“What ants?” Corzon’s grin had not disappeared. He still thought they were joking.
“Ants, if used right, are good for food, but they are not medicine,” Melana said. She reached back and grabbed her complicated braid and tugged on it. “The small black ones make a good paste for bread.”
“I’ve had that,” Simra said. “It’s only good if you add tree nuts.”
“You only need the oil from the fat of a hapcha’s stomach.” Melana gave her braid one more tug then let it drop and swing to hang down her back. “Although tree nuts sound good.”
Lakhoni was already sore from the beating he’d taken the night before and his neck was getting tired of looking back and forth between the women. “The point is that Hilana used vesht ants to close up my side after the halkeen got me in the cave on Sinhael. They worked really well.”
“They did.” Simra’s free hand and arm circled Lakhoni’s waist, drawing him closer. Lakhoni did not mind one bit, even though it made walking a little more awkward.
“You are serious?” Corzon glanced at Melana, his betrothed, then back at Simra.
Melana snorted. “They’re not.”
“We are,” Lakhoni said. “It not only works, it’s better than regular stitches because the tiny amount of venom in the ants’ bite numbs the pain a little.”
“It’s a shame there weren’t any at the campsite,” Simra added. “If you see black ants the length of your thumbnail with an obvious pincher for a mouth let us know.”
“Okay, you’re telling the truth,” Corzon said. He scuffed a foot on the road, raising a small cloud of dust. “Tell me how you do it.”
Lakhoni described what Hilana had done on the slope of Sinhael and how it had felt. After Corzon kept asking questions Lakhoni couldn’t answer, they lapsed into silence.
“What did you call Melana?” Simra asked.
Confused, Lakhoni glanced at her, wondering what she was talking about.
She caught his look. “Corzon called Melana something I’ve never heard before.”
“Oh, you mean diwa?” Corzon smiled at Melana.
She smiled back and took his long-fingered hand in hers. Their betrothal ribbons, both a deep red, wrapped around her right wrist and his left wrist, so that when they held hands, their ribbons touched. “It means ‘my love’ in the Old Language.” Melana squeezed Corzon’s upper arm. “My parents said it all the time.”
Lakhoni and Simra exchanged a glance. Her small smile, with her eyes dancing, made his heart flip. “Diwa,” Simra said under her breath. “I like it.”
The group paused for a short meal not long after the sun began its descent. Simra had been making sure Lakhoni drank water every few minutes, so his stomach already felt full. But she still made him take some bites of cured meat, explaining that he needed to replenish his lost blood.
With the sun as bright as it was, Lakhoni felt like the temperature should have been warmer, but it was a cool, autumn day. As the day progressed and his wounds began to throb more and more, he tried to take his mind off the pain by thinking back to when this journey had begun for him. It had been a late autumn day when Lakhoni had come upon King Zyron’s soldiers, led by Shelu, talking in the woods not far from his village. He had failed to save his village that day nearly a year ago.
Since then, there had been too much bloodshed. Too much death. He tried to calculate if he had been able to reduce that at all. He hoped so, but Gadnar and his brother Molgar were relentless in their murderous plans. Why couldn’t they just go away?
“Here,” Simra said, pointing off to the left.
The group had been traveling north on the hard packed road for several hours, going slowly due to Lakhoni’s wounds. He remembered complaining silently about how slow Lina and Mastopo were the day before. His chest ached. His stitches pulled. And now he was slow. How wonderful to have it come back on him.
He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He had come down this road as well after leaving Simra’s village. Surely he would recognize something.
But he didn’t. The trees were all either changing color, dropping leaves, or their needles stayed green through winter. He remembered the tree he had made a rough camp under the last winter, boiling tiny batches of cloak soup to try to stay alive. That was far inland.
Then he realized why he didn’t recognize anything. He had come this way while it was still dark. Any memorable landmarks would have been farther down the road.
The group of former Living Dead, residents of Zyronilxa, and Lakhoni’s family gathered just before leaving the road.
“How far to your village?” Balon asked. He had whistled to Gar and the dog had come running, finally obedient.
