Julian could not stop staring. The alien woman, whose belly was rounded in the center, gazed back for a moment, then lowered her head abashedly as though she had done a shameful thing. In her arms, she cradled a large basket full of clothing. Her golden-white curls, while still elegant, shagged at her chin and looked uncombed.
Jeanette, for her part, thought she had detected a sadness in the woman's eyes-- but she had no sympathy. Why did foreign women-- alien women, for that matter-- think that they could get away with stealing human men away from women like Jeanette? Why, she might as well call them for what they were: ETs, although the term was hugely politically incorrect. She had disliked alien-human relations on the Celestial, and she would continue to do so now-- Julian was hers. He had saved her, not this mysterious ET, from certain death and immolation when the Celestial was destroyed, and she was not going to let him go easily. No, not by a long shot.
Julian shifted his bundle, careful not to make any sudden moves, and lowered his head slightly to communicate a non-threatening posture. Jeanette did not have to look into his eyes to see that there was a sparkle there; he grinned ever so slightly, and the left corner of his mouth quirked, giving the smile a lop-sided look.
"Lost. We need food and help," he said clearly, enunciating each word for emphasis. The alien started a bit at his tone, then focused on Julian's expression. She, too, wore a hint of a smile...but she said nothing.
Undaunted, Julian extended his bundle. "We need food," he said slowly, "and we have a gift for you. A child. Dead."
The alien seemed to freeze. The tousled apron she wore fluttered a bit in the breeze; Sport cavorted happily about her ankles, sniffing and licking as though he had found a long-lost friend, but she ignored him.
Shifting her basket, the alien extended a careful finger toward Julian's bundle. "Ch- child?"
Jeanette and Julian exchanged looks of shock. Not only could this woman speak-- but she obviously knew their language! What were the odds of that? Several billion to one?
"How-- how you you know our words?" Julian asked her; a hint of the old suspicion had crept back into his voice.
The demure little woman tucked one strand of straggly, flaxen hair behind a tiny ear. "Others. Like you," she managed shyly. "They teach. ...Child?" She gestured toward the bundle again, but Julian could barely conceal his excitement.
"So there are others? Others like us in your village? But how did you come to find them? Where did they say they were from? Did they come from a ship--"
"Julian." Jeanette touched his shoulder until he paused; the small woman was obviously taken aback by the rapidity of Julian's eager speech. Her charming eyes glazed, and she looked everywhere: at the sky, at the ground...anywhere except for him.
Realizing his mistake, Julian stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on her bird-like arm. The woman jerked, but she did not move away. "Forgive me," Julian expressed kindly. "Yes, we have a child. Will you look?" He pointed at the pale-faced child inside the bundle of rags. "Look. See child."
The woman stepped forward timidly and peeked carefully into Julian's bundle. What she saw made her complexion blanch even further; she stepped away and brought a shaking hand to her mouth, as though trying not to throw up. A look of acute pain flashed in the steely grey of her almond-shaped orbs.
"Child," she whispered carefully. "Qukat." A single tear crystallized, trickling down her left cheek.
Julian glanced at Jeanette. "She knows who this child is!" he hissed. "This is it...we've found shelter, food, and a People willing to take us in. They know that we have brought a missing child home. We're saved!"
Jeanette forced a smile. But at what cost? she wanted to ask...but like the alien woman, she said little. She found herself thinking of her own chapped cheeks and matted hair and flushed; next to this foreign splendor, she must surely look like some long-legged abomination. Jeanette tried to ball her hands into fists to hide the broken tips of her fingers, but could only manage to curl them half-way; the gesture was too painful. She thought of her ripped, tattered jump-suit and the hideous way she was sure that she smelled; for once, she was grateful that the wind blew against her.
The mountains are behind us. There are no more frozen rivers. The foliage and landscape look more like a scene from Earth than you are ever likely to see again in your-life time...and yet, you are not happy. Food and shelter beckon, but you wilt like a weed without the sun.
Jeanette scowled at the ground. Was she...jealous?
Beside her, Julian had shifted the bundle to his chest and was gesticulating with one hand.
"Where do you live?" he asked carefully, never once taking his eyes away from the tiny, refined beauty.
