Solineus

by L. James Rice

  He closed his eyes and relaxed into the heavy fur blanket. Until something wet struck his back.

  He jumped and rolled; Yumûlu sat beside him, her tongue out and a peevish cast to her eyes. “You licked me.”

  “Lay still.” He didn’t have much choice as her fingered paw shoved him back down. Her tongue stretched his wound several times, its texture rough and painful. “You fear you taste so good I’ll eat you?”

  He laughed as her tongue hit his back again. “I hope the hells not.”

  “I wouldn’t eat you alive anyhow, nor raw, unless in a pinch.”

  These people had a sense of humor. He hoped. Then the cold hit the wound like a block of ice, and he yelped. “Holy hells.” The cold turned warm, then hot enough he wondered if the ice hadn’t turned into an ember. “What the hells are you doing to me?”

  “Healing you. What are these hells? We Ilu know only one hell.”

  “Lucky you, I think I just experienced two with that concoction you slapped on me.”

  She laughed and slapped him in the back of his head with a paw the size of his face; soft but forceful at the same time. “You are a funny man.”

  Her eyes darted into the night, and Solineus followed the gaze, fearing the war had arrived, but with the fires blazing all around he saw nothing but darkness. “What is it?”

  “Rêmwûer and his pride, I believe. You can’t see them?”

  Solineus squinted. “With the fires here, no.”

  “You are weak and blind. Good to know.”

  He snorted. “I’m not blind… it’s the fires and the night.”

  It wasn’t long before he spotted figures running toward them, and Yumûlu waved and shouted: “Rêmwûer!”

  A gigantic Ilu, with a mane so full it was twice Solineus’ chest, trotted to them and hugged her. His fur was a golden tan, and human skulls dangled from a gold chain around his neck, the backs of the skull cut off, so they lay flat against his chest. He glanced at Solineus along with the hollow eyes of dead men dangling from his neck. “You caught a Tek and heal him?”

  She swatted his shoulder, hard enough Solineus figured he might’ve stumbled if hit so hard. “He is Solineus of the Clanemudar, friend of Ivin Choerkin.”

  “Clan Emudar.”

  Rêmwûer raised his head and roared, much like a great cat. “Friend of Ivin! You will war with us tomorrow! You will lose, but still have fun.”

  “Lose! I’d much rather win.” But he was already beginning to think his grip on their language was softer than he thought.

  The man-lion leaned to pinch his arm, claws retracted. “These are not the muscles of a victor, Little-Furless. But war is fun.”

  Solineus sat up on his cot. “Just what is this war you’re talking about?”

  “We run, jump, demonstrate are expertise with bows and spears and javelins, many wars of strength and agility! We practice to kill the Hundred Nations!”

  Solineus breathed easier and laughed. “Games! I will game with you as much as you like, even if I should lose. Fun!”

  Both Ilus roared.

  “But if I’m going to be worth a damn, I need some food.”

  Yumûlu nodded. “My apologies, Little-Furless. Antelope, you prefer raw or cooked?”

  “Cooked. Really cooked, no red.” It pleased him to know food was on the way, but his new nickname would take some getting used to.

  16

  Red Dirt to Red Domes

  Hearts of children beat with whispers of promise,

  the hollowed drum eager for living yet seen.

  Hearts of elders beat with whispers of wisdom,

  the ruptured drum spilling a past soon forgotten.

  Hearts of between mistake morsels for meals,

  too satiated to be hungry,

  too empty to be full.

  Too ignorant to grasp wisdom,

  too wise to realize ignorance.

  Certainty is the Fool’s conundrum.

  —Tomes of the Touched

  The dawn arrived in silence. Everyone in Yumûlu’s yurt still slept, and when he slipped out to find a bush to step behind, he found the entire camp sleeping in. His wound was cooled to the touch, any infection gone, so he sat and waited for the Ilu to rise.

  A half candle later a roar came from the east, a mighty sound that no doubt carried for a horizon. Within a wick the entire camp bustled with lions laughing and enjoying breakfast. It was a good thing he enjoyed meat, because they didn’t offer him so much as a sprig of vegetable.

