by K. A. Holt
Natka cries out. Klara chokes out a sob. No one is moving. No one is doing anything. The air is so hot and stifling it is as if it has solidified and trapped us all in a net. I push through the heat and silence and grab a knife hanging along the wall. I hold it in the fire that is burning low in the cooking pit. I have watched Aunt Billie take limbs. Not from shine tree poisoning but from injury and infection. Your knife must be clean and sharp. Your movement must be swift.
Jo says, “Do not do it.”
“I have to, Jo. I can’t just let him die.”
“Ebibi wills it.” She touches her chest and closes her eyes.
“Ebibi can’t have him! He is only a boy! He is a pain in my hind end, and he hates me, but I will not stand by when there is something I can do to help.” I pull the red-hot knife from the flame and pray to my own gods that it is sharp enough to do the job I’ve cast upon it. I am going against the word of an entire culture. Is that right? Is it right to let a boy die when there is a way to save him? My heart—and my sweating hand—have an answer.
I scream all the air from my lungs, startling everyone in the room, except Natka, who continues to writhe. I quickly see where the ribbons of black have reached, and aim for the spot just above the blackness. I grasp the knife with both hands, and with one long arc I land the knife in the middle of Natka’s arm between his elbow and his wrist.
We are lucky.
The knife is sharp.
My movement has strength.
The lower arm separates from the upper arm. I have removed Ebibi from Natka’s body. Blood is everywhere. Screaming follows. It is chaos. The old Cheese works furiously to bind the wound. Klara is shrieking and on her knees. Jo is trying to hold Fist back; they are both shouting. But Fist is stronger. The last thing I see is the cold blackness of his eyes, then I feel a sharp sting across my cheek as he makes sure to scratch me with his claws as he hits my face.
I see stars and then blackness.
It reminds me of home.
18
NATKA WILL NOT SPEAK. FIST will not speak, either—at least not to me. He has plenty to say to Jo and to Klarakova. I roll over on my blanket outside the mouth of the cave. Fist will not let me inside. It has been three nights.
During the day Temple comes to sit with me. The people she lives with—her family, she calls them—told her what happened. As the hours pass we watch clusters of Cheese walk by, whispering. We see Ben-ton talking with older women in the village, heads shaking, eyes narrowed as they stare at us. I wonder if he is pleased that I am in such trouble. Clearly any Cheese who thought I might be a warrior or a leader one day would not think that anymore. I don’t blame them. I don’t want it. I never have.
Temple does not agree with my actions, either. No one seems to. Again, Rae thought she was saving a life, only to be thwarted by her good intentions.
Temple understands the situation, though. She, too, remembers seeing the Cheese boy standing by the lone shine tree. We both wonder if this was Natka, and if that tree marks a grave.
Even though it is night and the sky bleeds a deep red, I walk to the practice grounds. The wind is hot and fast and I wonder if there will be an electrical storm. There has not been one since before my arrival at the village. With the abundant pools of water, lack of electrical storms, and ability to quell my breathing attacks, this village makes me wonder if the Cheese truly are protected by their gods.
I run laps around the practice grounds, my heart pounding. It feels good to have my blood run through my veins so quickly, to feel it thumping in my ears. It is easy to think of nothing else, to feel nothing else, as my feet pound the dirt and sweat pours down my face. My hair tickles my neck, black branches grown longer over the months. I reach into my pocket and pull out a bit of fabric. I tie my hair up into a horsetail as I run, my neck instantly cooling, my third eye tingling as I rub it.
Why won’t Natka speak? We know he broke from the raiding party for one full day and night. Jo went to search for him and found him on his Kwihuutsuu trying to make it back to the village. His only words at the time were “Ro-ri-ta Ebilil ”—“Stupid shine tree.”
“Ro-ri-ta E-bi-lil,” I say to myself as I run. It has a nice pattern to it. “Ro-ri-ta E-bi-lil. Ro-ri-ta E-bi-lil.” The running filters everything from my brain except those two words.
