by Joe Darris
“We are near,” the hermit says.
Kao smells them too. Their acrid stench burns his nostrils. He crouches down on the ledge and inhales deeply to learn more of crows. The mixture of chemicals in the air wash over the follicles in his two large nostrils. He smells the birds' feces, their vomit, the telltale scent of decay that their feathers always reek of. One nostril smells them more, they lie in that direction. He inhales again and knows they still sleep, but he smells something more, berries, herbs, and clay from the stream. His sister!
His nose guides him towards the ledge. He sees the nest, off and away. There are more than two hands of birds. All sleep. Each one's bald head is tucked beneath its wing as they slumber. Kao never knew there were so many. He is sure the Hidden aren't in all of them. If they were, then more would have attacked him in their last encounter.
“Smell her?” Kao whispers to the hermit. The old man is petrified.
Only altitude and a narrow ridge of rock separate them from the center of the fearsome birds' nesting grounds. The kingcrows are barely down the mountainside, above the tree line and nestled in a barren section of boulders and rocky crags. Kao knows he must climb down, find his sister and take her to the jungle below before the birds wake. If they are discovered the flock will take flight and pick them from the cliff face like fruit from a tree. There is no place to hide. The jungle is too far below.
Kao stands upon a sheet of stone that cracked off the mountain as it was pushed skyward millions of years ago. Dozens of sheets fell off. They lay below the two tribesmen, a maze of connected paths that even the hermit can traverse if he can find the path.
“I see a way,” the hermit says and points a zigzag pattern down the stone steps. The frail old man tightens his grip on Kao's back, ready to be carried swiftly. Kao shakes his head 'no,' and points at the nest.
“I smell her.”
“She's not there.”
“I smell her.”
“Fine, you stubborn brute. Go! The sunrise waits for no one.”
The hermit pulls the elk skin tighter around his shoulders and hurries down the path he drew in the air.
Kao hurries and is among the flock in no time. Each bird sleeps in a messy nest made of brambles and bones. The ground is bleached white. The smell is overwhelming, but now and then he smells the berries, herbs and clay from the stream. He is close. Then one of the kingcrows is awake.
Kao hears the difference in its breathing. His round eyes catch starlight that reflects off of the bird’s feathers. It is an arm’s length away. It turns toward the flock and Kao drops to the ground and freezes. Kingcrows never come out in the dark. He hopes bad night vision is why.
Kao waits an eternity. He is worried about the hermit. He cannot risk moving to see if he is safe. The hunter hopes his hairy back is close enough to the color of the cliffs in the early morning. It seems to be, for the bird pumps its wings a few times, then leaps from the cliff. Headfirst it dives into the abyss below.
Kao sniffs the air and resumes his search. He prowls around the cliff. The birds sleep, but when the sun rises, they will awaken, hungry. He is close. He can smell berries, clay. He must find her!
His nose leads him. He scuttles towards another kingcrow, this one a female. He smells mud and berries and knows this one took her. Then his sharp eyes see it. A single braid of grass lies outside the nest, in a caked pool of mud. He scoops it up and smells it deeply, tastes it. Herbs, berries, clay from the stream. This was on his sister. He sniffs and searches but sees nothing else. She is either dead or gone, but Kao smells no blood. She is still alive.
He waves the little grass braid.
The hermit hisses back, “Hurry!” and points down the mountainside.
The kingcrow pumps its wings far below. As it spirals upwards Kao sees light glint off of one of its eyes, only one. He curses and climbs after the old man. As he nears, he points towards the rising black form.
“Hidden.”
The hermit nods. He did not need to be told. The two climb faster, and hope the forest is closer than it looks.
Chapter 13
We tell these stories for when the Hidden awaken... and they will, sure as the sun rises.
Skup climbed the stairs that that connect the lower residence quarters to fifth floor, home of the Amplification Chambers and the Evanimal program. He loaded news reports on the Virtual Reality Chip embedded in his brain as he tromped up the steps.
