Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
REM’EB
T hat night, as I leave Tia’s hiding place, I am followed.
At first I think it is nothing. The hour grows late and most of our village is abed, but someone is always awake at all hours of the night. There are guards that walk the tunnels. Weavers who cannot stop thinking about their current project. Fishers who swear that the fish bite best at tide-fall instead of tide-rise. So when I pass others on the streets, I nod at them and think nothing of it.
My thoughts are full of Tia and her sweet, lovely mouth. I touch my own, wondering at how two mouths and two tongues can make such intense pleasure. Lost in thought, my sandal catches on one of the taller cobblestones and I stumble. Chuckling to myself, I bend down to fix the laces across the arch, and notice a small movement out of the corner of my eye. When I turn, there is no one there. The light-moss lanterns providing light to travel by darken the shadows between buildings, concealing anything or anyone in their depths.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Surely I am imagining things.
I continue walking, deliberately taking a different path than the one to my dwelling, crowded in amongst all the others. I head for the gardens instead, deciding that if anyone asks, I will tell them I needed a change of scenery to clear my head of troubled thoughts. It is not entirely an untruth, as I am worried about Father. But my thoughts are far more focused on Tia.
Tia and her pink, inviting mouth.
I make it to the edge of the gardens, walled off by an old, crumbling waist-high wall. I pick up a stone that’s fallen to the ground and pretend to consider the wall and where it might be returned, when I see someone slip into the shadows once more, only the ripple at the corner of my eye telling me that someone is there, but camouflaged.
So I am being followed. It is not my imagination. Do they know where I go, then? Do they know of Tia’s existence? Or are they simply being curious?
It does not matter. They do not need to be following me. It cannot be allowed. I turn and march into the shadows after the person, heading into the quiet alley between the houses of the thread-slingers. There, skin mottled to match the shadows, I spot a familiar shock-white mane and the three knots perched between two horns like a lizard’s back-sail upon his head.
My old friend and now enemy, So’ran the Bitter. He jerks when he realizes I have caught him, as if he is wanting to slink into the shadows again, and then decides to face me.
“Why are you following me?” I keep my tone even, calm.
He straightens, throwing his shoulders back. “I am simply taking a walk.”
“In an alley? At this hour? Beside Vol’don the Thread-Slinger’s home?”
“Yes,” So’ran says baldly. “Why are you so worried about where I walk?”
I say nothing. I cannot respond. I simply narrow my eyes at him and stalk away, heading straight for my home this time. The chief’s son is supposed to take a dwelling near the large chieftain’s lodge, to show my importance to my people. Yet the thought of doing such a thing— setting myself above the others I work and hunt with every day—seems wrong. I took a home amongst the rest of the adult men in our village. I do not spend much time in my house. I have no mate, no family, and my hand at arts and crafts is poor. If I were a carver, perhaps my home would be littered with projects, like Vol’don the Thread-Slinger’s is. Since I am a fisherman, I have a variety of nets hanging on their hooks, a few neatly tied fishing lines, and the skin of the largest fish cured and stretched on a frame, proudly adorning the wall. I have a stool near the unused firepit, because rarely does the temperature change below the mountain, and I eat most of my meals at the main hearth or with my father. I have a pallet for my bed, the fabric atop it unadorned and undecorated. I think of Vol’don’s home and the wild, creative patterns he knots into the fabrics he wears.
My existence is a boring one. A dutiful one. I am not interesting. I am a chief’s son, but nothing more.
I rub my silent chest absently. Is that why Tia has not resonated to me? Is that why my khui does not sing?
Or is it because it knows I cannot keep her?
I peer out into the quiet village, but this time, I see no one in the shadows. I remain uneasy, and when I climb into bed, I stare up at the ceiling of my hut and wonder. If I died tomorrow, Spa’jar the Mourner would sing the songs and lead the grieving ceremonies for me. But when it came time to burn my most valued possessions to send them with me into my next journey, what would they burn? What would they send?
A few nets? The beads I wear in my mane that declare me Bel’eb’s son?
It feels like nothing. And for the first time, I entertain the thought of what would happen if I took Tia’s hand…and let her lead me into the sunlight above.
The next day, when I tell my father that I have been followed by one of the rebels, he is less than helpful.
“But is the female resonating?”
I clench my jaw. “Not yet.”
“Bah.” Bel’eb turns toward his fire. I cannot help but notice that he is seated in the same spot he was when I left him at tide-fall, wrapped in the same blanket. Has he not moved?
“How are we going to get So’ran to stop following me? Without turning this into an incident? I do not want the entire village alerted to the fact that I am sneaking around.”
“This would not be a problem if you had resonated to the female,” my father says peevishly, as if it is my fault my khui is silent. He strokes the fur on his chin with an idle hand, thinking. “If you are being followed, you will have to avoid her.”
“What? No!” This is a terrible idea.
But my father gives me a sharp look. “If you are being followed because they think there is something to see, prove to them that there is not. We will take them off your scent trail. I will tell them you are helping Set’nef with a lizard infestation in one of the distant garden caverns. You can come back in a handful of days, and they will realize nothing is amiss.”
A handful of days? Apart from Tia? It feels like an eternity. It is the last thing I want to do.
And yet…what is my choice? If So’ran finds out that she exists…it could destroy the fragile peace in our village.
Even so, the thought of leaving her behind feels painful. “I am the one that brings her food and water. Who will do that while I am gone?”
“I can. There is no chance that I will resonate to her.”
I do not like that idea, either. Father seems to be sinking into one of his melancholy times, when he forgets to take care of himself. I do not want him simply forgetting to take care of Tia. “They will be suspicious of you,” I suggest. “Perhaps someone else?”
He shoots me an irritated look. “Wa’duk the Blade-maker then. He resonated to a female behind the wall five turns ago. He can bring her food, and I can dangle a visit to his mate as incentive.”
I stare at my father, frustrated and unhappy with his words. Speaking of Wa’duk reminds me that I am having a female dangled in front of my nose and Wa’duk cannot even spend time with his. It also bothers me that Father does not even know her name. We are not so numerous a people. He should know every name. That is his job as chief.
“Perhaps your absence will spur on resonance,” my father says in his sly voice, cutting me with his bitter words. “Give her khui a chance to miss yours. What you are doing now does not seem to be enticing her, after all.”
Does he care about anything other than me breeding children with a stranger? “And if I say no?”
Father straightens, looking like his old self for a change. “I am chief. My word is the law. You had better remember that, or I will stop favoring you and trot your female out in front of a more worthy male.”
I scowl at him, fighting the resentment bubbling inside my chest. I know he is using words to sting me because he is unhappy with me. Because he is unhappy . Cas’zor has said many a time that he lashes out because he wishes to make everyone as miserable as he is.
But it is a hard thing to stomach when the chief is also your father. “I will leave for a hand of days,” I say slowly. “But if I return and Tia is not here, waiting for me, I will tell everyone in the village what you have done.”
We glare at each other until I leave.