The Continent (The Continent #1)(68)

“All right,” Nobuo says. “Step aside now.”

I give Keiji’s hand a squeeze and move away from the bed. The removal of the arrow is quick, but horrifying even so. Eno holds Keiji’s head in place while Nobuo grips the arrow by the shaft and snaps off its feathered tail. Then, in one horrible moment, he draws the arrow through to the other side, out the back of Keiji’s neck. Keiji, mercifully, faints.

A slow trickle of blood oozes from the entry wound; Eno wipes it away and begins to clean it at once.

“Very little blood,” Nobuo says. “This is good.”

“He will be all right?”

Nobuo wipes his hands on a towel. “This is no small puncture. But Eno knows healing, and the boy is strong. Time will tell.”

I feel as though I’ve taken my first breath in hours. “Thank you, Nobuo.” I put a hand on Eno’s shoulder. “And you as well, Eno.”

She smiles, but her eyes are on her work. My hope is renewed as I recall the efficiency and expertise with which she healed my own wound.

Nobuo turns to leave, but stops at the door. “I’ve seen men five times his size make a bigger fuss,” he says with a nod in Keiji’s direction. “You tell him I said so.”

“I will.”

I look down at Keiji’s face, so small and pale and still. My sweet Keiji, the boy who brought me bits of shining glass, the one who reminded me every day that life was waiting beyond the bitter walls of my grief.

“You stay strong,” I whisper. “Stay strong for Noro. Stay strong for me. You have a long life ahead of you, Keiji Zensuke.”

The night inches along, every hour seeming to stretch out longer than the last. Noro has not returned, and as dawn approaches, his absence becomes more acute. The storm at last has quieted, lessening to a steady fall of rain. I wait in the healing room, my feet curled beneath me in the chair beside Keiji’s bed, listening to the patter of water against the window. My heart is full of worry. Please, Noro…please be safe.

I glance over at Keiji, who sleeps soundly thanks to Eno’s potent herbs. At least I have the singular comfort of knowing he is not in pain—though I have noticed during the past hour that a fine beading of sweat has appeared across his brow and upper lip. Normal. Of course he will have a fever.

The soft click of the door pulls me from my thoughts, and relief ripples through me as I see Noro step inside. The room is dark, but he carries a slim white candle. He sets the taper into a holder on the table beside the wall, then sits in the chair beside me. I draw in my breath when I see his face: he is bruised, streaked with blood, his lower lip split and swollen on one side.

“Noro,” I whisper, “are you all right?”

“How is my brother?”

I flinch at the sharpness of his tone. “He’s all right, for now. The arrow didn’t pierce anything vital. We must wait and see how he fares against infection.”

Noro puts a hand on Keiji’s forehead, leaves it there for a moment, then leans back in the chair. He is silent.

“He was very brave,” I add. “Even Nobuo called it to attention.”

We sit in awkward silence. Noro does not look at me, nor does he speak.

“Did you find the archer?” I say at length.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” I say quietly.

Noro leans forward, his dark eyes stormy. “What were you thinking, Vaela?”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you to stay in the cottage!”

“If I had done so, Keiji might have died up there on the wall! You only found him because you saw me in the square. Am I wrong?” He does not answer. “Noro! How can you truly be angry with me?”

“What would you have done if I hadn’t seen you?” He shakes his head, disgusted. “Dragged him down the side of the wall, killed him in the process? He’s more than half your weight—you could not have managed it without Nobuo.”

“I would have found a way to help him,” I say angrily. Keiji shifts onto his side and whimpers, but doesn’t wake. I drop my voice to a whisper. “It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do, Noro. I am capable of thinking for myself.”

His nostrils flare, but he tempers his anger before speaking. “It is by sheer luck that you are alive. Do you even begin to understand that? If a single Topi had pursued you as you ran across that gateway, if I had not been there—you would be dead, Vaela.”

“It was a single Topi I meant to kill,” I say. “That’s why I left the cottage in the first place—I thought if I could end the violence of just one man, I might save many lives. I might save you.”

“And how would you accomplish this? You would fling a knife in the dark of night and the driving rain?”

“I would open his throat, exactly as you taught me to do.”

“No. You would not have stood a chance against the men in Hayato tonight. If you were not killed outright, you would have been captured, raped and beaten—kept to be used by any savage who wanted you.” He grips my wrists, his eyes shimmering. “Do you know what the thought of this does to me? To think of you in the hands of such men? It would drive me to madness, Vaela. It is difficult enough to recall the night we met—that zunupi by the fire with his filthy hands on you.” He curses under his breath.