Red Moon Rising

by K. A. Holt

I do not know where to fight first. Should I work to free Jo? I think she is trying to create peace by sacrificing herself. Do I try to save Natka?

  A man lunges at me and I bat him off with my forearm, slicing at him with my knife.

  “Feisty, eh?” he says. “We been given permission to use force with feisty girls. You stay calm and I won’t hafta hurt you.”

  I slash at him, taking off the tip of his pinkie finger as he grabs for me. His face contorts with rage as he screams and grips his hand.

  Another man comes, holding ropes as if he wishes to bind me. He’s moving cautiously, like I am an animal to be captured. I rush at him, pushing him away with my left foot to his stomach. He falls back across one of the benches that surround the fire.

  My blood is pumping, my senses heightened. I feel as though I have the strength of ten Kihuut warriors. I march toward the horses in the distance, to help free Natka and Jo, when suddenly there are two more men, each grabbing hold of one of my arms. I struggle and lash out with my feet, but they are strong. One of the men smashes my knife hand against a stone until the pain makes me drop my knife. Gum ro-ri-ta ke’ekutaat!

  I bend forward, flexing my arms and trying to launch the men into the dirt ahead of me. When one falls I think I have succeeded, but then I see the metal arrow sticking out of his neck. I swing my newly free arm around and connect with the second man’s ear, but he holds fast to my wrist, dragging me. I dig my feet into the dirt, giving my arm a yank and causing him to stumble forward a little. He then picks up a large rock with his free hand and hauls his arm back as if to throw it at me.

  “They told me to bring you back alive, but it won’t be my fault if an altercation causes me to violate that request.” He smiles, showing dirty teeth that barely peek through his bushy beard. I have seen this man around the village, working for Old Man Dan.

  His arm is back, ready to brain me, when there is a whistle through the air, a gurgle, and he falls to his knees, a metal arrow jutting from his neck. He collapses to the ground, twitches once, and is still. I whirl around to see where this arrow came from and Temple waves from the other side of the fire.

  Best shot in the village, my little sister.

  I wave back and she grins. She holds up her altered handbow, showing it off, when I see a man running up behind her.

  “Temple!” I shout. I flail my arms to the side, motioning for her to run. “Move!” But the man lifts her from the ground. She kicks out, bites at his hands, and twists in his grip. He throws her over his shoulder and she puts up a mess of a fight. I run to them, slashing at anyone who gets in my way, but am intercepted just before I reach them.

  It is Ben-ton of all people. He is clean, unsullied from not fighting. “Let them take her,” he says, trying to pull me into the shelter of a cave. I rip my arm from his grip and push him hard in the chest. He stumbles, but keeps talking. “You should go, too. Me, you, Temple. We do not belong here. These men have come here for you, you know. They’re killing Kihuut because of you. Let us go together. Let us leave with no more fight. Let us be with our people. This is our chance to end this madness.”

  “What do you know of ending madness?” I shout at him, brandishing my knife. “You have no power and so you seek it by spreading madness with your smooth words and sly tricks. You are a trouble stirrer, a gossiper, a failure.”

  “I am a failure because I do not belong, Ramona.” His voice is calm. “But I am not powerless. You think some girl-child can come here and just take over? Not likely. Soon, you will be a failure, too, Ramona. Just like every other human taken by the Kihuut. You should get out while you can, before your inevitable fall from grace.” He looks me up and down in a way that makes me want to stab him. “Look at yourself, Ramona. Bruised, battered, beaten. This is the life you want?”

  “The humans did this to me, you rockhead,” I shout. “Not the Kihuut!”

  I do not want to think of things now, even as Ben-ton’s voice echoes in my head: “These men have come here for you, you know. They’re killing Kihuut because of you.” I shake my head as if that will rid it of his words.

  The man who has Temple is hauling her to the horses. She is limp now and I do not know why. I missed whatever happened because of that ro-ri-ta pitar Ben-ton. I spin around, take two long steps to where Ben-ton still stands, and whip him across the face with the hilt of my knife. When he falls, I kick him again and again while he squeals. There are hands grabbing me now, pulling me away from him.

  Klara turns me around, shakes me, slaps my face. She is covered in sweat, dirt, blood. She pulls me away from the squealing Ben-ton, shouting, “Mayrikafsa. Keeto! ” Enough!

