Stolen Innocence
Chapter 9
"Climb, Talia. Climb and don't look back!"
Talia heard Bane's words as clearly as she had the day of her escape from the pit. However, she had looked back; she had seen his sweet lips form the word, "Good-bye," just before he was finally overpowered by the inmates, no fear in his eyes, only resignation for himself and hope for her. But this time, in her nightmare, she stopped climbing; she rejected freedom, she forsook finding her father. Instead, she went back to help Bane, knowing even as she descended that a ten-year-old girl would have no chance against so many enraged men. But she had to go back to him; she could not abandon him after all he had done for her and her mother. If he were to die, she would die with him.
With a war cry, she leapt upon the writhing, shouting, cursing pile of prisoners who had borne Bane down to the stone floor of the bawdi. She kicked, clawed, punched and bit, doing everything she could to reach Bane, to touch him one last time, to let him know she had not deserted him. The men turned on her. Hands reaching, tugging, grasping; leering eyes and wet, savage mouths, foul words, words they had once directed at her mother. She struggled wildly, terror now overpowering her anger. Talia screamed, but it was her mother's screams that she heard, echoing from that terrible day when she had been murdered. Then Talia saw Bane, lying where he had fallen, bloody, battered, almost unrecognizable, unmoving. And she called desperately to him, over and over as the inmates shredded her clothes.
"Talia…Talia, wake up."
A hand upon her shoulder, shaking her, gently at first then stronger until she fled the nightmare. Her eyes opened to find Akar hovering above her, a worried frown upon his scarred face, beyond him the gray interior of the cave. He sighed in relief and rested back on his haunches.
"What is it?" she groggily asked, a headache pounding against her temples.
"You were shouting…for Bane. You were having a dream."
Talia put a hand to her warm forehead, grimaced. "A nightmare."
"Are you all right?"
Unsure, she sighed, pushing herself to a sitting position against her pack, which she had been using for a pillow. A thermal blanket covered her, but she felt chilled. Her mind moved slowly, reluctantly; she felt as if a part of her was still back in the pit. Perhaps it always would be.
"What were you dreaming about?" Akar asked, sitting on the cave floor next to her but not too close. Behind him, his bedroll was already neatly put away.
Talia noticed morning light trickling in from the mouth of their hideaway; she had slept later than she had expected to. Instead of the anticipated morning hunger, she felt a slight wave of nausea.
Akar continued to press, "Do you think Bane is in trouble? Maybe that's why you dreamed about him." Worry etched Akar's dark face, for he had always believed in the prophetic powers of dreams.
"No," Talia was quick to assure. "It was a…a memory."
"A bad one. You sounded afraid."
She frowned and avoided his scrutiny, settled back down beneath the blanket; after all, there was no real reason to get up if she was not hungry yet.
"Was it about prison?"
Talia wanted to close her eyes and sleep again, but she feared doing so would allow the nightmare back in.
"You never talk about it," Akar murmured, his single hand plucking aimlessly at the laces of his boots. He sounded hurt, surprising Talia.
"I do…sometimes."
"With Bane."
"Yes."
He hesitated, eyes diverted. "You can talk to me, too…about anything. I know I'm only a servant, but…I'm a good listener, and I would never tell anyone else what you say to me."
Though Akar's humility did not surprise Talia, the injury in his voice did. "I know you wouldn't," she said. "I'm sorry. It's just not something that's easy to talk about. And Papa has always said that I need to master my bad memories, so I figure the less I think or talk about them the faster I'll forget them."
"I understand what your father means, but you'll never forget them. They are a part of you. That's what Bane says."
"Does Bane talk to you about his past?"
"He has before but not recently and not a lot."
This did not altogether shock Talia, for she knew Bane and Akar trusted one another. Perhaps she should learn to trust Akar more, too. She had always kept him at arm's length, not only because she knew he had a crush on her and she was unsure how to respond, but because she sensed her father preferred that she remember her privileged status as daughter of the Demon's Head. And it was obvious from Akar's words a moment ago that he sensed his master's desire as well. During the past two years, Talia and Akar occasionally spent time together—ice skating, playing chess or other games—but those activities always took place in the common room or under the watchful eye of an escort if outside of the monastery walls. Now, here they were alone together, both defying her father and both subject to punishment once they returned to the monastery. Akar's sacrifice for her made Talia feel not only guilty for putting him in such a position but also made her appreciative of him as a friend, respecting him for being a co-conspirator. Perhaps now was the time to show her appreciation by sharing some of herself with him.
