Lakhoni

by Jared Garrett

  What did it feel like to not be walking?

  Nothing mattered beyond each step. If he could beat the winter with leather moss soup, nothing could stop him. And if winter won the day, so be it. All that mattered was that he still breathed and would fight for each breath. Another step. His foot slipped on something hidden by snow. He fell to all fours. The snow-covered earth called to him, coaxing him to rest.

  He stood. Pain. There was pain and his chest rising and falling. That was all.

  He looked to the crisp blue sky and found the sun. Tucking his bow under his arm and his cloak tighter around his shaking body, Lakhoni took a step forward.

  A spasm of coughing burst out of him. He took another step.

  He breathed in, holding the air in until it warmed, then blew out, first into his mask, then his tunic. Another step.

  He found himself in a wide pasture of rolling mounds of snow. The forest had ended.

  Another step. Another one.

  No more than an hour had passed when he saw the glint of fire and the shadows it threw on a circle of stone huts.

  Chapter 22

  The Healer

  All he saw were the flames dancing. The orange-gold-red, like living spears, swept up to the sky nearly as high as he was tall. He imagined the heat before he felt it.

  Bumping into the stone of a hut, he stumbled into the light cast by the fire. He heard noises, saw movement to both sides, but paid them no heed. The fire, huge and powerful, drew him in. At its edge, Lakhoni dropped his bow. He pried his hands off of his cloak and stretched them forward.

  Perhaps he had died and this was the world of spirits. Some said the world of spirits was paradise and others said it was for the damned. He didn’t care which one he was in. The entire front of his body melted into the glowing heat of the fire. When his hands could move well enough, he reached up and pulled his cloak off his head, and untied the leather mask from around his face, letting them both drop to the ground. He wished he could remove all of his clothing and bathe in the flame.

  As his face thawed, Lakhoni began to understand the noises around him. Voices raised in question and anger. A baby crying. Deep voices. Dogs barking. He turned to allow his back to get some heat.

  A man, shorter than Lakhoni and with narrow, muscular shoulders stood in front of him. “Who are you?” His voice carried anger and suspicion. “Why do you invade our circle?”

  Lakhoni opened his mouth to answer. He tried to speak, but his throat burned as if he had swallowed a live coal from the fire behind him. A cough tore through him. He tried to speak again and failed.

  “By the Sword and Guide, speak or be cast out!” The man took a small step forward. He was certainly smaller than Lakhoni, but his sloped shoulders belied the strength that was evident in the man’s chest and the rest of his body.

  Lakhoni coughed again. “I—” he said, trying to swallow to create space in his throat.

  Another man’s voice, sharp like a knife, cut through the darkness. “Mibli! This boy is clearly sick!” Scuffling sounds followed.

  Lakhoni blinked. He was surrounded by people. Men, women, children, even some dogs were there. And they all stared at him.

  “He must answer!” the slope-shouldered man, who must have been Mibli, said. His protective posture didn’t change.

  “Let me through, curse your ancestors!” the second voice protested. “He is sick!” A bear pushed two people aside and entered the circle of firelight.

  Lakhoni wanted to turn back to the fire to work on his hands again, but realized this might be a rude thing to do.

  “And he is probably hungry! Can’t you see he’s nearly dead?” The bear was actually a hugely thick man, his body covered entirely by a bear pelt.

  Mibli glowered at the enormous man. “This is not your place.”

  “This is exactly my place,” the other said. He turned from Mibli and faced Lakhoni.

  A shudder slammed through Lakhoni. The warmth of the fire at his back reminded his body how frigid the air around him was.

  “Boy. Can you speak?” The bear man’s eyes glowed with the gold of the fire.

  Lakhoni opened his mouth, but knew nothing would come out. He shook his head. Another spasm of coughing tore out of his chest.

  “Get some soup!” The bear man’s voice carried through the strange haze that had begun to settle over Lakhoni. Soup was food. Lakhoni wanted to listen, to understand what more the bear man had to say, but the haze grew thicker.

