by Daniel Kozuh
Tahra, now a homeless urchin, found a new life hustling on the black-market streets of The Red City. She was quick to get the hang of pickpocketing and petty thievery, soon gaining pass into Lingera’s prestigious Mercenary Guild. In little time, Tahra’s reputation as a sword-for-hire spread throughout Lingeria. She found fame as a warrior willing to go on the most suicidal of missions. She obtained the Invalid Opal in The Tunnel of V’aarel, captured the Fire Peacock of Glasstone, bottled green rain in The Glowing Forest of Kath, beheaded Allan the Minotaur, exorcised a daemon from a giant snail, de-toothed an Ogre, bested a Gargoyle in a Best-Three-Out-Of-Five Wrestling Tournament, and juiced a Death Sprite.
Existing on little more than crude protein, Tahra’s slim figure soon rolled with hard, toned muscles and a final growth spurt edged her over the six-foot mark. Her skin was thick and tan from battle and exposure, and she sported a dour brow that kept any possible suitors at bay (right where she liked them).
It was when she was hired by an anonymous plutocrat, to capture an Alkar, when things got messy.
Alkars were a winged human-esque species that lived in hand-carved caves on the Cliffs of Valkal. They kept to themselves and rarely ventured further than a few miles from their crags. Fishermen saw them perched on ledges or diving for fish, but a strategic superstition made it bad luck to have an Alkar feather touch your boat and, therefore, the fishermen actively avoided Alkar interaction.
Tahra spent a month stalking and studying the Alkars from a blind made of prairie grass and mud. She realized she would be wildly outnumbered if she were to simply descend their bluff and they were too swift over the water for her to attempt a capture by vessel. She decided that waiting for one to venture out on land would be the most practical approach. Luckily for her, Alkars had a weakness for Cloudberries.
Tahra had seen, on several occasions, a rogue Alkar swoop onto a haggard, blustery peak atop a nearby hoodoo. The area surrounding the cliffs was a broken tectonic mess of weatherworn volcanic canyons and badlands, where little of vegetation grew and even less of that vegetation was palatable. It was on the peak of the most inhospitable butte that a single Cloudberry bush grew and, save for a few brave Waxwings, Alkars where the only creatures that could reach it. Cloudberries were plump, orange orbs, with a tart flavor, and were typically found fermented into a sugary liqueur for sale in The Red City. Alkars took them raw.
The Alkar always approached from the east, so Tahra climbed the west wall of the precipice, almost plummeting to her death on several occasions. She found a thin shelf at the end of the first day where she was able to sleep a small amount, with her left shoulder protruding into nothingness.
The second day of the climb was even worse – not only was Tahra viciously sore and exhausted, the wind was playing with her and, with no safety apparatuses, she had to plan every foothold to a precise degree of scientific certainty.
As the sun was setting, she slapped a bloody, blistered, palm on the plateau and dragged herself up. She found a comfortable resting spot and instantly fell asleep.
Tahra awoke with a start, fearing she may have been spotted; that she had lost the element of surprise. To her relief, the scenery seemed undisturbed. And undisturbed it remained for days, while Tahra waited patiently for her bounty.
A week had passed, and Tahra’s provisions had depleted days before, when she spotted a speck in the sky, growing ever closer. Silently, she set her camouflaged snare that rested within the bush and then threw herself off the west side of the upland. With rope secured around her waist, she swung back and crashed her shoulder into the cap rock. She dangled hundreds of feet into the air; waiting and praying the edge didn’t slice too deep into the rope.
Tahra swayed precariously for long enough to actually grow bored. Finally, she heard feet softly touching down on the steel, wind-polished surface. The bush rustled only briefly, before the prompt snap of the snare called out and was followed by an inhuman, piercing screech.
Tahra clambered her way back on the platform and confronted the Alkar.
