by L. S. O'Dea
She frowned. “It’s heavy to me.”
“Go. Now,” ordered Mirra.
Gaar grabbed her arm. “Me first. You next. Mirra will bring up the rear.” He slipped through the entrance. Once clear, he motioned for them to follow.
She glanced behind her at the door. “Don’t let it close all the way. I don’t know where the release lever is from this side.”
Mirra purred. “I wait here for Guards.”
“No. We are not to kill the Guards. We are to check out the camps today. Nothing else.”
Mirra snarled. “Stupid plan.”
“Let the door close,” he said. “If we leave it open the Guards will know someone is here.”
He had a valid point, but what if they couldn’t find the lever to open the door? They’d be trapped inside the Tracker camp. Mirra let go of the door and it closed with a sickening click.
Gaar met her gaze and held it. “The latch should be around here and if not, we’ll find another way. I promise. I need you to focus on our current situation, okay?”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Now, show us the Trackers,” he said.
“That way.” She pointed straight ahead.
As they crept through the brush, they came to an area where the vegetation wasn’t as thick. Gaar halted in mid-stride.
“What’s wrong? Is someone coming?” She glanced around but everything was clear.
He didn’t move or say a word. Mirra pushed past her and stopped beside him. Mirra’s hair bristled and a low growl rumbled in her chest. He held a finger to Mirra’s lips. The Tracker jerked her head away, but silenced the growl.
She couldn’t see a thing around their bulky frames. She stepped out from behind them. There were five Trackers chained in a cleared area of the forest, three more than last time. They were situated so that even if the chain was taut, they could not reach one another. They each had a small shelter made of rotting wood with two buckets next to it, probably for food and water. One Tracker, a large black male, paced, straining his chain on each trip. The other four lay in the dirt. The grass had long ago been worn away.
Farther back in the yard, there were ten cages and two buildings. Three Trackers inhabited three of the cages. Except for the Trackers, the cages were barren, no food, water, or shelter from the elements.
A russet colored, male Tracker in a cage stood and sniffed the air. He began clanking his teeth together and grunting. The other Trackers turned toward the forest. Their ears perked. The Tracker that was pacing quickened his gait and began to emit a low rumble.
Her instincts screamed for her to run, to get as far away from the sounds and the gleaming eyes of the Trackers as possible but she had to remain calm. Predators could smell fear. “If they keep this up, the Guards will come.” Thankfully, her voice didn’t betray her nervousness.
Mirra stepped out of the brush. A hush fell over the Tracker camp. Even the pacing Tracker stopped to stare at her. Mirra moved closer. One of the chained Trackers raced forward and lunged.
Trinity grasped Gaar’s arm. He absent mindedly patted her hand, his focus on Mirra and the camp.
Mirra didn’t even flinch as the male Tracker flew toward her. He was only about six inches away before he was yanked back by the chain around his neck and landed on his rump in the dirt. Trinity exhaled and dropped her grip on Gaar.
Mirra crouched. “I friend. I help.”
The Tracker bared his teeth.
Mirra pointed to herself. “Mirra.” She pointed to the Tracker. “Who you?”
The Tracker’s lips quivered and a long thread of drool hung from his mouth as he continued to snarl. Mirra cocked her head, studying the other Tracker.
“He no speak,” said the russet Tracker in the cage.
Mirra stood and looked at him. “You speak.” She cautiously made her way over to him. Some of the Trackers on the chains leapt at her as she passed, but she paid no attention to them. She stopped in front of the russet Tracker and pointed to herself. “Mirra.”
The Tracker pointed to his chest. “Nirankan.” He then pointed to a small, black and gray female Tracker in the cage next to his and said, “Sikka.”
Sikka walked to the front of her cage and nodded at Mirra.
Next, Nirankan pointed to a white and brown male Tracker in the cage next to Sikka’s. “Para.”
Para remained leaning against the back of his enclosure. His eyes were watery and his nose was dry and crusty. He looked at Mirra and tipped his head in a slight nod.
