The Forbidden

by Lori Holmes

  For a moment nobody moved as Eldrax struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Then he felt the wind sting the new wound upon his cheek. It was enough to convince him of the reality of what he saw. Ranac had thrown the weapon that had wounded him; Eldrax knew of no other who possessed such precision. His fingers twitched upon his own spear.

  “Chief Eldrax!” one of his men who had not witnessed the sudden turn of events bounded up. He stopped short, paling when he saw Murzuk, seemingly risen from the dead, facing him.

  “Chief Eldrax, eh?” Murzuk chuckled, his living breath curling on the air before him. “The gods, boy, you have been busy.”

  “I thought you dead,” Eldrax growled between his teeth.

  “Obviously not. I am sorry to disappoint you, boy. Despite your best efforts I still live. It was not easy to escape those beasts I’ll admit but the gods were watching over me when you so kindly threw me into their path. In the confusion I eluded them and I have been trailing you ever since. You are not safe to be left alone yet.” His blue eyes scanned the decimated camp.

  “It is you who is not safe, Murzuk,” Eldrax snarled. This time there would be no mistakes. Power had suited him and he was not about to give it up. Murzuk only had three men at his back. Ten warriors had followed Eldrax across the Plains and nine remained. He outnumbered his old chief three to one. Lifting his chin, he looked to the men flanking him, then pointed with his spear, motioning for them to move against Murzuk and his small band. “Kill them.”

  The men did not move. They stood uncertainly, exchanging glances, looking between Murzuk and Eldrax. Hanak went so far as to drop his spear and fold his arms.

  Murzuk barked a laugh and swaggered towards Eldrax. “They will not obey you, boy! I thought I’d taught you the lore better than that. They may support a Challenger only if they think me no longer fit to lead them and I have never yet given reason to doubt. You on the other hand in your brief time as chief have driven your men half to death on some futile chase across the Plains. I doubt very much they’ll fight to put you in my position now, do you, young fool?” He closed the remaining distance and backhanded Eldrax to the ground.

  Eldrax tasted blood in his mouth as the iciness of the snow bit at his exposed skin. He fought to rise, only to find himself on the business end of three spears pointing directly at his heart. He halted. No matter what Murzuk claimed, Eldrax was no fool. He tempered the murderous anger thrilling through his veins and forced himself to lay still.

  He locked eyes with Murzuk as he spat the blood from his mouth, assessing his next move. There was no mercy in the blue gaze of the old Hunting Bear chief. Eldrax was under no illusion that Murzuk would order his men to drive their spears down through his heart if he so much as twitched a finger the wrong way. His coup had failed and his life was now hanging in the balance.

  The only way to survive and live to fight another day was to submit. More than that, he had to give Murzuk a good reason to let him live. And quickly.

  He lowered his eyes with an effort. The words almost stuck in his throat. “Forgive my foolish challenge and spare me, my chief. I… beg you, take this defeat of a rival clan and their spoils in exchange for my life. I claim it in your honour.”

  Murzuk snorted, unimpressed.

  “A pitiful offering for such a transgression,” Eldrax acknowledged swiftly as the spear tips pressed closer, “which is why, as a further gift, I have also found for you the location of Juran’s mate. She lives still, in the foothills of the Mountains.” He pointed to the trembling teenager still clutching at the hand of his mother. “Rikal’s scout knows her last position. I intended to find her and claim her for our clan. With her, all will know that it was we who destroyed Juran and the Black Wolf.” He lifted his gaze and stared pointedly into Murzuk’s face.

  Murzuk’s eyes flickered and then a slow smile spread over his dark face. “You always were a cunning one, I’ll give you that.” He gestured to his warriors. “Let him up.” The spears withdrew but, as Eldrax rose slowly to his knees, Murzuk flicked his own weapon up under Eldrax’s chin, pressing it to his jugular. “Just know, if you ever cross me again, boy, I will not hesitate. This time I was simply repaying the favour.” He looked to the remains of the Eagle clan. “Now, what to do with this mess.”

  “Chief Murzuk,” Rannac’s voice cut in. “We should keep this boy.” The older warrior indicated Rikal’s sandy-haired infant son. “I like the look of him. He will make a strong hunter and warrior.”

