Black skin and hair blended into the night. Black eyes reflected very little of the starlight that managed to break through the roiling clouds overhead. A lithe form slunk through the brown-grassed hills, nothing but white mist with each exhale showing where the person had been.
Artem looked to her left and Catrin smiled at her, the blond’s silver eyes catching any light available and making them shine like mirrors. The black woman held up her fingers and motioned them downward, reminding the seventeen year old to keep her gaze lowered to maintain stealth.
A nod answered her in the dark and Artem looked to her right after crawling forward a few more paces. A face older than her twenty-one years, but just as black-skinned looked back at her and Zoso raised his fingers slightly to show he’d seen her check-in. Artem looked away from the Second-in-command, feeling exposed under his silver-eyed gaze. She knew Zoso could see in the dark, and though he claimed it was not with as much clarity as in the daylight and that some colors were skewed, the black woman could not help feeling like she was at a disadvantage when it came to working with the Second at night.
Artem pushed the thought away, though. She should not feel such things about her comrades. She knew she could trust them and they could trust her. It was essential that the Zealots have faith in one another and that they didn’t keep secrets. As a Core-Rebel, a person trusted in the Leader’s counsel, Artem prided herself on being faithful to her tribe and being known to her people, trusted beyond doubt.
She needed to extend the same courtesy, the same faith to those around her. This was not her past. She was not a child anymore, always stealing and struggling to survive on the edges of the tribes and even on the edges of the Cities. She was not looked down upon or hurt because she couldn’t defend herself. She was an Olonian now. She had a home and a people, a cause to fight for and a loved ones to protect.
And now she needed to focus for those people. Black eyes flickered over the land ahead and Artem looked back at Zoso, silently asking when Iree might give the signal. The Olonian would not move without their Leader’s approval.
Zoso only shook his head, though, and Artem knew that to mean that something had happened. Something had gone wrong with the plan, but if Zoso wasn’t signaling them to draw back then it must not be a panic worthy problem. Iree was anything but reckless. She might seem that way, but those close to her knew she put much thought into her strategy and never did anything that would put her people in unnecessary danger.
Artem sighed, settling herself on her stomach in the prickly grass, laying flush against the hill that overlooked a small village beyond. The village was their target, but it wasn’t the people they were after, only the food. Winter was coming and if the Olonian planned to fight at all during the bitter cold season they would need supplies. The Kingdom of Demire had refused to supply them this year and Iree had been furious, announcing that if Demire would not give them the food and clothing they’d promised, then the Olonian would take it.
The coup had been well-planned, targeting a village on the edge of the large kingdom, but not so far away that the villagers could not journey to a larger village for food of their own. The Olonian had made their slow entrance through the hills, bracing against the chilling wind and cold of the night, their fingers frozen by the frost that coated the ground, only to stop now and Artem was not the only one who wondered what was going on.
She brought her hands up to her face and blew on her fingers, the humid mist from her breath only doing so much against the cold before it was back again, seemingly worse than before. She couldn’t feel her toes anymore inside her boots.
Artem growled to herself, patience not being one of her strong suits as she closed her eyes and cast her gift out, sorting through the immediate feelings around her and then, making herself work, she cast her power out further, seeking the one person she desired to feel. Emotions could tell her a great deal about a person and the decisions they might make.
And when the black woman found Iree, she knew that the Leader had definitely come across something that had thrown her off the track her mind had previously been taking. Iree wasn’t alone either. There was someone with her, a young person judging by the person’s emotion with it’s innocence and lack of manipulation.
The black woman frowned, letting her gift withdraw as she opened her eyes once more, studying the small valley below without really seeing it. What was Iree doing? And why had a child puzzled the Leader so much?
Black eyes flickered to Zoso again, seeing his fingers moving and Artem nodded at his command, starting to work her numbing body back the way it had come, motioning for Catrin to follow her. The blond passed the message along and Artem worked on curbing her irritation and curiosity.
She wanted to know what was going on.
The black woman didn’t have long to wait for an answer as she joined the returning Olonian in the bowl-like place between three hills where they’d placed their torches, lighting up the area so they all might see one another. Many glances of confusion were cast about, but the tribe remained quiet, merely waiting as they’d done many times before for Iree to appear. When the redhead walked into the ring of light every face turned toward her and the Leader grinned, an assurance that everything was completely fine. It set her people at ease even before she’d spoken, her voice loud in the silence.
