Chapter Twenty-Five

She was furious.

Rison's secret, the one she had presumed to be a secret anyway, was now out in the open. She had been manipulated by Caddo, drawn against her will to declare herself a Speck then forced to acknowledge and admit it before Wyatt and the others. For the first time, she confronted the reality of the red blotch on her hip and what it meant. Even worse, she could tell the reality and consequences of her condition were not lost on the others.

She felt diminished.

And that was a problem. Because it meant if she felt this way about herself, she thereby felt that way about Wyatt. He too, was the lesser because of the mark. And she didn't even realize she had felt this way until her condition had been revealed.

She was a hypocrite.

Yet it spite of it all, in spite of being a Speck and treated like an animal for most of his life, she realized Wyatt somehow managed to rise above his station and allow his inner strength to shine through in even the direst of circumstances. He brought out feelings in her that she found confusing, feelings of serenity, of comfort, of resolution. He had steel and resolve yet to be discovered, of that she was certain. She wasn't naïve enough to believe he wasn't wrestling with his own demons, for he was. The fear and pain was evident on his face. But she knew—she somehow knew—he would conquer and come through in the end. He was the kind of man who drew others to him.

A man? When did she start thinking of him as a man and not a boy? But then, he was almost exactly her own age and she certainly hadn't thought of herself as a girl in years. So why not?

She was in love.

There. She admitted it. And it shamed her. Love would only make her weak and vulnerable, neither were things she could afford to allow into her life. This was a hard land and enemies prowled about, both human and non-human. Love—or anything remotely approximating it—were luxuries that could do nothing other than distract her and thereby endanger her.

But... Wyatt is different. He was unlike any other she had met and she found herself wanting to be near him and know more about him. On the surface, that was proving to be problematic because there really wasn't much that had happened in his life other than a daily quest for survival under inhumane conditions. Rison had observed as Wyatt recovered from the trail of mistreatment he had endured. At first, so soon after the encounter with the zelinx, she kept her distance and brooded. His control and manipulation of the creatures had been disconcerting and even frightening. But as she thought through the whole mess, she remembered and realized she was like him. According to Caddo, she too would be able to control them, all because of what the blotch of reddish skin on her hip represented. The thought made her sick and she wanted to vomit. She was a Speck!

During the weeks it took for Bono's leg to heal, they remained hunkered down in the abandoned building, taking shelter in the cellar at night then during the day watching the dead zelinx mummify into leather on the blistering hot road. From somewhere, Caddo had continued to produce water and food. When asked of its origin, he casually replied that water could almost always be found if you knew where to look. And the food? Well, it just somehow turned up and he refused to discuss it. The horses, those that had run off during the confrontation with the zelinx, came skulking back the following morning. They avoided the carcasses of the zelinx, rolling their eyes and acting skittish, but they soon learned to ignore them as the smell dissipated and dried in the arid atmosphere.

Then came the morning Caddo announced they were leaving.

"Where?" Rison asked. "Where are we headed?"

When he didn't immediately answer, Wyatt spoke up. "Back to the clan. Bono's healed up enough to travel and I'm guessing Caddo's got to take care of a few things in Blanchard Springs."

Bryant was ecstatic and Bono looked relieved, for he still had another son with the clan, one who had no notion of the fate of his father and younger brother.

But Rison was worried. "Is that true? Caddo? Is that wise?

Caddo gave a wan smile. "It isn't really a question of what is wise. It's a question of what is the right thing to do. About what is best for the clan, for all the clans."

Rison looked at Wyatt and shook her head in confusion. "Who cares about them! How many search parties have you noticed out looking for Bono and Bryant? Who protected Wyatt from Rusk? Who stood by and watched while Kemp and Rusk beat and starved him? Did anybody?" She stood with her hands on her hips, her sharp anger rising like the morning sun. "I'll tell you. Nobody, that's who! What do we possibly owe them?"

"You would leave our people to drift into savagery? To become little better than the aliens who invaded and corrupted our world and brought such evil into our lives?" Caddo paused and gazed into her eyes. "Our people need to break free of this slavery, the whole world with us. What they need is a leader, someone to show the way."

"The Strintouri. What we need is the Strintouri," said Bono, wincing at the ache in his leg. "The pieces are in place. Now is the time for you to act."

Caddo folded his arms across his chest and stared out at the leathery corpses of the alien creatures. "You are right my friend. It is time. The Strintouri must rise and lead."

The Strintouri. Rison had heard the legends. Each child of the Rama regardless of clan, all heard the stories. The stories that were as much a part of the heritage of the Rama as were the mining of crystals. Children sat in rapt fascination to hear the prophecies of the Strintouri, the one who would unite the clans and drive the alien presence from the face of the earth. He was the one who would restore the world and purge the monsters and abominations created by the Mandu. Each clan had a Touri—a chieftain—but the Strintouri would supplant them and become the High Chieftain At least that's what they said.

Rison listened, she heard, she took it all in. But she didn't believe. To her, they remained the stuff of childhood, stories and nothing more. They were childish tales designed to comfort and entertain, to ease the burden of the harsh Raman life and nothing more.

Her mind drifted back to thoughts of her father, memories that seemed to grow ever more faint with each passing day. She closed her eyes while she tried to focus and remember her Pa's face, his crooked smile, the scraggly unshaven whiskers on his chin, and the tiny scar above his right eye. It scared her to realize one day she might not be able to find his face, his features having slipped into the mists of time and gone forever.

She thought of all he had taught her: to face her fears, to forever be honest, and above all, to always and without fail hide the red blotch on her hip. She smiled remembering as his voice rang true in her mind while they sat around the campfire, the men telling wild, fanciful tales and the children swallowing them whole. But when the tale of the Strintouri inevitably arose, her Pa grew quiet. She asked, ever curious, but he would only shake his head

"Rison... don't you go believin' that nonsense," he would tell her if pressed for an answer. "Them's tales old men tell to give them hope when they've already given up. They think somebody's gonna come and save them, drag them from this cruel world and lead them to paradise. It ain't gonna happen and that's why you gotta be strong. You gotta look out for yourself and not put no faith in nothin' else. Ain't nobody gonna save you except you. You hear me?"

When he lay dying, writhing in fever and pain from a festering wound, she often thought of this mythic Strintouri. Maybe he could make her Pa better, draw the poison from his wound and heal him. Maybe he could take away his pain and give him peace. Maybe he could.

But her Pa died. With his passing, so also died her ability to believe the Strintouri was anything other than what it truly was: a tale of old men and children. A tale filled with bitterness and despair. Now, here on the road to Blanchard Springs the tale of the Strinouri had again surfaced, dragging with it all the anguish and anger she had felt when Pa died. To hear Caddo and Bono, you'd think the Strintouri was coming and paradise was just around the corner.

Disappointment filled her when she realized they were serious. They actually believe! They're pinning their hopes to the fables of childhood and disillusioned old men.

Despair joined the disappointment and left her troubled. For her despair was born of doubt, doubt in a man she could no longer trust. For a man who believed in campfire tales was unworthy and that realization left her feeling hollow. She bit her lip and turned her back on Caddo.

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Trust can be a fragile thing.  And trust broken is difficult to repair.  What will Rison do?  Well, I promise to tell you soon... but only if you vote.  Sorry for the ultimatum, but I'm starving for votes!