A hand touched Hohsalle’s shoulder, stirring him from a deep sleep. His eyes flew open, and his heart thudded painfully.
Dawn was yet to come, and the room was still dark. Within that darkness stood a woman, her face floating in the dim light of the candle she held. She pressed a finger to her lips. Hohsalle frowned. He was sure he’d seen her somewhere before, but where? A memory bobbed up through the groggy haze in his mind.
“You… You’re one of the Molfah,” he whispered.
She bowed deeply. “Yes, my lord. I am Sae. Please forgive me for intruding in this way. I would rather that Master Tohlim did not know of this visit.”
Hohsalle sat up and glanced at the bed beside him. The medicine he’d given Milalle after supper had to be working. She was sound asleep and showed no sign of waking. When Hohsalle looked back at Sae, he froze. A man loomed a few steps behind her, his figure surrounded by shadow.
“There is nothing to fear,” Sae said. “He will not harm you.”
Hohsalle glared at her. “What’d you do to Makokan?”
His bodyguard slept in the adjoining room. Undoubtedly, these two had passed him on their way here. Makokan was a warrior. No matter how stealthily they moved, they could not have gone by without waking him.
Sae looked apologetic. “He sleeps, sir. I added a little tattsuri to the wine he drank at dinner.”
Hohsalle sighed with relief. The drug would put him into a deep sleep but was otherwise harmless.
The man emerged from the shadows and approached his bed. As Hohsalle had guessed, it was the stranger from their prison cell, the one who’d comforted the child. He stood beside Sae and gave a short bow.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” he said. “I asked Sae to help me meet with you privately.” His voice was calm and quiet.
Hohsalle gazed up at him. Ah, yes. That’s how this man talks. “So,” he began. “You know who I am, yet you deliberately neglect the deference due to the nobility?” As the words left his mouth, he couldn’t help but smile ruefully. Surely you have more important things to ask him than that! This man threw him off balance.
The intruder’s face relaxed. “Not deliberately, no. It’s just a habit. Where I come from, we only use honorifics for someone older than us.”
“Really? So if the clan chief happens to be younger than you, you wouldn’t speak to him as though he were of higher rank?”
“That’s right.”
Hohsalle grinned. This was getting interesting. “Why?”
The man opened his mouth but hesitated. Hohsalle couldn’t guess at what the man was thinking, but a shadow crossed his face. Hesitantly, he answered, “I guess we most respect those who rise above every difficulty to live long, full lives. Unlike the Aquafaese, the Zolians, or Otawalle like yourself, none among my people are born into nobility.”
Hohsalle cocked an eyebrow. “But aren’t your clan chiefs determined by bloodline?”
“They are, but the chief is merely a mediator. He doesn’t have the authority of your kings.” The man paused, as if searching for words. “For my people, a man is worthy of respect if he’s been loved by his woman and blessed with many children, if he’s cared for and raised those children well. Such a man is called the Deer Chief.”
Hohsalle’s mouth crooked. “Surely he’s strong, too, right? I’ve heard that only the strongest buck gets to mate with the females in a herd.”
The man nodded. “That’s true. Bucks fight fiercely for the right to mate. For them, it’s a matter of life and death, and they’ll risk their lives to attract does and breed a family. They do this every year, until they lose to a younger buck. That’s what living means to them. And that’s why we call a long-lived stag the Deer Chief and name our elders who have been blessed with many children after them.”
He paused again and then added quietly, “But we respect the Deer King most of all.”
“The Deer King?”
“Have you ever seen a herd of deer?”
“Yes. A few times.”
“Then you must know that each one has a single deer that serves as a lookout, the first to notice any danger and warn the others.”
“That’s true. But it’s never the dominant buck, at least not in the herds I saw. The lookout gave the warning, but if I remember right, it was the leader that responded and led the rest to safety.”
The man nodded. “Yes. But with pyuika, it’s a little different.”
“Pyuika? I thought you were talking about deer.”
“Sorry. I guess I should’ve explained that first. Among my people, when we talk about deer, we mean pyuika, the flying deer.”
The man took a long breath. “With pyuika, when the herd is in danger, one buck will rise to defend the others with his life. He’s not the dominant buck, nor one with young of his own. Usually, it’s a mature stag past his prime that’s still strong enough to fight. He’s the first to sense danger and confronts it head-on to save the others. My people venerate such a stag as the Deer King because he ensures the survival of the herd, even though he’s not the leader.”
With a pensive look, the man added, “In the same way, when a man who has survived much suffering protects his clan, winning their love and respect, we also dub him the Deer King. That’s the kind of person we revere, not someone of noble birth. Though I suppose you and your people wouldn’t call anyone like that a king.”
Maybe that’s why I find this man so disconcerting, Hohsalle thought. “Well, that’s a lousy custom,” he said with a grimace.
The man’s eyebrows rose. “You think so?”
“Yes, I do. If being an Otawalle noble doesn’t impress you, then I don’t stand a chance. If you assess people by strength of character and experience, I must seem like a little brat to you.”
To Hohsalle’s surprise, the man smiled. After a long pause, he said, “It never occurred to me to think of you as a little brat.”
Hohsalle scowled. “Now you’re just making it worse.” He sighed. “Forget about that. Let’s get to the point. Who are you?”
The man’s expression sobered. “I am Van of the Gansa.”
Hohsalle rolled the name over in his mouth, then his eyes went wide. “Oh! You’re Broken Antler Van?”
The only slave to survive the massacre in the Aquafa salt mine. Hohsalle stared at him with intense curiosity. He appeared a little over forty. Though tough and powerful for his age, he was no hulking brute like Makokan. “How’d you break free of your shackles in that mine?” he asked.
“I just pulled.”
“Pulled?”
“I was so mad that I yanked with all my might, and they just snapped. I’ve heard that people sometimes exhibit incredible strength when faced with danger. Maybe that’s what happened.” Van broke into a grin. “My arms and shoulders ached for days after, but when I was pulling on that chain, I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Really?” Hohsalle’s voice was tinged with awe. “So your body slipped its reins.”
“Slipped its reins?”
“The human body keeps a lot of things in check to protect itself from harm, including physical strength. Normally, we can only tap into a fraction of the strength we have. When our body senses that exerting more force might be harmful, it pulls back on the reins. It only drops them when it’s in such a tight spot that tearing every muscle won’t matter.”
Van looked grim. “I see.” In a low voice, he recounted everything that happened in the mine—the rochai that raced into the tunnels, the cold-like symptoms that followed the bites, the rash, the slaves who never awoke come morning, and the little girl hidden in the oven.
His tone was flat and matter-of-fact, but Hohsalle was enthralled. When the tale ended, he leaned forward and asked eagerly, “You mean that little girl you were holding survived a bite, too?”
“I think so. There was a scratch on her ankle that looked like she’d been grazed by fangs. She didn’t have a fever when I found her, though.”
Goose bumps formed on Hohsalle’s arms, and he could barely contain himself. The child had lived even though she carried the disease agents. And the lichens she’d claimed were shiny…
Van’s voice wrenched Hohsalle from his thoughts. “Actually, that’s why I came to see you. I’m worried about Yuna.” He gave Hohsalle a searching look. “Last night, you were surprised when Yuna said that the medicine glows, weren’t you? It doesn’t do that for you?”