  I take a deep breath and realize I have tears streaming down my face. Who is he to tell me this is all my fault? Who is he to tell me I will ruin everything one day? Why is everything always my fault?

  I manage to splutter, “My fault. They have Jo. Natka. Temple. M-my fault. I am no warrior. I must have led them here. It is all my fault.”

  Ben-ton stands, making slurping noises as he sniffs his bloody nose. He glares at me and then walks toward the horses with his hands out to the sides, showing he is weapon­less.

  Klara’s arms engulf me, holding me tight. “Mayrikafsa. Sweet kakoni.” She wipes away my tears. “Give Mara your worry. You strong Kihuutkafsa. Mayri make you strong.” She shows me my tears on her dusty, bloody hand.

  “Mayri-kafsa,” I whisper. “Crying Warrior? That’s my name?”

  “You fine kakoni. Fine Kihuut. You lead with . . .” She taps my head. “And with . . .” She taps my chest. She pushes me back and smiles through her own emotion. The pieces of metal in her hair sparkle under the glow of the nighttime Red Crescent.

  And then time slows. Klara falls as her head whips to the side, a spray of blood flying from her mouth. Two men grab her and drag her to the remaining horses, while I am still focusing my eyes and trying to figure out what just happened.

  My breathing is not steady. My head whirls around. There are still more men, coming for me. I blow my whistle for Kwihuu. The humans may have Temple, Jo, Natka, Klara, and others, but I have my Kwihuutsuu and I can outpace them, beat them to the gorge. I dodge and slash at the men.

  The fight will continue. I will fix this.

  I blow the whistle again, kicking out at the men who lunge and aim their weapons at me. Where is that gum beast?

  All around me, Cheese lie wounded or worse in the dirt. The humans have mostly disappeared along the edge of the village, a few wounded stragglers have been caught by the Cheese and are being dragged outside of the village center. I hope they are being dragged to Wantosakaal so their injuries can be treated and Fist can question them. We must learn where they came from, how they knew where to find the village.

  Kwihuu still has not come. I run, the men giving chase. There is a discarded light rifle in the scrub and I grab it, firing behind me. There are shouts and cries and then the only feet I hear running are my own.

  I run as fast as I can to the Kwihuutsuu nests and . . . no.

  No. No. Nooooo!

  It cannot be.

  Kwihuu, Suu, all of the beasts lie dead. Shot. Sliced open.

  I fall to my knees, stroking Kwihuu’s head. Her ugly, ugly head, which saved me so many times. Her terrifying snout, which nudged me awake when I was falling off her back from exhaustion. Her strong wings, which kept me aloft, chased me, tormented me, taught me to be a Kihuutkafsa.

  “Oh, Kwihuu,” I cry, holding her limp head in my lap. “What have they done? What have they done?” Smoke from the fires around the village fills my nose, along with the humid mustiness of blood. “Kwihuu, Kwihuu, Kwihuu.” I am crying truly now, pulling Kwihuu’s head fully into my lap as I fall to the ground. Quite the crying warrior as I wail over my dead beast. Over all the dead beasts. “What have they done?” I say again, over and over, dripping ribbons of tears mingled with snot onto Kw
ihuu’s unmoving head.

  But I am afraid deep down in my heart that I know the question I ask is wrong. It is not, what have they done? It is, what have I done?

  What have I done?

  The blood on my hands is so red, I cannot tell from which beast it comes. Kwihuutsuu? Human? Kihuut?

  I count. Rapid at first, but slowly as I calm down. I get to fifty before I wipe away my tears and breathe deeply. In keeping with Kihuut custom, I take my knife and slice carefully down Kwihuu’s sternum, removing her heart. When I am finished, I hold it in my hands, still warm. I walk, slowly, dripping, to Wantosakaal’s cave.

  I tell Fist of the Kihuut who have been taken. I tell him what has happened to the Kwihuutsuu. Through our tears we each take a solemn bite of her warm heart. Kwihuu is now one with us.

  And now. Now I will go to the township if I have to fly there with my own arms.

