A Place To Bloom

Injury

Davod was about twenty yards from where I stood. Tendrils of yellow vine wrapped all over his body with roots burrowing into his skin. His eyes were motionless black circles. Large blue ants carved out chunks of meat from his leg and carried him off in a train that disappeared into the forest.

This was my best friend. This was the same kid who'd thrown giggling Sarina into the pool beneath the waterfall farther than I could throw Guenevieve.

A black bird perched in his hair and reached down to rip a scrap of flesh from his eyeball.

He got the call to come to Carthia the same day as me and Geraln. We climbed through the pass together. He was there when I met Miyani. I still owed him thirty-five kren.

I killed him.

"Why do I need to see this?"

Pu'iyo, the old woman, quartermaster at Tower One and Miyani's teacher from long ago, gently rested a withered hand on my shoulder. "Because I can't think of a more educational consequence for your actions."

How would I explain this to Runya? How could I explain what happened to his parents?

The old lizard croaked beside us. A lone tendril of the yellow vine reached across the ground nearby. She glanced at me. "Watch this."

She knelt in the dirt, shooting her hand out to keep me at a safe distance. Then she bent down low, cupped her hands around her mouth, and exhaled at the plant. Within seconds, buds popped out of what looked like tiny scales. Tiny tendrils like yellow string reached into the air where she breathed. She looked up at me and smiled. "The peðayaŋa cultivate it, you know. They grow it around their village like a wall. Or a maze—depends on how you look at it, I suppose."

A squawk filled my ears behind us. A young burnt-orange vita'o lizard with black spots on her body emerged from the trees, gunning her throat, clicking and chirping at the old woman.

She answered, gargling her throat, whistling, and clicking her tongue. The young lizard chirped and disappeared back into the forest.

"What did she say?"

The old woman turned and started back towards the tower. "The hour grows late. She says the enemy scouts have all gone home, as should we. Remember we don't want to be out here after dark."

We walked back in silence. She glanced her yellow eyes up at me every now and then, but I couldn't accept that my best friend was gone.

He was showing off a knife he'd forged all by himself. I broke it. I didn't mean to; I was chipping some wood when the blade snapped clean. He was upset. I felt horrible. His father—who was usually pissed off at everything—told him to study the break and forge another one. After two weeks he challenged me to break that one.

The fourth one hung from my belt.

I couldn't feel. I wanted to feel something. Anger. Sadness. Remorse. Something. Instead, my heart was painfully numb.

I wanted to see Sarina more than ever. I wanted to hold her in my arms, bask in the sensation of her body breathing in and out pressed up against mine. I could hear her voice in my head. What do you want from me? It was your fault! They told you it would be months for him to get over it, and you chose not to listen.

Sometimes, Sarina, just sometimes, you might consider lying to me.

Oh, piss off. If you wanted that, you'd have imagined Guenevieve in your head. Look. You messed up; there it is. Now, what are you going to do about it?

How would I face Geraln?

We were supposed to survive Carthia together, the three of us. I let him down. I was supposed to look out for him.