Siena (Forestfolk, Book 1)

Chapter 13

When my eyes creaked open, the familiar roof of my cabin greeted me. My body ached. I snuggled deeper into the blanket and winced as it scraped against my sensitive skin. My burned skin. The memory of yesterday’s pandemonium nearly suffocated me. 

I didn’t notice the little girl sitting in the chair until I turned my head. Her eyes were filled with concern over my grunting.

“Are you okay?” she whispered. Soot smudged her pale skin, and red hair frayed out of the short, messy braid behind her back.

“I think so,” I croaked and cleared my throat. “You’re Goben’s sister, right?”

She nodded and continued watching me, as if trying to discern my state of health from the expressions on my face. She was sullen and shy, but I didn’t see grief. This gave me hope that I had succeeded, that her parents had survived.

“I’m Sember,” she said, her voice small. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I tried to sit up and sucked in a quick breath as my skin scraped against what felt like gravel. My arms were covered in bandages, and for an instant, I wondered where my soft shirt had gone.

Sember edged closer to me. “You’re like me,” she said, her voice hushed as if telling a secret. “Only you help people instead of hurting them.” Her green eyes were dark with shame.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she must be feeling, nearly killing both her parents. Coming so close to burning down an entire community. A community that had accepted her with open arms.

“Sember”—I scooted again and gritted my teeth against the chafing on my back— “are your parents . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. They had to be alive.

“They survived, thanks to you.” She dropped her gaze to her hands. “And no thanks to me.”

My heart ached for her obvious anguish. “It was an accident, right?”

“I was mad.”

I struggled to find the right words to say to a guilt-stricken little girl, because I had been that girl once. It was hard to think straight, though, because my skin still felt like it was on fire.

With a quick glance at the front door, I peeled back the blanket. Sember gasped at the angry, red skin, welted in some places, across my torso. My back felt worse, and my arms must have been severe for them to have bandaged them.

Laying my healing hands over my belly, I felt the warm tingle as the angriness left my skin. My nerves soothed, and soon, I was awash with relief. I was able to sit up easily then, and pulled the blanket back up to my chest.

“Could you hand me that dress?” I asked, pointing to the folded garment on the corner of the table.

She scrambled quickly for it and handed it to me. I unfolded it, pausing to poke a finger through the hole in the shoulder. The hide material was washed clean, but this hole would always remind me of that arrow, of that night. With a small sigh, I pulled the dress over my head and swung my legs over the side to face Sember.

“I wish I could do what you do,” she whispered. “It’s amazing.”

“All of us are amazing,” I said, wanting to believe the words. “Our gifts make us amazing.”

“I don’t have a gift,” she spat. “It’s a curse.”

She looked so lost.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Six.”

“When I was six, I didn’t know what I was doing, either.”

She looked at me like she didn’t believe me. “But you didn’t hurt people.”

“Maybe not, but . . .” My eyes flicked to the doorway. “Can you keep a secret?”

Her eyes got big, and she nodded while leaning forward.

“I—” My chest tightened. Was I really going to tell her? Sember seemed so burdened by guilt. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.  “My mother was killed because of me.” My heart wrenched at the admission. It felt so strange to say it aloud, like my voice was not my own.

Sember’s eyes grew even bigger and her mouth was open. “How?”

I sighed and smoothed one edge of the blanket with my fingers. “Plainsmen don’t trust the Gifted. They call us Aberrations. My mother tried to hide my gift from them. When they found out, they”—my voice faltered, fingers gathering the blanket into a fist—”they executed her,” I finished with a whisper.

She closed her mouth, and her little brows knitted together, indignant. “But that wasn’t your fault. Those were mean people.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. She died because I couldn’t control myself. If you want to avoid hurting people, you need to control it.”

“But how?”

“The next time you feel yourself getting angry, leave. If you can’t control your feelings, then control your legs. Run in the opposite direction. Run until you feel the anger go away. Then go back, and try again.”

Sember considered my advice, looked down at her hands again, then nodded her head.

“When someone makes you mad, what do you do?”

“I leave,” she replied with surprising resolve.

“Good.” I nodded. “Now can you help me take these bandages off?”

She nodded, eager to help, and tugged at the ends of the bandages, unwinding them from my arms. She marveled at the now-healthy skin beneath. “Wow,” she breathed. “Yesterday they looked terrible!”

“Yesterday they felt terrible.” I ran a hand over one arm and smiled. “Did you stay here all night?”

“Yes. It was my fault you got burned.” Her face was grave, much too serious for a child of six.

“I’m better now, so cheer up, okay? I’m starving. How about you?”

She nodded, and we left the cabin. I decided to forgo the shoes. I had found them on the floor next to the bed, but they were filthy with soot, dirt, and slightly singed at the edges. I would wash them later, along with my hair, which still smelled like smoke.

