Warrior of the Wild(15)

“Irrenia.”

“Drink this one with water. It’ll make sure you get all the nutrients you need. Plants will likely be scarce out there.”

I stand and walk over to her, trying to still her frantic hands. “Irrenia.”

“No! You need to remember this. It’s important.”

“How can I possibly fit this all in my pack?”

“Take two packs.”

“I may be strong, but I also need to be able to walk.”

Her head snaps up. “This is no time to joke! You’re going to—going to—” She bursts into tears.

I have little desire to comfort her when I am the one being sent to my death, but I remember the right motions. I wrap my arms around her dainty figure. She’s beautiful like Mother. Out of all of us, I think she looks the most like her. How did she become Mother’s opposite in everything else?

She lets me hold her only for a few seconds before pushing me away. “Don’t do that. I should be comforting you. I’m horrible. I—I—I just stood there.”

“What do you mean?”

“All I had to do was say I saw that boy do it. It didn’t matter that I didn’t see anything. I still should have done it. For you.”

My heart seems to grow within my chest. “I don’t expect you to lie for me. You cannot jeopardize your soul, Irrenia.”

“I should have done it anyway. I would do anything for you. I just hesitated. I thought of myself first. I’m despicable. I—”

“That’s enough. You are the furthest thing from despicable. You are one of the only people in this village who truly cares for me. You are kind and good. Nothing in this world has made me happier than having you for a sister.”

Tears start to fall from her eyes again. “But it’s not fair. They set you up.”

“I know.”

She grabs one more thing off the ground. “All right, it might have been silly for me to bring so much, but you at least have to take this with you. It was your present for after the trial. And now—” She clears her throat. “Now that your trial is over, I can give it to you.”

She forces a smile and hands me a canister. I take it, open it, and sniff at the contents.

“Ugh. It’s brown. Is it dung?”

“No. It’s much more useful than dung. I’ve been experimenting.”

“With dung?”

“No! With ziken blood.”

Now she has my attention. “You didn’t!”

Her tears disappear. The healer in her comes forth. “I did. If you’re injured out in the wild, smear this cream on the wound. It will heal most cuts and scrapes instantly. It won’t mend broken bones, and it won’t re-form lost limbs. I can’t figure out how they manage to grow those back. I’m still working on it, and I have much to figure out, but—”

I embrace her before she can finish. “It’s wonderful. I’m sure it will help.”

Maybe I’ll last two days out on my own instead of one now.

Hurt spreads through my heart as I hold my sister. My hours with her are numbered, and I don’t know how I’ll possibly let her go.



* * *



UNSURPRISINGLY, I CAN’T SLEEP. I’m half-tempted to leave while everyone dreams; that way I don’t have to face them all in the morning. But if I don’t stick around to hear what my quest is to be, I’ll have no hope of returning home, no chance of redeeming myself so I can enter the goddess’s Paradise.

There’s also no chance I could leave without waking Irrenia, who refused to sleep in her own bed despite my protests. She said she was going to stay by my side for as long as she could.

Bugs chirp loudly outside my window, counting down the seconds until I have to leave the safety of the village.

I try to close my eyes, but when I do, I see my father’s face. That look of disappointment. Of embarrassment. Of anger. All of it for me.

Could I have misread his face? Surely he was only surprised? My father couldn’t have really turned against me so quickly, could he? Not after all the years of training. We’ve grown so close in all that time.

I remember the day when things finally changed between Father and me. It was ten years ago, and it was the same day I realized my mother would never love me again.

My whole life I’d been mocked for my bulkier form. Even when I was so young, I knew I was different with my short torso, wide shoulders, muscled figure. I knew that I didn’t look like my sisters, and all the village kids my age would tease me for it. My father barely looked at me back then. I was daughter number six. His sixth disappointment. He never had time for me.

I was sick of it. Sick of being told I wasn’t pretty like my sisters, sick of being told I took more after my father, sick of my father not paying attention to me.

At the end of the year, all the eight-year-olds were lined up and told to declare their professions. Father had every child come up to the village square one at a time and state what they would do for the rest of their lives. Then they went to stand with the masters of that trade.

When it was my turn, when my father finally looked at me for the briefest moment and then looked heavenward, as though he were embarrassed to even acknowledge my existence, I said, “I will join the warriors.”

I remember being surprised by the words. I’d thought for sure I would join the jewelers like my four eldest sisters and mother. It’s what I’d been planning.