The Bonds We Tie

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Tsura stared at the ground as she listened to Kamon, crossing her arms over her chest. She hadn’t thought about it that way. Her only concern had been finding her family. She hadn’t even considered Kamon’s situation, but he had yet complained once. The boy had to be even more afraid than she was. He was trapped in a foreign country with only Tsura’s promise of helping him to give him hope. She hadn’t even asked how he’d gotten all the way into the mountains alone. It must have been quite the story. As much as she wanted to keep going, she had to think about his feelings too. It might not be possible for them to do anything about their hunger, but resting was an option. It would give them both time to think and the strength to keep going.

She bit her lower lip. She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to stop and rest though. Stopping meant she would be thinking and that...every time she thought about where her parents could be she arrived at a single conclusion. There was no way she and Kamon could have arrived first. Her parents had the wagon and a team of oxen to pull it. If they weren’t in town, then the caravan was the only other place they could be. It’s still possible, she told herself, her stubbornly refusing to accept the other alternative, Papa could have been hurt. If he had they would have had to go back to the caravan for healing. They would have known right where to go. Tsura only needed to remember where to meet them.

“You’re right,” she replied grudgingly, “But we shouldn’t rest for too long though. The caravan was supposed to be moving on sometime tomorrow morning. If we don’t find them before then we’ll miss them.” If that happened she didn’t know what they would do next. There was no one outside of the caravan that she knew in this area. She’d be just as lost as Kamon. Without any money, there would be no way for them to survive alone in the town. There was that Erwin man, but she was wary of going off with a complete stranger no matter how friendly he seemed.

“Let’s just go.” She started for the hill Kamon had pointed out, the little energy she had remaining draining away at the prospect of rest. She made no attempt to speak with Erwin, already having decided that the town was a loss. Better they get as much rest as possible and then try to find the caravan. She started humming her wordless tune again as she walked. She knew they held the clue she needed. Her mother had sung the song for her time and time again, made her sing along to prove she knew the words. She could still hear her mother’s soft alto voice singing as they sat around the campfire with her father playing his fiddle to accompany her. Yet no matter how many times the tune ran through her head, no words came to her lips.

They reached the end of their short hike and arrived at the top of the mountain. Tsura dropped down onto the hillside bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She continued to hum, refusing to give up until she remembered. It was growing harder to concentrate though. Now that she was sitting, she could feel her energy draining away. Laying down and sleeping would have been welcomed, but she feared wasting that much time would take away their only chance to catch the caravan. Still her eyes began to droop as she stared down at the town. She started to pinch her right hand, hoping the little bursts of pain would keep her from sleep.
 
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Kamon nodded, remaining quiet as he watched the girl. His concern only compounded every minute of his careful observation, her demeanor almost radiating the fear she was trying to keep hidden deep inside her. The horrible fact of her family’s fate reflected in her tired eyes. But the boy refused to entertain that idea any more than necessary. Back in Pandemonium, he hadn’t believed anything his father had said about a happy ending. Hope, he mused, was for suckers and people who didn’t know any better. Now he seemed to be clinging to that fickle grain of solitude as if it were the rarest gem in the world. And all for a girl he’d just met.

Without a word, he followed her along the trail toward the large trees ahead, not saying anything about her ignoring Erwin. She must have seen him as a lost cause. The thought saddened him, but he didn’t say as much, keeping that to himself as the two settled in the grass. Tsura was huddled in a ball as if she were cold. Kamon wished he had something to give her. All he had was a tattered shirt though, and there was no way that would keep her warm. However, he did have some food. He was a little reluctant to say so. She might look down on him for stealing, and he valued her opinion more than he cared to admit. Still . . . she must be starving.

He listened to her humming the wordless tune he’d first heard in the woods. Luckily, this time it didn’t bring tears to his eyes, and he found solace in the song. Kamon glanced at her. His pulse started to race as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small loaf of bread, breaking a hunk off and offering it to Tsura.

“I umm . . . I know it’s wrong, but . . . I didn’t want you to get weak or faint on the way to your caravan. Maybe when we find your family we can explain to them. They could give the vendors some coin or something the next time you come by this way trading goods. I’m sure they’d understand.”

As he waited for her response, he lifted his own piece of bread and sniffed it, his stomach gurgling in anticipation as he took a small bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“If you’d like to take a short nap, I’ll stay up and keep watch. I wouldn’t let you sleep for long. Ten or twenty minutes might be good for a quick recharge without wasting too much daylight.”
 
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Tsura stared at the bread as Kamon mumbled an explanation. She knew it was wrong to steal. Papa and Mama had warned her time and time again about the consequences of stealing. The Knights of Rasalas will take your ring finger and our people will pierce your left hand with a red hot sword. Stealing could destroy a merchant’s livelihood. Tsura’s own family had struggled with thieves in the past. When she was old enough, she’d been charged with the task of watching for thieves while her parents worked. All she had to do was call out to any who seemed suspicious and engage them in conversation. There had been the occasional theft, but never anything disastrous. Her mouth began to water. It would be wrong to take stolen food, no matter how desperate they were. Mama and Papa would be disappointed if they found out. She couldn’t take it.

Her stomach growled loudly. Even through her fog of exhaustion, she could feel her gnawing hunger. She took the bread and looked to the ground, “You shouldn’t steal.” Even so she ate the bread, starting with a tentative bite before devouring the rest of the piece in minutes. It was delicious and freshly baked with hints of herbs folded in, a common practice in this region. Tsura has always liked the taste. It reminded her of the traveler’s bread her mother would bake whenever they had to travel far between towns. She licked the crumbs from her fingers when she was done. She could have eaten a whole loaf and then some, but she said nothing. Her hunger was sated for the time being.

She stifled a yawn poorly, her heavy eyelids drifting dangerously close to closing. When Kamon spoke again, Tsura didn’t process the words immediately. “What?” she asked, understanding coming seconds later, “Ah, alright. Just for a few minutes. You can have a turn too later.” Permission to sleep was the only thing she needed. She laid down on her side, curling her arms under her head and closing her eyes. Her legs she drew up to curl herself into a ball. In seconds, she drifted off.

She walked down the city lane, noting the colorful stands as she went. She didn’t stop at any of them, not even when she recognized Old Jaelle at tone of the stands. It was good to see a face from the caravans. She was selling trips home, waving to Tsura as she passed. Tsura waved back, but didn’t stop. Something was missing. Someone.

Then she arrived in the forest clearing. Her parents sat there, waiting at the fire. Mama had made her flatbread and Papa was holding Aiden. She even glimpsed Kamon sitting behind them in the wagon. Good everyone was together. She sat down at the fire, hearing Papa’s violin play the familiar tune.

Mama leaned in, offering her a bowl, “Do you remember the words, little lamb?”

“I thought I did,” Tsura replied, taking the food from her, “But they won’t come back no matter how many times I sing the song.”

Her mother began to hum, standing up to join Papa as they began to dance. Her voice was the same strong, low tone that had soothed Tsura to sleep many nights before. “I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in head*.” The wood surrounded Tsura, guiding her along as she walked. Her mother’s voice came from the sky. “And cut and peeled a hazel wand, and hooked a berry to a thread.” Tsura played with her twig, skipping along through a lane of white moths. “I dropped the berry in a stream and caught a little silver trout.” There was a path running along the stream with a patch of hazel trees visible at the ahead. “The trees of the people,” Mama’s voice said. A statue stood next to the tree, a man in a cloak, face shrouded with a fish on his back. “May the Wanderer guide your path...”

Tsura woke with a start, sitting up with a big smile on her face, “I remember the words! We need to find the Wanderer along the path.”

*Bolded Text belongs to William Bulter Yeats
 
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Kamon ducked his head, cheeks flaring when Tsura quietly chastised him.

“I know,” he murmured. He seemed genuinely penitent, and for a while he was silent, chewing on his bread as the two ate in relative peace. His thoughts once again returned to the strange land he was in, and how survival here seemed different then it had back in Pandemonium. There, stealing had sometimes been the difference between life and death, and one couldn’t get caught up in the emotional or moral standpoint of it. It had been the same with killing. You wouldn’t last long on the battlefield if you were always agonizing about the right and wrong of things. Surviving in Pandemonium required one to have a morally gray area when necessary. That place . . . . The demon could hardly refer to it as home, could he? After all, his people were trapped there, slowly dying because a group of humans had exiled them from Aydalon. I’m really here, he thought. This is where my ancestors grew up. I wonder what happened?

