Chapter Twenty-eight
Date unknown
Time unknown
Ban-Hezikal, Kalar
IT WAS NOT a good day.
Slinging a glob of wet runa legras from the side of her head, Svetlana sighed and looked down. This was her fourth time having to push herself up to her knees after a face-smacking into the pink mud. Considering she and Akàziendi had only been training for fifteen minutes, it was beginning to feel like she’d taken a major step backwards. Cursing in Russian, Svetlana wiped her pink-streaked hair back—again. Rubbing as much runa legras from her hands as she could, she regripped her shock staff and reassumed a fighting stance.
Akàziendi, spotless as always, readied her staff. The violet-skinned tasharin’s technique had grown increasingly more challenging with each day that’d passed. She had stressed to Svetlana, day in and day out, that she was improving. On this day, Svetlana found it hard to believe.
Striking forward with a jab, Svetlana allowed Akàziendi to parry in order to use momentum from the blow to come in at a different angle. It was a strategy that worked some of the time—but this was not one of them. Their staffs collided as the tasharin met Svetlana’s attacks one after the other, blocking downward, then upward, then downward again. By the time five blows had been exchanged, Akàziendi had already transitioned into the aggressor.
Crouching down mid-strike, Akàziendi sent the far end of her staff swinging for Svetlana’s front foot. Svetlana lifted it to avoid the sweep, but it was too late. With a solid, straightforward thrust, the tip of Akàziendi’s staff—set to minimum charge—popped against Svetlana’s upper torso. Even had there not been a charge involved, the awkwardness of Svetlana’s footing would have done her in by itself. Toppling backward, Svetlana skedaddled for several steps before her feet gave way. She landed flat on her back with yet another loud, wet splat.
After pressing her head back in frustration, Svetlana growled and then rolled to push up. This one-sided pummeling was getting old.
Ed was not present during this training session, the Ithini having gone with Kraash-nagun to work on his training with Toro-shun, which was taking place on the opposite side of the Ban-Hezikal structure. Though it would have been nice to be able to communicate with Akàziendi, it wasn’t necessary. The beatdown she was delivering was saying enough by itself. So far as timing went, this couldn’t be worse. With her much-ballyhooed duel with Kraash-nagun slated for that evening, this was not the time to suddenly fall apart.
As opposed to the hustle and bustle of her first days on Kalar, the past several days had seemed strikingly normal. She woke, she trained, she mulled about the facility, she trained, she waited for new developments, she trained. There was a definite routine for both her and her comrades.
Wuteel, for all Svetlana’s grievances with him, had been as around-the-clock as anyone, tirelessly working on a solution to the damaged Zone Runner’s issues. For two days in a row now, the Kalarael had allowed him to go to Winduster alone to work on the spacecraft. With Kalarael surrounding him, he was no threat there. Getting that ship repaired was Svetlana’s top priority, even if it meant lending trust to Wuteel to do it.
To no surprise whatsoever, Akàziendi’s proposal to Tributurian regarding taking Kalareim colonists to Earth was met with exuberance. According to Akàziendi, they were already beginning the process of mustering a force to help liberate the spacecraft. The time and date for this liberation was unknown, but impending. As soon as Tributurian picked a date, he would let Akàziendi know.
Despite the reality of their situation, Svetlana felt a measure of guilt for what was being conspired. She felt particularly bad when it came to Yigôzien, who worshipped the ground Svetlana walked on. She was always there, providing insight, making sure that everything Svetlana could possibly want or need was in ample supply. There was no denying that Svetlana felt a great deal of bitterness toward Linjan and the others involved in her unspoken imprisonment. But Yigôzien had nothing to do with any of that. The teal-streaked invoker was entirely innocent. For days now, Svetlana had been praying for a solution to reveal itself, one that wouldn’t result in outright betrayal of the Kalarael, and Yigôzien in particular. Svetlana had no intention of judging their whole species for the deeds of a few. Yes, they were misguided, and yes, their attitudes toward the Kalareim were repugnant. But this was a generational, systemic problem. Individuals could only be blamed so much for that. It was strange, praying to a God that literally no one else on that planet believed in. She would have been lying had she said that she hadn’t questioned things in her own heart—namely, was her God even real? It was easy to say He was when experiencing deliverance from a situation that required the miraculous, as had been the case on the Zone Runner with Nagogg. But it was much, much harder when living with a society that had their own historical religion—one that if not for her arrival, would have never intersected with her own. Were their Gods the same? Did God play by multiple sets of rules? If He did, was He also playing with the Khuladis’? These were hard questions to ask. They were even harder to answer.