As Gaar continued to stare at the scene before him, he reached to the side and grasped her shoulder, squeezing hard. “Real Trackers. And they’re communicating with her.”
She smiled weakly, shifting sideways and breaking his grip. She was glad Mirra was not the last of her kind. The Trackers in the cages seemed friendly enough, so there was hope that Mirra could find a mate, but the chained Trackers scared her. There was something different about them.
“Who them?” Mirra pointed to the Trackers in the yard.
Nirankan shrugged. “They stupid.”
Mirra bristled. “That no nice.”
“They no nice. They stupid. They no speak. They know nothing. They just kill,” he spat out.
“I kill,” snapped Mirra. “I no stupid.”
He grasped the bars of the cage and leaned forward. “They no right.” He tapped himself on the temple.
Mirra looked back at the chained Trackers. The one had gone back to pacing. The others glared at her, some still snarling. “What wrong?”
“That’s a good question,” muttered Gaar. “I’ve never seen Trackers behave like that.”
There was something odd about the chained Trackers. It was more in their demeanor than their physical attributes. They glared at Mirra, but there was something else besides anger in their eyes, confusion or perhaps sadness.
Nirankan loosened his grip on the cage. “They no come out right.”
“What you mean?” asked Mirra.
“They no made right.”
“Made?” asked Mirra. “I no understand.”
He studied her. “You real, like us.” He reached out to touch her but she was too far away. “Come closer.”
Trinity held her breath. Nirankan was larger than Mirra by at least one hundred pounds. Mirra was arrogant and a bit reckless but she wouldn’t put herself in danger, would she?
Mirra didn’t move.
“Please,” he said.
Mirra remained where she was. “What you mean real?”
“You know you parents?” he asked.
Mirra hesitated. “Yes.”
He nodded at the Trackers in the yard. “They no have parents. They made here.” He pointed to the building that stood closest to the cages.
“You mate there. Have babies there,” said Mirra disgustedly.
Trinity grimaced. That was worse than her camp.
“We no mate. They take blood”—Nirankan tapped his arm with his paw—“later bring new Tracker.” He stared at the ones in the yard. “They know nothing but there.” He nodded toward the building. “They no born. They no grow up. They just are. That why they no speak. They never taught.”
She and Gaar exchanged a puzzled look. How could that be possible? Mirra glanced back at them, her shock and horror as clear as if she’d spoken. Trinity grabbed Gaar’s hand and squeezed. It was way worse than her camp.
“This is not good,” muttered Gaar. “I wish I’d given her a shot. She’s getting harder to handle and this is not going to be easy for her.”
“You leave this place,” warned Nirankan. “They catch you. They cage you.” He shook the bars.
Mirra backed away. “Mirra set you free.” She scanned the yard. “Set all free.”
“Stick with the plan, Mirra,” whispered Gaar.
Trinity glanced at him. His face was like stone and his eyes gazed intensely at Mirra. Did he think the Tracker could hear him?
Nirankan shook his head. “Too late for us
. Go. Now. Or they catch you.”
Mirra looked their way, as if she heard Gaar’s command. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head slowly. She moved closer to the cage. “I no leave you.” She looked at the other two caged Trackers. “I no leave any.”
“You no free us. You no think we tried? It no work,” said Nirankan.
One of the Trackers in the yard sniffed and grunted. He let out a short howl.
“Go now,” said Nirankan as he raised his head and inhaled. “You travel with Handler. You scent mask wear off.”
A cacophony of hoots and howls broke out from the Trackers in the yard.
“Mirra promise. Mirra come back. Mirra free you.” She turned and raced away as three Guards ran out of the building that was farthest from the cages.
“A Tracker’s loose,” yelled a Guard.
Mirra stopped and looked back at the approaching Guards. She bared her teeth in a parody of a smile and darted into the brush away from where they were hiding.
Gaar shook his head and blinked several times, looking around as if he was waking up in a strange place. “We need to go.”