  He blinked slowly and found himself lying on the frozen ground. His bow was pinned under him.

  He laughed through his nose, more of a snort, at the contrast between his front and back. His back side cooked while his front froze again.

  Darkness consumed him.

  He opened his eyes when the first hot splash touched his chin. A shape moved above him, making some kind of noise.

  Lakhoni tried hard to focus. He lay on his back, something soft between him and what was probably a dirt floor. A bundle of something that was also soft held his head up somewhat. The roof above him was mostly in shadow, but it looked like it was made of reed and river clay tiles. Like Salno’s house back in his village.

  “Please, drink this.”

  Lakhoni turned his attention to the shape—a young woman—that was leaning over him.

  “My father says you must have this or you will die,” the young woman said. Her skin was the color of cured deer hide, her hair a glistening black that glowed in the light of a small fire behind her. He couldn’t see her face very well through the shadows.

  “I—” The croak that came out sounded like an animal of some kind. He tried again, this time with worse results. His throat felt scraped and raw.

  “Just open your mouth and I’ll pour it in,” the woman said.

  Lakhoni complied, licking his lips. The thin soup, or whatever it was, tasted of meat, some kind of sharp, earthy root, and many vegetables. It was good, but unusual and strangely spicy. Not in a way that hurt though. He opened his mouth for another sip. No, the spiced flavor soothed his throat somehow.

  “It won’t really fill you, but he said it should help you fight off the winter sickness.”

  He wanted to answer, to thank her or something, but he didn’t want to kindle the coal in his throat again.

  “You have to drink it all.”

  He nodded. She lowered the clay bowl to his lips again. He felt ridiculous, as if he were a baby being fed by its mother. He tried to reach up to take the bowl, but the motion caused violent twinges of pain all over his body. His vision spun.

  “That was stupid. Don’t move.”

  He tried to stop the spinning in his head.

  “You lie there and I give you soup,” the woman—or was she just a girl?—said. “It’s simple.”

  In response, he opened his mouth.

  As she fed him his awareness expanded. He found he was covered in several heavy blankets or pelts. He wished he could curl into a ball.

  “That’s all,” she said.

  Forgetting, he tried to reach for the bowl to tell her he was still hungry, but nausea stopped him.

  “No, that’s all. More later.” She turned. “Sleep now.”

  Urgency to move toward Alronna, to find her, prodded Lakhoni, but he could not deny the weakness and pain in his body. Alronna probably thought everyone in the village was dead. She was alone. Had she known about whatever it was beneath our mother’s bed?

  Lakhoni lay there, knowing the hunger growling in his stomach would not let sleep come.

  Sunlight streaming through cracks in the doorway told him he had been wrong. He didn’t even remember closing his eyes. No dreams of his village had come. No dreams of a terrible funeral pyre had assaulted him. No dreams, but plenty of hunger.

  Sweat poured off his burning body, sliding down his neck, over his shoulders and dropping onto the mat he lay on. A shudder passed through him, bringing pain and hunger.

  He groaned, trying to turn onto one side and cur
l up.

  Now cold struck, making him shiver.

  A soft noise came from the doorway. Carefully keeping his head still, Lakhoni glanced in that direction. Someone came in, a blinding flash of light behind them obscuring their features. Lakhoni blinked rapidly and regretted it. His head pounded and he suddenly was very thirsty.

  “Good, you need more soup.” The same voice from the previous night.

  He watched as the young woman approached and knelt at his side. She was beautiful. Her long black hair framed an oval face with even, perfectly shaped features. Eyes the shape of an elm leaf, a straight and strong nose, and a kind mouth. Lakhoni knew he was staring and didn’t feel inclined to stop.

  “Just keep your mouth open,” she said.

  “Y—” he still couldn’t speak. All that came out was a noise that he wouldn’t have believed he could make if he hadn’t just heard it.

