Chapter Eight: She Who Swallowed the Moon

She stared at the tent’s ceiling after losing hope of getting any sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the fear and worry in the faces of her tribe. “I’m disappointed in you,” echoed around her brain, repeating itself over and over. Sarlen’s shaky voice echoed behind it, “We should leave. Let’s get out of here.”

Why didn’t she leave when he told her to? Why did she have to search the temple at all?

By the time the sun started to rise, her heart was pounding so hard it was getting difficult to breathe. She sat up and buried her fist into her chest. Her knees pulled closer so she could press her forehead against them. She could feel the sorrow welling up behind her eyes. But she couldn’t cry. Not yet. There would be a time and place to cry about everything. For now, she needed to stay strong and be the leader her tribe thought she was.

Zahirana crawled over to the entrance and peeled open the flap. She half-expected to see the healer making her way over but the camp was quiet. She saw Alateraz, tall and broad-shouldered, his features barely visible in the shadow of his hood. His gaze was sweeping across the camp like a king surveying his army.

Another approached, draped in tattered furs with the head of a wolf shrouding his face. He wore the same armor as Alateraz, shimmering between shades of orange and green.

“Alateraz.” He bowed in greeting then pushed back his hood. “Scouts returned early before sunrise.”

“With what news?”

Zahirana squinted. Were those horns, she wondered, trailing through his hair. She thought she saw horns in Atisha’s hair as well.

“North of here, in the mountains.” His voice trailed away and he stepped closer. “One of us is leading a rebellion of some kind.”

He crossed his arms, fingers tapping rhythmically as he thought. She realized he removed his gauntlets and took in the sharpness of his nails as they clattered against his armor. No, she considered, they were claws.

She was tempted to sneak closer but she didn’t want to get caught. Last night she thought she saw fangs. She ducked back into her tent, breath bottled in her lungs. They weren’t elves just as she suspected.

The Dev? She had never seen one before but she heard rumors. Ris-Asala warned them about Devian slavers who often hunted The Golden Wilds for merchandise to sell back in their homelands of Yuwesa.

She jolted. They had to be Dev. It explained their expensive armor and their militaristic behavior. They weren’t a tribe at all. They were an army just as she thought.

Her tribe was in danger. Alateraz was using her to get to her tribe for the sole purpose of caging them and selling them off to someone across the sea. She had to somehow escape the area without anyone noticing and get back to her tribe to warn them.

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She crawled to the back of the tent and started digging around the wooden stake holding the tent in place. She might have been a lot faster were it not for the throbbing wound in her shoulder. Once the stake was out of the ground, she slid under the cloth wall. She left the staff behind in hopes she could keep a low profile. But after crawling to the tree line and making an attempt to stand, she regretted it immediately.

Her shin began to ache, the bone brittle as sticks. She limped from tree to tree, using the balls of her feet when she could manage it. This wasn’t her first time sneaking away from camp. Except this time, Sarlen was gone and she wasn’t giggling with delight. This time, there was a hollow ache in her chest and her leg was a mere remnant of what it used to be.

Eventually, she found the clearing where the bandits had been piled together. A few vultures raised their heads, staring her down as she made her way past. She bowed her head slowly in respect, whispering a blessing to them. Zahirana continued passing through, examining the dead, and the blood that stained the area.

She remembered the look on their leader’s face when she speared all of her magic into his chest. She didn’t regret her actions. She regretted getting caught.

Behind her in the distance, the camp was waking up, noisy as they started packing away supplies. She felt she was far enough away that no one would hear her now. She picked up speed, leaping in long strides with the trees for support. Thorns and branches scraped across her skin during her clumsy dance through the underbrush. She rolled over a few fallen logs and crawled under low-hanging branches that blocked her path.

It was still early morning but the air was already turning hot and humid. Sweat began to layer her scalp, clinging to her unbraided hair. It was getting harder to breathe now. Whatever energy she gained during her rest sleep was draining fast.

The woods grew quiet. Leaves rustled somewhere behind her. Someone was following her.

She held her breath and ducked behind the closest tree. Her escape had been too slow despite how hard she tried to get away. Atisha, worried as any healer would be, probably noticed her absence and sent someone to find her. Or Alateraz, eager to enslave her tribe, realized she left early without him. He needed her if he was going to find his valuable merchandise.

