Tears burning in her eyes, Chimípu rushed into the bedroom of the Wamifuko home and headed straight for the bed. “Great Shimusogo Hyonèku!”
Hyonèku had been propped up against a wooden headboard. Most of his body was covered in blood-soaked bandages. The first thing Chimípu focused on was a cut that went from the right side of his face, underneath the bandage over his right eye, and then down the other side close to his neck. She had seen enough fights and deaths to know how close he had come to his end.
He looked at her and gave a weak smile. “Mípu… you made it.” His voice cracked and he drew in a wet, gurgling breath.
Chimípu dropped her travel pack near the foot of the bed and then sat down next to him. She started to reach for him but then rested a hand on her dirty leg. “What happened?”
“They attacked us without warning. There were… so many.” He coughed violently before he continued, “they killed Ríshi.”
Tears ran down his face. He went to wipe them off but his arm ended just below his shoulder with a bloodied bandage. He stared at it, the tears racing down his cheeks. “They killed my wife. They just killed her because of what you and Jìmo found.”
Chimípu's sorrow stopped. A strange elation rose up in her throat, choking her off. “R… Rutejìmo is okay?”
Immediately, she felt guilty for being thankful. She was supposed to care for everyone, not just one. Even if it was Rutejìmo.
A strange look came over Hyonèku. “Y-Yes, he is okay.”
Chimípu clutched his blanket with her effort to fight the tears in her eyes. Everyone guessed that Rutejìmo would have been the first to be killed by Kosòbyo assassins. The familiar sorrow that haunted her during her run came back, she hated when Rutejìmo's brother, Desòchu, suggested they all take separate paths toward home to ensure one survived.
“He was right there yesterday.” Hyonèku gestured to the middle of the floor.
Chimípu glanced over where she saw scorch marks on the floor. They were from resonance feedback; someone besides a Wamifūko had used powerful magic inside the room. She frowned, Rutejìmo wasn't powerful enough to react to anyone's magic, his powers were too weak.
Confused, she looked back at Hyonèku. “I don't understand.”
Hyonèku slumped back, panting. “He was… he spoke for Mifúno.”
Chimípu's blood ran cold. She shook her head as she spoke in a whisper, “He can't do that. No one speaks for the desert. Anyone who tries dies. The desert kills them.”
His one good eye shimmered with tears. “We weren't going to let him… tend to Ríshi but he insisted. He… spoke for the desert and survived.”
Chimípu gulped and glanced at the scorch marks. She couldn't imagine it. After a second, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Where is he?”
From the door, Gichyòbi answered, “He went home. Right after the ritual, he started running.”
Chimípu opened her eyes to inspect the warrior. Gichyòbi had removed his helm to show an older man with laugh lines that belied the sadness in his green eyes. She could feel the energy inside him, a disharmonious energy that conflicted with her own; if she used her powers near him, it would have created similar scorch marks to the ones on the floor.
He stood away from the door frame and crossed his arms over his shoulders.
She stood up. “I have to go, Jìmo needs me.”
“You can't,” croaked Hyonèku. “It's almost night. You can't run.”
Chimípu tensed. She could feel the sun's last power. It was only a few minutes before it dipped below the horizon and half the clans in the deserts would lose their powers. She shook her head, “I'll run under my own power.”
“How long have you been running?” Hyonèku's voice reminded her of when he was schooling her as a little girl.
She looked away.
“How long, girl?”
“Three days.” She rubbed the cut on her shoulder.
As she remained silent, the sun fell below the horizon. As one, all three in the room let out a soft sighs as they lost their powers. The discord of energies faded into a dull throb and the itching in her joints relented.
She struggled with her thoughts. While she could run under her own power, it was exhausting. She was already tired from running for so long and a night of racing would only make it worse.
Hyonèku whispered, “He'll be okay… for tonight.”
Chimípu shook her head, both craving and fighting the desire for a soft bed and warm food.
“He's… Rutejìmo. He'll survive.”
With a sigh, she nodded. “I'll stay.”