Is’Taqa, not having the low light sight of the People and with the snow falling heavily, could make out the gross motions of what was going on but not the details. But as he watched what Khon’Tor did next, Is “Taqa’s blood ran cold. What he saw unfold was inconceivable—maybe not for the Waschini, but so far out of the People’s realm of possibility.
He froze as he watched the abomination being carried out before him.
Is’Taqa did not want to believe what he was seeing, but there was no misinterpreting what was taking place. The positions of the two bodies, the movements, the final hold and telltale culminating release of the much larger figure left no doubt about the violation that was taking place.
This was not a fight between two males.
Violence against the females of the People was virtually unheard of and was a serious enough crime. But this? This was beyond the pale.
When he saw Khon’Tor turn back to come his way, Is‘Taqa ducked behind a rocky outcropping at the side of the path.
Khon’Tor removed himself from Adia and stood up, for a moment looking down at her as she lay in front of him. His mind started to clear, now relieved of the blinding instincts that had overpowered it moments earlier.
The female was not moving. Though he did not see how it was possible, he wondered if he might have killed her.
Even at the apex of his rage when his mind snapped, he had never wanted to kill Adia. Hakani yes, but Adia, no. Overpower Adia? Yes. Subjugate her? Yes. Defeat her? Yes. Demonstrate complete power over her, inflict his will over her, and violate her in the most intimate, humiliating way possible—yes, yes, Yes, to all of it.
But never to kill her.
Khon’Tor bent back down to examine her. She was still breathing. There was blood everywhere; all over the path, the rocks, the side of her face. And now that he was seeing her more clearly, he realized she was physically ill. He had never known Adia to be sick, but there was no doubt that she was at the moment definitely so, and perhaps seriously.
He ran his hand slowly up over his forehead and back through the silver hair that crowned his head.
When, in his enraged state, the two females had merged into one, Khon’Tor had not been able to separate his anger toward them. He recognized that the rage he had been denied inflicting on Hakani had combined with his anger at Adia and that he had spent it all on Adia instead.
Yes, Adia had defied him by leaving Kthama when he had made it clear that no one should. Yes, she had shown terrible judgment once again, this time by wanting to bring a Waschini item back with her that was connected directly to the offspring. One that could potentially lead the Waschini to him. It was a long shot, but it was possible. And as Leader, Khon’Tor always had to think in terms of possibilities–—no matter how remote they might seem to someone not in his position.
He slumped over, holding his head in his hands. I am tired of all the complications, tired of all the battles with moves and countermoves, always struggling to stay one step ahead of everyone else. Worrying about what these two females will do next. I just need it to end.
He did not want to think any longer, least of all about Hakani waiting back in their quarters. Having to face her again, knowing she was carrying another man’s offspring. Knowing she would claim it as heir to the leadership—his leadership. Years and years ahead of me, living with that lie? Wondering, every time I look at her and the offspring, which of the males betrayed me.
Khon’Tor scoffed. It was not her infidelity that hurt; he truly could not care less who she mated with. It was knowing that somewhere, out among all the males of the community—males whom he had hunted with, defended their females and offspring with, males whom he had trusted—one of them had committed the ultimate act of disloyalty by lying with his mate. Each time he looked into the eyes of any male, he would wonder, Was it you? Were you the one?
Khon’Tor forced his thoughts back to the moment at hand. What about her? What about Adia—the female he had wanted all these years, now lying at his feet possibly dying by his acts.
He knew she had blacked out—but at what point? Was she aware that in her moment of total defenselessness, he had not helped her, but instead—
Khon’Tor’s heart started pounding again as his mind raced. Instead of being remembered as the great Leader, his name would go down in history as breaking the most revered of the First Laws: Never Without Consent.
Oh but not just any female. This was Adia. One of the greatest of the People’s Healers. A Healer, who was always chosen as a maiden and who was directed by law to remain so until her death. Beloved daughter of the great Apenimon’Mok, Leader of the People of the Deep Valley; a male whose legacy he struggled to live up to as it was.
He had defiled the great Leader’s daughter—possibly even killed her.
And he, Khon’Tor, was not just any man. He was their Leader. He was in the highest position of authority. His People looked up to him to guide them, protect them. It was his responsibility to enforce the laws that had been established to protect their society and each of them individually—not to break the laws by committing an act of cowardice against someone who was utterly unable to defend herself. Even in the best state of health or presence of mind, any female of the People was no match for any of the males. And only a handful of the males of the community would have been able to defend themselves against Khon’Tor.
There would be no forgiveness for him. Not from the High Council, not from the females of the community, nor from the males. Not from anyone, ever.
Khon’Tor looked down at Adia, at the fallen snowflakes that clung to her everywhere. He wondered if she was dying.
All these thoughts and emotions and memories passed through Khon’Tor’s mind in seconds. What felt like hours had taken up only a brief moment in time.
Then Khon’Tor’s iron will and self-preservation kicked in—as it always did. After a few moments, his thoughts came back to his own problems and his own needs.