  The boy’s Thal mother screamed her protest from the ground but was quickly silenced by the men still holding her. Murzuk nodded his ascent to his loyal favourite and, dropping his spear from Eldrax’s neck, moved to stand before Rikal.

  Eldrax rubbed at his throat. Now that he had been released from Murzuk’s scrutiny, he let his submissive demeanor dissolve and his face twisted into a mask of hatred as he glared at the older man’s back.

  “I will let you keep your life, Rikal, but your infant will grow to serve me.” Murzuk spoke. “I also claim the boy who can lead me to the witch. If he serves me well, he will be looked after and given a place in my clan. If he attempts to deceive me, he will die painfully by my hand.” With that ruling, he turned, gesturing to Rannac and five of the strongest men from the remaining Hunting Bear warriors. Eldrax was quick to notice that he was not among their number. It was the first time since he had learned to wield a spear.

  “Take all the rations that you can carry and return with me to the mountains.” Murzuk ordered. “I will claim Juran’s mate for myself. The Hunting Bear are now the rulers of this land.”

  “I am coming with you!” Eldrax protested. “I am the one-”

  Murzuk’s spear was under his jaw again. “You will go home, boy. I want to seek the witch, not have to be constantly watching my back for your knife. Go back to the clan and stay there until I return.”

  Eldrax bared his teeth but with the sharpened tip of Murzuk’s spear biting into his skin, he swallowed back his protest. He would live to fight another day. He watched sullenly as Murzuk’s chosen few began stripping the Eagle camp of anything of value. Furs, weapons, the carcass roasting over the fire was quickly butchered bare, leaving nothing of use. The Eagle women still cowering on the ground whimpered, clutching their hungry children close.

  “What shall I do with these?” Eldrax indicated Rikal and the snivelling women.

  “Keep the boy for Rannac and any women the men deem of worth, the gods know they should get something for their efforts. Leave the rest to the Plains’ mercy.”

  Eldrax watched as Murzuk then grabbed the Eagle scout by the scruff of the neck and dragged him away from his clinging mother, indicating that his chosen men should follow. Without a backward glance, the Hunting Bear chief dismissed Eldrax and set out in the direction of the mountains.

  The wind whistled mournfully through the silent camp as Murzuk and his followers disappeared into the distance. Eldrax began to tremble. Only Murzuk’s presence and the threat of death had kept his fury in check. Now it was unleashed and he flew into a fit of rage.

  The gods must truly be against him to have allowed Murzuk to live. Howling like a wounded animal he rounded on Rikal; he who had witnessed his humiliation, and cut his throat. As the life drained from the Eagle chief’s eyes, Eldrax savagely took his mate before him. They would all see his power. They would see.

  As the woman’s screams and sobs heightened his pleasure, he vowed to regain everything he had just lost. Very soon he would take all that Murzuk had, just as he was now taking all Rikal had. Next time, there would be no mistake. Eldrax savoured the thought and, as his pleasure mounted and finally peaked, he imagined the whole time that it was Juran’s mate he was claiming for his own.

  * * *

  12

  Stories

  “You need to learn hunt.”

  The hunk of bear meat stilled half way to Rebaa’s mouth. Those simple words instantly made her breakfast unappetizing. She looked up at Nen askance.
/>
  Nen pressed her lips together in a firm line. She reached out and grabbed her spear from where it leaned against the cave wall. “If you going to leave, then you learn how to survive alone. I teach you.”

  “But… I can’t,” Rebaa protested. “I’m Ninkuraa. We do not harm the Children of the Great Spirit. I can’t.”

  “Then you die.” Nen’s voice was blunt. “Baby die. What more important?”

  The words cut off the protest building in Rebaa’s throat.

  “Come.” Nen strode out of the cave without giving her further chance to think. Rebaa swallowed her last mouthful and hurried out after her friend. Nen was already testing the air in the morning light when she caught up, checking the direction of the wind. She glanced at Rebaa appraisingly. “Start small. We go down.”

  Rebaa’s stomach churned as she followed in Nen’s wake. Her thoughts tangled as their exchange echoed through her mind.