What if he wasn’t saying “ro-ri-ta,” though? What if it was “Rory-ton,” like I thought I heard when he fought with Fist? Was Rory a failure? Could Natka have known her? I stop running and lean my elbows on my knees as I catch my breath.
I must know. I will not stand for this any longer. I have already offended Ebibi along with everyone else in the village. I have nothing left to lose.
The Red Crescent frowns at me as I walk briskly back to the cave. The night is so clear, I see the wisps of clouds on the surface of the planet. What must it be like to live there? Ben-ton has spoken of a time when the people of Hosani came to trade with the Kihuut. Why do they no longer come? Why do the Cheese never speak of it? They have gods for the suns, for the darkness, for wind, for fire, but say nothing of the one thing that takes up almost the whole sky. It is strange.
At the mouth of the cave I stand straight and take a breath. I walk inside, hoping Fist and Klara are sleeping. They are, but at Natka’s bedside. How will I wake him and speak with him if they, too, will then wake?
My inelegant boots solve this problem for me. Natka’s eyes open when I clomp closer to him. The two adults stay sleeping. I doubt they have slept much over the past few days. I point to Natka and then I point out of the cave. His face has no expression, but his ear membranes throb. He carefully moves his legs to the side of the bed. His arm is bandaged tightly to his chest, held over his heart as the wound heals. I follow him from the room.
Once outside, he accosts me with a series of Cheese words and sentences I don’t understand. His eyes seem only half open, but his gestures are pointed, his voice low and sharp. He appears to be hostile, but also frightened.
“I don’t understand you,” I say. “You know I don’t.” I slow my voice down and speak quietly. “Please . . . talk . . . slower. . . .”
He looks away from me, runs his good hand through his long hair. It’s funny to me how many gestures between the Cheese and the humans are similar.
“You disgrace Ebibi,” he says slowly, not looking at me, touching his chest and closing his eyes.
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I just . . . you were dying. Do you understand these words? Dying. I didn’t want you to die.”
“But you not like me,” Natka says. His voice is clear, his human accent very impressive. He has apparently been hiding from me that he does indeed understand a lot of my words.
“You’re right,” I say. “I don’t like you. You don’t like me. But I still would not see you dead.”
“This is not the way,” Natka says, turning to look at me. His eyes pierce mine.
“It is not your way, but it is my way. If it is possible to heal someone or something, it’s always worth a try. My aunt Billie taught me that. We do not give way to our gods, without first showing our strength and love and protection of this worldly life.” Oh, gods, I sound like Papa.
Natka regards me for a moment, his eyes searching my face. “I like this,” he says, finally. “Show bravery to gods. Learn more. Grow stronger.”
“Yes,” I say. “This is what I wanted for you. No one seems to understand that.”
“They have old,” he says. “They own too many rules.” He lightly rubs his good hand over the bandaged stump held tightly to his chest. “Thank you,” he says in a voice I can barely hear over Mara’s sighs. “Thank you, Mayrikafsa. For saving my life.”
I am surprised at his words, but loath to show it. I nod once and swallow hard. “You are welcome, Natka.” We both shuffle our feet and work hard to keep our eyes from meeting. “How did you come by the
shine tree?” I ask after a moment.
Natka sits in the dirt, with his back to the outer wall of the cave. “There is single Ebilil tree by Maasakota. Gorge.” He pauses as I sit next to him, then he turns to look at me. “I like to visit sometimes.”
I nod, my heart beginning to thrum a faster beat. “Does that tree mark anything significant? I know the shine tree does not usually grow this side of the gorge. Or so I have been taught.”
“This is true,” Natka says. “We have no Ebilil trees, except to mark resting place of someone injured by one.”
“What injured person lies beneath that shine tree?” I ask in a whisper, around a growing rock in my throat.
After a torturous pause worse than any punch or kick, Natka says, “Rory-ton,” in a strangled whisper. “My sister. My friend.” A tear escapes one eye and he swallows hard.
“We think,” he says, swallowing hard again, trying to calm his breaking voice. “We think she was flotaka.”