It would do no good to allow myself to be destroyed by this. Other than satisfying a need for justice, nothing good could come out of making known what I have done. It would certainly not help the People. If they have ever needed a strong Leader, with the threat of the Waschini at their door, now is the time. There is no one else who could take my place. Maybe Acaraho. He is as smart and as good a strategist as I am. He is a match physically, and he has the courage of the bravest warrior. He is respected and looked up to by everyone. But he is not of a Leader’s bloodline. No. I am the only one who can lead them.
In a flash, all Khon’Tor’s self-doubt disappeared. No purpose will be served by allowing this to come to light. The loss of my leadership would cost the People more than the loss of the Healer.
Khon’Tor began immediately to consider his options. He thought and carefully thought over what had taken place.
No one other than Akule knows the Healer left the cave. No one other than Akule knows I went after her. There is no one else out here; Acaraho had everyone brought inside.
Khon’Tor then noticed the blood on the side of her head and the surrounding rocks. Her wounds are consistent with having fallen and struck her head against one of those rocks. There are no other obvious injuries—and it would not occur to most to look for the unobvious one.
He realized now that she had been sick when she left Kthama. There was a good chance someone else had noticed it and would remember.
But why did she leave Kthama; why is she out here alone and sick in this weather, and under the conditions of the lock-down I established. What was so important that she defied me again?
Khon’Tor remembered the locket. As much as he wanted to fling it into the valley below, he knew he had to leave it. It was the only explanation for her being out here.
The last he remembered was dangling it in front of her face just before he shoved her to the ground in anger.
He stooped down, his hands sweeping the ground. His fingers touched the cold, hard metal. He took the locket and
curled it into the palm of her outstretched hand, ensuring it would not go unnoticed.
Then he stepped back and looked down at the scene. It will be hours before anyone else comes this way. By then, with her already being sick, the blow to her head, all that blood, and the cold, all they will find will be her dead body and the Waschini locket in her palm.
Satisfied there was nothing else to do, Khon’Tor took one last look at Adia and walked away, leaving her to die.
Is‘Taqa was well hidden as Khon’Tor walked right by him.
After the Leader had passed and was far out of sight, Is‘Taqa went to the prone figure and saw it was Adia.
When Khon’Tor had arranged the locket in her hand, though he could not see what it was, Is’Taqa had realized the Leader was staging a scene. Now considering the area of the blow to her head, and that she had fallen conveniently close to a grouping of rocks and bled all over them, the most obvious thing was to make it look like an accident. That she had fallen, been knocked unconscious, and died of exposure. It might just work for Khon’Tor. And the longer it took for someone to find her, the more sense it would make. Had Is‘Taqa not seen and followed Khon’Tor here, there would be no one to challenge the story this setting was arranged to tell.
Is’Taqa checked her pulse. He placed the back of his hand against the cheek which had not been bloodied. Cool to the touch but not yet cold. He did not have the strength to carry her. All he could do was hurry to the People’s cave without catching up to Khon’Tor and act as if he had come across her by accident on his way there.
He went back to the bundle of wrappings. He had brought three wolf pelts as a surprise. He picked the largest two and covered Adia up as best he could to maintain as much of her core temperature as possible. His heart was beating hard enough that he feared it would explode, but he had to give Khon’Tor time to get back first. And he had to be careful to support the story Khon’Tor had created, that she had been hurt in an accident.
Finally, calculating how long it had been and considering the length of Khon’Tor’s stride, he figured enough time had passed, and he made his way to get help.
Akule was the only person who could reveal that Khon’Tor knew Adia had left and that the Leader had gone to look for her. On his way back, Khon’Tor grappled with what to do about him. Somehow he had to ensure the watcher’s allegiance. There were only two ways Khon’Tor knew to do that—either offering something of value Akule could not refuse or by threatening him somehow. By the time Kthama’s entrance was before him, Khon’Tor had still not decided which tack he would take.
As ordered, Akule had relieved the earlier guard. This had been an incredibly long day for the watcher, filled with one stressful moment after the next. When Khon’Tor finally arrived, Akule wanted to ask if he had found Adia, but it was not his place to do so.
“I could not find her,” Khon’Tor volunteered. “It is too dangerous out there now. The snow has made everything slippery and treacherous. I will send a complement out in the morning. There is nothing else I can do,” he added, carefully watching for Akule’s reaction as he spoke. Trying to determine if the watcher could tell he was lying.
Out of nowhere, unbidden, Acaraho came running toward the two males. He was visibly alarmed and making a beeline for Khon’Tor.
Too much time had passed; Adia’s guard, Awan, who was waiting for her to reappear from the females’ bathing area, had become worried. He summoned one of the passing females to go and check, but she came back out stating there was no one there—only a pile of wrappings that had been left on the ledge.
“Adia is gone,” shouted Acaraho across the distance, not waiting to reach Khon’Tor and Akule.
Almost at the same time, Is‘Taqa rushed in, out of breath.