But then, Iree was always LOUD.
“I know you all are very confused right now. Believe me, so was I! But we don’t have to raid this village. They already have supplies ready for us.”
Murmurs swept through the group of twenty-five and Iree shouted over them, her voice like thunder and overpowering. “QUIET!!”
She was obeyed almost instantly and the Leader smiled again, perfectly friendly despite the sharpness her tone had taken and the way her lungs had boomed. Everyone knew it meant very little when Iree shouted. It was her power after all.
“If you’d all shut your mouths, I would tell you that this village doesn’t happen to agree with King Minok’orn’s decree. They want to maintain peaceful relations with us and are offering what they can spare to aid our fight this winter.”
“Is that why they sent a child to speak with you?” Artem’s question made Iree laugh, the sound loud and mirthful as her blue eyes shone in the torchlight. “Ay, that was why. Emotion-dropping again were we, Artem?”
The black woman’s lips twitched as if she wanted to smile, but she didn’t allow it. Her eyes, however, could not help glittering with mischief. If there was anything Artem liked, it was a good prank and doing things she was not supposed to, especially if she could get away with it. “I might have been.”
Iree chuckled again and the subject was dropped as she turned to Zoso and started to speak to him of what the villages planned to give them and how long it might last their tribe. Artem for her part started to organize groups to gather the supplies.
It wasn’t long before they were moving toward the village. It was a small settlement, the houses created out of the clay that was abundant in the Irel Hills. The clay had been molded and baked in the heat of the twin suns for hours before being useable as building structures. The process was time-consuming and showed the level of perseverance these villagers’ ancestors and they themselves possessed, but it also marked them as a simple people who moved easily when trouble came and did not put great value in their homesteads like those who built with stone.
The streets were made of hard-packed dirt from being tread upon so many times, not like the cobblestones of the larger villages of the kingdom and the people, while they appeared hardier than those of the larger villages, were actually more trusting and accepting than those deeper in the hills and closer to the kingdom’s capitol. It showed their lack of news in the world and their naivety.
Artem didn’t much care how accepting they seemed to be, she stayed close to her tribe. She didn’t like strangers and groups of strangers made her on edge. It had been years before she’d trusted her own tribe enough to relax fully around them and some people still made her edgy. These people were helping them, but they weren’t her friends and she could feel what her tribe could not. Yes, these villagers were aiding them, but not all of them were as willing about it as they portrayed. In fact, many seemed slightly bitter and Artem could feel it as the emotions washed over her in subtle waves, always present like the lapping of a gentle lake against the shore. The only time she wasn’t feeling the emotions around her was when she was completely alone or when she consciously chose to block them out.
Now, though, now she was keeping a close eye on those around her and she could sense their acceptance of this task they were performing - giving the Olonian food and supplies - but also their resentment of it and the small fear they felt for the warriors around them. It was the fear that Artem kept a wary mental eye on. Fear could easily turn to anger and aggression if pushed the wrong way and she didn’t want her people hurt. In this case, she would be their first warning if something was going to go wrong and the Olonians knew it as they kept glancing her way, watching for any kind of signal. Each tribe member knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, their powers and how they worked. It wasn’t that they were looking at Artem like she was in charge, they were just relying on her to be their cry of alarm should it be needed.
And the black woman took the job seriously in way she did not many other things. No one was going to mess with her family if she could help it. That was one of only a few things Artem was not willing to joke about.
So it was that when she suddenly whirled while following a supply wagon drawn by a lone mule, her people froze, instantly taking fighting positions and placing their hands on their weapons, looking around with sharp eyes. Artem had the presence of mind to signal that there was no threat, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the emotion that had drawn an instant, adrenaline-induced response from her.
Well, no it wasn’t an emotion, it was a child. A child that had just emanated a great surge of terror that Artem could still feel rushing through her veins as if it was her own. She knew that kind of fear. Had known it when she was younger and to feel it now from a child who could not be more than thirteen or fourteen was disturbing for the black woman in a way she would never admit to anyone else.
