Servant of the King Chapter 27

Chapter 27

            Simra broke the kiss, pulling back with a deep breath. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, then dropped. "That… I don't know…"

            Thoughts roiled in Lakhoni's head. Her name kept flashing through his mind, as if it were an anchor his brain was trying to grasp hold of. I can't leave her. But he had to get to Alronna. She had to still be alive. Even as he wanted to kiss Simra again, he knew he had to fight the urge. He was going to have to leave her—he didn't want to make it harder.

            "I know you have to go," Simra said, her face in shadow.

            "I…" Lakhoni didn't think he had the courage to say the words himself. How could he do this to her? Suddenly ashamed of himself, he looked to the ground. The sounds of activity outside returned as he searched for what to say. "I'm sorry." He knew it wasn't enough.

            "No," Simra said. "I'm sorry. I should not have..."

            Silence fell again. Lakhoni's thoughts raced. He couldn't lose focus; he had to get out of the village before Mibli did something serious. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to go. But now there was Simra.

            He shifted backward, his eyes flicking all over the hut, nervous about looking at Simra's face. Now there was Simra. His family and village murdered. Alronna taken. Months with the Separated. The terrible winter. And because of it all, there was Simra. Why?

            Why would the Great Spirit set him on a path of justice and grief only to have that path end with… this? With Simra. But it can't be over. I have to find Alronna. And I have to get them… show them that they can't get away with murder.

            He had to leave her.

            Lakhoni leaned forward, tight energy building in his chest. He took Simra's hand.

            But he would come back. He would survive and return to her.

            "Simra," he said, his voice soft.

            The shadows in the hut had grown quickly as night fell. As he waited for her to look up at him, he noticed gold and orange flickering on the walls of the hut. The cook fire had been built up; its light was squeezing through the cracks around the door.

            The door. The guard.

            "You've been in here a while," Lakhoni said.

            She nodded. She raised her right hand, the one he wasn't gripping, to her face and scrubbed.

            He hadn't seen the tears falling. A tight ache squeezed his throat, anguish filling his soul. What had he done? Impulsively, he rocked forward and knelt next to her, wrapping his arms around her. "I don't know what to say… or feel. I…" he searched for the words. "I know…" he cleared his throat, trying to push the tightness away. "I have to go, and I know I…"

            He pulled her close; she seemed to resist for a moment, but gave in and leaned on his chest.

            He could say no more.

            "It's my fault too." Her voice was muffled, but he understood her words.

            "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

            She shook her head against him. "It doesn't matter. You have to go tonight."

            Surprised, he dropped his arms and moved to a crouch. "Why?"

            "Because you can't stay. Mibli wants his control and after their fight and what he said, my father can't oppose him. You challenge Mibli's control because you're still here—and my father has kept you here." Simra looked up now, eyes and face dry.

            "I was going to leave tonight anyway," Lakhoni said, reaching under his blanket and pulling out his bag.

            "Good. I don't know what Mibli would do to you, but he might just bind you and send you to the brick fields to rid himself of you."

            "Brick fields?"

            She shook her head and stood. "It doesn’t matter. We've been alone in here long enough to raise all kinds of suspicion. I'm surprised nobody has come to question you more."

            "What are the brick fields?" He saw an image of wide swaths of pasture that were filled with oven-baked clay tiles instead of green grass.

            "Slave labor, basically," Simra said. "I have to go. Finish your dinner."

            He stood quickly and grabbed her wrist, a sudden need that he couldn't deny overtaking him. He pulled her close and kissed her again. This is wrong. But it felt right.

            She pushed away after a moment. "There's no time. Finish getting ready. Listen for the cry of a nightwing in a few hours."

            Confused, he asked, "What are you going to do?"

            "I'll get the guard away from the door. When you hear the nightwing, go out and turn right and go behind the hut. Find two trees that are twisted into one about a hundred paces north of the village. I will meet you there." She turned, and with the soft whisper of her dress against the stones of the doorway, she was gone.

            Lakhoni stood still for a moment, a thick, confused fear beginning to well up in him. "What's a nightwing?" he asked in a quiet voice. He turned to his bag and hefted it, then opened it to see how much space he had left. He considered rolling the blanket up tightly and stuffing it in the bag too.

            No, he wouldn't steal from the village.

            She will meet me there? Why would Simra meet him at the trees? Was she gathering supplies for his journey? Or was she planning to go with him?

            The fear he had felt earlier grew suddenly into a cloying, stifling sensation. She couldn’t come. He couldn't take her to Lemalihah, where he planned to kill the king. She would be killed or worse. He would not put her in danger. She had to stay behind.