  27

  WHEN I RETURN TO THE village center after speaking with Fist, the energy and the rage from the fighting has worn off. I am exhausted, covered in blood and dirt, so filled with sadness that my legs feel as though they have doubled in weight. The suns are just beginning to rise and the village holds an eerie quiet—like the air has been squeezed into a thick layer of palpable sadness.

  Fist says the humans will not hurt the Kihuut they have taken. They will hold them hostage until we come for them. Then we can trade our prisoners for their prisoners. Maybe if Papa were still in charge this could happen. But if Old Man Dan has taken over as Sheriff Reverend, I suspect the Kihuut are already murdered, laid out in the market as trophies.

  I am numb. Bone weary. Sticky. I need a bath. But I want to lift my heavy legs, run to the township, screaming the entire way. I want to slaughter every last man with my bare hands. I understand now why the Kihuut were bent on vengeance after Kailia was murdered. These are frightening feelings, but they are the only thing keeping me from falling to the scrub and never getting up.

  My mind will not settle on one thought for more than a few seconds. My hands shake. I walk past the scene of the battle, seeing the scorch marks, the blood in the dirt. There is something flapping in the breeze, momentarily caught between two rocks. I grab the ripped piece of canvas just before it blows away.

  WANTED:

  RED MOON NATIVES

  for kidnapping, grave injury, murder.

  Any Cheese man or woman is to be caught, tried, and sentenced.

  REWARD

  So that’s it. There will be a trial. I sigh and feel my first real breath of the morning. Fist was right. The Kihuut prisoners must be alive. For now. This stills my mind a bit and I feel excruciatingly tired. Knowing my friends, my family, aren’t being slaughtered right this very moment gives me a peace that will allow me to rest for just a bit. Then I will come up with a plan to save them. And gods help me if it is another failed Ramona Darling plan.

  At least I will have tried.

  I sleep fitfully for a few hours and then give up. I go back to Fist. He is still very weak, but sitting up straighter. He is drinking the broth on his own now, with Wantosakaal clucking at his side.

  I, too, drink the broth, feeling it warm my numbness.

  There are prisoners in the back of the cave, arms and legs bound. Mouths trussed. We talk over their groans.

  “No time to break in new Kwihuutsuu,” Fist says, his voice still scratchy, his brow angry, the skin around his eyes twitching. “We must beg Ebibi. Forgive us.” His fist goes to his chest. His eyes close briefly.

  “Ebibi’s forgiveness?” I say, setting down my empty bowl. “For what?”

  “For what you must do, Mayrikafsa.” Fist slurps more broth, then hands his bowl to Wantosakaal. She refills it and prods him to drink more.

  “Many moons ago Klarakova ask me. Find gift for Ebibi. A krasnoa’a hubito beast. A . . . beautiful black beast. I took beast as lesson to ro-ri-ta girl.” He gently pushes my shoulder and smiles. “I offer beast to Ebibi. So Ebibi keep you safe.”

  “Heetle,” I whisper. “My horse.”

  Fist nods. “You must go to Ebibi. Find hubito beast by small pool of water, near bibiloka ten Kihuut tall.”

  I look up in alarm, but Fist raises his hand. “She eats, Mayrikafsa. We do not abandon her. She is your link to Ebibi.” He again touches his hand to his chest, and closes his eyes. “She protect you. Somar toktal.”

  “Somar toktal ?” I work out the meaning of his words. “A living talisman,” I breathe. All these months, having not heard or seen anything of Heetle, other than one brief mention that she was offered to Ebibi. I have been afraid to ask what truly became of her. I did not want to hear I was eating Heetle soup or sleeping upon Heetle blankets.

  “I will keep ke’ekutaat safe . . . and scared.” He scowls at them and I know he would hurt them if he could. But he’s smarter than that. He understands his family, his friends, they are hostages, too.

  “Wantosakaal say I am not strong. I not fight.” Fist gives Wantosakaal a glowering look and she clucks her tongue. “Mayrikafsa. Find hubito beast. Guard village. We will train new Kwihuutsuu soon. We will gather raiding party soon. We return maa owa’a to ke’ekutaat. Soon.”

  My heart thrums at his words. Returning much hurt to the humans is an inclination I understand. I feel it, too. “Of course,” I say. “Of course.”

  Fist nods and says, “Be safe, Mayrikafsa.” He holds my hands and pulls me close. “Come back quickly.”