A small, hummingbird-like hand flitted to her mouth, a quiet gesture of consideration.
"W- well," she said finally, her comely brows furrowing over her wide eyes; they burned with intensity. "Well. In ground." She pointed at the grass near her bare feet, where Sport eagerly snuffed his nose as if searching there for a treat.
"Well?" Julian looked puzzled.
"Well." Grey Eyes nodded. "Well. Wit wah-ter. In dere." Her finger remained pointing into the grass.
"Water well? You live in a place with lots of wells?" Julian pressed.
"No!" Grey eyes shook her head furiously. "Well hide. The well hide. All the time hide. Well hide." Her melodious voice bore the slightest hint of frustration that she could not get the words across as she wished, but Julian's eyes suddenly brightened.
"I think you mean a well that's hidden. Hiding Well! Is that the name of your village? Hidden Well?"
Encouraged by his eagerness, the young woman smiled shyly and shrugged her shoulders.
Jeanette had had enough. "Julian, we should really go," she whispered into his ear. "I need to pee. I need to change. For God's sake, I need to bathe. Can we stop playing mime games and get on to this village so we can feed ourselves?"
Julian ignored her. For some reason, this infuriated Jeanette even more.
"Will you take us there?" Julian asked softly. "To Hidden Well?"
Again, the girl shrugged her shoulders. She turned and cast a nervous glance behind her, as though expecting someone to come upon her at any moment; Sport had had enough snuffling and sniffling and was enthusiastically trotting down the trail toward the young woman's village.
"Yes. You come," she said finally, and took a step forward.
Julian's eyes never moved. "Your name?" he asked softly. Pointing to himself, he explained: "Julian. I am Julian. And you?" He pointed at her immaculate chest.
Seeming to understand, the girl smiled faintly. "Luchek," she said quietly.
"Lu-- luchek?"
Another smile, and a quick nod.
"Lu-chek." Julian seemed to think. "Lu-lu! I like that name. Do you? What do you think about "Lu-Lu"?"
Lu-Lu's smile widened. "We go now," she said demurely, and turned to walk back up the trail-- then she paused. As though trying to act before she lost the nerve, Lu-Lu rushed to where Jeanette was standing and shoved the basket of clothing into Jeanette's arms.
Jeanette was startled and more than a bit angry. "What--"
"Qukat," said Lu-Lu sadly, approaching Julian and carefully extricating the bundle of dead child from his arms. Without another word, she turned and began the long journey back along the path to Hidden Well, with Sport but a speck in the distance and Julian following quickly behind.
Jeanette seethed. Bug-eyed bitch!
She trailed them reluctantly, wanting more than anything to toss this Lu-Lu's basket of clothing into a puddle of wet, sticky clay-- and bitterness flowered in her heart.
..........................................................................................................................................................................................
Franek and Azee stood together in a tight cluster on the roof of Dragura's fortress.
Franek wore a look of stoic responsibility, but Azee was trembling like a leaf in the breeze...and she could not remove her hands from her mouth. Her eyes were huge tea-cups, and she kept glancing back toward the square-shaped opening in the ground behind them which led to safety, as though to reassure herself that it was still there.
Franek cast a quick glance at Azee; the girl was deathly pale. Her breath came in such quick gasps that Franek wondered how she breathed at all without fainting, and Azee's fingertips were dangerously blue. She looked uncomfortably close to collapse.
"Azee!" She gripped the girl's cold, cold wrist and shook it as though it were Dragura's dinner bell. "You must snap out of this. Focus! We discussed what we would see, smell and hear hours before coming up here. If we do not make the attempt now, then freedom will never come...and I'm quite sure you do not want to catch yourself wishing what could have been when Dragura feeds you alive to the very beasts we must tame." She gripped Azee's chin and jerked it upward. "Focus!" she snapped again.
"I- I c- can't." Azee sounded as though she were very near tears.
"You must."
"I can't!"
"You have no choice!"
"But they'll eat me!" Azee cried, flinging herself into Franek's arms and sobbing like a lost little girl. "I don't want to get eaten by those things like Paichek did! You told us what happened. You told us all! I don't want my flesh ripped from the bone! I don't want my head to be cut off!"
