Wavebreaker_Book II of the Stone War Chronicles_Part 1_Trickle

by A. J. Norfield

  “No place, really,” said Dalkeira, evasive.

  Trista touched the soft, supple fabric of her new outfit with her fingertips. She felt like a new person when she emerged from one of the huts fully dressed. The clothes covered most of her skin while keeping her temperature down. In combination with the mud on her face and arms, she could now easily move around in the sun during the day. Still, she preferred mornings and evenings if she could time it.

  “Do you like it here? In the village,” said Trista hopeful.

  Dalkeira looked at her and let out a sigh.

  “It is fine. You and Decan needed the rest,” she said without much conviction.

  This time, Dalkeira changed the subject.

  “Tell me again why they painted your face?” she asked, looking at the lines that marked Trista’s face.

  “Aslara said it’s a blessing for those who travel.”

  “It looks silly.”

  “Well, I figured it couldn’t do any harm. Besides, Aslara said it looked good on me,” said Trista.

  Staring down at the next root, she missed the look Dalkeira gave her, but felt the dragon’s disapproval over the remark seep into her.

  “Look, I’m just trying to fit in a little, okay? Should you not do that, too? How are you getting along with the others?” said Trista. “Shiri and her dogs aren’t still bothering you, are they?”

  Trista had avoided Shiri ever since they arrived in the village. She figured if the huntress wanted to talk or even apologize, the Minai woman would come to her. Until then, it was probably best to stay out of her way.

  “Hmph. I dare them to try again,” snorted the dragon. “I am not some poor animal weakened by hunger and thirst anymore.”

  During their first few weeks of rest, the Minai’s diet took some getting used to. The roots they were digging for were fine to eat—if a bit tasteless—but they were often complemented with small amounts of larvae, termites and other insects. It had taken Trista a few days before she tried them; the sensation of eating something that was still alive had not been appealing.

  Unfortunately, real meat was scarce. Hunting parties often got back to the village empty-handed, and even Dalkeira had trouble finding lonely prey she could catch. Those animals in the immediate area were rarely seen and small in general. Besides, they were experts in avoiding predators. Only the most skilled huntresses were stealthy enough to occasionally come back with a successful kill, which was then prepared and shared with the entire tribe. Each tribe member shared equally, while most of the sha’cara provided for themselves. That was alright if you lived on plants, but it meant not much meat found its way to Dalkeira. The dragon’s growth had slowed to a crawl and what she gained in length, she almost lost in width. She was not losing weight, but her build was becoming very stretched.

  Nevertheless, Trista had never considered Dalkeira weak and was about to say so when the high-pitched calls of the huntresses carried through the air. They were followed by the sound of twigs snapping.

  “Something is coming this way. It sounds big,” said Trista privately.

  A tauroryx burst out of the shrubbery and ran straight at them. It was a small specimen, much smaller than its distant cousin, the desert tibu. You could see the resemblance, but the tauroryx's build was leaner and it had small, curly horns instead of the tibu’s long triple ones. Its white feet were covered in red dirt from the chase. Seeing no other huntresses around, Trista jumped up, spear at the ready. She was just about to throw it when Dalkeira jumped in front of her, claws extended to grasp their intended dinner.

  “Watch out!” said Trista, barely able to hold on to her weapon and prevent it from ending up in the back of Dalkeira’s head.

  Startled by Trista’s sudden appearance, the tauroryx’s reaction to the dragon was extremely quick. It changed directions and shot past the dragon’s claws, knocking Trista off her feet. The beast quickly disappeared into the shrubbery behind them and sped off.

  “Whatever did you do that for?” said Trista, annoyed.

  “I believed you could not handle it alone. Besides, it is like I have told you before—I hunt better from the sky. Alone,” said the dragon.

  “But that’s not what it’s all about,” spoke a stern voice behind them.

  It was Aslara. She glanced around to assess the situation and extended a hand to get Trista back on her feet.