The boy looked at Tsura for a moment, nodding as she curled up under the shady tree as fell right to sleep. Under the heavy curtain of dreams, all the worry and tension seemed to melt away, and her face looked almost peaceful. It brought a smile to Kamon’s face, but he was afraid. Because deep down he knew, really knew, that this was the last time in a long while that he would see her like that. Kamon sighed and tentatively brushed a stray lock of hair from her face before munching on part of the cucumber he’d pilfered. It was quite fresh and juicy, and it filled him with a strange energy. Though he was indeed sleepy, he felt like he could keep going as long as it took for Tsura to reach her caravan, and for her to once again be amongst the safety of her people. What will I do then? he thought with a weary sigh. Does it make me evil for wanting to stay here? Am I betraying my family by helping her instead of finding a way back home?

Kamon ate the last of his cucumber and absently wiped his fingers on his shorts, looking around for a moment before resting his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do. Tsura needed him, but he needed her too. Not just because he was a stranger in a strange land, but also because her company made him feel more needed and useful than he had in a long time. He felt like the things he did here with her mattered. That they weren’t just meaningless acts of violence. Wars over territories that were growing smaller all the time. Here, he was making a lasting connection to someone that could bring good into his life. Fun and friendship . . . . Maybe not now. Now, things were hard, and they would only get sadder if his intuition was still as accurate here as it was in Pandemonium. It seemed like it was. But hopefully, Tsura would keep going, and eventually be able to enjoy life again. She would need a friend though. Someone to talk to, and help her through the grief. What makes you think she doesn’t have people like that with her caravan? he thought with a frown. What makes you so much more important than anyone else? You think because you went through a tough trial together that means you’re inseparable? If that were the case, father and Casimir would still be like brothers instead of mortal enemies.

With an exasperated huff, Kamon dropped back against the tree and looked up into the leafy branches, eyeing the sparkles of sunlight that filtered through the mass of green every now and then as a breeze gusted. In an attempt to calm himself, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the leaves rustling. Breathed in the fresh air. Heard the faint bustle of the marketplace they had come from. He almost nodded off when sudden movement caused him to start, his eyes looking around wildly for a minute before he realized it was Tsura, her voice reaching his ears not a moment later.

“The Wanderer?” Kamon echoed with a puzzled look. Then it dawned on him. “Oh, the song! You remembered the way to find the caravan.” He grinned, actually finding this news wonderful. “Did you get enough sleep? I don’t need a nap. I can keep going as long as it takes. I want to get you back with your people.” The boy pursed his lips and folded his arms across his knees, which were drawn to his chest. “Is the Wanderer a sky dweller or something?” he asked. Kamon thought about this. Tsura might be confused, so he tried to think of another way to word it. “You know, how sometimes there are people in the sky at night, if you connect the stars like a picture.”
 
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Tsura was too excited to comment on Kamon’s vocabulary this time. She merely shook her head, standing up with a new bounce in her step. “He’s the guardian of the Sulta people,” she explained, “Well not ‘he’ necessarily. The Wanderer is a spirit that has guided my people since the days of Aengus, our great forefather.” The last words echoed in old Janelle’s deep, serious tone as she shook her finger at Kamon with a smirk. “That’s what the song’s about.” She looked out over the town, paused for a breath, and then sang softly, “I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head. I cut and peeled a hazel wand and hooked a berry to a thread. And when white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flick’ring out. I dropped the berry in a steam and caught a little sliver trout.”

She glanced back at Kamon, flashing him another smile, “That’s Aengus. He found the Wanderer in a steam as a little fish. He brought the fish back to eat it, but it turned into a beautiful woman before he could. They say he fell in love with her. Mama really likes that part of the story.” She paused, continuing on a moment later as she took a step to the left. “She blessed him that day by letting him catch her. She disappeared before he could say anything, but he vowed to follow her. During his travels he was blessed many times over with wealthy and companionship. Eventually he found he had a family and lots of relatives traveling with him, who later became the Sulta clan. To this day the Wanderer watches over us.” She gave a stretch, putting her hands behind her head. “The caravans keep to a path of our own far away from the Aydalonian roads, but it meets up with the main road near the towns. To mark the meeting points for the people who leave the caravans, there are shrines dedicated to the Wanderer all over the countryside each next to a river or steam of some kind. It makes the meeting places easy to find that way and it goes with the song. We just need to find the nearest river and then we’ll find the shrine!”

Things were finally looking up. It wouldn’t be long now. Everyone in town would know the nearest river and then she and Kamon would just need to find the nearest point where the path met the river. Then they would find the caravans in no time. They would be able to get some rest and a decent meal, maybe even find her parents waiting there for her. She couldn’t wait. “Come on,” she called to Kamon, walking over and doing her best to haul him up by the arm, “You said you weren’t tired so we should get going. The sooner we find the river, the sooner we can get some real rest.”

Italicized Text belongs to William Butler Yeats.
 
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Kamon listened with wide-eyed fascination as Tsura sang and told him the story of the Wanderer—a guardian who watched over her people. It was surprisingly similar to a tale his own clan believed that was taught to the silver crescents as children. Seeing the girl happier and knowing they finally had a solid course of action now, Kamon grinned, getting to his feet in record time thanks to Tsura’s help.

“Finally, we’re on the right track,” he said, unable to contain his own excitement. “Let’s go see that Erwin guy. I bet he can tell us where the closest river is.”

With their new plan in motion and a renewed vigor, the young pair set off, making for Erwin’s stall in record time. The old man was happy to oblige their request. He started to ramble on about some past adventure near the very river he’d mentioned, but Tsura politely thanked him and then headed out of town. Kamon was right behind her. The boy had to stifle a grin at Erwin’s slightly miffed expression. It appeared as though he wasn’t used to having his rousing stories so easily dismissed.

The journey ahead proved arduous. With little to eat and hardly any rest, the two weary children had a tough time traversing the vast Aydalonian landscape, with its winding roads, steep climbs, and sometimes treacherous downgrades that challenged their surefootedness. But their determination and will were strong, and they kept each other going as best they knew how. When Tsura started looking weary or crestfallen from fatigue, Kamon tried to distract her from the tiresome trek by telling her a story of his own. Where he lived (and he left that place unnamed for the time being), his clan told the young ones the tale of the Lady of Shadow and the Lightbringer.

In the beginning, when dawn left, all was darkness, and nothing dared move in the blackness until the Lightbringer came. He cast the world in a beautiful, pale light that illuminated everything it could touch. But it didn’t drive the darkness away entirely. And behind the plants, and trees, and spaces it couldn’t reach, the Lady of Shadow was freed. She owed her life to the Lightbringer, because without him, she would never have known what it was like to be free from the clutches of the night. She fell in love with him, and he with her, but they could never be together. For whenever she tried getting closer to him, his radiance slowly made her disappear. So the Lady of Shadow was doomed to love him from afar. Her mournful cries stirred the Sky Dweller, Entaros, who knew the tragedies of a broken heart all too well. Entaros rode down from the sky in his chariot and took the Lady of Shadow’s hand, and carried her across the vast, sparkling black sea, ignoring her cries as they drew closer to the Lightbringer.


But Entaros knew what she did not. That Fate would grant them a rare chance to be together. For the Lightbringer was soon bathed in quasi-darkness, and his brilliance could not harm her. The Lady of Shadow was overjoyed. She reveled and sang, and the Lightbringer smiled, but the cloak would not last forever. Soon, he’d be shining bright again, and the Lady would be no more. He begged her to leave, to return to her home and everything she knew. The Lady, knowing her heart, refused. And when the veil passed, and the Lightbringer shone in the darkness once more, the Lady of Shadow was gone. Yet she was not lost. She clung to him, embracing him from behind, where the light could not reach her. Thus the Lightbringer now forever has a shadow side. And if you look closely, some even say you can still see his smile.

The boy grinned in his own right, trying to keep spirits up as they traveled along. He could hear the faint sounds of running water nearby. It was peaceful and soothing. Too soothing. Kamon felt it was a sound that could put him right to sleep. With a great inhale and a vigorous shake of his head, the boy pressed on, taking Tsura’s hand every once in a while to get past unsteady ground.