Franek shoved her roughly aside. "Then sit there like a fool and wait for death," she said coldly. "In the meantime, you may watch as I try to learn to save us all. Idiot wench!"
Azee sniffled and ashamedly looked at the ground.
Filling her lungs with fresh air (and trying to ignore the smell of stale blood), Franek ignored the Draca which tore viciously at their neck braces and approached Daara-- or the Beautiful One, as Franek had come to think of her-- very carefully.
If there were ever a creature that blended sheer loveliness and abject terror into one, full-muscled form, then Daara was surely it. As much as she despised the Draca and hated to admit it, Franek thought that Daara was the most beauteous creature she had ever seen, and with a voice so delicate, so musical, that surely it would have lulled to sleep a nursery full of weeping babies. Strong tendons and rippling flesh flexed beneath that emerald-green exterior, covered with glistening verdant scales that reminded Franek vaguely of the delicate butterflies that flooded Hallow's Wood in the time of warm weather. Daara's hind legs were well-built, the front legs a bit thinner and shorter, with impressive yellowing talons and an underbelly as creamy-white as an egg-shell. The tail stood out behind her, stiff as a board in that position Franek had come to know well as the conflicted demonstration of mistrust, but what was most stunning were Daara's swan-like neck and powerful head. The eyes, so large and sparkling, could easily entice one into a trance; the broad jaws displayed three-inch teeth that scintillated in the star-light. Two bony crests framed each side of the skull, and the wings-- even now, Franek had to fight to keep her breath from stealing away. So broad, so delicate, the webbing between the honey-combed bones was as transparent as swaths of beautiful, cream-colored silk.
What would it be like to brush one of those massive wings with my finger-tips?
Franek paused a respectful distance away and curtsied. Daara was such a stately being that she could think of no other proper method of greeting. "I thank you, Daara, for allowing us into your confidence and offering your help in our teaching of your Draca brethren," began Franek reverently. Behind her, Azee huddled in a small heap beside the trap-door, but she had stopped shivering.
Daara held her massive head high and lowered the sturdy tail. "It is time," she trilled smoothly. "Mother had no intention of leaving you handmaidens to your own devices, Evening Woman. She is suspicious, evil-hearted...and she has gone mad for want of a child. Her actions will be unpredictable from here until the Twin Moons only know when." Daara lifted her wings, shook them briefly, and re-folded them. "The time for reconditioning is now. My poor, starved sisters must learn to trust now more than ever--and the going will not be easy. Are you ready for what faces us?"
For a moment Franek could not bring herself to answer, so enthralled was she with the vibrancy of Daara's crooning. "Azee and I are as ready as can be expected," she replied carefully. 'We shall be the first to try and reassure the Draca before bringing any other maids up to the roof--"
"And you must act quickly!" Daara replied. "Dragura has taken to making surprise visits up to the roof; she questions me, inspects the turrets, checks the other Draca along with their neck braces, and even examines the bones and other remains of the food we have been eating. She is dangerous, Franek, and she will try whatever she feels she must to prevent being double-crossed!"
Franek knelt at Daara's haunches, head lowered and hands clasped to her bosom in the most vulnerable position she could muster. "What must I do?" she whispered fearfully. Daara deftly extended one wing, gently cupped it around Franek in the manner of a small cocoon, and ventured:
"You must walk the turrets up and down, back and forth, for as long as it takes while you endure the snarling, the snapping, the tearing at the neck braces. You must allow them to scent you, to smell you, to get used to the feel and appearance of your fear, before you can even begin the process of reconditioning. Then, and only then, will we be on the long road toward recovering trust. ...Do you understand?"
Franek nodded numbly and turned to Azee, extending an empathetic hand. "Do you now understand the gravity of the task that awaits you, child?"
Azee peeked up at Franek with poorly concealed dread and stammered: "M- my task? Mine? But-- but I thought it was you who was to walk the turrets before the Draca first! Why must you choose me to endure their ferocious bellowings?"
Franek looked at Azee with something inscrutable in her eyes. "Will you never understand, dear?" she asked sadly. "It is only from you whom the Draca have anything to fear or mistrust, Azee. It is your scent they must breathe deeply and remember; it is from you they must learn to shelve their feelings of malevolence and fright. Only when you have learned to walk the turrets-- and walk them right-- will the Draca even begin to entertain the thought of trust at all."
