Mateo led them into the house through darkened halls lit by a single candle the young boy had stolen from a porch table on the way in. There were vague shapes of wooden slats hanging on the walls, the carvings on their surfaces too bathed in shadows to make out. The flickering pin-drop of candlelight made the vibrantly painted walls come alive—pink, yellow, red. Hamasa was so enamored with the colors, the designs of tile floor under his feet, he completely lost track of the turns. Luckily, it wasn’t too far before they stopped. Hamasa yawned again while they waited for Mateo to open first one door, duck his head inside to look around, and then again at a second door.
“One room for the señorita and one for the señors,” Mateo said, waving at the two doors in front of them.
“What!? No!” Marya exclaimed. She slapped a hand over her mouth sheepishly, but reached out with the other to drag Hamasa closer to her. “You sleep alone, buckethead,” she said more quietly.
“I will not let Masa out of my sight.”
“Please, not now.” Hamasa sighed.
Mateo tugged his ear, glancing between them, then shrugged. “Ya got two rooms. I’m goin’ to bed now.” He gave the candle to Hamasa as he walked past and away.
“Marya, we won’t leave without you tomorrow. It’ll be fine,” Hamasa said quietly. Marya glared at Valerius, nose scrunching. “You let me have your bed for weeks. Enjoy sleeping alone in a real bed again tonight.”
“Fine. But!” Marya raised a finger to point right at Valerius’ nose. “If you try to steal Hamasa again, the Salvatropas will help me find you.”
“Understood.” He opened a door and peeked into the room. He nodded once and then stepped back to let Hamasa enter first.
“You can go ahead. Wash up. I wanted to talk to Marya a bit. Oh, here, take the candle,” Hamasa said handing it over. Valerius’ eyes narrowed before he bowed, took the proffered candle, and stepped into the room. When Hamasa turned back to Marya after the door closed, she was leaning against the wall, her face almost completely in shadow. Only the flickering lanterns outside made any light, filtering through the cracks in the wooden shutters.
“You want to know what’s going on?”
“If you’d like to tell me,” Hamasa said. He set his back against the wall next to her, sliding down slightly to bend his knees, hands tugging at the hem of his tunic. The Mendes family still had his poncho, unfortunately. “Was it… Is it the man? From the temple?”
Marya sighed and brought her braid around to the front. She picked at the small flowers there, crushing them between her fingers as she plucked them free. The sweet, heady scent of them filled the small dark space between them.
“Yeah. I didn’t know how to feel, and maybe I still don’t, but I thought they musta killed before, right? I wanted to know if it gets easier,” Marya admitted. “Didn’t think Valerius’ ‘I’m better’n everyone’ attitude would help, either.”
“Does it?” Hamasa asked. “Get better?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m glad. It shouldn’t be easy,” Hamasa said fiercely. Marya startled, fingers stilling on her hair, crushed petals falling from her head. With words stumbling over themselves, he hurried to add, “I don’t think you were wrong, Marya! You did what you had to. But I wouldn’t want someone like you to ever kill easily.”
Eyes shining, Marya sniffled. She rubbed under the corner of her eye and half-chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, I don’t want it to, either. The Salvatropas don’t kill, either. Not really, not if they don’t have to. They don’t normally do bounty hunts, either. But those poachers, they were stealing Others.”
“I’m glad they took on a bounty hunt this time,” Hamasa said. Marya nodded. “Did they help you? Do you really feel better?”
“Yeah. They, um, they said that sometimes, to be a protector, we have to learn to make the call. To do what we gotta to protect. We just need to know we tried our best, and did what was right, and hope next time the ending won’t be so… so terrible.”
“Do you… Do you want to? Keep going on? Keep trying your best?” Hamasa asked, eyes darting over her face.
She reached over, the last flowers in her hand scattering across the floor, and gripped his hand in hers. “I want to protect people. I want to help you. Everyone’s talking about war, and if it comes, I’ll be fighting in it just like my papi did.” Hamasa’s hand jerked in hers, heart leaping to his throat. “Protecting a friend from dying or killing strangers in the Sovereign’s name… at least I know who I’m helping here.”
Hamasa stared, mouth dry and lips trembling. Marya’s half-cocked smile, neither happy nor sad, black eyes unwavering, cut through him. He squeezed her hands in his and forced his mouth into a tiny, quavering smile.
