Cursed: Traitor's Trail

Chapter 8

 Jaob breathed the air of the afternoon deeply. The heat of it filled his nostrils and dried his mouth, but right then it tasted of freedom and hope. Women gathered leaves and flower petals from the gardens and children carried water to the plants from the well; for once New Hope was peaceful.

Of course, nothing had changed. The news of Bane's return, and successful retrieval of a new Magi—one that the king sought—brightened his perspective. He found himself easily forgiving his friend, especially since his venture turned out so well.

His perspective may have brightened, but he was still confused. Why was the king gathering Magi now? And why these ones in particular? What made them important?

He walked toward the healing tent, where Kierra tended the woman. He wished to talk with her, to know more about her; anything that would give him insight into Theron's intentions.

“God's health to those within,” he called at the entrance, it wasn't strictly necessary for the healing tent, but he didn't wish to catch anyone...unprepared. Walking in on the woman nude probably would not lead to a favorable conversation with her.

“Er...please enter?” The voice from within hesitated. Unsure whether she wanted to see him? Or unsure it was her place to invite him in? He expected Kierra to answer, but she must have been called elsewhere.

He pushed open the skin flap and stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust from the brilliancy without to the dim light of the tent interior. On a far pallet sat a young woman, twenty maybe. Her black hair bound in the traditional braids of the nomads, though no head-cloth graced her head. She possessed the curved form of one who had not often gone lacking in food, and an attractive face; high cheekbones with large wide eyes that must have been striking when they were dark, but now, with their violet intensity, were breathtaking. At least, that's what he told himself when his brain refused to function momentarily.

She held a long piece of dried grass she must have procured from the tent floor and dangled it above a—was that boiled wood louse?—as though she had been poking at it cautiously.

He crinkled his nose. Kierra's idea of healthy healing meals sometimes...lacked pleasant flavors.

The woman stopped, taking in everything from his tousled hair—he had forgone the head-cloth as well—to his eyes, where her gaze lingered uncertainly.

He hesitated, unsure of where to start. “Welcome.” He decided, at last, a greeting would be a good. “I am Jaob.”

“I am Aya,” she announced, sticking her hand out in the formal way, but before he could take it, she frowned at the appendage and lowered it.

“Do not touch her,” Bane's voice warned from the entrance causing him, and Aya, to jump.

“Ah...why?” Was she ill with something? Would he catch it?

“Do you not care for wood louse?” Kierra questioned poking her head around Bane.

“Er...” Aya's eyes darted around as though looking for something polite to say. If she was from the nomadic clans as he supposed, then propriety likely stalled her for an honest answer.

“Not everyone likes woodlouse, Kierra,” Jaob said in an attempt to save her.

“It is very nutritious, and good for breeding stamina...though I suppose that is not needed here is it?” Kierra continued into the tent in a brisk manner, as though she hadn't just brought up breeding stamina. The differences between her culture and theirs continued to surprise—and embarrass him.

Color rose in the Aya's cheeks. “Ah...”

“You will have to excuse Kierra, her people...their customs are different from ours; she means no insult.”