“What about Mirra?”
“She’ll find us,” he said as he backed away.
“But the Guards...”
“They won’t catch her.” He gently shoved her toward the stone doorway.
She ran her hands over the rock. Luckily, the release lever was in the same spot on both sides of the wall. She pressed the switch. The door opened and they exited the camp letting it slide shut behind them.
“Someone’s coming. From over there.” She pointed in the direction they were headed.
He sniffed the air. “Guards.”
They were trapped. Her heart raced. How many Guards were there? Could Gaar kill them all?
He looked to the right and then left. “Quick. On my back.”
She shoved his quiver and backpacks to the side, clamping her arms up and under his armpits and her legs around his torso. He began climbing the stone wall, using the imperfections in the rock as grips, so that even with his large hands he was able to almost stick to the wall as he climbed. It was like her first encounter with Mirra, except whereas the Tracker almost glided up the wall, this wasn’t easy for him. After the third slip down the rock, she shut her eyes and prayed. When they reached the top she said a silent thank you to Araldo as Gaar helped her off his back. He held a finger to his mouth, signaling silence. The wall was about four feet wide. He lay down on his side, facing the forest. She did the same, her head near his feet.
All was quiet for about ten minutes and then there was rustling in the brush below. The smell of unwashed Guard assaulted her. She wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth. She could not be captured by these creatures.
Five Guards casually filtered through the woods, their heads angled down, sniffing. They were lean and rangy, probably bred for speed. The stone door opened and the three Guards from inside the Tracker encampment stepped into the forest. Four of the hunting Guards turned toward the noise and stopped. The fifth member of the hunting pack motioned to the others and they quietly slipped back into thicker vegetation.
“Chubs, can you smell her?” asked one of the Tracker Guards. He was young and thin. “Where could she have gone? We were right on top of her.”
“Face it, we lost her,” said Chubs, who was short and chubby.
“We have to find her,” said the third Tracker Guard. He was of average height and a bit plump. He seemed to be in charge. “Benedictine will kill us.”
“How did she get loose?” asked Chubs.
“She didn’t,” said the young Guard. “Our eight are all still in the yard.”
The leader stopped walking. “Did they bring out a new one?”
“No, Trip, they didn’t,” said the young Guard.
“Do you smell that?” asked Chubs, looking around.
All three of the Tracker Guards stilled. As they sniffed the air, one-by-one the hunting Guards moved into view.
The leader of the hunting pack stepped forward. “Did I hear you say Benedictine?”
The three Tracker Guards looked around nervously. Trinity couldn’t blame them. They were surrounded, outnumbered and the hunting Guards were bigger and in better shape. She had a pang of empathy for the Tracker Guards. If it weren’t for Mirra and Gaar, she would’ve been in a similar situation.
“Yes,” said Trip, puffing up his chest in a show of false bravado.
“Is he looking for a lost Producer?” asked the hunting leader.
“We don’t know anything about a Producer,” said Trip. “But, if he’s in this area, he either belongs to Benedictine or the Forest Witch.”
The hunting leader stepped closer, towering over Trip. He bristled and a low growl rumbled in his chest. “She belongs to us. We caught her scent first. So remember, if you stumble across her in the woods, she’s ours.” His lip curled, showing sharp canines colored brown around the gums.
“We don’t go into the forest. We aren’t allowed to leave,” blurted Chubs.
The hunting leader turned to face Chubs. “Leave where?”
“Don’t say anything,” said Trip.
The hunting leader motioned and his team of Guards closed in, forcing the three Tracker Guards to huddle together.
“Tell me what you were doing and I may spare your lives,” said the hunting leader.
The three Tracker Guards looked at each other. Trip and the young Guard shook their heads in warning at Chubs.
“I’m not dying over this.” Chubs turned to the hunting leader. “We work for Benedictine. We protect a hidden encampment of Trackers.”
