It is in the sorrows.
In the fear.
In the need.
That is when the knowing gains wings.
Ama had used many different ways to explain it to me. When the few who were left had nothing else, they had to return to the way of knowing. It is how they survived.
But this knowing that crouched in my gut felt nothing like wings.
Instead it was something dark and heavy, spreading, squeezing at each knot of my spine one at a time, like steps getting closer. Those few days would come and go, and Jafir would not be there.
I leaned against the longhouse pole, looking into the dark hollows between the trees where crickets chirped their night songs, oblivious to what I felt in my heart. The twins danced near the fire, excited about the boar. Though they were eight years old, they had never tasted one, and its aroma hung in the air, lusty and pungent. Carys had bludgeoned it as she collected mushrooms in the shade of the poplar. It was a rare treat.
We took our meal outside, sitting on woven mats around the fire, and once I had eaten, I felt better. Nedra whistled a tune, adding to the festive air. My spirit lifted temporarily, and I wondered if hunger was what had been bothering me all along.
But as I stood and looked the length of our vale as far as the firelight would let me see, the heaviness gripped me again, squeezing away my breath. It made no sense. There was nothing but peace, but then Ama came up behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“What are you feeling?” she asked.
I saw it in her eyes too.
“Let’s douse the fire,” she said, “and get the children and others inside.” But it was already too late.
The sound roared down upon us, the pounding of hooves that seemed to come from all sides. There was confusion at first—the twins screaming, everyone turning, trying to see what it was—and then there they were, the scavengers surrounding us, circling on their horses, making sure none of us ran. The tribe froze as the predators closed in, all of us silent except for the whimpers of Shantal. Though it had been two years, Rhiann’s death was still fresh in all our minds.
The leader, Harik, motioned to more riders, who had hung back in the shadows, and they stormed into the longhouse on their horses, tearing down walls as they went. They dismounted and began grabbing sacks of grain and dried beans we had stored for winter, rummaging through other supplies, ripping skins from the walls, stuffing their bags with fabrics and clothing, taking anything they wanted and tossing the rest.
Another scavenger, one the others called Fergus, ordered more to search the darkness with torches, looking for pens of animals. We heard the squawk of our hens when they found them. They were stuffed into bags too.
It was a whirl of movement—flesh and arms and fervor—making it hard to distinguish one scavenger from another in their careless zeal. But then there was a color. A flash. A cheekbone. A chest. A long cord of hair.
The clamor was suddenly distorted and muffled, the world slowing. Tumbling upside down.
Jafir.
Jafir rode with them.
He hoisted a large bag of grain onto the back of his horse.
My bones turned to water.
He had led them here. He worked side by side with his brother. They were skilled at looting. It was quickly over, and they left the longhouse to circle around us.
Jafir’s eyes met mine, and my numbness vanished.
I trembled with rage. They showed no mercy or compassion. Steffan reached for what little remained of the boar still on the spit and set about wrapping it in a skin to take too. I spotted the knife Carys had used to cut the meat only an arm’s length from me, lying on a stone.
“Leave us something!” I yelled as I stepped forward to grab it, but Ama was lightning quick and pulled me back.
“Be still, child,” she whispered. “Let them take it.”
Harik turned his horse at hearing my voice and guided it closer. His silver knives glittered at his sides, and he eyed me. “She’s grown.”
Ama pushed me farther behind her. “You and your thieves have what you want, Harik. Now be on your way.”
He was a man of enormous stature, his brows heavy, his fists thick and meaty. But it was his eyes that frightened me the most. They narrowed as he studied me before looking back at Ama. “It is my right, old woman, to have what is of my blood.”