Page 65 of Star Champion

“You never came here before?”

“No. I never felt like bothering.”

“What changed your mind?” Jemm asked.

“You.” His hand clasped hers a little tighter. “Now we’ll experience it together.”

“But what is it?”

“If I say, I’ll spoil the surprise.” His eyes twinkled as he shot her a grin.

“I get to ask questions, though. And you’ll answer them.”

“Just like you to set the rules.”

She ignored him. “Is it animate or inanimate?”

“Animate. Sort of.”

“Dead or alive?” she asked.

“Alive.”

“Hmm. Animal or vegetable?”

He stopped, cocked his head. “Do you hear it?”

She also stopped walking. Using her senses, she searched outward, as if she were in a bajha match. Very faintly, an almost musical sound whispered then ebbed. “I think so.” A slight movement of air rustled leaves on low-hanging branches, but that wasn’t it. Then it started up again. She tipped her head, aiming an ear toward the sound. As it grew louder, it seemed familiar. “It sounds like...flutes. Aye, flutes. Nico had a wooden flute as a child. It almost sounds like that.”

A soft, hollow sound.

“Exactly.” Klark snatched her hand and led her farther along the path. The sound faded then increased again, almost as if the planet itself held its breath before exhaling musically.

Suddenly, they emerged into a glade nestled in a narrow valley. Shafts of sunlight illuminated thousands of pale green flowers, spreading out as far as she could see. The flowers, shaped like tubes, grew on stalks reaching as high as her knees.

Klark spoke with reverence. “When sunlight warms the air, it collides with the cooler, damper air of the woods and moves through the valley like a funnel—and through thousands upon thousands of these little tubes.”

Creating a green, breathy, ethereal orchestra, she thought, rendered speechless with wonder. “It’s like being in a dream,” she said finally.

Klark smiled down at her, his golden eyes shining. “It’s marvelous, isn’t it?”

“Aye. Little flute flowers.”

“The official name is wind stalks, but I like your name better.” His hand squeezed hers. “I worried it might be too late in the season to catch them. That’s why I wanted to take you here today. Soon they’ll die off for the winter.”

Brown and yellow discolored some of the plants. The brownest ones created a rustling papery wheeze. Klark moved behind her, and she leaned back against him, pillowed by his body and encased in his strong arms. They laced their hands together over her stomach and listened to the ebb and flow of the wind stalks. The rumble of thunder was closer now, punctuating the music. “I hope it doesn’t rain,” she said.

“It won’t. It’s farther away than it sounds.”

Unlike the start of the official pro season, she thought. Beginning with the news conference, things would accelerate—and soon their idyll at the retreat center would end.

Klark’s muscles tightened as if he had intuited her thoughts. “We are going to be all right,” he said ever-so quietly in her ear.

Her heart skipped a few beats. Did he mean them as the unlikeliest of lovers? Or was he simply uttering a reassurance about her looming entry into the world of high-stakes competitive bajha?

Did it matter? Both prospects carried personal risk and just as many unknowns.

“Aye,” she said and stood a little bit straighter.We will be all right. She was tough, and she was ready—for whatever came barreling toward them next.

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