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curing,
Vena.”
    The
woman, Vena, caught Lakhoni’s gaze. “Yes. Food, rest, and healing. Welcome,
Lakhoni, to the Separated. You have come home.”

Chapter 8

Family
of the Dead
    Lakhoni
wondered if the spirits of his family and friends were frowning on him in
disapproval. He sat on a smooth, gently cupped stone just a pace from the large
fire in the middle of Gimno’s family’s circle. In one hand he held a thin stone
platter, and in the other a blade Gimno had lent him. Slicing tender mouthfuls
of venison from a still-juicy chunk Vena had carved for him, he felt as if the
suddenly pleasant circumstances were somehow a betrayal of the leaden grief
that still filled him. Gimno’s extended family spread around the area in the
middle of the homes in Gimno’s circle, many of them laughing and chatting, but
mostly just producing an all-too familiar harmony of voices and chaos.
    He
should be grieving. He had never finished the dance. He should never have left
the village untended.
    He
should be doing something to make his village somehow hallowed ground. He had
no right to be enjoying such a meal and such company. His family, his friends—they
deserved more. Their deaths—so violent, cruel, and stupid—cried for answer. And
Alronna, wherever she was, had to be terrified. An image came to him of her
laughing with friends back in the village. He had to find her.
    The
venison, so juicy moments before, tasted like dry grass in his mouth. He
reached down and lifted his cup to his mouth. The cool water helped him choke
the meat down.
    Lakhoni
looked down at his plate, at the pink and red juices of the roasted meat. His
gorge rose. He fought it back, setting the platter on the stone ground. He
looked up, praying nobody had seen him. He didn’t want to insult his hosts. He
didn’t want them to know how weak he was. He wanted to learn to move like a
ghost; he wanted to be able to strike fear in others the way these people did.
He got to his feet, his heart thumping rabbit fast in his chest.
    No,
he wouldn’t run from the Separated. But he couldn’t allow the gaiety around him
to steal his purpose. He had to focus. Alronna needed him. The blood of his people
cried to him from the ground, pleading for justice.
    “Lakhoni.”
    He
turned, realizing only then that tears were wetting his cheeks. He quickly
scrubbed them away, keeping his face down.
    “Your
wounds,” Vena said. “You need treatment. And you need rest.”
    He
glanced up, briefly meeting her gaze, then looked away. “I’m okay.”
    “Gimno
told me what happened to your head. You’re not okay. Not yet, at least.”
    He
didn’t know what to say, so he stood silently.
    Her
hand brushed his cheek, moving to his uninjured left shoulder. It felt strong,
warm, and kind. “I’m so sorry, Lakhoni.”
    Her
words touched the grief he held in his core. His throat tight, he mumbled, “I’m
okay.” He was done with tears. He would hold the grief inside and use its heat
to push him toward his sister.
    She
pulled gently on his arm “Come with me, we will get that side fixed and take a
closer look at your head.” Her green eyes met his again. “And I will show you
where you will sleep. You are part of Gimno’s tribe now, so you will stay in
this circle.”
    Lakhoni
walked next to Vena, listening and looking around. He wanted to know his way
around so that he was not so dependent on these people.
    “Anor
and Corzon have space in their hut,” Vena said. “We will lend you what you need
until you can get your things from the village.”
    They
came to a hut on the outskirts of the communal circle. Vena preceded him in.
When he stepped into the dimness, he saw that another person was already there,
sitting on a short, hide-covered rock at the far side of the hut.
    “Lakhoni,
this is Corzon. He is good with injuries. Will you let him look at your head,
shoulder, and side?” Vena said.
    Lakhoni
nodded.
    Vena
squeezed Lakhoni’s shoulder once more. “Get some