The Vixen Trials

I Don't Want To Fight You

"I've thought of you often, sometimes
as a friend, sometimes as sister and
sometimes as something else."

Keilah

"He's my Captain, Hattavah," said Jalen trying to keep his voice level, but there was an undercurrent of pleading that added poignancy to his words, even as he drew his shoulders back and fumbled for the sword at his side. "I don't want to fight you. It wouldn't be much of a fight anyway."

Dakkoul eased back on the balls of his feet. "You are very loyal, Jalen," he said, in a sarcastic tone, "Especially for someone who not long ago was talking of deserting."

"This is different." Jalen squinted as if he was rifling through various word choices. He settled for, "Please, Hattavah."

Keilah shuffled her feet. "I'd really like to get moving," she said, keeping her voice meek out of contrition for the way she had spoken before. "Can we go, Hattavah?" Her voice stumbled over the unfamiliar word on her tongue and she scrunched her nose up in dissatisfaction.

"For you, my lady," said Dakkoul, his eyes on Jalen as if he was a firesnake whose flames had been doused but might still bite. Then he blinked and turned away crossing the ground over to the horses who tied next to the supply tent.

Jalen's shoulders fell to their normal height. "Thank you, my lady," he said his words tinged with relief. "For all that the Captain is, I could not see him murdered while he was defenseless."

Keilah heard his words and her heart froze for a moment in her chest. She had not understood the reason for their combative words, but now that she did, she had to sift through her feelings for an appropriate response. Jalen shifted his feet, from one to the other, distracting her as she ruminated. "I don't know the consequences for the Hattavah if he executes him," she said. "But I do know that Captain is a bad man." There was the air of final judgement in her voice.

"My lady," said Jalen with a change in tone, more earnest, less plaintive, "My offer remains. I am quartered at your uncle's house. If ever you wish to escape, you can send a message to me via the Hattavah and I'll arrange it."

"That is very kind of you," she said as if she were thinking of something else. She was watching Dakkoul come out of the supply tent carrying what looked like food. Then she added, "You know each other then?"

Jalen shook his head. "Before this excursion, I'd never spoken to him. I knew who he was, of course. We soldiers usually we eat separately from the house slaves, but occasionally we sup together. We all sit on long wooden trestles in the kitchen and there is much banter and high spirits, but the Hattavah always sits in a darkest corner of the room alone, listening, and his presence tempers our words."

"Does his daughter not eat with him?"

"It is rumored he has a daughter, but I've never seen her," said Jalen. He lowered his voice, although Dakkoul was still far away packing the food into the saddle bags. "Of course, the Hattavah could just be protecting her from us. There's many that don't like him, and they'd take it out on his daughter if they could."

Her nostrils flared and he added hastily, "Not me of course, my lady, but others."

Dakkoul was leading the horses to them now and the talk between them ceased as they watched him approach, the brilliant light of dawn outlining his figure and casting a shadow on his face. He exuded confidence in the way he loped along, leading the horses with the expectation they would follow and they did, even Wicker. Keilah saw his eyes scan the ground to where the Captain lay motionless before he handed her the reins, gave her a mock bow and slung himself up onto his horse. Jalen helped her mount.

The forest path had widened and was so straight, she forced Wicker to canter. Dakkoul kept behind her. They only reined in when the city of Kallenton, appeared. It was encircled by a towering wall made of large black blocks of stone and covered in moss. Keilah shot him a glance and saw how firmly his lips were pressed together. "I'm sorry Dakkoul."

It doesn't matter. The captain is stupid. He'll have forgotten by the end of the day. He drinks too much to remember anything."

"What do I call you then?"

He looked at the ground. "They call me the Hattavah."

"I don't want to call you that."

His mouth twisted. "Then call me slave."

She shook her head. "I regretted it the moment I said it. I'll not say it again."

"Tallie calls me daddy."

The corners of her mouth lifted. "Can't I call you your name? Does it matter if they know it?"

"Dakkoul is long dead. I am the Hattavah now." When she called him his birth name it made him feel unsettled. "It would be better too, if we conceal our shared past. If they do not know we are..." his voice trailed off.

"Friends," she said firmly.

"Is that what we are? I've thought of you often, sometimes as a friend, sometimes as sister, and sometimes as something else."

She blushed, aware that she had thought him indifferent, so that she'd tried to forget him.

The sky was darkening as the sun sank. Only a few clouds were left, dappled pink and orange.

Dakkoul frowned towards the gate. "It will shut soon, we must make haste. Before we enter, do you have any money?"

"Some," she said and she handed it to him. He counted it. Their only light came from the burning torches that decorated the gate, a fiery opening that fringed a bustle of activity she tried to make out, but the many figures were blurred.

"I think you have enough to buy a slave."

"Why should I do that?" she asked. "My mother would disapprove."

"She would, but Wayvolkan ladies are attended by slaves. All the slaves in your grandmother's house are spies. If you don't want to have your every move reported to your uncle, you should buy your own slave and treat her well in the hope she'll be loyal to you."

He rode through the gate and she followed alongside, trying not to draw attention to herself by staring. The Vene-Jakaan village at night-time was a quiet affair, the families all withdrew into their own homes. Here even though it was dark, there were throngs of beggars, unkempt children, slaves, Wayvolkan on foot and finally the lords and ladies in their fancy carriages. All lit by oil lamps tied by ropes on posts that ringed the area and the odd fire. Hawkers thrust goods in her direction that she waved away and beggars reached their hands up to her, but her money was in Dakkoul's hand so she shook her head and received their curses. On the ground skinny cats lounged around and mangy dogs barked and chased the children who would scatter and regroup playing a complicated game with a stick and ball and an axe. Somewhere someone was playing a cheerful tune on a flute, the smell of burnt meat assaulted her nose and between all of these strolled the soldiers, armed with swords, searching the crowd.

"Who are they looking for?" she asked.

"Me probably," Dakkoul said in a light-hearted tone so that she thought he was joking, but he had put on a cloak and covered his face. One of the soldiers passed her and she restrained a gasp. It was the patchy-bearded captain from the forest. He must have followed them.

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