“Trackers? Did you hear that?” The hunting leader laughed and his Guards chuckled. “Trackers are extinct.” He abruptly stopped laughing and grabbed Chubs by the throat. “Lie to me again and you’re dead. Understand?”
“If they kill each other, our task will be easier,” whispered Gaar.
She tensed. She didn’t like them, but she didn’t want to see them tear each other to pieces.
Chubs gurgled and tried to nod his head.
The hunting leader let him go. “Now, tell me. What are you hunting?”
“I wasn’t lying,” said Chubs, his voice raspy.
The hunting leader’s lip curled upward slowly, baring his teeth again.
“Wait.” Trip swallowed visibly. “I can show you.”
“Benedictine will kill us,” said the young Tracker Guard.
“You’ll be dead long before the Almighty gets to you if you don’t convince me,” said the hunting leader.
“This way.” Trip showed them the hidden door.
Gaar carefully turned to his other side. She did the same. The Guards stepped through the stone doorway into the hidden encampment.
“Why haven’t they smelled us?” she whispered.
“The Tracker Guards’ fear overpowered our scent. Plus, we’re pretty far up and this type of Guard hunts by ground scent.”
The group of Guards was now in the yard.
“Holy Araldo!” exclaimed the hunting leader. “These are Trackers.” He looked at his pack in disbelief. “They weren’t lying.”
“There was another one loose in here earlier. I think it was a wild one. That’s what we were chasing,” said Trip. “At first we thought one of these broke free, but all of ours are here.”
“It can’t be a wild one,” said the hunting leader. “They were wiped out years ago. Did one of yours get out earlier and come back?”
Trip shook his head. “The only way they leave here is dead.”
At the hunting leader’s confused look he explained.
“They die either from the blood draining or by the Handlers when we put them together.” He laughed. “You should be here then. It’s a sight to see. It’s even money on which one will make it out alive.”
Trinity gritted her teeth. It was a joke to them. A game. They forced creatures like Mirra and Gaar together to fight until death and then la
ughed about it. Someone should do that to them. They wouldn’t find that so amusing.
“Sounds like a good time,” said the hunting leader.
“The battle is great to watch, but when they don’t bond, it doesn’t make Benedictine happy. I’m sure you know that his wrath is not a joke,” said Trip.
The hunting leader nodded. “I’ve heard about Benedictine’s temper. We haven’t decided if we should sell the Producer to Benedictine or the Forest Witch.”
She swallowed and looked at Gaar. Who was this Forest Witch? Their eyes met and held. He smiled reassuringly.
“If the Producer is one of Benedictine’s, he won’t pay you for him,” said Chubs.
Trip glared at him.
“What? I was just warning them. Benedictine will simply take the Producer because it belongs to him.”
The hunting leader patted Chubs on the shoulder. “The witch it is then.”
“I’m surprised the Producer is still alive,” said Trip. “These woods are not safe, especially for a Producer.”
The hunting leader nodded. “That’s why we need to find her quick, before something else does. It isn’t often a prize like a Producer is dropped in your lap.”
“I almost had her too,” chimed in one of the hunting pack. “I was hot on her scent trail and then all I could smell was pine. It was weird too because I didn’t see a pine tree anywhere.”
“Pine?” Trip looked at his two Guards.
“Yeah, pine,” said the hunting leader. “What of it?”
“We smelled pine today when we were chasing the Tracker,” said Trip. “We’ve noticed that the Trackers here give off different scents. Not all the time, but they can.”
“Yeah, the crazy one”—Chubs pointed to the pacing Tracker—“he gives off a sweet scent sometimes. It’s like overripe fruit.”
The hunting leader looked at his Guards. “And you say that there was a wild Tracker here, today, and you smelled pine when you were chasing her?”
Trip nodded. “If a Tracker got your Producer, there won’t be much left of her. They’re vicious creatures.”
They all turned to look at the Trackers. Seven of them sat quietly staring at the Guards. The eighth continued pacing.
“They give me the creeps,” said one of the hunting Guards. “It’s like they’re just waiting for us to come near.”
