I know I shouldn’t, but I decide to tell Sash what I saw in my Vision of the Future. “I saw us all together in my Vision. I saw you and me with our children. The four of us were playing together on the Tall Hill. They were older, up to our waists, and we were all happy.”
“Children?” she asks with mild confusion.
“We’re going to have a son as well,” I say.
“No one is ever chosen for the Ritual of Balance twice,” she reminds me.
“We will be.”
“That was in your Vision of the Future?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I saw us all together as a family. That was my Vision.”
Sash peers into my eyes for a few seconds before speaking. “But you didn’t see the path that will lead us to that Vision.”
“Then what do I do?” I ask, trying to keep my temper in check. “Just stand aside and let our daughter be taken away from us?”
“She’ll never be very far from us,” she replies. “We’ll find ways to spend time with her as a family, but she should be raised in the same way that other children in Krymzyn are.”
With a growing sense of despondency and needing some time to think, I stand up from the bed. “I want to clean up and have some sap. I’ll be right back.”
I step to the table and gulp down several cups of sap. Trying to keep a combination of hurt and anger under control, I undress and walk to the waterfall. While standing under the water, for the first time since being in this world, I have doubts about my ability to accept the ways of Krymzyn. It might be a selfish reaction, but I believe with all my heart that we should raise our daughter. Even harder for me to accept is that, also for the first time, Sash doesn’t seem to have my back.
After I finish cleaning off, I slip on my shorts and return to bed. Sash is lying on her back with her hands perched on her stomach. I lie down on the bed beside her and look up at the Swirls. I decide that I don’t want to push Sash on the subject right now, but as far as I’m concerned, this conversation is far from over.
“I just want you to know how I feel,” I say. “I won’t ask you to do anything that you don’t think is right. All I want is what’s best for our child.”
“She’ll know we’re her parents,” she replies. “We’ll be in her life and spend time with her. We’ve both seen that, so we’ll find ways to make sure it happens.”
“Does anyone here keep track of the ratio between Darknesses and morrows?” I ask.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know how long a Krymzyn pregnancy lasts in Earth time,” I answer.
“On average, Darkness falls once every morrow and a half,” she says.
“Thanks.”
It takes me a few seconds to work out that a pregnancy in Krymzyn lasts about three and a half months. Maybe the pure energy of sap has something to do with the shorter length, or maybe it’s due to the biological differences between people in Krymzyn and on Earth. After our daughter is born, she’ll spend another three and a half months with us before going to the Keepers.
Sash rolls on her side with her back to me, reaches a hand behind her, and clenches one of my hands in hers. After pulling my arm over her body, she presses my hand to her stomach.
“All you should care about is what’s truly best for her,” she says. “Not what you think is best.”
“I will,” I mutter. “Peace.”
From my single word, the light from the Swirls dims until dark surrounds us. As minutes turn into hours, I know from Sash’s breathing that, like me, she’s still awake. But neither of us says anything. I finally close my eyes, finding a little comfort in the fact that I have seven months to figure something out.
Chapter 5
“You have sap!” the Murkovin hisses. “More than you need.”
“Where did you hear that?” the woman asks, scrutinizing the creature standing forty feet in front of her.
“Word travels the Barrens,” he answers.
The threat in the creature’s stance is obvious to the woman. The muscles in his bulky arms are taut and his knees slightly bent. At least four inches taller than the woman, he must weigh twice as much. His stringy hair is tied behind his head, and his weapon is gripped in both hands. Like many of the spears wielded by their kind, his was carved from a sturdy tree branch and sharpened with a coarse stone. He’s primed for a fight, the woman knows, ravenous desires gnawing at his mind.
“If you join us, you’ll never thirst again,” the woman tells him.
“Give us what you have!” he demands. “I’ll spare your life and that of the child inside you.”
He said, “us,” the woman thinks to herself. There’s more than one.
After removing a metal flask from a rope tied around her waist, the woman tosses it to the creature’s feet. “Have some sap,” she says evenly. “You won’t be so shortsighted after your thirst has been satisfied.”
“You should control your tongue!” the beast growls. “This is your final warning.”
The woman hears almost silent footsteps creeping down the hill behind her. She doesn’t need to look to know exactly where the creature is. But the woman bows to no one in the Barrens, even those too consumed by craving for rational thought.
Her eyes hastily scour the terrain in front of her while her ears stay tuned to her rear. She’ll have to flee if there’s more than two, she decides. Even though she’s certain she could kill three or four, the risk to