Nothing major in the news. Someone had discovered yeast in the air and thought they could make bread. Skup had never had the stuff. The reporter said it would be a good use of grain. Melons were on sale. Still nothing about the storm or the Wild Man, but that was to be expected. They'd hold onto that one as long as possible, and Ntelo would announce it, not the news. Skup shut down the program as he walked onto the fifth floor. Time to work.
He loved the fifth floor this early. Spire City slumbered until sunshine burst through the clouds. Even the pilots rose after dawn. The Evanimals' priority in the morning was always eating, something they did not need a human consciousness to assist them with. Most pilots synchronized once their Evanimal had eaten and was ready to start working in the Garden. Skup never afforded himself such a luxury. He needed to have fluid control of his vultus before the flock awoke. Otherwise there would be early morning claims for dominance.
Since the Wild Man half-blinded his vultus, the other birds had been more ornery than usual. On top of that, the flock was jealous that they didn't get to share in Elia's catch. A young vultus like hers was supposed to surrender its food. They would remind her of that today.
Skup stepped into his Amplification Chamber. It smelled of cold metal. The electricity in the air made his few arm hairs stand on end. This early, there was no sweat from other Shepherds wafting in from the dozens of other chambers, none of the familiar sounds of people coming and going, none of the crowds watching the Shepherds guide the Evanimals and tend the gardens. It was just him and the machine that took his mind to earth.
Skup stepped into the middle of the hexagonal metal room, sat down and took a deep breath. He felt the electromagnetic field that powered everything ignite his senses with a slight metallic taste.
“Synchronize,” the walls of the hexagonal room pulsed dully. Poor quality visuals. Skup closed his eyes and listened. He heard the vultus's slow breaths, its heartbeat in the quiet of the early morning. He slowed his breath to match the bird's. In and out, in and out, until they breathed as one. It wasn't necessary to do this, but Skup swore by it. He and his sister believed the Evanimals responded to subtler controls than most people used. He liked to imagine that the bird thought of Skup as part of its own mind, some sort of powerful intuition that guided it. Some days he opened the connection and only observed, hoping that the vultus understood the mind inside its own was there to help, not control it blindly for ends different than its own. Today though, he didn't afford the bird the luxury of its own awakening. Skup wanted to explore the edges of the jungle, where Elia had discovered the furry little girl. He knew there were more of them. He wanted to find them, dead or alive.
Skup moved his arms and heard the rustle of feathers and the familiar tinkle of the armament of prongs and bones he kept stashed inside the bird's wings. He opened the bird's one eye slowly. The stars were still out, but the kingcrow could pick out little more than the glowing clouds the Spire hid inside. The Garden was drenched in darkness. The vultus's poor night vision made it look like blackness superimposed on still blacker depths. He could see rough outlines of the tops of trees when electricity discharged from the Spire.
To think, he was looking at the city that held and protected his own body through the eyes of a creature that could not only survive the toxic planetary surface, but would gleefully kill anyone from the Spire. He wondered if the vultus had any idea that the cloud bank its eye was trained upon was the source of the consciousness that shared its body. Probably not, he decided but it was an amusing thought.
Skup sho
ok his own body a bit which ruffled the bird's feathers, then slowly stood up as the bird did the same. He extended his arm and stretched his own muscles. He stretched his fingers and marveled as the bird's feathers did the same thing. The magnificence of sharing actions with any animal, let alone an animal as powerful as a vultus was a source of constant amazement for Skup. He moved his arms back and forth and saw the bird's wings do the same, but their increased length and bevy of feathers pushed dirt and sand off the ledge in front of him.
He approached the edge of the cliff, ready to take flight. Flying could be risky this early in the morning, before the sun illuminated the earth and its obstacles, but Skup knew the area well, and liked to push the limits of his synchronization with his vultus whenever he could. He looked right towards the sleeping flock, left towards the sheer cliff face, then back towards the cliff he'd plunge from, but the vultus hesitated.
