The Trap

Ronan did not stay idle.

He recognized the pirates' intentions quickly enough and hid in the shadows to watch them. When they did not leave, but dropped anchor in a sheltered stretch of water, he knew they would likely land at night.

He woke the two Naathi beauties and told them what he had seen. The truth was close to what he had guessed. What surprised Ronan was learning that he had washed ashore on Naath.

The Isle of Butterflies was very familiar to him. During his study of Sothoryos, he had paid special attention to it. In the story he knew, Daenerys's handmaid Missandei had also come from this island.

The nature of the Naathi had doomed them to suffering. They loved music, hated war and killing, and were said to harm neither animals nor trees. They lived on fruit and vegetables, and the world considered them the most obedient slaves imaginable.

The pirates' purpose was obvious. When Dessa and Inara learned that pirates were landing again, their reaction was fierce. No one wished to be made a slave, yet they had no way to stop such evil from happening.

Kindhearted Dessa even struggled with whether to take Ronan back to her people. He was an outsider. The longer he stayed on Naath, the more danger he faced.

The three of them had met by chance, but the intimacy of the morning had already created a bond.

Inara explained her worries and urged him to find a chance to leave. They did not know Ronan already understood Naath's "customs." Butterfly fever concerned him, of course, but walking away from this situation was not his style.

If he controlled his time on the island, he should not be unlucky enough to suffer badly.

Besides, the fire inside him might help. Heat killed disease, at least in theory.

Seeing their lover willing to risk his life by staying, both women were deeply moved. Emotion did not erase worry, however. They agreed that if any sign of illness appeared on him, he had to leave at once.

Ronan accepted helplessly. It was clear both women had begun tying their hearts to him. Since that was the case, he had to repay them properly.

Scouting and jungle fighting were his strengths. After observing the area, Ronan could roughly predict where the pirates would land and what route they would take.

Once Dessa and Inara described the direction of their village, he began using the terrain to build traps, large and small.

It was the first time the two women had seen a man so clever with his hands. Inara teased that if he ever chose to weave silk, he might become a master.

Naathi silk was famous across the world, but excessive slave-taking in recent years had made it almost vanish from the markets.

Dessa watched her lover work, setting traps that looked dangerous even before they were finished, and suspicion flickered in her heart. She said nothing, but curiosity had taken root.

"Enough. You do not need to stay with me," Ronan said. "These pirates should not make it out."

"You are not coming back to the village with us?" Inara asked in surprise.

"No. I would like to keep my life."

He said it lightly, as a joke. In truth, he feared being surrounded by the Peaceful People would only tie his hands.

Perhaps he was judging them too quickly, but the Naathi had not earned their reputation as the most easily enslaved people in the world for no reason.

Passive defense was worse than striking first. With the traps he had prepared, Ronan was confident he could leave every pirate on the island.

Sensing everything he had done for them, Dessa could no longer hold back. She threw herself into his arms.

She regretted doubting him. Even if he had a dangerous identity, he was still a man worth trusting. At least toward her and Inara, his feelings were real.

Ronan was not skilled at comfort. He was better at giving death to enemies.

After parting from the two women, he slowly found an old familiar rhythm. He smeared himself with camouflage and pulled on a crude jungle cloak of leaves and brush.

Now, even if he stood before Dessa and Inara, they might not notice him at first glance.

With time to spare, Ronan made several warning devices, then climbed into a well-hidden tree and rested. Night arrived.

Not long after sunset, the impatient pirates came ashore one after another. Under the remaining light, they moved toward their chosen route.

This was an experienced crew. They had clearly hunted slaves on Naath before. This time, however, their luck was poor.

They had not gone far when a thin pirate screamed. The one-armed captain went closer, cursed, and walked away. The thin pirate pulled a wooden spike from his foot with a hiss and muttered about bad luck.

When his companions smirked, anger overtook him. "What are you looking at? Bad luck, that's all!"

Before he could finish, his body flew into the air and slammed back down. This time there was blood, and plenty of it. A sharpened stake had pierced the back of his skull, and bloody foam spilled from his mouth.

The others could not see clearly, but the result told them enough. This was no accident.

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