In the end, she knew only one thing for certain: in the times in her past when she’d called upon God for rescue, He’d delivered her. She’d at one point chastised Tauthin for daring to suggest she denounce her “Earthae God” at the hour she needed Him most. She would be a fool to turn her back on Him now.
Shock staff swinging, Svetlana proceeded with another offensive run. Akàziendi parried blow after blow, backtracking as Svetlana pressed forward until suddenly, the tasharin stepped forward, forgoing her weapon to trip Svetlana forward with a simple kick of the foot.
Sliding face-first yet again, Svetlana lifted her head, angrily smeared away the runa legras from her eyes, then slammed her staff into the ground and screamed. As Svetlana rose to her feet, Akàziendi angled her head and watched.
Svetlana was an absolute wreck. This was as bad as the tail-kicking Tauthin had given her. Tendrils of pink hair dangling, she glared at Akàziendi and threw her hands in the air. “What the hell is happening? Can you tell me that? Why am I falling apart right now?”
The tasharin said nothing, which wasn’t surprising considering Ed wasn’t there to connect them. It didn’t really matter to Svetlana, anyway. She just wanted to vent.
“I mean, this guy is blind! Can I not beat a blind person? Must we go through all this? I was doing good, right? You said I was before.” Lowering her head, she shook it. “He’s blind, Akàziendi. He’s blind! If I cannot beat a blind Bakma with a stick, then I don’t deserve to lead anyone.”
Akàziendi spoke for the first time, the melodic sweetness of her natural-speaking voice wafting through the air around Svetlana. She didn’t understand a lick of it.
“Setana!” said a voice from far behind her.
Turning her head, Svetlana watched as Tauthin approached. The Bakma stopped when he saw her, looking at her caked-up body before glancing to Akàziendi, then back to Svetlana again. “How is your training going?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“We must speak about Kraash-nagun,” Tauthin said.
“Must we?” she asked, holding her hands out. “Must we, really? What did he do, grow eyes? Will they let him use a gun? I feel like I am wasting my time, rolling around in the mud, day after stupid day.”
Tauthin’s gaze was steadfast. “You sound frustrated.”
Grumbling, Svetlana reached down to scoop up a handful of wet runa legras. She flung it toward Tauthin’s head with abandonment. Her aim wasn’t even close.
“That was uncalled for.”
“You know what’s uncalled for?” Svetlana trudged toward him, nearly slipping forward until she caught herself with a hand. Standing upright, she continued onward. “I will tell you. This. This utter humiliation.”
The Bakma’s knobby brow lowered. “You have been through worse.”
“Blah, blah, worse, worse, they cut off my nose, whatever. I am sick of…” She held her hands out, fingers rigid like she was trying to grab something, but ending up with nothing. “Feeling completely gross. What is it with me, really? Why am I always so gross? Is it because I am a clean freak? Is this supposed to be irony?”
“It appears you are having a moment,” Tauthin said. “That is unfortunate, because we truly must speak about Kraash-nagun.”
She shook her fists at the sky. “Ugh!” Trudging forward, she motioned for Tauthin to lead the way. “Let us go, then. Whatever you say.”
Every footstep she took was heavy. It wasn’t just the weight of the mud caked to her feet and legs—it was the exhaustion of doing this day after day. That was surely another reason why she was so drained. With days nine hours longer than on Earth, she’d essentially had two full extra days in Earth time to train. While that sounded beneficial, it had demolished her circadian rhythm. She could feel that physical toll.
At long last, she, Tauthin, and Akàziendi emerged on the far side of the structure. Slowing to a stop, Svetlana looked ahead at the sparring ground of Kraash-nagun. The blinded elite was there, as was Ed, who was standing near him with his back to the new arrivals, none of whom were apparently close enough to trigger his senses. But it was at that point when something else caught her eye. Something she hadn’t expected to see. There was another figure there, but their identity couldn’t be determined. They were too covered from head to toe with wet runa legras. Angling her head, Svetlana raised a quizzical brow and asked, “Who is that?”
Lowering his chin, Tauthin’s voice fell low. “That…is Toro-shun.”
Her mouth opened. No words came out.
Toro-shin, wiping fresh mud from atop his feathered head, wearily took a position across from Kraash-nagun. The darishu, out of his armor, readied his shock staff.
