Morrighan (The Remnant Chronicles 0.50)

I whirled. “I’m not a child, Ama!” I snapped. “Can’t you see that?” I sucked in a breath, startled by my own outburst.

Ama took the gourds from my hands and set them aside. “Yes,” she said softly. “The child in you is gone, and a … young woman stands before me.” Her pale gray eyes glistened. “I just refused to see. I’m not sure how it happened so fast.”

I fell into her arms, holding her tight. “I’m sorry, Ama. I didn’t mean to be short with you. I—”

But I had no more words to explain myself. My mind tossed and pitched, and my body no longer felt like my own. Instead hot fingers squeezed my gut with the memory of Jafir’s warm breath on my skin.

“I’m all right,” I said. “The others wait.”

Ama pulled me to the center of the longhouse where everyone had settled around the fire. I sat down between Micah and Brynna. He was thirteen, and she, twelve, but they seemed so young to me now. The twins, Shay and Shantal, eight, sat across from me. To me, all of them were children.

“Tell us a story, Ama,” I said. “About Before.” I needed a story to soothe me, for my mind still jumped like a grasshopper of the fields.

The children called out their choices, the towers, the gods, the storm.

“No,” I said. “Tell us about when you met Papa.”

Ama looked at me uncertainly. “But that’s not a story of Before. That is a story of After.”

I swallowed, trying to hide my misery. “Then tell us a story of After.” I had heard the story before, but it was a long time ago. I needed to hear it again.

“It was twelve years after the storm. I was only a girl of seventeen. By then I had traveled far with the Remnant who had survived, but only to a place that looked as desolate as the last. We lived by our wits and will, my mother showing me how to trust the language of knowing within me, for little else mattered. The maps and gadgets and inventions of man could not help us survive or find food. Each day I reached deeper, unlocking the skills the gods had given us since the beginning of time. I thought this was all my life would ever be, but then one day, I saw him.”

“Was he handsome?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Was he strong?”

“Very.”

“Was he—”

“Stop interrupting,” I told the children. “Let her finish!”

Ama looked at me. I saw the wondering in her eyes, but she continued.

“But the most important thing I noticed about him was that he was kind. Desperation ruled the world, and kindness was as rare as a clear blue sky. We had come upon one of the cellars from Before. There was still some food to be found in those days, pantry stockpiles that hadn’t yet spoiled or been raided, but it was risky to venture into such places. The leader saw us coming and waved us away, but your papa intervened, pleading for us, and the leader relented. They allowed us in and shared what little food there was. It was the last time I ever tasted an olive, but that small taste was the beginning of something far more … satisfying.”

Pata rolled her eyes, and the other miadres laughed. Far more. The hidden meanings of Ama’s stories no longer escaped me.

* * *

“Where are you in such a hurry to?” Ama asked. “The beetles of the field will take you to task if you’re late?” Her tone held suspicion. I had seen her watching me as I raced through my morning chores.

I slowed my steps, ashamed that I hadn’t told Ama about the building of books—or Jafir. But not so ashamed that I came forth with the truth. One thing I had learned was that Ama could not read my mind as I had once believed. But she knew my mind. She breathed it. She lived it. Just as she did with the whole tribe. It was a heavy weight for her to bear. Part of that weight would one day pass to me.

“Is there something you need, Ama?”

“No, child,” she said caressing my cheek. “Go. Gather. I understand the need for solitude. Just stay aware. Don’t let this time of peace cause you to let your guard down. The danger is always there.”

“I always watch, Ama. And I always remember the dangers.”

Chapter Eight

Morrighan

I flew through the fields. Ran breathlessly down the canyon. The day was already hot, and sweat rolled down my back. I stopped to gather nothing, my empty bag flopping wildly in my fist. When I reached the trail that led to the old building of books, I saw his horse tied to the low branch of a tree. And then I saw him.