With a final pat on the re’lion’s flank the leading mother rose back to her feet.
“Our ways are deeply rooted in the world of animals. Huntresses can search for years before they encounter their sha’cara, and some never do. We have the life listener to guide us, but that is no guarantee. If they are found and join us, sha’cara are Minai, just like the women and men here around us. And Minai protect each other. We don’t hunt our own; we’re not rotten in the head like the Karnis’h,” said Aslara.
“The Karnis’h? I’ve heard that name before,” said Trista. “Shiri called me that when she first saw me. Who are they?”
“They’re the death and destruction that haunt our dreams,” said Aslara. “They pick everything bare wherever they go. Grabbing the fruits of other people’s labor. We never see them during the times of plenty, but when the rains stop and we are forced to travel north, they always find us. We move around in hopes of avoiding them. Traveling the plains, following the herds. The Taori guide us, and if we’re careful we don’t see them for many moons. But we’re not always so lucky.”
Aslara’s voice turned so dark Trista was not sure if she wanted to ask the next question. She swallowed away the lump in her throat before she uttered the words.
“W—What happens when they find you?”
“Nothing good. Those they kill are pulled away into the night, never to be seen again. Food and animals are taken. Women and children disappear screaming into the dark. We used to be many more, but the Karnis’h are a never-ending plague. We have no idea where they come from. And if we take any of them out they always return with more, a relentless pack of animals that does not give up. It’s slowly destroying our once-thriving tribe. And we’re not the only ones.”
Images of black soldiers flowed back into Trista’s mind.
“Will they come here?” asked Trista.
“I dare not think about it. They’ve never come this far out. Their territory lies further north, so this place has stayed hidden. It’s where we’ve been safe for many generations. But we’re not taking any chances, even during the times of plenty. That’s why Shiri and a few others are always patrolling out there—just in case,” said Aslara.
“Don’t the men protect you?” said Trista.
Aslara looked at her and suddenly broke out in laughter. It was pleasant laughter, clear and high, not meant to deride her in any way. It somehow made the serious leader Trista had gotten to know over the last few weeks look very girlish. Trista could not help but feel like an unknowing child. She sheepishly looked around to see what was so funny.
“What?”
“Haha! Sorry, it’s been a long time since someone made me laugh like that,” said Aslara, lightly touching Trista’s arm. “Thank you for that. You really haven’t noticed yet?”
“Noticed what?”
“It’s us who protect them, not the other way around,” said Aslara. “The men are builders. Workers, not fighters. They’re not allowed to be fighters. We, the women, lead this tribe, like our mothers before us and their mothers before them.”
Trista’s cheeks reddened as she thought back on the last few weeks. As the images floated through her head, she tried to remember details of what she had seen. Things started to fall into place. Aslara being the head of the tribe. The den mothers taking care of all the kids, and the all-women hunting team she had joined. And then there were all the sha’cara Trista had been introduced to—all bonded to women.
None of the men had spoken to her unless absolutely necessary. Looking back now, she could not remember a single time one of the men had idly chatted with her, unless spoken to. All the men had been busy working on the huts or tending the goats up in the mountains, creating tools and hunting weapons or simply doing the cooking together with a few of the women. Trista had not seen one of them carry a spear, sword or knife.
“But why? Don't you need all the hands you can get to defend the tribe?” said Trista.
“No!” Aslara said fiercely with a shake of her head. “Fighting is like an addiction for men. Our foremothers taught us that. Any man who shows aggression is likely to fall prey to it again; searching for it, to see what he can defeat and conquer, including women. If we didn’t need them for offspring, I wonder if we’d have any men here at all.”
Trista must have looked bewildered, for Aslara let out a sigh.
“You really do come from a different world, don’t you? Are you going to tell me the men there never fought? Or refused to take no for an answer?”
Trista thought about the boys who loved to challenge each other back on the island, to see who was strongest. It seemed so normal to her for boys to do so. She had even enjoyed it herself when they had challenged her. She had been in a few play fights when she was younger, but stopped when her breasts started to develop—not because they hurt, but because the boys started behaving strangely whenever she wanted to join in. She never experienced any trouble with intimidating company, though, and even then, she had excellent aim with her knees.
“I—I suppose you’re right,” said Trista, uncertain if she should go against the statement or not.
She tried to keep her mind open to all these new realities, but at moments like this it was abundantly clear there were big differences between the Minai and the waterclans. However, despite these differences she felt at ease here. Back home, she had always felt trapped in her role as a woman. Being forced to find a husband, start a family, be a good wife—it never felt like the path she was meant to walk. She looked at Aslara. Here was not only a beautiful, strong and decisive woman, but a great and well-respected leader of her people as well. She saw why Shiri was so impassioned by the leading mother. The combination was very attractive.
By the goddess, how her parents had tried to shape her into something they deemed suitable. Not once had they stopped to ask what she wanted to do; if she told them about it, it was easily dismissed.
The thought came as a shock. It was the first time in a while she thought of her parents. It felt wrong to be annoyed at them now they were dead. For a moment, she felt a flare of guilt.