Outside, the sun had already passed its mid-day zenith, and I squinted in the bright light. “How long was I out?”

“Since yesterday,” Sember answered.

I raised my eyebrows. All day, all night, and most of today. No wonder I was starving.

As we made our way to the commons for some food, I couldn’t help noticing the stares and furtive glances. Barefoot and back in the dress I had been wearing when I’d arrived, I felt like the new girl all over again. I had gotten glances when I’d first arrived, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. Everyone knew now. I felt every bit the outcast, as I had back at the compound.

Sember walked beside me, seemingly unaware.

I wanted to sink into the ground.

Nirrin bounded up excitedly. “Siena! You’re awake! Now I know why you sleep so much.”

I couldn’t stop smiling at her exuberance.

“I didn’t know you were gifted! Did you know?” She gestured animatedly. “Of course you knew. Why didn’t you tell anyone? You were amazing!”

I didn’t know how to respond, but there didn’t seem to be any gaps for me to speak anyway.

Nirrin paused and turned her exuberance on Sember. “Did you stay up all night? Bren wouldn’t let me stay with you. She said I would just bother Siena.”

Sember smiled hesitantly at the attention, as if expecting derision from the other girl.

Nirrin continued her verbal onslaught. “Bren said it was an accident, and that what happened wasn’t your fault. I know all about accidents.” She giggled. “Bren says I’m a tornado.”

I laughed. Tornado was an apt description.

Sember and I found some picked-through leftovers and sat down to eat. Nirrin sat with us, and before Nirrin could resume talking, Sember reluctantly asked, “Is . . . is Goben mad at me?”

“Goben?” Nirrin seemed surprised at the thought. “I don’t think so. He’s with your parents. They still look really pink, and kind of funny-looking.”

The commons was mostly empty, but as we ate I could feel eyes upon me from those who happened to meander past. I avoided their gazes, not willing to see their distaste for me and the false front I had worn the entire time I’d been here. I felt grateful for the company of these little girls, who seemed oblivious to my plight.

Concerned about the “pinkness,” I suggested we visit Sember’s parents after our meal. Considering how weak I had been yesterday, and how badly burned they were, I probably hadn’t healed them very well.

Nirrin led the way. Since their cabin had been destroyed, Goben’s family was temporarily staying at the large cabin for children, where Nirrin slept. Goben was sitting on the ground just outside the doorway, drawing circles in the dirt with a stick. He looked up as we approached, and a gap-toothed smile broke out on his face.

“You made it!” He flung himself around my waist. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

The sudden embrace startled me, and I stiffened. He wouldn’t let go, so I awkwardly stroked his red hair.

“You saved our parents. You saved our family. Thank you. Thank you.”

The large cabin was part of a square where several paths converged. Several people walked past, and I could feel their stares, so I kept my eyes on the ground.

Goben broke away and pulled my hand toward the entrance. “Come on! My parents want to meet you.”

I followed, glad to be away from the open, where gawkers could see me.

The walls were lined with bunks where the children slept. The wooden floor was clean, but littered with various rag dolls and toys. Goben led me to the far corner, where one area was curtained off from the rest of the cabin. He pushed it aside and eagerly pulled me in after him.

“Mama! Papa!” he announced. “Siena’s awake!”

I suddenly felt shy. Both his parents were lying together in a large bed, their faces turned toward me. They smiled, though it looked painful. The translucent pink skin on their faces sagged slightly, as if made from melting wax. Their hair had mostly burned away, leaving patchy, reddish wisps.

“Siena.” The woman was the first to speak, her voice hoarse. “You are a blessing to the Forestfolk. Thank you.”

“Yes,” the man joined her. “With all that we are, we thank you.”

I opened my mouth, but I discovered that I had no words. I was not accustomed to so much gratitude. Surely these people must be delirious.

“I don’t think I did a very good job,” I mumbled, wringing my hands with uncertainty. “You appear to still be in pain.”

“Goben told us what you did,” said the woman. “That you gave us everything you had before fainting from the effort. It was more than enough, child. We are alive, because of you.”

She held a scarred hand out to me and I stepped closer to take it. She gripped it with more strength than I would have expected and peered into my hesitant eyes. “I can’t presume to know what your life was like with the tribe, but never be ashamed of your gift.”

I almost cried. Instead, I allowed my healing energy to flow through my hand and into hers, to finish what I couldn’t yesterday. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened, an almost ecstatic expression on her face. The scars on her hands disappeared, her skin tightened, and the angry pink tint faded.

“Ohh . . .” She turned her other hand over and over, as if disbelieving what she saw.

