A Land of Fire

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Darius walked quickly through his village as the sun began to set, more nervous than he’d ever been, repeatedly wiping the sweat from his palms. He could not understand why he was so anxious as he weaved his way, heading toward the river, to meet Loti at her cottage. He had faced brothers in combat, had labored under taskmasters, had even been engaged in the most dangerous of toil in the mines, and yet he had never felt nervous like this before.

Yet as Darius headed to meet Loti, he felt his mind buzzing, his heart pounding, and he could not keep his throat from going dry. He could not understand how she had this effect over him, what it was about her. He barely even knew her, had only laid eyes upon her twice, and yet now, as he headed to meet her, he could think of little else.

Darius thought back to their encounter, and he turned over her words in his mind again and again. He tried to remember exactly what she had said; he was starting to doubt himself, starting to wonder if she really liked him, if she felt the same way about him as he did her, or perhaps whether she just wanted to see him in a casual way, or was just curious to know more about him. Perhaps she was dating someone else; perhaps she would stand him up and not even meet him at all.

Darius’s heart beat faster as he considered all the scenarios. He had dressed himself in his best clothes: a white cotton tunic and black pants of fine wool, clothes his father had once worn. They were the best clothes his family owned, and his father had paid dearly for them. Still, as Darius examined them, he felt self-conscious about them, seeing how stained and torn they were in places, still the dress of a slave, even if slightly elevated. They were not the clothes of the Empire, not the clothes of a free man. Yet no one in his village had the clothes of a free man.

Darius finally emerged from the busy, winding village streets as he came to the western end of the village, a sprawling complex of small cottages built nearly on top of one another. As he searched the dwellings, he tried to remember what she had said: a cottage with a door stained red.

Darius went from house to house, looking everywhere, and just when he was about to give up, suddenly, his eyes settled on it. There it was, standing apart from the others, slightly smaller than the rest, looking exactly like the others except for the faded red stain on the door.

Darius gulped. He looked down and checked the flowers in his hand, wildflowers he had plucked from the side of the river bank, yellow, with long thin stems. He was sorry now that they weren’t of a better quality; he should have picked the wild roses on the far side of the meadow, but he hadn’t had time for that.

Next time, he told himself. That is, if she even wants to see me again.

Darius stepped up and knocked, and he could barely even take in what was happening, his heart slamming in his chest, drowning out all thoughts but its pounding. He could barely even hear the screams of the children, and all the villagers running chaotically about him, all drowned out as he knocked on the door.

Darius stood, waiting, and began to doubt whether it would ever open, or whether he was ever even truly invited here. Had he been mistaken? Had he imagined the whole thing?

Darius stood there so long that, finally, he turned to go—when the door suddenly opened. There appeared the face of an older woman, staring back at him suspiciously. She opened the door wide and stepped out, hands on her hips, and looked him up and down as if he were an insect. Her eyes fell on the flowers he held, and her face fell in disappointment.

“You’re the one who’s come to see my daughter?” she asked.

He stared back, silent, not knowing how to respond.

“And those are what you brought her?” she added, staring at the flowers.

Darius looked down at the flowers, panic welling up inside him.

“I…um…I am sorry—”

The woman was suddenly bumped aside as Loti appeared beside her, a broad smile on her face. She stepped up, took the flowers from Darius’s hands and she examined them, delighted.

As she did, all of Darius’s fears began to melt away. Loti looked more beautiful than he’d even remembered, freshly bathed, wearing beautiful white linen from head to toe, and he had never seen her smile—not like that.

“Oh, Mother, stop being so hard on him,” Loti said. “These flowers are perfectly beautiful.”

She fixed her eyes on Darius, and his heart beat faster.

“Well, are you coming in?” she asked, giggling, stepping forward and linking arms with him, and then leading him into her cottage, squeezing past her mother.

Darius entered the small, dark cottage, and she led him to a seat, against the far wall, hardly ten feet from the entrance. They sat side by side on a small clay bench, and her mother closed the door and came back inside, and sat across from them on a stool.

Her mother kept her eyes locked on Darius, examining him, and Darius felt claustrophobic in the small, dim cottage. He shifted in his chair. He realized it was the tradition of all the women in the village to interrogate him before allowing him to take her daughter anywhere. Out of respect for her parents, Darius wanted to make sure he did nothing to offend them. He was determined to make a good impression.

