Page 6 of Romancing Rem'eb

Chapter

Three

REM’EB THE FIST

Earlier

I sling my sack of fishing tackle over my shoulder as I head through the streets of the Village of Those Who Remain, humming to myself. I like fishing. It allows me to collect my thoughts as I work to provide food for our people, and the sight of the huge underground lake always fills me with internal peace.

It’s a peace I could use after the last while.

No sooner do I step onto the cobbled path toward the lake than Tan’zor the Careful jogs toward me, his path straight as a dart. “There you are. Your father is looking for you.”

I bite back a groan. Being summoned to the chief’s side is never a good thing, even for his only son. “Surely not today? I have done my duty at the outposts. In fact, I just got back.” I slow my steps, setting the butt of my long, thin fishing rod on the ground as I stop to talk to my friend. “Tell my father I am going fishing.”

Tan’zor shakes his head. “That’s not what this is about. He said it’s urgent.”

Urgent, eh? My father thinks that everything is urgent and must be obeyed immediately since he is chief, but rarely does he use such words with me. The look on Tan’zor’s face is grave, and if my old friend is not willing to joke about my father’s usual demanding ways, then this must be something different. “Do you know what this is?”

“He will not say.”

“Is it the rebels?” I lower my voice even as I speak the words aloud, as if eyes are watching us from the shadows. They likely are. Rebels seem to be everywhere lately. No wonder my father is so worked up lately. Bel’eb the Mighty has been less Mighty and more anxious as of late.

Tan’zor’s expression is grim. “He will not speak of it. Your father is acting very secretive. I can get nothing from him.”

Strange, considering that everyone gets along well with Tan’zor. Sometimes I think my father likes him more than he likes me. “All right then, my friend. I will change my plans.” I offer him my fishing rod, and when he declines with a grin, I’m surprised. “Are you coming with me?”

“If I may. I am extremely curious about all of this.”

So am I.

We turn and head back through the sprawl of the village. Tan’zor the Careful’s steps are jaunty, but I am more pensive. Our home has been troubled for some time, and it seems that every day that passes brings new worries. We should be in a good place, our people. The terrible sickness that killed so many has been dormant for many turns now. Our food is plentiful, our gardens blooming. The living mountain is quiet with no rumblings in its belly.

But as I walk, I see males talking, their heads down. I see secrets being shared. I see resentment.

Something must change. But what?

As is custom, when we get to the wall, we pause. I let Tan’zor the Careful go first, waiting for him to get several steps ahead of me before proceeding. I walk slowly, holding my breath, hoping to hear the khui in my chest come to life. On the other side of the wall, kept safe, are the remaining females of our people. They can no longer mingle with the males for their own protection, and only resonance will allow us to spend a short time with them.

But resonance means a family. Children. It means that our line will continue.

My khui remains silent, and just like every other time, I am tempted to turn around and walk past the long, winding wall again, just to see if anything changes. I suspect every male feels like this. The guard posted at this end of the wall—Je’lef the Stoic—gives me a small nod, as if acknowledging my disappointment.

Tan’zor and I continue on to my father’s dwelling. It is the largest building in our village, with a courtyard full of plants that my father adores tending. Thick mushroom caps dot the gardens, next to stone sculptures honoring our ancestors. Behind the courtyard, my father’s home boasts multiple rooms. Once, this building was filled with people. I am told my father’s father had his mate in his bed, and there were so many of their children that all the rooms were filled, even the large hall that my father holds his chief meetings in.

Now, the building is empty of all but my father. My mother is dead, the sickness claiming her long before I could remember her, and no other children will be born. My father’s father and my father’s mother, and most of their children have all passed, many struck down by the sickness. I should live close to Bel’eb, as a proper Chief’s Fist would, but I moved out many cycles ago and he never said a word of protest. He has given up on me.

Two of my father’s most loyal guardsmen stand outside the door to his meeting hall, the sight of which surprises me. Why does he feel the need to keep others out? What is so very important? They nod at me as I approach, but one holds a hand up when Tan’zor remains at my side. “The chief will see you alone, Rem’eb the Fist.”

I narrow my eyes at the guards. “Tan’zor the Careful is loyal.”

“Your father’s instructions were clear.”

Were they, now? I glance over at Tan’zor, but he puts two of his hands up in amused apology. “We will talk more later, my friend. You know where to find me.” Tan’zor grins at the guards. “I shall just take another stroll along the wall. All is well.”

I grunt, but I don’t like it. Tan’zor is trustworthy. He is loyal. What’s so very secret that he cannot be included? What is my father up to?

Once Tan’zor walks away, the guards step aside to allow me to enter. I eye them and move forward, and turn and wait for the doors to shut behind me. Once they do, I move to face my father.

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