Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
REM’EB
T he next day is a trying one. I can do nothing right.
I dream of Tia in my sleep, of her soft lips brushing over my cheek, and then moving to my neck, and then further down my body. I wake up with my hand on my stiff cock, my heart racing. I take care of myself and then spend my resting time pacing in my small home instead. If I close my eyes, I will see Tia again, her hands all over me, her lips adventuring to new places upon my body, and I cannot focus. So I pace.
When the water clock shows that it is tide-rise, I reset it and pack my fishing gear. Instead of heading directly to the lake as is my normal route, I head to my father’s instead. All eyes in the village feel as if they are upon me, watching my every move and wondering at my actions. We are creatures of habit, our people. Anyone that acts in a different pattern than normal will have people talking. I feel conspicuous as I hurry past the long stretch of wall and nod at the guards as I head to my father’s home.
Once inside, I set my gear down, take the food tray his attendant has prepared, and then disappear through the back to the storage buildings, where Tia is kept under guard. My dreams were full of lip brushes, but the reality is that Tia is angry with me. She does not speak to me when I enter, and her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed as if she had been weeping. She does not reach for the food I brought, and I reluctantly leave her side, feeling as if I have failed her.
And because this day cannot get any worse, when I get to the lake, So’ran the Bitter is waiting for me. I ignore him, moving down the rocky slope to my favorite spot, and he picks up his line and follows me.
“I would speak with you, Rem’eb the Fist,” he calls out.
“I am not in the mood for speaking.”
He ignores my politely worded request and moves to stand at my side, close enough that I cannot ignore him. “You are acting strangely.”
“I have had a gut sickness that I could not shake,” I say, concentrating on unraveling my line so I can attach the sinker to it. “My father has a tea that helps. I have been taking meals with him.”
“Then why do you run past the wall?”
I look up, startled. “What?”
My once-friend’s eyes are narrow and full of suspicion as he regards me. “Someone saw you rushing past the wall yesterday. This morning, An’var the Early was on duty and confirmed it. You move past it as quickly as possible and keep your head down, almost as if you wish to not catch the attention of any female that might linger there. What has changed?”
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “Nothing.”
I cannot tell him the wall makes me uneasy now that I have met Tia.
“If it is nothing, why rush? Do you not want a mate? Sons?” He tilts his head, regarding me, his voice casual. “Or is this another scheme of your father’s?”
My tail twitches, but I do my best to not give away just how close So’ran is to the truth. If he knew of Tia’s existence, he would be storming the wall to claim one of our females for himself. Or worse—he would do his best to snatch more strangers from above. Neither situation bodes well for our people. He will destroy our fragile existence all because he is lonely. “I am spending time with my father because he wishes to speak with his only son. You are far too suspicious. Perhaps you should stop spending so much time with those that despise him. You are seeing shadows where there are none.”
We glare at each other, neither of us moving or breaking eye contact. I know if I flinch away first, he will continue to suspect me. He cannot know of Tia’s existence. He will not look to free her—he will spirit her away into one of the less-used tunnels and try to save her for himself. He will hold her hostage until she resonates to him.
Is that not what you are doing? a tiny voice inside me asks.
I ignore it.
Eventually, So’ran straightens. He drops his gaze and then kicks one of the loose rocks into the water. “If you say it is nothing, then I have no choice but to believe you.”
“It is nothing,” I reassure, relaxing my stance. “Why does it bother you?”
“Because this place is stagnant,” he says, and his expression changes to one of entreaty. “Can you not feel it? Our days are full of the same patterns, the same duties, as dictated by the chief. We eat and sleep and work to a schedule he decrees. We see the same faces day in and day out. The females are kept behind a wall and never seen and fewer children are born. When was the last time someone resonated?” He spreads his hands. “We are rotting in place. Of course I am interested when you act strangely. Change is interesting. All change interests me.”
