Chapter Eleven: She Who Swallowed the Moon

Author's Note

After MUCH delay, I've finally had the chance to post the latest chapter. The beginning of the year has been quite busy with everything that's been going on. One of those things is pretty major for me! I published a book! Lattes with Starlight is out in the world and available for purchase from Amazon. It's also available on Kindle Unlimited.

Content Warning:

They took a slightly different path than the one she remembered. She wondered if it was to avoid the burnt corpses of her tribe mates. Perhaps he understood her agony. Perhaps he took pity on her.

He dropped the bag of clothes, in a small patch of soft grass, a clearing good enough for a fire and two people.

“Bathe,” he told her plainly, nudging his head at the stream a few steps away. “I shall set up camp.”

It was a slow-moving stream, shallow enough to reach her waist. She walked to the edge of the stream and dipped her toes into the cool water. Too cool for her liking. She looked back just as he was glancing up from stacking sticks over dry moss.

“I have already seen you naked.” His words were firm but he stood up and headed into the woods.

It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to be naked. Her tribe often bathed in rivers and lakes together. But she couldn’t deny the idea of Alateraz seeing her completely exposed left the warmth of blush across her face and neck.

She dropped the pelt, stepping further into the stream with regret. It was too cold, and the blood on her skin had already lost its warmth. The worst part was getting it out of the black tresses of her hair. It was a thick, disgusting mess. She ducked her head under the water, wondering how long she could hold her breath. Perhaps she could stay under the water and die just like the rest of her tribe.

But the cold was unbearable. She rose to the surface with a sharp gasp, the hot air of the rainforest a welcome relief. She trudged to the bank, stepping out on hard earth while fighting back shivers.

A set of clothes were already sprawled out waiting for her. Some of the items had belonged to her tribe. The chainmail was elven made. The dark grey leathers of a great bear, slain by Elder Parric during passage through The Burning Fields. She donned the items that fit the best, fastening them as best she could against her somewhat smaller frame. She grabbed a tattered scarf, woven from the soft hair that grew on the belly of a ram. It was thin enough for the forest heat and comfortable for the cold nights.

Alateraz sat by the campfire with his greaves, vambraces, and cuisses removed for cleaning. Most of the blood had already been wiped away. His chainmail, like his armor, fit tightly like a glove against his small waist and trim thighs.

She sat adjacent to him, letting the heat of the fire burn hot against her face, burning away the chill in her muscles from the cold bath. She wanted to apologize for the mess she dragged him into. She wanted to thank him for taking the time to help her.

His words broke the silence, almost making her jump, “My condolences. Your tribe deserved better, I am certain.”

None of them would get a proper burial. Not a single member of her tribe had been honored. She wouldn’t have known the funeral prayer anyway. “En’zul guide them,” she muttered half-heartedly. “It’s my fault.”

“The bandits killed them,” he spat harshly.

“No.” She clenched her jaw, feeling her teeth grind against each other. “No, it was me. The funny thing is that Ris-Asala lied to everyone.”

“Your leader?”

She huffed out a breathy laugh at the cosmic joke of it all. “She told everyone I was chosen by the gods. Can you believe that?” She shook her head and shoved her fingertips into her eyes. “Truth is she saw the destruction I would bring. She tried her best to lead me to a different path, a better path, and I still failed. I’m a blight to everyone around me.”

He stared at her now, silently analyzing her.

She smirked bitterly. “Thinking of kicking me out of your tribe?”

His gaze returned to the armor. He set them down on the ground next to him and began to fiddle with his gloves. He took them off, ready to set them aside as well. “You are not to blame. Your leader should have known better not to lie.”

She averted her gaze with a slight shake of her head.

“We shall stay here for the night and meet with the others in the morning.”

Zahirana looked around the darkness illuminated in a soft haze of orange and red. “I suppose I’ve slept in worse places.” Her eyes finally rested on him, the fire casting a flickering light across his features. She saw the broadness of his nose, his small mouth permanently fixed into a scowl, and his wide jaw. She caught sight of what looked to be a dark streak of blood. It wasn’t dried like the rest of it.

She stood up, half-aware that she was leaning towards him now, her knee pressed into the hard soil. She ran her thumb across his cheek, the blood still incredibly fresh.

He gripped her wrist but he didn’t look at her. His gaze remained averted, perhaps annoyed that she dared to touch him.

“You’re bleeding.” She swallowed her pulse, dropping down to her other knee. She kept her hand gently against the deep wound. “I am so sorry. You were wounded because of me.”

“It will heal.”

She grabbed the edge of his hood and pushed it back to see the cut in a better light. Silver tresses, intricately braided, ran down his back. His black horns swept outward from his skull before curving along his skull and up to a fine point. His pointed ears were not much different than her own.

He must have been insulted by her staring because he pushed her hands away.

“Ma nesi!” She held her ground, words fumbling from her lips, “I have never been this close to a Dev. I did not mean to insult.” She tried to reach out for him again but he snatched her wrists.

“And what do you think about it, quickling? Do you still think I am a monster? A ferocious, demonic beast?”

“No.” Zahirana shook her head. “I don’t think you’re a monster. I was scared earlier because I thought you were a slaver.”

He huffed, gaze averted to the river behind her.

“I could heal you with magic.”

His hands slid down from her wrist to her elbows and up along her arms. His gaze moved to rest on her lips. He muttered something she couldn’t catch, perhaps a Devian word. For a split second, she thought he was leaning closer and her heart began pounding in her chest.

He stood up. His grip on her vanished. “I am a Dev. I will heal on my own.” Without another word, Alateraz moved to the other side of the fire. “You should get some rest.”

She didn’t bother to argue with him. She combed the damp tresses of her hair, keeping her gaze locked on the campfire. She wished Ris-Loresa was there to share one of his stories and the children gathered at his feet, hanging on to his every word.

Zahirana sunk to the ground, putting her back to Alateraz so that he wouldn’t see the tears spilling out of her eyes.

Rest, she commanded herself. Just sleep.