            But maybe she would just have supplies for him.

            His center completely destroyed by the events of his evening, he turned back to his now-cold dinner and sat, trying to control the worry that roiled in him.

            A nightwing. He had to listen for one. But what was it? He thought about the birds he had been familiar with. There were the colorful ones that sometimes sounded like a bunch of old women chattering. He mentally listed the birds he knew by name.

            It must be a bird of the evening or night. Maybe it had dark feathers.

            An image of a sleek, strong bird with a wingspan as wide as he was tall came to him. Maybe she meant the whisperbird. It only came out at night and it could carry off a month-old puppy if it was hungry enough. Its wings were usually dark.

            That had to be it.

            He stood again, moving to the door and peering through the gap between the door and the wall. The noises he had been hearing for some time now were matched by the activity around the fire. Some hunters must have returned at some point, because Lakhoni saw a haunch of what must have been a wild boar roasting over the fire.

            The smell came to him, but he was too worried to be hungry.

            He paced in the hut for a few minutes. When would she signal? It would have to be when people were sleeping.

            Sleep. He should try to get some sleep before leaving; he would have to travel all night in order to get far enough away from the village.

            He lay down and tried to fight worry and fear away. Had he been too long in his journey? Would he be too late for Alronna? What if Simra wanted to go with him? How could he say no? Did he even want to say no?

            He had just begun to win his wrestle and fade into a light doze when the sharp snap of the door being slammed open roused him. He sat up fast, grateful he had remembered to hide his bag again.

            Mibli stood in the doorway, his entire front half shrouded in darkness while firelight glimmered on his shoulders. "It's time to have some answers, boy."

            Lakhoni said nothing.

            Mibli advanced a few paces and stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and signaled. Another man entered the hut. It suddenly felt very crowded and Lakhoni felt very small as the two men towered over him. "Light the fire," Mibli said to the other man, "while I have a conversation with this boy."

            Lakhoni stood, sick of having to crane his neck to keep his eyes on Mibli's face.

            Mibli moved quickly across the hut and pushed him back down, the strength in the small man's arms surprising. "Sit."

            Lakhoni had no choice but to obey. He thought furiously, trying to remember the story with the threads of truth and lie that he had told.

            The fire came to life behind Mibli. "If you don't answer my questions, and answer the truth, you'll regret it." The man squeezed his hands into fists, his knuckles popping. "I can make you hurt without killing you easily." He produced a stone dagger from a soft sheath at his waist. "I'll know if you're lying. So you better tell the truth and maybe this won't get too bad for you."

            Lakhoni felt as if the words were too forced, as if Mibli must have been practicing them for a while. "I already told you the truth," Lakhoni said.

            "We'll see," Mibli said, settling down to a low crouch. He flipped the dagger a few times. His gaze wandering lazily over the hut walls and the hides, shelves and hooks that lined the walls, Mibli asked, "Why did you come to our village?"

            "I told you," Lakhoni said. "I didn't 'come' to your village. I was trying to go to Lemalihah, but the winter caught me. I found your village. It saved my life."

            "And where did you come from?"

            "My village is far to the west, but everybody was killed. I have some family in Lemalihah."

            "I know why you pretended to not be able to talk. You are a terrible liar." Mibli caught the eye of the other man, who somehow stood next to Lakhoni now, and nodded slightly.

            Alarm filled Lakhoni, but before he could dodge, the other man was bearing him down to the bed, trapping his arms.

            "But you're going to tell the truth. There's no way a boy your age could just 'find' our village in a snowstorm after coming as far as you say you came." Mibli moved closer. "I think you're from the Living Dead. I think you're here to spy on us and see where our weaknesses are."

            "No!" Lakhoni said, wriggling wildly to get free of the man atop him. His hands were trapped under him and no matter how much he bucked with his legs and torso, the large man wouldn't budge. "I was just lucky! It's the truth!"

            "I doubt it." Mibli moved fast, the point of the stone dagger jabbing into Lakhoni's nearest shoulder.

            Lakhoni gasped in pain, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. Mibli dug the point of the dagger deeper into his shoulder, as if Mibli were trying to reach bone. Each twist of the weapon sent blinding agony through Lakhoni. Then suddenly the excruciating pain was halved.

            Lakhoni tried to find Mibli, unable to move his head. The stone dagger, now dripping with blood, hung right before his eyes. He tried to slow his breathing, his heartbeat and find a place to put the pain. He couldn't; fear at what Mibli might be capable of made it impossible for Lakhoni to concentrate.