“There is no change,” I tell him easily, even as my tail prickles. So’ran is more alert than I have given him credit for. I must be even more careful than I thought. “A bad bite of food has lingered in my gut. That is all.”
He continues to study my face, his gaze seeking, as if he can see through my lies. Then he nods, and to my surprise, reaches out and clasps my arm. “You must keep yourself well, Rem’eb the Fist. You are the last hope of our people.”
A strange thing to say, especially from one that is my bitter enemy. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that there are many of us that hate your father’s rules. That think he is wrong. He will not listen to reason, though. We have tried and tried to speak to him, all in vain. Now we simply hope that he will pass and you will take the chief’s seat and be prepared to listen. Your father is stubborn, but you have a good heart. Just…do not let your father whisper in your ears for too long.”
So’ran the Bitter stalks away to return to his fishing, and I wonder at his words. Is it true that everyone wants my father dead because they do not like his rule? Or simply more furious talk from the rebels?
It worries me, all of it. My people seem to be falling apart right in front of my eyes, and I do not know what to do about it. I can follow my father’s wishes and hold Tia captive until she resonates with me…and then what? Do I continue to hold her captive until she has my child? Do I then move her behind the wall with the other females?
Do I trap her into my life and my people’s village simply because I want her? And if So’ran finds out she exists, will the rebels rise up against my father?
The only solution seems to be to sneak her out of the Village of Those Who Remain, yet with every moment that passes, the thought of doing so pains me. The thought of never seeing her again fills me with a physical ache that threatens to consume me.
Which one do I choose?
Lost in thought, I cast my line over and over again and nothing bites. I leave at tide-fall and instead of joining the others in the village at the communal meal, I head to my father’s again. I can feel more eyes on me this time, and I force myself to move slowly as I walk past the wall. For the first time in my existence, I hold my breath as I pass for a different reason.
I do not want to resonate to someone that waits there on the other side.
I want Tia.
When I head into the kitchens, Cas’zor the Worthy is there, preparing a tray for my father. He pours a bowl of mushroom soup and then eyes me. He holds the bowl out to me instead of placing it on the tray. “When was the last time you ate, chief’s son?”
Searching my thoughts, I shrug. I do not remember. Perhaps when Tia offered me a slice of fruit? I have been too lost in my swirling thoughts to sit down and enjoy a meal. “I am not hungry.”
“Eat anyhow. Your face is pale.” He nudges the bowl toward me. “Is it resonance?”
If it was, would that make everything simpler? In some ways…and would complicate others. I shake my head. “Nothing yet.”
“A shame.”
“Is it?”
“It is if your father’s schemes come to nothing.” He pours a second bowl and sets it on the tray.
I watch him silently, holding my soup. Does he believe in my father’s plans? Does he think that our village is safe with the females all tucked away behind a wall? Or does he follow the beliefs of the rebels? Is he simply waiting for me to claim the chief’s seat? Cas’zor is loyal, but is he loyal to my father, or to the chiefdom?
“I will eat with my father,” I tell him, setting my bowl on the tray and taking it before he can. “I must speak with him in private.”
“Of course.” Cas’zor nods politely and steps away.
Taking the tray across the house, I find my father in his thinking room. He sits near a small fire, the scent of charred mushroom stems in the air. He is wrapped in a blanket, his expression distant.
He looks…frail. Tired. The opposite of his name, Mighty. I am told he was once a strong and powerful warrior, and battled many a metlak and gorger to keep our tunnels safe. But ever since the sickness, he has been a shadow of himself. Tonight, he seems more fragile than ever. His color bleeds to match the shade of his blankets, as if he cannot be bothered to keep his camouflage in check.
“Are you cold?” I ask, setting the tray down next to his seat by the fire.
Bel’eb shakes his head. “I am old.”
“You are barely sixty turns.” I hold a bowl of soup out to him. “In your prime.”
He glances up at me again. “I am old in spirit. I am tired. It is why it is so important that you have a child with this strange female. Our bloodline must continue, and you have not resonated to any of our women that are left.”
