promised to negotiate their passage beyond the village and deeper into the jungle as quickly as he could. He wanted them to linger no more than was absolutely necessary.
Even Cressida, he realized, was both a danger to his people and in danger when among them. That was not a thing he had thought of before, and it hurt his heart to think too deeply on it now. Home was so close he could taste it. He wanted to hug his sister and smell the wood fires and remember what it meant to be loved and cherished and to have a place in the world. He couldn’t let himself imagine that place now with Cressida occupying it as well. He didn’t know what it would look like, if it could look like anything, but he wasn’t willing to imagine her leaving him either. He could not imagine lying in his hut here without her. He could not pretend to himself that spending nights without her wrapped about him, without the possibility of sinking into her in the mornings, before the work of the day, and again in the evenings, after the songs of the sunset, did not stir in him a profound longing for simpler times. Nothing, it seemed, was ever so simple anymore as want or not want, as happy or unhappy. Perhaps there wasn’t even peace to be found on this island any longer.
The village was deeper in the jungle than it had been before, but it looked much unchanged despite the setting. As they passed beneath an eave of green branches boosted up with a wooden trellis, the village sprawled before them, worked into a natural clearing in the landscape. Thatched-roof huts and smoking fires in stone circles, a vibrant garden shared by all and a small waterfall spilling fresh water into a pool to the North, where women were washing laundry and cleaning weapons, or preparing food for supper. The scents of spice and smoke and crisping meat floated on the breeze, and Reza found his mouth watering expectantly.
Chaiya led them through the activity of the village, ignoring as people stopped to stare, both at Reza and his pale companions. The chieftain’s son led them to the largest of the huts, one built with multiple rooms and constructed in a place of honor in the middle of the village. The chieftain’s hut. They filed dutifully into the hut’s largest room, where mats were set down for sitting and a low table took up much of the room’s space. This table, Reza knew, was where the elders sat and made decisions, shared stories and experiences, and educated the young.
Sitting on a mat at the head of the table, an earthenware pot of hot water nearby him for tea, was Sajja, chieftain of the tribe. He was much older than Reza remembered him being, silver-haired and craggy-faced, shoulders hunched beneath a cloak of boar skin. His dark eyes swept assessingly over Reza, and then the rest of them.
“They’ve come for the jewel,” Chaiya told his father. “And Reza has returned to us.”
“Take the pale ones and feed them,” Sajja said, shoulders shifting beneath his great cloak. “And Reza, come sit with me. We will talk.”
Reza didn’t know what to make of this, but he turned to Cressida and Kelly. “They will give you food. The chieftain wants to speak to me.”
“Are you going to be all right?” Cressida asked worriedly.
He nodded and gave her a bit of a smile. “These are my people. I’ll be fine. Remember what I told you, all of you. I’ll see you soon.”
He felt like he should kiss her goodbye, but he didn’t dare. Not with Sajja and Chaiya present, and not with Kelly looking on. He had to take more control of the situation first, more power before he could be so bold. He touched her shoulder, though, gave it a warm, brief squeeze, and nodded to Chaiya.
“Go with him.”
She looked at him for another moment and he felt her eyes trying to pry into his mind, perhaps to read his heart in some way. Then she nodded and they all went, leaving Reza alone with Sajja in the hut.
“You return to us at an opportune moment, son of Ruang Sak,”
Even Cressida, he realized, was both a danger to his people and in danger when among them. That was not a thing he had thought of before, and it hurt his heart to think too deeply on it now. Home was so close he could taste it. He wanted to hug his sister and smell the wood fires and remember what it meant to be loved and cherished and to have a place in the world. He couldn’t let himself imagine that place now with Cressida occupying it as well. He didn’t know what it would look like, if it could look like anything, but he wasn’t willing to imagine her leaving him either. He could not imagine lying in his hut here without her. He could not pretend to himself that spending nights without her wrapped about him, without the possibility of sinking into her in the mornings, before the work of the day, and again in the evenings, after the songs of the sunset, did not stir in him a profound longing for simpler times. Nothing, it seemed, was ever so simple anymore as want or not want, as happy or unhappy. Perhaps there wasn’t even peace to be found on this island any longer.
The village was deeper in the jungle than it had been before, but it looked much unchanged despite the setting. As they passed beneath an eave of green branches boosted up with a wooden trellis, the village sprawled before them, worked into a natural clearing in the landscape. Thatched-roof huts and smoking fires in stone circles, a vibrant garden shared by all and a small waterfall spilling fresh water into a pool to the North, where women were washing laundry and cleaning weapons, or preparing food for supper. The scents of spice and smoke and crisping meat floated on the breeze, and Reza found his mouth watering expectantly.
Chaiya led them through the activity of the village, ignoring as people stopped to stare, both at Reza and his pale companions. The chieftain’s son led them to the largest of the huts, one built with multiple rooms and constructed in a place of honor in the middle of the village. The chieftain’s hut. They filed dutifully into the hut’s largest room, where mats were set down for sitting and a low table took up much of the room’s space. This table, Reza knew, was where the elders sat and made decisions, shared stories and experiences, and educated the young.
Sitting on a mat at the head of the table, an earthenware pot of hot water nearby him for tea, was Sajja, chieftain of the tribe. He was much older than Reza remembered him being, silver-haired and craggy-faced, shoulders hunched beneath a cloak of boar skin. His dark eyes swept assessingly over Reza, and then the rest of them.
“They’ve come for the jewel,” Chaiya told his father. “And Reza has returned to us.”
“Take the pale ones and feed them,” Sajja said, shoulders shifting beneath his great cloak. “And Reza, come sit with me. We will talk.”
Reza didn’t know what to make of this, but he turned to Cressida and Kelly. “They will give you food. The chieftain wants to speak to me.”
“Are you going to be all right?” Cressida asked worriedly.
He nodded and gave her a bit of a smile. “These are my people. I’ll be fine. Remember what I told you, all of you. I’ll see you soon.”
He felt like he should kiss her goodbye, but he didn’t dare. Not with Sajja and Chaiya present, and not with Kelly looking on. He had to take more control of the situation first, more power before he could be so bold. He touched her shoulder, though, gave it a warm, brief squeeze, and nodded to Chaiya.
“Go with him.”
She looked at him for another moment and he felt her eyes trying to pry into his mind, perhaps to read his heart in some way. Then she nodded and they all went, leaving Reza alone with Sajja in the hut.
“You return to us at an opportune moment, son of Ruang Sak,”
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