No, she thought.
She had nothing to feel guilty about. She had kept her word. She had kept Decan safe, and so much more. This was not about her parents anymore. This was about her. Perhaps it was time to let go of home a little, and start her own path.
Mother, Father, I think we’re at a good spot here. I think we’ll be alright now.
“A man of the Minai is not allowed to raise his fists in anger. Ever,” continued Aslara, unaware of Trista’s wandering thoughts.
The remark brought Trista back to their conversation. She was not entirely sure how you could prevent anyone from getting angry occasionally. Still, getting angry and acting on it were two different things—such as when she had her own angry outburst at Dalkeira back at the Pillar of Life, the morning Decan got bitten.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve been looking for Dalkeira all morning. Do you know where she is? She wouldn’t have left the village without telling me, would she?” asked Trista.
“Have you looked in the caves? If not, they’re probably still in there,” said Aslara.
“They?”
“Duvessa is with her. I saw them go in this morning.”
“Do you know what they’re doing?”
“Didn’t ask. I’m sure Duvessa has her reasons for bringing her to the water gardens.”
“Water gardens? What water gardens?” said Trista, confused.
“You mean you haven’t seen them yet? I asked Shiri to show you days ago.”
Trista hesitated.
“I—I don’t think she likes me very much. She wants nothing to do with me.”
“Mother of all! That woman can be so stubborn sometimes!” said Aslara. “Alright, follow me and I’ll show you the entrance. You’ll understand when you see it. And tonight, I’ll have a serious talk with Shiri.”
“No! Please don’t. She already doesn’t like me as it is. I don’
t want to make it worse.”
Aslara remained silent, glancing at her several times as they walked through the village.
“Really, it’s nothing,” said Trista again.
“Alright. If you think so. You’re still a guest and I’ll respect your wishes.” said Aslara. “Just promise me you’ll let me know when it becomes a problem.”
Aslara halted. She pointed out the start of the caves.
“Here we are.”
Demarus, who had followed them, immediately lay himself down at the leading mother’s feet again. He seemed content with soaking up the sun and letting the rarity of his full stomach settle. The entrance in front of Trista did not seem very big. If Dalkeira had gone in there, it would have been a tight fit.
“Just follow the tunnel till the end. You should be able to spot them easily,” said Aslara, pointing.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“No, I need to check in on the new wall paths. The rains are upon us; we need everything checked before that.”
Trista looked up toward the sky again. Nothing but blue.
“You know, I’m beginning to think it never rains here,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the entrance.
“It will come. Just wait and see,” said Aslara with a smile. “Oh, and Trista? You don’t have to only dig for roots. For variety, you can also help here in the water gardens.”
“Thank you,” Trista said, a little disappointed. She had hoped to join a hunt. “But I don’t know if Dalkeira will want to.”
“Well, see what you can do. I have another thing in mind, but I need to discuss this with Duvessa first. Perhaps she can have a word with the winged ancient as well.”
The remark stung Trista’s pride. She did not need anyone else to make Dalkeira understand.
“Oh, and I’d like you to start training with a few of the younger women here. I’ve seen you handle your short hunting spears quite well; it should form a great base to get some better weapon experience.”
“You want me to learn how to fight?” Trista asked uncertainly.
“A warrior should always strive to improve one’s skill.”
“I told you, I’m no warrior,” began Trista.
“And I told you, nonsense,” said Aslara. “I have seen the inner strength you possess. You have the heart of a warrior. Not one that looks for a fight, but one that seeks to protect; to keep fighting for a belief. To live. You might not think of yourself as one yet, but you most certainly are. You would be an excellent leader too, I think. You led your own to safety when it was needed, which is not always easy.”
At her feet, the big cat rolled over on his back and stretched his legs. His large paws stretched with them, revealing for a moment his sharp claws. Aslara rolled her eyes and chuckled. She knelt to give Demarus one final scratch.
“Come on, you lazy cat. You can sleep later.”
Trista stepped into the gloomy tunnel as Aslara and Demarus walked the other way toward the walkways.
Am I really a warrior? A leader, even?
She had expected a network of smaller caves, much like her hideout cave back on the island, but she could not have been more wrong. A single, small tunnel led deeper into the mountain. The daylight from the entrance behind her faded, allowing the darkness to slowly move in. By the time the tunnel bent slightly to the right, she could barely see where she was going.
Unpleasant memories of the first night she encountered the soldiers bubbled to the surface of her mind. She felt a mixture of fear and relief as her emotions about the soldiers, Decan and Dalkeira all flowed together. For a moment she hesitated, contemplating turning back, when a familiar tingle entered her mind.
Dalkeira.
Her thoughts reached out, but Dalkeira could not hear her yet. Trista quickly continued down the tunnel. As she turned the corner, red light announced the end of the rocky hallway. Relieved, she stepped out of the narrow passage, only to be welcomed by the largest underground expanse she had ever seen.