  “No, don’t talk. Give it time.”

  Lakhoni didn’t want to blink. She looked like a messenger from the First Fathers.

  “By the stones! You have to swallow!”

  The moisture running down his chin and neck brought him back to the present. He closed his mouth, swallowing the small amount of spicy soup that hadn’t dribbled out.

  “There,” she said. “Father says you must drink it all again, so let’s go.”

  Beautiful woman or no, he had to get back on his feet.

  Looking up at the young woman, he found his eyes getting tired. They felt strained and dry. He dropped his eyes to her hands. That was better. He and the girl quickly found a rhythm and only minutes had passed by the time the clay bowl was empty.

  “Okay. Now sleep.”

  It cost him a moment of dizziness, but Lakhoni forced his hand to move. He tried to grab her wrist, but succeeded in only brushing it with his fingertips. Fingertips that he only just now noticed were wrapped in soft cloth. He had to get up, get moving again.

  The girl’s eyes flashed for a moment. She gritted her teeth. Seeing him open his mouth to talk, she said, swift anger in her voice, “No. Don’t try to talk. Just rest. We will make you better.”

  Frustration welled up in him.

  The anger in the girl’s eyes dissipated. She unclenched her jaw with a visible effort. “Listen. You are very sick. We don’t know where you’ve come from, but we have traditions that we must obey.” Her reddish-brown eyes met his. “So we’ll make you better. We have questions, but you can’t answer them so we will wait. You wait too.”

  The girl sighed, glancing around the hut. Something in her face looked pained. Lakhoni instinctively followed her gaze as it traveled the walls. The home looked almost exactly like those of his village. Stone walls, sleeping mats, a small table, wooden shelves with trinkets, hooks sunk into some of the rocks of the wall. It was all the same, except for the tile roof. Like Salno’s, because Salno had been important in the village.

  “I’m sure this is hard. But we will help you get better. I can’t promise Mibli won’t throw you out or do something awful to you once you’re better, but my father has claimed a duty to you.”

  Her hand rested briefly on his arm. A shock, both cold and hot, went through him at the spot she touched. “My father is Neas. He is the healer of our village.” The girl stood. “We will bring you more soup soon. As your throat heals, you can eat other things. But you have to rest now.”

  Lakhoni blinked, wary of moving his head.

  She turned to the small fire in the middle of the hut. She fed a small log to the flames.

  “Soon you’ll be able to tell us your name, and your story. For now, I’ll be your healer. My name’s Simra.” She turned and left the hut.

  Simra.

  On his back, sweat pouring from his skin, the sight of deep brown tiles not far above him, Lakhoni thought back to the cavern of the Separated.

  First Fathers, please don’t let this be the same, he thought. The memory of his journey through the frigid winter, the wind sharp as swords, was still fresh, but it felt as if someone else had experienced it. Images of Gimno and Mother and Corzon flitted behind his eyes.

  They had cared for him and treated his injuries too. Were Simra’s people going to try to keep him captive?

  His bones ached with exhaustion; his muscles still trembled. He wondered if he was even close to Zyronilxa.

  I’m free from the Living Dead. And I’m alive.

  That means I’m closer.

  Chapter 23

  Slave-girl

  The winter stretched far longer than Ree liked. The stones surrounding large hearths in the kitchen and main rooms in the castle retained plenty of heat, but there were no hearths in the hallways and Ree grew tired of her toes feeling like they were freezing. Her room had a fireplace, but she always had to dash through the hallways, her bear pelt wrapped tightly around her, her breath fogging out behind her.

  Snow and frigid temperatures made her feel cooped up. It was far less convenient to go see Titan now. And she still hadn’t found out what Shelu had been up to that night in the slave barracks.

  She had to get out, do something.

  Not relishing the amount of work it would take to get herself bundled up, Ree went in search of a serving woman to lace her boots for her; that was the part that she hated the most.

  She dashed into the hallway to her room. “Cold!” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls that surrounded her.