  A turkey leg. Or rather, the leg of the biggest damned bird he ever imagined, dripped grease on his boots as he ate; delicious, and with so much meat on the bone he couldn’t eat it all.

  The Ilu didn’t eat, they devoured, putting down pounds of flesh by the time he could spot the bone beneath his leg of bird, and soon as they were finished, they left him, trotting down into the valley.

  All except Yumûlu, who stared at him, that emotionless stare so common of cats, but in this case, he could actually ask and expect an answer. “What?”

  “Are you going to eat that or play with it?”

  He stammered. “Fine, I’ll save this for lunch.”

  She jumped to her feet and strode after the others, leaving him to trot to catch her. She led him to an open field where thirty or more Ilu stood around with longbows in hand. Every one of them wore a necklace of human skulls, some painted in garish reds and blues, while others remained bleached white; he had to remind himself they belonged to Teks, not his own kin.

  Yumûlu said, “These are the warriors who qualified in our archery contest. There are three ranges.”

  Solineus gazed in the direction she pointed. The first target was about a hundred strides away, the second twice that, and the third… “Are you shittin’ me?” She stared, with no idea what he’d said. He coughed. “That’s a long way. No comments about my muscles.”

  A purring chuckle rumbled in her throat, and within a wick the games began. Arrows flew, Ilu tallied scores with scratches on a board, and they moved through the first two rounds with great speed.

  Rêmwûer held a score of seventy-two, putting him in third place from what he gathered. The massive lion strode their way and handed Solineus his bow and an arrow.

  Solineus grinned, raised the bow, and tested the string, drawing it as far as his lip before surrendering. “I lose.”

  Roars of laughter. “This is a gift for you, Little-Furless! It will train your muscles.”

  “I’ll need shorter arrows.” No way he’d draw long as Rêmwûer did even if he had the strength, his arms were too short.

  The Ilu nodded and walked away.

  “I thought there were three rounds?”

  “Different bows.”

  Solineus turned back and Rêmwûer snatched another bow from a rack, this one heavier still, and long as a spear. He dropped to his back and put the bow to his feet before nocking an arrow, drew back with a roar. Waited. Then let fly. The arrow burst from the string with a rush. Hard as the hells to see it in the sky despite its size.

  “Son of a bitch.” A quarter of a horizon at least, but he couldn’t tell if Rêmwûer had hit the target.

  The man jumped to his feet and stared into the distance. Flickers later a roar from the target area, and he raised his hands to cheers.

  Solineus found it difficult to believe an arrow so big could fly so far, and with precision (although Yumûlu told him the targets were twenty hands around). Near half the archers hit the target, and in the end Rêmwûer took second place.

  For his part, Solineus was happy as the hells Rêmwûer had been joking about his playing in the games, there was no way to compete. They ran sprints, jumped posts, leaped over each other standing in rows, threw javelins and spears, lifted boulders, tossed boulders, climbed poles, leaped to scratch high on poles, leaped from pole to pole like they were squirrels in trees, and after dark they topped it with a beer drinking contest, in which everyone was allowed to compete. No shock that he lost the one
event he was allowed to play in.

  He sat splay-legged in front of a bonfire, leaning against a log with a horn of beer jammed into the ground in front of him, wondering if he would belch or throw-up next. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate in whichever direction.

  Neither. He just suffered .

  Yumûlu found him as he sat staring at the horn, eased next to him, and offered him a greasy bite of bird. “Oh gods, no thank you.” Her purr-chuckle rumbled beside him, shaking his skull until he grimaced. “That’s strong beer.”

  “It is. There is a spirit-smoke tomorrow. Rêmwûer wonders if you would like to join us.”

  “Is that before or after I die tonight?”

  A fanged smile. “High sun tomorrow.”

  He blinked, his lids slow and doing little to sooth his burning and blurred eyes. “I might recover by then. What is it?”

  “Victors of each competition gather with kin and friends in a yurt. We burn the holy fire and slip into spirit dreams to seek guidance. To honor you and Ivin Choerkin. Do your people believe in such things?”

  His head wobbled as he turned to look at her. “My people don’t, but I sure the hells do. I would be honored to join your spirit-smoke tomorrow.”