“Almost there,” Kamon huffed, shoving aside a large swath of branches for the girl to duck under. He let them snap back when she was clear and turned. The land sloped downward a fair piece and was dotted with odd shrubs and flowers, but at the bottom was a wide river, its clear water rushing over glistening rocks and disappearing around a deep bend in the distance. “We made it. The Wanderer can’t be far now. We’ll get to your caravan in no time.”
 
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Despite the difficulties, Tsura trudged on with renewed vigor, following closely behind Kamon. The small nap and new burst of hope had provided a much needed burst of energy to carry her onward, despite the gnawing hunger and exhaustion she felt. Unlike before, she had a goal in mind with a clear idea of what awaited them at the end of their journey: food and familiar faces. So long as she kept that in mind, nothing could stand in her way.

Even so it was a hard road especially for young legs. More than once she had to take Kamon’s hand as he pulled them through some of the worst of it. While they walked, he told her a story he said was from his home. A romantic tale of ancient beings overcoming great odds. She listened quietly, bringing a smile to her face whenever he looked back to assure him she was alright. The story reminded her of Mama’s favorite song, the one she and Papa liked sing late at night when they sat up alone. Perhaps they were singing it now, trying to comfort Aiden after their troubles on the road. She tried not to think about it.

Instead she focused on Kamon. For all they had gone through last night, Tsura had given the boy little thought. Watching him as he told his story, she was struck by just how strong he was. He hadn’t slept since they had met up in that scary temple, perhaps even longer than that, and yet there he was the one pulling her along. He hadn’t faltered once since they set out. Where did he find the strength? Tsura couldn’t even imagine what sort of life he’d led before this. If he was unfazed by all this, it must have been a hard one. She resolved to ask him after they’d found the caravan. For now, they needed to focus on finding the path.

When the river came into view, a tired smile spread across Tsura’s face. “Sounds like the perfect time for a break.” She slide down to the river bank, taking a moment to kneel at the water’s side for a drink. It had been nearly half a day since she’d last had any water. She patted the ground next to her, “The water tastes great. Try it.” After a few more gulps, she sat back, staring at the flowing water. “If Erwin was telling the truth, this river should meet up with the main path somewhere close. Shouldn’t be too far.” She splashed some of the water onto her face, sighing as the cool liquid hit her sweaty skin. She brushed the strands of hair that had escaped her braid out of her face, sneaking a peek at Kamon. She shifted to sit back on the grass, “Thank you, by the way.” She focused her attention on him. “You didn’t need to come this far with me, but you did. I don’t think I would have made it this far alone.” A small smile played on her lips, just enough to let him see her gratitude. Once he was finished, she stood up, renewed determination in her eyes. “We’d better get going then.”

They continued on their way upstream on the bank of the river. It twisted all around through the forest, sometimes almost seeming to double back on itself. They did not dare leave the bank to find a shortcut, fearing any deviation could lose their trail. Finally after hours more of walking, Tsura noticed that the main road had appeared on their left. That was a good sign. The meeting place had to be close now. The trails would meet for a brief time and it was at that point where Tsura knew they would find her people.

Just as the sun began to sink in the sky, an old bridge appeared in front of the pair. Ivy grew all along it, weaving a nonsensical pattern over the weathered wood. Tsura stopped. It looked…familiar. She jogged ahead, hoping that it just might... She didn’t stop until she reached the road. There a trio of trees grew up around a moss-covered stone statue. The figure was robed with the hood drawn over the face with only a little pack on its back to further identify it. A little bowl sat beneath it, empty. Tsura stood in front of it panting with a huge grin spread across her face. There was no offering. Her caravan had not yet passed by. They were just in time.

Tsura knelt down in front of the statue, tugging on a string she had hidden under her clothing. It was a simple necklace with a wooden pendant no bigger than a bumblebee. A set of runes were carved onto the smooth surface, pretty yet unintelligible to most onlookers. She kissed the unmarked side, setting it in the little dish. She clapped her palms together and bowed her head, whispering, “I gcás an bheannacht ar an mbóthar agus teallaigh, is mian liom tú mo bhronntanas simpli.”

A several seconds passed before she raised her head. She retrieved her necklace jumped back to her feet. “Sorry,” she called back to Kamon, still grinning, “We’re supposed to do that whenever we come to a shrine. Well usually you give an actually offering, but if you don’t have anything you just offer a prayer. It basically means, ‘For the blessings of the hearth and road, I offer you my humble gift.’” She slide her necklace back over her head, settling it back beneath her clothes. “It’s not easy for people outside of the caravans to understand. The offering is meant to help the less fortunate on the road. Whomever the Wanderer believes needs it most will find the offering and be blessed. It’s a way for us to give back.”

She walked to the end of the bridge and dropped down onto the grass. “We might as well get comfy. It’ll be a while before anyone comes. We won’t be able to find the caravan without the guides, since we always switch camping grounds to keep outsiders away.” Her stomach growled at the thought home, but Tsura was determined to ignore it. It wouldn’t be long now. They could both eat their fill once they were back among her people. There was always plenty of food there.

For the first time since the start of their struggles, Tsura was not proven wrong. Just as the sun reached the treeline, they heard the sound of horses approaching. A trio appeared from the woods on the other side of the river, two men and a woman. Tsura stood, peeking around the corner to be safe. She recognized the woman immediately as Aishe, a longtime friend of her parents, and her husband Nicu right behind her. The third was unfamiliar to her. Seeing them brought a genuine smile to her face. She jumped out onto the path and called out to him, “Nicu! Aishe!”

Nicu pulled his horse to sudden stop, surprise taking over his handsome face, “Tsura?” He jumped down and ran over to her, lightly touching her cheek and shoulder as though he thought she was some sort of phantom. His close-shaved, black hair was ruffled as though he’d been racing horses all day. It was alarming to see. Aishe dismounted and took the reins of Nicu’s horse, deep green eyes watching the pair. Confusion and hope in equal measure captured the faces of the three. Nicu examined Tsura for major injuries before asking, “Bheith be good, what are you doing here alone, child?”

Alone. She looked into his deep, dark brown eyes, not understanding him. She didn’t want to understand. “You mean…Mama and Papa aren’t here?”

Nicu’s frantic expression soften, “No. We had hoped that your family had been delayed in town. How did you get separated?” Now he looked the Nicu she remembered: calm and kind.

“There was…” She looked down at the ground, numb all over, “We were attacked.” This can’t be true. “On the road. Mama told me to run. I thought they went on ahead after I got lost.”

The other man dismounted and murmured, “May Bheith guide their path.” Aishe said nothing, sorrow and pity moistening her eyes. She handed the reins of the two horses to the other man, walking forward to kneel by Tsura.

Nicu looked lost, “On the mountain trails of all places.” He raised a hand to his head as the news sank in. “Damn it, Coe.”

Aishe pulled Tsura into a hug, her long black hair fashioned into an intricate braid, “I’m sorry, Tsura, that the caravan could not be there for your family when we were needed. How did you manage to get so far on your own?”

Tsura backed away from his embrace. She was still numb, but no tears came. Instead, she motioned to where her companion stood, “Kamon helped me. We ran into each other after I got lost and he agreed to help me. He even saved me when one of the other bandits came back.”

Nicu looked over, frowning as he surveyed the boy warily. He crossed to where he stood, “Aye, is that right? And who would you be, lad?”
 
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Kamon smirked when Tsura slid down the bank, scratching his thick head of dark brown hair and frowning a little when he felt the sweat-dampened locks clinging to his face. Normally, it wouldn’t have bothered him. He was used to being dirty out in the sickly stretches of Deadland forests. One didn’t have much time to worry about such things then. Now, with an unfamiliar race whose customs he wasn’t entirely learned in, his shabby clothes and dirt-streaked skin made him feel very self-conscious.

The boy moved carefully down the hill after Tsura, crouching near the girl as she offered a place next to her. He reached into the cool water, a smile breaking out on his face. Clear, running water, he thought with amazement. I can hardly believe it, even while feeling it race between my fingers. Kamon cupped his hands and brought the sparkling liquid to his mouth and took a slow drink. His eyes widened briefly.

