Stamme: Shikari Book Three

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  “It is an honor and privilege to serve the Wise,” the male said from behind her. Oh dear. Rigi’s face warmed and she wondered if there was any Staré on Shikhari who didn’t know everything about her by now. Lexi thumped his tail on the floor, making a point, and she looked at him. Kor caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic gesture. Was that why he preferred to be considered outStamm? If so she heartily agreed with his decision. She was just Rigi, not a Wise One, not anyone special.

  “Rigi, I’d like to show you what I borrowed from the craft workers at BigTrees,” her aunt announced. “Tomás, you might enjoy looking at these as well. Rigi please bring your sketchbook to Eb’s and my tent.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Uncle Eb caught the hint and stopped arguing sports long enough to pull Aunt Kay’s chair back from the table, then waded into the verbal fray once more. Tomás didn’t seem too upset at being dragged away from the other men.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said once they got outside and the door closed behind them. “My men have been talking about nothing but the wrestling championship for the past month. I’m tail-gripped out.”

  “You’re welcome, and this will also let us brief you on the city and what is going on at BigTrees so you are caught up. Rigi, sketch pad?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She trotted back to her shelter, got the pad and Martinus, and returned with both to her aunt and uncle’s temporary residence. It was nicer than Rigi’s but then Aunt Kay preferred not to camp rough if she could help it. And Lexi needed space as well, to work if not to sleep, since he and Kor had their own private enclosures. She tapped on the door and waited for the impatient, “Come in, child, come in.” She found her aunt and Tomás studying an array of fabrics and embroidered bands, and some leatherwork as well, all draped over a folding table. “You’ve passed the ceremony of adulthood, Rigi, you don’t have to wait for permission for everything.”

  “Um, I’m sorry, Aunt Kay. I just don’t feel very adult yet.”

  “I rarely do, and the less said about Micah, the better,” she winked and smiled. “So, this is fish leather, one single strip taken from the side of a salt-water dweller.” Rigi boggled as she realized that the two ends stretched along the floor for several hand-widths. The fish had to be at least two meters long! “The weavings are traditional, and the band is for sale. Apparently the plantation ladies like to add them to their dresses and hats, and other Staré buy unusual designs and colors. There’s quite a trade network as it turns out, but you didn’t hear that. They’d prefer not to be taxed.”

  “Neither do I,” Tomás muttered. Rigi pretended not to hear it as she found the first page in her sketchbook, then set it on the table. “Oh. May I?” She nodded yes, too busy taking in the different weavings to answer. “It really is a city. I thought Micah was exaggerating again.” Rigi picked up the leather, studying the pattern embossed into the thick skin. Fish skin usually was thinner than animal hide and she puzzled at what kind of fish needed to be so well protected. She picked up one end and lifted it. Very thick, and when she turned it over, very attractive in an oily fishy sort of way, with a little sheen to it. Had that come from the tanning? Had they only tanned one side and if so, how did they keep it from rotting and stinking? Rigi sniffed the shimmery green side but it didn’t smell bad, just a little like smoked fish.

  “Oh no, they didn’t…” she heard a page turn. “They did. Oh dear,” he chuckled. “Three meters tall?” He’d found the wombow.

  “Three meters at least. It doesn’t have a head at the moment and I didn’t see any large chunks that might have come from a wombow head.” Aunt Kay frowned, head tipped to the side just a little. “But then I didn’t look, and depending on why it fell off, it might have shattered as well.”

  “Hmm, that makes sense, ma’am. Why would anyone make a one-ended wombow?”

  “Kor says it is an exact likeness of his brother,” Rigi offered.

  Tomás burst out laughing, then struggled for composure. “I’m sorry ma’am, Rigi, that was terribly rude of me. I apologize.” He wheezed a little. “I can see why he might make that statement, however.” He held up one hand. “We do not all rise to meet challenges with equal skill, for the Scout and Huntress make all skilled in their own ways, and some do not find the proper setting for their talents at first.”