She found herself walking toward the boy before she’d even planned in her mind what she thought she was going to do once she got to him. She could feel the puzzlement of a few members of her tribe as they watched her, trying to figure out what had drawn her attention. Artem also felt when they finally figured out what it was and the understanding that flooded them and then the worry.
The black woman ignored their reactions for now, her black eyes fixed on the male-child. His skin was dark, but not like her own. It held more of a brown color and his hair was about the same shade with dirt - maybe darker - matted and ragged. It was in need of a decent cut and a bath for there was no telling what shade it might be under all the grime. Artem could see that clearly even from a few feet away. She could also see that he was thin, much too thin and his clothes, as dirty as he was, hung off his small frame.
It was his dark green eyes, though, that drew her in so completely. He looked at her directly as if drawn by an unseen force, ignoring the large man holding his arm and shaking him as he kept his attention fixed on Artem. It was like he knew her, like he could see exactly who she was…like he was begging her to help him. It was like he KNEW she would.
And much as it puzzled Artem as to how the child could be so sure of that, she also knew he was right. One look at the large man who had already struck the boy once and was now shaking him, speaking in an angry, dangerous tone with his face showing clear disgust had already set Artem’s blood to boiling. She recognized that look on the man’s face. He didn’t see any value in the child, didn’t see any reason to treat him decently and had no problem inflicting pain he most-likely thought was justified in his mind.
She knew the look on the child’s face, too. She knew the fear and the hurt, the weariness of just wishing the punishment was over and the resignation to the fate placed on him. She KNEW those things and anger rose up quick and sudden in the black woman as she stalked toward the large man and her own hand came up to catch his wrist as he raised it to strike the boy again.
The man appeared startled by her appearance so absorbed was he in his anger toward the child and Artem’s black eyes drilled into his blue with the quiet fury of a guardian angel.
“You will not hit that child again.” The black woman’s voice, usually light-hearted and teasing, sarcastic at times, was now lethal and low-set, the words said through clenched teeth.
The man jerked his arm out of her hold and she let him as he glared at her, drawing himself up to his full height, nearly a foot taller than her slighter stature. He looked down his nose at her. “I will do what I want with my own property, girl, and you’d do well to stay out of it.”
Artem smiled, a tight, cold expression as her black eyes glittered warningly. “If you touch the boy again, I’ll knock you to the ground and take him from you.”
The man scoffed and gave a short laugh before turning his body away from her and he reached out, grabbing the child’s arm again in a brutal grip before he jerked the boy toward him as if to take him away. The child whimpered, seemingly unwillingly as he quickly quieted, at the treatment and Artem moved like a viper.
Her hand shot out to capture the man’s wrist, pressing her fingers to a pressure point so that he released the child with a cry of his own. He didn’t get a chance to recover in the least as the black woman used his distraction to her advantage and she swept the large man’s feet from under him with a move that hooked her foot behind his ankle. He went crashing to the ground where he lay, gasping as he tried to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him.
Artem watched him with narrowed eyes, now standing in front of the boy who stayed behind her rather willingly, and when the man started to make his way to his feet, she spoke again, as calmly as before.
“I warned you not to touch him. Perhaps in the future you shall listen to such warnings when they come from people more skilled than you are.” As the man started to sputter an angry protest, Artem felt someone from her tribe join her, standing at her shoulder and the large villager shut up.
Artem didn’t even look back to see who it was. She already knew and she spoke to the large man again as if nothing had changed and it was still just they two and the child speaking together, “You are not a good steward of what is yours. I am relieving you of the property you seem to dislike so much. No need to thank me.”
The black woman flashed a smile at the enraged villager and turned her back to him without hesitation, taking the child’s hand and walking away. She flashed a smirk at the tall, brown haired, blue-eyed man who’d come to her side and Roher gave her an exasperated look, but he watched her retreat and kept the large villager from attacking while the woman’s back was turned with his presence alone - and perhaps the flames he kept hovering over his fingers - until she was safely away with the boy.
Artem’s tribe had watched the entire scene with varying emotions - most of them amusement and satisfaction - and now Iree came forward, hands on hips and her eyebrow rising to the sky, disappearing in her wild, curly red hair. “And just WHAT do you think you are doing? We came here for supplies, Artem, not more mouths to feed!”