  A small woman came into view just outside of Ree’s doorway. Ree recognized the lady as one of the two room attendants.

  “You, come and help me.”

  The tiny woman nodded her obedience and followed Ree. In her room, Ree ordered the servant to help gather her winter clothing.

  Minutes later, Ree wore heavy clothes and sat on her bed, waiting for the slow old woman to finish tying her boots. As soon as she was done, Ree leapt to her feet. “Finally!” Ree left one final order as she hurried to the door. “Have a fire burning in my fireplace when I get back.”

  She ran down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Where are we going, Mistress Ree?” came Agmoda’s dry tone.

  Without pausing, she answered, “To see my horse. He’s lonely.” She pulled open the door to the outside. “Lonely like a poor, friendless cook.”

  Agmoda chuckled. “It’s cold out there, Mistress.”

  “Really? I thought it was summer.” Ree turned around and cast a mock glare at the skinny cook.

  “It’s gotten colder,” Agmoda said. “Snow’s light as a feather.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Ree dashed to the long, heavy table that extended nearly the length of the kitchen. She grabbed a carrot and skipped back to the door. “Titan says, ‘Thank you.’”

  Agmoda’s laughter followed her out into the winter day.

  The quick journey between the warm kitchen and the stables was frigid, making Ree’s nose cold and her breath form thick clouds. At least the sun was shining and the wind that often came out of the mountain passes wasn’t blowing. The stable door slammed open, nearly hitting her outstretched hand. She jumped in surprise and dodged the large, hideous man that burst through the doorway.

  Shelu didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her. Ree was briefly tempted to call the warrior on his infraction, but knew it would do no good. He would bow just right, but his eyes would stay hard and he would keep that same smirk on his face. It wasn’t worth forcing politeness out of the ugly, rude man when he made it feel like he was mocking you.

  Ree stepped through the stable door, pulling it partway shut. Using the door as camouflage, she turned to see where Shelu was going. Instead of going through the kitchen door, or circling around to the left of the castle where the warriors had their barracks, he had angled to the right. To the slave barracks.

  She put the carrot for Titan in a pouch sewn on the inside of her cloak and waited for Shelu to turn around the corner of the castle. Then she dashed across the courtyard to the wall and scuttled along it. At the corner Shelu had turned, she sto
pped and peeked carefully around it. The door to the slave barracks was closing.

  The barracks had been built right on to the immensely tall wall that surrounded the castle compound. It was a long, low building, very similar to the stables. There were about twenty feet between her corner and the nearest wall of the slave barracks. The building stretched about half as long as the castle’s length. Between the barracks and the castle was a sort of alley that would easily allow two carts to travel abreast through it. On the far side of the slave barracks leaned an overflowing storage shed. Crates and wooden barrels, along with tightly wound lengths of rope and bundles of hides, spilled out of the shed.

  Ree darted across the alley and put her back on the exterior wall of the slave barracks. Why am I doing this again? And why am I hiding? She stood still for a moment, unable to answer both questions. Then she remembered the night of that awful nightmare. Shelu’s raised voice coming from the slave barracks. Right. Because Shelu is up to something. He’s not allowed in there.

  Ree had long ago noticed that the slaves were all young, pretty women. She had also long ago heard how protective her father was of his ‘special servants.’ He had explained that the girls were privileged to serve their king in a “particularly special way.” As if I were a kid. I know what he does with them. The thing was that Shelu just shouldn’t be in the slaves’ barracks.

  Her back pressing the cold exterior wall of the barracks, Ree carefully made her way toward the door that had closed behind the large warrior. No chance I can get in there without him seeing. She thought about what to do, the cold on her face and hands reminding her that if somebody saw her out here, they would think it very strange. She had to get out of sight, but also see what Shelu was doing.

  There was a girl’s voice that night. It sounded like he had been angry with the girl.

  She eyeballed the barracks’ door, then the shed just beyond the door on the far wall of the building.