“I’m so glad I ruined your farm and not someone else’s,” he blurted. Marya laughed, curling towards him. They leaned against the wall, laughing softly, hands clutching too tight. “I’ll go get the candle—”
“Don’t bother. I’m gonna go straight to sleep,” Marya interrupted with a hand up. She pulled away and shook her head hard enough any remaining flowers showered down. He knelt down with her, sweeping them into their open hands and dropping them out the nearest window into the courtyard. Marya bumped Hamasa’s shoulder with a fist. “Sleep well, Hamito.”
“You, too, Marya.”
She slipped into her dark room, and Hamasa crossed his arms on the window. Settling his chin on his arms, he gazed into the courtyard. Only a few people were left, yawning and cleaning up, tables and chairs being taken away. Lanterns slowly being blown out and brought down. The cabadonas still sat by the jacaranda tree, woven blankets thrown around their shoulders and over their horsebacks. Instead of being shown to a room, Tepin remained with them and lay on a blanket on the ground. As if feeling his eyes, Sitlal turned towards him. She tapped her fist to her heart twice, and bowed. Bile burned and Hamasa pushed away from the window so fast he almost got dizzy. He retreated to the room, slipping in and closing the door with a quiet sigh. Inside, the candle, barely a stub now, sat flickering on the low table. Valerius sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, eyes closed, wearing a fresh set of clothes. He looked up, and stood quickly.
“You didn’t have to wait,” Hamasa muttered. He tiptoed across the room to the bucket of water and clean rag waiting for him.
“I was about to come out and find you. You’d been silent a while,” Valerius said.
Hamasa paused mid-wring, water dripping down his wrists. “Were you listening in?” he asked, horrified mostly for Marya’s sake.
“Of course not, my lord. Just listening for voices.”
Hamasa gnawed on his lip, then continued wiping down what bare skin he had showing. Lastly, he changed out of his dust-covered clothes to go to bed. It wasn’t until he was lying straight and stiff as a board, that he realized he’d be sharing the bed with Valerius. The knight sat on the edge, hands on his knees again, then leaned over to blow out the candle. It smelled like soap and wool and linen and candle smoke, and Hamasa squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would block out the scents and the thoughts together. Valerius didn’t move.
“Can you sleep like that?” Hamasa asked, peeking open one eye.
“No.”
Hamasa stared into the darkness, frowning. “Are you going to sleep?”
“Of course not, my lord.”
Hamasa huffed and sat up. The bed shifted as Valerius moved slightly. Silence. Hamasa leaned his head against the wall behind him and exhaled heavily through his nose.
“My lord?”
“Are you going to watch me?” Hamasa asked wearily. “While I sleep?”
“I’m not going to sleep on the same bed as my lord.”
“I can’t sleep with you just… just sitting there,” Hamasa said, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his shins. The bed shifted again and blankets rustled. “Are you lying down?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Hamasa squinted. In the darkness, he could vaguely make out the shape of the knight reclining beside him. Also, he sounded very annoyed, his usual tone whenever having to agree with Hamasa. He crawled back into his side of the bed, grasping a pillow filled with beans and wrapping his body around it. Closing his eyes, it was easier to hear the near silent sounds of Valerius’ even breathing, the voices outside that faded to nothing, the steady thump of his own heart beat, until at last he fell asleep.
***
The dawn in the northern Mekshan autumn was a golden thing. It lit up the forest, the mountains, the great winding Road, and the sky overhead with streaks of gold so pure it reminded Hamasa of the páhalebra’s steady, unending gaze. The poachers, kept unconscious with a simple draught until they could be brought to the nearest actual city, were tied up and slumped together on a cart bought from Ristahe, trading for anything the poachers had once owned that the Salvatropas hadn’t claimed for themselves. Although they had only waited until dawn to leave, the Salvatropas were already antsy, hooves (and bare feet) cutting through sand, tails whipping through the air. Valerius wasn’t much better. Sitlal, the leader, cantered to them, her hooves and tail giving away her restlessness as she shuffled in place.
“Did you think about our offer, Marya? There’s always room in the Salvatropas for a fierce one like you.”
Hamasa’s head jerked up and his jaw dropped. “W-what?”
“They offered, last night,” Marya said, rubbing the back of her neck, cheeks ruddy. “They don’t only ask for cabadonas in the Salvatropas.”
“My small unit now doesn’t have a human or… Other… but that’s by chance. Bad luck, really,” Sitlal explained with a nod. “Our mage, a dala, remained behind at the main camp and I foolishly thought we’d be able to handle this without fuss. Which our fearless leader laughed at.”
“She’s always right,” Tepin said, smirking ruefully. She shifted the saddlebags thrown over her shoulders awkwardly. She was still in her two-legged body and it didn’t seem to fit her after an entire night wearing it.
