by Dixon, Ruby
"But J'shel is making you a hut," Thrand says slowly as I storm away. "A grand one, and I thought you resonated. This is bad, too?"
"He is? He did?" As I pass by Hannah, she looks flustered, her hand fluttering to her hair. "I mean, not that I care, I just…yeah." She turns on her heel and storms away, her face bright red.
"Well, I care," Bridget calls out from behind me, then laughs. "Show me your hut, big boy."
I can hear A'tam chuckle. "It is all yours, Bree-shit."
"Oh boy," she says. "Just stop talking. Look pretty."
Conversations erupt on the beach as I leave, the crunch of my heels in the gravelly sand drowning out the rest of it. As I storm away, I pass by R’jaal, the lithe, hard leader of Tall Horn. He leans against a rock, arms crossed on his chest, a sour look on his face as if he’s as disgusted with the situation as I am. Or maybe he’s just disgusted that he hasn’t had a chance to make a hut. Who the hell knows with this crew.
Glory lets out a little wail, and I cluck to her, soothing her with soft words and caresses as I head back inside, cutting through the women’s cave and then into my nook in the back. Once I sit down on the blankets, I carefully unwrap her, open my tunic, and set her to my breast, where she starts nursing greedily. I stare blankly at the walls, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest.
A freaking competition.
Is that all I am to them? A prize to be won? I think of Vordis and how attentive he’s been. He’s always been around when Thrand hasn’t…is it because he’s trying to sway things in his favor? Is it just another tactic to ensure that he wins? I sniff hard, hating that I’m crying. My nose runs as the tears slide down my cheeks, and I reach around for one of Glory’s scraps of leather I use to wash her. Instead, I see Vordis’s tunic tossed down on the bed.
It’s the one he gave me so I’d keep Glory warm and safe from the wind. If he wasn’t such an asshole, I’d think he’d make a good dad, and that just makes me cry harder.
Picking up his tunic, I hold it to my face and blow my nose in it, just to spite him.
18
VORDIS
I watch Angie leave with Glory, my heart aching in my chest. Numbness spreads through my limbs. She thinks I do this to win her like a prize, and now she hates me. As the other females turn away with glares on their faces, I realize they all hate us. I do not care if the rest of them are angry, but Angie's disapproval is like a knife in my gut.
At my side, Thrand scratches his jaw, a puzzled expression on his face. His gaze lingers on Nadine's back, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders as she heads away from the beach and away from us. "I do not understand," Thrand says, brows furrowed. "Why are they so mad? Females are impossible. They should be pleased we are building homes."
He has no idea, and anger blisters in my mind.
This is his fault. I wanted to build Angie a hut so she would have a good, warm place to live with Glory. Thrand has turned this into a competition, and now he thinks the females are being difficult. He does not realize he has cost me everything.
With a snarl, I fling myself on him.
Thrand's fighting instincts kick in and he automatically grabs my arms, rolling the two of us in the sand. His eyes light up with the anticipation of a sparring match, and he bares his teeth with excitement.
But this is not sparring for me. This is pure, unadulterated rage, and it fuels my limbs, making me faster than him. I kick out of his grip and then stagger away a few steps only to rush at him again. My fist cracks against his jaw, and then I pummel at his chest, raw frustration and anger burning through me. He fights back, but after a few moments when he realizes this is not sparring—this is something far bloodier—he skates back out of reach of my swinging arms and gives me an incredulous look.
R'jaal is suddenly there, the large islander pushing between us, his hands spread. "No fighting."
We both snarl at him. "This is between brothers," Thrand tells him. "Stay out of it."
R'jaal looks to me, as if to see if I agree with Thrand's assessment. He wants to know if I am going to attack again. I can promise nothing, so I give him a tight-lipped glare of defiance. After a moment, he gives his head a shake and then steps away, turning to the others on the beach who stand nearby, watching. "Back to work on your huts. Give them privacy to work this out between them."
