The falling star appeared bright in the sky, stopping them all in their tracks. They told her to remember the face of that man. She had only seen him for a second before the impact, but if the voice said to remember him, he must be important. Though gods only knew why. She tried to recall every detail of him.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the light skin tone that came from living in the north. There was a light, overlying golden tan speaking to the fact he had been in the desert for at least a couple of weeks. Enough time to burn, peel, and then develop the tan. His muscular arms were bare because of the hot summer nights, but he had leather vambraces on his forearms and a large tattoo swirling down his left shoulder all the way to his wrist. He had short but shaggy black hair and piercing blue eyes. The contrast between the two was striking. She had also noticed a pair of full lips…
Iyana shook her head, disrupting the vision.You’re trying to figure out why you’re out here, Iyana. Plus, he’s Athusan. He’s the enemy, she disparaged herself.Focus.The last thing she remembered was running in the desert until sunrise, which was when the voice disappeared.
Sudden clarity hit her. Sunrise. Of course! The whispers stopped because the sun rose. If the voice belonged to a star, which was appearing more and more likely, maybe they were unable to communicate during the day. If Iyana was telling time correctly, it was currently less than an hour to sunset. She would stay put until then and hopefully get more direction on where to go. If not, well, Iyana would figure out how to get home if she absolutely had to. Besides, it was easier to travel at night and, according to the sun’s position, she’d only need to head west to find Imothia.
Emmeric
Emmeric woke up slowly with a raging headache. His eyes refused to focus, but he could hear murmuring.
“I say we kill him now and get it over with,” a male said, voice cracking. A teenager, then.
“No, no, we keep him tied up and use him for ransom,” another boy replied. “That way we can bargain with Emperor Uther to leave us alone in exchange for his life.”
“That won’t work,” the first voice countered, exasperated. “Look at him. He doesn’t have any decoration on his uniform; he isn’t even an officer! They won’t bargain anything for him.”
“He doesn’t have sleeves! How would you know if he had any decorations?”
Without opening his eyes too much, he tried to take a mental stock of any injuries. Dried blood on the back of his neck created an itch while his head pounded. Hopefully nothing too serious, maybe only a minor concussion, although that was hard to determine, as he was uncertain how long he had been unconscious. For a moment he wondered if he was paralyzed, but he soon discovered his arms were bound behind his back, rendering them immobile. He wiggled his fingers, which eased his mind, but they were numb from the tightly knotted rope. As the blood rushed back into his fingertips, he had to swallow a hiss of pain lest he give himself away.
“Well, we won’t really know unless we try, right?”
“You’re such an idiot, Ialo, you know that, yeah?”
“Oh, and I suppose you’re an expert in Athusan politics now?”
Emmeric kept his eyes closed, listening to the bickering between what sounded like brothers. There was a sharp pang of fear and yearning when he thought of Talon and how they used to argue. One time they had fought each other so hard that Emmeric came away with a black eye and Talon had split his lip. Their mothers had been furious, and they weren’t allowed to play with each other for an entire week. They must have been around ten years old; it was the longest week of his life. There were plenty of fights since, but none ever escalated again like that one had, their lesson learned. He wondered if Talon was alive. Time to think of those things later. Now he needed to figure out a way to escape without being noticed. Although his hands were bound, he thought he could loosen them enough to slip out, with a bit of work. Then he would just need to knock these two fools unconscious, figure out where he was, and escape to the wagon. Easy. Except he didn’t know how much time had passed since the battle. He held back a wince. Since the massacre. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the wagon had already left. But in the back of his mind, he knew that was wishful thinking.
“Ialo, Iote, stop fighting with each other,” a third, older voice broke into the din of the two brothers. Emmeric stilled his fidgeting. “We won’t be doing either of those idiotic ideas. And stop name-calling, Iote, you’re much too old for that.”
“Sorry, Mata Imo,” both said in unison.
“Get out of my house, both of you. You have tied our guest up enough that I am in no danger from him.”
There was shuffling on the sand as the two boys left. They continued ribbing on each other as they walked away. A minor scuffle ensued outside, but Mata Imo seemed nonplussed. She chuckled softly as she went about her business inside. There was the sound of water pouring into a metal container and then a tin opening, followed by steel striking flint. Was she making tea?
“You can quit the act now, boy. We’re alone.”
Emmeric winced, but opened his eyes, immediately squinting against the brightness. His headache intensified. As his vision cleared, his captor came into focus. Mata Imo was a squat old woman with leather-tanned skin and long gray hair contained in a braid. Her back was bent, but her arms portrayed a silent strength. Turquoise jewelry apparently was a favorite of hers, as she wore it in her ears, as well as around her neck and wrists. She had to be around eighty years old, which was rarely heard of in this part of the continent. Her brown eyes were sharp, though, and Emmeric thought there was little she didn’t see. She gestured towards a kettle that was whistling. “Would you like some tea?”
“Some water would be great,” Emmeric rasped. Grit coated his throat like he had swallowed a fistful of sand; which, for all he knew, he had. He tried to clear his throat, but he only succeeded in creating a coughing fit. He twisted his body upright into a sitting position so he might cough easier—it was still difficult with his hands behind his back. Mata Imo leisurely poured a cup of tea while he coughed.She’s going to watch me die while drinking her tea, he thought. Just when Emmeric was on the verge of passing out from oxygen deprivation, she pressed a cup of tea against his lips and gently lifted it. He choked down the first few sips as his body was fighting the racking cough, and as those calmed, he finished the whole cup as quickly as she would let him.
“Thank you, Mata Imo,” Emmeric sighed.
She grunted. “You may call me Imo.Matais a term of endearment I earned from my tribe. You are not of my tribe and have not yet earned the right to use the word.” He nodded his agreement. “That tea should help your headache.”
Imo sat in a rickety chair and stared at him, drinking her own cup of tea. Emmeric felt like she was staring into his soul and judging its weight. He awkwardly turned his gaze from her as his pain gradually eased. He was in a one-room hut with a fire in a clay hearth off to the side. The furnishings were sparse and simple—the chair she was sitting in and a cot in the corner—but there were plenty of herbs in jars and pots lining multiple shelves around the small space. Imo was clearly a healer. He glanced over the entrance of the hut, and he tried to hide a wince as he saw the scant fire damage around the edges. Imo noticed his expression and smiled wryly.
“Yes, I’m lucky to have not lost my home and all my belongings,” she said. “I’ve spent a long time collecting these supplies you see here, and I’d loathe to have to do it again.”
Emmeric couldn’t look her in the eye for all the shame he was feeling. “I am glad your home and your life are intact.”
“Mmm,” she pondered, tapping her fingers against her cup. Her brown eyes were piercing. “No thanks to you, it seems.” Her tone was only slightly accusatory, more curious than anything. Like Emmeric was an oddity to unravel and tinker with until she discovered what made him tick.
“I apologize for my and my people’s actions.”
“Ahh, but you cannot apologize for your people’s actions.” Her eyes brightened. “Your emperor has motives that are beyond your ken, and I do not accept your apology on their behalf. I will, however, accept your apology for yourself. You seem sufficiently ashamed.” She grinned, the skin around her mouth wrinkling further.