This is water?” he murmured incredulously.

As if it would all run out and disappear, the boy reached in again, scooping up another helping of water and drinking it quickly. He repeated this action several times until his belly felt like it would burst, and then he flopped backwards into the grass, looking up at the leaves as he listened to Tsura.

“I shouldn’t think he was lying,” he assured her. “We’ll find it very soon. Just wait and see.”

The girl fell silent for a moment, then turned and thanked him, which caused a faint blush to rise in his cheeks. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d been thanked by anyone, or even like it was the first time Tsura herself had done so. Perhaps it was the way she smiled at him. She seemed truly grateful. Kamon sat back up, knelt near the river again, and used some of the river water to wash the dirt from his face. Then he splashed some in his hair and shook it once. That done, he stood up and faced the girl, trying to keep a neutral expression.

“Lead the way,” he said. As the girl turned and started away, Kamon smiled. You’re welcome.

The Wanderer hadn’t arrived as soon as Kamon had expected. Or perhaps just hoped. Their journey went on for several more hours, until the great burning disc in the sky began to fall toward the earth. He prayed they wouldn’t see another night before Tsura found her caravan. Not just because he wanted to keep her energy strong and see her happily back with her own clan again, but because he always found nights to be particularly upsetting. Night raids were a common battle practice among his people. It was where they were most comfortable, and usually the safest, since the Crescents were hard to spot in the darkness. Yet the boy couldn’t help but associate nightfall with killing and danger despite this fact. And he’d been made more keenly aware of these feelings when he was trying to survive in the Deadlands, and even more so once he’d come to Aydalon and learned that his new friend and her family had been attacked under that same dark veil. It made him picture his own people slinking out of the shadows like specters and murdering innocent humans. He was fairly certain that had never happened. Such an act wouldn’t have been ‘logical’ or beneficial. Still, he couldn’t help drawing parallels. His clan did murder other demons at the very least, and some of them could have been considered innocent in one regard or another.

As Kamon dwelled on this, the sound of running footsteps grabbed his attention. He looked up, surprised to see Tsura running across an old bridge that was being overgrown by plant life, and without knowing the reason behind her newfound haste, he hurried after her, prepared for whatever came of it. The pair continued until the road appeared, where Kamon spied a man carved from rock with some sort of pack on his back and dressed in a hooded cloak. It dawned on him then why Tsura had ran, and another smile broke out on his face just as surely as the girl’s. The Wanderer! We finally found him!

He opened his mouth to say something when Tsura suddenly dropped to her knees and pulled something from around her neck. It was a length of cord with a strange pendant on it. Without realizing it, Kamon touched his own necklace, which was still hidden under his shirt, remaining silent as Tsura began her prayer. The language was both strange and beautiful. Here he had thought that all humans spoke what his elders had called “English,” but he was wrong. This was something completely different, and he found himself trying to mimic the words in his head, wondering what Tsura would think of his own language.

The boy jumped a little when Tsura bounded back to her feet, clearing his throat a bit with embarrassment. But the girl didn’t seem to notice. She was still smiling, and Kamon offered one in return, nodding after she’d explained what she was doing. I offer you my humble gift, he thought. He liked the sentiment behind it: helping others who were less fortunate. Whomever the Wanderer believes needs it most will find the offering and be blessed. Kamon liked the sound of that. The boy thought about placing something in the bowl at the statue’s feet, but he had nothing to give except a bit of leftover cheese, and he was fairly certain that the Wanderer (and Tsura) wouldn’t appreciate offering up stolen food. So he merely ducked his head as they passed in a deferential bow and sat near Tsura, murmuring his agreement when she suggested they rest until one of her people showed up.

Kamon passed the time in thoughtful silence, mulling over all he had learned and experienced so far. Every once in a while he would glance over at Tsura to check if she was all right before looking back up at the darkening sky. Before long, their patience was rewarded. There was a clomping sound, like a small herd of Cabbon, and he looked up to see three humans approaching with hoofed animals that looked like Cabbon, but . . . didn’t. Tsura certainly recognized the people though, because she got right to her feet and yelled out to them with a look of joy on her face. Kamon was glad. A small, cynical part of him had believed they’d never find her caravan. He was happy to be proven wrong.

Not wanting to intrude, Kamon merely stood where he was as one of the men approached her. The woman appeared cautious. Her gaze seemed to linger on him for a moment, as if his presence was unwanted, but the boy tried not to let it bother him. Perhaps they were a naturally wary people. Something he could relate with.

“Bheith be good, what are you doing here alone, child?”

The odd word held his mind only for a moment before something else demanded his attention: Alone. Surely the man didn’t mean . . . . Oh, but he did. Tsura’s parents hadn’t shown up after all. Kamon gritted his teeth, surprised to find his eyes stinging. He had been so confident that she’d get back and find them. I kept telling her that, even though I had a feeling deep down that it was a lie . . . . Like positive thinking was some sort of magic. The man, Nicu, put a hand to his face and cursed. Kamon’s sadness was slowly morphing into anger. With a frustrated sigh, he chanced a look at Tsura, growing angrier when he saw her recoil from the woman’s touch as if she didn’t want to be comforted. As if she refused to believe anything she’d just heard. This isn’t fair, he thought. She doesn’t deserve any of this. With a great effort, the boy pushed the anger down, where it festered in his gut and almost made him sick. His gaze shifted to Nicu, and he took a cautious step back when the man approached, unsure what to say. He wanted to say something to Tsura, but . . . . Perhaps now wasn’t the best time. His elder had asked him a question, and it was only polite of him to answer. Kamon swallowed hard.

“It's like she said, sir. My name is Kamon.” he said. The boy remembered the English word of respect for an older male, thinking it couldn’t hurt to use it even if the man was a stranger, and thus Kamon was unsure if the man even deserved his respect. But, he reminded himself, he was kind to Tsura, and she trusts him. So he gave Nicu the benefit of the doubt. “I’m . . .”

At this, he trailed off. What exactly was he supposed to say? He couldn’t even think of a fake word that sounded like a human country. Kamon had thought to tell them he was an orphan back when he was thinking of what he’d say to Tsura’s people, but now . . . that just seemed woefully inconsiderate given the circumstances. Kamon was still struggling to find his voice when his gaze caught sight of the girl again. He narrowed his eyes to stem tears of anger and sighed.

“I’m Tsura’s friend,” he said at last. The boy cleared his throat and wiped his face. Then, he held out his hand in greeting. Just like Tsura had taught him.
 
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Nicu narrowed his gaze, “That isn’t much of an answer, lad.” All the same, he returned the gesture. It was a foreign custom often used in the markets around Aydalon, though few knew where it originated from. It gave them no hints as to the boy’s real identity.

Tsura watched Kamon as he delivered his answer. Why won’t he say anything? Nicu was a warrior of the caravan, sworn to protect it at all costs. He would never accept such a vague answer. Just tell them where you’re from, she begged silently, averting her eyes. This all felt wrong. Tsura had thought…had hoped they would just take them back to the caravan. Back to her parents. She brought her hands up to her arms, feeling a sudden chill in the air. They wouldn’t be there. It was like someone had reached inside her and pulled out her insides. There were no tears, no groans, no words. She felt nothing. Just tired. She wanted to go home.

Aishe looked between the children, thoughts hidden behind her stern face. It was impossible to say what she was thinking, but she seemed to come to some sort of decision. She stood and walked to her husband’s side, laying a hand on his shoulder, “Nicu, that’s enough. We should get them back to the camp.”

“Are you insane, Aishe?” the other man burst in, his gaze openly hostile as he stared at Kamon, “We know nothing about this boy. It’s too dangerous.”

Aishe shot him an icy glare, “He is a child.” She approached the young man, her green eyes locked onto his, “You are a warrior of our caravan, Ion. Sworn to defend it to the death against any who would dare rise against us. Do you mean to tell me you are afraid a child?”

Ion took a step back, shifting his eyes to the ground. He glanced at the boy and then back to Aishe, scoffing as he gripped the horse reins tighter, “I fear nothing.”

Nicu turned back to Aishe, “Are you certain we can take this risk? He could have been a part of the attack for all we know. It is not uncommon for bandits to employ children to track their targets for them. Bringing him to camp could put us all at risk.”

