Lakhoni (9 page)

Flaming
torches flickered in the hut’s interior, brightly lighting what Lakhoni guessed
was the home of the spiritual leader of the Separated. Lakhoni wondered that he
had no idea how he should address this man. He had never heard Gimno, Corzon,
or Anor—or any of the other Separated for that matter—ever make mention of the
man.

The
walls of the hut were round, curving out and back to Lakhoni’s right and left.
A heavy, almost wet aroma that made his nostrils tingle filled the house. It
smelled like nothing he had ever experienced. It was spicy, like one of the
ointments Salno had used to clean wounds, but also cool, like a mountain
breeze. But there was also an undercurrent of meat that had been boiled too
long.

Lakhoni
followed Gimno, who followed the Consecrated, deeper into the hut. He had to
skirt around small tables and stones covered in the hides of all kinds of
animals. A badger skin, looking almost wet, was draped on a flat, round stone.
Nearby was another, smaller stone covered with a beaver hide. On the beaver
hide were gathered a variety of shining gems.

Hundreds
of bone and wooden pegs had been driven into the stone walls, and hanging from
those pegs were more hides and skins along with weapons, raiment, instruments,
and things that Lakhoni could not identify. The curving walls should have been
bowing under the weight.

One
long item caught his eye. In the bright torchlight, the thing’s handle looked
to be made of polished white stone. The base of the handle was wrapped tightly
in deep, black leather and the haft extended the length of Lakhoni’s arm,
ending in an oddly shaped head. The head was a combination of a hatchet on one
side, and a long, wickedly serrated knife on the other. A jagged spike also
extended from the top of the head, making the total length of the thing almost
as long as one of Gimno’s legs.

Lakhoni
hurried to catch up to Gimno, noticing that the hut was bigger than he had
thought. He had assumed that the back wall of the hut would be the wall of the
cavern, but it was now clear that the hut had been built to take advantage of a
cave that branched off from the main cavern.

More
than a cave, Lakhoni realized as they passed a small cavern to their left. A
series of caves.

The
entire complex was filled with the aroma that had greeted them when they
entered. As they walked, they passed more caves, some with hides stretched over
wood planks for doors and some open. Lakhoni snuck a glance into one of the
open caves, but even as he saw piles of glittering things, he heard Gimno’s
harsh, quiet whisper.

“Cub!
Respect this place, it is the home of a great spiritual leader, brought to us
after the coward Malganoza perished.”

Lakhoni
met the tall man’s eyes and nodded. He lengthened his stride, curious about
this Malganoza.

They
came to a ladder. The Consecrated stood to the side of the ladder and gestured
for Gimno to ascend. Without a sound, Gimno flowed up the ladder, Lakhoni
following.

At
the top, Lakhoni stopped in total stupefaction. The cavern floor was completely
covered with luxurious animal hides, as were the walls. A fire blazed in a
large hearth on the far side of the room. A huge table that looked to have been
cut from one massive tree dominated the room. The top was flat, while the
bottom appeared to be the rounded trunk of the original tree. The table had been
polished to a gleam in the firelight. Wooden chairs, made comfortable with soft
hides, surrounded the table. There had to be at least twenty chairs, one of
which was larger and more ornate than the others. This one had been turned to
face the hearth.

Hoping
they hadn’t noticed his surprise, Lakhoni pushed himself off the ladder and
stood next to Gimno, the soft hides under his feet surprisingly warm.

“Bonaha,”
Gimno said, respect in his voice.

“Gimno,
my boy.” The voice flowed slick and smooth, like oil, from the ornate chair.
Nothing else stirred.

“The
cub,” Gimno said.

“Of
course,” said the voice. Now Lakhoni saw movement. A small form—Lakhoni
recognized its size from the sacrifice of the young man—separated itself from
the chair. The figure’s hair no longer stood on end, but this was the same
person who had murdered the young man.

The
man stepped toward Gimno and Lakhoni, a bright smile on his pointed face. “This
is the cub you’ve spoken of?”

