Yugi chuckles. “My father paused just then because he looked up and saw that my mother was standing in the doorway watching us. ‘I, er, we have decided,’ my father said. ‘Is that not so, my wife? Yes, we, your mother and I, have decided that it is good for you to learn this thing. Is that not so, my wife? Yes, that is what I have decided.’”

CHAPTER 21

Footsteps

The night is darker than I’d expected. The full moon should have been lighting my way, but clouds must have blown in to cover the sky while Yugi and I were working together on learning my father’s syllabary.

As soon as he looked out of the door of his mother’s cabin and saw just how dark it was, Yugi turned to me.

“Uwohali,” he said, “my friend, it is later than we thought. You must spend the night here.”

“No,” I said. “It will be fine. I have walked the trail between your house and mine so many times that I could do so with my eyes closed. My mother is expecting me and will worry if I do not come home.”

So, despite his misgivings, I set out on my way.

At first, the walk seemed easy. Perhaps it was because we had made so much progress in our learning that I felt so sure of myself. And this was, indeed, a walk I’d made countless times before. But this night was unusually dark. So dark that I stumbled over a stone in the road and fell to my hands and knees. And that is when all of my certainty left me.

For in that moment before I began to rise to my feet again, I heard a sound behind me. It was a sound that sent a shiver down my back, a sound I recognized as footsteps. Only a few steps before whoever it was that followed me stopped. And the fact that those footsteps stopped worried me even more than hearing the sound of those feet following me.

I realize now how foolish I’ve been. I should have stayed at Yugi’s cabin. The silence behind me means that whoever it is, is trying to be unheard, matching their steps to mine. And what is even worse is that I am certain what I heard was not the sound of only one person walking, but at least two.

Even on the darkest night, the sky is always a bit brighter than the land. So I do something my uncle Red Bird taught me. I do not rise to my feet, instead, I put my head as close to the ground as possible and look back along the road. And, just as he taught me, I am able to see something. There, outlined against the sky, are the shapes of two people, no more than a stone’s throw behind me, both standing still and keeping quiet.