They both got to their feet. Meisx grunted, hunting for Thurl’s exact location. Meisx lowered his head, preparing to push Thurl off the dais, down into the steaming, rushing river below.
Already, the Grand Hall was emptying as the Racroft prepared to receive another body. This funeral wouldn’t be as long as Sohjos’s. It would only last a few days, but the work was important and all encompassing. It was how the Racroft honored life by honoring that which had ended.
“It’s over, Meisx,” Thurl shouted over the noise. “Killing me will only condemn you further in the eyes of our people.”
“I’m their Leader of the Hunt!” Meisx snarled. “They will respect me no matter what I do!”
“How long do you think you can hold that title?” Replied Thurl. “How long before younger, stronger warriors take the example you have set for them, and murder you to gain the title for themselves?”
Meisx didn’t answer.
On the far side of the Grand Hall, through the mouth of the cavern, Aivira’s body was being carried to the Waterfall Dais.
Meisx grunted and rushed toward Thurl, but didn’t make contact with him. Instead, he kicked the pile of roots into the waterfall. With a hiss, the Iassa’s fire Iassa went out. Meisx threw Thurl against the back wall, and held him against the stone, his forearm against Thurl’s throat.
“Get out,” he snarled, huffing into Thurl’s face. “Get out of my village. Take that creature with you and go back underground and never come back. If you’re not gone by the time Aivira’s flesh is on the wind, I will hunt you both.”
Aivira’s body would be taken to the Waterfall Dais and displayed. The period of silence would begin as the village worked to prepare the body and the stages of the funeral were performed. Thurl had two days to comply with Meisx, or find a way to fight and win.
CHAPTER forty-one
The funeral had ended for days before Thurl and Iassa emerged from the Elder’s huts.
The shock of Aivira’s death, and the days of silence calmed the Racroft from their suspicions of Meisx. As Leader of the Hunt, he’d been an integral part of the funeral process, and had even released Aivira’s flesh on the shores of the sea.
There had been rumors and whispers that Meisx had organized a new hunt team. There was a new hunt planned.
Lavis kept in touch with the Elders, who were relaying messages to Thurl. Before Meisx led his team to the Valley of Corpses, an ambush was planned on Thurl and Iassa; a plan to kill them in the Elder huts; a plan to blame the attack on Iassa. Meisx was going to follow through on his threat.
Thurl and Iassa didn’t say goodbye to Thurl’s family. They didn’t visit Lavis, or the memorial of Sohjos set into the wall in the Grand Hall. But, they also didn’t sneak away. They packed a sled with food and supplies. Thurl armed himself with a new spear and shield. Iassa had her bow and arrows.
At mid-tide, when the village was busiest, they breached the cavern mouth and trudged out into the snow. They were noticed by the children who liked to play in the wind, and by the women who harvested the berries and nuts of the wild shrubs that grew just outside the warm breath of the cavern, and by the Elders who liked to commune with the vast, cold skies on certain days when the air felt light and the breeze was slow and their clicks and grunt brought back echoes from places Thurl could only imagine.
Thurl and Iassa didn’t get far before the children were chattering and the women were whispering. Before they were beyond the first ridge, dispatches had been sent to inform Meisx and his hunt team.
None of this was unexpected. Thurl had counted on it. If he knew Meisx, the hunt team would be after them soon, but not until the tide had gone and the village was asleep. He wanted Thurl and Iassa dead, but he wanted it done quietly; he didn’t want the village to know; he didn’t want to prove Thurl right. If Meisx wanted to hunt him and Iassa, Thurl would give him a hunt.
The couple followed the path toward the hunting grounds for most of the day. They moved at a steady pace. When they reached the cave near the bristlewind fields, close to the site of the narvai-ub attack, they stopped and unloaded their supplies.
“Thurl!”
His sister, Oadil, smothered him in hugs when he entered the cave. They had been waiting for him, just as he had instructed.
A ll of them had followed the plan. Thurl was the youngest of fourteen, and all fourteen were gathered in the cave along the edge of the bristlewind fields.