She pressed her fingers into the rough skin of the tree behind her. Her chest was burning but she forced herself to take quiet, slow breaths. Her eyes rolled shut when the rustling leaves went quiet. She strained to hear any noise, any hint as to where her pursuers might be.

When her eyes opened, a pair of glowing eyes met hers. It was her first time seeing Alateraz in broad daylight. She thought it had been her night vision that painted him in muted grays but his skin was the color of dark ash, his eyes burning bright orange like fire itself.

Beside him was the wolf-hooded figure with his hood down. She stared at the horns that curled back along his skull before spiraling forward again, marking him as something altogether different. He was sneering as he held back a laugh. “You were going somewhere?”

She jolted at the question. Her brows briefly jumped when her eyes swept down to their claw-like nails. “No. Well, yes. Obviously.” She laughed and waved her hand about the wilds. “I was enjoying nature because, as you know, elves do enjoy a good forest.”

He snorted.

Alateraz wasn’t quite as amused as his companion. “I told you plainly that I would help you reach your tribe. Must you be so stubborn?”

“You don’t have to.” She waved aside his offer and bobbed her head. “I’m fine. I can handle it from here. You should get back to your tribe as I’m sure they need you.”

The wolf reached out to touch her and, being as frightened as she was, she let out a short screech and shrank away from him. A sharp twinge of pain buckled her knee out from under her. She hissed through clenched teeth which quickly prompted Alateraz to jerk her weight into him.

“Stubborn and stupid.” Alateraz somehow managed to press his thin lips even thinner.

“I believe she’s frightened of me,” the wolf added gingerly.

“No, never, of course not.” She shook her head and tried to weasel out of Alateraz’s hold. But his arm around her wouldn’t give in. “I’m not frightened. I’m calm. I don’t have any feeling in my leg and arm but I’m calm.” She nodded for good measure. “Calm.”

“Yes, you look very calm,” Alateraz retorted blandly.

“Honestly,” she muttered. “I can go alone.”

“The elven people have become quite stupid over the years.” Alateraz pulled her with him as he trudged north through the wilds. “Let us find your tribe so that I can leave you with them.”

“No!” She tried to wrench out of his hold. “Not that way.”

“It is where you were headed, is it not?” Alateraz analyzed her now, his gaze burrowing into her features for clues. “Or will you abandon your tribe and run away?”

She bit onto her bottom lip because she had considered it last night.

He added dryly, “We are not the monsters you think we are.”

“Then what are you?”

He rolled his eyes shut and shook his head ever so slightly. With his hold still around her, he dragged her deeper into the wilds.

The wolf, who had been laughing and smiling earlier, suddenly seemed to sober up.

It wasn’t long before they reached the natural landmarks where her tribe was supposed to wait for her. When they stepped into the clearing, it was completely void of people. The grass was still flat. Perhaps they slept there during the night and left in the morning. She could see a trail through the brush where they might have continued to another meeting point.

Her body sighed. It crumpled forward with exhaustion. The pain in her leg went from throbbing to nearly bone-shattering. The herbs were wearing off, she mused, the ironic timing.

She wanted to lie down in the grass and sleep. She needed to feel some semblance of peace even if it was a brief moment. But Alateraz seemed to pull her closer as her legs weakened. He was looking down at her when their eyes met. His gaze was softer than usual. Perhaps he pitied her in some way. If Dev were even capable of pity.

“I need to sit down.” She pulled away from him and dropped to one knee then collapsed forward. She pressed the crown of her head into the cool grass, the scent of her tribe still lingered among the musk of earth.

“If you had let Atisha heal you first, you would not need to sit down.” Alateraz tried to grab her arm and pull her up onto her feet again. “This is hardly the time for moping.”

Zahirana jerked her arm free. “What would you even know about pain? Or loss, for that matter?”

His expression flinched, eyes jolting for a brief moment but she saw it clearly.

She slid her eyes shut and softened her voice. “I’m sorry. That was unfair.” The young elf hobbled back onto her feet with a groan. “Let’s go back.” She limped towards the path they had followed through the trees.

Alateraz grabbed her arm and anchored it around his waist. “Be prepared to have Atisha scold you. She does not like it when her patients misbehave.”

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