Lakhoni (6 page)

Stretching
carefully, Lakhoni sat in the quiet of the hut, blinking sleep from his eyes.
The interior looked much like his family’s—no,
his
—hut back in the village.
Sleeping mats were arranged against walls, leaving space to walk in the middle
of the one-room home. Stone and wood boxes acted as dividers between the
sleeping mats. Pouches, hides, and water guts hung from hooks pounded between
the large, gray stones of the walls.

The
smell was different. Lakhoni was used to the fresh, just-awoken air that
greeted him each morning at the village. Here in the cavern, there was a
distinct aroma of old smoke. But Lakhoni also smelled a fresh aroma—meat of
some kind—and even something that smelled like flatbread.

He
emerged from the hut, noticing on his way out that he was the last to awake,
and found himself in a scene much like the one of the previous evening. Many
people crowded the fire circle, most of them with a hunk of meat impaled on a
knife or steaming from a stone platter. Vena stood at the fire with three other
women, using long, flat boards to remove flatbread from the stones surrounding
the fire.

He
stood, unsure of himself. Hunger, stronger than he had experienced in days,
awoke at all the good smells.

Vena
noticed him. “Lakhoni! Finally! Come get some food.”

He
straightened his shoulders. He would not be cowed by the unfamiliar. He walked
to the woman, accepting a platter of meat and bread.

“You’ll
find water in the bucket,” Vena said, indicating a wooden bucket off to the
side.

He
nodded and moved back toward the hut where he had spent the night. He sat on
the stone ground just outside the hut and dug in. He couldn’t chew fast enough;
the waking of his hunger had awoken his nerves as well. Dull pain set in on his
side and his head throbbed in time to the working of his jaw. It wasn’t as bad
as the night before when Corzon had done his work, though, so Lakhoni ignored
it. He would have to be careful to not break the thread holding his wounds
together.

A
young man, probably only a year older than Lakhoni and obviously very strong,
sat down next to him, chewing a large bite of meat.

“You
snore,” the stranger said around the chunk of deer in his mouth.

Lakhoni
chewed for a moment and swallowed. “What?”

“And
you talk in your sleep.”

Confused,
Lakhoni studied the fellow. He understood after a moment.
“You’re . . . uh . . .”

“Anor,”
said the stranger.

“Yes.
The hut.”

“Right,”
he said. “That’s why I could hear you snore. I bet the king of the Usurpers
heard you snore!”

“It
can’t be that bad,” Lakhoni said.

“Oh
it is,” Anor said, wrinkling his nose. “And you need a bath.”

Lakhoni
looked at the fellow. “Are you always this pleasant?”

“Yes.”
Anor tore another huge bite off his meal. “Do you always sleep until lunch?”

Taken
aback, Lakhoni looked around. Of course. There was no way to tell what time of
day it was down here. No wonder he felt so rested.

“No,”
he said. “Only when I snore.”

“Lakhoni,
right?”

“Yeah.”

Anor
fixed Lakhoni with a baleful glare. “Don’t snore any more. Corzon just stitched
you up. I don’t want to have to make those lovely stitches useless.”

“I’ll
do my best,” Lakhoni said, talking mostly to Anor’s back as the hostile man
rose and walked away.
There’s a future best friend
.

As
Lakhoni ate, Gimno stepped away from a group of people and approached.

“How
do you feel?” Gimno asked.

Lakhoni
shrugged carefully. “Not perfect, but not terrible.”

“Good
answer.” Gimno lowered himself to the spot Anor had just vacated. “You get to
learn what it means to be one of the Separated today.”

Something
in Gimno’s voice caught Lakhoni’s attention. This sounded important. “What do
you mean?”

“It’s
more than living in a cave,” Gimno said. “It’s about living according to a
certain set of principles.”

“Okay.”

“Eat
fast. You don’t want to miss this.”

Lakhoni
sensed the tension in Gimno. He gobbled the last of his meal in a few large
bites. As he choked it down, he walked to the water bucket and got a drink. The
water helped him swallow. Even with his hurry, he had to run to catch up to
Gimno, who was the last person to leave the fire circle and head toward the
large circle in the center of the cavern.

Their
group was nearly the last to arrive. People stood in tight bunches, all facing
the altar of uncut stones that Lakhoni had seen the night before. He noticed
that the people had left a cleared path between the altar and the largest
circle of huts. Everybody’s eyes were fixed on those huts.

Soon
Lakhoni saw movement. A group of men strode from the large huts and made its
way through the onlookers. When they got to the altar, they spread out,
allowing Lakhoni to get a good look at them. Eight of them were tall and thickly
muscled. Lakhoni did not like the look of them. Their skin was painted red from
head to toe. Bones pierced their lower lip and their earlobes. Their heads were
bald, save for a patch in the back, just above their neck. They wore leather
loincloths, along with black belts and leggings. Each man had a unique tattoo
on his back. Lakhoni saw one man with a bear, another with an eagle, and
another with what looked like a wolf.