“Kamon would never do that!” Tsura yelled, louder than she’d intended. I promised him I would return the favor. Nicu looked over to where she stood as did Aishe. Tsura glared stubbornly, “I don’t know where he came from, but he helped me a lot. He’s a good person.” She took a step forward, “If he stays behind, so do I.”

The adults stared at her in stunned silence. “Tsura…” Nicu breathed out.

Aishe turned and walked toward her horse, “It is decided then. We’re wasting daylight. These two need food and rest, and the caravan should be informed of what has passed. Nicu, take Tsura on your horse. I’ll take the boy. Ion, guard our flank. These roads can be treacherous after nightfall.”

Nicu sighed, but complied with his wife’s directions. He laid a hand on Tsura’s shoulder, his expression gentle again, “Come child.” She shrugged off his hand and walked toward the horses, her eyes unfocused. She just wanted this all to be over with. He helped her up into the saddle, climbing up behind her.

Aishe took her reins from Ion who mounted his own horse reluctantly, “With me, boy. There is no time to delay.”

With everyone in a saddle of some sort, Nicu started off, leading the way with Aishe in the middle and Ion taking up the rear. Their path took them away from the main trail onto a rough path that took them deeper into the woods. Most of the path was wide enough for a wagon to go through, surrounded on either side by trees. Tsura paid little attention to the woods as she stared ahead listlessly. There was nothing there for her to see. Once or twice the band turned off the main path and cut through sections of the forest, forcing them to duck around low hanging branches. They had the gift of surefooted mounts though which maneuvered around the obstacles with great agility. More often than not, the riders would give the horses their head and allow them to pick the quickest way through the woods.

By the time they neared the camp, the last rays of sunlight had died out and left them surrounded by darkness. That was when the first scents of camp appeared, carried on the breeze. Tsura recognized the combination of spices, horse and freshly oiled leather as well as the wood smoke rising up into the sky. Shortly after, a man appeared from the dark foliage, greeting Nicu. He glanced at Kamon suspiciously, but was persuaded to wave them on after a few short words from Aishe. The familiar creak of wood and clamor of voices came next, signifying their arrival. The transformation from forest to camp was sudden. Save for a few lit openings in the trees, the caravan was almost completely hidden by the trees. As the trees fell away, they entered a clearing filled with nearly fifty wagons. Fires were set up all around, most with groups gathered around them, chatting and lounging after their long day’s work. A few had pulled out instruments as well, entertaining their neighbors with song and dance. A few noticed the group coming in, mostly children who pointed toward the warriors excitedly. Some noticed Kamon sitting with Aishe and stepped back, uncertainty appearing on their features.

Tsura recognized many of the faces, some even waved to her, but didn’t respond. They weren’t the faces she wanted to see. Everything was off, yet she felt nothing. She wanted to. Any sort of feeling would do: relief, sadness, even anger. Anything. The hollow pit in her stomach ached.

Aishe spoke up from behind Nicu, “We should take them back to our wagon.”

“Simza will want to know of this,” Ion called out, disapproval clear in his tone, “We should report to her first.”

“The children need rest,” Aishe reminded the man coldly.

“You brought a stranger into the camp without permission! If we do not notify her at once, Simza will have our heads.”

“A child who saved one of our own. They had endured enough for one day.”

“You’re making mistake, Aishe.”

“Enough,” Nicu growled, taking a deep breath as he rubbed his head with his left hand. Once he had composed himself, he turned his horse to the side to look on the pair, “There has been enough misery for one day. We will bring them back to our wagon while you,” he gestured to Ion, “Go speak with Simza. You may tell her we will be along shortly. Any questions she had for the lad may be answered in the morning.”

Ion clenched his jaw as he stared Nicu down, a challenge clear in his eyes. Nicu returned his look, calm and cool. Ion scoffed and turned his horse away, still unhappy but he knew better than to push the matter, “As you wish.” He trotted off toward the center of the camp, leaving the pair behind.

Aishe rode on, “Thank you, Nicu.”

“Your wisdom has always served our people well,” he replied, following behind her, “And it is no less than Coe would have done.” Tsura wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the chill in the air again. Night had come so quickly.

They rode to the other edge of the camp, near the outer perimeter. Most of the warriors kept their wagons on the edges of camp to act as the first line of defense should an attack come. Aishe stopped them in front of a small wagon in the outer perimeter. A small pile of embers glowing in the fire pit. She dismounted, offering her assistance to Kamon as he needed it. Nicu jumped down after her, lifting Tsura from the saddle. Aishe set about tending the fire, while Nicu headed off to find some food.

She fetched a few twigs from the dwindling pile of wood in front of wagon, dropping them into the embers and blowing until the flames leapt up. She added larger branches next and then a few copped logs until the fire was blazing. With the fire rekindled, Aishe went to the wagon and retrieved a pair of blankets. “Here, children. Come rest by the first for a while.”

Tsura did as she was told and sat down by the fire without a word. She shivered for a moment, watching the fire and thinking of the last time she’d shared a fire with her parents. Aishe draped the blanket around her shoulders, setting the other on the log for Kamon. There was nothing to say. Nothing that either could say. Tsura pulled the blanket around her tightly and leaned against the large log sitting next to the fire. Aishe watched her, but said nothing.

Nicu returned shortly after with soup from a nearby fire. He handed a bowl to Tsura. She took it, examine the contents. It appeared to be a vegetable soup, mostly root vegetables in a spiced broth. She tried a bite, but only the one. The taste was fine, but all her hunger had disappeared. Nicu opened his mouth to say something, but Aishe placed a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. He nodded, handing off the other bowl to Kamon instead.

Aishe turned to the pair, “We must speak with Simza, but we will return soon. Wait here until then.”

They mounted and were off, leaving the pair alone. No one approached, which Tsura was grateful for. She didn’t want to have to answer any questions. She curled up into a ball beneath her blanket and played with her food. She knew she should eat, but her stomach hurt too much.
 
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Kamon could barely hear himself think over the throbbing pulse in his ears. His heart felt like it was going to burst. He knew Nicu needed more from him, but it just wasn’t coming. Think, sik hala, think! The elders of his clan, the Halanos, had taught him a few tales about Aydalon before he was banished. Why couldn’t he remember any of them now that his life might very well depend on it? The other countries, what were they like? What were they called? There had to be someplace near Aydalon that visited and traded goods. The boy racked his brain, trying not to let his fear show. But he was terrified. What if they turn me away? Where would I go then? And what would happen to Tsura? She might be all right. Her people were with her now at least.

Kamon couldn’t imagine trying to navigate his new life without her though . . . .

Aishe’s rough tone broke the tense silence. She seemed to be merciful, but her male constituents were having none of it. They were cautious, and rightly so. Putting reason and safety before their emotions. Kamon’s father would have admired them for such an act. It was ironic. They’d make better sons to Mirak than me, he thought dryly. He wrung his hands nervously, listening to the exchange between Aishe and Ion with a clenched jaw. This was too much. He had to think of something to allay their fears, if not for his sake, then Tsura’s. She had already been through so much. The last thing she needed was to be in the middle of an argument.

What did the Halanos say about the human lands? Some place with lots of forests, to explain why he felt comfortable in them? Maybe even someplace known for hunting. Come on, Kamon! Concentrate! Now Nicu was speaking up again. Insinuating that Kamon could have been a lure. The one who had spied Tsura’s caravan and been responsible for the attack that killed her parents and little brother. This surprised him, and yet didn’t, though it did cause him feel an immeasurable sense of resentment that started to boil into fury again. Finally, the boy found his voice. Before he could say anything in his defense though, Tsura’s voice cut the evening air, weary yet strong in spite of everything.

“Kamon would never do that! I don’t know where he came from, but he helped me a lot. He’s a good person.”

The demon in question was watching her, perhaps even more stunned than the three Sulta elders nearby.

“If he stays behind, so do I.”

That simple statement nearly floored Kamon. He felt his legs actually grow weak, and he had to take a step back to steady himself. Kamon hadn’t expected the girl to say much, what with the weight of bad news that had just been thrust upon her, and for her to go so far as to put her own place with her people at stake was a tremendous surprise. To say he was humbled by her response was putting it far too mildly. At that moment, he had the strong urge to race over and hug her. His legs refused to work, however, and even if they had, he wasn’t sure he had the courage. She may have spoke in his favor, but physical contact—even something as innocent as a hug—wasn’t something acquaintances did. Even ones who’d been through what they had. Was it?

