When she reached the orchard, she discovered it was laden with dark, leather-skinned pears. They did not look very inviting, but she plucked one and sank her teeth into it. The flesh beneath the peel was as sweet as treacle and the flavor surged into her mouth. They were delicious! The skin was dark and rough, but the flesh was white and sugary. She devoured three quickly, appeasing her ravenous hunger. She quickly plucked several more and began stuffing them into her pack.
Turning, she spied the Kishion climbing the roof toward the beehive and gawked. He maneuvered up the corner of the cottage, his gloves tucked in his belt, and moved up the surface like a spider. The small seams in the stone and mortar were very small, but his fingertips and boots seemed to have no problem tracing their lines and finding suitable handholds. She stared at him as he reached the edge of the roof and slung himself up on the edge. He walked a few paces to where the beehive was fastened to the eaves.
Phae stared at him, chewing and swallowing. Was he mad? Brushing some hair from her face, she watched in shock as he crouched near the edge of the roof and then plunged his hand into the hive.
The bees reacted in a chorus of angry buzzing and darted at the Kishion’s face and arm in response to the invasion. She watched the stinging creatures and nearly cried out to him, but the little stabs apparently meant nothing to him. He did not flinch or swat them away. He let them sting him. His hand withdrew a dripping gob of honeycomb. Then he leaned over the edge of the roof and plummeted to the ground.
Phae started in surprise, nearly rushing to help him, and saw him straighten from the impact. He had landed on his feet and looked as hale as ever. He strode toward her, breaking off pieces of the honeycomb and eating them. There were no welts on his face or hands, only the strange scars that had always been there. It was impossible. He should have broken his legs falling from that height.
He nibbled on another cluster of honeycomb and then offered the rest to her. She was almost too afraid to take it.
“What are you?” she whispered, staring at him in confusion. “Bees cannot harm you. Neither did the fall.”
He offered the honeycomb again with a gesture and she took it, careful of its dripping. He wore a ring on his right hand.
“I am in the Arch-Rike’s service,” he responded, the first time she had heard his voice that day. “I am protected by powerful magic.”
She nodded in respect, realizing the display of his power had been deliberate. He was showing her that nothing she could do would hurt him. The small axe tucked in her belt would be of no use against him.
“So the arrow Trasen shot did not even harm you,” she said.
He nodded at her astuteness and said nothing. He looked back at the hollowed-out house. That was why he did not conceal his approach when he tracked them into the mountains. He knew he could not be killed. A stone of fear sank into her stomach. How was she, a poor homestead girl, supposed to escape him? She realized that it may not even be possible. The sense of dread was paralyzing.
“Can we rest here tonight?” she asked, trying to hide the pleading in her voice. “It will be dusk soon.” She stared back at the house. She would love to fall asleep in the house, dreaming of what it would be like to live in Stonehollow forever. She had a feeling their journey to Kenatos would not take very long. Anything to drag it out longer would be a treasure.
He frowned, as if dubious of her motives.
“I will walk faster tomorrow,” she promised. “We can make up the time. Please? I am so weary.”
She did not want to beg. Biting her lip, she gazed down at the dripping honeycomb in her hand.
He nodded once and turned away from her.
“Thank you,” she offered softly.
Phae ate part of the delicious chunk of honeycomb and then had the idea to combine it with a pear. The sweetness was almost too much, but she enjoyed it and licked her fingers when it was gone. She wandered the orchard a bit, counting about a dozen trees producing fruit and another dozen that were so wild they were barren. The Kishion entered the house to examine it and she had the sudden impulse to flee. She continued her deliberate walk, letting her hands brush the tips of the grasses. Glancing back at the house, she wondered if he was watching her from inside, waiting to see if she would run.
She wanted to. Though she was tired from the day’s walk, she was more rested than she had been the previous day, and more alert. Her body felt firmer and her joints did not ache like they had. In the tall grass, she could almost disappear if she dropped low. Was he watching her? Was he testing her? It would be night soon. Did he need to sleep as well?
Phae decided it would be foolish to flee. She did not imagine that her endurance could outlast his. If she ran, he would chase her and he would catch her. Would he punish her? Or simply plunge one of his knives in her heart? She could not risk it. The best thing to do was to earn his trust by proving herself trustworthy. She decided to stay awake as long as she could and see if he fell asleep. She needed to learn everything she could about him, his strengths and—hopefully—his weakness. That was what she needed to learn more than anything else.
