by Eric Nylund
For months their ferocity haunted him. He started gathering all the footage and reports on the race that came in. Brutes showed a diversity not only in appearance but in the way they carried themselves, as if the weight of the world was on some of their shoulders and others were free to stand tall and dominant. He intuited they must be a weathered species, hardened by many years of struggle, most likely battling among themselves. He tried numerous times to get approval to travel back into Covenant space in search of their home world. Every attempt was denied. But when Brutes started playing a larger role in the attacks on human planets and were suspected of having some animosity toward other Covenant species, his requests started working themselves further into ONI command. When word came down that they had seized the planet Beta Gabriel, he finally got his approval. They were nesting right in his backyard.
His mission was to gather as much as he could on the inner workings of this race of the Covenant, find out just how many survivors remained on Beta Gabriel, and look into finding anything among this species that could be used to cause deeper fissures within the Covenant juggernaut. It was a simple operation. Enter point A, watch from point B, exit a few days later from the exact drop at point A. Quiet, discreet, quick. He’d never thought it would be this bad.
CERETUS HATED being around these despicable creatures. If it were up to him he would have them all in his belly. He truly enjoyed the taste of their flesh, but Parabum’s new “honor” code put an end to it. Their Chieftain decided that the simple slaying and eating of the humans had to stop; there were too few of them left and it was far better to keep them around than to quickly eliminate them. Many of the others agreed, and Ceretus had to admit it was extremely enjoyable to watch them suffer. But he just couldn’t stand living among them, especially after the shame he’d been suffering since their defeat.
When they’d first arrived on this forest planet, it had been a glorious day. The humans all clumped themselves together in one area, as if that made them safer. Only a few of them were even armed. Ceretus and his brother, Maladus, didn’t even need their spikers; they had more fun killing by hand. The hunts lasted for days, the bounties delicious, their bellies never fuller. Ceretus knew that the gods would have been pleased with this conquest. It was a bittersweet revenge in the face of such a painful loss. But as the days passed and the human population dwindled, there was still no sign that the Chieftain was ready to leave.
Ceretus quickly began regretting following this cowardly Chieftain when he retreated from the massive attack. Now, as he stared at the newly found human they’d shaken from the tree, he would have much preferred to die in battle. This was not the life for a true follower of the Great Journey.
He looked back toward his brothers-in-arms. All were barely capable of understanding the path the Forerunners left for them to follow. He took his eyes from the pathetic human captives to the ship that brought them here, the Valorous Salvation. Chieftain Parabum kept the ship constantly protected with four of his bodyguards. He refused to power the ship’s communications; he didn’t want anyone to find them. It was more and more obvious that their Chieftain feared any backlash from the defeat, and he was right to be fearful. His cowardice was punishable by death.
His brother, Maladus, had been leery when their pack had been folded into Parabum’s. They were from two of the most divergent clans dating back as far as Jiralhanae history goes—ancient enemies. The two clans fought even before the great civil war that knocked the Jiralhanae from a space-faring species back to being bound to their planets, forced to rediscover the great advances their ancestors had made before them. They were able to coexist again rather peacefully once the Covenant brought the unifying words of the Great Journey, but their deep-seated distrust for one another slowly rose again . . . and knowing the history of that clan, they had strikingly different levels of devotion to the Covenant.
Parabum’s clan never fully believed in the power of the gods, nor did they worship the technology left behind. They feared, in fact, becoming too dependent on technology. Ceretus’s clan was always the more intelligent, and their beliefs fell more in line with the San ’Shyuum, believing with devout faith in the Great Journey and the gods that took it before them. Ceretus’s clan was terribly ashamed of the civil war that forced the Jiralhanae to give up hundreds of years of progress, and they were at the forefront of rebuilding their scientific prowess when the San ’Shyuum arrived. They were beyond grateful for the opportunity to take to the stars once again.
Parabum’s clan reviled it. It was their kind of thinking that robbed the Jiralhanae of their rightful place among the Covenant species; they used the artifacts in disrespectful ways, more opportunistic than holy. They believed only in muscle and tradition, in the strength of living without an overwhelming reliance on technology. It made them fierce warriors, Ceretus had to admit, reliant on their strength and loyalty to one another. But Ceretus and Maladus both knew from the start that Parabum was strong in body but weak in mind. He never kept any of his underlings in line, leaving them on their own, lazy and undisciplined. This was not the way to rule a pack. Ceretus knew you ruled through fear and manipulation, and faith in the gods. He could never respect Parabum’s leadership.
It was only a matter of time before someone challenged Parabum for the Chieftainship, and Maladus had burst out surprisingly one day shortly after they had landed. It was a risky move, as they hadn’t established much of an alliance in their movement against Parabum, but Maladus called out a challenge anyway. And once you called out a challenge there was no turning back. Maladus had always been a cunning warrior, but the truth was that Parabum was twice as strong. Parabum overpowered Maladus from the start, pummeling him blow after blow. Maladus did little damage to the Chieftain. He barely landed a worthwhile strike. The battle lasted only a few minutes before Parabum had completely subdued Maladus. Ceretus watched, his whole body tense with anger as Parabum stomped on his brother’s neck, crushing it at the shoulder blade. And to rub it in, he viciously bit into Maladus’s broken neck and ripped his throat out with his teeth.