Tsura’s vote of confidence settled the matter, Aishe instructing Kamon to follow her, which he did without question, climbing awkwardly up onto the horse’s saddle behind the lady. The boy had never ridden such a beast before. It unnerved him a bit, but he tolerated it, and throughout the long ride he watched the scenery in complete silence, taking it all in. Aydalon’s lush, green lands, the cautious and reclusive behavior of the Sulta, the news of Tsura’s family’s deaths, and the girl sticking up for him so bravely. It gladdened his heart, yet also made him sad. How can a relative stranger speak up for me like that, when my own father exiled me from home? Acting so passionately would have been anarchy in the eyes of his own clan. That thought disgusted him. As much as he loved them, the idea that they could see an act of compassion such as the one Tsura made and find it riddled with flaws was something of a tragedy. Demons were banished too soon, he thought. If my ‘people’ had more time to spend among the humans, maybe they’d be more accepting of how different individuals can be, instead of making them conform. Everyone acting just like everyone else. There was something inherently wrong with that, but Kamon couldn’t find the words to describe what that feeling was.

As nightfall came (and with it, a vague sense of foreboding), the boy’s nose twitched as all sorts of unfamiliar smells stirred him back to full wakefulness. It was a smell like spice, and what reminded him of churra, though he was likely to be wrong on that, like most everything else. He could also make out the smell of burning wood. A fire. That sounded relaxing to him. It was getting rather chilly. He was used to that, but he enjoyed fire pits, finding the sight and hearing the gentle popping of logs to be a soothing experience. Not long after he noticed all these scents, a stranger came out. His gaze locked onto Kamon’s for a moment. Yet in that moment a multitude of suspicions and mistrust were communicated without saying a word. The boy fidgeted and ducked his head, refusing to raise it again until they were in the camp proper, where dozens upon dozens of wagons filled his scope of vision. Kamon breathed an awed sigh. I didn’t realize the Sulta were so many, he thought. And all together. Almost like my people. He was impressed by the sight, though those positive feelings were tempered by the fact that nobody in the camp trusted him. All he had to do was see the fearful or somewhat angry looks flashed his way to see that. Kamon took a deep breath, trying to let it roll off him. Tsura trusted him. For now, that was enough.

He began to wonder how Tsura was doing when Aishe spoke again. She wanted to take him and Tsura to their wagon, but Ion was adamant that someone named Simza had to be told about Kamon’s presence in their tight-knit group. The older woman tried to defend him. Ion wasn’t swayed though, until Nicu snapped at him. The boy glanced once at Ion as he left, then lowered his head again, quietly blowing hair from his face as they pressed on deeper into the camp on the outer edge to a smaller wagon where they’d be resting for the night. Kamon gratefully accepted Aishe’s assistance when he clambered down from the horse (eyeing the animal a bit warily), watching as the older woman began to make a fire. Soon, the flames were leaping at the chill night air, and Kamon took his place not far from Tsura, looking at his own blanket for a moment before wrapping it around himself in a similar fashion. It was a little itchy, but warm. Watching the fire brought a small measure of peace to him.

He was still watching it when Nicu came back. The older man was holding something. Bowls. He handed one to Tsura, and she tasted it, but that was all she did. Kamon let out a breath. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how tired he was. The boy felt a deep sorrow and anger for what had happened. He also felt scared, confused, and disconnected. And all that brought with it an even deeper fatigue that seeped into his bones. If this is how I feel, then Tsura . . . . Kamon chanced a glance at her, glancing up in surprise when Nicu offered him a bowl. The demon sniffed it. It smelled all right. There wasn’t any meat in it, but he would live without. With some trepidation, he lifted the bowl and tilted it against his mouth, sipping the broth. It held a mild, spicy flavor that helped warm his insides. Aishe spoke again then. She said something about going to see Simza. Kamon nodded once. The pair climbed onto one of the horses and left, leaving the boy alone with Tsura, who retreated beneath her blanket and said nothing. Kamon didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for what had happened. But she didn’t appear to want anything to do with anyone at the moment. The boy decided to give her a bit of space, sipping at his soup as he watched the flames dance and the logs crackle.

After a while, when Aishe and Nicu had yet to return, Kamon began to grow nervous. What if this Simza person was telling them he had to leave? That he couldn’t stay with them? He squirmed under his blanket, stealing another glance at Tsura. Should I ask her? he thought. Kamon didn’t want to pester her with questions. She might get mad. He bit his lip, something he hadn’t done in years, and took another sip from his bowl, wrestling with the idea for a moment before he decided to give it a try. The worst
she could do was ignore him. And he was okay with that.

“Umm, Tsura?” he started, his voice unsteady. “Can I ask you something? . . . Who is Simza?”
 
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Time passed by slowly, marked only by the small explosions of sparks in the fire. Tsura stared into the fire’s heart, her mind blank. Her muscles remained taunt, her blanket like a shield. She was silent because there was nothing left to say. She had known they were dead from the moment the bandit reappeared. Not even Nicu as strong as he was could have defeated all those bandits. Papa had thrown her to give her a chance to escape. A chance to keep going. He’d wanted her to live, so had Mama.

Tsura began to sip her soup methodically, paying no attention to the taste. It took the edge off the pain. Her stomach fought for the first few sips, but then it settled, leaving behind a burning chill. She’d been so sure they wouldn’t leave her. Parents were supposed to be strong. A shower of sparks leapt up as one of the branches crumbled from the log. Papa had always been able to protect them. He’d promised he would. Every time they left the caravan and Nicu argued that it was too dangerous, he always said the same thing. I can protect my family. A loud snap came from the fire as it bit into the center of the log. Mama had said the same. She’d often boast about being Papa’s back up for when the real foes showed up. But they had come and neither one had been able to do a thing about it. They’d just died, taking Aden with them. Leaving her with nothing.

“Who is Simza?”

Tsura loosened her grip on her bowl, breathing out slowly. Her eyes slipped closed, blocking out the bright light from the fire. She turned her gaze onto Kamon, though there was little that could be read from her expression. She could hear the waver in his voice. He wanted to know about Simza. She looked down at her food, taking another quick sip. He’d followed her quite a ways without questioning her. She couldn’t ignore him now. Other than Aishe and Nicu, there was no one else to help him among her people. He was alone too. “She’s the leader of our caravan, the Ceann,” she replied, her voice quiet and hollow, but steady, “She took over when my…Papa and Nicu were young. She grew up in the family of the old Ceann, being trained as a weaver or something. During a bad dispute with some town the caravan was passing by, she convinced the townspeople to let them without bloodshed. The old Ceann made her his successor after that.” She shifted to lean forward, crossing her legs below the blanket. “Don’t worry about her. She’s nice and she trusts Nicu. She’ll go along with what he says.” She felt a little bad for Kamon being stuck in this mess. First he got lost out in that weird temple and then she dragged him all this way with barely more than a thank you. She would ask Nicu to help him find his family after the period of mourning was over. Kamon had already done more for her anyone she’d ever met.
 
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Kamon sipped his soup as he listened to her talk about Simza. Her explanation made him feel a little better. Not just because Tsura assured him he had nothing to fear, but also because having a leader that the others looked up to was something he was familiar with. He nodded and set his now empty bowl aside, tugging his blanket tighter around him.

“My people have something like that too,” he admitted, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He wouldn’t go into too much detail. But sharing their similarities couldn’t hurt. Could it? “There’s a pair . . . they lead together. Then there are a few others from different families who are respected that make up sort of a council. They give their views about certain things, but ultimately the decisions are left to the leaders. We call them ‘Ayn Voz.’”

The boy fell silent after this. His own experiences with authority figures hadn’t gone so well. What if the trend continued? Kamon sighed and hugged the blanket closed, trying not to be concerned about his future among the Sulta, but it was easier said than done. It could be different here, though, he thought. Humans are different. They all feel things. They’re allowed to. Sometimes that’s a burden. Like now. He cast a glance at Tsura, then stared into the fire again. But maybe that same burden can also be a good thing. Why can’t you think with your head and your heart?