“Only an hour at most.” Simra helped Lakhoni down the small slope that led into the forest. What had been mostly flat terrain to the south had given way to somewhat rolling woodland. The green and multi-colored forest stretched as far as the eye could see to the east, meeting the slate blue sky miles away. To the west, the direction they had turned, the tree-blanketed hills continued until meeting the base of mountains that were so far away they looked dreamlike in the haze of the day.
Prila’s voice, not far behind Lakhoni raised in a whine. Vena shushed her daughter.
“Balon, Falon,” Lakhoni said as they re-entered the forest. The sun shone through the trees at an angle that made the shadows long, but there were so many trees that the shadows all blended into mottled darkness. “Keep the dogs under control. Some of Simra’s village people are—”
“Grumpy,” Simra said. “They’re grumpy. And in some cases they’re grumpy and stupid.”
Lakhoni feigned a cough, saying “Mibli” under his breath. Pain cut through his lungs and chest and he wished he wasn’t so foolish.
“For that matter,” Simra added. Simra lowered Lakhoni’s arm, letting him gain his balance himself. “It will do no good to tell the people of my village where everyone is from. I’ll do the talking. The rest of you just behave yourselves.” She flicked Lakhoni’s shoulder.
“What?” Lakhoni adopted his most innocent expression. “I always behave.”
Simra raised her eyebrows and ignored him. The group moved through the forest slowly, as Lakhoni found it increasingly difficult to breathe the more tired he got. He briefly considered the notion of asking Lamorun and the other strong people in the group to carry him.
They came to a tree that was split down the middle but still living. Lakhoni involuntarily stopped in his tracks. This was where Simra had been standing when he’d made that terrible decision to leave her behind. He knew it was the wrong choice now. How much different would things have been in the city if Simra had been with him? The notion of her being in the city, or worse, by his side, when the Living Dead had attacked made his chest tighten and compress.
He caught Simra looking at him somewhat pointedly. “Yes, I know,” Lakhoni said.
“Never again, Lakhoni.” Simra held his gaze for a long moment.
“I know.”
They started moving again. A voice broke through the forest from somewhere ahead of them- nearby. “I don’t know who you are, but my warriors will cut half of you down if you take one more step.”
Simra grabbed Lakhoni’s wrist, pulling him to a halt. Corzon and Melana had stayed at the front of the pack and they stopped as well.
“Is that Mibli?” Lakhoni turned to Simra, the movement making his side and chest hurt even more. A noise filled Lakhoni’s ears, as if they had drawn near to a rushing river. He steadied himself against a nearby tree whose branches started just above his head.
She nodded. “I think so.” She turned to him when responding and her eyes grew wide. “Lakhoni!”
He blinked. Darkness was threatening at the edge of his vision. “What?” He swayed and tried to stop but couldn’t.
“You need to sit.” She took his shoulders. Here hands on pressed his shoulders, but it felt as if he had somehow left his body. He tried to form words to say he was all rig
ht, but then she was lowering him to a worn stump and calling for help.
The next few minutes were hazy as voices called and people rushing into view. Lakhoni shook his head to try to clear it, but that only made him feel like he was spinning uncontrollably. Something lifted him and he was suddenly flying or floating, then a familiar smell filled his nostrils.
He gasped and cleared his throat with a cough as a sharp odor exploded in his face. He sat up and took in his surroundings, his vision clearing quickly. A hut. Not just any hut; the healer’s hut he had spent many weeks in recovering last winter. Simra knelt next to his knees and a big man with a familiar face and kind eyes was settling back on his haunches, something small and green in one hand.
“Neas?” Lakhoni found it harder to put order to his jumbled thoughts than it had been to clear his vision. “How did I get here?”
“Your brother carried you.” Simra’s father gestured behind him to where Lamorun and Hilana stood near the hearth of the hut. “He is stronger than he looks.” Neas raised an eyebrow. “You are too.”
“Simra.” Lakhoni turned to her. “What happened?”
