Now lying on his back, Trak snarled and snapped at Straf’Tor, trying to land teeth in flesh, but he was straddled with both shoulders pressed to the ground. Pieces of rock from broken benches dug painfully into his back. Straf’Tor chose his moment and lunged down, canines revealed. If he now pressed his advantage, he would tear open the main artery and Trak would quickly bleed to death. But it was enough that Straf’Tor had won the fight; he did not need to kill his adversary. Instead, he pressed his teeth into the meat of Trak’s shoulder, and blood trickled from the gash.
Straf’Tor had drawn first blood, and accepting his defeat, Trak surrendered. Straf’Tor resisted his impulse to tear out Trak’s throat anyway, instead giving him a final shove into the ground before releasing him and standing up. Trak rose, and glaring at Straf’Tor, he circled away, a hand pressed against the wound on his shoulder. Straf’Tor kept his eyes locked on Trak while flipping over a table with one hand and shattering it to pieces, his final demonstration of dominance.
Moc’Tor and the others watched as the battle between the two robust males flared and ran its course. The Leader had allowed the fight, knowing that both males needed to discharge the sexual frustration triggered by his announcement and that aggression against each other was a natural outlet. He now stepped forward into the rubble of the battlefield and circled, eyeing the males one at a time.
“Go about your ways. I have made my decision, and any one of you who cannot comply must be gone by first light. We have more challenges ahead, and I will not tolerate your disobedience. You have had your way with whichever females you wanted. Accept that those days are gone forever; the females now have the right to choose. If you wish to approach one instead of waiting for her, do so. But you must be prepared to accept refusal. Anyone taking a female without her consent will be banished, or worse.”
“You are weak, Moc’Tor. You have let the females take power!” called out Norcab as Moc’Tor turned to leave.
“Who is calling me weak, who himself shouts out from within the crowd like a coward?” Norcab had often challenged Moc’Tor’s authority, and the Leader knew this was just one more way for him to do so.
“Who are you calling a coward?”
Moc’Tor stepped into the throng and pressed his chest hard into Norcab’s, locking eyes as he did so. “I am not just calling you a coward. I am stating a fact.”
Norcab roared, grabbing Moc’Tor by the shoulders and twisting as he swept a foot forward, trying to knock Moc’Tor’s feet out from under him.
Moc’Tor was the alpha for a reason. He stepped back from the maneuver and Norcab had to bring his other leg back and plant it quickly or lose balance. As Norcab recovered his equilibrium, Moc’Tor brought up one knee squarely between his opponent’s legs, and on contact, Norcab doubled over in agony.
While Norcab was still writhing in pain on the ground, Moc’Tor leaned over, and with one hand, threw him against the rock wall. Norcab slid down in a massive dark heap, still curled over and clutching his throbbing seed pack.
Moc’Tor looked down at the incapacitated male in front of him. He then turned and looked back at the others. “Anyone else?”
Met with nothing but silence, Moc’Tor left, knowing that those outbreaks were not the end of it. There would be more attacks and skirmishes, but as long as the males’ aggression was discharged only against each other, he would allow it. Change came hard for the Mothoc.
For the next two days, the males and females remained pretty much separate, neither sure of what to do. On the third day, they started to mingle again.
Sitting on their own in the Great Chamber, E’ranale asked Moc’Tor how it was going with the males after his announcement.
“As to be expected. Two skirmishes. One between Straf’ and Trak. The other between Norcab and me.”
“Norcab dared challenge a Guardian? What was that about?”
“The usual. Norcab is always looking for a chance to challenge me. I kneed him pretty hard and slammed him against the wall. He will be licking his wounds for a while. At some point, I will have to kill him, or he will kill me. It will not go away.”
E’ranale knew her mate was right. Norcab had always been an angry beast. The day would come when Moc’Tor would have to end him, or his influence might spread to others. “Do not wait too long, Moc’Tor. Our people need a strong Leader to get them through these difficult times. You are both the Leader and a Guardian, and it is not good for them to see your decisions challenged. Even if Norcab is not coming at you directly, he might be working against you in the background, stirring up an organized backlash.”