“Flotaka,” I say, my eyes searching the sky for the meaning of the word. “Miracle?”
Natka nods. “We think she was untouched by Ebilil poison.” He rubs his hand over his face. “She came to village very ill, signs of Ebibi taking her was growing through her. . . .” He pats his side. I nod. “But then, the blackness go away. The . . .” He snaps his fingers and says the word for “knife,” then shakes his head.
“The needle?” I say. “From the tree?”
He nods. “Yes. This. It was never found. Wantosakaal say she must only have scratch. She got better. We trained together all days.”
I close my eyes, I imagine Rory taking the place Kailia would have held in the family. The place that would have been Ben-ton’s had he been a girl. The place that is now mine. I imagine her shooting metal arrows and being chased by baby dactyls. I imagine her sleeping on the same pallet in the cave as I do. I imagine her running her laps, laughing with Natka.
“We train, and then, ha’at moons later she fail Kwihuutsuu test. Flying test. She very angry, say her eyes not work right. Everyone think she lying. She disappoint. Her name taken away, changed to Rory-ton.”
“What was her name before?” I ask, running my palms over the dirt, smoothing it out.
“Kamino.” Natka pauses, his mouth clasped tightly, his eyes searching my face. “She Who Laugh.”
My eyes burn and brim. She Who Laughs. “Of course,” I say. “Of course that would be her name.”
“Then, only few cycles of suns later she no remember any name. Not hers, not mine, not her other brother who she talked about all times.”
Her other brother. “Boone,” I say. It makes my heart ache to utter his name.
Natka nods. “And then Ebibi took her.” He touches his chest and closes his eyes. “The blackness came over whole body. Wantosakaal thought it was terrible sickness and order body to be taken far from village. And then Ebilil tree grow and we understand.”
“She was so strong,” I say. “She fought the poison for two summers.”
Natka looks at me, his eyes bright as I know mine are. “I went back to tell her of you. How I hate you. Hate how you not her.” Natka strangles out a laugh. “And she shoot me. She must not like what I say.”
I laugh, too. “Always has the last laugh, that Rory. That Kamino.”
Natka smiles and I see both Fist and Klarakova in his face. He swipes a tear that has escaped. I, too, have a wet face.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say.
“Thank you for saving me,” he says.
I stand and help him to his feet.
“We are brother and sister, now,” he says. “As Kamino and I were brother and sister.”
“Are we?” I ask.
He nods, smiles, and then shoves me. “But I am always bigger and stronger.”
We turn to go back in the cave and Klara is standing there, quietly swiping away her tears as she smiles at us both.
19
“PITAR!” I YELL. “RO-RI-TA, KWIHUUTSUU!”
Jo is laughing so hard, her snuffle-snickers echo off the rock walls of the small canyon we’re in. “Do not fight the Kwihuutsuu, Tootie,” Jo shouts up at me through her laughter.
“Do not call me Tootie!” I shout back, my hands scrambling over the pink scales of the baby Kwihuutsuu’s neck. She is actually not such a baby anymore. Her wingspan is so wide that if you are standing anywhere within ten hands of her, you would be good to step out of the way when she unfurls her wings or else prepare yourself for a mighty smack in the face. And she is not even full grown, yet.
The Kwihuutsuu streaks up to the sky like a light arrow, and it’s lucky the reins are knotted to one of my hands, otherwise I would have just tumbled to my death. As it is, I am hanging on by one painfully dangling arm as I smack the beast with my other hand and yell things like, “AAACK!” and “Slow down!” and “Whoa!”
“She must understand you is the barka, Tootie,” Jo yells to me. I can barely hear her over the wind and the pounding of my heart.
“Barka?” I yell back, trying to remember the meaning of the word. “Boss, you mean?” I would laugh if my throat weren’t filled with terror-induced bile.
“She must trust in you,” Jo says as the Kwihuutsuu changes course and begins a deadly dive straight into the canyon. “Teach sweet Kwihuu the trust she needs.”
