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A beat of silence resounded between Namo and Martin. As much as he was loath to disclose information about the relationship between Fadina and him, knew he had to say something. “Martin? Please, answer me,” she pleaded, using his full first name despite the difficulty of the rhotic consonant. The hurt on her face threatened to grow, heartbeat by heartbeat. “Are you friends with the humans who killed Uno’opan?”

The man weighed his options. He didn’t want to relive the past any more than he already did on a daily basis, nor did he want to make a scene for the fauns around him, especially considering his presence in the village and at this meeting was relying entirely on their good graces. Selfishly, myopically, the man was most interested in kicking the can down the road as a matter of preserving the fragile façade he had constructed for himself. But as her trauma-stricken visage made evident, he had to at least assuage her fear of the worst. “No. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Namo. I know the woman well… but even to say I hate her fucking guts is the understatement of the century.” It was all he could do to suppress a venomous sneer, but the discomfort of the situation caused the man to scratch an itch on his nape uneasily. “So let’s pay attention and we can find out more. I promise I can explain later,” he said, hoping it would be a reasonable compromise.

Namo listened patiently as the human man muttered his vindictive piece, giving a visible sigh of relief when he finished. It seemed that she was placated by Martin’s response. She resumed translating for Martin, but the reports on the descriptions of the assailants were vague and occasionally contradictory. What seemed most consistent, and most important, were that they numbered six and that Fadina Afzal, or someone matching her description to an uncanny degree, counted herself among them. Whether the remaining five humans were complicit in the murders—and who was ultimately responsible for them—was still unclear.

“Your representatives have put together a list of things we need to do to protect ourselves and seek justice,” Namo interpreted, as each elder recited one of the five initiatives, perhaps signaling the responsible individual for that effort: “First, we must arm ourselves to protect against outsiders who seek to do us harm, and put into practice better measures to ensure we don’t experience the same hardship a second time. Second, we must assemble a group to meet with the humans of Fordham and request reparations. Third, we must send word to the nearby villages, especially Uat’sn. Fourth, we must gather to honor the chief and his family and prepare them for their journey to the stars. Finally, we must select a new chief who will lead us to a brighter future.”

Martin stood, impulsively, as if he were thrust upright by the whims of an unseen puppetmaster, rather than his own force of will. “I’ll send word to Uat’sn. We can’t let them get away with this again.” Confident and commanding though he sounded, Martin immediately regretted the decision. Though the darkness of evening enshrouded all but the fauns closest to the torches that dotted the meeting area at regular intervals, he could see—and feel—the weight of incredulous stares from all around the gathering circle. He knew that most of the fauns likely didn’t understand him, and perhaps neither did the council of five. Luckily, Namo stood up next to him and pulled his arm close to her in a gesture of solidarity.

“Makatuuko Uat’sn jaano’osa denuule. Goko’o’sn aabane buunote andenuu,” she said, her voice firm, resolute even. There was no doubt in his mind that she had repeated his sentiments to the speaker, and it was clear that there was no doubt in her mind the implications of doing so, either. For a handful of beats of the man’s racing heart, the rushing of wind through the trees and the buzzing of insects provided the only commentary to the pair’s declaration. One of the elders cut through the relative stillness. Martin was surprised to hear that he spoke English, heavily accented though it was: “What gives you the right to think you can do so? We do not trust you.” He spoke calmly, and yet, his voice carried over the entire assembly with ease and esteem. “To think we would trust a human so soon after your kind betrayed our village? No, we will not allow it.”

With this rejection, Namo, still holding Martin’s arm, made to speak, but was interrupted by Uyutuk, who stood and took her arm in his, essentially forming a three-person chain. “Ke’eponuunamo maa Maa’ko jole denuu.” He, presumably anyway, asserted his faith in the pair. Namo confirmed this, whispering to the human “He is saying our word is his… um, responsibility.”

When Uyutuk joined in support of the two travelers’ claim, murmurs erupted throughout the crowd. Even the five representatives turned and discussed amongst themselves. In the absence of their governance, the murmurs in the crowd escalated to a clamor of confusion and indignation. Martin looked at Namo and Uyutuk. Namo returned his gaze and her ears gave a reassuring twitch as she smiled softly. Her smile contained a world of emotion. The sadness of the loss of a friend. Uncertainty in the midst of turmoil. But perhaps most importantly, faith in, and support for, Martin’s ambitious assertion. Martin smiled back, hoping to convey his gratitude for sticking with him despite him being a bit of a pessimistic wreck.