  “It’s already difficult enough finding prey during these times. It’s important to work together. To be part of the tribe and face our challenges in unity,” she said. “Even if that means simply digging up roots.”

  “That’s what I was trying to explain to her,” said Trista apologetically. She dusted herself off.

  Shiri and two other huntresses emerged from the other side. Trista immediately noticed the disappointment in their eyes.

  “I told you she would not have it in her,” said Shiri.

  Meanwhile, Dalkeira paced restlessly.

  “You go and be part of the tribe. I have other things to do than listen to this woman’s insults,” she said.

  The dragon turned around and launched into the air. The rush of wind ruffled Trista’s hair. With a few strong beats of her wings Dalkeira set a course toward the village.

  “What’s gotten into her?” asked Aslara.

  “Beats me. She’s been acting strange the entire week.”

  “Well, you can figure it out when we get back. First things first, we need to catch some food,” said Aslara. “Come on. I’ll show you another place where you can dig while we scout for more prey.”

  The huntresses gathered their things and followed Aslara as she walked off again. They would have to travel far from the village today to find meat. Trista stared in the direction Dalkeira had gone. The cloudless blue sky stretched as far as her eyes could see.

  And still not a drop of rain in sight, she thought with a sigh.

  “Got it!”

  Decan jumped up and down with joy. Trista watched her little brother do a small victory dance before he raced off to pick up his stones.

  They had been in the Minai village now for three weeks, resting and regaining their strength. Trista was happy to see how quickly Decan had become friends with the other children in the village. He even started to pick up a few of their local words. Her little brother seemed more and more like a normal kid again with each day spent playing games, helping around the village, and sometimes getting up to no good.

  “Did you see that, Triss?” said Decan, returning with a handful of large pebbles. “Here, I’ll show you again.”

  Decan placed one of the stones in his slingshot. He quickly spun it a few times before expertly releasing the stone. It shot through the air at incredible speed, smashing into the woven basket the kids had dug up from somewhere in the village. The basket spun around on it axis. It wobbled, fully intent on falling off the rock it had been placed on, but changed its mind at the last moment and kept its place on top of the stone. The old basket was littered with holes from many pebble attacks.

  “Well done! You’re really good at this,” Trista said to her little brother.

  Proud, Decan prepared another stone, but just as he was about to release it they heard a heavy thud and saw the basket fly off the rock, out of sight.

  “Hey! No fair,” exclaimed Decan.

  One of the girls had a large grin on her face. She stuck out her tongue, then she and the others started laughing. It was not long before Decan joined in their laugher as well.

  “Seems like you have some competition,” said Trista, who had to suppress a chuckle of her own. “Still, I’m surprised how quickly you picked this up. Are you sure you haven’t done this before? At home?”

  Decan shook his head.

  “But, it is really simple. I can show you if you like,” said Decan.

  “No, thanks,” said Trista, who remembered her first futile attempts a few days ago all too well. “I’ll stick to my spears if you don’t mind. What I wanted to ask you was whether you�
��ve seen Dalkeira? I can’t find her and she’s not reacting to my calls.”

  “Nope, sorry,” said Decan. “Last time I saw her was this morning, after she got back from her hunt.”

  “Ah. Do you know if she caught anything?”

  “Only a snake, she said. Then she left in the direction of Duvessa’s hut. Maybe she’s there?”

  Again?

  “Alright, thanks. I’ll check.”

  The dragon had been spending more and more time with the old life listener these last two weeks. Trista had not spoken much with the old lady herself up till now. In fact, the woman had been mysteriously absent, apart from brief checkups to make sure Trista was healing properly. But for some reason, it seemed Dalkeira had taken a peculiar interest in the woman.

  Trista tried not to let it bother her, but she felt as if Dalkeira was moving further and further away from her—and just when she thought their relationship had been improving again.

  She froze when a giant cat jumped directly in front of her. The animal’s size easily rivaled Dalkeira’s. Two enormous canine teeth ran down from the upper jaw. The creature’s red-brown coat flowed over its lean, muscled build. It shifted its large paws on the sand, staring directly at her. Trista caught a glimpse of multiple retractable, razor-sharp claws, with a fifth—substantially larger—hanging on the side of each front leg.