The others scatter, shooting curious glances in our direction, but eventually it is just Thrand and me on the beach, shoulders heaving. I do not move. My fists are tight at my side, and my entire body feels as if it is vibrating with fury. Let him say the wrong thing and I will be on him again.
"Are you crazed?" Thrand asks, blood trickling from his mouth. He touches a hand to his mouth, shocked to see blood spilled, and then looks back to me. "Why are you attacking me?"
"Because you have cost me everything," I bellow at him, fists clenched. I hunch over, ready to spring at him again. I want to pound that look of surprise off his face. I want him to realize what he's done. "You have cost me Angie! And Glory!"
My brother a'ani looks utterly astonished. "What do you mean? We are still dedicated to her!"
"This is not about that," I snarl, pacing back and forth. It takes everything I have not to lunge at him again, to wipe the incredulous expression off his face. "This is about how I feel for her, as a male feels for a female. This is not about being dedicated as an a'ani."
"I…don't understand." Thrand frowns, taking a step backward to keep distance between us. "Explain yourself, brother."
How many times must I say it? Some of my anger dissipates when it is clear he truly does not grasp what I mean. In his eyes, Angie is nothing more than a soul-deep assignment, a source of pride in a job well done. She is a dedicated task, not a person. "I have kissed her."
The look on Thrand's face is dumbfounded. "But…it is not necessary. We are dedicated, no more."
To him, Angie is only a task. Utter frustration boils through me again and I slash a hand through the air. "It is not about necessity. I want to be her male.”
Thrand only gives me an incredulous look, as if I speak nonsense. “Why?”
Fury explodes through me. Can he not see how amazing she is? Why is he so stubborn? “Fine, then. I will go and find Nadine. I will court her and kiss her dark skin and touch her curling hair and—"
With an angry snarl, Thrand is on me, and then we are fighting once more. I attack him with jabs and punches, using skills that have gotten rusty with weeks of neglect. Thrand attacks as I do, because we are built similarly and think much the same, and so I find that I am anticipating his moves and countering them before they hit. I ignore all the training I have and slam a fist into his face like an uncouth space station brawler, and I see from his surprised expression that he does not expect this. His movements change, and I grin when his hand slams into my mouth, because he got one over on me. Then it turns into fighting simply for fighting's sake, and we lose ourselves in the task at hand—to win against an evenly matched, equally trained opponent. I laugh with sheer delight when he ducks low and chops a hand at my knees, sending me tumbling to the ground, and then I tangle my legs with his to drop him.
Before I can tackle him again, R'jaal is there once more, looming over us. His long braid hangs over his shoulder and his color flickers with irritation, changing to the exact shade of the sand before switching back to his normal ice blue. His scowl is heavy. "Are you both done?"
"No," we answer in unison.
"You realize beating each other to a bloody pulp will not bring her back?" He watches us as if we are naughty children caught misbehaving.
"But it feels good," Thrand tells him, grinning. "It clears the mind."
It does. Now that I have gotten some of the frustration out of my body, I realize I am not angry at Thrand. I am angry at myself, because Angie is right. The moment Thrand turned it into a competition, did I not fight all the harder to win her? I glance over at my brother a'ani and sigh heavily. I sit up, waving off the hand that R'jaal offers. "
We are done," I tell him.
The islander grunts, shakes his head at us, and then stalks away.
I wipe at the blood on my mouth. My lip is cut where it hit my teeth, but it will heal quickly enough. One eye throbs and the skin around it feels tight. I look over at Thrand and am pleased to see that his lip is swollen and his nose is, too. Good.
Thrand glances over at me, and there is no smile on his normally eager face. "I do not like that we are fighting," he says, voice low. "I like to fight, do not misunderstand me. But this is not sparring. This is something darker, and something ugly." He shakes his head. "In all the times I have been uncertain, I have always had you at my side. We have always been Vordis and Thrand, no matter how many masters we have seen or arenas we have fought in. And now that we are here, I feel as if I am losing that bond."
I say nothing. The quiet emotion in his voice is new, and surprising.