“You are right. For too long, I have allowed it to go on unchecked. The next time Norcab challenges me, I will end him as publicly as possible.”
They both sat silent for a while.
Moc’Tor broke their reflection. “The females?” he asked.
“Relieved, I think, though unsure of their role now. They will adjust. I suspect we will not have to wait long for your brother and Ushca to pair up.”
Moc’Tor smiled. At least there would be some entertainment out of all this.
Ushca stood at the meal counter, looking over the food that had been assembled. The hair on her back pricked up, and she knew that Straf’Tor had entered the Great Chamber. She took a deep breath. It was the first time she would be seeing him since Moc’Tor’s announcement, and her heart pounded in her chest. She sensed his approach and feared she might pass out.
Straf’Tor stood behind Ushca, and she could feel the heat coming off his body. She did not dare look around and stood frozen like a wary deer. A quiet whimper escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes and swore under her breath.
Straf’Tor took a step closer; he was now directly behind Ushca and almost up against her back. Waves of desire swelled within her. Grateful that he had taken the lead, she realized that, nonetheless, she had to make it clear that she chose him.
Ushca stepped back enough to press up against Straf’Tor, and at the same time, she reached around and took his hand, wrapping his arm around her waist. She felt him respond to her and knew the deal was sealed. He pulled her harder against him, leaned down, and pressed his face to her neck.
“I choose you, Straf’Tor,” she whispered into his ear.
His hot breath brushed over her. “Finally,” was all he said.
Straf’Tor and Ushca were lost in their own world. Most of the inhabitants of Kthama had been aware for some time that the two desired each other. Seeing it come together before their eyes was an unexpected pleasure.
E’ranale and Moc’Tor also sat watching as, finally, the long-denied yearning between Straf’Tor and Ushca came to a head. When the couple suddenly realized they were still in the common area with all eyes upon them, Ushca took Straf’Tor’s hand and led him out of the room.
Also watching was Toniss. Freed from Straf’Tor, she made a beeline for the other side of the room, where Trak had been standing quietly, staring a hole into her.
E’ranale and Moc’Tor looked at each other.
“I did not see that coming,” said Moc’Tor. “But I should have known after Trak attacked Straf when Toniss’s name came up. Wait; you told me Toniss is seeded. Will that not complicate things with her and Trak?”
“You are assuming the offling she carries was seeded by Straf,” E’ranale answered with a chuckle.
“Trak?” asked Moc’Tor. “That explains everything.”
Now everyone was watching Toniss and Trak circle each other like creatures in heat. The sexual tension filled the room.
“Well, this ought to get things going for the others!” exclaimed E’ranale.
“No doubt,” Moc’Tor laughed. “And I am glad for them.” With fire in his own eyes, he pretended to leer at E’ranale.
Over the next few weeks, many of the females chose males to mate with. There were a few skirmishes, but the pairing up went surprisingly well, proving what E’ranale had predicted; most of them did have preferences. For whatever
reason, some of the females did not choose—in some cases because the contagion had left significantly fewer males than females.
Most of the sickness had left, and the husks of all who had died had been returned to the Great Spirit by ritual fire. However, despite the seeming calm, Moc’Tor was not relaxed. For one thing, Norcab, in particular, had been absent from the common areas.
First Guard Dochrohan found the Guardian walking outside Kthama. “Moc’Tor!” he called out.
The Leader stopped and waited.
“There is something you need to know. Norcab has been meeting in secret with several of the younger males.”
“I am aware of it,” he said, resuming his walk with Dochrohan beside him.
“Are you also aware of the topic of the meetings?”
“I would imagine my removal from leadership, with or without my demise.”
“Yes, though I am not sure which they have decided upon.”
“I will deal with it at the appropriate time, Dochrohan, though I do appreciate the information.”
“There are quite a few of them, Moc’Tor—although I am not questioning your strength or fighting ability.”