  High-pointed shoulder blades stuck out above its back, as if the bones had shot past their intended stopping point. Between the shoulders and along the spine were small, black, armored bands, all the way to the long, tufted tail. A hairy, brush-like comb ran across the top of its wide head, while the sides were significantly shorter—apart from one longer lock braided with colored beads.

  “Demarus! Don’t do that! You scared the crushing depth out of me.”

  The large re’lion tilted its head—its version of shrugging—and walked away.

  “Wait,” Trista called. “Do you know where Dalkeira is? I’ve been trying to find her everywhere.”

  The creature looked back, but did not make a sound.

  “Look at me,” said Trista to herself. “I’m so used to talking to an animal I already expect all of them to say something back.”

  Trista spread her hands out to act as wings, then hissed.

  “Dalkeira? You know, with wings?”

  Demarus sat down and looked at her with a blank stare. She sighed.

  “Do you at least know where Aslara is? Perhaps she knows where Dalkeira is. Aslara?”

  That name seemed to spur some action into the animal. The re'lion moved toward the village, looking back every now and then to make sure Trista was still following.

  Trista had first met Aslara’s sha’cara last week when they moved into one of the village huts to free up the life listener’s place. It was nice to get out of Duvessa’s hut. Trista certainly had not dared to complain, but it was great to get away from the thick smell of herbs and piles of bones lying around everywhere. Their current hut was a bit more crowded, with three other women and a man sleeping there last night, but the numbers changed every day. The people of the Minai did not have a standard place to sleep. When it was time to turn in, they just looked for an available place to lay down their heads.

  During their introduction to Demarus, the large red cat had circled Dalkeira but never once made an aggressive impression. Dalkeira had taken an interest in observing the large predator. Sometimes she followed him in the air to observe him on his way or on a hunt. She was intrigued by the stealth Demarus was capable of. And while technically they could not communicate, both re'lion and dragon seemed quite content in each other’s company. Unfortunately, the large predator did not seem too willing to help find the dragon right now.

  Trista quickly followed the cat into the village. As she walked between the huts and hovels, Trista enjoyed the activity around her. She had not noticed it the first time, being half out of this world, but the village was constantly buzzing with people and animals. Children were learning to work with smaller animals. There were some cattle species and some thin mountain goats, who freely ran up the mountain side, every day. Thulai also had several companions of her species represented within the village. According to Aslara, not all were sha’cara, but many people enjoyed the company of animals next to their usefulness for things. The pelts or hides were used for creating hardened leather armor that was worn over the lighter clothing; milk was there to drink and make cheese from; meat and eggs to eat, and several of the Minai made use of an animal’s strength to assist in the chores of everyday life.

  Rounding a corner, Trista heard Aslara’s voice. With an elegant leap, Demarus landed behind the leading mother and rubbed his head against Aslara’s side to greet her.

  “Hey, Dem. Had a good hunt?”

  Aslara ran her hands firmly through the re'lion’s mane.

  “I see you bring company. Perfect timing,” said the Minai leader as she saw Trista approach.

  “Aslara…Lasjika,” said Trista, noticing the den mother Aslara was speaking with. “How’s the baby?”

  The woman smiled and pulled back one of the layers of fabric in which the child was wrapped.

  “She’s fine, Trista of the waterclans. She drinks well…and eats some of the cooked…roots. When the times of...much are here, she will grow quickly,” said the den mother.

  Trista waited patiently for the woman to find her words; not all the Minai were fully adept in the Terran language.

  “Are you sure she’s not a burden? I still feel bad for handing her off like that,” said Trista.

  “Oh, don’t worry, child. It is our way. You warrior types should not be weighed down by the burden of raising children. You can leave that to us, the den mothers. Besides, if I am not mistaken, she was never your responsibility to start with, right? She was lucky you came along when you did.”