His brothers were armed, ready for whatever battle followed them. Alfor, Muxil, Tsuaf, Wohsel, Hartenir, Skaen, Tsirc and Zam all stood when Thurl and Iassa entered the cave with their sister Oadil. His other sisters, Agrof, Elleif, Agrinna and Chabna, were sitting at the back of the cave, apparently not as happy to see Thurl as Oadil had been.
“Mother is safe?” Thurl’s question was direct and, perhaps, the most important.
“She’s still in the village,” answered Muxil. “She’s doing her part. We’ve spread the rumor that you brought some strange illness home and we are infected. Mother has been quarantined inside the hut. She is being visited by a Healer who knows her well, and the Elders have her under close protection. She’ll be safe.”
“Was there any sign of the hunt team behind you?” Skaen asked.
“Not yet,” answered Thurl. “But it won’t be long. I expect they’ll take a day or two to prepare. They have to make it look like they’re simply going on a regular hunt.”
“Is that your friend?” Agrinna asked from the back of the cave. “She has a different smell from Racroft.”
Thurl introduced Iassa to his brothers and sisters. A few of them – the youngest - accepted her openly, touching her face with curiosity. The rest were reluctant but respectful, fearful and hesitant … just as Thurl expected.
Thurl didn’t let them dwell on differences. He was the youngest in the family, but he took the leadership role quickly. If they weren’t willing to follow him into battle, they wouldn’t have left the cavern.
“Muxil,” Thurl said to his eldest brother. “We need to set up a lookout post for Meisx and his hunt team. This is off the path toward the hunting grounds, so Iassa and I left obvious clues that we came in this direction. But we want to know Meisx is coming before he gets here.”
Muxil snorted, and clicked a few times.
“I don’t understand what we’re doing out here, Thurl,” he said. “Meisx didn’t threaten any of us. He just wants to get rid of the … her.”
“It will start with Iassa,” Thurl answered. “But Meisx is power hungry and ruthless. He will come after me next. I know his cowardice. I witnessed it during the vortex storm. I know his dishonor. He left members of our hunt team to die alone in the snow after the narvai-ub attack. He’s been killing the survivors to make sure he isn’t challenged for Leader of the Hunt. He doesn’t want me talking; spreading stories; telling the truth. He’ll come after Iassa, then he’ll come after me … and then to end the bloodline of Sohjos, he will come after all of you.”
Muxil snorted again, but didn’t offer any argument. His brothers and sisters sat in silence, contemplating Thurl’s words. Finally, Thurl broke the silence.
“We need to begin tactical training,” he said.
It was something his father had often said to the new recruits at the beginning of every hunt season; something they had heard him say dozens, maybe hundreds of times. When Thurl said it, he felt like his father; like Sohjos was within him, rejoining the living world to guide his hands and guard his decisions.
He and Iassa spent the rest of the day telling their story. Thurl was confident Meisx wouldn’t attack until the tide had receded and the winds died down. He wouldn’t want to risk detection by a rogue wind changing direction.
Iassa pulled roots from the ground and struck two stones together to make fire. Thurl told his brothers and sisters about how they had used fire to defeat the barrasc in the abandoned narvai-ub lair; how Iassa put pocasta meat in the fire and it changed the flavor and texture; how it warmed the air an
d itched and swelled and hurt if he touched it. Soon, even the most reluctant of Thurl’s siblings were sitting near the fire, asking questions and curious.
Finally, the question Thurl had been waiting for was asked.
“Where do you come from?” Asked Oadil. “Are you one of the gods? Or are there more Racroft somewhere?”
Thurl let Iassa explain about the Seven Known Tribes. She told them how the Racroft were not alone on the planet, and how they would, one day, have to deal with the threat of other tribes finding them. Suddenly, the legends the Elders told them about other tribes lost in the wilderness, carried off by the winds and the gods, dragged underground by greats beasts, seemed like more than legend. Even the wildest stories had truth buried in them somewhere. Slowly, the children of Sohjos realized that Iassa was not the embodiment of all the horrible things the villagers had been saying. She was an relative of Racroft, separated by distance and lifestyle and genealogy … but Racroft at her core.