"You tell everyone here we are not brothers," Thrand continues. "But…I have always been proud to be your brother. I know we are a'ani. I know we are clones. But I have always thought of you as my brother, and you as mine. I am sad to lose that."
I…am a keffing ass.
In all this, I have been so wrapped up with Angie that I did not think how it would affect Thrand, who has been at my side since we were both sold to our first master as young boys fresh from the labs, in need of training. Thrand is my family, as much as any clone can have family. Perhaps he competes with me so fiercely because he wants things to be as they have always been with us—two clones against the universe.
I reach out a hand, and when Thrand clasps it, I give it an affectionate squeeze. "My brother," I say, and his eyes seem to brighten with pleasure. "I am proud to be your brother, but we can be a'ani and brothers, and still be two different people. We can be mates to females. We can do whatever we choose." When he looks uncertain again, I free my hand from his and give his arm a playful tap. "If you like Nadine, go and kiss her without spinning bottles. Tell her that you make the hut for her, not Angie. Tell her that she makes your breath quicken. Human females like hearing that, I think."
"Does Angie?"
"She did," I admit, thinking of the way her eyes would shine and her cheeks would turn pink as she watched me bathe. That deep ache threatens to overwhelm. "I do not think she likes me anymore."
Thrand is silent for a long moment, and there is no sound but the low roar of the beach and someone hammering wood into place. "If I had won," Thrand asks, "and Angie chose my hut and me to be her mate, what would you have done?"
I imagine such a thing, and my mind fills with despair. Angie smiling up at Thrand. Angie offering Glory to Thrand to hold. Glory cooing and clinging to Thrand as if he is her sire, and Angie looking on with pride. Thrand holding Angie at night, kissing her, touching her soft skin. It makes me ache as nothing ever has. "I would walk away and never come back," I tell him in a low voice, staring out at the rocky cliffs. "Because I would want her to be happy, and for you to be happy, and I would honor your choices."
"You would leave? Forever?" Thrand is shocked.
"It would destroy me," I admit to him. "I would be dead inside if I lost her." I already feel dead inside right now because she is angry at me, but if she were to choose another…I could not bear it. At least now I can watch over her, even if from afar.
"Brother," Thrand breathes, and gives his head a shake. "I would not want to win her if it caused that. I…just like winning. You want her as Ashtar wants Veronica." And he sounds dumbfounded.
"Yes. That is exactly it." I want to shake him, because now I feel he truly understands.
"Ahhhhh.” He says nothing for a long moment as if digesting this, then shakes his head. “I thought it was simply one more competition between us." He rubs a smear of dried blood off his mouth and glances over at me. "You should tell her I do not want to win anymore."
I snort. "No. She is very mad at me. I think I will get up and finish her hut."
"Why? She does not want to be won. The contest is done."
"It was not about the contest for me," I tell him. "I wanted her and Glory to have a good place to live. It is important to me that they are cared for properly."
"Hmm," is all Thrand says. After a moment, he gets to his feet, brushing sand and pebbles from his skin. "I will help you, then. Will you help me finish my hut, too? For Nadine?"
My brother holds out his hand, and I place mine in his and haul myself off the ground, feeling aches and pains from our fights, but they do not ache nearly as much as my heart. "Of course, brother."
19
VORDIS
Days creep past. I finish the hut for my Angie, with Thrand at my side. Our constant competing and bickering is not entirely resolved, but Thrand spends his time watching an increasingly aloof Nadine when he is not helping me. We complete his hut as well, and before I can work on making padded bedding for Angie’s sleeping spots, the weather changes and fierce storms blow in, dumping snow even on the normally sheltered beach. Ice edges the water, and everything is covered with a layer of white that saps any warmth out of the atmosphere and leaves behind nothing but frost. It means everyone stays inside, huddling near their fires for warmth, and I hate the thought of Angie suffering in her chilly cave. I approach several times to speak to her, but when she sees me, she draws the screen over her cave entrance, a silent refusal. The others glare at me so reproachfully that I retreat.
I will finish it and then try again, I decide.