The attack came.
Charging ahead, Kraash-nagun swung his shock staff in a wind-whipping circle then thrust it forward. Toro-shun leapt back to deflect it down. The deflection connected, but the blinded elite was already countering the defensive move. After yanking his staff back, he struck several times at the darishu’s head, torso, legs, then torso again. The last hit rang true, and Toro-shun stumbled backward. Planting his staff, Kraash-nagun transitioned into a spinning sweep, knocking Toro-shun clean off his feet. Jabbing with the staff, Kraash-nagun struck him while he was still airborne. The next thing Svetlana saw was Toro-shun rolling like a rag doll across the pink mud. The next thing Svetlana felt…was sheer panic.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Tauthin’s voice remained low, their observation still undetected. “It has been like this for half an hour. There is nothing Toro-shun can do.”
Nothing Toro-shun could do. Nothing a trained darishu could do. Had Kraash-nagun eyes, this might not have been shocking. But his eyes were an Ithini’s, presenting his body at an entirely different point of view than he’d ever experienced. Like he was controlling it from afar. And he was excelling with it.
That dull ache worsened. “I…” Svetlana didn’t have words. She stared at Kraash-nagun in awe.
“Let us return to our side,” Tauthin said, quickly turning to lead Svetlana and Akàziendi away. Neither female protested.
As soon as Svetlana was back on her side of Ban-Hezikal, she plopped her back against the outer wall. Pushing her hands up over her stained hair, she stared forward and asked, “What have I done?”
“I warned you,” Tauthin said. “It was foolish to challenge Kraash-nagun to such a duel.”
She was too flabbergasted to hear him. “How can he be so good? How can he do that to a darishu when he has no eyes? How could he have learned to control his body in such a way?”
“He is an elite. He has mastery over his body. Once the adjustment was made, he needed rely on only instinct.”
Their duel was that evening. That evening! She was yet to take down Akàziendi a single time. Any mud that had gotten on her was a result of Svetlana’s splatting into it. The tasharin had never attacked Svetlana with as much speed and finesse as Kraash-nagun had just taken down Toro-shun. “How could I have done this? What was I thinking?” She was nowhere near good enough to take down a warrior like him.
Tauthin, it seemed, agreed. “You must find a way to withdraw from this duel, or to postpone it until we can figure out what to do.”
“If I withdraw, the shame would be—”
“—preferable to your death,” the Bakma said.
Akàziendi shifted her now-yellow gaze between them.
Continuing, Tauthin said, “I will confess to you that yesterday, I instructed Kraash-nagun to lose his match to you. I knew you would not approve of it, but I also knew what kind of warrior he is. It does not appear he is heeding my instruction.”
Had this been a typical situation, she would have likely blown a gasket at the thought of Tauthin interjecting himself in such a way. But now, she wished it’d have worked. “I need a plan. I need an idea!” Pushing up from the wall, she paced back and forth. “There must be something I can do!” Now she was just rambling to herself. “I cannot back out. I cannot. I told them this was some sacred custom. They have been waiting for it!”
Akàziendi said something—her alien words lost amid the musing of Svetlana and Tauthin.
“It would be better to lose face than your life, Setana. I cannot guarantee he will not try to take it.”
“But he would surely know the Kalarael would kill him if he did that!”
“You have told them this was customary. With their adhering to custom, you know they would honor it!”
“Honor my death? The death of the Incarnate? That is crazy!”
“This is a situation you have caused. If you would have only listened to—”
“—I don’t need to hear that right now! I need something that can help!”
Akàziendi shouted—a harsh word that caused the other two to flinch. Ceasing their bickering, they gave the tasharin their attention.
Taking a step back, Akàziendi pointed at the ground with her staff. Dragging its tip through the mud, she began to draw a picture. Svetlana watched, head angled curiously as Akàziendi drew an oblong, oval circle. A ring? An arena? Moving the tip, she drew another smaller oval within it—then beside it, another. When she drew a short, horizontal line beneath them both, Svetlana realized what it was she was creating. It was plain as day.
An Ithini’s head.
Eyes reddening as they lifted to regard Svetlana and Tauthin, she allowed her glare to linger between them. Then, suddenly, she lifted the end of the staff then smashed it down into the center of the drawing. The runa legras splattered right between the Ithini’s eyes. Slowly, her eyes lifted to regard them again.
