Stolen Innocence
Chapter 2
When Bane lumbered downstairs the next morning, he was surprised by a hot breakfast awaiting him in the common room. Leaving this early, before most of his brothers were up, usually Bane would have only a quick, cold meal. Temujin had arrived just before him and now grinned knowingly at him over top of his steaming coffee cup where he sat at the table.
With his mask in one hand, Bane set his pack down and asked, "What's all this?"
Temujin chuckled and blew on his coffee.
Just then, from the kitchen, Talia appeared, wearing an apron and carrying another cup and a coffee pot. Behind her came Akar, a Bhutanese boy three years older than Talia. He carried a pitcher of juice with his right hand, the only one he had, for his left arm had been amputated some years ago when he had also lost his left eye, both casualties of a wolf attack, a wolf who had killed the boy's father and left him an orphan. But even with his multiple handicaps, he was adept in his domestic role. He now smiled sheepishly at Bane as he set down the orange juice, a rarity in these parts.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," Bane said, his throaty voice clear and soft without the muffled effect of the mask; he had removed it in his room and injected the usual dose of morphine to see him through the meal. "A hot breakfast to warm our insides on our way down the mountain. Was this your idea, Akar? How did you manage to coerce Talia from her bed? Usually only the point of a blade could stir her so early."
The men all laughed, though Akar's response was tempered, for he adored Talia and would not want to irritate her.
"It was my idea," Talia protested. "And it's not that early, only an hour or so until I would be up anyway." She set the coffee cup in front of Bane and poured him some of the rich, black brew as he put his mask on the other side of his plate. "But if you are going to tease me, I might just go back to bed." Talia glanced at him from beneath her beautiful long lashes, an impish smile twitching her lips.
"Is this all true, Akar?" Temujin asked, reaching for one of Jamyang's miraculous high-altitude biscuits.
"Yes, sir."
Temujin looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen where the rattle of pots and pans could be heard. "And Jamyang isn't bothered by Talia invading his domain?"
"Of course not," Talia said.
"I find that hard to believe," Bane teased.
"Well," Talia allowed, "I did promise to help him and Akar with everyone else's breakfast after you're done."
Bane chuckled. "That sounds more like it. Well, thank you for this. We appreciate it." He took the mug into his hands to warm them. "You should both eat with us."
"I've already eaten," Akar said with a touch of disappointment, for he worshipped Bane and looked for any excuse to spend time with him. Long ago their facial disfigurements had forged a special bond between them, and while some men marginalized Akar because he was only a servant to them, Bane had taken an interest in the boy from his first days at the monastery.
"I can stay," Talia said with a brightness that told Bane this had been her plan from the start. She immediately discarded her apron and sat beside him.
Amused, Temujin waved his fork at her. "Are you going to eat off the table or Bane's plate?"
"I'll get a plate for her," Akar said and scurried back to the kitchen.
Bane heard Jamyang scold Akar in Butanese for abandoning him to do all the work for their brothers' meal, but the chastisement was only half-hearted. Nonetheless, when Akar delivered Talia's plate, he reluctantly said, "I must get back to the kitchen."
"Yes," Temujin said. "We don't want that slave driver Jamyang to cut you up for soup, do we?" He grinned across his plate at Bane.
"Jin," Talia scolded.
Akar was not offended, however; he always enjoyed Temujin's humor. "I wish you both a safe journey," the young man said.
They thanked him again, and he hurried away.
Talia filled her plate: pork, egg crepe, hogay salad and ezay, along with a bowl of red rice porridge and a glass of rosewater lassi.
"Hmm," Temujin grunted, eying her mounded plate. "One would think you plan to trek down the mountain today, little one."
"That won't be happening," Bane said, not looking up from his eggs. "We've already discussed that, haven't we, habibati?"
Talia emitted a small huff. "Yes."
After a brief silence between them, Temujin spoke again, this time soberly, "Talia, you must not make it so hard on Bane when he has to leave. He is merely doing his duty, as we all must."
