Minotaur: Prayer: The Bestial Tribe

by Lucas, Naomi

  His left arm hung heavy and limp at his side. He covered the wound with his good hand and applied pressure. When a dull ache could be felt, he exhaled, relieved that the pain was fading and the gash had not festered. But every time he tried to lift it, to use it in any way, it stayed at his side, limp and useless.

  Calavia checked on it regularly, and breathed prayers over it, but nothing had helped in its function, and Astegur feared he would never be able to fully use it again.

  A small price to pay. It was nothing compared to what Calavia had given up. All for a thread of hope for something more.

  He released his arm and checked their supplies one last time, making sure they had taken the most valuable items they could find to bring up to the mountains. The rest, including the weapons, the stores of food, the piles of old human goods that had survived, were placed deep in the temple, in a room they blocked off with whatever else they could find. He intended to return with his brothers to retrieve it later.

  When he was certain he had everything he wanted, Astegur searched the gloomy room for Calavia.

  She stood nervously off to the side, waiting for him, wearing several layers of clothes, and a leather cape he’d found in one of the centaur camps. She had several sacks tied to her back and hanging from her shoulders. Her feet were tied up in cloth, with leather soles he cut to fit to keep her from hurting herself during the trek.

  Humans are weak. Even the most frightening of them had soft skin that could not weather the elements. Astegur grunted and moved to her side. “Are you ready?”

  Wide, dark eyes, young yet wise, met his. “Yes.”

  Humans were weak, but not his.

  They left the temple together, and when they stopped at the steps, he had Calavia face him and curl her arms around his neck. Using his good arm to settle under her behind, he hauled her up his body to wrap her legs around his waist, above the weapons and bags attached to his belt. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and breathed softly against his flesh.

  He felt the soft flutter of her eyelashes close when he stepped into the water. Without a backwards glance, and for the second time with Calavia in his arms, he turned west toward the mountains. The quiet of Prayer followed them as they left it, but this time there were no green lights floating like ghosts in the air along the path.

  There was no sudden feeling of dread.

  No creatures waiting for them to emerge from the brume.

  Nothing stopped them from leaving, not even themselves.

  Calavia tensed in his arms, and he felt her eyes open. He hefted her harder against him, knowing she looked over his shoulder. He also did it so she would not try to escape him and run back.

  “I thought I would be sadder, or at least I thought I would be scared,” she said. “But then, I never thought I would ever leave. I thought I would live and die here. Why do I feel like I failed?”

  “Because you were forced to surrender more than you were willing to give.”

  “I wanted to protect my home,” she whispered.

  “And you have,” he said, breathing in her scent deeply.

  She moved against him. “I have?”

  Astegur hummed in agreeance, scanning the last of the marsh that was between them and the mountains. “I’m still alive.”

  He carried her and all the bags draped upon them through the final stretch of the marshes between Prayer and his home. Calavia had gone quiet after they left the outskirts of Prayer, like he knew she would. All he could do now was protect her delicate form for this final journey and be her hooves—her feet. If there was something Calavia could not do, he would do it for her, and he knew, in his hearts, she would do the same for him.

  “Have you seen the mountains before?” he asked, when the very mountains he spoke of appeared like a towering wall before him. Much like the labyrinth wall did between his cursed world and Savadon. But unlike that wall, the mountains were climbable, with paths eroded over them from thousands of years of use. Once by men and now by beasts.

  “Not in...not in a long time. Only through my wax.” Her voice hitched and he frowned. There was no more wax left, except for the small handful he had salvaged in one of his bags.

  He had searched Prayer for half a day with her as she looked for her affinity. Only ruined clumps had remained. He vowed to find her more in the seasons to come. For her and his brothers, because having a witch among them again may give them the edge they needed to take these lands.

  Astegur turned to the side. “Look.”

  She went still against him, lifting her head from his shoulder to look up. He watched her as she gazed at the tall, shadowy peaks for the first time.

  “They are fearsome,” she whispered. “Like you. I’m eager to see more.”

  “And you will,” he said, turning toward back toward the mountains to continue on.

  Sometime later, up a gradual climb through the crags between the mountains and swamp, the path he was looking for appeared. The marker he and his brothers had set out to warn off travelers stood tall and unbroken. He approached it and set Calavia down, noticing the new addition tied to it.

  A lock of brown hair. He brushed it with his fingers.

  Calavia came up beside him and touched it too. “Aldora’s hair.”

  “Vedikus’s human?”

  “If this warning is created by you,” she indicated the broken harpy skulls strewn upon the ground beside it, “she has hair like this.”

  He turned to face her. “Would you like to add your own?”

  Her brow furrowed in thought as he waited for her answer, but then she stepped up to it and chanted something softly, breathing over the tall wood piece with her mouth. A small glimmer appeared at the base of the marker, a green glow, not unlike the lights that once surrounded Prayer. Calavia stepped back, and he knelt where she’d just stood, placing his good hand into the light.

  A heavy, warm, wet feeling engulfed his hand. A smile touched his lips. He never thought magic would bring him comfort, but after all that had happened in the past weeks, he had never been so grateful to touch something so familiar. It was the essence of Calavia, and it was his.