Biting back a sigh, I take his hand and forcibly place it around his bowl. Father gets like this sometimes. He grows deeply melancholy and cannot be swayed from his dismal thoughts. He will remain like this for an entire turn before somehow shaking free of its grasp. Now is not the time for him to let the sadness take him, but when is it ever a good time? “Eat. We must talk.”
“Have you resonated?”
“Not yet.”
Bel’eb shakes his head, disappointed.
“I need time with her,” I tell him, even as I hate myself for saying such a thing. She needs to be set free, and yet I have no plans to do so. Not yet, because I cannot bear the thought of parting with her. “But I am being watched.”
“Nosy fools,” my father mutters, then takes a sip of soup. “They have too much time to sit upon their hands and fish. When I was your age, the metlaks were constantly sneaking into our tunnels, trying to steal our food and ravaging our gardens. We were alert at all times.”
I pull up a seat next to him and join him by the fire, picking up my bowl. “I will not apologize for the tunnels being safe. Metlaks have not been a problem in many turns.”
“They will be again, wait and see.”
Biting back my annoyance—we have bigger concerns at the moment than a few thieving metlaks—I drink my soup as quickly as I can. “You must tell everyone that I am working on a special project for you.”
“What sort of project?”
“I do not know. Something. They wonder why I am spending so much time here. Tell them that we have our heads together on a project that we cannot speak of. Tell Cas’zor to spread the word. That way if I spend time with Tia, they will simply think I am with you.”
“Bah. Let them wonder.”
“Father,” I say in a warning tone.
Bel’eb rolls his eyes. He takes another small sip of soup and then sets the nearly full bowl aside. “Fine. We will tell them I am an old, dying male and I wish to impart all the chiefly secrets before I pass on to join the ancestors. Then once your female is fat with your child, I can have a miraculous recovery.”
“I am not going to tell everyone you are dying.”
“Cas’zor will tell them.” He waves a hand at me. “Have you tried giving the female the mushrooms I told you? The ones that encourage the khui?”
I sigh. “No, Father.”
“You should. You must make this happen, my son.”
I set my empty bowl down and get up. “I have to go tend to the female. I will return in the morning. Finish your meal.”
He waves an irritated hand at me, and again looks so shrunken and weak that concern flares within me. I think about So’ran the Bitter’s words, that they are waiting for my father to die. Is he truly this weak or is it more posturing? With my father, it is impossible to tell. I leave his side, making a mental note to speak to Cas’zor.
Later, though. For now, my thoughts fill with Tia. Cas’zor is no longer in the kitchens when I return, and I quickly fill a tray with food and a fresh pitcher of cold fruited water for her. Is she still angry, I wonder? I add another piece of fruit to the tray, just in case the sight of it brings a smile to her face. I have no loom for her, and it is the one thing she has asked for.
Well, other than her freedom.
Tomorrow I will bring her a loom, I decide. I can tell Pa’zan the Weaver that it is for my father’s secret project.
The guard in front of the storage hut is Jon’jud the Resilient, an older male with two sons. He is loyal to my father, but his sons are not. What does he think of my father’s decision to hide me a female? Or does he even know that the hut he guards contains a stranger from above? He does not look at the tray I carry with suspicion, just opens the door as I approach.
The light-moss tube is by the doorway, the rest of the room filled with shadows. I enter, noting that she is not in sight, likely hidden behind the privacy screen hiding her chamber pot. I need to change it and bring her extra water. She will want to bathe, I think. Her mane still carries flecks of mushroom powder, the one that was used to drug her. And I want her to smile. Maybe a block of sweet-smelling soap and a pitcher of water will bring delight to her lovely face.
The door closes behind me and I step forward. “Tia? I have brought food.”
Something moves in the shadows behind me. A hard item pricks at the small of my back—the knife.
“ Donh moof ,” Tia says.