Page 13 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
“You keep asking me who I am. If you expect me to tell you, I’d think you’d tell me any little bit about yourself that you can. I must admit, I am shocked that you have, at some point, learned to fight with a staff. I’d like to see what you’ve got. If anything.”
Striding quickly to Locane’s side, I glare at him. “See? Was that last part really necessary? I do nothing and you’re just rude to me for no fucking reason.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a filthy mouth?” he asks, deflecting.
“I’d imagine so.”
“It’s not becoming of a lady.”
I laugh hard. “I am no lady.”
Locane gives me a pointed look, slapping away a buzzing mosquito. “Your grandmother was able to secure you a Bokhaiish staff master to train. I’d say you are certainly someone.”
“And I’d say you know more than you are telling me, Locane.”
“I’ve already told you, I don’t. We will part ways soon.”
And soon cannot come soon enough.
I’ve felt like I’ve been holding my breath ever since Locane fell into my life, and I need to fill my lungs. Yet, despite my apprehension, and mentally wanting to get as far away from him as possible, I continue to feel that familiar tug and struggle to ignore it. I’m convinced it’s somehow connected to him.
I don’t give him a response, and we continue on for the rest of the day in silence.
We stop for the night in a small cave that Locane did a quick inspection of and deemed safe. We eat a dinner identical to the one the night before as a fierce thunderstorm rages outside.
Another day before we reach his house, I remind myself as the weariness from the day’s travel sets in.
In all the time I was on the move, I don’t remember being this exhausted, this sore. The thought of sleep lures me to a lying position on the rocky cave floor—hard and unforgiving.
Sleep has nearly taken me when Locane clears his throat. “If you’d like, I have tools at home that I could craft you a staff with.” His voice is gentle, almost kind.
My breath catches in my throat. My heart rate increases speed. “I’d really appreciate that.”
“Very well. I’d like to see what your Nana has taught you.”
My grin from earlier has returned. I’m anxious to see what she has taught me as well, but I keep my excitement guarded, not wanting to give him a reason to step back from dropping his abrasive attitude.
Locane offered to make me a weapon himself. Maybe he thinks it will help me rediscover myself. Maybe he thinks it will help me protect myself when we part ways. Maybe it’s mostly selfish, just for him to see first hand what I have learned. If my memory of Nana serves correctly, my training was a rare setting that not many people outside of Bokhaii get to experience.
Whatever his motivation, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.
CHAPTER SIX
Iwas wrong. Terribly, horribly, egregiously wrong.
Locane is awful. The worst. I’m unsure why he saved me in the first place if he was going to try to torture me days later.
After a quick breakfast, he offered up the idea of hand-to-hand, convinced that the punches I threw at him were indicative of at least decent training in that field. Disappointment presented itself quickly when I didn’t instantly show the promise he thought I might have after wailing on him the day before.
Locane obviously has quick healing abilities. His nose is back to its beautifully straight self; he barely has any bruising around his eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s just tired. Oh, but I do know better. And gods, if that knowledge isn’t satisfying.
My knuckles from where I hit him and the ground repeatedly bear no signs of the swollen bruising they did the day before. And this morning, I also noticed with puzzlement that the deep scrapes and cuts on my feet from walking barefoot were gone as well, leaving nothing but unmarred—albeit dirty—skin. Obviously I have healing powers of my own.
Just another glaring detail of myself that I’ve somehow overlooked.
“You’re not even trying,” he yells at me. “You had perfect form throwing a punch, and today you’re acting like you don’t know how to correctly place your fingers. Stop over thinking it.”
“Well, which one is it? Am I not trying, or am I trying so hard I’m choking?” I roar back. “And how could I have had perfect form? I was lying on the godsdamned ground!”