It wasn’t long before they were all treating Iassa like Racroft; like one of the family.
“We can use fire against Meisx,” Alfor said suddenly. “He doesn’t know what it is. We can use it for distraction.”
A crack outside the cave, like the snap of frost beneath a heavy footstep, drew their attention. The children of Sohjos immediately withdrew into defensive positions. Thurl crept forward, breaching the mouth of the cave. The breeze coming off the sea was dry. The tide was out. In the Racroft village, everyone was sleeping.
Thurl’s whiskers and follicles bristled in the breeze, searching for changes in the air currents. He sniffed the air, seeking any hint of scent that would betray his attackers.
A sleek coated hinx wandered out of a tuft of amblewild. It meandered across the snow, crunching the frost beneath its paws as it hunted pocasta.
Thurl went back inside the cave. They needed to sleep. They’d all worked themselves into a panic. If they didn’t rest, they’d be exhausted by the time Meisx and his hunt team actually did arrive.
He posted first watch – his brother, Tsirc and his sister, Chabna – and the rest drifted off to sleep. They days to come would be difficult, but Thurl was confident he and Iassa had convinced them it was worth the fight.
CHAPTER forty-two
The tide was going out again. They’d been at the cave near the bristlewind fields for two days. Thurl expected Meisx to attack when the tide was at its furthest, when the Racroft were asleep, when he assumed Thurl and his family would be asleep as well. Meisx would be wrong.
Muxil had been scouting atop a craggy hillock. He masked his scent with bonroot sap and slowed his movements to prevent disturbing the currents.
Meisx and his hunt team were not stealthy. They were accustomed to hunting slow, stupid michau. They were trained to hunt prey that was not hunting them.
Muxil used the new bow and arrow Iassa had trained them all to use. He dipped the tip of the arrow in a small puddle of fire and shot the spear toward the cave where his brothers and sisters were waiting. Tsirc was the first to smell the smoke as it melted into the snow.
“They’re coming,” he said, as he alerted his family and prepared for battle.
“Where are they,” Thurl asked.
“Don’t know yet,” said Tsirc. “Muxil sent the fire spear.”
Sohjos’s children put together their gear: spears and shields, just-made bows, roots dipped in fire. The sisters would fight alongside their brothers. It was not the way Racroft hunted, but Iassa said the Meson didn’t judge by gender, and it would give them an advantage over Meisx who would never expect the women to be armed.
As they finished gathering their gear, Muxil entered the cave.
“They’re following the trail we set for them,” he said to Thurl. “I could hear twenty-five, maybe thirty warriors. Are you sure about this, Thurl? We’re outnumbered two to one.”
Thurl put his hand on Muxil’s shoulder and exhaled slowly.
“I know I’m the youngest in the family,” Thurl said. “And I know you have nothing but my own stories to trust, but what I learned below, what Iassa has taught me, has taught us, will give us advantages Meisx and his hunt team don’t have. We’re not doing this because Meisx banished you to the outer edge of the village. We’re not doing it because he threatened me and Iassa. We’re doing it because our world is about to get larger than it has ever been, and if we don’t change and prepare for it, we will not survive it. Iassa says the Meson are expanding, and the other tribes are growing, and it won’t be long before they find us. We are outnumbered. Meisx is a fierce warrior when he has advantage on his side. But what did Father always tell us? A warrior is not measured by how many battles he wins, but by how quickly he gets up when he loses.”
There was silence in the cave as the children of Sohjos remembered their father.
Muxil picked up his shield and his spear and ran out into the snow. His brothers followed. Thurl, Iassa and Agrinna ran off into the snow. The rest of their sisters stayed behind, huddled around a pile of warming rocks, doing their best to look meek and frail and abandoned.