It didn’t take much for Svetlana to realize what the tasharin was suggesting. To realize what she was telling Svetlana to do. Despite no common language between them, she’d made her suggestion loud and clear.
Take out Ed.
Svetlana lifted her hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes lingered on the smashed Ithini drawing before they lifted back up to stare at Akàziendi. She didn’t know what to say.
It was a problem Tauthin didn’t seem to have. “…that could work.”
“That could work?” Svetlana asked, aghast.
He turned his head to her. “Kraash-nagun sees because Ed gives him eyes. If you incapacitate him during the match, it will discombobulate Kraash-nagun and make him vulnerable.”
As horrifying as the thought of getting beaten down by Kraash-nagun was, this suggestion was actually worse—and she let him know it. “And what of poor Ed? Will he not feel betrayed when I beat him with a stick?”
“You do not need to beat him,” Tauthin said, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. “You need only disorient him. Throw a handful of mud at him, hit him in the face.”
“I tried to hit you with mud and I missed by ten feet—and I was like, five feet away!”
The Bakma growled in frustration. “Setana, of all the options we have, this may be the only one that saves face.”
“This does not save face,” she said with adamance. “This is as dirty a trick as I could have ever imagined.”
Upon placing his hand on her shoulder, he leaned in to look squarely at her. “…and one that would work.”
There was no doubt it would work. If Ed was taken out, Kraash-nagun would be blind. That didn’t make victory inevitable—he had downed Gabralthaar blind, after all—but it would undoubtedly make defeating him more likely. Especially if there were moments of confusion and disorientation first. It would work.
And it would be awful. Taking a step back, she slowly shook her head. “I appreciate the idea, but this would not be right.”
“It is not about ‘right.’ It is about survival.”
“It is about right! If I do this and I win, then what will I be? No better than Nagogg? Than the Khuladi? It would be better to be killed by Kraash-nagun than to live my life as a despicable monster!”
The Bakma leader leered. “I am losing my patience with your sense of morality. Do you not understand the situation we are in? Do you not understand that by losing this fight, you are putting the rest of us at risk? If Kraash-nagun kills you, what is to stop the Kalarael from likewise killing us? Even Ed, whom you are trying to protect, would be in danger! The Kalarael would have no reason to keep any of us alive, especially if one of us were to slay you. For all you know, incapacitating Ed may very well save his life!”
“Umm, would you care to explain how you suddenly went from ‘they will adhere to custom,’ to, ‘they will kill us if you lose?’”
“You are deflecting the point I am trying to make!”
So much for their heartwarming resolution. “Do not try to guilt me into doing something so inconceivable. Wrong is wrong, Tauthinilaas!”
“Nothing is wrong! Survival is all that matters. Have you not learned that?”
“What I have learned is that the more you justify terrible things, the more terrible you become.”
Whipping his hand up in frustration, Tauthin said, “Then what is your solution? How do you plan to defeat an elite warrior such as him when you have not felled Akàziendi one single time?”
“My God will—”
“Your God is not real!” The words exploded from Tauthin’s mouth. “Everything you claim your God has done can be explained by coincidence and circumstance! Is that what your God excels at?” Storming back and forth, he gestured wildly with his hands. “You disassociate. God did it! You kill a crippled Nagogg. God did it!” He spun around to face her. “You find yourself elevated to the status of a god here. Tell me, did your God do that?”
Tears were almost brimming. She was so completely enraged. “God has been with me every step of this journey, and He is very, very real. Do not challenge me on this.”
“A trait all zealots possess. None like to be challenged. It is because they know their argument fails.”
Silence fell. As the two stared at each other, the only sound that could be heard was the wind howling around the corners of Ban-Hezikal. For almost ten seconds, neither said a word.
Tauthin finally broke the silence. “Defeat her.” He pointed to Akàziendi. “Bring her to the ground. Turn her feathers pink. Do what you have been unable to do thus far. Then, and only then, will I believe you stand any miniscule chance.”
Leaning her head back, Svetlana closed her eyes. The initial reaction inside her was, Please don’t make me fight her again. But therein lay the problem. If she couldn’t bring down Akàziendi—if she couldn’t down her trainer one single time—she stood no chance whatsoever against Kraash-nagun.
The weight on her shoulders was so heavy. What she really wanted to do was just lie down. This week-long beating had taken its toll. After lowering her head briefly once again, she set her eyes on Akàziendi. Lifting a single finger, she said to the tasharin, “One more time.”