It seemed like an impossible task. Since he’d gotten here, he’d been all over the place, from disoriented, to terrified, to happy, to angry. Kamon didn’t know how humans managed it. Perhaps not all of them do. Tsura seemed to be eating, if just barely. Among his people, you’d be allowed to grieve for a loved one for three days. Then you were expected to shape up and get your act together again. Three days didn’t seem like nearly long enough to come to terms with losing family. To Tsura though, three days would probably seem impossibly long without her mother’s embrace, or her father’s tales, or her brother’s carefree laugh.

The boy was disgusted with himself all of a sudden. Another one of those troublesome emotions people were better off without. Here he was worrying about himself when Tsura had just been devastated. She was probably still in shock. Kamon couldn’t read any emotion on her face whatsoever, and that wasn’t just because she was exhausted, which he knew she was. Being separated from everyone you knew so quickly and violently and thrust into the world alone. He knew a bit about that. The difference was, his family hadn’t been murdered. And that was a big difference.

“I wanted to umm . . . thank you,” he said quietly. Kamon would hold on to his apologies until the time was right. Or at least better. When she was ready to talk, he would listen. This was something he wanted to get out now though at least, before Aishe and Nicu came back with whatever news they were bringing: good or bad. “For putting yourself out there like that and sticking up for me.” The boy ran a hand through his hair before clutching the blanket again, his eyes narrowed and somewhat shinier in the flickering orange light of the fire. Next to his right eye near his temple was a faded yet noticeable scar in the shape of a crescent.


“Nobody’s ever done that for me. Not even my own family.”
 
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“Ayn Voz,” Tsura murmured, testing his strange word on her tongue. His language was unlike any she’d heard in the market places; harsher. Kamon’s home sounded terrible foreign, like a completely different world. Nothing about him was easy to understand. Even her experience living near the trading partners of Aydalon didn’t help. Her father had never sheltered her from the other cultures they met in the markets. He’d encouraged her to interact with them. “Our people are too sheltered. We should learn from our neighbors, not fear them.” She thought back over ever instance that Kamon had acted strangely, using odd words and seeming surprised by the smallest of things. Most of the time he had seemed lost. Other times he’d shown a ferocity that scared her. His morals were different. His ideas were different; distinct from the peoples of Aydalon. Yet she’d never seen another like him among the people in the markets.

She snuck a peek at him before staring into the fire again. There were so many questions she could have asked, should have asked, but she could not find her voice. Talking so casually felt wrong. Normal felt wrong. It should have been possible. It would be like pretending they never existed at all.

His voice drew her attention from the fire and her tumultuous thoughts again. She glanced his way, giving him her partial attention. If she had found it within her to speak honestly, she would have told him that she didn’t know why she’d spoken as she did. She’d been angry, maybe even a little frightened. Afraid of losing the one person who seemed to understand her. Kamon had always listened when she spoke about her family and he’d never doubted they find them. Perhaps he’d known deep down as she had that they were gone, though she never would have guessed it. He’d wanted to hope just as she had. That mutual wish was enough to give her a connection to him. More so than she felt for the caravan. They were her family but she barely knew them. Outside of Nicu, few in the caravan had been close to her family. Papa had traveled too much as a young man and had only increased his time away from the caravan when he was joined with Mama. They’d insisted on raising Tsura on the road as well, defying Simza wishes. Children were supposed to remain in the caravan until age five, venturing beyond only once they understood Sulta tradition. Mama had barely spent a year among their people before joining Papa again.

“Nobody’s ever done that for me. Not even my own family.”

Tsura frowned, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked back to the fire. What kind of family would abandoned their own child? Even her caravan, as distant as they were, would lay their lives down for her safety just as she was expected to do for them. Fuil mo chuid fola; blood of my blood. The Sulta took care of one another, no matter how distant the relation. Even the people of Aydalon and beyond cared about their families. What kind of people turn on their backs on their own flesh and blood?

She didn’t ask. Her face became passive again as she stared into the fire. It wasn’t right to jump to conclusions and she was in no mood to investigate further. She just wanted to sleep for a while; not dream, just sleep. She pulled on her blanket again, though it could hardly be made any tighter.

She got her wish shortly after. Aishe reappeared leading her horse back from the center of camp. She tied the reins to the front of the wagon, loosening the horse’s saddle. She paused, breathing out slowly. She turned to face the two after, her usual distant expression present. “No doubt the both of you could use a good night’s rest. Come, you’ll sleep in our wagon tonight.” Though phrased like a command, there was a gentle invitation in her voice. She strode to the back of her wagon and climbed inside.

Tsura set her half empty bowl down and followed the older woman. She waited outside of the back of the wagon, thinking back to the many times she’d watched Mama do the same motions that Aishe did now. The two women looked very different. Aishe was clearly a warrior, her leather armor that ended at her thighs with simple woolen trousers worn beneath. Her shoulders were left bare, but bracers ran nearly all the way up her arm. It was light to allow their wearer maximum agility, but sturdy and crafted to withstand punishment. That was the way of the Sulta warrior. They blended into the earthy tones that the other members of the caravan wore, the only difference being the many straps that secured their armor and the weapons at their sides. Mama had always worn a peculiar mixture of Sulta style and Aydalonian fashion: a softer and more feminine. It just wasn’t the same.

Aishe glanced back at the pair, taking in their faces for a moment. “Don’t look so serious,” she assured them softly, “Nothing will be decided tonight. A group will meet in the morning to discussion Kamon’s situation, but for tonight there is grief enough.” She finished arranging the thin mates and blankets all families kept in their wagons, placing a rolled blankets at the head of each. The simple bedding allowed for more storage room and less weight when the caravan moved. She jumped back out of the wagon, “I will be outside if you should need anything. Nicu will return soon as well. An emergency meeting was called to spread the news and prepare for the mourning period. We must be sure there are resources enough to prolong our stay here.”

Tsura pulled herself up into the wagon with practiced ease. It was smaller than her family’s wagon had been, and not nearly so full of goods, but familiar enough to be a comfort. She sank down into the nearest bed, settling under the pile of blankets. Her first was still wrapped tightly around her. She turned to look at the wooden side, grateful for the solitude and silence it provided.

When they had both settled, Aishe drew the ties on the outer cloth to let it fall closed. “Let tomorrow worry about itself. For tonight, just rest.”

Tsura lay in the darkness, listening to the muted sounds of camp around them. It was quieter now. Many had retired to their wagons for the night and those who remained awake chatted quietly at the cooking fires. Before long the conversation would die away completely. Tsura closed her eyes, trying find sleep. Yet every attempt met with failure. She could see her family’s faces in the darkness; hear their voices. It left her restless. So she started to hum softly. The same song Mama had loved to sing when the stars had come out. It wasn’t a happy song, but it was familiar.

Her chest grew tight. She curled into a tight ball and burrowed beneath her blankets. Her voice began to shake. She stopped humming. Her breath came in short shudders, but she refused to cry out. Instead she let the pair come out silently with each burning tear. She couldn’t say how long she lay there shaking. Each heartbeat brought a new burst of pain, another choked sob to her throat. Eventually her energy dissipated completely and she slowly began to drift off.

The last thing she was aware of was Nicu’s voice outside the wagon speaking with Aishe.

“Aishe-”

“I have no illusions about the situations. This could be our only chance.”

“I…if that is what you believe, we may ask Simza tomorrow.”
 
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Tsura didn’t say a word, and the boy was okay with that. It was somehow better than a rebuff, or some other angry response, though he did wonder what she thought. What would she think of him and his family? Had he said too much? Maybe he shouldn’t have used his own language. There probably wasn’t any place in Aydalon (or even outside it) that spoke such words, and in all likelihood it had just made him seem even stranger and more out of place. I just hope she’s not still scared of me, he thought, nervously fiddling with his necklace. If I do have to leave, the last thing I want her to remember about me is . . . what I did to that bandit. Kamon pulled the blanket up over his head and pulled it closed once more. It wasn’t all that chill out, but he was shivering slightly just the same. Everything that had happened, was still happening, and was going to happen . . . . It was a lot to process.