            "I'll do that for every lie." Mibli smiled the smile of a man who knew he had total control of a situation and enjoyed it. "Understand?"

            Lakhoni grunted, "Yes." He had to get out of this fast. He had to get away without allowing Mibli to do too much damage.

            "Let's start again. Are you one of the Living Dead?"

I would truly love to hear your thoughts on this book so far. Will you share your impressions and expertise by commenting on this post? 

Thanks!

Servant of the King Chapter 26

Chapter 26

            "We still don't know who this boy is!" Mibli's somewhat high-pitched voice carried throughout the village, seeming to bounce off of huts and back at Lakhoni. The small, powerful man seemed to jitter with frustrated energy.

Lakhoni stood with his back to the fire, facing the group of people and animals that had gathered. The scene felt familiar, although it took him a minute to place it. That first night. A hot back and cold front.

But much had changed. His energy had returned. After his first day in the sun, with Simra stopping by regularly to offer him water and food, his recovery had accelerated. His strength had returned enough for him to help carry wood for the fire and help with other work around the village.

He felt strong enough to run, to hunt. Which had precipitated Mibli's outburst.

"We still cannot trust this boy! He acts like his voice is gone, but maybe that's all it is! An act so he won't be caught in lies!"

Lakhoni mulled that point. It certainly helped that he hadn't had to answer questions. His conversations with Simra were much improved now that he had a method of communication, but he could tell she wanted to ask more about his past. He wanted to keep her friendship, keep her near him talking, so he worried that his not sharing more might push her away. There had even been moments where he wondered why he didn’t just tell everything.

Because they won't let me go if they think I want to kill the king. And if they know I was one of the Separated, they'll probably automatically kill me.

"But what reason do we have to distrust him?" Neas emerged from the crowd, Simra right behind him. "He has told Simra his story. He arrived here near death. Why would he lie?"

Lakhoni noticed that the rest of the villagers seemed content to let Mibli and Neas have it out. He wondered if this was a normal occurrence. And would they support whichever of the two won the argument?

Mibli stepped closer to Neas, anger visible in each quivering muscle. "You seem happy to allow a boy we don't know to just walk in here and live off of our hard work without question. You would let him hunt with us and join our village, our life, without knowing who he is?"

"I know who he is," Neas said. "He is Lakhoni. He is an orphan. And why shouldn't we let him join our lives. We have space, don't we?"

            Lakhoni glanced away from the argument, catching Simra as she looked over at him. She offered him a small smile. He knew it was in support of him. He began to wonder if he should have been more open with her so he could deserve her kindness more. A faint feeling of shame washed through him.

            He wished he hadn't chosen to work on his bow that morning. Simra had found a new deer gut string for him and he had decided to work outside near the central fire. Mibli had noticed what he was doing and had confronted him. When Mibli demanded to know if Lakhoni meant to hunt and Lakhoni had nodded, Mibli exploded, prompting the current argument. Lakhoni was glad Neas had come to his defense, but he wondered if he should have…

            It was too late now.

            "You trust too blindly," Mibli said.

            "You fear too blindly," Neas countered.

            "I fear for the safety of our village! That is my duty."

            "And it is my duty to look to the health of our people here. We would be sick indeed if we allowed a dying boy to rot in front of our fire. And we are sick if we don't offer him our hospitality," Neas said.

            "That's all fine, but that doesn't mean I should let him carry weapons and sneak around behind me and my hunters as we search for food."

            "You make a good point, but what could he say that he has not already written that would convince you that he doesn't lie? That he really is an orphan who needs a new home?"

            Neas' words pierced Lakhoni. He knew that at nearly sixteen years old, he was almost old enough to start his own family. He figured that his age had to be fairly clear to the villagers. The idea that Neas meant to provide him a new home had never occurred to him.

            "So you want to adopt him?"

            "Maybe the village should adopt him," Neas said, his voice quiet. The way the words were said seemed to give them more impact.

            "Maybe you just don't think any of the young men of the village are good enough for your precious daughter," Mibli said, "and you want to groom this one to be her husband. First Fathers know you've had her spending a lot of time with him."

            Silence followed Mibli's insinuation. Lakhoni saw many of the villagers nodding in agreement. There had to be a history here, something he hadn't detected before.

            Mibli took advantage of the moment. "But with all that time closed up in the hut, how do you know he hasn't already tarnished your precious jewel?"