“We pushed you too hard after your injury.” Simra gritted her teeth and clenched her fists on Lakhoni’s leg. “I’m so stupid. I’m sorry. I should have known.”
“You were eager to get home, Simra,” Neas said. “It’s understandable.” He put out a meaty hand and waved at a bowl. “Brother over there. Hand me that bowl and the cup next to your woman’s hand.”
“My woman’s hand?” Lamorun’s eyes went wide and he stepped away from Hilana, hands up and a terrified expression on his face as he met Hilana’s suddenly fiery gaze. “She’s not my woman.” Lamorun leapt to do Neas’s bidding. “She’s not my woman, healer,” he insisted.
“My apologies,” Neas said, taking the two items. “Simra, water please.”
Simra smoothly swiveled on her knees and lifted a water skin from a peg in the wall in a practiced movement. She helped her father mix some leaves and powder into the cup and stir them up. It gave off a musky odor as Neas held it out to Lakhoni. “Drink.”
Lakhoni took it, remembering some of the awful concoctions that he had been forced to swallow the last time he’d been a patient in this hut. The last time. He inwardly rolled his eyes. This needed to stop happening. He took a careful sip and nearly gagged. It tasted like Salno had somehow extracted the smell of rotting ox dung and mixed it with thousands of pine needles. “Spirit, Neas! Is there no way to make these taste better?”
Neas thought for a moment. “I imagine there is, but why? It is medicine, not a treat for a child. Drink it and stop complaining.”
Lakhoni took a deep breath and gulped the whole cup as fast as he could. As it slid down his throat he could have sworn it tried to catch hold of his tongue and wrestle its way back up. “Ancestors save me from Neas’s fowl medicines.” Lakhoni put his head back against the hut wall, a wall he had leaned on many times months ago when he and Simra were first writing on the back of plates.
“Fine, fine,” Neas said. “And my medicines will save you from extreme blood loss and exhaustion.” The healer stood, surprisingly limber for such a large man. “Now we will get everyone settled for the night and figure out what is happening in the morning when minds are fresher and tempers are settled.” He shooed Lamorun and Hilana out.
Hilana was still glaring at Lamorun. Lamorun threw a desperate glance at Lakhoni. “Surely I should stay with my brother for the night?”
“If he wishes it.” Neas strode out of the hut, a smile on his face. “Or you could have a clearly long overdue discussion with this strong looking woman here.”
Lakhoni straightened. “Lamorun, I’m fine. Please make sure everyone out there behaves.”
Only Simra remained with Lakhoni in the hut. She smiled at him under heavy-lidded eyes. His heart set to beating hard. “Somehow you have been lucky enough to get a hut to spend the night in.”
“Lucky me with the gaping wound in my side.” Lakhoni craned to see the stitches which were just under his rib cage. He caught a glance. They seemed intact. “I remember this hut.”
She smiled. “Me too.” Then she scooted closer and leaned in, kissing him.
Her lips were soft and a bit salty. The smell of her deep brown hair and skin filled him as the warmth of her kiss set every nerve ending on fire. He reached up, pulled her closer, and returned the kiss, ignoring the pain from his chest and stomach. As the kiss went from gentle to passionate, her hand cupped the side of his face. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and stay like this, forgetting everything else forever.
But she leaned back after another wonderful, softness-filled moment. “I remember this hut well.”
Lakhoni stared at her, his heart pounding. Every muscle in his body had come alive. “Simra.” He didn’t know what else to say. So he just looked at her, studying every detail of her face, soaking in the perfect slight downturn of her full lips.
“I will bring us food, then you must sleep,” Simra said.
“You are everything to me.” Where the words came from, Lakhoni didn’t know. But he felt their truth as his mouth formed them. “I will never leave you again.”
She gave him that sultry look again. “You will not.” She leaned in and gave him another quick kiss then stood. His eyes followed her as she rose. “And I will never leave you, beautiful boy.” She turned and hurried out of the hut, leaving his heart pounding.
“Boy?” Lakhoni called after her. “What do you mean ‘boy?’”