Alkars were not man-birds, nor were they angels. In fact, you could pass an Alkar in the market and never even know they were capable of flight. Their feathers were a smooth, pale pink hue and, when flattened back against their arms, could be indistinguishable from skin. When needed, they mobilized their wings through voluntary muscle command. Individual, skin-like membranes covering hollow bones splayed out to catch the wind. They were tall – most even taller than Tahra – with hardened, toned bodies. Every muscle was worked to the point of perfection. Their feet were long and arched, with sharpened white claws protruding out of their toes.
While this Alkar was obviously (clothing being an obstruction to flight), a male, Alkars all tended to have feminine features, with soft gentle curves along their faces and cheekbones, thin noses, slender frames, short, snowy hair, and soft grey eyes.
This was the first time Tahra understood the word “beautiful”.
****
This particular Alkar’s grey eyes were wide with terror, as it yanked wildly, trying to free himself from Tahra’s trap. Panic had overcome him; the snare was tearing into his fragile skin, red blood now staining the rope. The thorns of the berry bush prevented him from reaching deep into it to untie the lash, although he tried several times, grimacing with the excruciating pain.
Tahra made herself present, hulking her shoulders and widening her stance, as she crept closer to the terrified creature. The Alkar noticed her and attempted to uproot the bush during her approach, but the plant had dug itself too deep in search for water.
Given the slightest opportunity, the Alkar would be off the cliff and soaring; never seen again. As Tahra approached, he pulled himself away from the bush as far as the rope would allow. His penetrating screeches reverberated through his captor’s skull, making her eyes feel swollen and her stomach churn with nausea (an obvious evolutionary tactic). He bared his teeth and bit at her with hollow snaps. His strangled arm was strained like the rope to which it was attached. Tahra unsheathed her sword and brought the heavy iron pommel down on his humerus, breaking it cleanly.
The Alkar released a blistering cry that continued to echo off the mounts and canyons around for what felt like minutes. Tahra was less anxious, now that the beast couldn’t fly, and proceeded with binding him securely.
Tahra wasn’t heartless – she did put his broken arm into a sling, knowing he couldn’t put it to any good use. As she did so, the Akar’s legs flailed and his good arm clawed at her, catching so often that flakes of her skin were left under his fingernails.
It would take another two days to lower him down the sheer drop, but he was more cooperative, knowing that the slightest jerk would send him plummeting to the ground. Tahra sent him down via the rope that was also his constraint, hand-over-hand, until she could rest him on a ledge and then repel herself after.
The first night was spent in silence, Tahra refusing to even look at the man-ish thing she had captured. She liked bringing her bounties in dead – less of a chance for conversation that way. She did not feed him, hoping he would weaken and not struggle as much the next day.
They reached the ground just after dawn the next morning, Tahra having figured out a good cadence, and the Alkar exhausted and in pain. It was a day’s hike to Esker, the nearest town, where Tahra had stabled her horse. She poured some water into the Alkar’s mouth, unknotted his ankles, and commanded him to walk.
With one hand on the hilt of her sword and the other on the Alkar’s leash, they marched through the cracked tableland until the sun became too unbearable for even Tahra. They took cover in the shade of a small assemblage of decaying Juniper trees.
Tahra could tell that her prisoner was struggling in the heat. His skin had turned an angry red, as though his whole body was a giant blister on the edge of bursting. She uncorked her canteen and poured water over his head. The Alkar shivered and his feathers ruffled into gigantic goose-pimples. He let the water trickle between them and s
he saw the relief on his face.
He was planning, she could see. His silver eyes searching, constantly – examining, and plotting. The same way she reacted when driven into a tight spot. There was more than mere survival instincts behind those eyes. There was abstract thought happening.
Tahra finally had to give into nature’s urge. She climbed into a Juniper tree and tied the rope to a branch that the Alkar could not reach with a broken wing. Although fortified with leather, she knew that his toe claws could get through the rope, given enough time. She’d be back soon enough, though.
As it turned out, she was worried about his escape, when she should have been worried about escaping.
****
Tahra found a ditch deep enough so she could answer the call, in relative privacy, but shallow enough for her to keep an eye on the Alkar. Here is where a formal education may have helped Tahra.