Not for the first time, he began to wonder what was happening back home. Had his father said anything about Kamon’s strange disappearance? Or had he kept that to himself and simply acted like he never went looking for the boy in the first place? After all, he would have had a lot to try and explain. Bringing someone back from exile just wasn’t done. For that someone to be your own son, well . . . that made it even more suspect, because then it brought up the question of whether Mirak had acted logically with a plan for the greater good, or if he’d gone to retrieve his son based upon nothing more than feelings. And emotions were a giant no-no. He probably kept it to himself, Kamon thought. That’d be the smart thing to do. No sense in putting himself under the light of scrutiny, or starting a panic by telling everyone that strange magic had teleported his son away.

What would the Halanos have thought? They’d seen that magic before, hadn’t they? Felt it. They’d have understood. But what would that mean for everyone back home even if they did learn it had happened again, only in reverse? Would they think the Order was being merciful and returning demonkind to Aydalon one bit at a time? Or would they think there was something sinister behind it like Kamon had? Like he still did? But they didn’t know, the boy insisted. They asked where I’d come from, and when they thought we were escaping, they let us go to go back and help the grandmasters. Like they thought something was still coming, or that some evil was lurking in their temple. He watched a log pop and crumble, sparks floating into the air like firebugs. Maybe they expected me to look like Casimir, Kamon thought bitterly. Some huge, muscle-bound brute with skin the color of slate and eyes as black as the Void.

The boy closed his eyes for a moment, unable to stop himself from picturing the very man he was thinking about. Almost as tall as a Hollow, with muscles that could—and did—crush a demon to death with ease. Teeth jutting from his lower jaw like a wild pig. Battle armor and skin streaked with blood, the decapitated heads of his foes hanging gruesomely from his belt, wielding a large, spiked sword of a crimson hue. No. With ones like Casimir and his SIN family in Pandemonium, nobody in their right mind would let the demons back out. But . . . they hadn’t always been like that, had they? Demonkind had once been relatively sociable and respectful to one another, acknowledging differences yet tolerating them. Casimir and his father Mirak had once been best friends. The sad truth of the matter was, the banishment had divided the demon clans beyond repair. The sad truth was . . .

Casimir had once been a Silver Crescent.

Kamon groaned quietly, opening his eyes when he heard Aishe’s voice over the dull crackling of heat-strained wood. The invitation for sleep was most welcome. He could use it, and he knew Tsura certainly could—if sleep for her was possible. The boy stood and watched Aishe get the bedding ready. Inside the wagon, it was simple, yet cozy looking all the same: a small shelter from the world. Aishe turned back to look at them. She still looked the strong, capable woman she had when he first saw her, but now her empathetic nature was shining through, and Kamon admired her the more for it.

“Don’t look so serious. Nothing will be decided tonight. A group will meet in the morning to discuss Kamon’s situation, but for tonight there is grief enough.”

The boy forced a smile and nodded. So . . . . They hadn’t decided anything yet. There was still a chance that tonight would be his last night among the Sulta. His last night with Tsura by his side. The weariness in his bones seemed to grow, making him ache. He hardly heard the rest of what the woman said, though he did catch the bit about the mourning period. Yes. It was a time of immeasurable sorrow, in more ways than one. Kamon climbed in after Tsura, settling down onto the other mats and resting his head on the rolled blanket, staring up at the ceiling of the wagon as Aishe bid them goodnight and let the curtain fall shut. His keen ears could still hear quiet voices and movement, but most of the noise had died down for the night. Mostly he could just hear himself breathing.

That is, until a quiet humming came from Tsura’s side of the wagon. It was very quiet. If it hadn’t been for the particular nature of his genetics, he likely wouldn’t have heard anything. The sound was lovely, yet melancholy, and seemed to be on the verge of shifting into tears. The boy narrowed his eyes, letting out a low breath. That volatile mixture of sadness and fury crept back to the surface. He tried to force it down. Keep it contained. Suffocate the need to feel so that he wasn’t lying there fuming and getting his insides twisted up over something he couldn’t control.

It proved an impossible feat, so he merely rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket over his head, and closed his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths with his hands plugging his ears shut so he couldn’t hear the sounds of Tsura’s grief. All the emotion was too hard to bear after living among such a detached and distant clan and family. Kamon was still struggling when Aishe’s and Nicu’s quiet voices sounded from outside. He caught only the last bit. Something about being their only chance, and asking Simza tomorrow. The boy had no idea what that meant. Such words could convey both good and bad intentions. Just go to sleep, he thought desperately. Let tomorrow worry about itself. That’s what Aishe said. Let tomorrow worry about itself.

This simple phrase became like a mantra, and finally after murmuring it to himself a few dozen times, Kamon drifted off into a deep but uneasy sleep, his hand clasped loosely around the pendant of his necklace.
 
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Sunlight streamed into the wagon gently waking Tsura as the sun rose in the sky. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the details of the wooden roof above her head. Outside she could hear the clamor of the camp. From the volume she could safely assume she’d slept longer than usual. Most of the Sulta rose at dawn to get the most use out of the sunlight, even the children. She yawned and stretched her sore limbs. All that running had strained her young body. Sleep had helped though. She felt calmer. Her mind was clearer and the pain she’d felt last night had lessened to a dull ache. She could live with a dull ache. Anything was better than last night. It was a dull blur in her memory, interrupted by intense pinpricks of pain. She could not even remember the taste of the soup she’d forced herself to eat.

Her stomach growled loudly. She reached down and rubbed it. That soup had been enough to curb her appetite, but it had still been nearly a two days since her last proper meal. She sat up and crept out of the wagon, doing her best to keep from waking Kamon. She glanced his way, noting his still form beneath the blanket. He looked younger like this. Not that she really knew how old he was, but when he was awake he always seemed tense. Like her parents when there was something bad they didn’t want to tell her back. Maybe sleep would help him to relax a bit.

She jumped onto the ground, realizing that she’d been so tired she’d slept with her boots on the night before. She took a few steps forward, surveying the camp around her. Nothing has changed from the night before. Many wooden wagons surrounded them, decorated with unique painted designs all along the sides. Horses gazed by burned out fires while people worked nearby; some weaving, others crafting and more than a few children playing games. But the movement was subdued; the conversations muted. Tsura looked away and walked to the side of the wagon where the fire had been last night. The fire had long since burned out, but Nicu sat there on the large log. He ran a whetstone along the edge of his blade, eyes honed in on his task. He had stripped off his armor and oiled it, leaving him in a loose, blue tunic and dark woolen pants. The way he sat, staring at his task so intently. The short black hair trimmed close to his scalp. The smooth, confident motions he made with the whetstone. For a moment, he looked like Papa.

But then he turned when he heard her approach, his mouth curving into a dim smile. “Good morning, lass.” He laid his blade aside, straightening up. “Did you sleep well?”

Tsura nodded, bending down to sit on the grass near the end of the log.

“I’m glad,” he replied, reached back behind the log and producing a bowl of food. He offered it to her, “I saved you some breakfast. Aishe thought it best to let you sleep after yesterday. Fear not, there is another for your friend when he awakens.” He brought up a second dish and set it on the edge of the log to reassure her.

Tsura took the bowl with a grateful smile. It was a simple porridge with dried fruit added and a piece of flatbread balanced on top of the bowl. A fairly common breakfast among the caravans. The fruit was a treat, but it had was more than likely it came from Nicu and Aishe’s own personal stores. A precious gift which Tsura could appreciate. She tore into the bread first, feeling as though she had missed a week of meals. Nicu only smirked, returning to working on his sword. After the bread was gone, she paused long enough to glance up, “Where is Aishe?”

“On patrol,” Nicu said, never ceasing his movement, “She’ll be back soon. Simza called a meeting at noon to discuss this situation. The two of us are expected to attend.”

Tsura picked up the spoon in the dish, “Will Kamon and I have to go?”

“No, this will be a small meeting,” Nicu replied, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “We will relay the information you gave us yesterday and then go from there. You need only take the day to rest. The caravan will be remaining in this valley for several days more which gives us the luxury of time for a proper meeting.”

Tsura nodded and began to dig into her porridge, grateful for the filling food. The fruit added a hint of sweetness as well. They were plums she believed. Though the food had grown cold, she could hardly complain. It was more than enough to fill her belly.
 
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