The Only

Chapter Thirteen - Neima

Neima stood at the head of the table and watched the Mutare file into the dining room. The ones who had changed from birds to human would be ravenous. They always were. Transforming from one form to another took a lot of energy, using up all reserves. Thank goodness Finley was so prepared.

All sorts of delicious smells wafted into the room. The table was covered in plates full of fruits, platters of meats, and freshly baked breads. It was a beautiful feast.

Hamza and his entourage were now fully dressed. She had forgotten what an impressive and regal man the emir was. Like all Mutare, he was tall with an extra-long neck that was covered with a scarf: the custom of his people. The muted earth tones of the scarf indicated high rank within the tribe. The brighter the colors, the lower the rank.

His hair was now pulled back into a neat ponytail that hung down the center or his back. His lofty robes draped across his broad shoulders, dramatically spread apart like a fan when he sat down, occupying even more space in the room.

Yasmin seemed unchanged. She was as stunning as ever. Her short, cropped hair looked windblown, but on closer examination, it did have more silver in it. The markings of a changer. The more changing she did, the more silver her hair would become. A full head of silver hair was a sign of a respected member of the tribe.

The addition of the silver was a wonderful complement to her rich, caramel skin, which contrasted beautifully with her crisp, white, button-down shirt. The earth-tone scarf around her neck played off the darkness of her eyes. Her effervescent smile filled Neima with joy.

There was no way Yasmin's erotic and bright aura could be diminished. No matter how badly her father wished to squelch it. She winked at Neima and made her way to sit next to Hamza, but Roland elbowed his way in quickly and stole her seat. Her body tensed instantly and with a slight nod of her head, Yasmin moved toward a chair on the other side of the table next to Neima.

Interesting. There was a huge change in dynamic. Who was this Roland person? He butted his way to the front of the line when the Mutare entered, and now he took Yasmin's chair? Why was Roland's status above Hamza's own progeny?

Neima examined the stranger. He was heavyset for a Mutare. His shoulders and chest were broader than the others of the tribe. But his dark coloring was in the norm. His devotion to Hamza was undeniable. The way he sat next to the emir with his arms across his chest, and his eyes constantly scanning the room, demonstrated he would offer up his own life for his leader.

Hamza held up his hands. "Let us all prepare to thank the Creators for the sustenance that has been presented and for our very existence."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Karl skulking in the corner. She turned to look at him and then pointed at the empty chair next to her.

Reluctantly, Karl pulled his hands out of his pockets, traipsed over, and took a seat.

All the Mutare, except for Yasmin, bowed their heads in reverence.

"Creators," Hamza said, "we are blessed by your almighty power in granting us the gift to transform, and for that we are eternally thankful to you, rulers of the universe who bring forth the bread of this earth."

Neima was unable to contain the sigh that escaped her lips. The world was dying, and she had to sit here and listen to this oppressive religious bullshit. Hamza got more and more devout as he grew older. No wonder there seemed to be an excess of tension between him and his own daughter.

Hamza lowered his hands and looked at Neima. "I see that you still don't appreciate the power of The Way."

Neima returned Hamza's stare. He was posturing for a fight. He won't get it. Not here. Not now. "My dear Hamza, this is an old conversation on which you already know my opinion."