Wild Sun

by Ehsan Ahmad

  “Sir?” said Triantaa.

  Vellerik had made his decision. “Triantaa, Dekkiran—take off, show them a way out.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Triantaa after a pause.

  “Zarrinda, Perttiel, Saarden—disruptor, beam only.”

  “Sir, what about—”

  Triantaa snapped a response before Vellerik had a chance. “Dekkiran! You have your orders. Follow me.”

  The two troopers eased up into the air, sun flashing off the white shells. Slowly, warily, the primitives began to move toward the gap. A few were still shaking their spears at the Vitaari, but most had turned away from Vellerik and Saarden.

  “Now, sir?” asked Zarrinda.

  For a moment, Vellerik considered letting them all go. He imagined Seevarta at his right shoulder: watching, judging. But life wasn’t that simple. If he didn’t act now, these stupid creatures would continue what they had been doing. And Count Talazeer’s orders had been unambiguous. He had no choice.

  The Batal were all running now. They would have to fire into their backs. “Two targets each. No more.”

  Zarrinda fired first. The beam of yellow light sliced through the air and struck one of them between the shoulders. As he fell, a few others close by stopped. But when they saw what the disruptor had done to him, they bolted away at even greater speed. The other soldiers fired and more fell, the automated shots each finding their targets.

  Vellerik already had his right arm up—the disruptor was mounted on the underside. He looked at his tactical display: the sight was flicking between targets. He selected two with his middle finger and felt the slightest of jolts as the disruptor fired. The others had already taken their second shots.

  Triantaa reported in. “Remaining natives retreating to the north, sir. Not even looking back.”

  Zarrinda, Perttiel, and Saarden walked forward to examine the inert bodies lying upon the muddy ground.

  “Look at this one. Is that the brain?” asked Saarden.

  “No way—too big,” replied Zarrinda with a snicker. “Perttiel, you can’t shoot straight—missed the red zone on both of yours.”

  Saarden popped his helmet screen. “Look at their faces—the features. More like animals than men.”

  “Skull like that would fetch a decent price back home,” observed Zarrinda. “Captain, can we—”

  “Triantaa, round them up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the troop lieutenant gave his instructions, Vellerik turned away. He hoped it would be enough: enough for the Batal, and enough for Talazeer.

  7

  The pile of flesh lay stinking and steaming in the heat. The sun had reached its zenith and penetrated even the dense canopy overhead. Insects whined and buzzed around them, but even they seemed slow in the thick, enervating air. Cerrin didn’t know what the meat was, but it didn’t seem to be working. And she didn’t know what the Count was saying, but it seemed that he was becoming rather bored.

  The little machines had picked up traces of a damareus several miles from the clearing. As soon as the Count arrived, he ordered one of the technicians and two of the guards to accompany him. Cerrin deduced that he didn’t feel her help was needed; only after a prolonged discussion with Governor Yeterris had she been told to join the party.

  Stripped of most of their equipment, the soldiers had used a remarkable tool to cut through foliage. Held in one hand, the device projected a spinning whirl of light that obliterated anything it touched. The Vitaari clearly thought they were moving quietly, but the only one who showed any feel for the ground was the Count’s bodyguard. Cerrin had previously seen him and his master only from a distance, but she now realized that Talazeer had chosen his defender well.

  Marl seemed more animal than man and moved across the uneven terrain and tangled undergrowth with ease, clawed feet occasionally visible beneath his cloak. Though the soldiers did their work efficiently, there was always a root or a tuft of grass to trip on, and the Count had done so several times, cursing upon each occasion. To begin with he had carried his gun: a long, thin weapon quite different to what the soldiers used. But as the going became harder, Marl had taken it from him.

  The Count had it back now, though, and he seemed to enjoy holding it. He and the bodyguard were standing behind a huge fallen tree a hundred feet from the bait. Close by was the technician, who had been criticized several times for not properly monitoring his equipment. Strapped around his neck was a searching device that beeped at regular intervals. The two tired soldiers, meanwhile, had been told off for talking and were now sitting on the ground in silence, trying not to fall asleep. They seemed relieved to be able to take their rifles off. Cerrin could tell that great strength was required to wield the bulky, impressive weapons. She wondered if she would even be capable of firing one.

  Eyes narrowed, arms resting on the vine-covered tree, the Count surveyed the ground ahead. He was wearing military boots and trousers, with a black sleeveless top. Cerrin noted now that he was more slender than the soldiers and his physique was as flawless as his face. Having studied animals all her life, she could not help admiring the size and power of the Vitaari bodies. Whichever god or goddess had made them had done a good job with that part of them at least.

  Cerrin was standing alone, watching a spider spin an intricate web between three twigs. Determined to enjoy every moment, she tried to ignore the presence of the others and open up all her senses; these memories might have to sustain her for months.

  The reverie was broken by a bitter curse. Talazeer slapped the side of his gun and turned around. He made some demand of the technician, who looked up from his equipment and shook his head. Talazeer kicked a pile of leaves. Marl glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at the bait.

  The Count walked up to Cerrin, one hand smoothing his long black hair. His cheeks twitched as he looked her over. He reached up to the translator attached to his collar and activated it.