            A current of shock at the accusation shot through the crowd. Lakhoni actually saw the red boil up into Neas' face. He glanced quickly, uncomfortably, at Simra. Her eyes glinted dangerously and she looked like she was about to attack Mibli.

            "You can't say that about me!" Simra's voice rang out.

            "Stay out of this. You have no place here," Mibli spat.

"You," Neas sputtered, "you… go too far!"

            "You go too far welcoming what might be a wolf into our village!"

            Neas stepped closer to Mibli, who took a small step backward. Simra looked like she wanted to explode.              

            This was getting bad. Whatever had happened before, it seemed like he was causing it to get worse. He had to stop it. It would probably mean he would be thrown out, and would surely mean… It didn't matter.

            "Please," Lakhoni said. "I don't want to cause trouble."

            His voice, rough and raw, seemed to cut through the tension between Neas and Mibli.

            "He talks!" Mibli crowed, spinning to glare at Lakhoni. "You see! He was lying all along."

            "No!" Lakhoni said. "Just for the last week." He stared at the frozen ground, not wanting to see Simra's face. He knew she would be hurt at his deception. He just hadn't wanted to answer all of the questions he knew would be asked. Writing his words seemed to slow things down. It was easier to keep things at arm's length that way.

            "Why should we believe that? No, this boy needs to be confined until we can make sure we know exactly who he is and why he is here," Mibli said.

            That sounded reasonable to Lakhoni. In truth, he agreed much more with Mibli than with Neas. He was happy Neas had won the initial argument, but if it were up to Lakhoni, he wasn't sure if he would have been so compassionate.

            When there was no response from Neas, Lakhoni looked up. Simra and her father stood in close conversation, their words too muffled for him to hear. Neas had bent forward so his shaggy head was closer to Simra's. She shook her head firmly several times as they spoke.

            "So since nobody seems to object, boy, confined you will be," Mibli said.

            Lakhoni met Mibli's angry stare. "My name is Lakhoni."

            "You're right," Neas said. He stood with his arm on his daughter's shoulders. "Now that Lakhoni can talk, we need to make sure he means us no harm. He can be kept in the sick hut for now, with a guard on the door."

            "He should be bound," Mibli said.

            "There are no weapons in there," Neas said. "Your warriors can surely stop a young, ill, unarmed boy, can't they?"

            Mibli glared. "Fine." He gestured to a nearby man. "Take him."

            As Lakhoni was led through the crowd, he heard Neas' voice behind him. "Mibli, you will withdraw the accusation you made against my daughter."

            "Why should I?"

            "Because you know it isn't true. I won't let it stand."

            Lakhoni didn't hear Mibli's response, if there was any. He glanced over his shoulder, wanting to see what might happen. Simra's deep brown eyes, in the sun they were the color of red river clay, met his gaze. As he looked quickly away, he was sure he had seen pain in those eyes. He wanted to go back and try to explain. He wanted to help her understand that he didn't want to hurt her, that he wanted to protect her. He knew that if anyone knew the fullness of his intentions in Lemalihah, they would never let him go. And if they somehow did let him go and anyone near the king found out about any help he had received, Simra's village would be in danger.

            But there wasn't time. He would be confined while a decision was made. No, they're going to question me. Lakhoni couldn't let that happen. He had to get away.

            The man leading him grabbed Lakhoni's bow, wrenching it from his hand. He then pushed Lakhoni, hard, through the doorway and shut the door behind him. Lakhoni spun to the side and listened, watching for shadows and movement through the cracks between door and wall. He knew locking the door was not an option. The man shuffled to the right of the door. Lakhoni sensed him lean against the outer wall of the building.

            He would wait. The man's attention would lag. Maybe he could wait until darkness was falling. Lakhoni turned to face the hut, searching the shadows. He would need food. A weapon would be helpful. First though, he would need a bag.

            And he would need to listen for movement outside so that anyone coming in would not see him making preparations to leave.

            Pleased that his body no longer protested much whenever he moved, Lakhoni searched the hut. It wasn't long before he found a pile of familiar items on a small wood table. Everything he had brought to the hut, minus his bow. His bag, a pair of breeches, his chewed cloak. Even the dagger he had carried from the cavern of the Separated. Neas had obviously forgotten about leaving Lakhoni's things in the hut.

            Maybe he hadn't forgotten. Lakhoni wondered for a moment if Neas had deliberately made it seem like he would be helpless. Does he want me to escape? Does he think it will go badly for me if I stay? He held the bag open and shoved the dagger and breeches in. It didn't matter; he would leave if he had to. He scoured the hut for food, finding a small cache of dried, smoked deer meat in a heavy clay box that sat under a wood shelf containing bandaging supplies. He grabbed some of the bandages too; it never hurt to be prepared.