“You wish to see my daughter,” the woman said, her expression hard. She had the face of a warrior, and Darius could see from her expression that she was a mother of sons—of warrior sons. It was the face of a cautious, protective mother, one determined not to repeat past mistakes.

“Your daughter is very beautiful,” Darius finally said, his first words, not knowing what else to say.

She scowled.

“I know that she is,” she said. “I don’t need you to tell me she’s beautiful. Anyone can see that. She has been desired by every boy in this village. You are not the first to seek her hand. Why should I let her spend any time with you?”

Darius’s heart pounded as he tried to figure out what to say. He wanted to be respectful, but he was not willing to back down either.

“I will admit that I do not even know your daughter,” he said slowly. “But I have witnessed her great strength of spirit and of courage. I admire her very much. That is the same strength of courage I hope to have in my wife, in the mother of my children. I would like to get to know her. I mean only the highest respect to you and to her.”

Her mother stared at him long and hard, as if debating, her expression never changing.

“You speak well for your age,” she finally said. “But I know who your father was. He was a rebel. An outcast. A warrior. A great man, but a reckless one. There is no room for heroics among our people. We are slave people. That is our lot. It will never change. Ever. Do you understand me?”

She stared at him long and hard in the thick silence, and Darius swallowed, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t want my daughter with a hero,” she said. “I’ve already lost one son learning that the Empire cannot be destroyed. I will not lose my daughter, too.”

She stared at Darius, cold and hard, unyielding, waiting for an answer.

Darius wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear, that he would never fight the Empire, that he would be docile and complacent with his lot as a slave.

But deep down, it was not how he felt. He was not willing to lie down, and he did not want to lie to her.

“I admire my father,” Darius said, “even though I barely knew him. I have no plan to attack the Empire. Nor can I promise you I will lie down in defeat my entire life. I am who I am. I can pretend to be no one else.”

Her mother studied him, squinting her eyes in the interminable silence, and Darius felt sweat forming on his forehead in the small cottage, wondering if he had ruined his chances.

Finally, she nodded.

“At least you are honest,” she said. “That is more than I can say for the other boys. And honesty counts a great deal.”

“Great!” Loti said, suddenly standing. “We’re done then!”

She grabbed Darius’s arm, pulled him up and before he could react, led him out of the cottage, past her mother, to the open the door.

“Loti, I did not say we are done!” her mother cried out, standing.

“Oh, come on, Mother,” Loti said. “The boy barely knows me. Give us a chance. You can attack him when we return.”

Loti giggled as she opened the door; yet before they were halfway out, Darius felt a cold grip on his arm, squeezing his bicep, yanking him back.

He turned to see mother staring at him sternly.

“If anything happens to my daughter because of you, I guarantee you I will kill you myself.”

Darius sat across from Loti in the small boat and he rowed down the slow-moving river on the outskirts of their village, bordered by marshland, following the route of this lazy river which circled the village. This river ran in a continuous circle, and it was a favorite among small kids, who would place small toy boats in it, release them, and wait for them to return on the current. It would take an entire day.

It was also a favorite among lovers. With its slow-moving current and idyllic breezes, the river was the best place to be at sunset, as the heat of the day dissipated and the wind picked up.

Darius had been delighted by the look on Loti’s face when she saw where he had brought her. Finally, he felt as if he had done something right.

Now she leaned back in the boat and looked up at the sky as if she were in heaven, as Darius rowed them gently down the river. The current carried them, so he did not need to row much, and he rested his elbows on the oars and allowed the boat to be carried by its own weight. As they floated there in the silence, Darius thought of how lucky he was to be here, and of how beautiful Loti looked, her dark skin lighting up in the sunset.

Darius leaned forward and clasped his palm over the soft back of her hand, and she looked up, smiling. She still played with the flowers he had given her, and as her eyes met his, he had forgotten what he was going to say. She stared back at him, her eyes filled with intensity and passion, as if looking into his soul.

“Yes?” she asked.

Darius wanted to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. So they floated silently as he blushed, passing swaying marshes, lit up in the sunset, a beautiful amber and scarlet, rustling in the breeze.

“You’re different from the others,” she finally said. “I don’t know what it is. But there’s something about you. I can sense you are a warrior, yet I can also sense something else…I don’t know, a sensitivity, maybe. As if you see things. As if you understand things. I like being with you. It sets me at ease.”

Darius blushed as he looked down. Did she know about his powers? he wondered. Would she hate him for it? Would she tell the others?

