Ted Dekker - Outlaw

I had settled into a light sleep late when a disturbance awakened me. Lela had pulled out several out of the horizontal boards that formed the door and was speaking to a warrior at the entrance. I knew enough of the language by that point to understand his request.

“She must come now.”

“Now?” Lela said. “To where?”

“Wilam’s home. Bring her now.”

Then the warrior was gone.

Lela became quite frantic, rattling on about Tengan, who was Wilam’s most magnificent warrior. His coming to our hut was very important indeed. All of my fears came roaring back, and for a few moments I sat frozen by thoughts of being taken to the cliffs to meet my fate.

“Isaka has died?” I asked.

“Hurry! You must be clean!”

She grabbed one of the gourds filled with spring water and shoved it into my hands. I splashed my face and wiped the grime off with my rag. As usual my hair was braided—I had always worn my hair long and couldn’t bring myself to cut it despite the tangled mess it easily became.

“Is this good?” I asked. “Should I wash my body?”

Lela, who was frantically changing into a new grass skirt with red-dyed tips she’d made with great care just that week, glanced at my face. Then at my yellow blouse, which was now brown, and ragged at the bottom where it had ripped on a broken branch.

“We must hurry,” she said.

“What about my arms and legs? They’re filthy!”

“We don’t have this time, miss. We must run!”

Fifteen minutes later we stood in the lords’ courtyards. Wilam lived in two houses, a spousal home he shared with his wives, and one reserved for his more stately business. The latter was a men’s house, or jeu , where he slept when he didn’t want to be with his wives, or wife as it was now. Tengan, the warrior who’d brought the message, delivered us to Wilam’s spousal home.

I didn’t know if the hut’s decor reflected the tastes of Wilam or of his wife, but the comforts that greeted us took me aback when I set foot inside.

The walls were covered with boar hides, crocodile skins, furs, and groupings of brightly colored feathers from parrots and birds of paradise. A cooking fire burned near the entrance of the room. The back half of the long, cave-like hut was relatively free of smoke and much cleaner than most huts I had seen.

The sleeping bed stood a foot off the floor and was covered in furs. Tall, intricately carved shields lined the walls around the bed.

A woman sat to one side, leg folded back, watching me with interest. This was Wilam’s wife Melino. She had been pointed out to me from a distance once before.

Her dark, silken skin was unblemished in any way that I could see. Her lips looked soft and her cheekbones rose high, giving her a majestic appearance. But Melino’s defining feature was her eyes, which were tainted with blue, just enough to suggest a mystery behind her gaze.

For a fleeting moment I surprised myself by coveting her skin and her hair. Perhaps even her standing among these people.

The prince sat on the bed, cross-legged, arms on his knees, staring at us.

I brought my hands together in a sign of respect, bowing slightly.

“Come closer,” he said. “I would see what has caused me so much grief.”

Lela translated everything, even what I understood from the terms I knew and the context in which they were spoken. What she didn’t translate on the spot, she explained later that night.

We approached and stopped several paces from his bed. His skin was dark and clean; his nails were white and manicured; his hair was oiled, and sparkled like a starry night sky. He wore no golden bands or rattan, no jewelry at all. His well-muscled body was naked.

I remember staring at him and thinking that he was a beautiful man, particularly his face, his strong square jaw carved in black, his deep-set eyes. He was truly a lord in this jungle.

“Whatever grief we have brought you, we will repay a hundred times,” Lela said, dipping her head.

“Do you have a hundred lives to give? Then I might ask for a hundred deaths.”

He said it with the authority of one born and bred for nothing less than a throne, but I heard more in his voice. There was note of admiration in his reprimand. A hint of respect.

“Yes, my prince,” Lela said.

“My advisers demand I have you both taken to the cliffs tonight.”

With this single announcement my world crumbled. I felt panic well up in my chest. I should have known, of course. It had always only been a matter of time. I threw all caution to the wind and bowed to my outrage.

“Then you would lose the greatest treasure that has come into your valley since any of your advisers were born,” I said. “Tell him that.”

Lela hesitated, but did.

Wilam drilled me with a strong stare. “You know nothing of our ways. Kirutu’s hand was held back because he fears the spirits, but his bitterness knows no end.” He paused and drew a steady breath. “Butos will present Kirutu with a new wife tomorrow. The two tribes have threatened war if I don’t kill you before the feast.”

I held his gaze. Everything I had seen in Wilam told me that he recognized and admired strength.

“It was you who saved me, not them,” I said. “Now you will tell the world that you were wrong?”

“Watch yourself,” Melino said, but her tone wasn’t condemning. She was sincere.

Wilam offered a shallow smile. “I was curious, nothing more. But now Kirutu forces my hand and threatens to make me appear weak.”

“Then you called me here only to tell me that you’re going to kill me?” I asked. My mind was flaring with offense, and I knew I was speaking out of turn, but the desperation I’d felt upon first arriving was coming back, and strong.

“If not for my wife I wouldn’t have called you at all,” he said.

“Then your wife is wise,” I said. “You possess a great treasure in me. You must take full advantage of this treasure if you wish to defeat Kirutu.”

He chuckled. “So now the one our children call Yuliwam thinks she commands me?”

Melino mumbled something that I couldn’t understand. Nor did Lela translate.

Wilam stood from the bed and paced before me, arms across his chest. “Then speak. Tell this muhan how to conduct his affairs. Perhaps you could also tell me what food to eat, how to dress, how to produce many sons.”

“I could offer you a son,” I said.

“You believe I need you to produce a son?”

True. He was a prince. Surely he could have his pick of Tulim women.

“No. But a son from the slave you plucked out of Kirutu’s grasp.”

He eyed me, then went on, resolved.

“If I kill you as Kirutu demands, then he redeems himself and I look weak. If I don’t kill you, he has just cause for war. So I will neither have you thrown from the cliffs nor keep you. Instead I will present you to Kirutu tomorrow, as a wedding gift.”

My heart left me. I saw his reasoning immediately. By doing this he would appear both clever and compliant to the laws that governed them.

“Giving me to Kirutu—”

“Silence!”

“Let her speak before you consign her to her death,” Melino said.

Wilam hesitated. Clearly his wife had a voice.

“Speak,” he said.

I glanced between them, fully unnerved.

“You were right in seeing that I would be dangerous in Kirutu’s hands. If he has this treasure instead of you, he would surely—”

“Enough!” he snapped, snatching his hand into a fist.

“If you were going to kill me, why didn’t you just throw me from the cliffs long ago?” I demanded. “Your law demands that any wam who comes into the valley can live only if the council approves. Kirutu did not approve, but you showed great courage by defying him. Now you would throw away all of the value I offer you?”