Beneath the Twin Moons of Haldae (12 page)

Chapter 12

Breaking Rules, Breaking Hearts

Zaren’s fingers twitched. She reached out for Kris’ arm, but stopped herself short of contact. She had watched Kris draw numerous small lines into his skin, rub a reddish paste into the bleeding cuts, then wash it at the river. Now she could see the final design, an abstract drawing that spanned the width of his bicep. He had explained it was his people’s symbol for the wolf, and why it was important that he bear this mark when he returned to his village.

The observer part of her had filed away the information, cross-referencing the practice with other cultures, and she studied the design closely enough that she would be able to draw it again in order to be able to compare it with other symbols, exactly as she had been trained. But the rest of her, the part that cared for Kris, that had missed talking to him when he was in his wolf form, that had flinched at each new line of blood, was only concerned about one thing.

“Does it hurt?”

Kris shook his head. “No. The plants help it heal.”

Another twitch of her fingers made Kris smile. “You can touch it if you want.”

Zaren could feel her cheeks warming up, and she wasn’t sure whether it was from his smile or the fact that he could read her so well.

She reached out and ran a single fingertip against the topmost line of the tattoo. She could feel the raised edge of skin; she could also feel Kris shivering at her touch, as light as it was.

He cleared his throat, then looked around him as though getting his bearings. “We should go.”

Returning to her makeshift hut, Zaren retrieved the medikit along with the bag of fruit. When she returned to Kris, he had picked up some moss and leaves, and he fashioned sandals for her in just moments.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked when he took the bag of fruit from her and slipped the strap over his shoulder.

He glanced at the medikit but didn’t comment on it. “To my village. I have to go home, and you can’t stay in the forest. Not alone.”

When he started toward the line of trees, Zaren hesitated. On the one hand, she wanted to tell him about her people and how they would soon come to get her; how she would leave and probably never see him again. On the other, the prospect of seeing his village, of meeting his people and seeing how they lived, of gathering as much information as she could was too enticing to pass.

Noticing that she wasn’t following, Kris looked back at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked, holding his hand out to her.

Afterwards, when they started walking through the forest, Zaren rationalized her decision by telling herself that it would take the rescue shuttle a couple days to arrive. The beacon would allow them to find her anywhere. They’d be able to retrieve the shuttle later; she didn’t need to stay near it. So, she might as well do what she had been trained to do: observe.

But the truth was she didn’t think about reaching for his hand and taking it; it was pure instinct. She held on to his hand—to him—as long as she could, until he let go to push branches out of her way. She missed it at once.

They walked for a little while, Kris turning back every so often to check on her. Zaren had dozens of questions running through her mind, about the wolf, about the warriors who had attacked them, about Kris’ people, and the forest, and everything that had happened so far; but now that she could ask them, she had no idea where to start.

In the end, it was Kris who broke the silence and asked, “Where did you come from?”

Zaren almost stumbled, surprised by so predictable a question. She wasn’t supposed to answer; it was bad enough that she had made contact with native people when she had not been authorized to do so.

But Kris was waiting for an answer, and she had to say something.

“I came from very far away,” she tried, hoping that would be enoug [oulng.

Kris nodded as though it had been evident. “I know. Your… shuttle—” he still stumbled a little over the word. “—I saw it drop from the sky. Did you come from the stars?”

Zaren stopped walking at that question, taken aback. Kris noticed and stopped as well, turning fully toward her. In a culture as primitive as Kris’ seemed to be, she had not expected the idea of space travel to even occur to him.

Wetting her lips, she tried to figure out what to say now. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she was still worried about telling him too much. “Why would you think that?” she asked, trying to gain some time.

Kris grabbed a hanging vine and broke it, bringing the stem and the water dripping from it to his lips before he answered.

“There are stories,” he said, handing out the vine to her. “Old stories. About people riding on the wings of shiny birds to travel between the stars. You have… things.” His eyes drifted to the translang nestled at her throat. “Things I’ve never seen before on Haldae.”

Drinking from the vine, Zaren frowned a little. The translang worked better than she had expected, probably because Kris’ language was related to some of the thousands of dialects in the translang database. But that last word stumped the device.

“I do not understand. What is Haldae?”

Kris blinked very slowly, then laughed. “Everything,” he said, raising his arms and gesturing at the forest around them. “The earth, and the trees, and the river, and the plains. Haldae is everything.”

He meant the planet, Zaren realized. It certainly was a much nicer name than the string of numbers that designated it in observers’ files.

He was still waiting for her to answer his question, she realized, but she still didn’t know what to say. In the end, she settled for a cautious, “Some of your old stories tell the truth,” and it seemed to be enough for him.