Turning, she spied the Kishion climbing the roof toward the beehive and gawked. He maneuvered up the corner of the cottage, his gloves tucked in his belt, and moved up the surface like a spider. The small seams in the stone and mortar were very small, but his fingertips and boots seemed to have no problem tracing their lines and finding suitable handholds. She stared at him as he reached the edge of the roof and slung himself up on the edge. He walked a few paces to where the beehive was fastened to the eaves.
Phae stared at him, chewing and swallowing. Was he mad? Brushing some hair from her face, she watched in shock as he crouched near the edge of the roof and then plunged his hand into the hive.
The bees reacted in a chorus of angry buzzing and darted at the Kishion’s face and arm in response to the invasion. She watched the stinging creatures and nearly cried out to him, but the little stabs apparently meant nothing to him. He did not flinch or swat them away. He let them sting him. His hand withdrew a dripping gob of honeycomb. Then he leaned over the edge of the roof and plummeted to the ground.
Phae started in surprise, nearly rushing to help him, and saw him straighten from the impact. He had landed on his feet and looked as hale as ever. He strode toward her, breaking off pieces of the honeycomb and eating them. There were no welts on his face or hands, only the strange scars that had always been there. It was impossible. He should have broken his legs falling from that height.
He nibbled on another cluster of honeycomb and then offered the rest to her. She was almost too afraid to take it.
“What are you?” she whispered, staring at him in confusion. “Bees cannot harm you. Neither did the fall.”
He offered the honeycomb again with a gesture and she took it, careful of its dripping. He wore a ring on his right hand.
“I am in the Arch-Rike’s service,” he responded, the first time she had heard his voice that day. “I am protected by powerful magic.”
She nodded in respect, realizing the display of his power had been deliberate. He was showing her that nothing she could do would hurt him. The small axe tucked in her belt would be of no use against him.
“So the arrow Trasen shot did not even harm you,” she said.
He nodded at her astuteness and said nothing. He looked back at the hollowed-out house. That was why he did not conceal his approach when he tracked them into the mountains. He knew he could not be killed. A stone of fear sank into her stomach. How was she, a poor homestead girl, supposed to escape him? She realized that it may not even be possible. The sense of dread was paralyzing.
“Can we rest here tonight?” she asked, trying to hide the pleading in her voice. “It will be dusk soon.” She stared back at the house. She would love to fall asleep in the house, dreaming of what it would be like to live in Stonehollow forever. She had a feeling their journey to Kenatos would not take very long. Anything to drag it out longer would be a treasure.
He frowned, as if dubious of her motives.
“I will walk faster tomorrow,” she promised. “We can make up the time. Please? I am so weary.”
She did not want to beg. Biting her lip, she gazed down at the dripping honeycomb in her hand.
He nodded once and turned away from her.
“Thank you,” she offered softly.
Phae ate part of the delicious chunk of honeycomb and then had the idea to combine it with a pear. The sweetness was almost too much, but she enjoyed it and licked her fingers when it was gone. She wandered the orchard a bit, counting about a dozen trees producing fruit and another dozen that were so wild they were barren. The Kishion entered the house to examine it and she had the sudden impulse to flee. She continued her deliberate walk, letting her hands brush the tips of the grasses. Glancing back at the house, she wondered if he was watching her from inside, waiting to see if she would run.
She wanted to. Though she was tired from the day’s walk, she was more rested than she had been the previous day, and more alert. Her body felt firmer and her joints did not ache like they had. In the tall grass, she could almost disappear if she dropped low. Was he watching her? Was he testing her? It would be night soon. Did he need to sleep as well?
Phae decided it would be foolish to flee. She did not imagine that her endurance could outlast his. If she ran, he would chase her and he would catch her. Would he punish her? Or simply plunge one of his knives in her heart? She could not risk it. The best thing to do was to earn his trust by proving herself trustworthy. She decided to stay awake as long as she could and see if he fell asleep. She needed to learn everything she could about him, his strengths and—hopefully—his weakness. That was what she needed to learn more than anything else.