Khon’Tor froze, bearing down within himself, willing himself not to speak. Anything he said might give something away. He had learned that in times like this, it was best to hear what everyone else had to say and then to contribute as little as possible.
“Khon’Tor!” panted Is‘Taqa, addressing him first as the highest-ranking person inside the Great Entrance. “Please come quickly. The Healer has fallen and hit her head. She is very ill; there is little time.”
“Guards!” Acaraho bellowed across the hall, shattering the silence with the booming command. Within seconds, guards came out of nowhere, storming in his direction.
“You, you, you,” pointing at three of them, “Remain here at the entrance. No one leaves, understood?”
“You,” pointing to a fourth, “Go and find Nadiwani. Take one of the females with you to care for the offspring and let Nadiwani know Adia has been injured and to prepare for her care.”
“You,” he said, pointing to yet another. “You come with me. Is’Taqa, lead the way; let’s go!” and with that, the four males were out of the entrance on their way to where Adia lay dying.
Acaraho was praying harder than he ever had in his life that she would be found alive—that he would get to her in time to save her. And as hard as Acaraho was praying that she would be found alive, Khon’Tor was praying she would not.
In that short time, the snow had started falling more heavily. Not able to keep up with the larger People, Is‘Taqa explained to Acaraho where Adia was and caught up with them as soon as he could. Had it not been for Is‘Taqa, it might have been some time before she was found as the snowfall had completely covered all the earlier tracks.
Despite his haste to access the extent of Adia’s injuries, Acaraho took a few precious seconds to pass his eyes over her and the scene surrounding her, long enough to burn a picture of it into his memory before anything was touched. His eyes immediately spotted the shiny locket that lay curled up in her open palm.
He memorized every detail. How she was lying, the location and distance of the rocks, the amount of blood on her as opposed to the amount covering her surroundings, the way her head was turned, the direction her feet were pointing—every detail. In the few seconds he took to do this, he absorbed not only the location and depth of the blow to her head but also every visible scratch and wound on her, looking for any evidence that a physical assault had taken place. Evidence of assault—except the one assault it would never occur to most males to look for.
Acaraho then checked Adia’s pulse, releasing a sigh of relief. He took the locket out of her hand and gave it to Is’Taqa. Then he lifted her carefully, along with the fur wraps with which Is’Taqa had covered her, and carried her back to Kthama in his arms, carefully picking his way along the slippery path.
Everything screamed to him that this was not an accident. Yes, it had been staged to look like one. And it was possible Adia had fallen and hit her head at some point—but there was more to it than that. She had been lying on her back, and the wound on the side of her head could not be missed—someone had arranged her like that. The locket neatly curled up in her open palm also seemed too obvious. Acaraho knew there was a story there someone did not want told. Someone was responsible for at least some part of her injury and did not want it known.
Nadiwani was as ready as she could be by the time they brought Adia to her. It took only seconds to see that the Healer was in grave danger. She had lost a fair amount of blood from the wound to her head, and she had lost too much body heat. But there was something else at play aside from her head wound and being chilled—she was also deathly ill from something in general.
Is’Taqa, Acaraho, and Khon’Tor were standing around anxiously waiting for Nadiwani to tell what she could see about Adia’s condition—though each was on edge for different reasons.
Is’Taqa was one of three people in the room who knew what had really happened—Adia, who was unable to respond right now, himself, and Khon’Tor. If Adia never recovered, if the worst happened, that left only Is’Taqa to reveal the truth.
Acaraho had taken a position over against the wall where he usually stood when in the Healer’s Quarters. He did not want to be in the way, but he was also struggling to maintain his
composure and did not want the others to see.
Acaraho was filled with regret and self-blame even though he knew he’d had to take charge of the lock-down Khon’Tor had ordered. If I had not turned Adia’s protection over to someone else, she would never have left Kthama. She would not have been able to elude me. At the very least, if she had convinced me of the importance of that trinket she went to retrieve, I would have gone with her. And then whoever thought to attack her would have had to deal with me first.
Now, because he had been pulled away from watching over her, Adia was perhaps dying in front of him. Regardless of what happens, whether she lives or dies, I will find out who did this to her, and I will kill him myself. Slowly.
Having finished her examination, Nadiwani turned to the others.
“Adia has lost a fair amount of blood. Her core temperature is low—too low. On top of that and her other obvious injuries, she is very sick. I imagine she was sick before she even left Kthama,” she explained.
“I can treat the sickness and hope she has the strength to fight it off. But I need to get her core temperature up—and fast,” she continued.
“How do you do that?” asked Is’Taqa. He was sibling to the Brothers’ Medicine Woman, and he knew Ithua would heat stones in a fire and use them to warm the bed, but he also knew the People seldom used fire inside Kthama.
“The fastest way is with body heat,” she said. “I need someone to lie with her and transfer his body heat to hers. The larger the body surface and the more muscular, the better,” she added, looking directly over at Acaraho.
Is’Taqa was off the hook; needing body size and muscle mass she would never choose a Brother over one of the People.
Khon'Tor's Wrath Page 16