“Yes,
Bonaha.”

The
man—Lakhoni couldn’t tell if Bonaha was a title or name—squinted and examined
Lakhoni for several long minutes. He turned to Gimno.

“And
you have brought him for his grooming?”

Gimno
nodded. “Yes, Bonaha.” Lakhoni heard the respect and adoration in Gimno’s voice.
It was strange for such a tall, imposing man to give such great respect to this
small man.

“Well,
cub,” the man said. “I am Bonaha Molgar. Bonaha means ‘teacher’ in the language
of our First Fathers and Molgar is my name.” The small man raised a hand to
Lakhoni’s face. His palm felt soft and moist on Lakhoni’s cheek. It smelled of
flowers. “You will call me Bonaha.”

Lakhoni
nodded, trying not to squirm under the uncomfortable touch. He forced the
images of this same hand gripping a shiny dagger out of his mind.

“Today
you will be groomed,” the Bonaha said. “Do you understand what that means?”

Lakhoni
shook his head. He knew he should say something, but the revulsion in his heart
choked him.
I can’t show him. He’ll kill me if I do.
He forced himself
to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

“What?”
the Bonaha said, laughter in his voice. “Can you not speak?” The moist hand
slapped Lakhoni gently. “Come on boy, you need not fear me.”

“Show
some respect, cub!” Gimno said, nudging Lakhoni.

“Yes,”
Lakhoni said.

“Yes
what?” the Bonaha asked.

“I
can speak.”

The
small man gave a satisfied nod, his hand sliding down Lakhoni’s cheek, and then
stroking down Lakhoni’s arm. Lakhoni forced back the need to shudder and shake
off the corrupting sensation.

“And
do you understand what it is to be groomed by the Bonaha of the Separated?” the
man’s dark eyes flashed with a wet hunger.

Lakhoni
shook his head. “No.”

“With
respect, cub!”

“Leave
it, Gimno,” the Bonaha said, patience dripping from his voice. He turned back
to Lakhoni and smiled. “It is proper to affix ‘Bonaha’ to what you say to me.”

Swallowing
again, willing his heart to slow, Lakhoni said, “Yes, Bonaha.” The man was
small, nearly the same size as Alronna. His voice was soft and kind and he
smiled almost constantly. His touch was light and affectionate.

But
something in the man’s eyes terrified Lakhoni. He frantically tried to find
somewhere else to look, but the Bonaha had trapped his gaze as effectively as a
barbed hook would catch a fish.

“Now,
being groomed by the Bonaha of the Separated is an important step in your
journey,” the Bonaha said, turning and stepping back toward his chair. “Through
this process, you show your strength and determination to join with us in our
divinely appointed mission.”

After
a long silence, Lakhoni realized he was expected to respond. “Yes, Bonaha.”

“How
much has Gimno explained of what you will soon experience, boy?” The Bonaha
turned and walked back toward the crackling fire.

At
the same time that he spoke, Lakhoni realized that there had to be some kind of
chimney that extended from this cave to the outside world. He watched the
Bonaha’s back as the small man lifted his left hand toward the cave entrance.
“Nothing . . . Bonaha.”

The
Bonaha’s gesture had been a signal to a man Lakhoni hadn’t even seen yet. It
was another Consecrated, who had been standing completely still in the shadows
at the end of the cave furthest from the fire. This man folded into a deep bow,
then, looking over the edge of the cave floor, snapped his fingers.

“That
is fine,” the Bonaha said, standing just inside the circle of light cast by the
fire. “This grooming takes place sometime around the completion of your
fourteenth year—but can change depending on your readiness.”

Taking
long strides, the red man moved toward the fire, skirting the huge table and
passing in front of Lakhoni.

A
moment after the man passed him, Lakhoni caught a strong smell of sweat, blood,
and animal musk.

“Gimno
has decided you are ready.” The Bonaha turned his gaze on Lakhoni. In the
bright glare of the fire, Lakhoni thought he could see the small man’s eyes
fill with a frightening intensity. “Not that it matters, but what is your age,
boy?”