"I know," she mumbled contritely around a mouthful of porridge.
Bane momentarily put his arm around her, hugged her to his side. "It's all right, habibati."
Temujin continued, "I know it's difficult, for both of you. But you mustn't worry. I will bring Bane back to you, safe and sound."
Talia smiled in appreciation, and her cheeks grew pink. "I know you will, Jin." She dipped a hand into her tunic pocket and withdrew a small elephant carved out of ivory. The talisman had been a gift from Temujin when he had rejoined the League after avenging his wife's murder. "I'll carry this with me every day you're gone. It'll keep you both safe."
"Thank you, üyerkhsen," Temujin said.
For the rest of their meal, Bane did his best to keep conversation light, focusing on Talia, testing her with questions to prepare her for Sangye's exam today. Though he wanted to draw out their time together, Temujin kept reminding him to eat up by occasionally waving his fork toward Bane's plate.
When they finished their breakfast, Temujin stood, and Bane reached for his mask. Talia stopped him with a quick hand on his arm.
"Wait," she said, "before you put the mask on."
"What, habibati?"
Talia reached up to take his battered face in her hands. He smiled; she was the only person who ever touched him there now. She offered a small, sad smile then kissed his scarred lips, as she used to kiss him when he was whole in prison, as if he now looked no different than he had before the beating. It was not often that she had a private moment with him when he did not wear the apparatus, but whenever she did, she always made a point in caressing his face in one way or another. Such moments he treasured, for he felt human then, and loved.
With the mask back on, he gathered up his pack and followed Temujin from the common room, Talia beside him, holding his hand. On their way through the monastery they passed a couple of early risers, but no one offered the departing more than a respectful nod. Leave-taking was common here, and sometimes those who left never returned, but to everyone there it was merely all part of a normal day.
The trio said nothing until they passed through the candlelit Great Hall and came to the anteroom. Candles by the dozens lit the space and brightened the two large wooden doors that blocked out the dazzling white of the mountain snows beyond. There Bane set down his pack and turned to Talia, who now looked miserable, chewing her bottom lip, her eyes beseeching him to stay.
"Habibati," he said softly. "You must let go of my hand."
Her gaze lowered, and she slowly freed him, her arm dropping limp to her side, as if all of her strength had left her after breaking their connection. Bane shrugged into his heavy parka then knelt on one knee before her. He took Talia's face in his hands and smiled behind the mask, the expression tugging at the corners of his eyes.
"Promise me you will not neglect your studies while I am gone," he said.
She frowned. "I won't."
He playfully tapped her nose. "Good girl."
Talia's finger trailed over his mask. "I dreamt about Mama last night."
"I hope it was a good dream."
"Yes. She told me she would watch over you."
"Well, that is a pleasant thought. She was trying to comfort you."
"Yes. Are you taking her blanket with you?"
"No. It is safer here, and there will be little need for a blanket where I am going. You must put it on your bed while I am gone."
"Can I sleep in your bed instead?"
"That's up to your father, but he will no doubt frown upon it, so I don't recommend asking him, habibati." Her deepening disappointment tugged at him, so he added, "However, if you do, you may tell him that I gave you permission."
Near a whisper, she said, "Thank you," as her finger dropped away from the mask.
"Promise me you will obey your father and your teachers, and that you won't go to the glacier alone."
She nodded and sniffled once.
Bane nodded back and leaned his forehead against hers, a familiar gesture between them, as intimate as the farewell kiss his mask denied.
"I will be back soon, little mouse," he said, his voice growing hoarse and low. "Don't worry."
He took her in his arms, and she clung to him but did not cry, though he could feel her struggle for strength and resolve. Parting, they touched foreheads briefly, then Bane got to his feet.
"Bayartai gej, Jin," Talia said as she embraced the Mongol.
"Good-bye, üyerkhsen."
Donning hat and gloves, Bane held Talia's gaze a final time before pulling up his wolf fur-fringed hood. Her face was drawn and grave but unmoving now, steeled against the inevitable. Only her lips betrayed her with the tiniest quiver. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the harsh, cold world beyond.