The brothers took a circuitous route, off the trail through tufts of amblewild and bristlewind, until they reached the drifts that had blown down into the narvai-ub pit, where Sohjos had been attacked, and Thurl’s adventure had begun. Thurl, Agrinna and Iassa jumped down into the tunnel. Alfor, Muxil and Skaen dug trenches for themselves, where they laid down on their backs and covered themselves with their shields. Zam brushed snow to hide the shields, then joined Tsuaf and Wohsel behind a hillock. Hartenir had been chosen as the “victim”. He sat near the hole, with his back to the trail where Meisx and the hunt team would be approaching.
If Meisx did what he was expected to do, he would block the entrance to the cave, take Thurl’s sisters as hostages and try to use them to coax Thurl into giving up Iassa. There would be no way for them to know until Meisx showed up at the narvai-ub tunnel, though.
They waited in position for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, they could hear the hunt team padding up the trail, following the footsteps Thurl and his brother’s had left for them to find.
When they saw Hartenir crouched in the snow, his back to them, sobbing softly, they slowed their approach. Meisx stood behind Hartenir.
“Hartenir,” Meisx said. “What happened to your brothers? Where is Thurl and the animal he brought to our village?”
“Gone,” Hartenir said, just as he’d been instructed to say. “The narvai-ub came back; attacked us on our way to the hunting grounds.”
Meisx sniffed the air.
“The narvai-ub scent is weak,” he said. “There hasn’t been any narvai-ub here for a very long time. Are you sure it was narvai-ub?”
“Thurl and the girl jumped into the pit. He was trying to take her home. They were attacked by larvae. The scent lies low. You can smell it best just over the gap.”
Hartenir was playing his part perfectly.
Meisx leaned over Hartenir and sniffed the air coming from the pit. When Thurl felt the current of air shift and could smell Meisx over the hole, he jumped and thrashed so Meisx would know he was there.
“He’s there!” Meisx shouted. “Warriors! He’s in the tunnel!”
Two young warriors crowded around the gaping hole and clicked and grunted, searching for echoes.
Thurl stood still, like he was trying to hide. Iassa was further down the tunnel, out of range.
Two of the new hunt team members grabbed Hartenir and wrapped his arms behind his back. They pushed him onto his knees and held their spears at his throat.
Meisx laughed.
“Thurl, I know you’re down there,” Meisx yelled into the pit. “I can smell the stench of your cowardice.”
Thurl wanted to rush up the slope of the tunnel and drag Meisx down into the narvai-ub nest. He wanted Iassa to use her bow and launch a small spear through the hunt Leader’s throat. He quaked with anger and restraint. Worse was coming for Meisx.
“I can smell
that animal you brought back with you,” Meisx was continuing. “Can’t you tell the difference between Racroft and wildlife anymore? Maybe your little experience down under the crust made you crazy or stupid. Or maybe, it didn’t happen at all. Maybe you spent all that time hiding in a cave somewhere, coming up with a story to explain why you let your father die; trying to make yourself look like a warrior.”
The members of the new hunt team were laughing. Meisx was performing for them; strutting around like a triumphant warrior; booming his voice and projecting his chest.
“Why don’t you send that bug infested, mange ridden michau up here and let us slaughter it for you?” Meisx went on. “Don’t worry. We’ll let you tell everyone it was attacked by a narvai-ub.”
More laughter; loud; crowded.
The hunt team Meisx had put together was large: more than thirty Racroft; all of them angry and frightened and hateful against Thurl and the stories and rumors they’d heard about the creature he had brought back with him; the stories Meisx had been quick to spread, and the villagers had been eager to embellish. There were terror stories of illness and disease from beneath the crust that fueled their fury; rumors that the creature had tentacles that ripped off limbs; tales that she could read minds and make Racroft do things they didn’t intend. Iassa represented all the fantastical and bizarre fears of the unknown. But Meisx’s hunt team was young and inexperienced.
Thurl’s brothers only numbered eight. Even with the help of Agrinna and Iassa, there was a sense of hopelessness before the battle even began. Except, Iassa had trained the sons of Sohjos in the battle tactics of the Meson tribe.
Orphan Tribe, Orphan Planet Page 20
