“A Haru?” Ilior scanned the jungle.
Selena did the same, waiting for the eyeless woman or apparition to come again. The jungle sounds that had ceased were now coming back to life. Selena let her sword arm drop.
“The Haru are Aluren nuns,” she said. “Women whose devotion to the Two-Faced God is singular and without question.”
“Singular how?”
“The Haru cut out their own eyes as part of their initiation into the order.”
Ilior frowned. “That sounds…impractical.”
“It is believed that the removal of a sense heightens the others. The Haru remove their eyes to better Hear the god,” Selena replied. She held her light globe high, peering into the darkness.
“If she is Aluren, she is ally,” Ilior said. “Perhaps she hasn’t gone far. We can call to her, invite her to join us. Tell her not be afraid.” He glanced around. “Certainly she’s listening right now.”
Selena sheathed her own sword. “She might be Haru. She appeared so. But whoever she is, she approached soundlessly, sightlessly, without disturbing the jungle. She crept within inches of me. Invite her to join us without fear?” Selena shook her heard. “She could have slit my throat as an introduction. No, if she wants to reveal herself she will.” She addressed the jungle. “Show yourself. We will not harm you.”
The jungle made no reply.
The cloud of insects around Selena’s light globe cast chaotic shadows on Ilior’s face, etching his likeness closer to his dragon ancestors than a human one. “I say we keep going,” he said. “I’d rather face an enemy that I can see than jump at shadows.”
Selena agreed. She drew breath to tell Ilior to take point when the jungle’s teeming chorus disappeared, as though a veil of silence had been dropped down. Selena kept her light globe alive in her palm, illuminating a small area around them.
“Haruuk’sha bast!” Ilior swore.
They were surrounded. Pale men and women, their faces and bodies streaked with muddy paint, emerged to form a ring around the three. They carried spears, nets, some held reeds to their mouths. Poison darts. The thought scampered in and out of Selena’s fearful consciousness. The people wore nothing but grass skirts or loincloths over their nether regions; the women were topless, their breasts streaked with the same patterns as the men’s chests.
The islanders said nothing. They made no threatening moves but Selena knew that to fight meant death.
The human ring broke to admit one to step forward. A small, willowy figure in tan leggings and white dress stepped into the meager circle of light. The woman’s hair was black and brushed her chin, reminding Selena of An-Lan. But the woman’s eyes were missing and all that remained were empty bowls of scarred flesh.
“Paladin,” the woman said, addressing Selena with an inclination of her head. Her voice was low and rich and steady with no discernible accent. Her sightless eyes were black pits in the shadows. “I apologize for disturbing your rest this night but I must ask that you accompany us.”
“To where?” Ilior rumbled.
“To Accora,” Selena answered.
The sightless woman nodded. “She has been waiting for you.”
Captive
Light seeped into the world slowly, filling in the cracks between branch and leaf and vine. They had spent the night walking amidst their captors. Captors or escort? Selena wondered; she and Ilior had been permitted to keep their weapons. The natives walked like silent ghosts through the jungle, saying nothing. The blinded woman called herself Ori, and walked with the same practiced ease and silence. No one spoke. Ori said that all their questions would be answered by Accora.
As the sun rose higher, Selena was able to observe their captors more closely. The native warriors showed no signs of heat fatigue. Selena noticed too that the mud that streaked their skin was intricate and artfully done; great whorls and shapes that reminded Selena of the windpaint of Nanokar.
Perhaps it works in an opposite manner—to deflect heat rather than capture it.
But Ori’s skin was unadorned. Sweat glistened on her lip but if the heat taxed her strength, she didn’t show it.
Some hours later, the jungle released them, growing sparse and thin before giving away to a wide, clear swathe. It appeared as if there had been a fire; sprouts of new green pushed up through dark ash. The forest resumed its dominion over the island some mile or two ahead but in this burnt ring was a large camp. More natives were going about their day amidst several thatch huts. Toward the center of the ring burned a fire pit, and off to the west, a pen made of fallen branches stacked eight spans high. None of natives gave the new arrivals more than a cursory glance.
“Is Accora here?” Selena asked Ori.
“Her home is a day’s walk. You must rest and eat.”
In the daylight, the pits where Ori’s eyes had once been were not so black and bottomless, but the scarred flesh was not so easy to look at. Selena wondered what strength it must take to blind oneself in such a violent manner.
That kind of devotion is admirable. Heroic, even.
Somehow Ori must have sensed the attention for she said, “I forget you are not of the native Yuk’ri tribe who are accustomed to my sightlessness. Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable.” She drew a strip of cloth from her tunic and laid it over her eyes.
“You haven’t,” Selena said, “but most Haru wear a veil. You are Haru, aren’t you?”
Ori gave the cloth a sharp tug. “Not anymore.”
She beckoned and the natives led them to the high-fenced pen.
“The lodgings are more crude than you are used to, I’m sure, but the Yuk’ri take what the forest lets fall and nothing more. This clearing, for example, was made during a lightning storm. For their peace of mind, you must reside here with the others.”
“The others?” Ilior asked.
“Those we took on the beach. Accora doesn’t tolerate intruders but she has decreed that none of those who accompany you shall die until she desires it.”
“Until?” Selena exchanged glances with Ilior.
“Bazira,” he muttered.
A large native man, his pale body painted in swirls and whorls of black mud, lifted a makeshift latch on the pen of uneven branches and opened a crude door.
“Paladin Koren!” Niven rushed forward. “Thank the god.”
Selena embraced the young adherent and regarded the rest over his shoulder—at Julian and the crew of the Black Storm. Grunt sat in a corner, watching everything and everyone with thoughtful eyes. Cat sat in an opposite corner, her expression wary and nervous. Spit dozed beside Whistle, while Cur paced, growling low in his throat Julian sat with his long legs bent in front of him, his hands dangling over his knees. He raised one in greeting, his face unreadable. He met Ilior’s eye coolly. The Vai’Ensai’s lip curled in snarl.
The makeshift door shut behind them.