In All Places (Stripling Warrior) (18 page)

Curse his perceptiveness!
He was right. I didn’t even have to acknowledge it.

“But what else is there for me?
Zeke is the only man who wants me, and I’m not even sure about that anymore. You know he’s stationed in Judea now.”

When he just looked questioningly at me, I sighed and said, “That’s where Eve lives.”

Muloki chuckled. “Every man wants you. These men keep their distance because you claim to love Zeke.”

I looked at him
doubtfully.

“There are many men who want a warrior for the mother of their children.
But nobody wants a wife who loves another man.” He stepped closer to me. “You wear this like a shield.”

At least he was speaking my language now, but I f
rowned. Wore what like a shield?

“What do you mean?”

“I will show you.” He moved closer to me, his eyes intent on mine. “If you put your shield down, something like this might happen.”

In the soft light from the low fire in the stove, Muloki leaned down and rubbed his cheek into my hair.
I felt him brush a kiss there. Then I felt him take my slingshot from my hand and slip it into the belt at my waist, threading the rawhide through it with nimble fingers. It weighed heavy there because this belt was made for fashion, to match my sarong, not for combat.

He leaned down and kissed my neck, drawing tingles up and down my arms, and all I could do was close my eyes.
I should have moved away, but I felt the hard handle of my axe as he placed it into my hand.

He moved his
fingers up my arms, wove them into my hair, and placed his last kiss on my lips. He didn’t stop kissing me until a long, slow moment had passed.

At last he drew away and looked deeply into my eyes.
He wasn’t looking for acceptance of his kiss. He reached out to lift my dagger from the table and tied it onto my arm, pulling the rawhide thong tight so it pinched my skin with a familiar sting. He lifted my bow and laid it over my shoulder, just where I liked to wear it.

His eyes fell on my sword, sheathed in its leather, lying dormant on the table.
He turned slightly toward it and unwrapped it. Holding it between us, firelight glinting off its beautiful obsidian, the shadows hiding the blood-soaked areas of the wood and highlighting the mysterious words inked in blue, Muloki said, “If you drop your shield, your dramatic, beautiful nature may shine like the moon again. If you drop this defense, you will have the freedom of motion to take an offensive stance.”

I couldn’t help smiling.
I didn’t know if what he said was true, but the way he said it was, at least for me. It was the first thing that had made sense to me since I had left Manti.

“If you drop this shield, you would have to admit—
” He broke off, and his eyes slipped past me. I heard the mat at the door fall back. I turned but there was no one there.

“Darius,” Muloki said.
“He took one look and left.”

And after Muloki said, “Think about
this shield you carry,” he left too.

The next morning, Darius went with Micah to purchase sheep
, a small herd our families would share.

While they were gone,
I went to see Cana who was still so happy she was glowing. She really was. A light shone around her face and her person, and everything she said made me smile. In a way, I wanted to be jealous of her happiness because surely it came from being at peace with who she was and where her life was headed. But I couldn’t. She deserved happiness.

Micah did too, and I was sorry for what I had said to him.

I bid Cana goodbye and went to meet Micah and Darius in the pasture outside of town in the hills where they kept the sheep. I found them kneeling together mending one of the fences. I passed by several other small herds before I reached them, and by then they had noticed me, and Darius had made some excuse to leave.

I watched him walk away while Micah continued to work on the fence
alone. After a moment of silence I said, “You chose fine sheep. They will give beautiful wool.”

“Thank you.
I think so too.”

“I just saw Cana.
She looks so happy.”

“
Mmm-hmm,” he said around the rawhide lashings he had just clamped between his lips.

“I’m sorry for what I sai
d. About Kenai. I didn’t really mean it.”

He took the rawhide from his mouth and lashed it tightly around two adjoining posts.
“Yes you did. But it’s okay.”

“No it’s not.
I love you. It’s not okay to be unkind to people you love.”

He laughed.
“It’s not okay to be unkind to anyone.”

“You’re right, as always.”