“Most boys your age,” she said, “are already with girls, or are already married. Not you. I’ve never seen you with others.”

“I did not know you saw me at all,” he said, surprised.

“I have eyes,” she said. “You are a hard person to miss.”

Darius blushed some more. He looked down at the boat and toed it with his foot. He did not know how to respond, so he kept silent. He had always been shy around girls; he did not have the natural talent for speech that other boys had. Yet he also felt things very deeply. He watched other boys be quick to find girls, and quick to toss them away when they were done with him. But Darius could never do that. Any girl he would be with he would take very seriously, and it had kept him back from committing to anyone. He felt too much at stake.

“And you?” Darius finally mustered the courage to ask. “You are not married either.”

She stared back at him proudly.

“There is no shame in that,” she said, defensive. “I make my own decisions. I do not follow my passions easily. I’ve turned away all those who have approached me.”

Darius felt nervous at her words. Would she turn him away, too?

“Why?” he asked.

“I am waiting for someone remarkable,” she said. “More than just a man; more than just a warrior. Someone who is special. Who is different. Who has a great destiny before him.”

Darius was confused, and suddenly wondered if this whole trip was a waste.

“Then why are you sitting here with me?” he asked.

Loti laughed, and the sound of it, high-pitched and sweet, caught him off guard. When she finally stopped, her eyes, playful, settled on him.

“Maybe I have found it,” she said.

They locked eyes for a moment, then they each looked away, embarrassed.

Darius began to row again, not quite understanding her yet also feeling a stronger connection with her. He didn’t quite understand what she wanted, or what she saw in him. He was afraid he might lose her. He wanted to impress her somehow, to convince her to like him. But he didn’t know what to say.

They continued floating down the river in silence, the air thick with the rustling of the marsh, with the sound of the breezes, with the night insects beginning to sing. Darius’s muscles slowly relaxed, tired from a long day of labor. It was unusual for him to relax, to not be thinking of his work the next day, of his miserable existence, of craving a way out of here. For the first time in a long time, he was happy right where he was.

“Does it not bother you,” he asked, “knowing that tomorrow when we arise, we’ll be answering to someone else?”

Loti did not meet his eyes, but stared out in the distance and shrugged.

“Of course it bothers me,” she finally replied. “But there are some things you must learn to live with it. I have learned to.”

“I have not,” he said.

She studied him.

“Your problem,” she said, “is that you are narrow-minded. You only see one way to resist.”

He looked back at her, puzzled.

“What other way is there to resist than to throw off the chains of our oppressors?” he asked.

She smiled back.

“The highest form of resistance is to enjoy life, even in the face of oppression. If you can find a way to live a life of joy in the face of danger, if you have not let them crush your spirit, then you have defeated them. They can affect our bodies, but not our spirit. If they can’t take away your joy, then you are never oppressed. Oppression is a state of mind.”

Darius pondered her words, never considering it that way before. He had never met anyone who thought like her, who saw the world the way she did. He not know if he agreed with her, but he could understand her way of thinking.

“I think we are very different people,” he finally said.

“Maybe that is why we like each other,” she replied.

His heart beat faster at her words, and he smiled back. For the first time, he felt relaxed, more confident.

Their boat rounded a bend, and as it did, she opened her eyes wide, and he turned to look. The current had taken them under the Tree of Fire, and as Darius turned and laid eyes on it, he was awestruck, as always. The tree, hundreds of feet high and wide, was as ancient as this land. Its branches leaned over the river, all the way down until they touched it, its leaves a flaming red, bright red flowers blooming at the end of them, and all aglow in the sunset. It looked magical. Darius could smell its strong fragrance from here, like cinnamon crossed with honeysuckle.

Darius stopped their boat beneath the branches, the flowers nearly touching their heads, emitting a soft glow as evening fell, lighting up the twilight. Loti leaned forward, so close that her knees were touching Darius’s, and she reached up and placed a hand in his. He could feel her trembling, and as he looked into her eyes, his heart pounded.

“You are not like the others,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes. I want to be with you.”

Darius stared back at her, and could see the earnestness in her eyes.

“And I with you,” he said.

“I do not give out my heart lightly,” she said. “I do not want it broken.”

“I promise it shall never be,” he said.

Darius then leaned forward, and as his lips met hers, as he reached up and touched her face, as the two of them floated there, under the Tree of Fire, he felt, for the first time, that he had something to live for.