  “This is good, I feared you might say no.”

  He laughed. “If I did, would my head become jewelry?”

  “No, heads are in earned in war. Yours would be kicked around in children’s games before thrown away.” Her fanged smile was impossible to interpret.

  “Good to know.” He grinned, choosing to believe her words another joke. “I hope it’s good that I sleep right here tonight.” He patted the ground.

  She leaped to her feet. “We call these celebrations shezmûtû-doyo, ‘sleep where you fall’ nights. I will bring you a fur in case the night grows chill.”

  By the time he woke he wasn’t sure if he’d muttered his thank you, but he knew he’d meant to. The fur was warm, the ground was hard, and his head banged with the ferocity of a war drum. He pulled the cover over his head, grateful the skin was thick enough to black-out the morning sun. Yumûlu was more difficult to hide from.

  She pulled the fur from his face and shoved a horn to his lips. “Drink.”

  His stomach gurgled and he tried to pull his blessed shadow back over his eyes, but her grip was strong. “Drink, then you can have your fur back.”

  He snorted and drank; it tasted like a honey-water and went down easy enough. He covered his eyes and within flickers the growl in his gut eased. He languished in his agony, and he must’ve dozed, for when he opened his eyes again, he felt human. A throb rested behind his eyes, but he grew courageous enough to throw off the blanket.

  He looked around, noting quite a few Ilu still stretched across the ground. At least he wasn’t the last one to rise. “You live.” Yumûlu’s voice came from behind, the start she gave his heart making his head pound again.

  He crawled to his feet. “Rumor speaks it so, but I’m not certain.”

  “The spirit-smoke will let you know whether you are alive or dead. Come.”

  He looked to the sky, and damned if the sun was approaching its zenith. “I need food.”

  “There is no food before the spirit-smoke.”

  “Hells, just kill me now.”

  She laughed, but neither fed nor killed him. Instead she led him to a large yurt, its roof already spewing smoke, where Rêmwûer and fifteen other Ilu awaited him.

  “Little-Furless! I heard you might miss the spirit-smoke while praying your guts into the dirt.”

  Solineus assumed the man meant vomiting. “I am nothing if not resilient.”

  Lion laughter roared, and Rêmwûer led them through the tent’s flap. Inside was dark but for a fire burning in a brass brazier shaped as a lion’s head, only it sported four faces. He stuck close to Yumûlu through the haze of smoke and took a seat beside her.

  She leaned into his ear. “Just relax and follow along.”

  A woman stepped to stand behind Rêmwûer, her golden fur painted in streaks of blues and reds, and she wore a crown of wildflowers over an intense stare. She hissed with fangs bared, then raised her arms, her voice rising in a chant, then sinking low. She dipped her fingers into pouches at her waist and streaked Rêmwûer’s forehead and cheeks in red and blue that matched her own markings. She danced around the fire, fingers touching everyone’s faces to leave their marks, and after each, she sprinkled dust into the fire. Her fingers rubbed Solineus’ face and he could feel the claws even if they didn’t hook or slice him. And when she turned, sprinkling dust in the fire, for the first time he saw smoke rise in hues of blue and red, mingling into purples.

  The roof’s chimney closed, and the smoke grew thick, and he closed his eyes against the burn. But his lungs breathed easy. The throb in his head from the night’s drinking disappeared. He relaxed and sat straight, and his eyes opened without a burn.

  Everyone but the priestess sat stone-still, and she danced and chanted, her motions floating and slow, her words stretched. He understood phrases now, or rather grasped a hint of their meaning: She prayed to Ferinmufûer, the Great Pride Father, and beseeched the Wisdom of the Ancestors for his children gathered here. She laid a hand to Rêmwûer’s forehead and pushed, and the powerful man fell backward as a feather floating to the ground. One after the other the Ilu toppled at her touch, until her blue-powdered paw pressed the bridge of his nose and covered his eyes.

  He heard her blessing and felt himself fall, but never felt a landing. He plummeted into a smiling eternity where there was no bodily pain nor grieving. Paradise. Until he opened his eyes to a world of blue.