He cut off the unused portion of leather with his knife, one of Father’s knives, like mine was. I stared at the top of his bent head, his hair shiny black in the sunshine, until he finished and stood. We began to walk toward Darius and the sheep.

He took a deep breath and let it out.
“Do you really think I would be so heartless as to take no thought of Kenai’s feelings? He is my brother. When Father died…”

He trailed off for a moment. I thought he was considering his words carefully, but I looked
over and saw him swallow hard, attempting to push past a lump in his throat.

“W
hen Father died, I became his father too, in a way. Do you think I don’t know he enlisted in Moroni’s army because of me? Because he couldn’t face coming back here? If he dies there—”

“Micah,” I said, but he waved me off and continued speaking.

“At first I had a feeling in my heart, when we were in Cumeni—starving, humble. I prayed a lot during that time—you know we all did—and the Spirit put the thought of marriage to Cana in my mind. I had never considered it before, though I can’t think why now, and so I pushed the idea aside many times.”

“Oh,” I said.
I wished he had told me that before, but I could see it was very special to him and why he would have wanted to keep it to himself. There were things in his life, especially as we grew older, that were not his sister’s business. I wished I could have realized that sooner.

“Finally, the impression was so strong, that I sought out Kenai and discussed it with him.
I knew a little of how he felt. I had seen them together as you had.” I wished someone had told me that too. “His disappointment showed, but he agreed I should act on the prompting. So I did. I talked to Hemni, as I already told you, but I also talked to Cana. I couldn’t imagine being married to her if she was in love with my brother. I had to know it from her.”

We
neared Darius. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know all that.”

“Let’s just move on,” he said quietly.

“You forgive me then?”

He looked down at me.
“Before you even knew you were sorry.”

That afternoon I winced as I held the rawhide between my teeth and cinched the knot tight above my bicep. I slid my blade into its scabbard and strapped on the rest of my weapons—the bow, the quiver of arrows, the axe, the sling, the sword—and I went to the falls.

The trek through the trees was familiar.
I passed the turnoff to the old training ground, the place Muloki had called humble. I remembered this with a light heart. In fact, the closer I got to the falls, the lighter my heart got. I could hear the rushing water before I emerged from the trees, but I passed through the mists and dropped most of my gear in the meadow beyond.

I went to the tree
into which I had learned to throw my axe. It had grown, and the scar had healed over.

But it was still there.

I traced it with my fingers much the way I had traced Muloki’s scar—the way that had put my mother into such a panic. I smiled at the memory of it. I had been more interested in the battle wound than I had been in Muloki.

I pulled
in a deep breath and took my axe from my belt. Bouncing it a little in my hand, refamiliarizing myself with its weight and feel, I positioned my grip, and another memory surfaced.

Hold it here at the end of the hilt
. Feel that?

For the first time in a long time,
I did.

I moved back from the tree, first the twenty paces
Gideon had taught me to throw from, then ten more.

I turned
, and I threw.

The blade lodged into the tree with a hard
thunk and in the quiet that followed, in the soft intake of my breath, I knew I had been dying at home in the village. I had let myself wilt like a moonflower in the heat of the morning.

I went to fetch the blade from the tree and saw that I had opened the old scar.

Again, showoff.

Satisfied, I moved back ten more paces for my next throw.

When I went home for the evening meal, my heart was light
, and I knew I would not stop going to the falls to practice with my weapons.

“You look happy tonight,” Mother said
during the evening meal.

“I am happy,” I said
on a shrug and smothered a grin.

The next morning
I did my household chores, but instead of staying in our courtyard to weave with Mother through the afternoon, I suggested she seek out some of her friends instead. I felt her eyes follow me as I ducked through the mat at the door with my weapons, but risking her disapproval anyway, I dropped them with a clatter and began to strap them on. I took a deep breath, but when I turned to her, I caught the glimpse of her smile as she tightened the threads of the pattern she worked on her loom. Filled with pleasure, I made the trek back to my own training ground.

The third morning, I didn’t walk to the meadow.
I ran.