The black woman merely laughed at her Leader’s tone and looked down at the young boy who had remained completely silent up to this point, though, he followed Artem without protest and appeared perfectly calm about all of this. “Doesn’t look to me like he’ll eat much, Iree, and besides, you heard the man; he’s property. That sounds like a type of supplies to me.” She flashed the Leader a cheeky smile and Iree just threw up her hands, muttering to herself as she walked away about people who didn’t obey a damn thing and what was the point of being the leader of this ragtag band if no one LISTENED to her and some other nonsense that Artem didn’t catch as she smiled widely.
“Thank you, Iree!”
Iree only flung her hand back in a dismissing motion at the yell, but Artem knew the Leader wasn’t angry and in fact had liked the display she’d seen even if she could not say as much while in the village for diplomatic reasons.
Artem didn’t mind the ‘show’ of disapproval and she looked down at the child once more for a long moment before moving again, pulling him along gently. He followed willingly and kept quiet as the Olonians finally left the village and disappeared back into the hills. It wasn’t until they were a few miles away and back at one of their camps - a temporary one as they were a nomadic people - that talking started once more and the tribe relaxed, greeting those who’d stayed behind as everyone started to unload packs and the small wagon.
The black woman retreated from the task, heading toward one of the animal tents with her young charge in tow. She pulled him in after her and pointed for him to sit without saying a word. He obeyed just as quietly, pulling his knees up as he shook from cold and watching her beneath his dirty mop of hair as she moved around the small dwelling.
The animal skins that made up the tent kept out the greatest of chill from the night atmosphere and the same kinds of skins on the ground made for a soft resting place. A fire burned in the near-middle of the tent, the musky and thick smoke from the Lonik rise up into the air and out a hole in the top of the animal skins. Artem’s bow and quiver of arrows sat against a wall and her bedroll lay spread out beside it. A water-skin hung from the metal pole in the middle of the tent and little charms hung from the metal arms that stretched out from the one metal stick.
Artem didn’t know what the device was called, but it resembled something like a skeleton mushroom with a long stem and straight, but downward-slanted sticks that stuck out, parallel to each other and in a perfect circle, holding up the tent. They were things their ancestors had found and used, and no one knew where they’d come from, but they were treasured and well-taken care of for their usefulness.
All in all, Artem’s dwelling was fairly simple and designed for quick movement. There wasn’t a lot to hold the child’s attention except for the black woman’s movement and so those dark green eyes followed her and Artem finally turned back to the boy. She was holding a bowl of something that looked like gruel and she came forward, crouching slowly as she handed it to the child.
He surprised her by taking it willingly, politely even and his eyes held her black ones as he spoke for the first time. “Thank you for coming.”
“What?” Of all the things she’d expected to hear, that was not it.
The boy only smiled a little, a ghost of an expression, but there. Definitely there and most-certainly revealing a spirit stronger than she’d at first suspected…and an essence of life that was amazing to see considering the boy’s condition. His voice was soft, though, subdued even if his words were anything but.
“You came. I knew you would and that you’d help me.” He said it with such simple conviction and certainty, and those dark green eyes would not release her. Artem could not look away from the child, could not even think to and she felt a chill travel up her spine. Her voice came from her mouth like it belonged to another person and she was just listening, just as curious as to what she‘d say as anyone else.
“How could you know that?”
“Because I dreamed of you. I know your face. I’ve seen the things you’ve done and I knew you would help me.”
The child had set the food down for now and somewhere in the back of her mind, Artem was amazed at such restraint, but it also just confirmed for her that what the boy was telling her was important. It was important enough that he would forego food just to tell her what he knew.
And the black woman knew it WAS important. She knew because she’d been having dreams, too, dreams of a person she didn’t know and had never seen even in passing. The man in her dreams was a dark blond with the hardest gray eyes she’d ever seen. She often saw him fighting and at first she’d wondered if it was all he did, but then the scenes had started to change the longer she dreamt. He got sick often, something she could relate to and he smiled around those he trusted. His gray eyes, like the stone of the mountains, darkened or lightened in shade according to his mood and he was often happier than he’d let show on his face.
