Eden Forest (Part one of the Saskia Trilogy) (23 page)

brothers or sisters?”

Her big eyes look sad. “My parents are dead and my

brother…” She dwindles off. “I am not allowed to speak about

him, granddad said.” The poor child.

I notice Musa moving through the camp with Ndee. They are

clearly looking for someone. Ndee’s face relaxes when she sees

Mei. “Mei, your granddad was looking for you.”

Musa approaches and Mei jumps to her feet. “Mei, I told you

to stay close,” he says in a stern voice, but love for this child

radiates from his eyes.

“Sorry, Granddad, I was just talking to the princess.”

Musa smiles at me and picks her up in his arms. “Bed time.”

She grumbles but curls into his arms as he carries her away.

“Time for your marking,” Ndee says, full of excitement. I

roll my eyes. Pain isn’t something I look forward to, but I follow

her to a makeshift tent where a man waits with a tray of ink and

small look-a-like needles.

“Where would you like it?” he asks. Only one shoulder is

bare, so I opt for there. It isn’t as painful as expected and the

tattoo is just two small, fluffy wings. They look really nice when

they’re complete. I retire to my hut afterwards, feeling the day’s

events heavy on me.

Chapter Fourteen

Saskia

(Sarajane)

T
he next day, Ndee takes me to the kilns as she promised

and we are accompanied by Mei. She hops along beside

us to keep up. The kilns are positioned near the beach,

embedded into the large cliffs. The heat in the stone structures

is intense, coming from two large ovens that are about six

feet tall and six feet wide with large doors on the front. I can

see pipes running from one side of the kilns and disappearing

behind them, then reappearing on the opposite side.

“The water will be hot today?” I say to Ndee while wiping

sweat off my forehead. She laughs at my red-hot face.

“Yes, indeed. This is where the pottery is made.” She gestures

to several wooden pottery wheels that are covered in dried bits

of clay. “The pottery is shaped here.” Across from the pottery

wheels, wooden tables are positioned; they are only the width of

two benches. “And here we use a knife to inscribe our designs.

The pottery then goes into the oven. When it’s baked, we leave

it in the cooling area.”

She gestures for Mei and me to follow her. We leave and go

through a wooden door that brings us into a smaller room, but

it’s much cooler. A woman is seated at a desk, painting a mug

in a vivid red colour. The swirls that have been engraved on the

side of the mug are painted white.

“And this is where we paint and glaze the pottery.” Ndee

seems so proud of what they did and she should be. “Do you

want to make something yourself?” she asks.

“Yes, that would be great, wouldn’t it, Mei?”

The little girl beams up at me at being acknowledged, and

she has been so quiet throughout Ndee’s talk. “Yes, princess.”

She’s doing her cute little swaying thing again. I can’t help but

smile at her.

Ndee shows skills of a great teacher. Her instructions and

patience make what I’m doing seem so easy. Once I have a bowl

shaped, she sets it in the kiln. It isn’t perfect, but I’m delighted

with it, even though Mei produced a perfect vase.

“We will come back and check on them later,” Ndee announces while putting Mei’s vase in the oven.

“But we better get Mei back and feed you, princess.” My stomach grumbles on cue. I tidy myself up in my room, making sure nothing has gotten on the beautiful blue wrap that Ndee left out for me. I return to the main room. There is nowhere for cooking, but a plate filled with food is laid out on the circular table. I sit down. The chair under me has a soft cushion. The plate is colourfully dressed with lettuce, baby tomatoes, and the rest I can’t name, but I

start on the fish. Ndee brings over a pottery jug and pours me

out a mug of water. “Thank you, Ndee.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome, princess.”

Ola arrives then with another plate of fish and a mug. She

lays it out across from me. I stop eating. “Is someone joining

me?” I ask.

“I am,” Tristan says from the door. He has washed and

changed into a simple black jumper and trousers. His hair is

loose around his face. He dismisses Ola and Ndee, who scurry

off as if they are afraid of him. Tristan pours himself some water

and sits down as if it’s normal for us to eat dinner together.

I just sit there, staring at him. “What is this about?”

He chews the fish slowly and then looks at me. “Does it

bother you?” He doesn’t smile or grin, just keeps an impassive

look.

If I said Hell yes, eating with you bothers me, he would win.

So I cut up my fish. “Of course not, Tristan.”

“Good,” he says, self-assured.

We eat in silence. He didn’t come here to have dinner with

me—something is up. It’s hard to eat with him so close. I feel

weird; I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a normal

conversation with him. I know then he is looking at me; my

skin tingles.

“Your face is healed.”

My head shoots up and I search his green eyes for something,

anything, but nothing shows. Morrick’s angry face just before he

struck me comes to mind. Then Clive’s body. I get up abruptly,

knocking the chair out behind me, trying to banish the image.

Guilt tightens in my chest.

Tristan moves towards me, leaving only inches between us.

“It is not your fault.” His words sound so good.

A tear of relief slides down my face and he wipes it away with

his thumb. I close my eyes at his touch. He keeps his hand on

my face and I rest into him, breathing in his scent, and he lets

me take comfort against his chest. His heart pounds under my

ear. Is he nervous? Maybe he feels the same way I do. I look up

into his face, placing my hand over his pounding heart. If I just

reach up on my tippy toes, I can kiss him, but he moves closer,

his lips brushing mine. Butterflies erupt in my stomach.