Before long, one of the speakers, the same individual who had dismissed the man’s request a few minutes prior, shouted over the crowd to return to order, raising hands in a gesture of authority. When the crowd resumed their quiet attention, he spoke to the travelers. “We thank you for your kindness, but our trust is not so freely given. It is not your place to perform this task for us. This is a matter for the people of Benuun only.”

Martin couldn’t say for sure what caused the upwelling of defiance he experienced in that moment. Perhaps he needed catharsis for the aching void he still felt from having his life torn out from beneath his feet. Perhaps he felt a sense of vindication to support the fauns who had experienced a similar raw loss. But after the conversation they had shared with a long glance, Martin felt inspired by the confidence that Namo had in him, in a moment where he would otherwise lacked it for himself. And so with Namo’s faith in him spurring his confidence he rallied, with an uncharacteristic firmness in his voice: “I know the pain you feel! I know exactly what it feels like to befriend a stranger, only for that stranger to shatter any hopes you might have had of a normal fucking life. Do you know how I know this?” He asked, rhetorically. His temper flared, spouting forth like volcanic cinders. “The woman with the silver dagger you’re looking for? Her name is Fadina Afzal. We worked together for a year. I thought of her as a friend and close colleague.” The man was all but panting, his momentum spiraling as he spat the cathartic words with minimal conscious effort. Namo’s tightening grip on his arm kept him tethered to reality, but only just. “But it turns out that bitch was nothing but a heartless traitor, a murderer. She killed my best friend, and for what? A measly book? And she framed me for it. She took my whole future from me, and-and from Davin!” Martin’s fists clenched at his sides. “I just want to help someone else before she takes it from them, too.” His voice cracked. It was all he could do to keep from spiraling back into the painful, bloody memories of the past. He paused, taking a moment to release a sharp exhale. “Please. Let me help in this shared battle. Let me keep another Osojuu’sno from being taken away.” A bit quieter, he added: “Let me keep another Davin Cotteril from being taken away.”

Though he could hardly make out the expression of the English-speaking council member in the flickering firelight, Martin could swear he saw his countenance soften as Martin told his story. He felt Namo squeeze his arm. “Oh…Maa’ko, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” she whispered remorsefully. Martin’s dam of mental composure was a pebble’s impact away from bursting. He wasn’t even sure why he felt so strongly about performing this task—why this felt personal to him. Part of him debated just walking out of the meeting and going his own way, like he was accustomed to doing since Davin had died. Namo’s grip on his arm never faltered though, and so he remained steadfast in the midst of the opposition from the council. They deliberated for a moment longer and immediately the crowd filled the silence with more puzzled rumblings. The villagers seated in front of him stared at him wordlessly, accusingly. His status as the sole human among a village of several hundred fauns notwithstanding, Martin felt alienated, made even worse by the fact that he and the two other fauns were the only people other than the councilors who were standing.

After the five had finished deliberating again, they turned back to Martin. “If what you say is true, we wish to offer our sympathy. We should…discuss…after the meeting ends.” Martin could tell that the faun was trying, with some difficulty, to find the right words to convey the formal nature of the discussion.

Martin gave a short bow of respect and uttered, simply and devoid of feeling: “Thanks for considering my request.” He turned to look at the other two, who were watching him. With a nod, he gestured for the two fauns adjacent to him to take a seat. The councilors recomposed themselves and attempted to resume whatever unwritten agenda they had, now that they had thwarted the interloping human’s disruption. Presumably, the representatives lectured on anticipated plans to assemble a delegation to Fordham and other resolutions the council had established prior. However, Martin couldn’t pay attention. As they sat, Namo had adjusted her grip on Martin’s arm to scoot closer and leaned her head on his left shoulder. Her locks, which she had kept down after brushing them earlier, flowed along the length of his arm. They shared the silence between them, and Martin was too bashful to look at her or otherwise acknowledge the gesture, yet too drained to distance himself from her embrace. In truth, he took comfort in the small but deep intimation of empathy and shared grief.