Hamasa tried not to utter another sound. He wanted to be happy for her. Marya deserved an offer like this. She was fierce and brave. But if she joined them, he would be alone with Valerius. Trying to figure out how to not get dragged all the way to Riyushu without someone getting hurt. Probably himself. He glanced towards the knight. He was standing by Nerva, his arms crossed over his chest and his narrowed, disapproving gaze on Sitlal. The cabadona had already noticed and was smirking unrepentantly at him.
Marya tossed the tail of her messy braid over her shoulder. “I think I gotta help Hamasa now. He needs me. Maybe one day I will. If the offer’s still… uh, offered?” she said with a little chuckle.
“Hm. I’m sure your friend does need your help,” Sitlal said, eyes sliding towards the one in question. Hamasa shivered under her cool dark gaze. It passed over him a moment later and she smiled at Valerius. “You were most helpful, Señor Lance. I would make the same invitation, but while humans are welcome, men certainly are not.” She chuckled, her teeth baring.
A single eyebrow arched up Valerius’ forehead. “I appreciate the spirit of your offer.”
Sitlal’s head tilted back in a laugh that ended with a piercing whinny-like sound. “I thought I knew your answer, but I wanted to give you a gift regardless. The offer to join us will always stand, Marrita.” She held out a spear to Marya with a smile. Marya took it with one shaking hand, her bad arm pressed to her chest as if she were about to salute. “We noticed the weapon you left behind in the temple wasn’t suitable for a warrior. Perhaps the Lance will teach you how to wield this properly. In service of your friend.”
Hamasa frowned at Sitlal’s sly smirk in his direction.
“A real spear? Not just a shovel?”
“Ah. A shovel. I suppose I lost that bet,” Sitlal murmured.
Luckily, Marya was too busy spinning the spear in wide arcs around her. Even with her left hand, her movements were deft and sure. How often had she pretended that old shovel was the spear she carried now? Her eyes shined, mouth parted on a wide grin that lit up her face.
A warrior in the making, Hamasa thought with a sad smile and his chest constricting. She should go with them.
“We owe you a favor, and the Salvatropas hate being in debt,” Sitlal said, interrupting Hamasa’s thoughts. He looked up in time to see her cut a braid from her hair. It was tied with a leather string dyed bright red, a single copper bead around the end of it. She tied off the other end with the red leather, and then gestured for Marya to hand up the spear.
“You don’t owe us, Salvatropa. We only did what Her Imperial Highness would have requested eventually,” Valerius said, eyes on the braid she was twisting around the shaft of the spear under the iron tip.
“That’s why I’m giving her the gift, Lance,” Sitlal said with a loud snort. Valerius glowered, and Marya grinned at Hamasa.
“What about Hamasa? He’s not a Lance,” Marya pointed out.
“There’s nothing I could give your friend he could not give himself,” Sitlal said. She tied off the braid and met Hamasa’s eyes. There was a challenge in her gaze, the tilt of her chin, the utter stillness of her hooves and tail and ears.
Hamasa broke her gaze first, tucking his hands under the borrowed poncho he had reclaimed from Señora Mandes a short time ago. Sadly, Pala had not been at the stall, fast asleep in their home somewhere in the village.
“If you need us, follow your spear,” Sitlal wrapped her hand around it, covering the braid she’d tied there with her large, dark hand. Her eyes glowed blue. Hamasa’s heart hammered, mouth dry, skin flushing hot. It wasn’t the same hue, too dark, but it was blue. “What once was mine, shall find me again. Wherever you go, whichever way you roam. Just call to me, and it will lead you.”
There was a snap, inaudible but for in his bones. Then, the spell settled and the blue was gone. Hamasa stared as Sitlal’s hand moved and the simple braid remained. Looking unchanged. Seeming unchanged.
“We’ll meet again, Marya. Lance. Friend.”
Hamasa startled, eyes rising, and watched Sitlal bow. Behind her, the two others bowed in sync, and Hamasa wondered sourly if they practiced that. If their smirks were anything to go by… probably. His heart stuttered and tripped in his chest, and the cabadonas ran past them, even Tepin could keep pace—though they weren’t running full speed yet. The few villagers that were awake raced down the Road after them, waving and cheering. The crowd swept the trio along with them. Some villagers stopped Marya to ask her about the spear, the braid, the offer to join the Salvatropas. Many of them congratulated her, or called her a fool for not racing away with the heroes right then. Marya only laughed and bloomed under the attention, rubbing at the side of her nose and flipping her curls behind her shoulder.