He nodded, apparently satisfied, then gestured toward the trail. “We should walk. We still have a long way to go.”

They started walking again, but it wasn’t long before Kris turned back to her once more and said, “Can I ask another question?”

“You can ask all the questions you want,” Zaren replied without thinking and immediately regretted it; she wished she didn’t need to lie to him.

“If your shuttle is your wings,” he said slowly, holding low branches out of her way to ease her passage, “Why didn’t you fly away again when the Ushias attacked us?”

Shocked, Zaren stopped at once and grabbed Kris’ arm without thinking. “I wouldn’t have left you!”

Kris’ expression was one of surprise at first, but when he covered her hand with his own and squeezed once, he was smiling widely enough that heat started creeping up Zaren’s face. She let go of his arm and looked away, taking advantage of the trail being clear on the forest floor to lead the way for a moment.
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“Also,” she said over her shoulder, “my shuttle is broken. It doesn’t fly anymore. That’s why I fell from the sky, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

She couldn’t tell him the truth about everything, but on this, at least, she had no reason to lie.

“So you’ll be staying here then?” Kris asked behind her, and he sounded hopeful.

Zaren bit down on her lower lip and didn’t reply.

* * * *

When he realized Zaren wouldn’t be able to go home, Kris was thrilled. The next second, his delight turned to shame. Surely, staying on Haldae would mean that she would not see her family and friends again; Kris could only imagine how difficult it would be for her.

Just the same, there wasn’t much he could do about her situation except offer her a place to stay, a place where she would be safe. He wasn’t sure what the circle of Elders would say. They were usually suspicious of anyone who wasn’t part of the village, and rarely allowed a stranger to stay for a substantial amount of time. Still, now that he had accomplished his final shift, Kris could claim his place in the circle, and he would be able to help Zaren.

Or at least, so he hoped.

It was another long day of walking through the forest. Every so often, they stopped so that Zaren could rest, drink from vines, and share some fruit with Kris. She did not eat animal flesh, she explained, and while she tried to explain why, Kris didn’t really understand. Small animals ate plants, bigger animals ate smaller animals, and people ate animals and plants; it was just the way things went.

“Can you change into a wolf at will?” Zaren asked during one of these resting times.

Kris’ first instinct had been ingrained in him since he had been a child: refuse to answer. Talking about shifting with outsiders was utterly forbidden, and if the circle discovered she even knew about it before she officially became part of the village, they would both be in trouble.

Then again, she had already seen him shift, and a few more answers wouldn’t change anything.

“I can,” he said
at last
. “The wolf is my final form, that’s what I will shift to for the rest of my life.”

If anything, his answer seemed to confuse her.

“Your final form?” she repeated. “Does it mean you have other forms?”

More secrets Kris shouldn’t have shared, and still he couldn’t stop himself from answering. He wanted Zaren to trust him, wanted her to see that he trusted her back.

“I did. I had several other forms. But becoming an adult means choosing a final form and renouncing the others.”

Her eyes were wide, a little awed, but she looked like she be [d lhe otherlieved him, and for that Kris was grateful.

“Do all your people change?” she asked, sounding as eager to hear his reply as a child to hear a story.

Once again, Kris hesitated. He wanted to tell her everything she wanted to know, but he was beginning to understand that the more he told her, the more questions she would ask. Did it matter, though? She was going to remain in the village, he would ask the Elders permission on her behalf, and since he would be one of them now, they wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“Not all of them,” he said softly, and proceeded to explain about the First Famil
y
.

* * * *

It was hardly the first time Kris had prowled through the village in one of his animal forms, but it was the first time he had ever tried to keep to the shadows and remain unnoticed for more than a game.

He followed Zaren’s scent to the edge of the village to an abandoned house that was sometimes used to hold prisoners. Kris circled the house once, careful to remain out of sight. The windows had been boarded up, and the only way in—or out—was through the front door.

This was it, he realized. If he did this, if he went directly against the circle’s wishes and helped a prisoner escape, he would lose everything. At the very least, he would lose his place in the circle and be banned from the village; the worst case scenario could have him hunted, and put to death.

In no more time than it took him to blink, he had made his decision. He wasn’t acting on a whim with this disobedience. He was a man, his status in the village solidified by his final shift. He believed the circle was wrong. He also believed that, after Zaren had helped Elea—saved her—it was his duty to do anything he could to help her.

Just as importantly, it was what his heart demanded.

Zaren had been escorted away by two guards, and Kris was fairly certain they would both keep her under surveillance. She was a stranger after all, and nobody knew what her powers might be. Crouching low in bushes that hid him perfectly, he watched the prison and waited for an opportunity.