            He would need more food. If he could get his bow back, he would be able to hunt, especially since winter seemed to be coming to a close. He sat on his bed, waiting for dark to fall and adding up the days. He had left the Separated in the dead of winter and had traveled for nearly two weeks. He had been in Simra's village for another three, or was it four?, weeks.

            Spring had to be close.

            It should be safe for him to travel, even if he left tonight.

            He would wait until after someone brought him dinner. He hoped it would be Simra, but stopped himself. It would be easier if it weren't Simra. She would be hurt. She would ask questions.

            He didn't want to see the pain in her eyes again.

            As he sat waiting for nightfall and the moment for his escape, he practiced the breathing and centering techniques Gimno had taught him. He eased his weight backward slightly, straightening and firming his spine and crossing his legs in front of him. He rested his wrists atop his knees, breathing slowly through his slightly open mouth.

            Finding a dark whorl on the pale wood door, Lakhoni focused on it, willing himself to breathe regularly and smoothly. He considered lighting a fire to ward off the chill of the waning day, but dismissed the idea. Better if the light source was outside if anyone came in—they would make an easier target and their eyes would take a moment to adjust. That moment could be the only chance he had.

            He shook the thoughts away. Breathe. Focus.

            It took him longer than he expected to find his center. Images of Simra's face, reminders of the shame he felt at hiding that he could speak, Neas' anger—they all crowded into his mind. Simra's kindness, and that of her father, reminded him so much of his first impressions of Gimno's wife, Vena. It reminded him of home, too.

He reflected on the possibility that he might actually stay in the village. Maybe Mibli would come around. Maybe he could have a new home. He could leave his journey behind. What were the chances of his finding Alronna, much less rescuing her, anyway?

He forced the thoughts away. It didn't matter. His course was set.

Breathe. Focus. What seemed like hours passed as he struggled against the turmoil in his mind. As he finally pushed all thought away, the whorl on the door seemed to become at once less defined but larger. He closed his eyes, opening all of his other senses to the world around him. Center. Breathe. Gimno had taught him that in this state, he could extend his awareness somewhat, almost see what was happening in the world around him, despite his eyes being closed.

Smell came first. Someone was cooking deer and maybe some other animal over the fire outside. Flatbread too. Then hearing and more. Children played with dogs nearby. Somebody walked close enough to the hut he sat in that he felt the tremor of the earth under their feet.

Now Lakhoni, still in his deepened state of consciousness, willed his muscles to relax, but remain ready to move at a moment's notice. He felt fully connected with the earth beneath him, as if he could almost feel its pulse.

Somebody was walking toward the door of the hut. Lakhoni quickly stuffed his bag of things under his blanket, sliding backward and to the side so that his back leaned on the stone wall. He glanced down, assuring himself that the bag was well hidden.

            Voices came through the door, then the door opened outward. Simra stepped through the darkening shadows of the day, golden flame reflecting on her skin that was the color of fired clay. She held a plate of food in one hand, the other propping the door open. She stood that way for a long moment, her face seeming almost flat—as if she was forcing all expression away.

            Lakhoni forced the guilt away, even as his heart leapt at the sight of her.

            "They said I could bring you some food." Simra crossed the hut in a few strides. She lowered the plate to Lakhoni.

            He took it with a flat smile.

            She turned back toward the door.

            "Simra," he said without meaning to.

            She stopped, but didn't turn back.

            "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

            A few seconds passed. She took another step, then stopped. "Typical."

            He could see the disappointment in the set of her shoulders. "What?"

            "It's typical, that's all." Now she turned so he could see her face. "The first words you say to me are an apology. Because you lied. It shouldn't be a surprise."

            He heard the anger in her voice, but there was more than that in her face. Pain in her eyes and mouth.

            "Simra, I-…" he had no idea what to say. The weight of the plate in his hands seemed to match the heaviness in his chest. "I don't…I didn't want to hurt you."

            "Nobody ever does." Moisture glinted at the edges of her eyes, but she appeared to will it away. "You're no different."

            Something in the way she said that pierced him. He suddenly wanted to be different, although he didn't understand what she meant.

            "Will you at least tell me why you hid that you got your voice back?"

            Lakhoni's throat felt tight. He wanted to make he feel better, wanted to figure out what to say or do that would work. But he had no idea what that might be. Finally, he met her gaze and nodded. "It's because I was worried I would have to talk more about what happened to my family. And why I'm here."