  The trek up the mountains took longer than he expected. After the first marker, Calavia insisted they stop at each one, and stop at every enchantment and shallow cave between them and their destination, to bless each one with a green light. They wouldn’t keep out monsters, but they would light the way for those who looked for them during times of darkness.

  They also had to stop to readjust her poor foot protection and check his wounds. The fact that they were healing was enough for him, but she insisted. And then there were the views, the needle-trees, and shady mountain glens. Calavia had to experience them all, and since nothing chased them and they were in no danger, he let her enjoy what she could. Their return to the living could be put off a little longer.

  He could wait.

  Because soon, they would be back with his brothers, and plans were to be made…

  * * *

  Calavia sat down next to the small fire Astegur made her. She unbound the knots of her foot coverings and released her feet to slide them closer to the fire, moaning internally as the heat from it chased away the chill.

  Each hour they climbed, more of the humidity of the swamps left her, and was replaced by freezing gusts of wind, cool temperatures, and dry air. She had grown accustomed to the cold of the wetlands, but this was a cold she was not used to. It had helped keep her mother and concerns of what would become of her in the immediate future out of her thoughts, but now that their ascent was nearly done, her worries returned.

  She pulled some roots out of her bag and chewed on them as Astegur scouted the periphery of their camp. Several minutes later he settled at her side with a dead tark bird in his hand that he began to prepare for their meal.

  “We need to talk,” she said after a short time.

  “Hmm?”

  “I did not end on the best of terms with your brother and his hum
an…” she admitted to him. It had been something that had weighed on her for days. “I no longer—”

  He growled, stopping her words. “I do not care about your blood, Calavia. It means nothing to me anymore.”

  “It means everything.”

  “It does not.”

  “What if I can’t conceive children now? What if I still can but they are weaker than their cousins? You are heir, are you not?”

  A sigh escaped him, and familiar smoke trailed from his nose and mouth. “Only time will tell what all has been taken from you—from us—by the mist. Producing bull sons and daughters would bring me joy, but they would also bring with them unending fear. Fear that they do not have a full clan to protect them, that they have enemies waiting for them just beyond the gates. The worldspins waiting for us will be hard enough as is. We do not go to Bathyr for rest, we go there now to prepare for war.”

  She shivered and drew her cape closer. “And after this war?”

  “We will build our hard-earned home together, and if children do not come, so be it. Dezetus, the eldest of my brothers, will produce the true heir for our tribe when it is time.”

  “You seem so sure…”

  He turned toward her then and grasped a fistful of her hair, forcing her to face him directly. The firelight cast him in a golden glow on one side, while the other was hidden in deep shadows that swallowed his powerful frame. His tall, vicious horns haloed the light, making her mouth dry up. With their eyes locked on each other, he pressed her head to the ground at his knee. Calavia settled there, relaxing under his hold, his strength, and continued to gaze up at him. Even after he released her to pet her hair, she remained where he’d positioned her.

  His harsh face softened after a while, and the contrasting shadows upon his skin morphed together in her mind, making him look like the minotaur she knew.

  “I have just won a prize,” he told her, banishing the uncertainty from her heart in one simple, comforting phrase. “I will fight to keep her, die if I must, endure any pain and torment for her, fight a battle without warriors by my side, without hope, just so she will not be alone. I have won a prize that I intend to keep. Whatever might happen between now and until our bodies turn to dust matters not, as long as my hag remains with me.”

  Her breaths shallowed. “I will never leave you.”

  A low rumble sounded from his throat.

  “I swear my undying loyalty to you, Astegur, my champion.”

  “Hero.”

  The side of her lip curved up. “Hero.”

  He leaned down. “You are my other arm now.”

  Her smile widened as she raised her hands to grip the base of his horns and draw his lips toward her own. Their mouths brushed in a simple kiss, one without wildness, but with more passion, trust, and commitment than she could ever put into words. A single brush, in the quiet night, before a small fire they shared alone, where no one and nothing could see them, or ever hurt them.

  When he looked up to catch her eyes again, to share the same air, the same singular sentiments, she released her hold on his horns, untied her cloak, and spread her legs out beside the fire. He watched as she reached down to raise the layers of skirts up her hips.

  Astegur stood up from where he sat and moved to kneel between her bare legs. With a worshipful gentleness she had never seen nor felt from him before, he cupped one of her ankles and ran his hand slowly up the back of her leg. She saw the crux of his loincloth lift up, his huge shaft hardening and straightening beneath it.

  Suddenly, as his large body covered hers, with the mountain chill fleeing their presence, she found love. Not the love of gods, not the love of a faith she’d never understood, nor the love of her mother, but a tangible love, a wonderful love, a hard-earned, hard-won love.

  She turned her head to the fire as his tongue slid up the inside of her thigh and let her thoughts drift to pleasure, to their existence, and finally, as he rose up over her, to her minotaur and the possibility of a brighter future together.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Astegur stopped before the gates that led into his and his brothers’ home. Calavia stood next to him, looking upon the sleek, black wood with him. On the other side, he could see a faint trail of blisterbark smoke rise in the air, and he caught traces of the smell of food that had been cooked in the earlier hours of the day.

