The Book Gatherer

Chapter Eleven

Honi poked at the campfire with a stick. Sparks flew up, drawing Jeje's attention from her grazing. She waggled her ears at Honi, a prickly branch dangling from her lips as she chewed, then turned back to her tree. As always, the giraffe had an ear trained on Firek, who lay on the ground just inside the fire's light and heat. Curled up with his back to her, Honi couldn't tell if he was asleep or not.

But surely the calming herbs she'd rubbed into the book page Firek had eaten for dinner had kicked in by now. They weren't potent enough to knock him out, but did soothe the mind and muscles so the user was more likely to sleep long and well. Better than a rock to the head, certainly.

Honi tossed her stick into the flames and rose to her feet. Jeje raised her head, ears perked as she watched Honi walk around the fire to face the boy. He slept with his mouth parted slightly and snored softly, but kept his hands rolled tight into fists, as if squeezing out tension. She nudged him with her foot. He shifted and mumbled something incoherent, but nothing more.

Satisfied, she wandered back to her seat by the fire, where she'd placed her bookbag. She picked it up and pulled the Holy Book out, holding its now-familiar weight in her hands. Even in the shadow cast by the fire, the golden cover gleamed.

"I need to do more," she whispered to herself, thinking back to yesterday when she'd emptied out the saddlebags. "I can't keep going like this, doing so little, narrowly avoiding disaster each day."

Jeje looked over, large eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

Honi had thought a lot since the stream. She'd thought about the story he'd told her, about the terrors he hadn't told her but she'd seen in his eyes. The way he'd looked when he'd snarled I hate you and had meant every single word. How his eyes followed her bookbag, hungry, impatient. Firek was dangerous, and Honi was worried.

She'd heard eagle cries during the day.

It was time to take a different approach to things—Firek, the Book, traveling. Everything. Autumn was a time for change, a time for old things to die. Well. Now was the time for Honi do so herself.

She slid her hand down the Holy Book, marveling over the glossy smoothness of the cover, then pushed her hand back up, pressing the heel of her hand into the cover to feel the firmness of it. The repetition of it, up and down, up and down, soothed some of her fears. The Earth Serpent had meant for Honi to find the book, she knew it. He trusted her enough to bring the book back to his priests and scientists. She could not fail. She would not.

Tipping her head back, she looked at the stars peeking around the bare branches of the dead trees surrounding them. There were so many, all so hard and bright and cold, all staring and judging. It was such a still, quiet night with no wind; Honi wondered if the world, earth and sky alike, was watching, waiting. All time stopped for one moment on one autumn night for one insignificant book gatherer.

Honi looked back down. "Pity I'd given up wood carving, eh Jeje?" The giraffe blinked. Honi walked over to the pile of saddlebags and tack, kneeling by her personal bag to dig out the blunt little knife she occasionally used to cut a stubborn book from its branch. More a tool than a weapon, Firek would've laughed himself hoarse over it. She removed the knife's worn leather sheath and gripped the hilt tight in her fist. "It would've made all of this a lot easier, I think."

Sending a silent apology to the Earth Serpent, Honi plunged the knife into the Holy Book's spine.

author's note:  :OOOO