The man gaped at her transformation, looking at our faces and joined hands.

I let go of her hand then, satisfied that she was completely healed this time. I looked into the eyes of Goben’s father, searching for consent to be healed next. He held out his hand, and I circled around the bed to take it. His face went through the same euphoria as his wounds faded and his skin returned to a healthy sheen.

When I let go, I had to place a hand on the bed to steady myself while the dizziness passed.

He recaptured my hand in both of his and looked earnestly into my eyes. “If there is ever anything we can do for you, anything at all, you have only to ask. We are in your debt.”

I looked to Goben’s mother and she nodded in agreement.

I pulled my hand back and wrung it with the other. “That’s not necessary.” Though it felt good to hear those words, it also felt strange.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “you have our deepest, heartfelt thanks.”

I nodded, unsure what to do or say next. Fifteen years of living in near-isolation with the Zurbos had stunted my opportunities to learn about social graces. So instead, I ducked my head.

Sember chose the right time to save me. “Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, my little squirrel. It was an accident,” her mother soothed and pulled her little girl to her chest. “You just have to be careful, do you understand?”

Sember nodded against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. “I won’t get mad ever again.”

Her mother chuckled. “Perhaps a more realistic promise would be better.”

Sember thought for a moment, then said, “I promise not to get mad today.”

Her mother laughed again and stroked Sember’s hair.

I felt like I was intruding on the family’s private moment, so I excused myself and left.

With no escort of little girls to distract me, I felt more alone than ever walking through Foresthome. I missed Remi. I wondered when he would come back—if he would come back at all. I didn’t know if I could be so brave, going back to spy on tribes who were so eager to enslave me, especially after narrowly escaping the captors in the first place.

When I arrived at my cabin, I found a small stack of clothes on my table. I stepped outside to see who might have left them there, but there was no one. I returned inside and held up the shirt. It was the same soft material I loved from the first shirt they had given me, only this one was a rich burgundy color. The same color as the berries I liked to eat. The trousers were the same pair they had given me before, only now they were free of the soot and grime from my fiery escapade.

I nuzzled the shirt with my face, loving the feel of it and silently thanking whoever left it for me. Then I shimmied out of my old dress and into my new favorite outfit. I scooped up the moccasins and headed toward the lake, feeling lighter on my bare feet. Instead of keeping my head down, I made eye contact with the people I passed, and none of them actually stared at me. They gave me nods and smiles. I saw no derision, no judgment. Had I really just imagined it all?

At the shore of the lake, I did my best to scrub off the scorch marks. They looked cleaner now, but were still singed around the edges.

“I think they’re about as clean as they’re going to get.”

I started at the disembodied female voice, searching around behind me for its source. Then I heard the swish of water and looked toward the lake. A woman’s head had emerged not far from me, black hair slicked back and water dripping from her nose. It was Dilla, the one Remi had pointed out to me that night carrying the basket of shellfish.

I watched as she swam to a floating basket that I hadn’t noticed before. She dumped a handful of mussels into it and then paddled closer to me.

“Hello,” I said, not bothering to tell her my name. Everyone seemed to know who I was already.

“You’re brave,” she said, not bothering with greetings. “I like that.”

“Um . . . thanks,” I said, blushing at the compliment.

“Brave and humble. I like that even more.”

I smiled and looked down at the shoes in my hands, tugging on a dangling strip of leather.

“Not much for talking, are you?” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I get . . . wrapped up in my head sometimes.” My brow crinkled. She probably thought I was slow now.

“Don’t you fret over what people think of you.” My eyes snapped to hers, wondering how she could possibly know. Was she a mind reader too?

“I used to be like you,” she continued. “Always worried, always wondering if people liked me or not. If I learned one thing in all my years, it’s that it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is what you think of you.”

“But . . .” I wanted to believe her, but it just didn’t feel true. “That’s not so easy when everyone thinks you’re a blight on humanity.”

Dilla snorted, sending a small splash of water rippling in front of her mouth. “I admit I’ve been called many things, but a blight?” She shook her head. “You and I, we are gifted. That makes us special. And no matter what anyone tells you, people want to be special. I haven’t met a single person who didn’t envy the Gifted. But it’s a sad fact that some people, the ambitious ones, can’t stand that they can never be that special. So they try to take it away from us. Call us unnatural. Aberrations. They try to make it bad that we are who we are. These people, you don’t want them as friends. Their opinions don’t matter.”

I traced the edge of one shoe. I could hear the truth in her words, but I couldn’t seem to fit them into my reality. “I don’t want to disagree, but I think it does matter. It matters when these people control your life.”

Dilla listed her head to one side as she mulled my words, her arms creating whirls of water around her. “Quite right. Then I suppose it’s our job to make sure they don’t.”