"The dream I had was about the day I escaped the pit," she began. "But this time instead of climbing out and leaving Bane behind, I went back for him. I tried to save him, but it was too late; he was dead." She closed her eyes for a moment, saw Bane's face when the prisoners had ripped away his masking shemagh. "I should have gone back that day, Akar."
"No. You did the right thing; you did what Bane wanted you to do—you escaped."
"But at what cost? The inmates took their rage out on him since they couldn't get to me. If I had stayed—"
"If you had stayed, they would have killed you, and there's no guarantee they wouldn't have injured Bane anyway. He preferred death to living without you. Still does, I'm sure."
"But you heard Papa the other day—if he has his way, Bane and I will be living without each other anyway. He could even send him away from here, away from our home."
"Not if you obey your father and let Bane do his job. But this," he gestured around the cave, "this is not obeying your father. We should go back now."
Akar's return to insisting that she bow to her parent's will irritated her, curbed her inclination to expose her past and the emotions tied to it. She drew the blanket closer to her chin. "I'm not feeling very well this morning. It's best if I sleep a while longer."
Akar reached out, but then hesitated with his hand halfway between them, drawing a puzzled look from Talia. Of course to touch her bare flesh would be to break an unspoken rule, but, resolved, he laid his hand to her forehead. "You're warm. Do you have a fever?"
"No. I'm fine." Talia brushed his hand away, not because she was repulsed but because she wanted to dismiss his concern. "You sound like Choden. I just need some rest."
"If you are becoming sick, we need to go back home right now, before you get worse."
"Don't be silly; it's nothing. Now, let me sleep, and you'll see—I'll be better this afternoon."
"Talia—"
"Could you brew some fresh tea? That will make me feel better, too, I'm sure."
Akar sighed, started to say more, but Talia turned on her side, away from him, ending the conversation. Though she regretted her rudeness, she did not want him to suspect just how physically poor she indeed felt. He muttered something in his native tongue under his breath, an impertinence he would never dare back at the monastery. Perhaps, she wondered, I am rubbing off on Akar. Papa would not be pleased by that either.
###
Bane, Temujin, and Acayo made good time in the first half of the steamy day. Acayo led them along narrow paths, ones she said were traveled by nomadic pygmies, the same people whose huts they had left behind that morning. By the afternoon, however, Acayo's adrenaline had worn off, and her pace slowed considerably.
"May I rest a little?" Acayo asked Temujin.
"I prefer we go a bit farther first."
Bane wanted to plead the girl's case but knew better. Instead he said, "If you have no objections, Acayo, I can carry you."
She hesitated. "I will tire you."
"No. You are little more than skin and bones, child. How could a feather tire me?"
Temujin nodded to her. "He is the strongest man I know, Acayo. You won't tax him."
She frowned, having stopped to look at Bane with concern.
"Come, come," Temujin urged. "We are losing time."
Bane waited for her, using his pointed gaze and raised eyebrows to coax her to hurry. Finally, she gave in, her bare feet making no sound over the forest floor as she came back to him and stood there, shifting her weight uneasily, as if uncertain how he would carry her when he was already weighed down by pack and weapons.
Bane crouched slightly to position himself more at her height. "Put your arm around my neck."
Acayo swallowed hard.
"There is nothing to fear, child."
Her eyes flashed briefly to his. He could see that she wanted to believe him, but one sentence from a stranger could not erase months of abuse at the hands of Mutara.
"My little one, the girl I told you about," he said, "she weighs about the same as you, I would reckon. I carry her about like nothing. She enjoys teasing me by telling me I am her steed." His smile tugged at the corners of his eyes and chased away some of Acayo's tension.
Tentatively she slipped her right arm around his neck. Her nostrils flared slightly with her increased respiration, and she seemed confused over where to look, whether into his eyes or at his mask, so close to her.
"Now, then," Bane said quietly, "here we go."
As gently as he could, he lifted her, holding her as if she were a babe. Indeed, she weighed close to Talia; though older and taller, she lacked Talia's muscle—beneath his fingers, there was little more than flesh over Acayo's bones. The thought of Mutara withholding food from her fired Bane's blood once again.
They started out in silence, Temujin falling in behind so Acayo could see what lay ahead. She remained stiff in Bane's arms and trembled slightly. He searched for something to say that would distract her from her fears.