“Did you ever have to fight a Sarius snake, Dochrohan?”
“No, I cannot say that I have. But I know they are treacherous and can grow up to three arm-lengths and as thick as a grown male’s thigh.”
“Yes. And if you let yourself be distracted by its size, you will fail. There is only one guaranteed way to dispatch it.”
“And what is that?”
“Cut off the head. Without the head, no matter how big it is, the rest of the snake is no longer a threat.” Moc’Tor stopped walking and turned to face the first guard. “However,” he added, “I am not so blind that I do not know I may need help in this matter. I will appreciate any other information you discover. Males like Norcab are not males of honor.”
“The other males and I will stand with you. Nysas has joined the group and will keep me informed of their plans.”
“I am the only target, correct?”
“As far as I know.” Dochrohan stared at Moc’Tor for a moment. “You are not suggesting—”
“That in his hatred of me Norcab might hurt E’ranale and our offling? I would not put it past him or any other male stupid enough to challenge a Guardian.”
“Who would go so low as to hurt a female, let alone one with offling? I am tempted to fight you for the chance to kill him myself,” said the first guard.
“Place your strongest male to watch discreetly over E’ranale and our offling—with instructions to kill Norcab on sight if he or anyone else in his group goes near them. However, unless he makes such a move and is dealt with beforehand, he is mine.”
Norcab and his males were waiting for Moc’Tor in the mouth of a tunnel that opened onto the Great Chamber. Norcab had enlisted a group of about twenty to his cause of unseating the Leader. They were mostly younger males blinded by their drives, and with nothing to lose, had been enticed by Norcab. He had promised to strip the females of the power Moc’Tor had given them and grant the males the right to take at will any they wished to, even if the females refused to cooperate.
Moc’Tor’s seventh sense had already alerted him to their presence. That and the heavy breathing that came from the passage.
As Moc’Tor neared the opening, Norcab stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path.
“You are in my way, Norcab.”
“That is ironic. Because you are in my way, Moc’Tor.”
“You are a fool. And I have no time for fools.” Moc’Tor pushed Norcab out of his way but swung around and grabbed him by the back of the neck, catching him off guard. The Guardian easily swung him hard onto the rock floor, and Norcab’s grab for Moc’Tor’s ankles was met with a kick to the face. Blood spurted everywhere as Norcab’s nose split with a resounding crack.
Enraged by the pain, he pulled himself onto all fours and lunged at Moc’Tor. Both bodies crashed to the floor, and the two giants rolled, each trying to gain the advantage. Norcab ended up on top with his hands around Moc’Tor’s throat, but Moc’Tor brought up both his knees and pushed against his opponent’s chest, catapulting Norcab several yards away. While Norcab was trying to get to his feet, Moc’Tor launched onto him and wrapped an arm around the rebel’s neck, pulling hard to cut off his breath. Norcab clawed at Moc’Tor’s arm, trying to get air.
Realizing that Norcab was losing, his band emerged from the shadows. Moc’Tor ignored them; his battle was first and foremost with Norcab, and without their Leader, they would most likely not be brave enough to pick up the fight.
By now, other Mothoc had entered the Great Chamber to watch the brutal battle taking place between the two behemoths. One of them ran to find Dochrohan, who had already heard and was on his way.
Moc’Tor knew that Norcab had only seconds left before passing out; it would be easy enough to crush his opponent’s windpipe right then and there, but the Leader needed more than simply to kill him. He had to publicly destroy Norcab and any legacy of his defiance.
Seeing that the room was filling even further, Moc’Tor did not have to stall any longer. He released Norcab and moved away from him. “Get up. Get up and die like a warrior instead of the coward you are!”
Norcab gasped for breath in between coughing and spitting out the blood from his broken nose. He wiped his face and forced himself to his feet.
“Va! It is you who will die, Moc’Tor.”
The Leader shook his head. “A coward and a fool both. Today is my lucky day.”
At that moment, Dochrohan entered the room with his guards and made quick work of getting Norcab’s band under control, ensuring that this would be a fair fight.
