Click for Part 2: Peor
“Khriein.”
He was putting the finishing touches on the Arca, but he knew that voice; he had been waiting for this moment.
“Anthropy?” He dropped his tools and came out from behind the boat; she stood in the doorway, crying. Tears were falling on his own cheeks as he wiped hers away, and they fell faster when he realized her face was bruised. He didn’t know how long the bruises had been there; she hadn’t let him this close to her since the Ophidia.
“I’m sorry Khriein,” she sobbed, “I should’ve trusted you.”
He brought her into the house and asked his boss’s wife to take care of her. “Give her everything she needs,” he instructed, “I’ll pay whatever it costs.” She gave her some clean clothes and showed her to the bath, with the promise of a hot supper to await when she finished.
They talked through everything that had happened since their engagement; the final part was when Ruhamah showed up at the barn.
She had told Anthropy of her discovery that her brother was really the who had sold her, not their father. He had gone along as though he had been captured too, just to keep up the lie. His plan was to leave before they ever got to the farm, but since he couldn’t convince Vates (the owner of the farm) to let him take Anthropy along, he waited til the only masters on guard were ones he could bribe. "Now," she told her remorsefully, "He is seeing another woman."
Ruhamah left after her report, pleading with Anthropy to escape with her, but she insisted on confronting him. He was intoxicated when he came back to the barn, as was often the case.
She asked him about it and he laughed.
She asked again and he beat her.
He had run out of steam and she had run from the barn as fast as her legs would take her.
The Arca set sail with two passengers the next morning.
***
Home.
It felt like forever since Anthropy last saw it, but there it sat, just the same. Khriein held her hand just as he had many times on the same path, though so much had changed. He left her in the care of her grateful parents that night, promising to return in the morning. The coming days were full of happy tears and reacquainting.
One-night Anthropy dreamed that someone was calling her name. She awoke, only to realize the voice was still there, calling. Just outside her window stood Peor.
“Ann!” He called.
She rushed to the window and whispered, “What are you doing here?” “I need to talk to you!” He begged, “Please open the window and let me in.”
Her better judgment pleaded with her to tell him to get lost, but her hands found the latch and undid it. Before she knew it, he was climbing in. He reached for her hands but she pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said, the pain in his voice was audible. “I made a mistake, I should never have let you go.”
“Why are you here?” Her voice trembled.
“I needed to see you. I have been wretched ever since you left.”
“You need to go,” Anthropy said, glancing behind her nervously. She let him out and went back to bed; the duration of her night was spent restlessly tossing.
Peor didn’t stay away, he made it a nightly routine to show up at her window and call; often she didn’t sleep until he had come and gone.
She decided not to trouble Khriein about it, but he could tell that something was troubling her. “Are you okay?” He would ask, and she would nod, smiling.
One night, after Peor had climbed in the window to escape the rain and was dripping all over her wood floor, he looked beyond her just long enough to make eye-contact with Khriein, who stood in the hallway just outside her room. He had come to retrieve a tool lent to Anthropy’s father, and he stared at Peor with calm disgust. Peor looked down at her smiling, pulling her closer. They whispered softly and Anthropy giggled. Looking up again, Khriein was gone.
“Ann, I have something to tell you.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m going back to the farm.”
She pulled away, concern written all over her face. “Why?”
“Justice.” His eyes were hard with resentment as he said this; a sentiment she well understood, though Khriein had encouraged her to forgive the masters. She knew Peor to be capable of giving them back what they gave.
“But Peor,” she countered her own thoughts as she quoted Khriein, “They will get what they deserve. Shouldn’t you move on?”
He shook his head, “I can’t. They didn’t just take my freedom from me, Ann. They took you.” A tear slipped down his cheek and he explained, “The damage they did to my mind was enough to make me drown my sorrows. If they hadn’t abused me I would never have lost to the drink, and I would never have lost you.”
An image of Khriein crying for her in the workshop passed through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. She knew if she thought about him, she would have to turn Peor away. She didn’t want to.
“Come with me,” he said abruptly, grasping her hands. “Let’s show them that we are stronger than they are. Let’s prove together that what they did to us was unforgivable.”
