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In the best case scenario I’ve made an enemy out of him, worst case the Shaman himself takes an interest in what happened. Neither one is good for my continued peace of mind. But right now Niyah is missing and I have to push those concerns away.
Niyah is going to be in trouble. The worst of the worst lurk in the alleys. Out of sight of the guards where they prey on the weakest. These are the Urr’ki who have lost all sense of honor and who we, as a people, are.
Inside the alley I look for signs of her. I spot where the refuse has been disturbed. Kneeling I examine the area. She stopped here. I look around and there, she was there. The trail continues with little signs and I follow in her wake. I am an excellent tracker but none of those skills are truly necessary. She might as well have lit her path in flaming torches it’s so clearly laid out. I move as fast as I can while making sure I am on her trail and not some other person’s. When I turn a corner there are shapes further down then I hear the voices.
“I hear,” a dark shape says, “that these tiny lizard lovers make good sex.”
Rage hits so hard and so fast that there is no thinking. I roar and charge. The first of them turns just in time for me to barrel into him. I drive my shoulder into his gut, lifting him up and off his feet. I keep my momentum going and drive him right into his partner.
They yell and yelp in pain but I trip over some piece of debris and the three of us fall in a tangle. I don’t give them time to react. I pound my fists into whatever flesh presents itself. Another roar rips out of my throat as fluids spray across my face.
“Mine!” I rage.
Slowly I come to realize that neither of them is moving so I stop hitting their bodies. Panting I wipe the gore from my face and only now do I look to the side. Niyah is pressed against the wall, arms crossing her chest and held up protectively in front of her face. She shakes her head as tears stream from her eyes.
I move to rise but before I can she rushes forward and wraps her arms around my neck with so much force she almost knocks me over. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
10
NIYAH
Idon’t know what the appropriate reaction is, but I do know that Bhoja saved me. I cling to him like the last shred of my sanity. He is an anchor in a world of madness and violence. Tears flow and there is no stopping them.
He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tight. And in this moment I feel safe. Something so basic and so fundamental that you only realize how much you don’t appreciate it’s constant presence when it’s gone.
“Come,” he says, speaking softly while patting my back with one hand. “We must go home. Come.”
I nod against his neck, reluctant to let go, but forcing myself to. He doesn’t resume his iron grip on my arm, instead he hooks his arm around my waist so that he’s holding me close. Protective. I like the warmth of his big hand resting on my hip and thigh.
He leads the way out of the alley. The bells are still ringing, louder outside the alley. I look around but the riot has not affected this portion of the city. Two guards rush past us armed and armored, but other than that the street is empty.
It is clear though that Bhoja is being hyper alert. His head is on a swivel, looking in every direction at once as he leads us through the streets and around the area affected by the riot. It takes a while but I recognize his home when it comes into sight at last. He doesn’t relax until we walk through the door and it is firmly closed behind us.
The door clicks shut with a finality that feels like a hammer to my chest. I stand staring into the kitchen while he is still behind me at the door. I’m trapped. Again. The walls close in.
I’m stuck. There is no way home. Nothing is safe. He could do anything he wants and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop him.
“I want to go home,” I say, softly.
“Home?” Bhoja asks.
I can’t turn around. Can’t face him. I’m dancing on the edge of overwhelm and it feels like if I turn and look at him I’ll fall into it. It will consume me.
“Please,” I say. “I need to go back. This is… it’s too much.”
“Niyah,” he says, speaking quietly. “You cannot. The Maulavi… you are…”
“I’m what?” I ask, still not looking at him.
“A prisoner,” he says with heavy resignation in his voice.
Cold. I’m so cold. The finality of that door click followed by his words.
Prisoner. I am a prisoner.
“No,” I say, speaking softly.
“Niyah,” he says and I feel him coming closer.