Arms out, the combatants circled each other and Moc’Tor moved closer to the rock wall behind him, trusting that his opponent would fall for the appearance of opportunity it presented. Norcab moved unsteadily, his gaze locked on Moc’Tor.
Suddenly, the Guardian dropped his guard and looked to the side as if distracted by something. Norcab lunged at him, and Moc’Tor timed it perfectly, sidestepping to let the hulking giant’s momentum carry him head-first into the hard wall. Crumpled in a heap, Norcab clutched his head and moaned.
By now, the Great Chamber was filled with spectators.
Moc’Tor was spattered with fresh blood that formed a stark contrast to his thick silver hair. “Give it up, Norcab. Admit you are beaten. You are done.”
“If you are so sure you have won, Moc’Tor, then kill me and get it over with.”
“You are no match for me, Norcab,” taunted Moc’Tor. “I will not kill an unworthy opponent, even one who rightfully deserves it.”
Norcab raised his head and growled. His eyes were already swelling shut, and his hair was caked with the blood from his broken nose. “I will not stop until I have killed you and restored order to our people.”
“You would not restore order. You would return our people to the path of destruction from which I delivered us all. And as for killing me, you are a greater imbecile than I realized. Cut your losses and get on with your life. There is nothing here for you but defeat, today and any other day on which you foolishly decide to challenge the Guardian.”
Everyone was frozen in place. Norcab caught movement as E’ranale pressed her way through the crowd to stand in front of the other bystanders. Her hand flew to her face as she saw Moc’Tor and Norcab squared off in battle.
Norcab locked his gaze on E’ranale. Moc’Tor’s blood ran cold.
“If I cannot kill you, Moc’Tor, I can at least make you wish I had.” Norcab launched himself at E’ranale, who was standing exposed and defenseless only a few strides away.
The chamber seemed to split in two with the sound of Moc’Tor’s rage as he flew after Norcab, felling him just inches from grasping E’ranale. As Moc’Tor brought Norcab to the floor, the first guard stepped in front of E’ranale, spear at the ready.
Driven by blind rage, Moc’Tor dragg
ed Norcab to his feet, and holding him with both hands while bringing up one knee, slammed it into Norcab’s head. Then he forced Norcab further down, and in one swift twist, snapped his neck before allowing the limp body to fall to the floor. The Guardian looked down at his own body, now drenched with his opponent’s blood. Still enraged, panting, he stepped over Norcab’s crumpled frame and faced the remainder of the rebel group.
“Anyone else?” he roared. “Anyone else want to threaten me—or my family? If you do, step up now. Do you think you are male enough to challenge me? Then speak up!”
Every member of Norcab’s group looked terrified. Dochrohan’s guards still had them lined up and chastened by spears poised for action.
Moc’Tor passed down the row, looking each in the eye. Most could not meet his gaze; they were no match for the Guardian, not at any level. “Va! I thought not.” Moc’Tor spat at their feet. “Take a good look at your champion. From now on, each of you is forbidden to be in the same room as E’ranale. Dochrohan, if any one of them is, you or your guards are to kill him on sight.”
“We have done nothing, Moc’Tor!”
Moc’Tor turned and walked over to stand directly in front of the speaker. He was saddened to see it was Warnak, one whom he had thought had some promise.
“Nothing? Conspiring against your Leader is nothing? You have not done nothing. But I will grant you one point, Warnak; you are nothing because anyone who stands with a coward who would attack a female is nothing. And I will not spend one moment having my family looking over their shoulders at nothing.”
In the swiftest of motions, Moc’Tor seized the spear from the guard who stood behind Warnak, raised it overhead, and drove it straight down into Warnak’s center, piercing the chest cavity. Killed instantly, Warnak remained upright, suspended by the spear. Moc’Tor rose, repositioned his grip higher on the shaft, and forced the spear down until it exited between Warnak’s legs. He then stepped back and let the impaled body fall as he had Norcab’s. A river of red gushed from the still twitching form.
The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Page 4