Sweet Kwihuu? Right. Now the strap around my hand is saving my life as I fly behind the beast like a spark at the end of A’akow’s ankle ropes. She flattens out her dive just a bit and I am able to scrabble onto her back, holding on tightly with my knees. She must feel my knees squeezing her because she whips her head around and tries to bite off my left foot, jaws snapping, eyes narrowed.
“Whoa!” I yell, yanking my foot back. “Did you see that, Jo? She’s trying to eat my feet.” We skim over Jo’s head as I yell to her. She waves up at me.
“If you wear the nantolas she not do this thing,” Jo says.
“Naa! ” I shout down at her. “Those are gum ugly shoes, Jo. They are indecent.”
Kwihuu decides to show off now, and twists her body in a full spiral, throwing me through the air like a seed blowing in the wind. I hold tightly to the reins, closing my eyes and wishing for this lesson to end.
“Ho laa! ” Jo yells to me. “You naa pay attention to what Kwihuu telling you. She plays now. You must tell her is learning time.”
How am I supposed to tell this fierce beast it is not playing time? I think of Papa rapping our knuckles with his slate when we didn’t pay attention during lessons. I do not think Kwihuutsuu have knuckles.
“Hey!” I yell at her. “Stop this, you beast! We are to be learning now, you and I. I will be disgraced if we cannot get this right.”
In response, Kwihuu bucks wildly, trying to throw me off her back. I hold tightly, but bang my face against the saddle several times, feeling blood flow freely from my nose.
“You gum pitar ro-ri-ta awful beast!” I scream, letting my anger get the better of me. “Why must you be so difficult?”
At this, Jo erupts into laughter yet again, and my rage grows and slithers toward her, too.
“And you, you Cheese!” I yell at Jo. “You are just trying to kill me. You are not helping at all, just standing there and laughing!” I swipe at the blood, feeling it smear across my cheek, cooling my face in the hot wind.
Jo smiles up at me. “If you not careful, Tootie, I will change your name to Kwihuu the Second—the only other beast in village who matches your . . .”—she waves her hand, thinking of the word—“plinot.”
I scrunch up my bleeding nose. “Plini?” What is she saying? That I am like the shelled beast Temple is so good at hunting?
“Plinot! Plinot! ” Jo says. “This word you use with Natka!”
I have regained my precarious position on Kwihuu’s back, again squeezing her gently with my knees. It is
hard enough concentrating on not dying up here, without Jo yelling language lessons at me.
I shout down to her. “Stubborn? Is that what you’re trying to say? Plinot is ‘stubborn’?”
“Ja! ” Jo says with a smile. “You too stubborn, Tootie. You and Kwihuu share this. Is why we matched you.”
“Oh that’s why,” I say, trying as best I can to keep my heavy boots from pushing too hard against Kwihuu’s scales. “I thought it was because you and Fist and Klara are conspiring to KILL ME.”
Jo snickers as Kwihuu and I swoop down and skim over her head. Then Kwihuu decides it would be fun to try to fly high enough to puncture the Red Crescent.
“Oh, gods,” I mutter, the wind catching my words and throwing them away like scrub dust. Reins in both hands now, I give a sharp tug and see Kwihuu’s head pull back slightly. She clearly doesn’t like this, as she jerks her head forward with a fierce snarl and starts another dive into the canyon. This time, though, I don’t give in and scream and panic. I pull on the reins again, with more force, but not ungently. Again, she fights me.
Jo has gone silent as she watches us struggle for dominance, high—and then low and then upside down and then high again—in the sky. If I fail this test I will lose my Cheese name and be Mayrikafsa no more.
It is also a struggle within myself, I know. I should not want a Cheese name. Weeks ago, I should have fought and stabbed my way out of the village to try to go back home again even if it meant getting lost on the prairie and dying from the suns. And, yet, I do not wish to do these things. Neither do I want to lose my Cheese name and be relegated to the same status as Ben-ton. I feel that my future is unknowable. There is only now. And right now I need to master this beast.
I pull the reins again and again as Kwihuu slowly begins to let me guide her.
