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Even the markets are barren in these dark times. Last time I went there was almost nothing I had in mind to purchase. All resources are going to support the army and prepare for the final fight with the lizards. Our lives have become a race between awakening the Paluga or the lizards wiping us out.
The Shaman has increased the number of sacrifices, claiming that the Paluga’s bloodlust has not yet been awakened. All I know is that the more we sacrifice, the more degraded our people become. What is the use of social norms when there is no hope? When survival is quickly becoming an inevitable impossibility.
We work in silence, not truly comfortable, but what can I say? I have spoken a truth that shook her to her core. A truth that as my hands do their work I look at and see that I too hate. Why did I say it?
We finish the meal and I dish it up for us. Each of us takes our seat at the table. I stare at the bowl, stirring the loose stew, but now that it is ready I no longer have an appetite. What am I doing? What is next?
“You meant it,” she says, speaking unexpectedly.
It surprises me and I look up accidentally meeting her eyes. She has beautiful eyes. They have a unique shape to them that I find pleasing in an odd sort of way. The color of them has a warmth even now when I know she is either angry or hurt. Probably both. The soft brown of them causes a warmth to spread over my skin.
I know what she is referring to but I don’t want to admit it. The words stick in my throat, refusing to come out no matter how I try to force them. She doesn’t look away and the unflinching way she faces me stirs something deep inside.
“What?” I ask, not because I need to know but to buy time.
“Prisoner,” she says, snapping the end of the word off as sharply as my best cooking knife. “You said I am a prisoner.”
I close my eyes. I know I should say yes. That is the answer and it’s clear to both of us but I can’t. I can’t use that word with her, about her. It physically hurts me. Unable to say it I nod.
“What did you expect?” I ask, my voice hoarse as it fights its way past the lump in my throat.
She continues to stare and I cannot look away. Her hands are flat on the table on either side of her bowl and I want, with all my heart, to cover them with mine. I want to take her in my arms, hold her, smooth her hair and calm her fears. I want but I cannot.
Why? Why now? Why is this happening?
“I… don’t know,” she says and finally she drops her eyes from mine.
And the moment they are off of me regret flows in. I want them back. I feel as if I was basking in the warmth of a comforting fire and it has been doused. Leaving me cold, alone, and empty. I work my mouth. I should say these things, speak my truth, but to what end?
The Maulavi have made it very clear. They do not trust these new humans. They suspect they are plants for the lizards, sent to spy and gather information so they can wipe us out. Stop us before the Paluga can be awakened and bring in the next world.
The worst of this is I do not know. Is the Shaman right? Is he wrong? Things have been bad for a very long time. Long before he rose to power. We have been forced to retreat again and again. Once we had many cities, much more glorious than this hovel we now call home. This place that is so degraded, so downtrodden, we don’t even bother to name it. What purpose to name a place that is little more than a way stop on the path to our graves?
“You will not be harmed,” I whisper. “I promise.”
“Promise?” she asks, her mouth working then she looks up and now she is glaring. She presses her hands against the table and rises to her feet, leaning over the table until she is less than a hands width from me. “Promise? You cannot promise me anything!”
I am taken aback by the vehemence of her protest. Anger rolls off her in waves like the blasts of a furnace. She’s breathing heavily, panting.
“Niyah,” I say, wanting to calm her, reassure her but she shakes her head.
“No,” she says. “You’re no better than them. You think you saved me? Did you really? For what, so I can be a prisoner under your house?”
“No, that is?—”
“You only stopped him because you wanted to be the one to?—”
“No!” I shout, exploding out of my chair and sending it flying away to crash into the cabinet.
We are eye to eye, both of us panting as we glare at one another. Neither of us is willing to back down. Hatred burns in her eyes. Hatred of me, her situation, or what I do not know but there is no mistaking what I see there.
My anger burns in response. That she would even imply I would do such leaves me almost speechless. It is incredulous. I am not an animal. I am not Riak.
“He threatened it,” she says through gritted teeth. “He threatened me!”
Her eyes grow wet then a tear drops, trailing down her cheek. That single tear quenches the anger in my heart and causes it to shatter like impure iron heated and thrust into the water. She is scared and lashing out is her answer. How can I be mad about that?
I take a step back, giving her space as I accept her rage. I see now that it is not necessarily directed at me, but at her situation. I am merely the only one here for it to latch onto. I nod, slowly and take another step back then another until I come up against the counter.
