Hey! So I know everyone has been dying for the next update! Sorry for the wait. WRITER'S BLOCK ONE, FRANKIE NIL!
When I woke the next morning, she had already gone.
To check on the boy, perhaps? My eyelids flickered wide open. The fire Ziio had lit was long since extinguished. The same smokey scent swirled round my nostrils, waking me up slowly. Now I was alert enough to remember everything.
I stayed overnight.
I shook my head. The Templars wouldn't like this. Another errand I'd absconded from. But it wasn't like that. It was only right to help a friend in need of comfort. I must admit, I'd hoped for a little more than to comfort Ziio, even if it disgraced me to think of it.
I rolled over and stood myself up, groaning. This wasn't going to go down too well with Charles, Thomas, Benjamin and William.
William.
Had the company of Ziio not obscured the thought of him I would've been up all night thinking. Was it him who performed such terrible deeds to Ziio's family? I shivered at the thought. Such a modest man and such a heartless act: the murder of two men and two boys, injuring another. They could not possibly be linked.
But every cell in my body knew that he was the only one it could be.
I found Ziio by the boy's side in the next house along. The young man lay barely awake, his face shadowed by pain. The bandage wrapped round his head bore a large crimson stain that spoke for itself. An old woman sat beside Ziio and the boy on the floor, dabbing various liquids and tonics on his forehead.
Ziio and the old woman who I supposed was the boy's mother knelt together by his side. He held Ziio's hand feebly as she murmured dolefully in her language to the old woman. She looked up and saw me, a little surprised.
"How is he?" I asked softly.
"Recovering, " she replied. "He could have been a lot worse, but I fear for him."
"He will survive?"
"We think so."
A charged silence followed her words. I watched with slight sadness as the woman next to Ziio sniffed, watching her son with an air of grief. I knelt to inspect the deep scarlet dot seeping from the dressing. As I looked into his eyes, his narrowed brown eyes, I saw emotions in colours I'd never seen before. Pain, exhaustion, illness...but a soft contour of gratitude.
I couldn't help but think of the looks in the eyes of Ziio's family before their murder.
William Johnson.
Do not think about him.
William Johnson did it. William Johnson did it.
Stop thinking about it!
Won't William Johnson be furious when you return to your duties?
STOP!
I blinked, and the thoughts were gone. The old woman sniffed again. That was when I realised that this was no business of mine. A family matter that I had no place to intervene with.
"My apologies. It seems I'm invading your privacy."
"Not at all, not at all!" Ziio replied hurriedly. "You were the man who saved his life. You have every right to come in here."
I shrugged. "I suppose-"
A high-pitched voice interrupted me from behind. Everyone (the young man included) looked up in surprise. It was a Mohawk child, who had appeared at the doorway, panting and talking to Ziio. I watched her expression lift into a smile at his words. She pushed herself to her feet as the child began to run away.
"They want me to play with them in the valley," she chuckled in answer to my questioning look. "And they insist that 'the English man' must come, too."
Taken aback, I replied: "Err...well...alright. But Ziio, I really must be getting back to Boston."
"Their energy will not last long," she assured me.
"Fine."
But half an hour later Ziio and I were still dashing around like lunatics, playing 'tag' with the five or six little children on the lush green hills. A lot of surprises hit me that morning. One of which was that the young natives- between ages of around four and ten- were completely fluent in English. I simply loved their accents and difficulties in pronouncing certain words, which I could rattle off without thought. Believe me, I was not one to gawk at children and call them 'cute', yet I did find something odd about the Mohawk kids I hadn't felt before.
If Charles or one of the Templars had been there observing from a distance, they probably would not believe their eyes. How could their Grand Master – who could be as severe as he was deadly – be stood in a "savage" village chasing little children? I tried not to think about the other Templars too much. It would only remind me of how much trouble I would be in after this.
The children were eventually ushered away by their mothers, and it was just Ziio standing on the hill beside me. I glanced sideways at her while she watched them skip away with a kind of warmth in her face that I had rarely seen. Affection? I couldn't tell. Eventually she turned to face me, looking flushed.
"Shall we sit down?" I suggested.
