Obsidian: Retribution (Book 2)

Nine: A Name to Remember

Zahara jolted awake from the hand around her mouth, its pressure muffled the startling sound she made, forcing it back down her throat. Above her, a dark figure loomed over her body, pinned her to the ground with the palm that was keeping her quiet.

"Someone's coming," he whispered. She recognized the voice immediately and allowed herself to breathe more easily. Muradi had a finger pressed to his lips as he spoke, gesturing her to be silent. "Maybe a group of men."

She gave him a nod and the hand on her mouth lifted free. Zahara gathered herself up into a sitting position, shaking away the dizziness from being abruptly awakened from sleep. Muradi, she saw, already had his swords prepared by his side, his eyes clear and alert as though he'd been awake for hours. Sometimes she wasn't sure if he slept at all since Ghaul had been away. Every time she woke up in the middle of the night, his eyes were open, watching her or something outside through the cave's entrance.

She angled her head to listen to the sound of those men he'd mentioned, and picked up nothing but the wind and the rustling of leaves.

"Take this." He handed her one of his twin obsidian blades and gestured toward the deep end of the cave. "Go. Hide. Keep silent. No matter what happens, don't come out."

Zahara swallowed, took the blade, and rose to her feet. He had seen this coming, had warned her about it two nights ago. A group of men, he said. A problem if he was right. Muradi was still badly injured, and she didn't know how to fight, with or without the sword. With Ghaul around, he could probably deal with the situation, but there had been no signs of him since he had been gone. The way she saw it, there was no possible way they could get out of this situation without being taken hostage or killed. They might also recognize Muradi, and together with her being a bharavi, the incentive to capture and hand them over for reward would be near impossible to resist. Should that happen, she would be back where she started, perhaps also turned into bait to lure Lasura back to the capita––

"Zahara." The call brought her back to reality. Muradi's hand was around her wrist, squeezing it with a firmness that hurt. She looked down and saw the sword in her grip shaking, tried to rectify it immediately, and failed. "I've got this," he said. The pressure on her wrist grew as he spoke. Her skin burned where he touched––something he hadn't done since they escaped. "Trust me."

The words struck like a blade. The hand around her wrist felt like an attack. Trust me, he said. As if it had been the most natural thing for her to do in the world. As if she was supposed to be able to do so despite the wrong in it.

Yet what truly bothered her was the odd sense of safety that did come with the contact, the illusion of security and trust that should never have been acknowledged or given room to take root. She attributed it to the fact that he was a man and she a woman, that she knew nothing of how to fight and he did, that there was, undeniably and evidently so, as far as she knew from experience and years of having lived with him, no monsters or beasts in this world bigger or more terrible than this man she called husband. And he was bent on protecting her, for whatever reason she didn't have to acknowledge. It made sense that she felt reassured, didn't it? Put that way, there was nothing wrong about feeling safe, was there?

She gave him a nod and pulled her arm back from his grip, brushing away the voice nagging at her conscience as she brushed out the folds of her dress and headed to the inner cave. A fist-size hole in the limestone formation allowed her to see everything that happened without being seen. She took advantage of it, and waited for the event to unfold.

Muradi stood, took off the robe and adjusted his tunic, frowning as he moved his limbs to test their mobility. The wounds still hurt a lot, she could tell. He never voiced it, but for a healer, such things needn't be told.