  I nod, unable to speak against the emotions I am feeling.

  Fist sits up straighter and squeezes my hands tightly. “You can do this, kakoni. I believe you can. You must believe, too.” He pulls me to him, hugging me tightly, whispering in my ear, “Ke tana al e’e bo tafanko ta.”

  You are all I have left.

  I break away from the hug and grasp his arms with both my hands. I sniff away the tears that threaten. “It is in Ebibi’s hands,” I say. And for the first time I touch my chest and close my eyes.

  Fist smiles and shakes his head. “It is in your hands, Mayrikafsa.”

  And so it is.

  We share one last hug, and I am out the door, a bag of supplies slung across my back.

  The walk to the caves of Ebibi is long and lonely. It has given me time to think, though. I cannot sit idly by while Temple, Klara, Natka, Jo . . . everyone . . . are held at the township. Even if there are trials planned, who is to say they aren’t happening right now? That everyone isn’t being executed right now? No. I cannot stand by and guard the village and wait for Fist to grow stronger. I know it is dangerous, but I must take action to save the Kihuut. To find Temple. I must.

  The bits and pieces of a plan wind their way through my brain like the plants growing on the walls in Ebibi’s caves. This will be difficult to execute, and will take time. Going at this alone . . . I shake my head. Do I beg the gods for disaster? It feels as though this is what I am doing.

  My energy is renewed, however, as I reach the opening to the caves. A flameless flare leads the way as I step into the cool blackness, keeping a lookout for the glowing pool by a bibiloka ten Kihuut tall. Should be easy to find, I think.

  And it is. The crystal looms enormous in the blackness, like a shadow’s shadow. The pool glows a light blue, showing ripples and dips where insects dance. There is a snuffle and I see her. Heetle. She is looking well after all this time, standing to the side of the crystal, munching on the soft, furlike scrub that coats the ground.

  “Heetle,” I say quietly. “It’s me, girl.” I walk slowly to her, my hand outstretched. I have picked some hashava fruit, and hold it in my palm. She sniffs my hand and eats the fruit. I pat her nose.

  “How have you been? Do you like this place?” She rubs her head against the side of my face. “Were you lonely, girl?” She stamps her feet, which I take to mean yes.

  She is without saddle, and has only simple reins tying her t
o the massive crystal. But that will do. I will ride bareback and we will go.

  “I need your help,” I say, trailing my hand along her side. “We’re going back to the hot place, and for that, I’m sorry. We are also going to have to go far and fast. I am sorry for that, too. But I am glad to see you again. I have missed you.”

  I leap onto her back. It is so different from riding a Kwihuutsuu, and yet—I squeeze my knees, hold the reins—not so different. My heart aches for my sweet Kwihuu. I pat Heetle’s soft hide, missing the feel of the slippery scales under my hand. I swallow hard and nudge Heetle forward. We will go slowly until we’re out of the dark. I cannot risk her getting hurt.

  It doesn’t take long until we’re out in the blinding suns again. Heetle bucks and whinnies at the sudden light and heat. I hop off and use the metal scraps and canvas in my pack to fashion blinders above and to the sides of her eyes. I pull out a blanket that has been woven with cooling crystals, and lay it across her neck. This seems to calm her. I climb back up and we are off, dust and scrub flying out behind us in great billowing clouds. I almost miss feeling my skirts flying out behind me. Almost.

  I ride through the village without slowing down. My head spins as I think of the outrage Fist will surely feel. I am about to defy him. And leave the village unprotected. I am a fool. But we are all fools if we trust men like Old Man Dan to be honorable. A clock is ticking and it is ticking faster than my heartbeat, which threatens to shake me to pieces.

  On the outskirts of the village I bring Heetle to a halt. Somewhere among these canyons, these rocks, lies the secret to how the settlers were able to find the village, and how they were able to get here so quickly. Be it bridge or tunnel or the true wings of angels, I must find it. Heetle and I look along rock faces, climb into craters, and then . . . there it is. A trail of hoofprints leading to what looks like an unmarred rock face. I jump off Heetle and run my hands along the rock. Almost instantly an opening collapses under my hands. The humans have painted a strip of canvas to look just like the rock! It is ingenious, really.