It was resisting him. The bird was fascinated with the cliffs. It could see nothing but blackness. Skup had heard nothing, so knew that the bird must be using a sense the VRC could not broadcast. Elia would know what it sensed, Skup though bitterly. Smell? Touch? Intuition? Skup wasn't sure. He only knew the bird sensed something.
Probably just a goat. Something large enough to be worth catching for food. But whatever it was would have to wait. It was still invisible in the predawn blackness and Skup had no way to catch it. He put it out of his mind and forced the bird to look forward. Skup made it ruffle its feathers once more, then leapt from the cliff.
The vultus hung suspended, motionless, eternal. The Lord of the roost floated in inky blackness. Only the sound of wind ruffling the bird's obsidian black feathers betrayed the speed of the plunge. Neither Skup nor the vultus could see the ground coming up at them. Skup heard the bird's pulse quicken as it accelerated. It was a steady drumbeat in his head, quieter than the wind that whistled in the birds ears, but more persistent, driving. Skup could use the bird's VRC to judge distance automatically. He knew exactly when he'd need to spread his wings to save himself, but did the vultus?
He dropped his arms to his sides, made his body limp. The vultus could do as it pleased. He gave it freedom for the sake of curiosity. How would the vultus handle the fall? Skup did the jump nearly every day, so the bird should remember what to do, but it was early, normally they could see the ground rush up at them. Would the plummet in darkness overwhelm its sense of self preservation?
The wind whistled louder. The vultus fell faster. Finally, just a half second before Skup was about to retake control, it spread its huge wings and glided out, away from the cliff face. Skup's own arms rose up as the bird's did. He pumped them as the vultus did. He did not try to control the Evanimal but reinforce its actions. They moved fluidly, naturally. The two were one.
Skup loved to let his vultus guide him. It couldn't have complete control as long as he was in the Amplification room, for technology allowed his mind to override the bird's own muscles, but the two were a team. After piloting the vultus for years he could follow its actions or direct them. The trick was to relax, and let his own body move with the bird's. He understood the anatomy of the vultus well enough that if he moved with it, he could go along for the ride, or take subtle control. Skup was a sort of human feedback machine. He amplified and accentuated the bird’s actions. Some of the nuances and subtleties of the bird's movements and motives were lost, but Skup could give the bird more autonomy than any other pilot, except his sister Urea and her panthera.
There were times when he could not tell which of the pair was mimicking which. His sister blurred the line between freedom and control with eloquence and grace. Skup had to admit the two working together was a nothing less than a divine masterpiece. Skup felt that he understood the delicate balance his sister struck with her feline. He relaxed and let the kingcrow behave naturally.
Despite Baucis's private criticism of the Naturalists, Skup thought there was something very beautiful about Nature, especially the animals. They showed no hesitation, no idle thought or speculation in their minds. They had motives and desires, and they acted upon them. Friends existed, and enemies; the vultus flock that Skup worked with certainly had more to their minds than eat, sleep and reproduce. They had past times, hang ups, quirks, even favorite foods, yet none of it slowed them down. Their mind served their body as much as their body served their mind. They were engaged with their environment and operated their mind within the world around them, instead of in isolation from it. They were closer to their bodies than the Citizens were, and not confined by artificial limits.
Skup found it ironic that he had never given any thought to his own body until he began using it to control the Evanimals. Only then did he realize the strength of his muscles, the grace of his bones. He found that after working with the Evanimals for as long as he had his own intuition had heightened. He trusted his instincts as much as he trusted the Evanimals. He found it peculiar that the pilots primarily flexed their own intellect and intuition through Evanimals, but the entire experience was so enjoyable, that it was easy to forget.
The vultus had gained speed and soared upwards. Normally at this point in the flight Skup would guide it over the Gardens, looking for any intruders, testing the limits of its sight, but today the vultus was distracted. It flew upwards in tight circles towards the roost.