“In
the spring I’ll have finished my fifteenth year.” A memory of the cakes and
festivities that happened in his village during that season of birth
celebrations flashed into his mind.

“So
you are a little old, but that is fine.”

A
tall shape appeared at the top of the ladder and immediately crossed the room, followed
by another of the red men. These two, with the man who had called them, rolled
back the soft hide on the floor near the hearth, exposing rough stone.

“My
halkeen
will assist in this ceremony.”

Hearing
the strange word, Lakhoni looked back at the Bonaha. The small man must have
detected Lakhoni’s lack of understanding. “Surely Gimno has told you of these
men. They are the Consecrated.
Halkeen
is the word for ‘consecrated’ in
the language of our First Fathers.”

Glancing
about, the Bonaha gestured toward the fire. “Now come.”

Lakhoni
stepped forward, unsure of where he should be standing.

“Gimno,
you will purify.”

Lakhoni
felt Gimno’s familiar presence to his right as the man moved forward. “Yes,
Bonaha,” Gimno said. He set his hand on Lakhoni’s shoulder and a slight comfort
stole over Lakhoni at the well-known feeling of Gimno’s rough, strong hand.

One
of the halkeen stood near the fire with a long stick of some kind, with which
the man was poking at the fire, spreading embers and coals. He was looking for
something.

Another
man stood nearer the table sharpening a long, slightly curved knife, filling
the room with a rasping sound. The knife was made of metal.
Where do they
get it all?

The
third halkeen had just finished sweeping where the hide had been with a bundle
of dried grass. Now he slipped a soft-looking pouch off a short peg in the wall
near the hearth. Crouching down, he shook out a pile of jagged bits. By the
sound of them on the stone floor and the way they glinted in the firelight, Lakhoni
guessed they were obsidian.

“Now,
Gimno, take your place at the fire,” the Bonaha said.

Gimno
took the place of the man who had been prodding the fire. The halkeen handed
his stick to Gimno and moved toward the peg that had been holding the obsidian
bits. He pulled a rod of some kind off another peg where it had been hung by a
small leather loop.

“Boy,
what is your name?”

Lakhoni
tore his eyes away from what looked like sharp thorns on the rod in the
halkeen’s hands. “Lakhoni.”

“Lakhoni,”
the Bonaha intoned. “You wish to join the Separated. The Living Dead. Those who
will reclaim the Birthright.”

The
long pause made Lakhoni glance around, wondering if he was to say something.
Gimno stared intently at him and nodded deliberately.

“Yes,
Bonaha,” Lakhoni said.
First Fathers, please help me hide this lie. And
please forgive me for it!
He didn’t know if the Fathers’ teachings allowed
for necessary lies, but Lakhoni saw no other way.

The
Bonaha nodded gravely. “And you willingly submit to this Trial of the Gate?”

“Yes,
Bonaha.” Lakhoni tried not to think too much about what he was getting into.
The wickedly barbed rod continued to draw his gaze. He wanted to slow things
down so he could think this through. He looked at the barbed rod, the obsidian
chips, and Gimno standing at the hearth. What was this Trial of the Gate? Panic
began to flutter in his chest. He knew that if he gave in to the panic and ran,
he would be killed. And if he failed this, he guessed he would be very
restricted in his movements.

“This
is a test of your strength of character, your determination, and your will,”
the Bonaha said. “Your knees will rest upon the obsidian. You must be still in
the face of that discomfort; showing your ability to stay and fight when all is
pain. If you flee this, you will be known as a coward. Cowards are not
warriors.”

One
of the halkeen appeared behind Lakhoni and gestured for Lakhoni to move to the
pile of obsidian chips.

“You
will grip the thorny rod,” the Bonaha said. A burst of wild laughter rose in Lakhoni
at the funny-sounding name.

“And
you must hold it tightly to prove your determination to fight alongside the
Separated, even when it is painful and difficult,” the Bonaha said.