So I set to work filling the hut with a variety of things Angie will need. I make baskets and nets, I carve bowls and cups and eating utensils out of bone when the storms rage outside. Thrand sits with me by the fire, and R’jaal and S’bren of Tall Horn. S’bren’s brother M’tok resonated to the female Callie and she has completely ignored him despite the insistent pull of their khuis, so M’tok spends his days hunting in frustration and S’bren spends his time with us. The Tall Horn clan are quiet ones, and R’jaal is capable and clever, but he watches the females with such a hungry, yearning expression that I feel I understand him well. He wants a mate and his chest is silent. I understand how he feels. I want Angie and she turns away from me.
When the weather clears for a day or two, we go hunting. The more experienced hunters pair up with the less experienced, and so Thrand goes with Cashol while I go with Taushen. The young sa-khui hunter is exhausting for my weary spirit. He is cheerful and full of endless energy, and with every step he takes, he sings the praises of his new mate, Brooke. Brooke is skilled with weaving. Brooke did his clever braid this morning. Brooke added two types of tea together and made his new favorite brew. Brooke slept late this morning because she is pregnant with his kit. Brooke is looking for plants that will dye hair, so Taushen is on the lookout for a particular type of leaf. Brooke wants fruit from the fruit-cave so he will be going there with her in a few days, because she likes to explore.
I hear so much about Brooke that I want to snarl. I cannot begrudge him his happiness, though. It is clear he loves his mate, and when we return to camp every day and the pink-haired female is waiting for him at the edge of the canyon, a thick fur wrapped around her shoulders, it is hard to be angry. Their faces light up when they see each other, and then I am just full of bitter envy instead of annoyance.
I understand, though. I make sure Angie is fed even though she has no mate. I keep a little extra out of caches so she will not go hungry. I leave gifts by the entrance to her cave in the hopes that one will change her mind and she will talk to me when she is ready.
Until then, I hunt with Taushen, but the young male is eager to return to camp and spend time with his mate. I have learned much about hunting, though, and I talk with R’jaal and Raahosh about hunting on my own. I can do more than the others that are busy, I try to convince them. I have no mate or kit to occupy me, and the sa-khui males have their hands full right now.
R’jaal likes the idea, but Raahosh is concerned about skyclaw. Twice more, hunters have found slaughtered prey, an
indication that the enormous, bloodthirsty avians are in the area. Every time we go looking for them, however, none are found. The skies are clear, and there are many mouths to feed back at camp.
“I will cover my skin,” I promise them, since I have been told that skyclaw like the color red. And I tug a white furred hood and cloak over my face and shoulders to show them. It conceals everything, and R’jaal grunts approval.
“Better to lose a male than a life-bearing female,” he says to Raahosh. “Let the fool hunt alone if he wishes to.”
Raahosh glares at R’jaal as the islander stalks away, but then turns back to me. “You may hunt alone, but if you see more signs of skyclaw, you must return right away to warn us.”
I nod, and with that, I have approval.
So I spend all my waking hours hunting. There are no skyclaw to be found, of course. Whatever slaughtered creatures in the mountains has moved on, I think. The herds are thick with dvisti, and the snowcats are fat and lazy during the brutal season (according to Taushen) and they are easy enough to find. Sometimes Thrand comes with me, but for the most part, I am alone in the snows, following familiar paths through the valleys and checking traps. The weather grows so cold that I put on multiple thick layers like the humans do, my arms and legs covered with many thick wraps as I trudge through the snow. Taushen tells me the weather here is mild compared to back “home” at Croatoan, where no one leaves the camp for many turns of the moon because the ice is too terrible.
Such a thought worries me, so I hunt even more. I do not want our group to be in danger of running out of food. I do not want Angie to be cold, and hunting provides both meat and furs.
Taushen jokes that I am working myself too hard, hunting all day every day. Thrand says nothing, but I know there is concern on his face when I leave before dawn and return when the moons are high, my fur wraps crusted in ice, only to depart early again the next day to do the same.