"We have more in common than just our scars," he began but said no more until she gained the courage to meet his gaze. Her eyes reminded him of Akar, and he hoped the boy was keeping Talia out of trouble. "But you will never guess what that is," he continued, then waited again.
As expected, Acayo's curiosity pushed through her trepidation, and she asked, "What is it?"
He smiled in satisfaction. "Remember how you told me about your father, about how he rejected you?"
"Yes."
"Well, it was the same with my father."
"Because of your scars?"
"He never saw my scars, not the physical ones at least, though he did see the mask, an earlier version, that is."
"Then why didn't he want you?"
Bane kept his focus forward, always attentive to their surroundings. After all, there was no guarantee that Mutara was indeed heading to his next supply dump; he could be in the vicinity, could have laid snares for anyone pursuing him.
"My parents had been separated by unfortunate circumstances, so my father had been unaware of my birth. He knew nothing about me for years until I managed to locate him and present myself. I was a grown man by then, so there was no need for him to feel obligated to provide for me, and our meeting proved that he had no desire to provide for me emotionally either."
"Was he cruel to you? Did he say mean things?"
"No, it wasn't like that at all. It was just…too late for us. I'm certain if he had been there for my birth, if my parents had not been apart, our relationship would have been much different. He is not an evil man, not like his own father was, but his world is much different than mine, and there is no room in it for me."
"Do you see him still?"
"No. We live far from one another. It is best that way. He has his path, and I have mine. Very different worlds." Bane realized Acayo had relaxed, the tremors gone from her limbs.
"Maybe one day you will see him again."
"No. That time is past. I am no longer the same man who sought him out." He caught her sad frown and asked, "Do you see your father?"
"Yes, now and then. But he does not speak to me; he does not look at me."
Bane's fingers twitched with a desire to destroy the man. "Is your aunt kind to you?"
"Yes."
"I imagine she was devastated by your kidnapping."
Bane hoped his leading words would encourage Acayo to open up to him, to free some of the poison Mutara had forced upon her. But she offered nothing, only reached up to aimlessly touch her brown headscarf, which she had donned before leaving her hut that morning; it vaguely reminded him of Melisande's shemagh. Acayo's other hand moved slightly against the back of his neck, as if seeking a better hold.
"Well," he said after the awkward silence, "soon your aunt's misery will be over, and you will be back in her classroom."
"What if she does not want me…after this?" Acayo murmured. "Will she be ashamed, like my father?"
Bane wanted to assure her otherwise, but he was a stranger to her culture. He had no idea what the reaction of those in her village or town would be, and he certainly was not going to give her false hope in matters foreign to him. Yet he desired to offer something.
"When this is over, Acayo, we will not simply abandon you to whatever fate awaits you back in Uganda. You are assisting us in our mission. We, and our brothers, will show you our appreciation, rest assured."
"Bane," Temujin spoke from behind, his tone one of caution, and so Bane tempered any other comment on the subject.
Acayo perhaps picked up on Temujin's meaning, for she offered no reaction. Perhaps she simply did not believe Bane. Yet regardless of Temujin, regardless of even the League, Bane vowed that he would not forsake this girl. Without his benevolence after this was over, she could very well be completely on her own in the world. His mind began to consider a number of options for Acayo.
He marched on for several minutes, his senses sifting through the natural sounds of the forest and its population for any manmade noises, all the while thinking about Acayo and a myriad of other things, including Talia. His mind had a great capacity for multi-tasking, never being compromised by varied thoughts and ideas. The next time he looked down at Acayo, he found her asleep, her jaw slackening, her head drooping to the side, resting against his shoulder.
"Bane," Temujin said. "Wake her. We can't go blundering through the trees without her direction."
"Perhaps let her sleep just a moment or two," Bane said quietly over his shoulder, away from her ears.
"Bane," Temujin growled.
Bane frowned, then gently shook Acayo awake. As her eyelids fluttered open, he murmured, "I'm sorry, but we need your guidance."
"Yes, of course," she mumbled groggily. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to—"
"It's all right. We understand."
She looked around, as if to gauge their position, then seemed to realize they had not gone far since she had dozed off. Again she relaxed and tried to stay awake, turning her attention to Bane's mask.
"You are breathing harder," she said.
"It is the humidity."
"Or because you are carrying me."
