* * *
Did I mention that I was having this terrible feeling? A longing. A desire that wasn’t being fulfilled. It was centered on my gut as if something was yanking at the bottom of my heart. Cookies didn’t salve the yearning, even if someone had found a huge batch of some bagged kind that was still out-of-the-oven soft. I wasn’t the drinking type, so alcohol wasn’t an answer. (Besides which, Gideon had a rule about alcohol, too. It wasn’t going to be allowed for several months until everyone had worked out their mourning periods. It didn’t matter to me, but there were a few people who hankered for a beer after a hard day of work in the camp.) Reading the how-to-sword fight book put my unnamable feeling on the back burner for a little while. But after my eyes were tired from reading, it came back with a rush.
Putting a name to the yearning was the worst part. I think half the camp knew before I did. Elan walked past me a few days later and said, “He’ll be back soon.”
I said stupidly, “Who?”
Elan giggled and went to his class with Amanda. Shaking my head, I went to find a stick that I could use to start my stick fighting practice. I wasn’t going to start with the sword because I was more apt to cut off my leg than learn anything productive.
Then the firefly pixies came to me while I was painstakingly making a sparring dummy out of a log. I had found all the tools I needed in one of the sheds and was giving the process some intense thought. Finally, I decided to mount it with rope to a tall branch so it could swing freely.
Tomas the carpenter came to see what I was doing. “Oh, yeah. Good idea. Not boxing. Stick fighting, right?”
I nodded. “I need some help getting the dummy hanging.”
“Sure. I’ll get a ladder,” Tomas nodded genially at me. “You’re still a little flakey from being injured somehow, right?”
I nodded again, not so eagerly. Apparently, someone had resisted telling Tomas that story, or maybe it just hadn’t come up yet.
“Well then, Sophie,” he said. “I can give you some tips. I trained in a Philippine dojo when I was in the air force. Stick fighting is a fading art.” He considered. “Really fading now, unless we happen to run into a master who survived.”
“I’ve got a book, but,” I shrugged and let the words fade away. “You know. Books aren’t like real life.”
“Nosiree,” Tomas agreed. “We’ll make our own form, huh? You won’t mind if I pitch in?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t talk much, do you?” He laughed. “Do I need to ask why you want to learn all this?” He waved at the wooden form I had scrupulously created.
“Not everyone is friendly now,” I said succinctly.
“No,” Tomas said solemnly. “No, I reckon not. Hate to run into the fella who’s out for something other than the pure companionship of another human.”
Been there. Done that. Had the t-shirt.
Tomas looked at the pixies that were circling us. “Man, I ain’t never gonna get tired of seeing those little girls.” He smiled fondly. “They’re like magic.” He carefully shook his head as one of them tugged on his mustache. Apparently, the pixies thought his facial hair was very fascinating. “I’ll go get that ladder.”
I sighed and sat down on a fallen log near the small clearing I was using as a makeshift training arena. The pixies settled around me and buzzed restlessly as if they were slightly agitated.
Finally I perceived that they were excited. “Sak! Sak! Sak!” they cried at once as soon as it dawned on me.
I looked across the camp and saw the bicycles rolling into the parking lot. Several tired, dust-covered people on bikes with loaded trailers came to stops as they entered the campground proper. The scavengers had returned, and the name of my yearning had popped into my head. Oh dear, I thought. I missed him. What was wrong with me?
Even though twilight was on the camp, Zach climbed off the bicycle, and his unerring gaze found me across a solid acre of land. Our eyes locked, and it was like a beam of light that couldn’t be turned off.
And I shivered.