Skup smirked to himself. It seemed the bird didn't like being up before the sun after all. He flapped his arms with the birds, and soon found himself sweating. The vultus was working hard to get back to the nest. Surely it wouldn't waste so much energy if it only wanted to go back to sleep.
Skup thought back to the bird’s fascination with the cliff face. Maybe the goat had been closer than he realized. Few animals ventured near the kingcrow nest, but the bird wouldn't misinterpret its own senses. Even if it was half blind, it had a keen sense of smell that Skup was oblivious to. The self proclaimed Scavenger pilot could wait to explore the jungle. If the vultus flock awoke to him devouring a meal, they'd humbly beg for scraps, and reinforce his place as Alpha. The pair had to work harder since losing the bird's eye. If his bird could catch food before dawn with one eye he'd prove his power to the flock. Besides, the sustenance from a fresh meal would supply him with all he needed for a day's work.
With eager anticipation, Skup peered at the approaching cliff. It looked to be another day of life and death, predator and prey. Skup let out a yip and the vultus screamed into the night.
Chapter 14
And when they awake we will have three choices... it may seem no choice at all but its the same for every question: fight, run or die.
“CAWWW!” The shriek stings Kao's ears. He turns to see the kingcrow, black against sparkling stars. Its wings drive it higher. Its altitude threatens the tribesmen.
Kao looks back at the nesting grounds of the kingcrows. They stir, woken by the call of their leader. If all are possessed by the Hidden, death will be swift. This one must be, or it would not have given away its position so early in its attack. It could be trying to scare the tribesmen, but kingcrows are too deadly to use fear as a tool. The Hidden may not be so brash.
The hunter clings to the cliff face and fingers a prong broken from the rack of antlers the hermit still wears. The bird can still see with one eye. Kao intends to change that.
The hermit, frightened from his wits, slips and rocks tumble down the ledges. He is close to the jungle below, much closer than Kao. The hide flutters as he hurries. The kingcrow hears the sounds and points its beak straight at the hermit. It beats its wings once more, lifts itself above the moon in the sky, then aligns its body with its hooked beak and dives at the hermit. Camouflage is pointless. The hermit screams and scurries, fast as he can.
The bird had not known where they were. The call had been a bluff, a trick to see if it could scare anything into revealing itself in the weak light. The hermit, never hunter, fell for an old trick.
Neither will make it to the trees without a fight. They are too high up, the path too t
reacherous. If the hermit throws the leather... its movement in the low light might be enough to distract the bird and allow them time to escape. Like their last bout, this battle will be settled by cunning and surprise, not brute strength. Kao edges along the rocky paths. When the kingcrow attacks, he must be in range.
“GRAAK-GRA-CAWWW!” the bird shrieks louder as it dives at the hermit. It has one chance to snatch the hermit in its talons, if it misses the feeble old man may make it to the treeline. The hunter glances once more at the awakening kingcrow flock. They are curious and intently watch their leader, but are still oblivious to his presence. If he can kill the Hidden's bird the flock may not strike before the hermit makes it to the safety of the jungle.
Kao takes aim. He has an even smaller window of attack then the bird. Too early, and the bird will bank from its dive and return moments later to attack him directly. Too late and the bird will gore the hermit with its talons, and Kao will have to settle for bitter revenge.
In seconds its wings reach across the entire sky as the winged killer descends upon the hermit. It beats its wings to slow its dissent and splays its talons wide in a razor sharp attack. Close. Closer.
A ray of sunlight reflects off the bird's undamaged eye. Kao tightens his grip on his prongblade and tenses his body, ready to uncoil his muscles in one fluid strike. Time slows as adrenaline heightens his senses and prepares his body for his mind's commands. He envisions the blade piercing the bird's round eye, blood and fluids spray upon the hermit. The bird can still hurt the two if blind, but it can also fall to its death in eternal darkness. Its feathers ripple as it raises its talons high. The moment before attack. The hunter uncoils, timing his throw perfectly with the bird’s path. The blade will pierce the bird's eye and then-- with the bird's own velocity-- drive the blade into its brain.