  I can’t.

  Then you die. Baby die. What more important?

  Nen had struck where she was most vulnerable, leaving her reeling. In a decision between her baby’s life and the tenets of her people, could there be a choice? She had already sacrificed so much of what it meant to be Ninkuraaja; her baby’s very existence broke the most sacred of all lores. And, although that scared her more than anything, what did she have left but him? If she ever lost him…

  As the initial shock of what Nen was proposing wore off, Rebaa felt her resolve hardening. Survive… Juran’s voice echoed in her mind. Nen was right. If she did not do this, then she would not survive on her journey and she would lose her only reason to keep on fighting. She had to do what she must.

  Reaching a relatively flat surface, Nen singled out a particular tree. Rebaa got the impression it was a frequent destination for her friend. The tree’s trunk was pitted and marked with deep scars.

  Nen moved to a distance of twenty long paces. Raising the spear, she twisted around and let it fly at the tree. It embedded itself unerringly in the centre of the trunk with a dull thud. Rebaa flinched at the sound, imagining the weapon striking into the heart of a Child of the Great Spirit and her newly found resolve trembled.

  Nevertheless, she could not help but be impressed by Nen’s prowess, after all, this was the talent that had saved her very life. She gave a low whistle of admiration. “You are very skilled.”

  Nen beamed and held the spear out to Rebaa. “Try.”

  Rebaa gritted her teeth and took hold of the offered haft. She doubted she would even manage to throw it, much less hit the tree. Her predictions proved embarrassingly accurate. Rebaa drew back her arm as far as it could go while supporting the heavy weapon then launched it forward with all of her might. The spear clattered to the ground just one pace from her own toes.

  A wheezing sound started up behind her. Rebaa turned to see Nen vibrating with the effort of trying to keep her laughter in.

  “Yes, very funny,” Rebaa said, sourly.

  Nen did not respond. Giving up on her effort to hold her amusement in check, she sat down with a thump on a rock, barking laughter coughing from her throat as she wiped at her streaming eyes.

  “Stop laughing at me!”

  This only made Nen laugh harder and Rebaa found she couldn’t hold on to her annoyance as her own lips started twitching unwillingly in response. “I suppose that was rather pathetic.”

  Regaining a modicum of control, Nen heaved herself to her feet. As the last fits of laughter hitched from her chest, she patted Rebaa on the shoulder and stooped to pick up the spear.

  “Like this.” Nen demonstrated the proper posture, displayed how her fingers curled around the haft just so and then let the weapon fly. The tip thudded unerringly into the tree once more.

  Rebaa again murmured her appreciation of the skillful display. “I doubt even a Cro warrior could be more accurate.”

  Any lingering mirth melted from Nen’s face, she ducked her head to hide her eyes and handed the spear back to Rebaa. “Try gain.”

  Rebaa did so, attempting to emulate Nen’s skill but, after several tries, her throws still came up woefully short. It wasn’t a question of skill, she simply lacked both the strength and the stature. When her arm grew tired from trying, she threw the spear down in frustration and buried her face in her hands.

  “I can’t do it!” She could try all she liked, she was not built to survive out here! In that moment of defeat, all she wanted was to be home and out of this world of savagery.

  A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder. Nen picked up the spear. “Spear not for you,” she said patiently. “Show you another way.”

  Huh. Rebaa wallowed in her self-pity. She was sure that whatever Nen came up with, the result would be the same. Failure. She would not bother arguing with Nen, however, her friend would see that her efforts were useless soon enough.

  They returned to the cave and while Rebaa watched mulishly, Nen sliced several long, narrow strips of hide from the bear skin, scraping the fur away as she did so. She showed Rebaa how to twist them together to make two thin, strong ropes, one longer, the other shorter. Next, she selected a stick from her wood pile and snapped it in two.

  Rebaa’s heart still felt like a stone in her chest but she watched as Nen took a piece of flint and carefully carved the two halves, notching one and cutting the end of the other so that it hooked snugly into the notch of its partner. Lastly, Nen whittled the tip of the notched stick into a sharp point. Rebaa couldn’t help but envy her competence in everything she did.