"But-- but you are asking me to become nearly one with the Draca!" protested Azee, turning to Daara and clasping her hands for support. "Only the Star Child can achieve such a feat-- and she isn't even here!"
"She is not," acknowledged Daara, before turning away and tucking her head beneath one wing with finality.
With dread and terror, Azee turned again to the line of snapping beasts chained to the turrets, just as Franek descended the stairs back into the fortress and pulled the square-shaped door closed behind her. Azee's eyes widened at the fierce determination in the eye of the Draca, and slime dripped from exposed fangs.
Oh, Star-Child, where are you? And where is the peace that you promise?
.........................................................................................................................................................................
Tuchek felt a mixture of relief and pure, abject terror.
Below him were the creatures, the Draca, which had murdered his friends...and now they had gathered side-by-side like terrific beasts of burden, each with their crested heads bowed before the red-haired maiden as though she controlled the properties of air, of wind, of sky-- of survival. He was distantly aware of the tightness in his chest and the pounding of his heart (not to mention the putridness of his own stench after having shed his soiled pants), but the scene below him was so magnificent that, somehow, he could not tear his eyes away.
Hide, foreign girl! Run far, far away before they can strip the lovely hair from your own skull! Tuchek wanted to shout...but his voice only made half the journey out of his constricting trachea before it died.
It seemed all of Hallow's Wood had gone eerily silent for this spectacular occasion; the fruit birds did not scold, the wood rats did not rustle, and even the insects and dragonflies had ceased their incessant humming. All that seemed to exist in the world were the Draca, now prostrate before the open-mouthed Ziuta, and the wonderful glow from the stars and Twin Moons, which showered the clearing beside Haven's Creek with a delicate, golden shimmer.
Hardly daring to believe what he observed before his eyes, Tuchek gently parted the bolberry branches so he could get a better look. What would happen now? Would the cherry-haired stranger acknowledge her minions and set them off onto some wicked errand? Would she conjure a hex to make them disappear?
"Who are you?" demanded Ziuta crossly, carefully backing away from her side of the creek bank and folding her arms tightly in a gesture of mistrust. "What do you want of me?"
"Star Child," crooned the Draca as one, raising their heads to peer at the girl in adoration while they flattened their bodies close to the grass, tightly folding three sets of wings against their heaving bellies in a gesture of peace.
"I am not a Star Child. My name is Ziuta. Zai-oo-tah!" With a mixture of annoyance and fear, Ziuta pointed to herself and backed away. "Where do you come from? And what have you done? There is a lonely boy trapped in that tree, and not much remains of the friends who joined him here. Why have you eaten them? Why do you choose to wreak havoc?"
Tuchek was hardly aware that his jaw gaped. The Draca had spoken-- he had heard with his own ears!-- and the foreign girl was speaking back, as though talking to dragons was among the simplest of matters in the world! What sort of celestial queen was this girl?
The huge, jade-colored animals crooned and cooed.
"Why did you eat these young men?" demanded Ziuta again, her thin chest puffing out in the manner of a proud, gaudy-colored frilled lizard as she seemed to gain confidence. "You have destroyed three young lives and another hangs in the balance!"
"Even the Draca must eat, my dear," susurrated the largest Draca, stretching her graceful neck before her on the grass the way a dog might present itself for petting.
"Evening Folk are not the proper sustenance for dragons!" Ziuta snapped, in a tone so self-righteous that Tuchek nearly exploded into laughter despite himself. "There is plenty of food in these forests for creatures such as yourself, but People are not to be among them! Do you understand?"
The Draca whined piteously; a few of them rolled onto their backs and stretched their muscled limbs into the air, writhing in indecision and beating their powerful wings against the grass.
Tuchek watched as Ziuta swallowed, then looked about her, as though surprised at the words that had come from her own mouth. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her carefully; she did not seem to be a sorceress. He now doubted very much that she was a witch. Could it be possible that his friends and relatives had been wrong about the girl? Had he been wrong about the girl? And what would People say to him when he confirmed Ziuta's story that the monsters could speak?