  The place was familiar, the same, but different. The swirling blues were darker, and the grays carried tints of smoky-red.

  “Hello, my love.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was a laugh. The Lady appeared before him, hovering and beautiful, but he swore her face was furry and whiskered. He laughed more. “What lion heaven am I in?”

  She frowned, or smirked, it didn’t matter, he continued to laugh either way. “The Ilu have only one heaven and one hell. The spirit-smoke has taken your wits, my love.”

  He snorted a breath and regained a modicum of composure. “Aye, aye, I… Damn.”

  She sighed, faded, and reappeared by his side. A warm hand rose, rubbing his cheeks and forehead. “You’ve traveled slower than I expected. You need to head west.”

  A sense of normality seeped into his being with her by his hide, and the real world returned to his thoughts. “The city of red domes. Mulshuhar.”

  “This is what people call it now? You have time, but the sooner you travel the better.” She hovered above him, her face now the same as it had ever been. Perfect.

  “How can my past await me in Mulshuhar?” Something scratched his back, at the same time, something choked him.

  The Lady smiled. “Travel and find out.”

  He awoke with a rushing breath of fresh air, his chest being crushed, and with a view of Yumûlu leaning over him. She stopped pushing his chest. “You live!”

  “Think you broke a rib or two, but yes.” He rolled to his side and coughed, but she grabbed his head and turned it back to her.

  “Your markings are gone.”

  Solineus recalled the Lady rubbing his face and forehead. Did she have the power to affect his body from the blue universe? He gazed up at her huge leonine eyes, so similar and different than the Lady in his dreams. “My spirit guide took them.” His head spun when he coughed.

  She gasped. “You traveled to the spirit realm as I did?”

  “I did. What did you see?”

  “The Hunting Fields and the Great eagle Filûrêu, the Huntress of Sky and Plains.”

  He smiled, having expected her spirit guide to be a feline. “What did this eagle say?”

  “She told me to awake, to drag you from the tent and save your life. Who was your guide? What did they say?”

  His heart beat slow. “I don’t kno
w her name. She told me to travel to Mulshuhar to find… myself.”

  She tilted her head to the sky, arms raised, and claws flicking from her fingers. “Praise the Pride Father for giving you the destination of all dreamers.”

  Solineus sat up, unnerved by her claws despite himself. “That’s all well and good, but it’d be handy if she told me where the hells the city is at.”

  Yumûlu’s claws retracted and she glanced at him as if he was a fool. “Everybody knows where Mulshuhar is.”

  He rolled onto his back and chuckled. “Throw me onto a cart and drag me there. Not sure I can walk anymore.”

  Yumûlu and Rêmwûer announced their engagement later in the day, and much drinking followed again that night, but Solineus practiced the wisdom he’d learned with the Kingdomers and claimed a bellyache to get himself as far from the kegs as he could get.

  The next morning Solineus walked surrounded by a handful of Ilu, including the engaged couple. The Ilu took his spirit guide’s words to heart when he spoke of hurrying, and they only stopped to sleep. For twenty-six days they strode the red rock lands at a pace that taxed his body and spirit, but as the land shifted from reds to browns and grays they came upon what Yumûlu called the Mulshuhar road. Here they stopped and waited, sitting on a hill overlooking the road.

  Horses and carts traveled from the south in regular intervals, but it took a candle for a wagon to come rolling in from the north. Two mules pulled a family, but the man was nowhere near the size of Ilpen.

  Rêmwûer trotted to the road and raised his paw, and Solineus didn’t know whether the wagon would stop, or turn and run. Within a wick, they were waved to to the road.

  Yumûlu said, “Come. He has a ride for you.”

  They strolled down the hill and she spoke to the man in a language Solineus couldn’t understand.

  He looked to Rêmwûer. “It has been an honor to walk with you.”

  “And you! Little-Furless.”

  “If ever you meet more of my people, show them the kindness you’ve shown me. Don’t wear any of their skulls?”

  He nodded with a grin. “I will or won’t.” And he laughed with a roar. “Maybe someday I will share a spirit-smoke with your Ivin Choerkin.”