Though I was weighed down with my weapons, I ran with wild abandon.
I hopped over limbs, bounced off of rocks. I was fast and light. I was free. Nothing could make me stop, and nothing could catch me.

So it was strange when I felt
eyes watching me from the trees as I dropped my gear near the river and knelt for a drink of the clear, cold water. I shook the water off my hand and wiped my mouth with the back of my arm as I leaned back on my heels and glanced around.

I didn’t feel that prickle on my neck.
No warning from the Spirit. The only thing I felt was the light touch of silent eyes.

I set up my targets near the trees and counted off my paces until I was farther away than I
had ever been before. I took my axe from my belt—not the useless belt that matched my sarong, but the thick woven one Reb had made me—and I jostled it into position in my palm. I turned, and I threw it hard at the tree.

When I inspected the mark it had made, I saw that I had deepened the groove I
had opened two mornings before. The old scar was almost obscured by the new damage.

I felt
Gideon’s presence as sure as I felt the breeze lift my hair off my neck. There was no way to be in this place without thinking of him.

I yanked my axe from the tree and threw
until my arm ached. Each time when the axe left my hand, I knew it would hit my mark.

This training for nothing was ridiculous
, but it felt right. My mind was clear, my heart was light, and my future did not look so bleak and pointless. Even my appetite was heartier.

If I had to be lonely, I wanted to do it here in the mists at the base of the
waterfall where I could be honest with at least myself. Here in this meadow where I had so many memories that were good.

And only a few that weren’t.

Suddenly, I dropped to the ground, rolled to the side, sighted, and shot an arrow at my target. Again and again I did it until I had shot from a number of different angles.

I wished Pontus hadn’t sold those
fine arrowheads. All the arrows in my quiver were quite worn. Perhaps I would run to the place I had found the obsidian, gather the pieces to make more, and ask Kalem or maybe Muloki to help me do it. The army had taken a lot of the obsidian, but surely there were a few shards left for me.

Yes.
I would sit with Mother—she could weave, and I would hammer arrowheads.

I could just see her face.

I ran all the drills I remembered from training with the army, and I did the extra exercises Gideon had taught me, the ones to increase my strength. I was surprised at how my muscles had atrophied and also pleased to find it did not take long to strengthen them again.

I stopped
when evening began to fall, and I knelt near the river again for a drink. I had nearly forgotten about the silent eyes, but I felt them much heavier than I had before. Someone or something was here in the meadow.

My mind went back to the golden mountain lion I had seen on the hunt. I had looked up to see him staring at me. I had followed him and irrevocably taken his life. I had never seen a lion here, but it was not impossible.

I stood panting from exertion for a moment, hands at my waist, looking around. I pretended to be looking at the sky, the waterfall, the distant horizon, but I was searching the woods for a sign of another presence.

I hadn’t
really expected to find one, but I did, and my heart began to pound.

I slowly
made my way closer, gathering my weapons as I went. The silent eyes were assuredly watching me now.

I thought I imagined the
flowers gently bobbing in the water. But they were really there. A piece of rough bark was caught up in some reeds at the edge of the river, and on it floated three beautiful moonflowers. The large white blossoms had barely begun to open in the early evening.

And they had been
freshly plucked from their vines.

“Gideon.”
His name stuck in my throat. I glanced up expecting to see him, and when he did not appear, I searched the woods again. I wanted to call out to him, to bid him to show himself, but I knew Gideon, and I knew if he wanted to show himself he would be standing before me already. I didn’t know why he stayed away, but I could respect his wishes even when mine were so very different.

So
instead of calling out, I knelt, took one beautiful bloom from the bark, wove the stem into my black hair, and sent the others floating downstream.

When I entered our courtyard, Mother and Darius were waiting for me.

“Where have you been? We’re going to be late for the evening meal.”

I was not late getting back.
I looked over my shoulder at Dinah’s. Even if we were eating with Hemni and Dinah and their girls tonight, I still was not late for the evening meal. Our mothers were very consistent with mealtimes.

Catching my glance, Mother said, “We’re going to
Kalem’s. Melia is cooking.”

If that was the case, then we did have to leave immediately.