Would they laugh at him? Would they accuse him of sorcery next? And when under the Blessed Twin Moons would he be able to retreat from his uncomfortable hiding place in the bolberry tree? Tuchek's skin burned from being scraped by bolberry thorns, and aside from that he had to urinate..but he dared not do so before the majesty of Ziuta and the three dragons which bowed before her.
Ziuta hesitated, then turned to leave. "Tuchek!" she called."Come down. We must return to Looks Thrice before--"
The head of the largest Draca shot up like a dart; the eyes were suddenly piercing, calculating. "You cannot leave us," came the authoritative voice. To Tuchek's ears, that voice sounded as if it came from the most beautiful star-spirit in the Universe.
Ziuta froze. Much as she tried to conceal it, there was horror in her expression. "Wh- why not?"
"Mother sent us. 'Find the Star Child', she said...and find the Star Child we did. You are that girl, Zai-oo-tah, the one who promises freedom after prison, life after drudgery, flight after chains. You will save us...oh, yes. We cannot allow you to leave."
"No one tells me where I can and cannot go!" As Tuchek began his awkward descent from the bolberry tree, Ziuta turned to flee. Tuchek could see the fear in her eyes as she took first one step, then another, and was ambushed in mid-retreat by the heavy talons of the Lead Draca, who gripped her securely by the shoulders and promptly returned her to the bank, setting her down in the shade of the tree whose branches overlooked Haven's Creek.
Ziuta shrieked and covered her eyes.
"Do you remember our sister, Zai-oo-tah?" the Draca asked.
"What sister? I want to go home. I want Gormaq! Go away and leave me be!"
"When the young Evening Woman found you and your star-child friend, she saved you from the earth dragon. Our sister, Duscha, had been out to secure a sacrifice for Dragura, our Mother-- she wanted Sashek...and instead, she found you."
Ziuta's hands flew to her ears as she burst into tears. "I don't want to hear anymore!"
Tuchek fell to the ground with a plop and scurried to his feet, grateful that his tunic was long enough to cover his man-parts. As he scurried for handfuls of grass to scrub himself clean, the Draca continued:
"We know that Duscha was drawn to you. She called to us in the cry of our species when she attempted to snatch you away and her wing was destroyed instead. She cried for help...and just as quickly, she must have realized that it was of little use. She would have known that if the Evening Folk caught her alive, she would be killed-- just as Mother might have subjected her to a horrible death if she returned without Sashek as her 'sacrifice'. How terrible it all was! ...Do you remember, Ziuta?"
The Draca nudged the tiny girl in the side; she kept her ears covered and her head down, but she had stopped weeping.
"Yes, Duscha called to us. In her communication, she told us she had found a child who played with water dragons-- who treated them as though they were beings worthy of love and attention, not fear and loathing. ...And then she gave herself to you...did she not?"
Ziuta was silent. Tuchek watched from behind the tree with morbid fascination.
"You did not answer. Answer!" The last word came out in a sharp, deep-throated bark.
"Yes!" Ziuta shrilled. "I-- I tried to help her. I tried to tell Sashek that this strange dragon was a friend...that she was not trying to kill me. And then--"
"And then what?" Tuchek asked quickly, before he could even realize he had spoken. The other Draca lifted their heads and glanced at him in curiosity; his own hands flew to his mouth while he flushed furiously.
"--and...and then... she told me she did not want to go back home to-- to her Mother." Ziuta sniffed. "I still had my earth-dragon spines; that beautiful dragon told me she would rather die than return. And-- and she lifted her neck, and I--" Unable to help herself, Ziuta once more burst into sobs. "I was only doing as she asked. I know she didn't want to hurt me! She was mortally wounded and she only wanted to be removed from her misery..."
"Ziuta, you are a gift to us," the Lead Draca said softly. Star-light flickered off the two crests that capped her bony head. "We could never hurt you. Never in all of Weema has there been one such as you, who might count herself as an equal to the dragons who are hunted, despised, avoided, and feared. You, Ziuta, are special...and Mother knows it."