In the middle of the cave, a single beam of sunlight fell through a large hole in the side of the mountain. The stone dome showed constantly changing reflections that made the walls look alive and moving. The light show illuminated the entire dome’s red stone walls, bathing the cavern in a warm glow.
Trista immediately recognized the patterns of light on the walls, confirmed by the sounds of slushing water. She surveyed the gigantic stone dome; the water body that stretched out in front of her covered more than two-thirds of the entire cave’s floor. There were multiple layers of water, confined in small, natural terraces. Acting as a mirror, the water seemingly doubled the size of the cave, intensifying the massive feel of the chamber.
Trista had missed the presence of water; she felt it in every vibe of her body. The sound, the smell, the reflection of sunlight…Trista let it all soak in as she knelt near the water and let her hand run through it.
The cave was pleasantly cool in comparison to the temperature outside. Her eye caught a familiar color under the water’s surface.
Water and food, they’re both here.
She reached in and pulled a green leaf from the underground lake. She instantly recognized it as one of the main foods served every night. Together with the water, the Minai had all the essentials they needed to stay alive here, even if the rains made them wait. She saw some men and women wade through the low water, their pants rolled up above their knees. They were selectively picking green leaves by hand.
To her left a smaller water pool lay on an elevated platform. It was used to fill containers with drinking water. Trista noticed water slowly flowed over the edge into the lower basin that held the plants. The plant basin took about half of the total water space in the cavern, but all of it was quite shallow. From there, it flowed into another modest and slightly lower pool, where multiple children were helping a den mother wash clothes. A couple of smaller sha’cara lessened their thirst before following the water garden’s tunnel back out again. Birds simply flew in and out through the sky-hole. The last pool, which took up the other half of the water reservoir, seemed to be for bathing. The mornings Trista spent washing from a tiny bucket to save water suddenly seemed very unnecessary. It was the darkest of the four water bodies, so Trista figured it was the deepest as well. Around the shore, two of the smaller Minai children ran around, naked.
The sound of splashing water drew Trista’s attention further down the bathing basin. She looked around the cave and noticed a small figure standing a ways off.
Duvessa. But where’s Dalkeira?
Behind the old woman, a wall of red rock was pierced by a set of large roots. They were the same as those in the life listener’s hut. The Pillar of Life roots had forced their way through the wall to get access to the underground water source.
It was a strange, unearthly scene in front of her. It looked like Duvessa stood on top of the water, in front of the roots. But as she moved closer, Trista saw that part of the reservoir was actually very shallow.
She carefully followed a rocky path that lay just beneath the surface of the underground lake. The water felt soothing to her feet. Skillfully, she kept her eyes moving to spot the darker parts of the water, which indicated the places where it ran deep. Small, cold waves slushed against her feet as she approached the old woman.
The life listener took no notice of her. Instead, she stared intensely at the water. There, in one of the deeper parts of the underground lake, moved a shadow. The wave that formed along the surface told Trista all she needed to know. It was Dalkeira who swam beneath the surface.
“If she wanted to take a bath, I could’ve helped—” began Trista, but Duvessa interrupted her.
“Shhh,” said the old woman with a finger against her lips.
She waved Trista over and grabbed her hand in a warm, gentle but firm grip.
Trista’s eyes followed the shadow shooting through the water. Dalkeira moved at incredible speed, much quicker than Trista remembered from their time at
sea. Unexpectedly, the shadow stopped, as if something was in the way.
That’s new.
A moment later, the water around the shadow started to churn and violently blow bubbles. Trista stepped forward to call out, but Duvessa’s grip intensified, urging her to stay put.
“Just watch,” said the life listener softly.
The water broke out in a wild display of bubbles and splashes. Trista unintentionally held her breath when a large eruption of water burst through the surface. Dalkeira launched herself upward, spinning. Three coiling streams of water followed her straight up into the air. They looked like water snakes trying to get at her tail.
A good distance above the water, the dragon forcefully spread her wings. For a moment, she hung dead still in the air as gravity tried to catch up with her. Waterdrops from Dalkeira’s wings flew everywhere. Trista expected the water snakes to grab the dragon’s feet, but instead they bent outward and continued to circle the dragon, forming a moving wall of water around her.
“Good, good! Now keep going. Try to bring them together,” called the blindfolded woman, who listened intently to the rush of water.
Beating her wings, Dalkeira went into a dive, forcing the three streams of water to combine into one large, moving vortex. Both dragon and water hit the underground lake with force, the sound of impact bouncing round the cave. Diving in and out the water, the dragon seemed to bend the lake around her.
Trista could not believe her eyes. She knew Dalkeira had always been built for water as well as the air, but this was something new. The dragon shaped the water at her will. Trista knew of no other creature in the ocean that could do anything like it.
Dalkeira’s shadow made a sharp turn toward them. It slowed and stopped right in front of them. The dragon climbed out of the lake onto a submerged, rocky plateau, panting.
“Well done, my child,” said Duvessa.
Dalkeira shook herself to get rid of the water on her skin and wings. “That was quite good, was it not?” said the dragon, sounding pleased.
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