  “I’m told you know this place—these creatures.”

  “I know the forest, but I’ve never been here. And I’ve only ever seen one live damareus.”

  “They can sniff out flesh and blood from great distances. Why do they not come?”

  “Could be a hundred reasons.”

  “Call me ‘sir.’ What reasons?”

  “Perhaps they prefer live prey, sir.”

  “Actually, I’d like you to use ‘Excellency.’ If they prefer live prey, perhaps I should send you out there.”

  Cerrin could think of worse ways to go. At least she would die in the forest.

  “Perhaps you should go yourself, Excellency.”

  Talazeer smiled. “Some of you people seem almost to want death. It’s strange, given how few years you live.”

  “There are worse things than death, Excellency.”

  “Such as?”

  Cerrin suddenly realized the others were watching. She had heard what the Count had done to troublemakers at the other mines. She decided to keep quiet.

  He stepped forward, shadowing her. Cerrin felt a wave of nausea as she saw that odd, shiny gray skin up close.

  “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Cerrin, Excellency.”

  “Do you know what I think, Cerrin? I think the creatures can smell you.”

  He ran his finger across her forehead, then showed her the droplets of sweat. The Vitaari did not seem to sweat.

  “You stink.” Talazeer wiped his finger down the middle of her overalls.

  One of the others laughed as he walked back to the fallen tree.

  They left not long after, trudging back along the trail the soldiers had made. Had it not been for the man posted at the rear behind her, Cerrin would have run. The combination of the pull of the forest and the encounter with Talazeer had convinced her that the time had come once more. She could not stand to spend another day with these… things. It didn’t seem right to call them people. Though she knew she should be enjoying this
last hour or so, she could not lift her head, let alone her mood.

  Only when they passed close to the bend of a small river did her spirits rise a little. Though the water was green and thick with weed, the gurgling flow of the stream reminded her of beautiful places and happier times. Washing clothes and blankets and plates and bowls had been a constant occupation: how many countless hours had she spent with her mother and the other women of her tribe?

  Beside the river was a sprawling fern that would make an excellent shelter. Cerrin indulged herself with thoughts of lying there, sleeping a peaceful sleep—among the green things, below the stars.

  But the path angled away from the river, and soon the sight and smell of the water was lost. A few minutes later, the technician abruptly stopped in front of her. The boxy device was beeping again. He held it up to his face and examined the display. The soldier in front of him stopped, too.

  Count Talazeer—at the front with Marl—snapped something at them. The men continued on until the technician spoke. Then they all halted. Sweeping a branch aside, the Count marched back to the technician and questioned him. None of them had their translators on so Cerrin had no idea what was being said, but the Vitaari had all turned in the same direction. The Count continued to interrogate the technician, who answered without taking his gaze from the device.

  Marl left the path and stared out at the forest, head moving slowly as he scanned the terrain. The vegetation here was less dense: tall, narrow trees well spread across a carpet of thick grass. For the first time on the trip, the bodyguard reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a gun. The weapon seemed different to the others; it was white and composed of curved, twisted parts. The only recognizable part was the cylindrical barrel.

  The Count joined the bodyguard and took his own gun from his shoulder. He said something to Marl, and the invader reluctantly lowered his weapon, then re-attached it to his belt. Grinning like an excited child, Talazeer barked orders at the soldiers. With Marl stationed to the Count’s left, they fanned out to the right but did not ready their weapons. The technician walked over to the Count and pointed at the forest. Cerrin crossed the path and stood behind him. All of them except Marl continued to speak, voices now low and urgent.

  Cerrin could not believe a damareus was actually approaching, but the truth was she didn’t know how they behaved. If they had not encountered people before, the powerful creature had no reason to fear them. Perhaps it would attack.

  One of the soldiers pointed at a stand of trees over to the right. The Count dropped to one knee, and the technician retreated. Marl stayed absolutely still.

  “It’s there?” whispered Cerrin, but the technician ignored her. He looked as though he wished he were back in the clearing with his compatriots.

  As Count Talazeer brought his rifle up, Cerrin caught her first sight of the damareus. Hunched low, the beast was moving slowly but purposefully through the grass toward them. The pale yellow fur was not difficult to see, but it seemed obvious to Cerrin it had no need or desire to hide itself.

  Despite the Count’s orders, the soldiers readied their weapons and took aim. Marl turned his body toward the creature and reached inside his cloak.

  Now no more than a hundred feet away, the damareus would soon have a clear run at them. The head was immense: ears upright, snout broad, and two huge white incisors stretching down well below the jaw. The eyes seemed to burn orange and were fixed upon the interlopers.

  Cerrin recalled the feeling she had experienced with her father all those years ago. The creature was magnificent and—despite all she had witnessed since her capture—one of the most terrifying things she had ever seen. The tremors began in her fingers and spread swiftly up her arms. The Vitaari still did not realize what they were dealing with.

  “They’re quick,” she said to the technician. “Quicker than you can believe.”

  The technician looked as frightened as she had seen a Vitaari. He activated his translator so he could understand.