"Mother? You mean this 'Dragura'?" Ziuta looked up in fright. "Please do not take me back to that woman! I want only to go home! Mother will be missing me, and Gormaq--"
"We must follow Mother's rules," said the Lead Draca firmly. "She ordered us to find you, and find you we did...but that is where our obligation ends."
Tuchek's heart leaped.
"You-- you mean you won't eat me? You will not take me away to be the sacrifice of this Dragon-Woman of the Fortress?"
The Lead Draca backed up and crooned. "Tell us your bidding, and we shall comply...but we cannot allow you to leave."
"But I cannot stay in the forest! I must at least return to Gormaq's lodge, or I will cause him to lose face. He-- he considers me his daughter. Please, Draca!" Ziuta cupped her hands together and fell to her knees in the damp grass. "Please, let me go to him! Once inside the palisade walls, I will be secured, and you will know my whereabouts at all times!"
The Draca looked at one another.
"Your Father's lodge only?" one of them finally asked.
Ziuta nodded crazily, as if she were a doll being shaken by a careless toddler.
"Very well." The creatures bowed once more. "What are your wishes?"
"My-- my wishes?" Ziuta and Tuchek exchanged puzzled glances.
"Your wishes, Star Child. You will one day be the Queen of the Draca. We do nothing unless you issue a decree first. What must we do?"
Ziuta and Tuchek could hardly believe their ears.
"Then-- then-- I decree that you don't eat us. Please, don't eat any more People!" she cried.
"When will you return?" The Draca called, but Tuchek and Ziuta had already gripped hands and fled for dear life back into the direction of Looks Thrice.
.......................................................................................................................................................................
Dijaq leaned against the front door of his lodge and crossed his arms, sighing in trepidation as the search party slowly began to form itself. He had finished feeding Father a breakfast of thin duck's broth and cool well-water, after which he had taken some time to freshen up and feel presentable for a change.
Remembering the exchange with Luka earlier had caused him to seethe angrily on the inside; never, he vowed, would he allow himself to be so caught off guard or emasculated in such a way again. Luka had made it clear that, whether taking Michek as a wife or not, he would not stop in his attempts to snare Ziuta's heart-- and Dee was not about to let that happen.
He loved Ziuta. He loved her more than life itself; he would have done whatever it took, including lose face, to win her love once and for all.
Watching grimly as the village became agog with activity and Malaraq worked closely with Amiechek to form the search party that would bring Ziuta back to Looks Thrice for trial, Dijaq practiced deep breaths, then exhaling smoothly. It was an exercise Pomoq had taught him-- he would have loved to confer with the old man and shared a mug of his famous tea, but Pomoq had not been well the last few days.
And so Dijaq leaned carelessly, the wind toying with his golden-white locks that stopped abruptly at the level of his chin (ever since he'd been a boy, it had refused to grow any longer), wondering what he could possibly do to throw Luka off of Ziuta's tracks.
Good-for-nothing woman stealer. To think he has every intention of marrying Michek while he toys with Ziuta's heart this entire time. As a man with some dignity, I cannot allow it. I will not allow it!
From behind, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and whirled.
"Waru!" he said, with more than a little irritation in his voice. She only stood behind him with her hands clasped demurely at the level of her knees and smiled; although that lovely grin was now lop-sided, he hated himself for admitting that she looked more beautiful today that he had ever seen her.
She wore a blue pinafore and blouse which had been very carefully pressed, a clean white apron, and new leather sandals on each dainty foot. Her skin smelled fresh, as though she had used the fragrant gel from the soap-root plant to moisturize her complexion, and her creamy features were flawless. Sparkling grey eyes looked deeply into his own. Her hair, the envy of every other Evening girl in Looks Thrice, had been washed, polished, and was extremely fragrant. Almost, if he thought hard enough, Dijaq could remember what he had seen in her when the two were toddlers, running wildly back and forth from lodge to lodge as they cajoled frustrated mothers out of handfuls of hardened tree sap candy. He remembered those days with a sudden pang: they could not have been more than three or four years old...and he had leaned over and kissed her sweet, smooth cheek...just like that.
"What brings you by here today?"
"I came with greetings and news that I love you greatly," she said, smoothly and sweetly. When Dijaq peered into her eyes, searching for the least hint of dishonesty, he could find none.