  “Young man, that is a most generous and charitable reminder, thank you.” Aunt Kay took a long breath. “Rigi, I’m told that these are all natural dyes, aside from the dark blue and teal.” She bent over, then reached over to the bag hanging from a chair and got out a portable light. “Teal or dark turquoise? Or Petrol?”

  Rigi looked at the stripe and stitching in question. “Hmm. I’d need to compare them with a true black and true white to be able to match it, ma’am, but I’d incline toward,” she looked even closer, holding her sleeve next to the area. “Petrol, ma’am. More royal-blue than a true teal.”

  “Who is this? She’s beautiful!” Tomás waved the sketchbook at her. Did everyone react the same way? No one had ever called her work beautiful with that kind of fervor. Rigi felt a pang of jealousy for the long-gone artist’s skill and ability to find so lovely a model, assuming the female had lived and was not an idealized vision.

  “We don’t know,” Aunt Kay said. She sounded almost sad. “The image is on the floor of one of the buildings. Lexi found her and cleared the dirt, and we’re going to fully document and preserve the figure tomorrow. I’ve never seen a work of that kind in any Staré settlement or archaeological site.”

  Tomás rubbed his nose as he studied the sketch. “Me either, just the strange hybrids. I hope this won’t endanger the credibility of the site when people learn about it.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, Tomás,” Rigi said slowly. “I don’t think it will, not once the initial challenges settle down. For one, those markings are unheard of now among southern Staré, and I’ve only seen one individual with anything close, the strange hopling in the Indria village. Strange in behavior, ma’am, not strange markings per se.” Aunt Kay nodded. “Two,” Rigi looked down at the toes of her boots. “I’m not that good. And Aunt Kay doesn’t do fur. I can’t think of a single artist currently working who could paint or program the original. And three, we don’t know what medium it is, but I guarantee that I don’t work in it, and there’s probably not anyone on the planet who could do it. Fourth, the villagers know who has been in and out of that site. They keep a record for the planters in the area, because there is talk of making the district a preserve and the planters want to know if anyone does studies and population censuses on the quiet.”

  Aunt Kay asked, “Rigi, how do you know that?”

  “I heard Cy telling Micah, ma’am. Mrs. Sorenson told Cy before we came out.”

  “Hmm, good to know.”

  Tomás went back to the sketchbook and Rigi resumed her inspection of the embroidery. “These look like stylized fish, ma’am.”

  “Which one? Oh, yes. That’s because they are. Fish and wave motifs are popular in this district, but not for hopling garments, only for adults. And do not tell Micah that until after he publishes the first report on the site.” She wagged her finger. “Or you know what Dr. Xian will want to do.”

  “Oh dear yes. With a herd of graduate students and shovel-carriers in tow. And that man, ah, the one with the theories about species memory imprinting and collective awareness, oh fur bits.” Rigi could see his picture from the news holo. “The one who sometimes resembles a terror bird, ah, I’m sorry, I’m calling up an empty file.”

  “I know exactly who you are referring to, and no, I can’t recall his name, either. Lexi had some comments about misapplication of long-dead theories when he read the initial paper.”

  Misapplication of theories must be in the air, Rigi sniffed, given what Dr. Szabor had been talking about. No, that’s not fair, and even if Rigi disagreed with her, Dr. Szabor might change her ideas once she could ground truth them and test the hypotheses. There was no call to be nasty and unch
aritable.

  “Oh. I see why Micah was so insistent about leaving hot water.” He waved the trench image. “Did they dig that today?”

  “No, the Staré dug it a few days ago while preparing to expand a wall. They just climbed into it and ruined their trousers.” A long-suffering sigh. “Again. I am making a pair of leggings for him, and he is going to wear them will he or nil he. He knows perfectly well that red clay stains everything!” Rigi’s aunt planted her fists on her hips. “That man is death on clothes.” Rigi tried not to think about all the outfits and dresses she’d ruined over the last six years, and Tomás seemed excessively fascinated by a detail in the sketch, to the point of burying his nose in the image and hiding. Rigi suddenly wondered if that complaint were a family trait, like her father had whispered to Cy once that fussing about mud on the floors was for deStella women. Of course, he’d never had to clean up the rug after Makana accidentally ground grey dirt into it, either. Males, Rigi sighed quietly.