            Simra tilted her head to the side for a moment, her eyes searching his face. "Good start," she said. She waited.

            It took him a moment, but he understood. "And… I just don't want to put anybody in danger. What happened to my family and village… it could happen here too."

            "Is that really why?"

            He considered for a moment. "Mostly."

            Her eyes widened in surprise. He was sure she was going to spin around and leave, furious with the way he kept things to himself.

            Instead she lowered herself to her knees. "Another good answer. Can you tell me the rest?"

            He stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure her out. I guess honesty. Honesty even if I don’t tell her everything. And I tell her when I'm not telling her everything.

            "Eat before it gets cold," Simra said.

            He glanced down and automatically took a bite of the chunk of meat skewered on a two-pronged, smooth utensil. Chewing quickly, he spoke between breaths. "There is more, but I don't feel right talking about it. I think… I think it might put you and your village in danger."

            "Really?"

            "Yeah."

            "And you didn't tell me you could talk because…"

            Hadn't he already explained this part? "Because talking is faster than writing. When I write, I can control our conversations better."

            "Fathers curse you," she swore. She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "When you get honest, you really do it right."

            He decided that was a good thing. He leaned forward, scooting out from the wall a little. "And, the truth is also that… I still don't like to remember what happened."

            Her head bobbed as she considered his words. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, then leaned forward on her hands and moved closer, dropping her volume. "But maybe I can help you with whatever you're trying to do. Find your sister, I mean." Their eyes locked. Moments passed, measured in heartbeats. "I'd like to help."

            He could see that she meant it. He wanted to trust her. He took a moment to watch the door, then moved closer to her, not wanting anybody outside to hear. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I think the people who… who took her were Lemal's warriors. I think she's in Lemalihah."

            "King Lemal?" Simra sat taller, tension in her body. "You think your sister is a captive of the king?" At least she'd had the presence of mind to whisper, although it had been a harsh whisper.

            "I think so."

            "Why?"

            "I told you. Somebody I talked to said they saw the raiders."

            "Who did you talk to?"

            Lakhoni stopped to think. "Someone in another village."

            Simra's mouth went tight.

            "Okay, look. Somebody I can't really talk about, but I know he was right." Lakhoni grabbed another bite of food. He still meant to get away this night; he would need plenty of food in him.

            "And you think you can rescue her from the king's castle compound?" Simra asked.

            "I don't know. But she's my sister."

            The simple statement seemed to put an end to Simra's questions. The tension slid out of her body. As she moved from her kneeling position to sit on the ground, Lakhoni realized that in their desire to keep their conversation quiet, they had moved quite close to each other. Suddenly he felt awkward.

            He jabbed at the next piece of meat to hide the sudden feeling.

            "It's already dead," Simra said.

            "Are you sure?" he said, "I thought it moved."

            "Positive."

            The air between them grew thicker after she spoke. He wanted to look up from his plate, knew it would be strange if just kept staring at his food. It felt like he was pushing through mud, but he raised his head and found her eyes.

            "Lakhoni," she said. "I'm sorry about your family. I wish I could help you find your sister."

            "Alronna," he said. He couldn't tear his eyes from hers. His heart thundered in his chest. He had to push it away. He couldn't let Simra, or how he felt, slow him down. He had to move.

            "What?"

            "Her name is Alronna."

            "Oh."

            He tried to find his center, control his breathing, but he was talking before he could stop himself. "Simra, I… you… I mean, you're the most…"

            "Please don't say it," Simra said.

            "Don't say what?"

            "Just… boys tell me I'm the most beautiful girl they've ever seen. But all they want is a woman. To keep the hut, to scrape their hides. To…" she looked down.

            In that moment, Lakhoni understood her self-doubt and her directness. He finally saw why she seemed uncomfortable so often and the conflict he had seen in her made sense. He shook his head. No, she couldn't be allowed to think that he… no. He was different. He set his plate aside. It took all of his courage and him holding his breath, but he reached out with his right hand and took her left hand. "I was going to say that you're the most unusual, giving person I've ever known." He didn't know where the words came from, but they felt perfect.

            In a heartbeat, her reddish-brown eyes filled his vision.

            "You are beautiful, but not just on the outside." He swallowed and sucked in a breath, holding it. "You could never just be someone's woman. You would be a companion. A help-meet."

            Simra blinked. She squeezed his hand and stared hard at him. The moment lengthened. "Lakhoni," she said. "You…" Suddenly she broke into a wide smile. It set his heart to renewed thundering. "You have a way with words."