It was pure disrespect. Now Ceretus couldn’t stand looking at Parabum, let alone follow another order from him. And he knew Parabum knew it. Ceretus wished he were strong enough to challenge the Chieftain, but Maladus had been even stronger than him; he stood little chance.
He turned back to the human prisoners and licked his fangs. He went from face to face, trying to strike intense fear in each of the captives. There was little else to do with his time.
“Has our Chieftain returned from the hunt?” Ceretus called out in the face of the newly captured bushy-eyebrowed human, who had quietly coiled into himself.
“Not yet,” answered Facius, his tan fur prickling up a bit as he, too, ogled the captives. He was a particularly impressionable warrior who had become Ceretus’s right hand after Maladus’s demise.
“Perhaps enough time to fire up one of these, a little snack before the feast, served with a proper blessing.”
“But the Chieftain, he will certainly smell the cooking flesh.” This response came from Hammadus, Facius’s brother, a young, rich-coated brown warrior that showed signs of naiveté but was perhaps the strongest of the pack. Ceretus could smell the young one’s fear in daring to disobey the Chieftain. It was Hammadus that got the newly found human out of the tree, and whined demands that they bring him back to the camp, to show their Chieftain, rather than eat him on the spot.
Ever since Parabum called for the eating of human flesh only after a traditional and grossly over elaborate hunt, Ceretus couldn’t bear the idea of following suit. Plus, the time it took to bring the carcass in from the forest caused the meat to spoil. Any worthy Jiralhanae knew all too well that the fresher the kill, the finer the taste. A savage like their Chieftain wouldn’t bother to savor the feast properly in the name of the gods.
“What do you suggest, young brother?”
“Well the Chieftain doesn’t know we didn’t kill one in the hunt, does h
e?” Facius asked with an ever-so-slight grin. “We can at least have some fun until he returns.”
“Yes we can, Facius.” And he turned back to the prisoners. This young one showed promise.
BRIEN COULDN’T help but stare out at the human remains lining the forest pathways, hanging from trees, beaten to pulpy pieces surrounding the camp. It was disgusting. One thing was obvious: These beasts had no respect for humans at all. The same keen sense of smell the Brutes followed to his hiding place didn’t seem bothered by the awful stench of human carnage. He figured it might actually seem sweet to these monsters.
Though he’d only been awake in captivity for a few hours, Brien was starting to make sense of a few of their growls and grunts, at least emotionally. It didn’t take long for Brien to pick up on a brewing impatience from the circling Brutes.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Brien whispered to the man next him, as the Brutes all began walking down the line of prisoners.
“You don’t want to know . . .”
Brien watched carefully, looking away at any sign of a Brute turning back toward him. Most of the captives slept or showed such shock and fear that he found it impossible to communicate with many of them, but this man he immediately recognized. Dasc Gevadim was a renowned guru of a religion known as Triad. Those who followed the Triad teachings believed that we all harbored three internal lives, and spiritual transcendence only occurred if you managed to link all three. His followers ran galaxy wide. He used to run seminars via public comm channels, but he’d disappeared about ten years ago. It was much publicized. Many called it a transcendence, and his following grew exponentially with such reports. The sales of his vidcasts went through the roof.
“They’re deciding which one of us to eat, huh?” Brien asked, knowing the answer.
“Not exactly. Big Boy seemed to put a stop to it. Now they only eat after they let one of us go and hunt us down,” Dasc whispered back. His scraggly white beard was caked with dust and blood. His eyes glassy and red. Brien wondered if they had been feeding the captives raw human flesh. He didn’t want to know.
“Which one is Big Boy? That one?” He pointed discreetly to the one who had knocked him out of the tree.
“No. Big Boy isn’t around. Maybe still hunting,” the man next to Dasc answered—a sickly yet stocky man Brien recognized as a famous big-game hunter, named Hague or something.
It made sense. He’d seen a few packs scrambling around this morning, and now there was silent hostility among the beasts as if they were on the verge of doing something wrong.
This especially rang true for the slightly graying, black-furred one, the one with a clean-shaven face, who had been surveying the captives and had treated Brien to a foul saliva offering. He seemed to have good control of the lot. Brien immediately called him Six.
Just then, Six caught wind of the whispering and turned back toward them. All three men adjusted themselves awkwardly. As he made his way closer, Dasc was quickly overrun with some of the deepest fear Brien had ever seen. Fear was never in Brien’s blood. He was usually ready for any end that might meet him, but as this man-eating giant beast lumbered over toward him, his body trembled in fright.
Six stopped right in front of the cringing Dasc. His nostrils flared as he looked closer, grabbing at Dasc’s arms and poking at his scrawny build. He then made a grunt that was obviously a summoning or a name. Two other Brutes made their way over; one tan that Brien dubbed Butch, and the huge, rich brown one he’d thought was Big Boy. He quickly referred to him as Ludo, though he couldn’t figure out why. He wondered if any among them were female. It was impossible to tell. In all of his research, he’d never positively identified one.
