Those Who Walk the Flame Road
The boots next to the chair were visible, and easily recognizable as her own; the sight of them helped Balsa relax. Wind blew through the half-open window, carrying a hint of winter snow that reminded her of childhood mornings in Kanbal.
The air in the room was clear and clean, but Balsa still smelled blood and smoke. She realized that those smells had come to her from her nightmare. She was a murderer, and her dreams didn’t let her forget it.
Yesterday--last night?--she remembered sitting next to Chagum; he was talking, trying to soothe her, claiming that he’d made an alliance and that she didn’t have to fight. He clasped her knee and leaned forward.
“We’ll have peace soon. Why do you keep tormenting yourself?”
Chagum’s eyes then had not been the eyes of the warrior and general and world traveler: not the eyes of the man who had taken over New Yogo’s armies. No. They were the eyes of the innocent boy she’d saved, open and defenseless. Balsa couldn’t help but think of him as weak.
Balsa rolled over on her back and covered her face with her hands. “I need more sleep...”
She had said too much to Chagum yesterday: all useless petty things that she regretted saying now. She reminded herself that while Chagum was an adult and considered as one, he was still only seventeen years old. He was too young to be responsible for so many lives.
When I was seventeen, I had more than enough responsibility protecting my own life, never mind anyone else’s. Could I have managed even that without Jiguro’s help?
Balsa closed her eyes. Jiguro hadn’t seen her has a burden. Balsa knew that, but she remembered herself as young and stupid. She looked up at the ceiling of the darkened room, reliving the dream she’d awakened from. A dream of herself at fifteen years old...
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