The mesa flat on which she currently walked (or squatted rather) was home to a particularly vicious centipede, called a Pendra. Pendras could range anywhere from six-inches to tens-of-feet, with a girth from that of a spear to a buggy wheel. To escape the heat of the day, Pendras would encircle themselves, touching head to trunk and then, using their mighty legs, they kicked and dug at the desert dirt, until they reached the cool soil untouched by the sun (this was typically about four feet down or so – locals called the ditches “post-holes”). Finally, they coated themselves in an inch or two of dirt and buttoned down for a siesta until dusk. Pendra hunters knew that this was the best time to kill the arthropods – because they were asleep – but the worst time to miss killing them (because they were rancorous if woken). The size of the Pendra was usually two-thirds the circumference of the hole in which it slept. By that math, Tahra was peeing on a fifteen-foot Pendra.
Luckily for Tahra, her weight kept the insect pinned to the floor of the pit when it awoke. However, the loose ground below her rumbled causing Tahra to realize her huge mistake. The hole was just deep enough that she wasn’t able to lift herself out with her hands alone, but also couldn’t find footing enough to use her legs, the arid dirt crumbling away as she tried to climb.
The Alkar heard the commotion and cautiously peered around the trees, to see what was going on. He found Tahra frantically clawing at the edge of the pit, trying to escape.
The antennae and stubby diamond head of the centipede had freed itself from the dirt and was snapping at Tahra’s heels with his knife-sharp pincers. She kicked at it with her right boot, while pressing her weight down with the left, to keep the monster buried. Her boot heel popped several of the Pendra’s black, bubbling eyeballs, exploding gloomy slime with every kick. She pulled out her sword but wasn’t able to get any proper leverage to crack the centipede’s exoskeleton.
Rushing to the edge of the pit, the Alkar extended a limp hand to Tahra, his other stretching to his tether behind him. Even in her panic, she didn’t want to trust him – but the Pendra would soon dig itself free. She grasped the captive’s forearm, but her bulk was too much for him, in his fragile state, and she slipped back down.
“Give me your sword.” The Alkar spoke in clean, intelligent Lingerian.
Even in the chaos, Tahra was agog, stopping for a moment to render this new information. The Pendra saw this opportunity and clamped its pinchers straight through the leather of her boots and into the flesh around Tahra’s ankles. She cried out in pain.
“It’ll kill you, whether I escape or not.” There was so much certainty and self-assurance in his voice. Tahra swung the sword frantically up to him.
He wrapped his good hand around the grip and, with the aid of gravity, brought the point down into the head of the Pendra. The bug ended its fight and released Tahra from its clutches. The neon yellow legs still twitched about, independently, while green blood spilled out, mixing with the dirt of the pit.
Tahra, standing on the corpse, shifted her weight to her good foot. She assured herself that the danger had passed and then looked to the Alkar. He stood above her, his lean shadow casting over her, still holding the sword.
“You better get out before dusk. That’s when the Loxos come out,” he said. The Alkar then cut himself free of his restraints, stabbed her sword into the ground, and walked away.
****
It took Tahra an hour to get out of the hole, her mangled foot screaming at every move. Once free; she bandaged her foot, gathered her supplies, and started tracking the Alkar again.
She limped until dusk. As patches of vegetation appeared, she knew she was getting close to Esker and the river that ran beside it. If he had made it to the river, she’d never find him again.
The tableau had turned a dirty pink with the setting sun and Tahra was near exhaustion.
“What do you want with me?” came a soft voice.
Tahra was so tired she hadn’t even noticed that his tracks had veered off. The Alkar was standing on a small rise of land; its various shades of sediment leading up to his form. He looked down on her, once again.
She knew her former prisoner had two good legs to her one. If she was to give chase, it would be futile. “I’m not the one who wants you. I’m just the hunter. It’s your liver they desire. Supposedly it releases some kind of… stimulant,” she called.