"Yes. Here, by the tree." She indicated an oak nearby with spring wildflowers blooming underneath its roots. We sat beneath it together in the overgrown grass, catching our breath.
"Those children are very intelligent, you know. How is it that already they are fluent in English?"
"Oh..." Ziio picked a wildflower and twirled it between her fingers. "Our mothers and fathers all feel that we must know it and speak it like our mother-tongue. There are days, even, when the village speaks in nothing but English to help the children learn."
Fascinating. But why?
"I don't understand. What need would they have for such a skill at their age?"
Ziio continued to spin the flower between her index finger and thumb. "So that one day we may no longer be known as 'savages'. That we may be accepted by your people. One day."
God, she has to say everything so awkwardly. Now what do I say?
"I do not consider you a savage," I said defiantly. Was it my fancy, or did I feel blood rush to my face when Ziio diverted her eyes from me?
"Thank you. But many still do. It is a shame." She paused. She began to pick the white petals off the flower she held, letting them fall between her fingers to the grass. "I digress. We are all introduced to new skills at a young age, whether they seem relevant to us in hindsight or not. You, for one, learned to use a sword."
"I see."
I found myself watching the woman again. I knew it was rude, but I could not help but find the way that she peeled the daisies of petals attractive.
This is trivial, Haytham.
I'm only looking at her.
Did your mother not teach you it is rude to stare? Besides, if you're going to stay here for now, say something. Don't be a waste of space.
What do I say?
Compliment her?
On what?
Her ability to keep the children entertained?
"The children of your village, they are a lively bunch, no?"
That was pathetic.
"They never seem to run out of energy," Ziio sighed happily. "They are always asking after me to chase them."
"I never took you for a nanny."
"Meaning?"
"You're very good with the children."
She smiled that little coy smile that always made me fall a little deeper. "Thank you. But...once again, you sound surprised!"
"Do I?"
"Yes," she laughed.
"Pardon me. Just...you didn't..." how could I put this while not wishing to offend Ziio? "You didn't exactly appear, erm...gentle when we met."
She blinked. To my surprise, she didn't seem offended at all. "I was only wary of you because of the recent British behaviour toward my people," she shrugged. "It was all natural instinct. I did not want to show any sign of weakness." Ziio picked another flower and examined it. "Like all of nature. If you are not tough, you will not last the winter. Or any season."
"I had not thought of that." This woman sure did give me food for thought. I knew it was ridiculous to ask, but I had to check: "You do trust me now, of course?"
"What do you think?" she said dryly, nudging my arm. But I knew that she was being playful. That in itself answered my question.
Ziio's face became serious again. "Yes. Of course I trust you." And, to my amazement, she let the daisy slip out of her hand. She placed it into my own palm and squeezed it. I felt my heart tighten to bursting point. "What reason would I have not to trust you?"
I fought the raging nerves that washed away my senses, looking deep into those truthful brown eyes. "Well...I am of a completely different nationality to you, a completely different culture, different beliefs, plenty of deadly weapons under my belt...you get the idea."
"This is nothing new to me." She tightened her grip on my hand.
"I..." once again my words were lost somewhere in my throat. "Well, I suppose you have nothing to fear, then."
"I do not fear you. Quite the opposite." Ziio's gaze was fixed on my eyes.
"What do you mean?"
She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "I find you amusing."
"You do?"
"Yes."
Thank her! Thank her!
I...I can't.
Find your voice.
"Thank you." Our eyes met again. In the deep brown irises I reflected on all we had been through and done: how not long ago if I had been looking at her, Ziio's face would've been sombre and troubled (though she concealed her fear largely well). Now her face was tender and...affectionate.
No. It seemed to far-fetched. But I knew it was true. There was a hidden message about her today somewhere. If only I could decipher it.
I left for Boston not long after. Ziio insisted I visit her again. But would that be too suspicious? I remember being terrified of how fishy my absence had seemed to the other four men. Well at that moment in time it didn't matter. This, I thought, was the most emotional meeting Ziio and I have had yet.
DADADAHHHHHHH! I'm so sorry for the lengthy wait for Chapter 10. I've been so busy with my Youtube channel, school and other stuff. But don't think I abandoned YHMW! I haven't and I won't!
I hope you like it. :)