###
Talia gnawed on her bottom lip as she watched her tutor's red pencil glide along the words she had written on her exam. She realized her foot was tapping against the floor beneath the table, another physical manifestation of her anxiety over her score, a weakness she did not want Sangye to notice. So she went to the hearth to throw a log on the fire.
She crouched before the crackling flames for a long moment, relishing its heat, absently prodding the wood with a poker, trying to forget about Sangye's silent, authoritative presence and the displeased frown on his face. Her sapphire eyes closed, she steadied her breathing, centered herself as she had been taught to do to reclaim calmness, then opened her eyes again. Now she saw only the dancing fire, and she was transported back in time to the pit prison, to the fires she used to tend there in their brazier—Bane and hers, in their shared cell. Their main source of fuel had been charcoal, but occasionally they had scraps of wood to burn. She loved those times, for—unlike charcoal—the wood provided a more animated display, with tongues flashing out like a snake's, writhing and waltzing like a living thing, a living thing that favored her with warmth like her mother's arms had once done.
Bane's arms, his loving embrace, had replaced her mother's. She had always reveled in their strength and power, but secretly she had missed—and still longed for—the softness of her mother's embrace. Even now, nearly eight years after her death, Talia could still remember her touch. It both haunted and consoled her. She never mentioned this to either Bane or her father, for she did not want to hurt their feelings by making them feel inadequate. After all, they did their best for her, the best men could do for a girl.
Talia had had little exposure to women, but what little she had had left a lasting, indelible impression upon her. First, of course, had been her mother, and though Talia had only been five years old when her parent had been raped and murdered by a gang of prison inmates, she had vivid memories of the beautiful woman who had given her life. Memories of a selfless, compassionate person who used to tell her stories of her mysterious father, a man who had been more of a dream to Talia than a reality. When her mother had been killed, Talia remembered the vacuum that had consumed her, the feeling of utter nakedness and vulnerability, like a butterfly ripped from its chrysalis too early. A horror from which she knew she could never truly recover. For five long years afterwards, she had not seen another woman, and had continued her life under the disguise of a boy until the day of her escape when she had foolishly and impulsively revealed her true gender to another prisoner, a mistake that had nearly cost Bane his life and had condemned him to an existence of physical torment and disfigurement. A tragedy for which she would never forgive herself.
Following her escape, she had searched for her grandmother, Maysam, utilizing the information her own mother had ingrained upon her. Such a search had brought her into contact with a couple of women who assisted her, and in their eyes she had seen a benevolence that she realized only women had, something instinctual that went far beyond the emotional capacity of men. And when she had been united with her grandmother, she experienced that unique connection that had been lost the day her own mother had died. When her grandparent had first embraced her, Talia had wept for a long time, tears that she had withheld even when she had seen the other prisoners attack Bane and take him down at the bottom of the shaft while she climbed to freedom. In her grandmother's arms, grief for both Bane and her mother had flooded her, as well as relief for having found someone who could again make her feel safe, who could hold her as her mother used to do.
"Talia," Sangye's voice drew her back to her room.
With a sigh, she responded, "Yes?"
"Come back to the table."
Frowning with reluctance, she obeyed, padding across the room on bare feet, trying to deny the chill that prodded them. She regained her seat across the study table from her tutor and forced herself to meet his disappointed brown gaze. Sangye was middle-aged, a wise Tibetan who had once been a Buddhist monk. Now he was Talia's main teacher and had also instructed Bane since their arrival here in the mountains. Though he kept a professional distance from his pupils, Talia knew the square-faced, bespectacled man cared for her and took great pride in her academic accomplishments. In turn, she did her best to please him. But today was not one of those days.
Sangye slid her exam papers across the table to her. They were crisscrossed with red marks and strident, challenging comments. "This is very unlike you, child," he said sternly.
Talia knew better than to apologize or make excuses; her tutor would never allow such weaknesses. So instead she bowed her head, prepared to absorb whatever chastisement was coming, knowing she deserved it.
