?”
“Well, a normal human kind of red. I’m talking about women who paint their lips bright red.”
She shrugged. “I don’t get colors. People are always trying to explain them to me in the stupidest ways.” She leaned in and altered her voice, mimicking a Dalishman. “Red is like heat.” She smirked and resumed her posture. “If red is like heat then why is an apple cool to the touch? It looks like hot but feels like cold? That makes no sense at all.”
Ko-Jin tried to think of a better, non-visual way to describe red and found himself at a loss. “I suppose the only color you see is black, then? Just nothing but black.”
She shook her head. “I’ve no clearer notion of black than red. I don’t see black; I see nothing.”
Ko-Jin let out a puff of air. “I can’t imagine that.”
“And I can’t imagine seeing. Can you conceptualize a sense that you’ve never had? Something completely unrelated to the ones you know?”
“No.” A rumble of thunder sounded, further off now. “I think it’s slowing down out there.”
“It is,” she agreed, but rather than standing she turned on the bench, crossing her legs and facing him. “Let’s wait a bit longer.”
The shack suddenly felt quite hot, the mustiness of the rain and the rumbling of the storm atmospheric rather than threatening. Zarra’s hand extended with purposeful slowness. As the cool pads of her fingers grazed his cheek, a shiver ran down his spine.
And then they were kissing with reckless fervor—a kind of clumsy passion reserved for those possessing the perfect blend of strong feeling and insufficient practice.
Ko-Jin felt as if he were ablaze. His lungs burned to breathe and his head spun and his heart pounded, but all he wanted was more of her. Her warmth, her taste, the very smell of her was more potent than strong drink.
Maturation of the Marked Page 4