"No. I told you—your weight is nothing to me. I have never been in an environment such as this. It is taking some time for me to acclimate."
"So you come from some place cold? I cannot place your accent."
"My place of origin was populated by people of many different tongues."
Acayo studied his mask, lifted her hand once as if compelled to touch it, but she refrained. "It must be very uncomfortable, especially in this heat. It is very tight, I can see."
It had been a long time since anyone had spoken with pity about his affliction, and such sentiments made him uncomfortable, so he offered no response. Acayo seemed to understand, perhaps because of her own deformities. His sudden reticence, however, backfired when the silence allowed Acayo to drift off to sleep once again. Bane turned so Temujin could see, causing his SO to sigh in capitulation.
"Very well; we will stop." Temujin raised a warning finger. "One hour only."
Though his commander spoke in a gruff tone, Bane saw compassion in his expression as Temujin shrugged out of his pack and set it on the ground as Acayo's pillow. Gently Bane knelt without awakening her and lay her on the shaded ground. Then he shed his own pack and settled nearby, Temujin on his other side.
"Before you rebuke me for my solicitude," Bane said quietly, "remember, you are the one who insisted on bringing Acayo with us."
"I am well aware of my command decisions, Bane." Temujin drank from his canteen before continuing. "But there is something you are unaware of, something I've kept silent about and probably still should, especially considering my orders. However, I think I need to share this with you."
Bane raised a curious eyebrow.
"Think back to when Rā's briefed us."
"Very well." It seemed so long ago; Bane felt as if he had been gone from Talia for a year.
"He asked you about the children, if he needed to be concerned about your possible reaction to…unfortunate circumstances arising."
Bane scowled. "I remember."
"And you assured him there was no reason for concern."
"There isn't."
Temujin's attention went to Acayo. "The presence of the children is the very reason why Rā's chose you for this assignment."
Bane stared at him, wondering if he had heard correctly.
"I reminded you this morning," Temujin said, "that we must do whatever is necessary to accomplish our mission. Though you have been initiated into the League, your training continues, as you know. That is why your first assignments are also tests, tests in which you must prove your worthiness to be in the field. This mission is the most difficult one yet for you because of your bond with Talia."
"Talia isn't here," Bane growled.
Temujin nodded toward Acayo. "She might as well be."
"Again, I will remind you that you were the one who insisted she come along. Are you saying that she is a part of some…test?"
"She is here because she is crucial to the success of the mission. However, whether she lives or dies is not crucial as long as our objective is achieved. I defended you to Rā's; I told him that I was confident in your judgment. But now," he gestured toward Acayo, "watching you with her, I wonder if perhaps Rā's al Ghūl's doubts are indeed well-founded."
"You told me to earn her trust. I believe I have, as much as possible in such a short time. Now you're chastising me for—"
"I'm doing no such thing, Bane. I'm merely letting you know that I expect you to be focused on only one thing here. You must be able to see the forest through the trees. Because of your life with Talia, your instincts demand that you protect Acayo; she reminds you not only of Talia but of yourself because of her past trauma. In another situation, such instincts would be a noble trait, but here there is no room for such nobility. Not only must you be prepared for the worst happening, but you must allow it if it leads to acquiring our target."
Bane knew Temujin spoke wisdom, yet it was still an unsavory lesson to hear with Acayo sleeping mere feet away.
"You have no delusions about what you are, Bane, what we all are. We are instruments, tools, soldiers who follow orders, orders given with good reason and justice behind them. Objectives that serve many, not one. Mutara has done much more than harm one child. It is our job to stop him from hurting many more and to pay for the untold hundreds he directly or indirectly murdered. Must I say more?"
"No. And you had no need to say much of what you have. You are right—I harbor no delusions, Jin."
"Yet you make that girl promises of returning home, promises that, as an honorable man, you will feel strongly compelled to keep. But such promises are not a part of why we are here."
Swallowing the bile in his throat, Bane stared into the forest, wished he had never come here. "You've made your point, Jin," he grumbled.
Temujin paused, studied him, then nodded to himself. "Very well. Now, one of us might as well rest along with Acayo. And judging by the fire in your eyes, you have little ability to relax at this moment. So…" Temujin dragged Bane's pack over to use as a pillow. "Wake me in an hour. And, Bane…"
Begrudgingly Bane turned to him.
"Make sure it's an hour and not a minute more."