Page 59

Silence fell as the verity of her statement rang over them.

Okaban exhaled, slow, controlled. ‘Yet, some assailant attacked you with our girl on your ship. Your Admiral informed us.’

Ki’Remi nodded. ‘The enemy was unfamiliar to us, but we defended ourselves, and my team even got wounded to save your daughter. Regardless, we neutralized them and hope they won’t be back.’

The Elders exchanged a long, measured look.

‘You ask for shelter,’ Okaban said. ‘Your presence risks our safety.’

Ki’Remi raised his chin, unwavering still with a softness that commanded respect. ‘I get the risk and understand your hesitation. However, you need to understand our challenge. We cannot leave until our ship returns. We gave you the gift of your healed daughter. Please give us one night; we’ll be gone at sunrise.’

The two men faced off for a minute before Okaban nodded. ‘One night.’

At the heart of the village, a massive ancient yhanba tree reigned.

It was a colossus of knotted tubers twisting above the ground and thick, leafy boughs that had guarded the village for generations.

Its canopy stretched with expansive reach, hurling a protective shadow across the communal gathering space below.

Gnarled roots curled into natural seats, worn smooth by the touch of time and countless conversations beneath its limbs.

Encircling the tree were luminescent fungal blooms that surged with eerie blue light.

Under the branches, a communal fire burned; its flames always stoked, and wood continually replenished, so it never extinguished.

A colossal iron pot was suspended above it, bubbling with thick porridge.

Twas a fragrant mixture of grains, spiced milk, and honey.

Tables nearby groaned under platters of roasted river fish, bowls of dense grain gruel seasoned with wild herbs, and steaming root vegetables slicked with fragrant oils.

The Elders presided from carved stone seats, their faces etched with wisdom.

Young and old gathered, dipping carved ladles into steaming bowls and exchanging stories between mouthfuls.

Ki’Remi leaned on the back of an engraved wooden stool, having had his fill.

His crew was close by, warmed by the roaring fire pit, and the air was redolent with smoke and spice.

Fueled by good food, children darted through the courtyard, their laughter ringing like chimes as they played with balls and skipping ropes.

A few hounds lazed in corners, their tails thumping against the packed earth as villagers passed, pausing to scratch behind their ears.

Twas a rare utopia, held together not by walls or weapons but by the simple, unshakable power of belonging.

Ki’Remi observed it all as he sipped on a tangy, fermented libation passed around in ornate wooden vessels.

Its first sip scorched his throat and numbed his tongue.

He drank with care after that, ignoring the curious eyes flicking at him toward the shifting glow of his metanoid tattoos.

Zera sat between her parents, tucked close to the shelter of her father’s cloak, glancing at Ki’Remi, then at Issa occasionally.

Her gaze was full of reverence and appreciation for pulling her from the void of death.

He suspected Zera had shared their legend with his fellow villages because the locals had presented Issa and himself with flower garlands around their heads.

Also, the Rider and the crew kept getting endless top-ups of the numbing and now delicious brew.