Ted Dekker - Outlaw

He stepped up to me, took my cheeks between his thumbs and fingers, and squeezed.

“Remember whom you stand before,” he snapped. His eyes darted down to my mouth and I thought he might be looking at my teeth. He was showing his dominance, but there was also curiosity in his eyes. A softness that defied his tone, his grip.

“The value you once had to me has become a liability.”

He released my jaw, retreated to the bed, and sat down facing us, arms limp on his knees once more.

“Leave us. Both of you.”

Melino took a step forward and spoke before we could react.

“Is it true that you lost a son in the sea?” she asked.

I dipped my head. “It’s true. His name was Stephen and I loved him more than I loved my own life. He drowned.”

“Kirutu took his life?” she asked, surprised.

“No. The storm took his life.”

She nodded slowly. “My heart aches for you.” She cast a sideways glance at Wilam. “The child came easily?”

I knew what she was asking. “I was with child the first month,” I said.

For a few moments no one spoke. Wilam was watching me without interest. Melino seemed satisfied to let the statement work its own magic. I was thinking it would make no difference.

“Now I will bear Kirutu a son,” I said.

“Leave,” Wilam snapped. “Now.”

We left.

Chapter Thirteen

I MADE the journey south with two thousand radiantly painted and adorned Impirum men, women, and children, and with each step my worry grew. A hundred times I looked at the heavy jungle, thinking that I could make a run for it, knowing that I wouldn’t get fifty paces before they hauled me down.

Tulim law was sacred, based on spiritual beliefs that ordered every aspect of their lives, particularly when it came to outsiders. To wam.

Lela had explained this to me. The Creator of all life was pierced in the side by Purum, the maker of evil spirits, as they battled high above the Tulim valley. When the Creator’s blood spilled to the ground, the first humans sprang to life in his image.

Seeing his offspring, the Creator sealed the valley for protection. Evil spirits could not enter the Tulim valley, where all humans lived. But Purum, which also means crocodile or snake, tricked a woman into fleeing the Tulim valley. The woman was impregnated by a pig. Now the earth was full of her evil offspring. Wam. In their eyes I was one such descendant, and as such not fully human. Killing any outsider was only an act of justice. This is what they believed, to their core. It explained their bigotry and their isolation.

What had I ever done to deserve the terrible events of these last months? Why had God taken my son? Raised by parents who could not show me love, and then married to a man who’d treated me with disdain, I had sworn to give Stephen all the love that had been withheld from me. I had believed in a God of love and committed my life to all the right prayers and intentions. Although I had stains on my conscience, as everyone has, my heart was a decent one. Even a good one.

Was God angry at me, his child? Was this his punishment because he couldn’t love me the way I loved Stephen, without condition?

The questions whirled through my head.

We traveled in two primary groups: the lords and their entourage had gone ahead to prepare the way; the rest followed with great celebration. Only those too old or too ill to travel remained at the village.

Lela’s face looked like a blue butterfly outlined in white with her own eyes trimmed in red where the butterfly’s eyes might be. Yellina held my hand most of the way, skipping beside me with the three yellow-and-blue flowers she’d collected from the underbrush tucked into her hair.

I felt like a stone.

The trek was a long dance in and of itself. Men ran back and forth hooting and hollering; women sang and swayed, catching the men’s eyes; children hopped and skipped in their best impersonation. Ten warriors flanked me, along with Momos, who barked many orders to the children around me. Despite his self-imposed air of authority, his grandeur could not compare to that of the muhan warriors, who strode stoically, eyes always on the jungle.

But my mind was far away and my legs were weak, as much from fear as from the trek.

We were close to the Warik village and could see the smoke from its fires when a warrior ran back to us and spoke quietly to Lela, who pulled me away from the main group.

“This wife, Melino, must speak to you, Yuliwam.” She grabbed my hand. “Come, come!”

Wilam’s wife. To what end?

Momos sent away Yellina and the other children who tried to follow with a stomp and a yell. Surrounded by the warriors, we made our way down a separate path on a ten-minute walk that brought us to a clearing at the top of a knoll.

Below us the Tulim valley gave way to the flat swamplands I had once traveled bound and bagged in a canoe. They stretched out as far as I could see, so vast that I was at once reminded of the futility of any escape. Ever.

I was so disturbed that I didn’t at first see the throngs gathered along the edge of a large meadow far below us. They stood in two large groups opposite each other, close to the trees, thousands adorned in ceremonial dress, like a black sea topped with red, blue, and white foam. I could just hear the distant percussive drums and their low chant above the constant cry of cicadas and birds.

Kirutu was down there. When he learned that Wilam had brought me, he would surely fly into a rage.

“Melino must speak with you, miss,” Lela whispered.

I turned and saw that Wilam’s wife had made her appearance from the trees to my left. Her headdress stood a foot above her gilded forehead, a magnificent display of red and yellow feathers taken from a bird of paradise. A single band had been painted across her eyes and ran past her temples, and she wore a brightly colored red skirt made from the finer muslin-looking fabric reserved for the muhan. Otherwise her skin was her only covering. But what lovely skin it was, unblemished and smooth in contrast to the coarse jungle.

Among all birds in the jungle, the bird of paradise is the most royal, with its long, brilliantly colored plumage. But the male, not the female, is by far the most decorated among these rare birds. In keeping with nature, the Tulim men, not the women, wore the most makeup and jewelry. A woman’s glory was to be found primarily in her natural beauty.

Looking at Melino, I could see why Wilam had chosen her for his bride.

She stepped to one side, away from her entourage, and Lela led me to her. Her brown eyes settled on mine.

“You look like a wam who has come to meet her death,” she said.

“Perhaps because I am,” I said.

She nodded and turned to Lela. “What I say now, no one must hear.”

“I will tell no one,” Lela said. “I am only here because she does not speak Tulim so well.”

Melino shot a glance toward the others. “Walk with me,” she said.

We stepped gingerly up a path that led into the jungle. Above us a flock of parrots squawked. Sweat etched trails down my neck and my back.

“I can see that you are a wise woman with soft eyes,” Melino said. “The children like you.”

“They are beautiful children.”

She nodded. “As are you.” She stared up at the trees. “Among the muhan there is a knowing that one day a great warrior will come to reclaim the land beyond this valley and end the threat of Purum as far as the eye can see. Have you been told this?”

“No.”

“They say that the Nameless One is an evil spirit,” she said. “Sawim has declared it.”

“The Nameless One?”

“The man who spoke to Kirutu under the tree. Do you remember?”

“Yes. Kugi Meli?”