            He could think of nothing to say. If she hadn't been squeezing his hand so hard, he would have been trembling with the emotion that her smile and touch awoke in him. I love you, he thought, knowing he couldn't speak the words. Knowing he shouldn't be holding both of her hands now. He knew, as her eyes grew bigger and a force both outside and inside of him pushed him closer to her, that he had to get away from her village. Rescue his sister. He had to get away from her.

            His heart seemed to stop as her eyes filled his vision completely.

            The world dissolved. 

Servant of the King Chapter 25

Chapter 25

            Lakhoni was waiting for her when she came in the morning. After she had left the night previous, he had sat with his back against the pelt for a long time. Not long before falling asleep, an idea had come to him.

            So he had woken early, excited to see his plan through. While waiting for Simra, he had been tempted to push himself to his feet and go find her, but he wanted to maintain the surprise.

            She walked in the door, a bigger dish in her hand this time, her face in shadow due to the strong light behind her. It was only a few steps from the door to his sleeping mat. As she knelt, she looked at his face. She noticed the wall next to him.

            "Lakhoni," she read.

            Eyes widening in surprise, then stretching in delight, she turned to him. "Your name is Lakhoni?"

            He nodded, a fierce, too-strong joy filling him at seeing her reaction.

            She smiled at him for a moment and shook her head. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

            Lakhoni grinned and held up the piece of charcoal that he had used.

            Simra closed her hand around his hand that held the charcoal. "Your name is Lakhoni."

            Brown eyes held his for a long, heart-pounding moment.

            "Lucky I can read," she said. She cocked her head to the side, a musing expression on her face. "Lucky you can write." She gently released his hand, sitting back on her legs.

            He made a show of looking around, waving his hand in the air.

            "You need something you can write on."

            Lakhoni nodded.

            She rose to her feet and ambled around the hut. "Maybe a flat stone, or even a tough piece of leather. It will have to be a light color." She paused and addressed him. "You'll have to tell me how you learned to write. Father taught me because he is the healer and he expects me to help him, but who are you that you've been taught?" Turning back to her search, she continued her monologue.

            Lakhoni set his charcoal down and reached for the deep plate she had brought in, the smells of eggs and fried vegetables too much for him to resist. Real food, he thought, mouth watering.

            "I hope you can write fast, Lakhoni. I have lots of questions for you. Lakhoni, that sounds like a name from the west—one of those warrior names. Is that where you're from?"

            He looked up, his mouth full. He had decided the story he would tell her would be as close to the truth as possible. He nodded.

            "Hey! You're supposed to wait for me to help you." She made to move toward him.

            He shook his head and used large movements to show her he was well enough to feed himself.

            A strange expression flitted across Simra's face. She looked sad for a second there. Isn't she glad I'm getting better?

            As he gobbled the food, he watched Simra wander around the hut. Eventually she stepped out the door. He guessed she was still looking for something for him to write upon. He scraped the last of the eggs and vegetables off the clay plate, setting down the pronged stick Simra had brought with the food and using his fingers to clean the plate off.

            A thought occurred to him. He looked closer at the plate. He turned it upside down.

            He was writing as small as he could with his awkward-shaped piece of charcoal when Simra came back in, holding another, far cleaner plate.

            "Lakhoni, I think this plate will be perfect." The last word was suddenly quiet. "Oh." She walked quickly over to him. "But I am sure I thought of it first."

            He flashed a smile at her, shook his head and pointed at his chest, and went back to his writing. The charcoal smudged easily if he wasn't careful, but it showed up very well on the pale brown plate. He heard Simra settle to a seated position next to him. I wonder if she would visit me if her father hadn't made her take care of me. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. He pushed it away.

            A moment later, he held the plate out to Simra. Before she took it, he pointed at the other side of it, reminding her it was dirty.

            "Yes, I know it had your breakfast on it." Simra took the plate. "And no, I'd rather not touch it, thanks."

            He rolled his eyes dramatically and pointed at the plate she held.

            "Fine, relax." She made a show of peering at the plate, cocking her head to one side and forcing a confused expression. "Wait, are you sure you know how to write?"

            He wished he could shout at her to get on with it, noted the irony of his wish, and flicked her arm gently with one finger. The crafty smile she offered him from under heavy-lidded eyes set his heart pounding.

            "Okay." She cleared her throat and began to read aloud. "I'm from a village far to the west. Everyone was killed in a raid." She gasped softly and looked up at Lakhoni. "Really? I'm so sorry."

            He nodded, hoping he hid well the sudden pain he felt in his throat.