The Kalareim angled her head. There was no way for Svetlana’s words to be translated in her mind. She could only hope Akàziendi knew what she meant. Large eyes narrowing, as if in sudden, deep thought, Akàziendi dipped her head. She understood. Readying her shock staff, she turned to march back into the sparring space.
Svetlana’s gait was far less nimble. Her feet dragged. Closing her eyes halfway to the spot, she thought a prayer. God, I need to do this. Please. If there was ever a time when I needed a boost—when I needed to believe that I could do this the right way—that time is now. Let me bring Akàziendi down. Withdrawing her shock staff, she gripped it tightly between her fingers. Arriving at her starting point, she wiped back her hair to get it out of her eyes and regarded the tasharin before her.
Perfect. Akàziendi looked perfect. Besides her feet where the wet runa legras had splashed, there was not so much as a speck on the tasharin’s body. Her black and purple down feathers, her violet skin. She was totally clean.
It was time for that to change.
Holding her staff at the ready, Svetlana nodded her head. The fight was on. As both women began slowly circling, Svetlana prepared to make her strike.
Akàziendi struck first. Lurching forward, the tasharin brought her shock staff whipping around toward Svetlana’s head. Svetlana leaned back and parried it with a circular motion. Stepping forward, she countered with a double thrust—one quick one to the torso then one to the head. Akàziendi knocked both out of the way before quickly stepping back to reestablish distance.
Svetlana’s heart was thumping. With her staff fully extended outward, as she would have held the chieftain’s spear, she stepped forward to strike at Akàziendi’s head. Akàziendi parried and countered—to which Svetlana parried and countered in return. Back and forth, their staffs clacked and popped. The lowest possible shock setting was being used—just enough to bring someone to the ground without doing any real damage. Svetlana had certainly felt its sting enough. A counter, a parry, a counter, a parry. Back and forth, the two went, each series of blows setting the stage for one of them to make a push.
Svetlana pushed. Ducking down, she sent her staff whirling around at the tasharin’s knees. As she expected, Akàziendi dropped the tip of her staff to block. Just like Svetlana wanted her to. Press in! She’d been yet to completely commit to being the aggressor. It wasn’t in her nature; it wasn’t her style. But desperate times called for new measures—and this was as desperate as it got. Sliding the tip of her staff upward along the shaft of Akàziendi’s, she forced the Kalareim to momentarily relinquish her grip in order to prevent her hands from being shocked. That was when she made her move.
Charging forward, Svetlana struck out at Akàziendi not with her staff, but with one of her hands. Svetlana’s hand reached Akàziendi’s collar just as the tasharin shuffled her feet to dart backward. Contorting her body sideways to tear herself free, Akàziendi left a part of her back exposed. The window was barely there, but it was there. Svetlana had to take it. A sweep with the legs was too convenient—too predictable. Akàziendi would defend against it. The tip of Svetlana’s staff was already on the ground. In a split-second decision, she opted for the move Akàziendi wouldn’t expect. She jerked the bottom of her staff from left to right at the tasharin’s feet. The attack was just quick enough to be unavoidable. The staff connected with the back of Akàziendi’s calf. The tip pulsed with energy. The next thing Svetlana saw, she couldn’t believe.
Akàziendi went airborne. Time seemed to slow down. Svetlana’s eyes opened wide.
Splat!
Wet runa legras splashed in all directions. Akàziendi’s backside imprinted in the mud. Her head rocking back, she closed her eyes in pain.
Svetlana’s mouth fell agape. Ripping off her mask, she let her jaw hit the proverbial floor. A high rushed to her brain.
…I did it.
She couldn’t believe it, even as she watched Akàziendi lift her head and roll over to push up. She literally couldn’t believe it. “I did it!” Head whipping in Tauthin’s direction, she locked eyes with her Bakma companion. She pointed where Akàziendi fell. “I did it!”
“I heard you the first time,” he said begrudgingly.
Rising to her feet, Akàziendi turned her head sideways as best she could to look at her back, which was caked in runa legras. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the back of her down feather hair and slung what came out to the ground.
“I got you!” Svetlana said, pointing in Akàziendi’s direction. She didn’t mean it to sound mocking. She just literally couldn’t believe it. For days, she’d dreamt of turning the tide on her trainer. Though this wasn’t exactly the faceplant she’d craved, it was more than enough to feel vindicated. “I finally got you!”