But Sangye said nothing more until she raised her head out of curiosity.
"I should have known better than to test you today," he frowned. "But I had hoped your concentration skills would outweigh your distractions. Unfortunately, I was wrong." He gestured to the exam. "The pages bleed red, do they not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you not prepared? Have I failed you as your teacher?"
"No, sir," she hastened to assure, fearful of dishonoring him. Yet she could see in his eyes that he already knew the reason behind her failure; not that it would make her behavior acceptable, however. No, he wanted her to own her fallibilities, to voice them, to have them witnessed so the sting would last longer.
"Then tell me the reason behind your lack of focus, child."
Talia hesitated. She loathed admitting any kind of flaw or weakness. Life in prison had taught her never to reveal such things; they were dangerous if known to others. But, she reminded herself, Sangye already knew.
"I'm worried about Bane."
"And why is that?"
Surprised by his question, she quickly replied, "He left on another mission this morning."
"Indeed he did."
"Oh…well, the way you asked…I thought maybe you didn't know."
"Of course I did. Even without knowing this from Bane himself, I would have known simply by your demeanor this morning. But you have not answered my question—why are you worried about Bane?"
Confused, she gave her head a slight shake. "Why wouldn't I be? He's going someplace dangerous, to find a dangerous man."
"Is Bane not thoroughly trained? Have you doubts about Temujin's methods?"
"No…I mean, yes; yes about Bane's training; and no about Jin." She sighed in frustration and scowled at Sangye's tactics.
"Then you have nothing to worry about, nothing to take your focus off your studies. Yet," he gestured again to the papers in front of her, "here we are. I have never seen worse from you. What I see there is more than worry. It is anger."
Talia wanted to get up from her chair and flee the room, but she knew there was no escape. Even if she was foolish enough to disrespect her teacher by doing so, her father would hear of it, and then matters would only be worse; she could lose privileges, as well as their esteem.
"Both of those emotions are worthless and wasteful," Sangye continued. "Look what they have done, what you have allowed them to do—rob you of your focus. You know the importance of focus, both here in the classroom as well as in the dojo. Lack of focus can lead to your destruction and the destruction of others around you. These are selfish emotions, ones you must conquer."
The image of Bane from this morning, kneeling before her, their eyes locked, his hands cupping her face reared up before her, caused her to look away from her teacher. The tears she had denied then made an unexpected appearance now, and she hurried away from the table to try to conceal them.
"Love isn't a selfish emotion," Talia countered. "I love Bane…and Jin. I want them to come back because I love them. I won't let you make me feel bad for that."
"I am not telling you not to love, Talia. I am saying don't let love lead you down paths that can be destructive. Your love has led to anxiety. That can erode you from the inside. Here in the classroom anxiety leads only to red marks on a paper and strong words from me, but in the dojo it can lead to injury and defeat. And later, if it remains with you when you go out into the world to serve the League, it can be the end of you. That is what I'm trying to make you understand."
Standing in front of the fire again, Talia recovered her control. "I'll take the exam again. I will do better, I promise."
"Yes, you will." Sangye left the table and came to stand next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, surprising her, for he was not a demonstrative person; few were here in the monastery. "But not today. Today I will leave you to study and reflect on your own. Then tomorrow I will test you again."
She brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face, studying the comforting fire. "You won't tell Papa, will you?"
"I only share what he asks me to share; I never offer, but neither will I deny answers to any of his questions. I must obey him, as we are all bound."
Resigned, she nodded.
"Very well then. I will leave you. And I will tell Lao not to expect you in the dojo today."
Now she turned with urgent despair. "No, please, I want to train. I need to—"
Sangye's arm fell away from her and his other hand displayed a rebuking finger. "Do you deserve such a privilege after your failure this morning?"
Her shoulders slumped, and she mumbled, "No, sir."
"Indeed." His hand swept toward the table, and he waited until she returned to her chair with her books in front of her before he left the room.