            After a moment of seeming to search his face, she turned back to the note he had scrawled. While she read, he grabbed the clean plate she had brought back with her and began to write.

            "I was hurt bad," she continued aloud. "They thought I was dead. I think my sister might be alive too. I think they took her."

            He glanced up quickly as she finished what he had written and held up a hand for a moment. In another minute he was done with the second note.

            They traded plates and she continued reading as he scrubbed the first note off and began writing again.. "I tried to follow them, but I am not sure where they went. Someone told me they might be in Lemalihah. I came here to find my sister."

            In his haste to keep up with Simra, his writing had become larger, giving her less to read on each plate. They traded again.

            "I thought someone was trying to capture me, so I traveled in winter to get away from them. I can't say who they were, or if they followed."

            Another trade.

            "I ran out of food. I tried to kill a deer and broke my string. I ate part of my cloak." At this, Simra burst into laughter. Lakhoni laughed too, although the noises he made sounded like a dying dog to his ears. "I ate winter moss too."

            She took the next plate. "I kept going because if I stopped, I thought I would die. I want to find my sister. I found your village."

            When Simra finished reading the last note, she straightened and gave Lakhoni a stern glare. "That was somewhat abbreviated, wasn't it? Are you sure you can't give any more details?"

            Lakhoni raised his eyebrows and hands in question. Like what? he thought. He was proud of the story. There were no outright lies.

            "Like why your sister would be in Lemalihah and who took her and killed everyone in your village. Or maybe about who you thought was trying to follow you. Or maybe about how you survived on pieces of cloak and winter moss while you traveled through the heart of winter?"

            Lakhoni picked up a plate, using his hand to clean off the previous note. She read while he wrote. "I think the king's warriors did it."

She sat back quickly. "Why would you think that?" she asked.

            He wrote more. "Somebody had seen them do something like that before."

            "And you think they kidnapped your sister and now you think you can go find her? And what? Do you plan on getting revenge?"

            He held up one finger and nodded. Then two fingers and he shook his head.

            "Yes to the first question and no to the second one?"

            He nodded and wrote one more line. "I just want to find my sister. She's my only family."

            Simra regarded him for a long, quiet minute.

            Lakhoni hoped she would be satisfied with his story. He didn't want to try to explain the Separated or the murder of the young boy. Every time he tried to understand those people, he ended up just becoming confused. And her question about revenge touched too close to home regarding the justice he still felt he needed to find or administer for the deaths of his family and village.

He tried to think of something more to write that would end the somewhat awkward moment. As he searched Simra's face for a clue to her thoughts, he had the impression that she was trying to decide if she would believe his story.

She nodded.

Tension he had been holding in his shoulders left him. He leaned forward to try to push himself to his feet. He had been sitting and lying down long enough.

"I know there's more you aren't telling me."

He glanced at her face, her brown eyes, but looked away quickly. Pushing himself to his knees, he met her gaze again. He nodded. I can't. For lots of reasons.

"Maybe you'll decide you can trust me," Simra said. She put out a hand to stead Lakhoni as he eased himself to his knees. "Until then, I suppose that story will have to do." She rose with him, clearly ready to either catch him or slow his fall if he couldn't keep his feet.

The room didn't spin, although his legs felt shaky and boneless. He found his breath coming fast and could feel his heart beat in his ears.

"Take it slow," Simra said. "Give it time."

He stepped off the sleeping mat. He felt shaky like an old man, every muscle in his legs and torso protesting. He extended a hand toward a hut wall, but Simra was there. She stepped under his arm and wrapped her left arm around his back.

"I'll help," she said.

He pushed a small smile of thanks onto his face, taking another step. He felt like he had been running for miles!

He stopped and tried to slow his breathing. And this is just walking!

"Just make it outside. You can sit in the sun for a time," Simra said.

Her hand and arm were warm and strong. This was a new experience for Lakhoni. He wished he felt more like himself so that he could savor the experience of her touch on his back. As it was, it was all he could do to stay upright.

After a minute of standing still and taking long breaths, his heartbeat had slowed considerably. He pushed forward, taking one step, then another. Maybe two more paces to the door.

On his next step, his foot bumped against a slight unevenness in the dirt floor of the hut and in a moment of panic he knew he didn't have the strength to keep from falling. He clenched his jaw and stepped back leaning heavily on Simra. Her arm tightened and she grabbed his hand that draped over her shoulder with her right hand.

Her voice was soft in the hut that had been his home for over two weeks.

            "It's okay. I won't let you fall. We'll do this together."