Tabidaque

EIGHT

Stifled beneath thick walls
impenetrable
Hiding the beast behind a
calm demeanor, pleasant tone
But the beast never sleeps
for long.

I force the snarl to leave my lips and groan inwardly in frustration. But the voice right. I need a smuggler, and this could be the only opportunity I get.

I take Chiqu's hand, briefly, let her pull me to my feet, then yank my hand away in disgust. She looks bemused, as if she's wondering why I've chosen an arrangement I'm obviously repulsed by. Fine. Let her wonder. All I need is her ship, then I'll be gone.

"All right," Chiqu says, her voice gruff. Behind her, Mehild looks pleased and gives me a shy smile. I return a sullen glower. I'm not interested in making friends with any of them, and the sooner they understand that, the better.

Chiqu's turned away from me, muttering something to the other Jagaser from Mehild's tribe, Sarofa. I kneel and reach out my arm to retrieve my knife, but Chiqu must have known I would try to get it back.

"No! Grab his knife!" she shouts to Mehild, who quickly runs over and snatches the knife away just as I'm about to touch the hilt. I grab her wrist, trying to force the knife from her fingers, and she struggles under my grip.

"Don't touch her!" A blow lands in my ribs as Sarofa joins the scuffle. I'm put off my guard, and Mehild takes the opportunity to bite down hard on my forearm where the veins show through my skin. I howl in pain as dark blood trickles from the wound and rip my arm out of her grasp.

Mehild looks alarmed and reaches out to touch my arm as if she didn't mean to inflict any damage, but I pull away, snarling. Sarofa shows me her teeth, then turns to Mehild.

"You did the right thing," she murmurs, her tone endearing and eyes sparkling with pride. "He deserved that, and more." She shoots me a glare. Somehow, as much as I resent her words, I'm grateful that she understands what I'm trying to communicate. Or rather, what I'm trying not to communicate. We will not be friends. There is no trust between us. And nothing, not even some fake agreement, will stop me from slaughtering them all if it suits me.

Sarofa and Mehild move away from me, over to the shadowed figure by the back of the hollow. Epiran, I think he was called. I watch, motionless, until I meet Chiqu's gaze. She's seated on one of the heavy, moss-covered stones, observing the wrestle with an impassive expression. I sit on the other side, across from her, and say nothing.

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm assuming you're not with your tribe for a reason. Probably hoping for a way to get across the sea."

"Are you offering?"

She shrugs. "I'll have to judge that for myself, after I get to know you. So far, you've validated my inherent mistrust of strangers. You're going to have to tell us your name eventually, you know," she says. "I don't need to know where you are from, but I will need something to call you."

"Why?"

The question startles her, but her expression quickly returns to the apathetic mask. "You may not be interested in conversation, but we're going over that sea, and it's going to be a difficult journey. Always is. So whether you like it or not, we're going to have to communicate, and I know I'll need to call on you—specifically—at some point."

Her point is reasonable, but I'm not about to tell them my real name. "Luzile."

She observes me thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Luzile. Sounds like a name from Sviros." She jerks her head at Sarofa and Mehild, who are talking quietly by the pool. "They had two names. Unusual in Sviros. Do you?"