Six grabbed Dasc in one big rip with his right hand, but when Hague leaped back startled, his eyes must’ve met Six’s. The Brute immediately dropped Dasc, pulled Hague out and tossed him toward the other Brutes. Dasc’s body lay limp and unconscious beside Brien, and judging from the smell he’d lost control of his bowels.
Brien and the other captives watched fearfully as Six let out a roar and a hand motion—a wider summons—and a crowd started to gather around. Hague wobbled himself upright, trying to be as brave and defiant as one could when surrounded by nine-foot-tall hairy beasts, all able to crush you in a blink and drooling in anticipation of a fresh meal.
Just as Brien finished counting the fifteen Brutes surrounding Hague, one of them ripped the famed hunter up by the leg and held him upside down. The others gave roars of laughter. The old saying always held true; laughter was the same everywhere, even in the Covenant. Hague struggled to rise, trying desperately to wiggle himself free, when another grabbed at his other leg. The crowd goaded them on and another Brute grabbed an arm, and that’s when Brien couldn’t look anymore. He watched as Six suddenly seemed to lose interest as well, wandering back beyond the crowd, to the edge of the forest. He couldn’t quite place why the beast would incite such a spectacle and walk away, unless it was to impress.
Hague’s screams sent shivers through Brien’s bones and he shut his eyes. Then the screams stopped with a chorus of crunches and yells from the Brutes. His mind’s eye painted it black. The hollering Brutes slowly gave way to silence and Brien opened his eyes again. The crowd had dispersed, and standing amidst the torn and bloodied remains of Hague was undoubtedly the one Dasc had referred to as Big Boy. Clad in a few strokes of armor and with his gray-brown hair unkempt around his snout, the hammer-wielding leader definitely was one of the biggest Brutes Brien had ever seen. He stood there silently. Brien looked around for Six; he was nowhere to be found.
CERETUS WATCHED from the darkness as Chieftain Parabum stood silent with his hammer over his shoulder. Behind him were his security chief, Jupentus, and his right hand, Brunus. Two of the dumbest Jiralhanae Ceretus had ever encountered. They each had dragged in a human corpse behind them. Parabum took in his pack with disappointment.
“Looks like a bit of fun was had here,” he said, signaling the human remains with his hammer. “Without me.” Parabum lifted the torso, a string of muscle still connected the head. Ceretus’s stomach growled. “A plump one, too. Who led this game?” He looked around to see, but everyone was bowing their heads in respect.
Ceretus knew no one would confess; it was too risky. Parabum never kept a cool head for anything. He chose awkward battles to fight, found disrespect where none was intended. He was one of the worst Chieftains Ceretus had the displeasure of serving. He watched hungrily as the head of the human sway off the juicy torso. He had been looking forward to feasting on this one, but now it would certainly spoil. Brother Golubus had come really close to making the fatter ones taste like Thorn Beast, and he missed that delicacy as much as he missed the brothels back on Teash. The humans ruined any chance of returning to such pleasures. Parabum ruined it, really. But here he was listening to a Chieftain who couldn’t even properly sermon the pack. There was a lot of hate in Ceretus’s heart, mostly for the humans who put him here—but he was happy to focus all his hatred on this ancient clan enemy and the bastard who disgraced his brother. He couldn’t hold the hatred in much longer. He’d rather die than rot in the shadows of this coward.
“It was me, my Chieftain, who called for the preparation.” Ceretus emerged boldly from the darkness. “Our brothers were getting restless in their hunger, and I feared you’d be late in returning.” He quickly hid his bravery, taking on a much humbler tone as a shred of fear took over.
“Ceretus, do you not have faith that your Chieftain is the greatest of hunters, a fierce and keen tracker, especially of these simple creatures?” Parabum was obviously trying to test him. The Chieftain walked toward him with no fear.
“I have no such doubt, Chieftain,” Ceretus said as he approached, bowing before him at an arm’s length. “This was a kill from our hunt, and we figured we’d go ahead and get it prepared while it was still fresh.” He bowed before him, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him. The charade pained him.
P
arabum grabbed his throat; his nails, digging through Ceretus’s fur, piercing his skin. “Not one of these pathetic creatures is to be touched without your Chieftain to sanction it. Not one.” Ceretus struggled to keep his eyes averted, his shame apparent in his lack of challenge. And like a switch going off, the Chieftain released his grip, his attention diverted to the human pen.
“What is this!” Parabum slowly waked toward the pen, Ceretus gasping for air. “A new human emerged?!”
Ceretus looked over toward Hammadus, who was watching in excitement.
Hammadus shouted proudly, “We found him up in a tree, my Chieftain. I climbed up and the coward fell to the ground in fear before I could even reach him. A blessing from the gods, Chieftain. Perhaps there are more out there. We brought him back here . . . he will make a great hunt, I’m sure. Being able to climb so well and all.”
