Page 10 of Taken to Lemora
Tyto blocks the entrance, preventing the Oosa from entering. I’m grateful for it. Without his intervention, this fight might have become a dozen times more deadly. Meanwhile, the Egama is relying on brute strength. He hits the Lemoran in the stomach and the Lemoran flies into the wall beside the broken window. I clap both hands over my mouth to cage my terrified cry.
The Lemoran growls as he hits the floor, landing in a crouch before barreling forward with his chin tucked. The Egama reaches to grab him but the Lemoran grabs the Egama first. Wrenching down on his arms, bringing the Egama even closer to him, the Lemoran scores his opponent’s chest with one upward strike of his horns.
The Egama’s olive blood sprays over the Lemoran, turning his once pristine-turned-red tunic forest green now. The Lemoran fires another punch, hitting the Egama in the jaw, which the Egama returns with even more power. Luckily, the Lemoran does, indeed, appear to be made of rock because if he hadn’t been, his face would have shattered on impact, I’m sure of it.
The two are more evenly matched than I thought they would be…until the Egama manages to wrestle the Lemoran down to the awful carpet. I start to panic, my breath coming in shallow bursts. I know that a female should stay out of the affairs of males, but I can’t watch one being kill another one in front of my eyesbecause ofme — not without at least trying to do something.
I try to stand, but my legs don’t work, so I shout where I’m seated, “Please stop!”
They can’t hear me, but across the room Igmora can. She’s smiling ear-to-ear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so pleased about anything.
“Please.” I’m begging her now.
The Egama has the Lemoran in a headlock — an unfortunate place for the Egama because the Lemoran jerks his head back, spearing the Egama across the forehead and nearly taking out his left eye. The Egama is forced to release him and both males scramble to their feet, nursing their wounds, but still determined to square off against one another — at least, until Igmora finally steps between them and holds up both hands. Her expression has shifted again. She lookspetrified. Her long eyelashes are fluttering. Her hand is even shaking in whatshouldbe an involuntary reaction.
“Please…please stop this senseless violence. This is enough. We will need to conclude these negotiations immediately. I say that my prized daughter — ”daughter? Daughter! Ha!“ — will go to the Egama for the sum of nine tuns of kintar…”
“WAIT!” The force of the roar is so loud more chandeliers take flight and explode around his feet in a symphony of color. The Lemoran is, remarkably, on his feet and the goofy expression he once wore is gone. His teeth are clenched and he’sseething.
He chokes, “Wait.” His heavy breathing and the Egama’s heavy breathing are the only sounds in the room for the next moment. The next ten moments. The next eternity.
The Egama puffs out his chest, pounding on it with one fist to finally break the excruciating silence that weighs more than stormy waters right before the inundation. “There is no reason to wait. I’ve won her. I will claim my…”
“Pagh!” The Lemoran shifts when the Egama takes a half step towards me, the movement so subtle it would have been easy to miss. To me, it’s clear.He’s moving to intercept the Egama.A small, daring hope swells in my chest, in place of that shriveled, desiccated thing, because if I didn’t know any better, I might think that the Lemoran is still trying to protect me.
The Lemoran holds up one hand towards the Egama. With his other, he points at Igmora. “You are clever,” is all he says to her.
Her expression softens, becoming moretrue.That truth is a lie in itself though. There is nothing to her beneath the exterior. Her heart is locked away in a box buried beneath layers of greed so deep, she no longer remembers that she ever had one. All that’s left is a cobweb-covered shovel and a useless key that now pertains to nothing.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, knowing exactly what he means. She always knows what others mean.Always.
“I don’t negotiate,” the Lemoran tells her, and his voice sounds strained.
She tilts her head forward and, as the Egama starts to speak, she makes a sound, a littletsst,and then she waves him away. With no great ceremony, she dismisses him. “What does this mean?” The Egama shouts, taking a step towards her.
Her gaze moves to his and she says nothing. She doesn’t need to say anything.
The Egama roars, “You tell me that she ismineand now you take it back? Centare! I want to negotiate!”
She gives him a look that’s as cool as death and whispers, “This Lemoran does not negotiate. So negotiations are over.”
“Augh!” The Egama rages, smashing everything in his path on his way to the door before smashing that, too.
Meanwhile, the Lemoran says, “Go get the other clan chiefs. I need to speak with them.”
Igmora nods at the Lemoran and I feel understanding flit away from my thoughts, like dust in a storm. Igmora doesn’t take orders. Despite what she tells me, Igmora does not bend to the wills of any male. Not even Tyto. But now, she looks to Tyto and a tense, yet wordless communication passes between them very briefly before he turns, dismisses the Oosa and makes his way down the hall away from us.
The Lemoran looks over his shoulder at me. Well, he turns so that I can see his profile, but he only looks at me quickly before diverting his gaze back to the floor. “Are you okay?”
Nob. Absolutely not. Essmira is not freaking oh… “Yeffa, of course. You fought…admirably?”
He scowls again, face twisting up before he stomps towards Igmora and points at the door. “Hall,” he orders her. Nobody ever orders Igmora, but he does and she obeys and she smiles as she does. He follows her and they keep the door open. Still, through the stone wall, it’s difficult to hear what they say, especially when so little is said between them.
Maybe nothing at all.
Sometime later, new voices pop up. They sound…authoritative. They also sound…worried. I hear gasps — likely at the sight of the Lemoran, if I had to guess — and shouts — likely at Igmora, if I had to hope — before soft murmuring picks up and then Igmora’s voice generously coos, “Excellent doing business with you.”
I hear the cold click of her shoes on the stone floor, not coming closer but receding. Instead, the footsteps that come closer are heavy. With each one, I give a little jolt, remembering the Lemoran and trying to hold onto the somewhat goofy expressions he made, and not onto the very recent knowledge of his capacity for violence.