  “Tell them,” breathed Cerrin. “They’re very, very quick.”

  He spoke. Only Marl looked at her.

  One of the soldiers moved to improve his angle on the beast, which was now higher on its four back legs. The head never seemed to move.

  The technician’s device was still beeping, but now another noise sounded. In his haste to bring the display closer, the Vitaari lost his grip and the machine slid out of his hands, the strap jolting his neck. He blurted something at the others, all of whom turned around.

  Cerrin heard the thrum of large feet striking the ground, but the damareus was still advancing slowly. Then something crashed through branches to her left.

  The second creature was a blur of movement. It powered between two trees and leapt at them, curved claws outstretched.

  Its target had been Marl, but the bodyguard had already thrown himself to one side. As the damareus hit the ground and skidded across the grass, the unarmed technician tried vainly to scramble away.

  Cerrin retreated, eyes fixed on the creature, which was between her and the Count. Ikala, god of battle, see me, hear me, help me.

  Roaring, the damareus spun. Its thick tail struck the technician’s back, knocking him ten feet across the ground.

  The guns of the soldiers rattled. Faces grim, arms shaking, they fired straight into the creature’s side. Thick gouts of dark blood filled the air as metal pierced flesh. With one last attack, the damareus swept a paw at them. The claws raked across a soldier’s gun and tore into his neck. He fell, screaming. Somehow the creature was still moving.

  A line of blue light flashed in front of Cerrin, striking the damareus in the head. It slumped onto its back legs immediately, smoke rising from the scorched fur. With a final breath, its head struck the ground, one tooth embedding itself several inches in the earth.

  Marl fired a second shot to be sure, then looked over at his master.

  Talazeer was down on his knees, staring open-mouthed at the dead creature.

  Marl spoke quietly in Vitaari, then pointed at the first damareus, which was still moving toward them. He raised the strange weapon once more, but Talazeer again yelled an order. Just as the Count turned and aimed his rifle, the damareus flew at them. Fifty feet became thirty. Thirty became ten. Talazeer fired and missed.

  He was saved by a tree just in front of him. The damareus caught it a glancing blow and had to lunge again to reach him. But its claws scraped nothing but air.

  Marl had already hauled his master to his feet and shoved him back toward the path. But as he let go, the strap of Talazeer’s weapon snagged on his and pulled the bodyguard’s gun from his grip.

  The damareus’s huge head smashed into the tree, and the branches whipped at Marl and Talazeer, sending them sprawling across the path. As the second soldier aimed his weapon, the creature spun its rear end, the tail catching the Vitaari in the head, knocking him away.

  Cerrin knew she should be running, but the spectacular horror unfolding before her had rooted her to the spot. As Marl and Talazeer dragged themselves up, the damareus pounced onto the fallen soldier, claws tearing into flesh.

  Cerrin reckoned she might be next, and the thought of it brought clarity. One of the few things she knew for certain about the creatures was that they didn’t like water.

  The river.

  As Marl pushed his master across the path toward her, Cerrin considered telling them. She did not consider it for long: the pair would make a useful distraction as she fled.

  Cerrin sprinted back along the trail, blood pumping in her ears. She cringed as the damareus roared and wood splintered behind her. She heard someone shouting: it might have been Talazeer. Glimpsing the river up ahead, she left the trail, leaping another fallen log and slipping smoothly through dozens of hanging vines.

  Something behind her. Something moving quickly.

  Not daring to look back, she ducked under a low branch and dived headlong off the bank, arrowing into the water.
The weed pulled away as she sank deeper and kicked out. Only when she could no longer hold her breath did she allow herself to float upward. Just as she surfaced, something else struck the water.

  She was twenty feet from the bank and had to push the clinging weed away to suck in air. Whatever had followed was splashing through the water toward her. When she saw the flailing gray arms and long black hair, she was relieved to find it was Talazeer. Cheeks twitching, eyes wide with panic, the Count swam toward her, babbling in his own language.

  Cerrin was no longer looking at him.

  The damareus was so still that she had not noticed it at first. It was standing on the bank, chest heaving. Vines and other greenery hung from its body, and a wound upon its shoulder bled freely. The thick black lips trembled as it watched the moving shape in the water.

  “Stay still!” snapped Cerrin.

  The Count’s eyes somehow widened even further. Now close to her, he stopped swimming and turned. Muttering to himself in his own tongue, he began to move back past Cerrin.

  “Still!” she repeated.

  His translator clearly wasn’t on, but this time the Count understood.

  The damareus paced one way, then the next. It looked down at the water, then sniffed it.

  Talazeer smoothed his hair back over his ears and stared across the river.

  “Don’t look at it,” said Cerrin. “Don’t provoke it. Look away.”

  She had to show him what she meant. The Count nodded and did as he was told, but Cerrin ignored her own advice as the damareus lowered its body onto the bank. One paw went in, then the other.

  She glimpsed movement. Something black, springing from tree to tree about thirty yards back. It stopped. Marl straightened up, standing in the Y of a tree with a split trunk. His arm came up out of the folds of his cloak, the white gun in his hand.

  The damareus retreated a step. Whiskers trembling, it turned its head.