He was searching for something. Artem didn’t know HOW she knew this, but when she dreamed, it was almost like she could feel his emotions as if he stood right in front of her in the waking world.
Somehow she could not think he wasn’t a real person. The dreams were just too real.
Black eyes looked back into dark green ones and Artem realized she’d had her own closed without meaning to. The boy merely watched her and when he spoke again, the black woman could not say she was surprised by his words, the knowing quality in them.
“You’ve been having them, too. Who do you dream of?”
“A warrior of gold hair and great skill.”
Somehow it did not seem wrong to admit this to the boy, to admit that she was having the dreams. It almost seemed RIGHT and Artem didn’t know how that could be, but for the first time in her life, she felt like it might be better to not question at this point. For whatever reason, this child had been brought into her life for something and already she could feel a bond between them. The child could feel it, too. It was a connection and in it Artem could already see fondness and trust forming.
The emotions wrapped around her with a stronger hold than normal ones usually did and the black woman took a deep breath, not scared per say, but shaken as she sat back and looked the boy over again. She knew she should tell him to eat, but right now she was far too curious about what he might say to want him to stop talking.
“You dreamt of me?”
A nod. “Yes, and I know someone is dreaming of me, too. I can feel them sometimes when I sleep, watching. It scared me at first, but now I know it’s not a bad thing. They are only watching me as I watched you. Did you feel this, too. Did you feel me?”
Artem frowned for a moment before shaking her head, her braids swishing against her head. “No. I have felt no such thing.”
The boy nodded, thoughtful. “Perhaps you were not meant to.”
The black woman made a strange sound in her throat, unsure what she thought of that and decided to change the subject for now. “What is your name?”
Here the boy suddenly seemed to grow instantly shy and Artem realized in that moment that he was self-conscious about himself in a way he was not about others. It made her smile a bit as he answered, voice soft once more, more childlike than he had been while speaking about the dreams. “Talis’anarsi.”
Artem whistled and then laughed. “That is quite a long name for a weed such as yourself. Do you not have a True Name?”
Talis’anarsi shook his head, blushing under the dirt that seemed to coat him from head to toe, but he said nothing and Artem tilted her head to try and see his suddenly elusive eyes beneath his mane of matted hair. “What has become of your voice, little weed?” she teased gently and the child looked up again slowly, but still said nothing. He seemed incredibly unsure now that he’d delivered his important news and the conversation had swung toward him and who he was. Artem could understand that. She’d used to do the same thing, using distracting conversation, most often interesting conversation too, to get people off track when they asked her personal questions. It had taken Roher to get her talking and that only because the nearly forty-year old had not taken her ploys and had pressed her, often to the point of anger, to speak and not hide behind the games she’d learned to play.
Artem could clearly see that Talis’anarsi might need the same treatment in time, when he felt more comfortable around the tribe…and she could plainly guess as to who would be doing the pushing to bring him out of his shell. Sometimes it truly did seem like life came full circle.
The black woman sighed at the thought and sat back, gesturing to the bowl of gruel. “Eat, and then go to bed. We’ll speak more in the morning.”
Talis’anarsi nodded in a hurried way, as if he were suddenly nervous about how she’d react to anything he did. It seemed like the boy was now starting to truly absorb where he was and the fact that he knew no one around him as he ate silently, but quickly and then laid down where he sat, curling tightly. He asked for nothing, not even a blanket and Artem felt her heart break at the fact. She stood from her seated position and grabbed one of the blankets from her bedroll, draping it over the child who had not moved, only watching her like a hurt animal watches the human trying to help it.
The black woman offered him a small smile before she grabbed her coat and headed toward the tent flap, intending to let him sleep as she spoke with Iree and Zoso - and most-likely Roher, too, now that she thought about it - but she stopped abruptly at a whisper she barely heard.
Black eyes glanced back, meeting dark green ones. “What was that?”
“What is your name?” the child whispered again and the black woman smiled fully this time. “Artem’nian, but you can call me Artem. Now go to sleep, little weed.” She watched the child smile slightly and nod, curling into the blanket and Artem shook her head in an already fond way - illogical, she knew, but who cared - before exiting the tent completely.
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