tell you what it is,
Alaysha," he said. "It's the power growing in you; it's coming to its
peak as you mature and it will soon overwhelm you." He craned his neck to
look at her across the flame, and as the light danced on his features, she
thought she saw fire within him. "You need me," he said.
She looked away, out into the shadows of
the trees, and listened for Barruch's breathing in the dark to ground her, to
remind her who she was and why she was here. The conversation had gone too far
deep into the pits of those things she'd always longed for and been afraid of.
He'd touched too far into the hollow spaces she'd spent years trying to fill
with her collections.
"I always thought I needed no
one," she said. It was true, wasn't it? She'd spent so many years alone,
despite the companionship of this fire, she had survived without affection for
so long, she knew she could manage without it again if she had to.
As if realizing he'd gone too far, he
pointed to the first star winking in the sky, the one high above them, already
brighter than the pale moon. "I was named after that light."
Alaysha's attention piqued. She knew what
her nohma called that first light of the evening.—that brightest purplish light
that lasted far into the early morning. It was the Eye of Yenic, she'd said,
peering open to watch over his beloved Yen, the soft belly of the earth below
him, until the sun could care for her properly.
"And here I was calling you
Nineteen," she said, forcing a laugh.
"Nineteen?"
She hung her head and felt a curtain of
hair mercifully cover her face. "Yes. The one that got away."
He thought for a moment.
"Nineteen," he said after a time. "After the eighteen you
killed."
"Yes," was all she could say.
He shifted to sit cross-legged. "You
counted wrong," he murmured. "There were twenty."
She squirmed when she thought about it.
"Yes. One woman was pregnant."
"My sister," he said.
Alaysha fell silent, the sense of shame
covering her like a fur. It had been war, so she thought. She'd not given the
village inhabitants much thought as she'd sent the power out, thirsting for
whatever water it could find. She'd let it go and traveled the paths with the
energy – down to the ground, along the grasses, up bare feet and legs, through
tear ducts. When the power got to the unborn, it was already too late.
Its eyes would have been amber, she
realized. Were amber.
"I remember her," she whispered.
"My sister?"
"No. Your niece."
The words fell like stones to the earth,
and Yenic said nothing but rose from his spot at the fire and kicked the place
where the worms rested in their gourd. He reached down with his elegant, but
callused fingers and lifted the bowl from its spot and trudged into the
underbrush. He disappeared in the cascade of leaves and branches.
The girl beside her shifted. "I feel
bad for what's about to happen to him now," she said, a subtle chuckle in
her tone.
"I feel nothing," Alaysha
responded, seeing his reaction. She hadn't wanted to hurt him and now she had
she wanted to take it back. She wanted to return to the sense that those things
didn't matter. She couldn't afford to feel anything. It wasn't a warrior's
place to question or feel guilt about killing on command. If one did, then a
whole life would be spent recovering from a single deed.
"Is he telling the truth about his
tribe and yours being the same?"
Alaysha nodded. "I think so. My father
told me as much."
"Is that why we're here?"
Alaysha sighed. She wasn't sure anymore.
She'd wanted to know the connection at first, but now she thought all she
really wanted was to get away. What did it matter that she belonged to a nearly
extinct tribe.
"We're here because we needed a place
to rest," she said and pulled the girl closer.
"Did you really kill his people?"
"I did."
"How could you?"
"How could I not?" Alaysha
shrugged. "I was not my own. Much as you aren't."
"I ran away, and I am my own
now."
Alaysha squeezed her tightly, enjoying
Alaysha," he said. "It's the power growing in you; it's coming to its
peak as you mature and it will soon overwhelm you." He craned his neck to
look at her across the flame, and as the light danced on his features, she
thought she saw fire within him. "You need me," he said.
She looked away, out into the shadows of
the trees, and listened for Barruch's breathing in the dark to ground her, to
remind her who she was and why she was here. The conversation had gone too far
deep into the pits of those things she'd always longed for and been afraid of.
He'd touched too far into the hollow spaces she'd spent years trying to fill
with her collections.
"I always thought I needed no
one," she said. It was true, wasn't it? She'd spent so many years alone,
despite the companionship of this fire, she had survived without affection for
so long, she knew she could manage without it again if she had to.
As if realizing he'd gone too far, he
pointed to the first star winking in the sky, the one high above them, already
brighter than the pale moon. "I was named after that light."
Alaysha's attention piqued. She knew what
her nohma called that first light of the evening.—that brightest purplish light
that lasted far into the early morning. It was the Eye of Yenic, she'd said,
peering open to watch over his beloved Yen, the soft belly of the earth below
him, until the sun could care for her properly.
"And here I was calling you
Nineteen," she said, forcing a laugh.
"Nineteen?"
She hung her head and felt a curtain of
hair mercifully cover her face. "Yes. The one that got away."
He thought for a moment.
"Nineteen," he said after a time. "After the eighteen you
killed."
"Yes," was all she could say.
He shifted to sit cross-legged. "You
counted wrong," he murmured. "There were twenty."
She squirmed when she thought about it.
"Yes. One woman was pregnant."
"My sister," he said.
Alaysha fell silent, the sense of shame
covering her like a fur. It had been war, so she thought. She'd not given the
village inhabitants much thought as she'd sent the power out, thirsting for
whatever water it could find. She'd let it go and traveled the paths with the
energy – down to the ground, along the grasses, up bare feet and legs, through
tear ducts. When the power got to the unborn, it was already too late.
Its eyes would have been amber, she
realized. Were amber.
"I remember her," she whispered.
"My sister?"
"No. Your niece."
The words fell like stones to the earth,
and Yenic said nothing but rose from his spot at the fire and kicked the place
where the worms rested in their gourd. He reached down with his elegant, but
callused fingers and lifted the bowl from its spot and trudged into the
underbrush. He disappeared in the cascade of leaves and branches.
The girl beside her shifted. "I feel
bad for what's about to happen to him now," she said, a subtle chuckle in
her tone.
"I feel nothing," Alaysha
responded, seeing his reaction. She hadn't wanted to hurt him and now she had
she wanted to take it back. She wanted to return to the sense that those things
didn't matter. She couldn't afford to feel anything. It wasn't a warrior's
place to question or feel guilt about killing on command. If one did, then a
whole life would be spent recovering from a single deed.
"Is he telling the truth about his
tribe and yours being the same?"
Alaysha nodded. "I think so. My father
told me as much."
"Is that why we're here?"
Alaysha sighed. She wasn't sure anymore.
She'd wanted to know the connection at first, but now she thought all she
really wanted was to get away. What did it matter that she belonged to a nearly
extinct tribe.
"We're here because we needed a place
to rest," she said and pulled the girl closer.
"Did you really kill his people?"
"I did."
"How could you?"
"How could I not?" Alaysha
shrugged. "I was not my own. Much as you aren't."
"I ran away, and I am my own
now."
Alaysha squeezed her tightly, enjoying
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