“Alright,” I said. “Just let me put my gear away.” My gear consisted solely of weapons, something both Mother and Darius noticed.

Melia was beaming when we arrived.
And then she was busily serving us food.

Mother got up to help her
, but I stayed put on my stool in the yard. Somewhere, Kalem had acquired more stools for this night.

I looked around.
Suddenly, this looked more like a celebration than merely another evening meal.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Darius.

He shrugged, but Muloki overheard and gave me a wink.

I
could see that Mother was agitated and obviously wished to assure Melia she had done well. So I too made sure to compliment Melia on her cooking. It was different than Mother’s, but good, and I asked her for her recipes.

I helped clean up the dishes, taking them to
rinse in a small stream that ran nearby. When I arrived back at Kalem’s, I saw that Micah and Cana had arrived. Cana sat near Darius, while Micah talked with Kalem a distance away.

“I didn’t know you were coming,
” I said to Cana as I sat next to her.

“We wanted to be here earlier, but we were eating with my family.
They’ve received a letter from Jarom.”

“Is he well?”

“He seemed to be.”

Kalem cleared his throat and we all looked at him.
Micah stood at Cana’s side with a hand on her shoulder. Darius leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. Mother stood and went to stand beside Kalem.

“I’m glad you’ve all come,” Kalem said simply, taking a moment to look each of us in the eye.
“I have all the people I love here tonight. I am a blessed man. I have been reunited with my Melia at last. In Muloki I have found the son I never had. And for many years, I have considered the rest of you my family.” He paused, and then he deliberately took Mother’s hand in his own. “And now Leah has agreed to make it all official.”

I looked up at Micah.
He already knew. I glanced at Cana, but she was as surprised as I was. Darius jumped to his feet.

“Finally!” he exclaimed.

My eyes found Muloki’s. He sat across from me. He let his happiness for Kalem show, but he looked at me with a thoughtful gaze.

Then he turned his eyes to Melia.

I saw them warm, but his lips were set in a frown. I knew what was happening. He was choosing between us. And I knew that in the end he would choose Melia, because I pushed everyone away.

I stood and went to hug my mother.
“You will be happy,” I told her.

As the evening went on,
I watched Mother and Kalem hold hands after so many years of not touching at all.

I watched Melia and Muloki work together, smiling, to finish the evening chores.
Muloki slept outside now and worked all day away from the hut, but they both lived there with Kalem. It wouldn’t be long.

I watched Cana gently and so easily getting Micah to do what she wanted him to do.

I stayed as long as I could stand it, and then I said, “Dare, you want to walk me home?”

He did, and we told everyone we would see them later.

“Did that feel weird to you?” he asked.

I knew exactly what he meant, and I laughed with the relief of being away.
“Yes. It seems you forgot to bring yourself a girl.”

“Well, I
did think of bringing Mui…” he said with a grin.

“Oh, no,” I giggled.
“You musn’t steal your brother’s girl.”

We both sobered
at that.

“No,” he said quietly.
“But it has all worked out for the best. Micah and Cana are happy.”

But Kenai wasn’t.

“Cana said her family had a letter from Jarom today.”

He brightened.
“Yes. An embassy came in to Melek with letters and packages from Nephihah.”

“Did you get a chance to read
their letter?”

“No, but I read my own.”
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a fold of thick flax paper. “Here.”

I took it and read it as we walked.
“He sounds wonderful,” I said with relief. Darius watched me closely. As I read to the end, I began to feel my face heat, and when I had finished, I folded it over quickly and handed it back.

Darius reached out, let his hand hover near it, but did not take the letter from me.

“What’s going on?” he asked after he had studied me for a moment. “Is there something going on between you and Jarom?” At last he took the letter and replaced it into his satchel.

“Nothing’s going on,”
I insisted. “Only that Jarom wishes for something between us,” I added, deciding to be honest. Jarom had written it into Darius’s letter anyway, and Darius was closer than a brother to him. There was no point in trying to hide it, not anymore. “At least, that’s what he wished for before I left Manti.”