Mibli slammed his spear butt into the ground for perhaps the thousandth time in the last ten minutes and shouted. Again. For perhaps the thousandth time also. Did the man not know how to speak like a normal person? “We don’t know them. We have no reason to trust them. They will not stay in this village!”
If it was possible, the man was even more irritating than he had been months before. And Lakhoni was in no mood to let the man dominate the conversation any more. He pulled himself to a standing position and stared Mibli down. “Mibli, you are playing on fear, but you are lying. You know who we are.” He took Simra’s hand. “You have known Simra all her life.”
“The last thing that girl did was lie to me and help you escape.” Mibli sneered and lifted his chin, thinking he had scored a point.
Simra laughed. “No. The last thing I did was tell you the exact truth and then you threatened me.”
Mibli sputtered.
“They will be here for a short time.” Lakhoni had no interest in arguing any further. His head felt clearer and some strength had returned, but every overwrought yelp from Mibli was like a frozen pine needle slamming into Lakhoni’s ears. “The forest is large. We’re not asking that you put them up in your homes. Just allow them to join your lives for a period of time.”
The people of Simra’s village turned to Mibli, expecting an angry rejoinder no doubt.
“A short time. A period of time.” Mibli mocked Lakhoni’s voice. “That means nothing. How long exactly?”
Lakhoni raised his eyebrows. “We are going to hunt an evil, murderous swine who has slaughtered three innocent families two days’ journey from here and you’re quibbling about time?” He made a dismissive wave in Mibli’s direction. “This is stupid.”
Neas moved between the arguing men and put his hands out. “We will, of course, let them stay here. They can help us hunt when needed as well as clear the chosen land to the west for us to plant and gather. Mibli, your protests are pointless.” Neas stared the small, muscled man down. “And you, Mibli, will be needed to make sure they pull their weight.”
Mibli sputtered again and ground his spear butt into the ground hard. He waved his men closer and fixed a glare on Lakhoni. “We’ll watch you and yours closely. If there’s anything we don’t like, you’re all gone from this place.”
Lakhoni fought the urge to rise to the bait. Simra took his arm and pulled him away.
Lamorun apparently had no problem with taking the bait. “Whatev
er you fear, little man, it isn’t these people. It isn’t anything that exists outside your oversized head.”
Mibli yelped and spun, lowering his spear to aim it at Lamorun’s stomach. “I don’t need to take these insults. If you want to fight, I will show you what you should fear.”
Lamorun laughed and turned away. “Your spear is a little long for your height, little man.”
Mibli growled and charged Lamorun, his spear point leading the way. Mibli was strong and his spear was sharp, but Lamorun had spent years being hardened by slavery at the hands of cruel men. Lamorun twisted so fast that it was hard to follow. His hand flashed out and he grabbed the haft of the spear and jerked it hard. Mibli didn’t let go, so the small man went along for the ride as Lamorun lifted the spear. Lamorun turned the spear, forcing the smaller man to release it. Lamorun grinned wickedly and took the spear in two hands, then snapped it over his knee.
Swinging fists and swearing, Mibli charged again. Lamorun took the first hit to his shoulder and ignored it, then smacked Mibli on the head with the short stick he’d just broken off the man’s spear. Mibli stumbled backward, dazed. Lamorun held out the spear half that had the sharpened stone point. “Here. Now it’s a better length for you.” He dropped the broken spear pieces at Mibli’s feet and walked away, laughing.
Lakhoni and Simra met up with Lamorun just beyond the edge of the village, where most of their group had spent the night. Vena met them. “So what is the plan?”
“They’ll allow you to set up camp around the village, wherever works.” Lakhoni looked around for somewhere to sit. He needed more rest. His strength was failing too fast. “They want you to help as much as you can. Hunt and stuff.” Simra headed back to the village, giving Lakhoni’s hand a squeeze.
Corzon and Melana came, Prila and Jasnia trailing after them. Lina and Mastopo joined as well. Balon wandered over, although his brother was nowhere to be seen. Balon’s limp was nearly gone. Simra had done a good job.
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