  “When do we start surveying this site?” Tomás held up the landscape.

  Aunt Kay blinked. “That’s not a site, aside from the trenches. It is a test area for the distance the tsunami traveled, and if it created a bore in the river.”

  “I fear I must respectfully disagree, ma’am. Look please, especially at the right side where the crops stop,” he handed the sketch book to his aunt, who took it to a brighter bit of light. She studied it, then ran a finger along something near the bottom edge. Rigi wondered what Tomás had seen that she’d missed. Aunt Kay’s perfectly curved eyebrows shot up to near her hairline.

  “And round again, if I’m reading the terrain correctly.” Tomás sounded certain.

  She lowered the book. “Captain Tomás Prananda, you really are wasted in staff work, you do know that? You desperately need to go into scouting. I am completely serious. Ebenezer will know with whom to speak and in what order, but you need to transfer. You would be able to keep your rank and any time-served bonuses, you and Kor both.”

  He shook his head. “I’d need Miss Auriga with me. She sees better than I do.”

  Why had he called her Miss Auriga and not Rigi? Had he forgotten that she was there? Or was he being professional instead of personal because he’d found someone and was courting her? Had he started courting Miss Deleon? Something inside Rigi shrank and she felt a little ill. She shouldn’t have had that odd-tasting bit of meat, that was it. And Miss Deleon would certainly help his career once he became a major, Rigi knew. She bent to look at a different embroidery, trying to see how the worker had done it. Or was it embroidery? No, it looked odd on the back, with too-small stitches. “Tomás, I’m sorry to distract you, but could you hold a light for me, please?”

  “Certainly.” He picked up the hand light and turned it on again. “Like so?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.” Yes, something odd had been used, not the usual Staré stitching needles or thread pushers. Rigi moved a little for a different view—

  “No, sir, he’s not the worst.” Lexi’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Rigi and Tomás stood up and moved out of the way of the door as she caught a hint of tobacco smoke. Uncle Eb complained, “You know he’s a terrible shot. You were there!”

  “Yes, I was and no, sir, I maintain that you are in error,” Lexi replied, calm and far more composed than his human associate.

  “How can you when you watched the debacle from start to end?”

  A loud sniff. “Because it is incumbent upon me to uphold and defend the honor of my species against such foul calumnies as comparison to nk’karlit such as that individual proved himself to be.” Rigi watched her aunt’s eyes go wide and a faint blush rise in her features before she frowned mightily. Tomás blinked several times, then clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away from Rigi, coughing. Rigi decided that she didn’t want to know what the word meant. Nor would she use it, although she added it to her “very very naughty words” list. She liked knowing when people were saying bad things about her and hoping that she didn’t understand.

  “Lexi! I can’t believe that you harbor such ill feeling toward the creature in question.” Rigi heard laughter behind the protestation. “Tsk tsk.”

  “He earned the opprobrium with which he is remembered, sir.”

  “I cannot argue that point, nor shall I attempt to.”

  “A most wise decision, sir.” Uncle Eb opened the door and it was Rigi’s turn to look away. She heard thpppppth as Lexi made a rude face and flapped his tongue at her uncle’s back. She struggled to hide her laughter. Aunt Kay looked patient, the way Rigi’s mother did when her father and brother argued over who had won the latest wager on the flitter races. Tomás set the light down with exaggerated care.

  Four adult humans, Martinus, and Lexi made the tent feel small. Rigi edged away from the table, into the corner with Martinus as Uncle Eb looked around. “Is this what my retirement savings went into?” he demanded, but Rigi heard a smile in his voice.

  “No, dear, it came from my last commission, and they are borrowed. The leather is for sale; the rest are already spoken for by Staré or were commissioned by planter women.”

  “Ah, well then.” He found a camp chair and sat. Lexi perched on a Staré seat and Aunt Kay settled gracefully into another camp chair. “So, Tomás, your thoughts?”