They
each had a long dagger strapped tightly to their right leg. The blades had to
be steel, but Lakhoni had trouble believing that these people could use so much
steel on one weapon.

The
group was led by a ninth man, who was smaller and had hair that stood straight
out from his head like a porcupine. His body was painted red as well, with
dizzying swirls of black on his chest, back, and arms.

Two
of the tall men held a young man who appeared to be sleeping on his feet. They
half-carried him towards the altar as he stumbled along. As they strode forward
Lakhoni realized the young man was not sleeping, but had drunk several guts of
wine. Why would they allow him to participate in their ceremony in such a
state?

Looking
closely at the altar, Lakhoni realized that it was just big enough for—

His
eyes widened in sudden fear and shock. No. This couldn’t be. These people were
kind and caring. He was imagining things.

The
two men lifted the young man to the altar, laying him on his back and stepping
backward one small pace, although they kept a firm hold on his wrists.

No.
This is not . . .
Dread
filled him as the small man with the bristling hair slid a shining dagger from
his belt. The small man, who had to be the leader of the Separated, raised his
arms, surveying the crowd. Lakhoni thanked the First Fathers that he was in the
back of the crowd so that the man couldn’t see his reaction.

“Brothers
and sisters!” the leader called out in a surprisingly full voice. “We are the
Separated!”

“We
are the Separated!” repeated the crowd. Gimno stared at the leader, his eyes
wide and intent. Gimno’s mouth was open, his tongue licking his lips as if he
were hungry. Anor gave Lakhoni a strange smile, then turned his attention back
to the man with the dagger.

“But
we are united!” the leader said.

The
crowd repeated this too.

Lakhoni’s
swallowed, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“We
know the truth of this land,” the leader said. The crowd watched with rapt
attention. Lakhoni fought to keep still, not wanting to draw attention. “We who
follow the true God, the creator of the Great Spirit and this world, we know
the truth. We follow the true God and we will inherit this promised land!”

The
leader took a small step and was at the young man’s side. The victim squirmed
weakly, his eyelids fluttering. “This is the promise! We will be strengthened
by blood and we will take this land and serve our God.”

The
leader jabbed his dagger, quick as a heartbeat, into the man’s left hand.
Lakhoni flinched.

The
spike-haired leader stepped quickly around the altar. “By sacrifice, we become
mighty!”

Lakhoni
dropped his gaze as the knife fell again.
No. This can’t be happening.

“These
are the marks! This is the sacrifice! We will take this land back! We await our
prophesied leader—he who comes from shadow but brings us to light.”

Lakhoni
looked to each side, unable to watch. He was in luck; everyone else was staring
with almost worshipful expressions.
What is this? Why?
He wanted to run,
hide back in the hut. But surely the Separated would not accept that.

“As
our ancestors have always done, we make this sacrifice on raised stone. Now we
await the time when we will come back to light!”

The
crowd surged forward after this last shout. Lakhoni stayed stock still, staring
at the rock floor. He swallowed hard, every muscle in his body tight. He thought
he might snap like a dry stick.

 “We
will come back to the light!” the leader screamed. The crowd repeated it, then
it became a chant.

“Be
cleansed!” the man screamed, his high-pitched voice carrying over the shouts of
the Separated. Lakhoni opened his eyes as the crowd surged forward again.
Lakhoni pushed backward, desperate to not be a part of whatever awful thing
came next.
But they were kind. They fed me, took me in.

He
turned away as the Living Dead completed their cruel ritual.

Panic
filled him. This was not right. He had to get out. He wanted to run, climb back
to the surface, and leave this world behind.
I thought they were good!
He
took a step backward, meaning to find the entrance to the cavern.

Gimno
appeared before his terrified eyes. Lakhoni gasped, realizing he had been
holding his breath in his paralyzed terror. “The first time is hard,” Gimno
whispered, his big smile grotesque. The warrior lifted a hand to Lakhoni’s
face. “But you are learning to be Living Dead now. This sacrifice purifies you
too.”

Lakhoni
fought to keep still. His body shook with shock, revulsion slamming inside of
him and trying to burst free in a scream of pure fury and disgust.

“You
will soon become a warrior for the true cause.”

Lakhoni
closed his eyes for a moment. He could think of nothing that he could do or
say. He wanted to learn nothing from these people. He had to get away.

Suddenly
he wondered where the slain sacrifice had come from. He couldn’t have been much
older than Lakhoni.

He
opened his eyes. Gimno still stood there, watching him. Gimno caught Lakhoni’s
gaze. “You will understand; I will teach you. I will make you a warrior and you
will help me become a Consecrated.”

Lakhoni
followed Gimno’s gaze to the eight tall, red men. They had to be the
Consecrated.

Gimno
turned back to Lakhoni. He wrapped his long arms around Lakhoni in a warm
embrace. His whisper, its tones soft and kind, sent a bright flare of fear and
fury into Lakhoni’s soul. “Welcome to the people of Promise.”