The Falconer's Daughter (Complete)

Chapter 14 (Kiara)

At the far end of the hall, four living dead wastelanders flank a short figure. He is balding and sallow, with a round countenance. He wears resplendent robes of violet and teal, which reminds me of a spring festival kite. His disarmingly genuine smile rings alarm bells in my mind. Two dead servants close the doors, then stand guard. The remaining two follow the new arrival. 

The pudgy man meanders through the hall, tracing the backs of chairs with one finger. His gaze drifts from the tables to the fireplace, to each of us in turn: a cat studying a new toy. I choke on the silence. 

“Who are you, and why have you drug us here at spear point?” I demand.

The flabby man chuckles. “Straight to business while our meal grows cold? How rude. Sit. Eat.” He makes himself comfortable and digs in. None of us moves to join him. He laughs. “There is a certain wisdom in caution. I respect that.” He rises again and paces the length of the table. Xavi and I move beside Ohad. I hide my dinner knife in my sleeve. The host makes a show of sampling bites of each dish. My stomach rumbles and my mouth waters imagining the pop of ripe fruit. I stand straighter to hide my discomfort. 

Between bites, the stranger speaks. “My name is Bhodi. I apologize for the rough reception. The waste deters many visitors, but I do get the occasional thief or spy; vultures hoping to pick Erantas’ bones clean.”

“The rain calls the sea wet,” Ohad says.

The stranger smiles as he quaffs a pitcher. My tongue fills my mouth. 

“Have I lost my accent, living alone all these years? This is my home. Welcome to Eras, Bhodi’s mansion, where I am king, butler, cook, and squire.”

“You made all this?” Xavi exclaims. 

“Well,” Bhodi chuckles, “in a sense. I guided the hands that prepared it.” 

The implication makes my skin crawl, but my gnawing hunger squashes the reaction. Bhodi retakes his seat, and gestures for us to join him. I creep toward a seat near an appetizing souffle, far from our host. He smiles approvingly as we settle in. He watches in satisfied silence for a time as we eat ravenously. Though I cannot name a single dish, I have never tasted such delights. Sweet sauces, spiced wines, savory roasted vegetables. Crisp crustacean bursts in my mouth, the juices running down my chin. Loaves of bread steaming despite the wait. They taste like clouds. I pass the meal in a trance, consuming all I can reach until my stomach presses against my belt. 

Bhodi speaks. “You must have important business driven by strange winds to dare travel my buried highways.” 

I kick Xavi under the table to stop him from spilling all. 

“Hey! ” 

“We found all normal roads closed…” I give a halting account of the state of things in the land west of Edward’s Bay. Bandit warlords, raiders from the north, and Cliffport withdrawn like a tortoise in its shell. Bhodi seems keenly interested in world events, asking for many clarifications. Xavi interjects with colorful commentary. The details children notice fascinate me. Ohad disapproves silently. After a while, his posture alone reminds me I am a prisoner. I forget what a joy it is to share stories with strangers. I almost feel like I am home, or by Laila’s campfire. 

All is told, and Bhodi leans back, stroking his wide chin knowingly. “You say well how you came to take the salt road, but not why.” 

“I have family in Godsbairne,” I answer quickly, chiding myself for dancing too close to the truth. “My friends and I hope to make a new life there.” 

“A new life…” our host’s musing trails off. “I imagine there may be more hope that way for a spirit-touched.” He nods at Xavi. 

“A what?” 

“Do you mean me?” 

Bhodi laughs, soft and disarming. “Yes, you. My servants told me of the child fighting a shadow–spirit with conjured fire. I ordered them to bring me these travelers.” 

“How do you know what I am? Where did I come from? How do I make fire when I’m not angry? How do I turn it off if I am?” Xavi peppers our captor/host with questions. 

“Slow down little one! There will be time yet to discuss these things.” 

“Perhaps,” Ohad unfolds his arms and speaks for the first time since dinner began, “You could answer one question in exchange for all we have told you?” 

Bhodi nods graciously. 

“Who are these servants? Where do you find so much… material?” Ohad spits his question out, his eyes hard. 

Bhodi rises and paces, studying the hearths. Xavi seems confused and hurt. Ohad looks like he would break this man if he could. 

“They come from many places, sir, but most are the original citizens of Eras. These fine specimens are the Eranti of the waste, the forgotten tribe.” 

Ohad bolts up, sending his chair clattering. “Who could do such a monstrous thing? How could you desecrate these noble souls, denying them their reunion with the ancestors after all they suffered under Irsoi? You play at God, corrupting nature, destroying their last shred of dignity by turning people into puppets! I cannot abide this! I will not!” 

Ohad stomps toward Bhodi with fire in his eyes. I scramble to my feet. Xavi clenches his fists, smoke rising from the crevices. Our captor raises one hand, a picture of serenity. The door guards take three steps toward us, drawing curved swords. We pause for a heartbeat. 

I study Ohad. I have never seen him shake like this. “We can talk this over in the morning. Let’s not do anything rash.”

Ohad raises his hands and steps back. Bhodi lowers his hand, and the servants sheathe weapons, returning to their posts. I realize how much my pulse quickened, how my fingers twitched. 

“It grows late. You had a stressful day. We can discuss your questions under the light of a new sun.” Bhodi smiles like a longsuffering grandfather placating a child. 

With a clap and a sweep of his colorful robe, our strange host leaves, and the living dead divide and usher us to our separate rooms. 

We will know more tomorrow.