When the meeting concluded, Uyutuk and Sonoko had a hushed, heated conversation as the villagers gathered for the assembly slowly departed. Martin surmised, in the absence of understanding Kepmuun, that Sonoko was none too pleased about her husband putting himself on the chopping block for Martin and Namo. The human was torn between thanking him for the well-intentioned affirmation and apologizing to them both for potentially making matters worse for the man. While Uyutuk pleaded his case before his wife and son, Martin said to Namo: “Could I ask you something?”

“Course, what is it?”

“Could you please thank Uyutuk for his support? But also, tell him this is something that I need to do, and I don’t want to get him involved when he has a wife and kid to look after. They need him more than you and I do.”

Namo nodded in agreement. Uyutuk’s back was turned to her, so she put a gentle hand on his shoulder, interrupting his conversation with his wife. He turned around as she diplomatically translated Martin’s request. Uyutuk made to object, but after realizing he was outvoted four to one, he reluctantly dropped his protests. Namo said a few more words and gave the family a hug before bidding them farewell, at least for now. As they departed, Namo turned to Martin. “I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em back at their mogo’sn once we finish chattin’ with the elders.”

“Thank you, Namo.”

“But there’s one more thing.” Her voice carried a stern tone to it that matched her expression.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t say that this is something ‘you’ need to do. Because I need to do it too. We should do it together—I mean, I want us to do it together. It means a lot to me too.”

Martin could sense something deeper than just the loss of her friend that spurred on her conviction. Maybe it was the faith she had in him. Maybe it was some other piece of her past, held close lest the lessons it taught be forgotten. In the absence of being able to discern her full motivation, all Martin could do was accept her. “Okay, Namo. This is something we need to do.”

The pair made their way upstream of the departing crowd, to the ring in the center of the village square. The five council members were discussing a matter amongst themselves. As Martin and Namo approached, the councilors finished their conversation, then turned in sequence to regard the travelers. He recognized the faun who spoke English: a gray-haired man with a long, thin beard pulled into a bundled ponytail. He was gaunt of visage and, though at some point he was likely taller than Martin, his bowed back betrayed an advanced age perhaps beyond that of the remaining village elders. He wore a vibrant cotton robe that gave an ebullient appearance to the otherwise formal and magisterial role of clan representative. The remaining fauns dressed similarly, which Martin found striking and in poor taste due to their leader having been assassinated that night. He supposed it was a cultural thing. Other than the English-speaking representative, there were two men and two women, three of whom were middle-aged, but one woman looked not much older than Namo did. She was also the only woman he had seen in the village who was visibly pregnant. One of the older men loudly masticated something. The smacking of his gums sounded a bit rude to Martin but, again, perhaps it was a cultural thing.

There was a moment of silence as Martin regarded the elders. The man sought to smooth things over a bit, perhaps break the ice, with an expression of gratitude. “You know, I wanted to thank you for hearing my request, despite us being outsiders and me being a human.”

The elder who spoke English quickly translated to the others, then without waiting for one to reply, returned: “And we, also, wish to thank you for your open speaking. If what you say is true, then we all have lost people important to us because of the treachery of these bandits.” He gestured in front of them. “Please, sit.”

Martin and Namo did as asked, and the village leaders accompanied the pair. The smoldering brazier in the direct center of the village square provided a flickering back light to the conversation. The elderly faun gestured to the human and the faun next to him in turn. “So you are Martin, and you are Ke’eponuunamo?” The pair nodded in unison, and the elder continued: “We must ask that you tell us about your history with this woman who wielded the silver blade. Then we will decide if your claims are true and that you are fit to represent us.”

Martin faltered. He realized that he had entered a crisis of his own making. Earning the favor of the elders would require him to disclose, for the first time to anybody, the events that led to him abandoning his comfortable life. On the other hand, he had spent nearly two years running from the specter of his past, and what did he have to say for it? A penniless existence as a layabout and an outlaw? As difficult as the soliciation was, Martin reasoned that, here in Benuun, there were likely to be as few consequences for sharing Afzal’s treachery and Davin’s murder, and his role in it, as anywhere. Almost in resignation, Martin gazed into the fire behind the village elders and steadied his breath. With a blink of his eyes, all-too-familiar shapes pirouetted to life amidst the roaring flames.