  “That is kind of you to say, but I’m no warrior,” said Trista apologetically.

  “Nonsense. Of course you’re a warrior. You fight for what you believe; you fight to stay alive. You’ve told me yourself. Truth given, you can use some training, but you’re definitely a warrior,” said Aslara. “Here, the den mothers take care of the tribe’s children. From the moment they need milk to the day they’re ready to stand alone and face what the Red Plains bring.”

  Over the weeks, Trista’s admiration for Aslara had grown tremendously. It was inspiring to see such a strong woman in charge of so many moving parts of the tribe. The leading mother’s interest and guidance had really helped Trista come to grips mentally while her body took the time to follow its own path back to health.

  “Wait, so they don't live with their mother? Or father?” asked Trista.

  “Some do. Some don’t. The parents can see their offspring at any time, but they don’t necessarily sleep, eat or live in the same place, no. Such is the way of the Minai; we all take care of each other. Just as it’s common for our life listener to name a child that is born.”

  “Every child? Isn’t that incredibly difficult to come up with?”

  “It is not the listener’s choice. It’s the flows of life that…provide,” said Lasjika.

  “But it can indeed take many moons before a suitable name is finally found,” said Aslara. “Not this time, though. I was just telling Lasjika here that we should go and look for you. Duvessa visited me late last night—she said a name has been given to the child.”

  “Oh really? What did she say?” said Trista, who had been trying to find a suitable name for the baby girl for weeks.

  “Er’lun,” said Aslara.

  “It means lucky traveler,” added the den mother.

  “Er’lun?” Trista said it a few times, trying to get the pronunciation right. “That’s a beautiful name. I think she’ll be happy with it. Thank you again for taking her. I’m really glad she made it.”

  Trista felt a tear form in her eye. At least this was one thing she had done right.

  “Really not a problem, dear,” said the den mother
as she stood up. “I’d best be going to check on the other little ones.”

  Demarus rolled over at Aslara’s feet, showing his belly to the leading mother. He yawned as Aslara indulged his obvious wish to be scratched. Trista observed the large canines and other sharp teeth before the re'lion’s jaws closed again.

  “You know, I’m surprised none of the Minai are afraid of Demarus walking around. Him being a predator…I mean, eating other animals and all. Does he always just come and go as he pleases? He totally snuck up on me earlier. Made my heart jump.”

  “During the drought, he’s often gone for days on end to hunt for himself. He doesn’t want to burden the tribe with his constant need for meat.”

  “But even the other animals seem unaffected by his presence when he returns,” said Trista.

  Aslara looked up as she continued to scratch Demarus’ chest.

  “It’s really not that strange. The only predators here would be sha’cara, which have a deep understanding with their chosen humans. Other than that, predators aren’t allowed to be kept; only those that eat plants.”

  “But what about Shiri’s hyen’sta? Clearly they’re both sha’cara since they’re allowed in the tribe, but you said a person will only ever meet one sha’cara. How can she have two?”

  “You’re very observant, aren’t you? I like that about you,” Aslara said with a smile. “And you’re right. She’s a special case; Razza and Shuka are twins. Sha’crow come in pairs every now and then, but Shiri is the first time a sha’cara twin came forth in the history of the tribe. It’s not always easy, but Shiri’s strong-willed and Razza and Shuka respect that. She holds a position of great honor as my second in command, as well as our first huntress.”

  And your lover, thought Trista, immediately wondering why the thought had sprung to mind.

  “What about those creatures in the sunken city? Didn’t you say you were there to capture one of them?” said Trista.

  “Not so much capture; more to scout and prepare. Assess the danger. There’s never been a baell’wek sha’cara and several of the more daring huntresses had expressed the wish to try and find one. Duvessa asked me to go…but that’s not important now. Truth is, a sha’cara would never eat one of their own,” explained Aslara. “Still, accidents happen. They’re animals, after all. Instinct is strong. But so are the ways of the Minai.”