was able to unlock all of Kael’s encryptions,” he deflected quickly.
My brows shot up. “She outsmarted Kael?”
“So it would seem.” Maru was proud. He gave a sly grin that was quickly erased by a yawn.
How could he be tired? There was no way I would be able to sleep, knowing that Enoch was out there hunting my counterparts. I ignored the anxious thrumming in my chest. He would kill Abram. As awful as he’d been to me, I knew now that some of it was due to his training and conditioning. Kael turned him into my enemy, erasing some of the actual events that pitted us against each other, while reinforcing others. He trained Abram to hate me. Trained him to kill me. But I didn’t understand why.
Abram came pretty close a few times back in the arena. On multiple occasions, he would’ve ended me if it hadn’t been for Maru’s intervention. Although I only remembered a few close calls, I realized they were just the tip of a bigger iceberg I could only now comprehend because I’d looked beneath the water’s surface. Somehow, time travel awakened something in Abram that Kael could no longer suppress.
The fire slowly died down to a glowing pile of embers. Maru nudged me. “You should rest.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”
He laid down on a fur Kohana provided and I stretched out on another. I closed my eyes, listening for what felt like hours, until Maru’s breathing became slow and even. When I opened them again, I found that Kohana’s were fixed unflinchingly on me.
Chapter Five
Eve
Kohana motioned for me to leave the tipi. He led the way, holding the flap open until I was outside, and then gently let it down again. Maru snored lightly inside.
Kohana gestured to a separate tipi a couple feet away. “What do you want?” I whispered.
“You must tell me exactly what you saw.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
“Because you were in two visions I received in the spring.”
I ticked my head back. “How?”
He gestured to the second tipi again, so I went inside. A second fire smoldered in the center, smoke swirling up and out of the top between the poles encircling us. I settled on one side of the fire and Kohana positioned himself across the smoke from me. He tossed a bundle of herbs into the flames and white smoke poured out, thick and writhing.
“Is that why you won’t let me out of your sight?”
He nodded once.
“What did I do in your visions?” It must have been horrible. The waves of tension flowing from him were overwhelming at times.
He replied, “Don’t lie to me and tell me you only saw crows. I know better.”
I swallowed, wondering how I would explain any of it to him.
“I will give you part of my first vision, but you must give me part of yours in return. And you must be honest. I think you’ll understand my concern once you hear what I’m about to tell you.”
I realized Kohana was making a peace offering, and I appreciated it and respected him all the more for it. Letting out a pent-up breath, I closed my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You fell from the sky, not in a suit of glowing white, but in one that was as black as the raven’s,” he began. “I will tell you what this means to my people, because it may mean something entirely different to you. I’ve found that all peoples have their own legends and histories. Often, they are similar, despite the differences among nations and tribes. This is ours: Once, ravens were stark white, and they were troublemakers. The birds would warn buffalo of hunting parties and our people would go hungry. Eventually, our people began to starve. Until one day, one of our warriors caught the troublesome raven and threw him into a fire. He emerged from the flames with all his feathers blackened with soot. But it wasn’t ash and soot at all. He’d been transformed. It was punishment for his past harshness against us. From that day forward, he was tasked with warning our chief of anything that might destroy us. He was not allowed to use his voice in any way that might harm our people. From that point forward, we have been able to feed ourselves as we pleased without the bird’s interference. The Lakota have flourished.”
“I’m no bird,” I told him, feeling his story creep beneath my skin.
“And you are no mere girl.”
He was right.
“There is