  Satisfied with her work, Nen slung the ropes over her shoulder and headed back out into the open. Despite wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball of misery, Rebaa followed once more. They travelled east for most of the morning. Nen was surveying the ground as they went, scanning for tracks among the sparse trees then moving away with a look of disgust when her search came up empty. She did not ask anything of Rebaa and Rebaa was happy to keep to her morose melancholy as she followed behind.

  They had been walking along a path hemmed in by high ridges and Rebaa had become so lost in her own self pity that she had ceased to notice her surroundings and failed to follow her companion when Nen suddenly changed direction, taking a lower fork in the path. She was startled from the sinking mire of her thoughts when her friend grabbed her elbow and pulled her back.

  “No go that way,” Nen warned sharply.

  Shocked by Nen’s unusually harsh tone, Rebaa looked ahead at the trail she had started to wander blindly along. It branched sharply left, winding on up until it reached a cliff face and continued, clinging inoffensively to the sides of the steep slope. She frowned, failing to see the danger.

  “Stop using that path. Look.” Her friend pointed towards the top of the cliff, looming high above the path. Rebaa could see that the crown had been cracked by ice and snow. “Last storm weakened. Could slide any time.” Nen made a swiping motion with her hand. “Sweep everything away.” She pointed to where the slope disappeared below the path. Rebaa could not see the bottom.

  Rebaa shuddered. She would follow Nen more carefully from now on.

  “Always remember when get to this point: take lower path.”

  Nen led Rebaa on until at last they came to a small copse of trees and went inside. Ducking through the low branches, the Thal woman continued studying the snow covered ground. This time she appeared satisfied by what she found. “To make trap work, need to see trail.” She explained. “Put where animals go most.” Nen pointed to a trail of rabbit footprints crisscrossing through the trees; it appeared to be a well worn run through the snow.

  Taking the notched stick, Nen drove the sharpened end deep into the ground close beside a young tree before tying one end of the shortest rope around its hooked partner. “Hold.” She passed the ropes to Rebaa. Reaching up, Nen caught the tip of the tall sapling and bent it down towards the ground. She motioned to Rebaa, pointing at the free end of the short rope. Rebaa handed it to her and she proceeded to tie it securely around the top of the stooping
tree.

  “Make sure knot strong,” Nen instructed. She untied the knot and did it a second time but more slowly so Rebaa could take in how she did it. Keeping the tension on the straining tree, Nen hooked the stick tied to the other end of the short rope into the notched stick driven into the ground. Carefully she let go. The locked sticks held the tree down. Nen nodded approval at her work.

  “Now make noose to catch animal.”

  Rebaa swallowed as Nen took the other rope from her hands. Deft as ever, she quickly made a loop out of the twisted length.

  “See?” Nen demonstrated how her knot allowed the noose to draw tight.

  Rebaa nodded silently as Nen tied her noose to the hooked stick attached to the tree. It was exactly the same trap that she herself had fallen victim to only a few days before. Only this one was much smaller.

  “Thal no make traps like this,” Nen explained. “Small game no satisfy Thal. But this Cro trick do for you.”

  “What now?” Rebaa asked.

  “Wait.” And she moved off, sinking down into the snow out of sight from the trap. Rebaa followed Nen to her concealed spot and sat down next to her, getting as comfortable as possible as the moments slipped away. By and by she realised that Nen was eyeing her speculatively.

  “What is it?” She asked.

  Nen motioned that she should keep her voice down, then asked on a breath, “Know where animals are?”

  Rebaa did know. At the back of her mind, she could feel the birds roosting in the branches above, the sleepy presence of the trees below their clutching claws, she sensed the rabbit family sheltering underground, blissfully unaware of the trap that awaited them on their daily route. She cringed. “Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I know where they are.”

  Nen picked up on her reluctance. “Still no happy hunting.”

  Rebaa shook her head once. To survive with Juran she had had no choice in taking the flesh of animals to sustain herself but it had been a blessing to her that it was not a Cro woman’s place to join the men on the hunt. Not seeing the act of killing had allowed her to close out what she was having to do to survive. Now Juran, his hunters and even the other women were gone and she could not be afforded the same luxury.