  “We have a second site to survey, sir. Here.” He passed Uncle Eb the sketch book. “Look at this bit especially. I think it is another round one.”

  Rigi didn’t quite hold her breath as her uncle studied the sketch. A moth had come in and fluttered around the central light, casting flickering shadows on the table and the floor. Out in the soft darkness, a bird or lizard called in the night, and something else answered it, a deep hooting sound. Lexi’s ears twitched, and Martinus turned his head a little but didn’t alert. She probably needed to get back to her tent, Rigi knew, and to her rifle. Her hand shooter didn’t have the punch to stop something large, unlike her aunt’s lavender-gripped military-grade shooter. Rigi closed her eyes as she saw again the damage that weapon had done to a Staré. She’d forgotten to step down the power. Why did you not stop, she pleaded with the dead male. If you’d stopped, I wouldn’t have killed you.

  “Auriga, come, you and Martinus.” She opened her eyes as Aunt Kay pulled her out the door and around the corner of the tent into the wind-cooled, open night. “Tell me what happened, step by step.”

  Rigi didn’t want to, Uncle Eb had said not to tell anyone, but Aunt Kay wasn’t anyone, and she didn’t look as if she would let Rigi get away. “When the Army spy-eyes flew over the Indria village the third time, a fight started because some of the Staré thought it was the evil spirits that had destroyed the First World come again, as they had said they would if the Staré returned to a high technology level. In the chaos—I was near the main gate on water bucket duty with the hoplings, and I ran. I guessed where the Army was, and I ran into the forest, going that direction. It was late in the afternoon, and I was afraid that the Staré would kill the others. I dodged the first few Staré that came looking for me, but a third doubled back, I think.”

  She swallowed hard, seeing it all over again. “It was dim, shadows under a thick canopy, and I was hiding under the roots of a dead tree that had fallen over. I tried to sneak away, or to hide better, but he heard me when he stopped to, ah, relieve himself. He threatened me with a spear.” Her mouth went dry and she whispered, “I told him to stop but he started to throw the spear. I dodged and fired but I hadn’t stepped the power on your shooter down and… I could see his spine from the front, Aunt Kay. He smelled like burnt fur, and he looked surprised, he couldn’t believe that he was dead. I fled, cut through the woods, hid until dark and then found an Army patrol and told them where the rest of the expedition were so they could rescue them.”

  Rigi looked into her aunt’s dark eyes. “I didn’t want to kill him. It— Staré are not like carnifex leapers, not like hunting leapers for food. I killed a someone. Why didn’t he stop?” K
ay took Rigi into her arms as she wept. “I asked him to stop, I did! Why didn’t he stop? I didn't want to kill a someone.”

  “Oh Rigi,” her aunt murmured, stroking her back and rocking her. “My poor little Rigi. He didn’t stop because he chose not to. He chose to attack you. He made the decision, and you reacted. You did the right thing, Auriga. Do not ever doubt that. You did the right thing. You defended yourself. You found people who could save the others and prevented worse from happening. Rigi, dear, dear young woman, you did the right thing.”

  “But I killed a someone, Aunt Kay.”

  “Yes, you did. And being in the right doesn’t change that. And you will always regret that he forced you into that position where you had to choose.” She sounded tired. “And you will see him on occasion, sometimes when you are tired, or something reminds you of the attack. Not as often as time passes, I suspect, but the memory will return. That you mourn and have doubts is normal, Auriga, and healthy." Her aunt pushed her away a little and met Rigi's eyes. "To take the life of another person, even in self-defense, is a serious matter with serious consequences. That’s why the military spends a lot of time training men so they can do it without suffering as much as the rest of us do.”

  Rigi sniffed, “But I’m supposed to protect created beings, not kill them."

  “We are, and we do. Sometimes that means taking one life, or a few, to save even more. But it is never lightly done, never easy. Never, ever, ever. If it becomes easy, something has gone terribly wrong in your heart, Auriga Maris Regina.” Her aunt held her at arms’ length, both hands on her shoulders. “Auriga, you did the right thing for the right reason. Take that into your heart. You did what you had to and he made the choice.”