Page 46 of Taken to Nobu
“This fatal blow was made, in part, by Re’Okkari’s sacrifice and his honor to the tribe. To the Okkari and to me. I know I don’t know your culture and customsyet, but I am learning. In the meantime, it is my wish now to honor Re’Okkari in the only way I know how.
“I never sang the mourning song — Svera, the advisor to the Rakukanna always did the honor. But I will try for you now. I will try for Re’Okkari so that he may know he was cherished as he finds his way to the Great Ocean of the After, where he will find his peace.”
Kuana finishes and I gently tap her arm. She need not translate this. I close my eyes and think of my mother, my father, Svera, Miari, Jaxal, Kuana, the Okkari. I let everything else fall away. Every fear, every hope, every hate. And I sing.
15
Kinan
Her voice carries through the cavern, haunting in its melody and utterly captivating. I am still, emotions locked down so that my ridges remain colorless though the same cannot be said for so many with us here. This is a somber, stoic place and yet I see ridges now in almost every shade. Many greys represent their grief, but also very many more blues. It pleases the people to hear her sing. Slightly off-key though she may be, the depth of her intention is known as she sings of loss and salvation, redemption and grace.
As her song concludes, ridged foreheads tip forward slightly, and then bow a little deeper. She returns to my side and laces her five fingers with my six. I hold her hand firmly, not wishing to disrupt the honor my people give her, but wishing that she knows just what an honor it is.Is this acceptance? Not just the tribe’s acceptance of her, but her acceptance of the tribe? Is this too much to hope for?
I do not know, but catch sight of Va’El and Tre’Hurr beaming at their Xhea now. Hurr and several of the other females who participated in the Run on the Mountain are nearby and wear similar expressions of joy. I feel dangerously moved by what is unfolding before me. So many breaks in tradition all at once, yet we are somehow all here together, worshipping at the same altar, honoring the same warrior, and we are one.
There is no human and Voraxian. There is only honor and grace. As my warrior Xhea turns to look at me, I can see in her eyes the guidance she seeks, but I can also see the water rivulets dotting the hairs on her lower eyelids. They land with fat explosions on the crests of her cheeks, looking just like rain.She may not wear grey, but her grief for Re’Okkari’s death is clear all the same.
Before I can stop myself, I too bow to her. Tilting my head forward in an utterly indecent display by an Okkari before his people, I show my tribe just what it is that I think of what she has done here on this day and I show her that I accept what she has done — the inadvertent consequence of her actions, poorly planned — and in exchange for the honor she gives, I offer her forgiveness. A chance to find and create her own form of redemption.
Continuing with the chamar, I take the torch that is brought to me and ensure that my Xhea does the same. Together, we step forward and light the unlit staffs of those before us. She begins with Kuana while I light the torches of Hurr and her mate. The twin flames of our torches soon spawn a kingdom of light, the staffs of all hundreds of members of the tribe soon creating a new world, illuminated in color. The cairns come to life, looking like cities built by shadow dwellers who worship and collect fallen moons. Just built, Re’Okkari’s stands the highest among them.
I douse my flame in the earth beneath my feet and when I raise it again, the ember glows. The act is mimicked first by my Xhea and then by the rest of the tribe until finally the only light that exists is the light of our embers, representing starlight.
I stand stoic for the full length of the time it takes for the ember to sizzle out, becoming smoke. I then make my way forward, Kiki’s hand still trapped in my own in a strange fashion I read about in Svera’s human manual calledhand holding. I have never had my hand held before, but I understand the sense of comfort it brings and that the manual describes so well. But the manual does not describe the accompanying knot of pain.
My Xanaxana has been compliant with me these past solars, allowing me space to breathe even as I touch her skin, or feel her hair against my hands. But not now. This solar has beendifficult,and now her song has broken something open inside of me and I cannot close it, like trying to rebuild the fragmented shards of a glass tower.
We step out into the snowy world and we walk in silence — the only sound being that of our footsteps crunching over the snow, along with the footsteps of those whose embers have also died. They flank us now, some outpacing us and traveling into the center of the valley, or around its opposite rim, as they return to their homes. Meanwhile, my own corresponding steps have begun to slow.I do not wish to return her to Re’Okkari’s home. I want her with me in mine where I can ravage her and be ravaged by her in return.
She balls her hand up into a fist in mine, seeking warmth and I quickly unknot the front buckle of my okami and slide her hand inside. She makes a small sound and I come to a complete stop as her cold fingers burn me. I have tried not to look at her — not to stare — for too long and I turn to face her now.
She meets my gaze, her eyes round and wet. Licking her full lips, she says, “Did I dishonor you or the tribe?”
My response is nearly bellowed. “Nox. Quite the opposite.”
Her forehead wrinkles and the tresses of her hair flap in the wind.Lovely.I have never seen anything like them and long to inspect each and every one. They look so intricate. Spectacular. Again, I am overwhelmed by the grace of the goddess Xana. I was given a warrior for my mate, and of all the females in the universe, I was also given the most beautiful.
“Then why are you so still? You seem upset.”
I shake my head and close the distance between us by half. Dropping my face until our mouths are mere breaths apart, I say, “I am. I will have to give you up to Re’Okkari’s home.”
She shakes her head. “If it’s an option, I’d like to go back with you. And not just tonight. Every night. I can’t handle this anymore. The space between us is too much. I want to live with you…if that’s something you also want.”
Surprise peels the skin from my bones. My hearts begin to quicken their pace. I wonder if, against her hand, she can feel them. “It is of course an option, but the human manual states…”
“Fuck the human manual. I love Svera to death but by comets, she’s a prude. I can’t go on like this. I need to fuck you. I need to kiss you. Please.” She exhales, both laughter on her tongue as well as a hint of desperation. A large flake of snow comes down between us, and with my arm I clear it. “Don’t make me beg.”
I growl and close the distance between us entirely. With a fist, I snatch up the back of her suit and with my other hand, I tangle my fingers into her hair, securing her against me. She inhales sharply, her fingers against my chest curling, nails scoring the hardened plate of my pectoral.
Against her mouth, I whisper cruelly, “That is exactly what I will do.”
I kiss her hard, searingly, hoping that I have mastered the technique I only experienced once with her after our first training, and that she feels the same pleasure now that I do. Because that is all that I feel. Her mouth is truly like two pillows, decadently soft and warm and firm in its caress.
I melt into her, coming to the awareness that my people can see us here, but her tongue is a distraction that I cannot ignore. Not on this solar. I meet it with my own and she releases a soft sound that thrills me. I clutch her harder to my chest and am surprised when she jumps up and latches her arms and legs around me. Her body undulates against mine and she fights against me desperately, as if she intends to rut me here in the cold in front of all of our people.
With great pain, I pry her legs apart and lower her to the ground. She fists the front of my suit and tries to drag me closer. I block her arm. She lifts her knee into my upper thigh, sending a spasm rippling through my entire leg. And then in my fleeting state of weakness, she does the incredible — shepunchesme. Her fist finds purchase in the soft section of my abdomen between my plates, just as I taught her. My next breath rushes out of me and I stagger a half step back, but she has anticipated this and comes at me again, kicking out my leg and pushing on my shoulders, trying to drive me to the ground.
I cannot help but release pleasure sounds into the snowy world, my mouth open, my throat contracting, my face twisting as my chest rises and falls. “Will you hunt me now, Xhea?”