  Suddenly, the gates slid open and Vedikus appeared on the other side. His brother stiffened when he saw Calavia at his side, a flash of hatred marring his face.

  “You,” Vedikus snarled through gritted teeth.

  Calavia stepped forward before Astegur could stop her. “Vedikus.”

  Vedikus’s gaze snapped between Calavia and him, and Astegur knew his brother was looking for a reason to kill her, a glimmer of ensorcellment that Calavia might have over him. And if they had encountered each other several weeks ago, Vedikus would have found what he searched for.

  Vedikus placed his hand upon his axe hilt. Astegur surged between them and knocked his horns against his brother’s in warning.

  He did not want Calavia to kill him.

  “We have much to discuss,” he said, his tone exacting. “You know of my mate, Calavia. I have moved her here so she may warm my furs, and may fill my stable with young. A threat against her is a threat against me.”

  Vedikus pushed his horns hard against his in one telling thrust, scraping all four of them together. Astegur grasped his brother’s shoulder hard and breathed steam all over his face. Vedikus did the same, and they stood there, waiting for the other to back down.

  Eventually Vedikus spoke. “I said something similar to Dezetus when I brought Aldora here.”

  “Then you know what it means.”

  Vedikus’s eyes slid away from Astegur’s and back to Calavia. His nostrils flared. “She is the hag of Prayer.”

  “She is mine,” his voice lowered.

  “A tainted human? A witch who leads the gullible astray?” Vedikus tore himself from Astegur’s grasp and moved to stand before Calavia. “You stole something from me.”

  “I gave you something in return. Is Aldora well?”

  “Do not speak her name!”

  Astegur placed his hand back on his brother’s arm in warning. “You ran to her did you not?” Astegur indicated Calavia. “You sought her sanctuary and her help with your human. Yes, she has told me all. Did you expect gifts given from a stranger? She has sacrificed and lost far more than you can imagine in helping you.” His voice lowered. “I have lost much as well.”

  Vedikus tensed under his hand. “And you bring her here to balance out the price?”

  “I bring her here because we are mates! She has lost her home, like we have...brother.”

  Vedikus quieted at his words, stiffening even further, and Astegur watched his hands twitch at his sides. He knew that twitch, knew his brother was trying to calm down and take in his words.

  Astegur let go of him and offered his good hand to Calavia, who took it and moved to his side. “We have much to discuss, brother, and Prayer falling is only one of them, though not the worst.”

  Vedikus released the rest of his pent-up steam with a shake of his arms. Envy streaked through Astegur at his elder brother’s easy use of his limbs. His left fingers trembled weakly as he strained his bad arm. With one last, lingering glare at Calavia, who remained steadfast beside him, Vedikus turned to the gate and walked through.

  “Yes,” Vedikus muttered as his large back faded into the mist beyond. “I have news myself.”

  “He and I will not get along,” Calavia said when Vedikus disappeared from sight.

  “He does not get along with many,” Astegur replied. “There is a reason I am heir and he is not.”

  “I didn’t realize…”

  “Do not kill him. He will not hurt you despite his violence. Vedikus may have many unpleasant qualities, but he is loyal to his kin, and that now includes you. He will see your worth in the seasons to come.” He placed a hand on her back and l
ed her through the open gate. He closed it once they were through and looked around for his other brothers.

  But no one came forward to greet them, and as he scanned the vicinity, from the large open space before him and toward where the abandoned stone temples and buildings began, there were no traces of any other life. He watched Vedikus storm toward one of the lower buildings built into the rock face and disappear inside.

  “Where are the rest of your brothers?” Calavia asked.

  One of them, he knew, if Kryiakos had been telling him the truth, had been taken captive. But that did not account for the others. He still did not know who had been taken, and that dwelled in his mind, even though he had little time to ponder it during the previous days.

  “I do not know.”

  * * *

  That night, Calavia sat stiffly before the fire, watching Aldora prepare a meal in a pot hooked above it. The smell that flooded her nose was filled with herbs, some she knew, some she didn’t, and meat. Despite Vedikus’s gaze boring holes into her flesh, Calavia looked forward to a meal she had not prepared herself—one that had been prepared by a fellow human woman, one who knew as much and as little as Calavia did about the world they sought to survive in.

  Vedikus sat directly across from her, the fire and the flames between them. Aldora would glance her way and part her mouth as if she wanted to speak, but didn’t, and would turn back to the task at hand.

  Calavia wanted to speak to Aldora, wanted Aldora to speak to her, as if they could continue a conversation they had never had, and ask her about her relationship with Vedikus or the loss of her world in the light.

  Astegur joined them with a fresh load of wood under his arm and sat opposite of Aldora, between Calavia and Vedikus.

  He untied a bag at his side, one he had been carrying for days, and set it in a bowl he had brought with him. Then he unsheathed a dagger and placed it on top of the bowl. Her eyes narrowed upon the pile.

  She clenched her hands at her sides. Her fingers twitched to take the items from him for some reason.