Hope Sundered

“Sekka,” the Nokri said, pointing at himself as he met Keila’s unflinching gaze. They were sitting cross-legged and facing each other. Various furs and woven rugs covered the ground. A single, small torch was planted in the ground between them, offering its light and warmth.

“Sekka?” she echoed, pointing back at him. He pointed at himself again and repeated his name before pointing at her with an expectant look on his face. Catching on, she pointed at herself. “Keila.”

“Ah, Keila!” Placing a hand over his heart, he smiled and nodded.

She shook her head. “No! No, that’s … that’s my name … my name is Keila.” Maker’s mercy, she hoped she hadn’t just agreed to be his wife! She pointed at her face this time and repeated her name slowly. He nodded and smiled again as if he’d understood her the first time.

Despite his solid frame, Sekka was far from intimidating. His golden eyes, though strange, were kind and intelligent. His smile was genuine and trustworthy. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt safe for the first time since Chastin’s annihilation.

“Ronos?” she asked, remembering the other word used to address him.

He began to reply but said nothing at first, his mouth hanging open in the struggle to overcome their language barrier. His brow furrowed in thought. Moments later, he sat up straight and placed his hand palm-down over his head. “Ronos,” he stated with dignity.

“It must be a title,” she mumbled to herself.

Then his face lit up. He pointed to the tent’s entrance, and then held up both hands, with the five fingers of his right hand extended, but only the index finger of his left hand in the same position.

He then put his right hand above his brow and looked around, squinting. Upon finding what he was searching for, he gestured as if shooting a bow. He looked at Keila to see if she was following along and said, “Canos.”

“Hunters,” she called back with a nod. “The six men who found me and Ekard.”

“Eh-kard?” Sekka asked, tilting his head.

“The man who’s with me,” she answered, but realized her words alone wouldn’t suffice. She raised her right hand with two extended fingers. With her left hand she pointed at herself and wiggled the first extended finger of her right hand. “Keila.” She then pointed at the tent flap and wiggled the second extended finger. “Ekard.”

“Ah,” Sekka replied, nodding with a chuckle. “Kokitu.”

“Is that your word for our people?” she wondered aloud, remembering how the hunter who’d delivered them to Sekka used that word several times while pointing at both her and Ekard.

He pointed once more at himself he said, “Nokri,” before pointing at her and adding, “Kokitu.”

She smiled and nodded her understanding. They were making great progress. “I want to show you something.” She popped up to her knees, which startled him, but she raised her palms and patted the air. “It’s alright.”

She moved to the side of the torch and pulled back one of the pelts, revealing the barren dirt ground beneath. With her finger she drew a map of what she knew to be southern Aveliria, beginning with the Deep Wood and Lake Chastin.

Sekka watched with singular focus as she carved out the landmarks she knew. After a few minutes she’d included a portion of the Chastin River, the village of Ob’Riant and its lake, the Orharos Valley, and an ‘X’ in the middle of the Southern Wilds to mark the spot where she believed they now sat.

When she finished, she pointed at Chastin, then placed her right fist over her heart. “Home,” she said. Painful thoughts breached her mind, but she managed to hold their ghosts at bay with iron defiance.

After a steadying breath she pointed at the X, pointed at him and then herself, then made a sweeping motion with her arm to include the tent. Then she sat back and allowed him a closer look at her crude drawing.

His peculiar eyes took it all in, absorbing the few vague details like he was studying a masterpiece of cartography. Starting at the southern edge of Ob’Riant Lake he drew a curving line to the southwest, stopping just below the Chastin River, to which he added some length until the two rivers met and became one. He continued south with the line, moving another fur to do so.

From the end of that line he drew two shorter lines, spreading away from each other to form a triangle, though he didn’t close its base. Instead, he drew two new lines, each perpendicular to their counterparts, underlining the entire map. He waved his hand over the empty expanse south of the line. “Tehom.”

“The Ríenderan Ocean?” she guessed, feeling confident.

He pointed to Lake Chastin. “Tassa.”

“Lake,” she said with a confirming nod. It occurred to her he was learning her language as much as she was learning his.

He smiled, then traced the line that represented the river with his index finger. “Nahar.”

“River,” she called back.

He then pointed to a spot where the Chastin River took a hard turn to the east. “Norsi.” He held up his hand, flat with the palm down. He made a gentle waving motion, then dropped his hand in a slow, arcing sign while blowing out short bursts of air. “Norsi,” he repeated.

“Waterfall!” Keila said, delighted with each step they were taking toward bridging their cultural gap. It amazed her how easy things seemed to be progressing.

Then ever so gently, he patted out Keila’s X and redrew it closer to the Ob’Riant River and further south, near where it rejoined the Chastin River. He looked up at her with a satisfied grin and offered a curt nod.

The map wasn't to scale, but it shocked her to see just how far into the Wilds she’d come. She swallowed hard, sobered by the reality of her reckless gambit. Had Sekka’s hunters not found them when they did, she and Ekard would’ve been dead by now.

“Is this place your home?” she asked, using her hands to punctuate each word by sweeping her hand, pointing at him, and covering her heart.

He paid close attention as he watched her hands, then took a moment to consider her inflection, and shook his head. He pointed at the waterfall and then touched his heart, just as she had done. “Okia.”

Her heart quickened with hope. Perhaps there were more Nokri there, which meant more warriors for her cause. She pointed to him with her left hand and held the pose. With her right hand she pointed to herself, then at the spot on the map he’d touched. “Will you take me there?” She exaggerated her inflection hoping to convey a request instead of a demand.

He seemed to comprehend and appeared quite pleased. He rose to his feet and moved to the tent’s entrance, beckoning her to follow. Once outside, she stood at his side as he called out “Forizu!” in a loud voice. Moments later the leader of the hunting party from before appeared. The surliness had not yet left his features.

Sekka conveyed his thoughts, to which Forizu responded with a universal posture of frustration: head down, hands on hips, and a long, disappointed sigh. Sekka’s resulting question could only have been interpreted as what’s wrong with that?

Forizu answered with several questions of his own, unafraid to challenge his leader, but with no tone of disrespect. Sekka replied with an empathic yet decisive tone. He clearly valued Forizu’s input but he'd made up his mind. Realizing this, Forizu conceded with an upraised hand. He turned and left to make preparations, but not before shooting Keila with an angry glare.

“Malka Nokri qom Norsi Hernok,” Sekka told her. He tapped himself on the chest and held his hand above his head, palm down. “Ronos.” Then he raised his hand even higher and said, “Malka.”

He retreated into the tent to gather a few belongings, after which he led Keila to where Forizu and the rest of the group were saddling horses. Ekard was there, looking confused and terrified. “Do you know what’s going on?” he asked.

Keila could barely contain both her trepidation and excitement. “I think they’re taking us to their leader.”