"Well-- I thank you for that," he said uncertainly. "How is your wound?"
"My wound?" Waru's hand flitted to the back of her head.
"Yes, from the, ah, spill that you took a few days prior into the well. Are you getting on alright?"
Waru shrugged cautiously and twirled a thick curl of spun-gold hair around one finger in that unique way of hers. "Malaraq says the fall did permanent damage, but I don't believe it. I feel fine. There are headaches every once in a while, but really nothing else. I feel as good as new...and all ready to discuss our marriage plans, Dijaq!"
Marriage plans? "Waru, we were not making discussions or preparations for any such thing," Dijaq said carefully.
"What? But I thought--"
"Perhaps you only thought you remembered discussing wedding plans with me. After all, the blow to your skull was serious, like it or not. You may have simply forgotten. In any case, it isn't your fault," said Dijaq quickly, when the beginnings of hurt flooded Waru's eyes.
"But I was certain we had spoken of it!" she insisted, pooching her perfect lips into a pretty pink pout. "We had discussed wedding cakes! Bridesmaids! Where exactly we could fix a bench for your Father so he could watch the proceedings, and--"
"Waru, I would never lie to you," Dijaq said softly. Almost, he felt sorry for her. Perhaps the fall had knocked some of the poison out of her heart...she seemed truly genuine this morning, and so far he had not heard Waru let loose with her customary insults about the red-haired maiden whom he loved so much. Lately, Waru seemed to behaving more like-- well, like Waru...chaste, demure, and always with a smile from ear to ear. Could this be the Waru whom he had missed so earnestly for years? "We have not been discussing marriage plans."
When Waru looked at the ground, disappointed, Dee pressed ahead. "But perhaps we could have lunch together this afternoon, yes?"
The briefest hint of a smile flickered on Waru's comely face. "Lunch? ...You-- you mean it?"
"Of course. I will fix us Father's favorite meal of fish and vegetables, and we can catch up in front of my lodge; I can even make a bonfire. Would you like that?"
Waru's eyes sparkled with gratefulness. "Oh, Dee, I should like that very much!" she exclaimed. "And Dee: please, please forgive me for my earlier cruelty. I did not realize how badly I had been injured until Malaraq inspected my wound, and even then I did not want to believe. I want things between you and I to be as they were, Dee: perfect, beautiful, full of magic."
Waru approached him and leaned into his right air; she was so close that Dijaq could smell the soap-root she had used to scrub with. "I want to bear your child, Dijaq," she said softly, sensually tracing a star-burst pattern onto his chest with one finger, "and I want to name him after you. Whatever you ask of me, it shall be yours...I shall be the best, most obedient wife that any Evening folk man in Looks Thrice wished for...and in the bedding sheets, my body will be yours for the taking. ...Yes?"
Dijaq, who had blushed a furious maroon, prayed that no one could see the hardness bulging in his long travelling pants. Before he could stop himself, he had grasped Waru's soft cheeks into his hands and kissed them both. She placed one thin-boned hand to her mouth and giggled, pleased.
"Lunch. Later," Dijaq said awkwardly, as he turned and walked back into his Fathr's lodge, quietly closing the door behind him.
He would not see the knowing look on Waru's face as her smile changed from one of pure, unabashed innocence to one of calculating coldness.
I have him now, she thought triumphantly, skipping away from Dijaq's home and stooping every now and again to collect a beautiful flower budding from the walk. The search team will bring Zai-oo-tah home in disgrace...and Dijaq will soon realize what it is that he has missed. With the red-haired wench gone, his heart shall turn itself back to me...and by this time next year, I shall be pregnant with Dijaq's child.
Another set of eyes happened to be watching as Waru skipped light-heartedly into the direction of home. Luka, having been chosen by Amiechek as one of the strong young man to fetch Ziuta and bring her home in fetters, looked down his nose at the beautiful girl and could not help smiling. Waru had certainly done a good job of wooing the boy back into her good graces, he thought. With Dijaq out of the way, Ziuta would be his..and the matter of Michek, his bride-to-be, could be taken care of later.
And Luka smiled, as though he already cradled the sweet, sweet form of the star-child in his tight embrace. Never could he allow any harm to come to her.
Never!