Akàziendi’s staff flew from right to left at Svetlana’s feet—there was no chance for Svetlana to react. The next thing Svetlana felt was air before she came crashing down just like the Kalareim had.
The fall hurt, and the act reeked of sour grapes. Svetlana didn’t care. Laying her head back maskless in the mud, she laughed.
In comparison, Tauthin let out a sigh.
Reaching out with her hand, she said to Tauthin, “Help me up.” There was zero chance she wasn’t yanking him down with her.
“No,” he said flatly.
“No, come on, help me up!”
“You will try to pull me to the ground. It is the kind of foolish thing you would do in such a euphoric and stupid state.”
That smart-aleck alien. “I won’t, I promise!”
“Get yourself up,” he said, turning and walking away.
Grabbing a handful of mud, she slung it at the back of his head. It missed feet off to the side. “Seriously?” she asked herself. Placing her hand on the ground, she pushed up to her feet.
Tauthin turned back around. “What have you proven here? That you can win one round out of how many? One hundred? Two hundred?”
“I proved that when I must win, I can win.” She pointed to Akàziendi without looking. “If I can do that to her, I can do it to Kraash-nagun.” Turning to Akàziendi, she watched the tasharin try to wipe the mud from her back. Svetlana put her mask back on to conceal her grin. After watching Akàziendi struggle, she looked at Tauthin again. “And I proved that my God has my back.”
“You are a miserable creature.”
Behind her mask, her grin widened. “You love me, Tauthinilaas.”
“Grah!” he said, turning away.
“Admit it! What just happened was amazing.”
Turning to her again, he said, “What just happened was a fluke.”
One being’s fluke was another being’s miracle. But she’d entertain the thought anyway. “Then I’m just one fluke away from ending this for good.”
“Be that as it may…” he said, his words trailing off as he looked at her.
Angling her head, Svetlana asked, “Be that as it may, what?” When several seconds passed in silence, her smile widened. “You have nothing to say.”
Setting his own hands on his hips in adopted human fashion, Tauthin looked down at the ground and shook his head.
This felt so good. It felt so unbelievably, rewardingly good. This was exactly what she needed when she needed it the most. Inside, she couldn’t help but rejoice. Thank You, God. As You have, time and time again, You came through when I needed You most. Thank You for that. I praise You for that. May I never forsake You. Looking at Akàziendi, she watched as the Kalareim wiped her caked hands on the front of her wardrobe. Considering the falls Svetlana had taken, Akàziendi got off easy. But a mess was a mess—Svetlana would take whatever victories she could get. Sashaying past the tasharin, she winked when Akàziendi looked at her. “See you in the cleansing pool.” She knew the Kalareim wouldn’t understand what she was saying—or a lick of the Bakmanese that’d been spoken between Tauthin and herself. But she had a feeling her trainer would get the gist. Turning her head to Tauthin, she offered him a smile, too. Even behind her mask, her eyes gave it away.
For the briefest of moments, the Bakma’s face softened. When he spoke, he sounded defeated. “Well done, Setana. May you do as well against Kraash-nagun.”
There was no doubt that she would. Time and time again, God had proven His faithfulness true. He would see her through, again. Trudging through the runa legras, feet feeling lighter than they had before, Svetlana made her way back to Ban-Hezikal.
Tauthin watched until she was gone. Muttering to himself in Bakmanese, he turned to regard Akàziendi—to regard the trainer that’d finally been bested.
Akàziendi’s eyes were also on Ban-Hezikal—and that same set of doors through which Svetlana had walked. Slowly, they narrowed. Upon twirling her stick vigorously and with body language that looked far from defeated, she latched it back in place. Paying no mind to the mess on her backside, she marched back toward the adobe structures.
With every second Tauthin watched her, her demeanor stood out more. There was such confidence for someone who’d just hit the mud. There was such an air of focus. It wasn’t until she’d moved several paces past him—his opaque gaze on her all the while—that the dawning finally came. In a rare moment of true surprise, he spoke to her. “You fell on purpose.” Akàziendi walked on, even as he stared from behind. “You were building her confidence.”
The tasharin stopped walking. Angling her head down and to the side, she watched him out the corner of her eyes.
“Why?” he asked.
No answer was given—for there was no understanding of the language between them. Facing ahead again, she resumed her march to the structure.
For almost a full minute after both females had departed, Tauthin stood alone on the runa legras, his eyes staying on the door they’d disappeared through. At long last, and with shoulders far weightier than they’d been minutes before, he followed them inside.