“Why are you here?” I whisper against his lips. I keep my

eyes closed, afraid of the answer. He doesn’t answer straight

away. Instead, we just breathe, no one wanting to make the next

move in case it’s wrong.

“I don’t know,” he responds and then he kisses me gently at

first.

I cling to him, wanting more, needing more. He does as my

body commands and deepens the kiss. I feel out of control. I

push my body harder against his, running my fingers under

his top. In one swipe he has it off, revealing a very toned and

muscular chest. He kisses my neck, pulling my hair aside as I

run my hands along his broad back.

“You look beautiful,” he says through kisses. His words

make my urgency for him go up a notch. I direct his face

back to my mouth and kiss him with everything I feel for

him. He returns the kiss with the same amount of emotion.

His hands fumble as he tries to get my wrap off, but the

way it’s tied only lets it drop off my shoulder and no lower.

He kisses my bare shoulder, sending electricity through my

body, and then I can’t breathe.

Tristan freezes and looks at me. I try to pull air into my

lungs, but nothing is happening. Oh God, my knees give way

from under me, but Tristan grabs me in his arms before I fall.

“Sarajane.” I can hear the panic in his voice. I grab at my

chest, horrified. Dots swarm in front of my eyes. A man steps

out of the shadows. He must have been there all along. Tristan

let’s me down and reaches out his arms towards the man. I

can see the man go numb and slump against the wall, a look

of astonishment on his face. The air fills my lungs almost

immediately. I take in large gulps. The man’s astonishment

fades and is replaced with anger.

Tristan kneels down to me, holding my face. “Are you okay?”

he asks. I cough and nod.

The man behind us is now standing and an axe releases from

his hands, coming directly towards me. Before I can scream,

Tristan turns and grabs the axe in mid-air and flicks his wrist.

The man seems to be frozen as panic runs across his face.

Tristan flings the axe and embeds it right between his eyes.

Before I can react, Tristan scoops me up in his arms and hugs

me to his chest.

“Are you all right?” he asks while kissing the top of my head.

I’m speechless from the urgency in his voice, but I answer to

calm his trembling body.

“I’m fine.” My voice betrays my assurance by quivering.

Tristan leans back and his green eyes search my face and

then his gaze falls on the dead man. His jaw becomes hard with

anger. Another one dead and all to save me. The door bursts

open as twenty men pour in. Tristan pushes me behind him

and breaks a leg off the nearest chair as a weapon. The first

three men attack. Tristan uses the wood like a sword, hitting

all three men with such force they lie unconscious and bleeding

on the ground. They’re down before they even realise what hit

them. Every man that comes for him, he disarms, and they join

the rest on the ground. I’ve never seen anyone so fast. At least

ten of them are down now. The others can see there is no point

coming in threes so they surround him, moving in. He takes out

another three before the rest overpower him.

Tristan throws his head back, breaking the man’s nose

behind him. The man grabs his face and howls in pain as blood

pours through his fingers. I can see one move up slowly behind,

but I don’t get to warn him in time. The man smashes Tristan

in the back of his head with a chunk of wood. Tristan falls to

his knees and the rest jump on him, knocking him completely

to the ground. He still struggles under them, but they finally

overpower him. The men are huge, there’s nothing I can do to

help. But at least he didn’t kill any more. I’m still in shock by

how easily he fought.

Morrick and Musa walk in then, taking in the room. “Let

him go,” Morrick commands.

The men look to Musa and he nods. “Leave us.”

Tristan gets up, touching the back of his head. It comes away

sleek with blood. The room empties; the others help carry the

ones that are unconscious out of the room. I just stand there,

dazed.

“What happened here?” Morrick asks, absolutely furious.

Tristan looks at Musa. “One of your men tried to kill

Sarajane so I disposed of him and then we were swarmed.”

Tristan doesn’t even flinch.

“You did more than dispose of him. I felt the pull. We are all

connected in this tribe.”

Morrick steps towards Tristan, trying to control himself.

“You didn’t use your powers? Tristan, tell me you didn’t.” There

is a pleading in Morrick’s voice.

“He tried to kill her, Morrick. What else could I do?”

Tristan’s own anger is rising.

“You managed to disarm fourteen of Musa’s best warriors,

yet you had to drain one.”

Tristan holds Morrick’s gaze. “He caught me off guard, a

mistake that will never happen again.”

Morrick steps closer to him. “You said that after Alana.”

Tristan flinches at this as if it is a blow. “That was different—”

Morrick cuts him off. “Yes, it was. You didn’t know what you

were doing then, but you were fully aware this time.” Everyone

becomes silent and Morrick’s gaze falls on me.

“What is this all about?” Musa asks calmly.

Morrick takes and deep breath. “Tristan has unusual gifts.

He can take anyone’s powers once he intercepts where it is

coming from.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but it

explained why the man had gone limp when the air filled my

lungs.

“Anything else, Tristan?” Musa asks, still calm.

“Yes, I can shield all powers used against me.” His gaze

flickers to Morrick, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“How could you, Tristan? I don’t understand. You could

have disarmed him.”

Tristan looks at me for the first time. “He was going to kill

her, Morrick.”

Morrick grabs Tristan’s arm. His voice is low but laced with

torment. “Don’t look at my daughter like that.” His voice rises.

“You have no right to her.”

Musa clears his throat. “Morrick, this is my land and you