Chapter 6 – Repentance…
Cayden’s feet throbbed the next morning after walking so many miles alongside the mudders to move deeper into the veld. The sounds of the clones disassembling their camp woke Cayden before dawn, and his night’s lover had abandoned his cot sometime during the darkest hours of morning, leaving Cayden without a temptation that might distract him from gathering the gear he would need while marching deeper into the grass with his father and the clones.
The mudders required little sleep, no matter how much energy the previous day demanded of them. He had read so many journals detailing the mudders’ incredible endurance. He had listened to so many of his father’s stories about the mudders’ stamina. But Cayden never appreciated the true, inexhaustible depth of the mudders’ energy until he joined his father on the expedition and witnessed the stamina first-hand.
Cayden looked to his father and saw how Wyatt’s features furrowed in discomfort.
“All this walking has probably inflamed your Spiderstrand. Why don’t you let the mudders carry you in one of the palanquins?”
“I’m no tourist, boy.” Wyatt growled.
Cayden shook his head. “I didn’t dare imply such a thing. But come on. You’ve walked more miles across this savanna than any other living man. If anyone deserves a palanquin’s comforts, it’s you.”
“Every one of those mudders have walked as many miles as I have today, and you don’t see any of them sitting on any cushions.”
“No, but they’re just clones.”
Wyatt’s eyes locked onto his son. “And that’s all the reason I need to keep up with them.”
Wyatt grunted and hurried his pace ahead of Cayden before his son could ask him to elaborate. Cayden shrugged. No matter how the Spiderstrand gnawed at that old man’s skeleton, Wyatt would grind away on his bones rather than accept a comfortable seat the mudders would feel honored to give to him. Cayden felt tempted to lift a finger and summon himself a seat in one of the curtained palanquins. A palanquin would be cool no matter the warming sun. Perhaps the throbbing in his feet would dissipate if he only sat for an hour or two on those cushions and let the clones carry him deeper into the savanna grass. The dozen or so other hunters on that expedition showed no shame for riding on the mudders’ shoulders. Those hunters didn’t sweat as they swayed above so many of the savanna’s miles. But the shame of yesterday’s failure still clung to Cayden, and so he chose to walk with his old father and with the mudders.
He wouldn’t badger his father’s foul mood with more questions, and so Cayden nodded towards a tall, dark-skinned mudder when he wanted more answers.
“Are you thirsty, Mother-son? I would be happy to give you my water flask.”
“Won’t you need it?”
The mudder smiled. “It’s a good day to walk. I will not be so thirsty. I will do what I can to help you, Mother-son.”
“Why haven’t we stopped yet to strike a new camp? Why do we keep walking instead of stopping to find vantage points for our rifles?”
The mudder nodded. “The winds are strong, and these breezes make it too difficult to shepherd the flames. The winds would also carry our scent too easily to our prey.”
“So we keep walking?”
“We walk for as long as your father wishes.”
“And why do you think my father presses on?”
“Your father knows that the grasses grow taller ahead of us,” the mudder answered. “And he knows we will find greater game where the grasses are thickest.”
Cayden frowned. “My father sometimes thinks that words like ‘great’ and ‘dangerous’ mean the same thing. Did my father consult with any of the other hunters on this expedition before he instructed you to push so deep into the veld?”
“I don’t know.” The mudder shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
The mudder gave Cayden a puzzled expression. “Do you think we’re not treating the hunters fairly?”
“Don’t you think that bigger, greater game might put those other hunters in more risk? I don’t understand how you can say their thoughts on that danger don’t matter. You only seem to consider what my father wants.”
“Of course,” the guide responded. “Your father is the only hunter who has pulled the trigger and taken a trophy from the savanna. We will give the other hunters the same consideration we give to your father after they too have pulled their triggers to give us trophies.”
That reply stalled Cayden’s mind, and his feet stumbled as he considered that only his father, of the dozen or more hunters of that expedition, ever fired a weapon to kill savanna game. The mudders depended on an aged man for food, on a man with Spiderstrand gnawing at his bones and weaving about his lungs. Cayden attempted to count how many times his father might’ve already fired his weapon on that expedition, but he couldn’t think how Wyatt might’ve supplied the clones with enough sustenance to soothe the mudder hunger. He knew his father never hesitated to pull the trigger, but Cayden couldn’t understand how one, lone old man might appease so much hunger following such a cruelly dry season. Surely, those hunters carried upon mudder shoulders would find the conviction to do the duty they accepted when they answered the expedition’s call. The shame of Cayden’s failure to take the genolope as a trophy washed over him still another time. He might not sway in the comfort of those palanquins, but nor had he yet killed. Cayden feared his hesitance to kill grouped him with the other hunters, no matter how many miles his sore feet walked to show his father that he was made of stronger mettle.
Wyatt whistled from the front of the marching expedition, and Cayden instinctively jumped, trained from all those years of his childhood when his father’s shrill summoned him to his father’s presence. The clones responded to the noise as diligently as Cayden ever had. The mudders quickly established an electrified perimeter. Tents quickly rose, and though the clones had marched so many miles that day, they stole Cayden’s breath with the speed and efficiency with which they struck the night’s camp. Cayden admired the mudders, and he envied the way they laughed through their duties.
Cayden flinched when his father’s hand gripped his shoulder. How did Wyatt move so silently through the grass with the Spiderstrand chewing at his joints?
“We’re stopping?” Cayden asked. “There’s still a little daylight ahead of us.”
Wyatt grinned. “We’ve gone far enough. Tomorrow, you’ll witness creatures well beyond your imagination. You’ll see the most beautiful animals yet hatched from the petri dishes of those genome magicians. Let the mudders rest and eat. Let them sing in front of their fires. We’re going to need their strength come the morning.”
Cayden lifted an eyebrow. “And how about you? I won’t think any less of you if you admitted to feeling exhausted.”
“Boy, I didn’t sign onto this expedition for a vacation.” Wyatt scowled. “I can’t afford to feel tired.”
Wyatt shrilled another whistle through his teeth, and teams of clones immediately responded with a new round of flurry. They cleared the grass were fires needed to burn, checked the electric parameter for weaknesses, properly stashed the food stores so that the scent of meat didn’t attract prowling splicer-lynx. Wyatt vanished amid the commotion. Cayden hoped his father might find a private place to nap, but he suspected that Wyatt would instead spend the remaining daylight inspecting and cleaning his rifles.
So Cayden removed his boots and sat outside his tent to watch the mudders hurry about their labors. He scanned every face that passed him, surprised at his desire to again spot those dark, brown eyes that mesmerized through the prior night. Perhaps one of Kendra’s duties was to serve as a runner, as a clone who hurried supplies back and forth from the campsite to the hunters who took to the grass in search of their day’s game. That thought excited him with the possibility that Kendra might again visit his tent. Yet he also felt a strange worry in his heart for that female, for the duty of a runner could be a dangerous one, perhaps ex
posing a running mudder to whatever dangers hid within the grass.
Cayden believed that sharing an expedition with his father would bring him clarity. The expedition instead gave his heart confusion.
Old Hunters on the New Wild Page 7