The bird-man questioned, “A stimulant?”
“For men.” She wavered, embarrassingly. She curled her hand into a ball and stiffened her forearm in front of her pelvis. “The liver has to be exhumed while the Alkar is alive, or it isn’t as potent.” She looked guilty just explaining it.
“Man needs that to perform? Can they not do it naturally?” he questioned, head tiling like a parakeet.
“It’s never enough,” she sighed.
“I saved your life, you know,” he said matter-of-factly. “Any chance I can expect you to spare mine?”
While it was, undeniably, fair, Tahra could not agree to his request – she had a perfect record and to willingly tarnish that streak didn’t make any sense to her.
“I can’t go home now, thanks to you,” he added, noting his arm. “If you can’t fly back to the cliffs under your own power, you are considered a burden and outcast.”
“Then you might as well come with me anyway,” she reasoned. He laughed at her argument. She laughed as well, despite herself. “Will it heal?” she found herself asking.
“In time. I’ll never fly straight, but I’ll fly. Although, my kind tends not to last too long on the inlands either.”
Tahra felt a rock of guilt rolling around in her stomach. She didn’t know it but she was, for the first time, experiencing empathy. Frankly, it made her want to puke. The scales of her mind rose and sank, tilting in both directions. On one plate was this gorgeous creature, who had saved her life. On the other was a leather satchel, filled with gold funded by the erections of old men.
“Okay,” she finally said. “For saving my life, I will protect you until you are healed and can return to your nest.”
“I don’t need your protection!” he said, proudly. “I am only asking that you stop hunting me.”
“If word gets out that a wounded Alkar is just wandering around, you are going to need some guarding.”
The Alkar didn’t move right away, searching the warrior woman’s face for any sign of deceit. Finally, he skidded his way down the slope and approached Tahra. He extended his silken hand. “Hite.”
She took his hand and shook it firmly, ratifying the gentleman’s agreement. “Tahra.”
****
On the outskirts of Esker, Tahra dug into her haversack and withdrew her only extra pair of undershorts. “Put these on.”
“Why do I need these?”
“Because you are already going to stick out like an ugly bruise. We can’t have you be walking around naked. Proper people don’t do that.”
Hite slid the underclothing, which was actually big on him. Unfortunately, he just looked like a bird-man in oversized underwear, so Tahra took a knife to her blanket and made him a poncho.
“We are going to spend the night in Esker and then, tomorrow, stock up on provisions and head out towards Highpoint. I know some folk near the Whittle community who will let us hide out,” Tahra said.
“Friends?” Hite asked.
“Just honest creatures, who won’t sell us out.”
Esker was the type of town where people minded their own business, unless money was involved. Tahra and Hite did not appear to be worth any, or carrying any, so they were left alone. They spent the night at the lousiest inn, neither dining nor drinking with the other patrons, instead escaping quickly to their room. A rumor tumbled around that they were eloped newlyweds, anxious to start their family. However, the only thing that did happen was two people falling fast asleep.
****
The gossip-mongers of Esker were not far off about the youthful couple and it wasn’t more than a week after taking refuge in Highpoint that their relationship turned romantic and Tahra fell in love for the first time. The desperate, whole-hearted kind of love that only comes with it being forbidden.
They found shelter in a turf house chalet that, built into the side of a grass-covered hillside. The roof was little more than mud, beams, and insects. It was there that Tahra was finally able to experience what it meant to be treated as a woman; how it felt to be wanted, and how life might feel if she were to stop fighting. Days and weeks passed, during which time the couple did little but eat and love. Hite was even able to teach Tahra the comfort of casual nudity.
Then came a morning where Tahra awoke to find that Hite was absent from the bed and she was alone in the house. She shrouded herself with a comforter, the morning air still much too chilly for her to be bare, and walked into their front yard, which consisted of acres and acres of empty, rolling land. She scanned the steppe for her lover but couldn’t find him. She finally spotted a speck in the murky morning sky, gradually growing larger.
Hite had healed and he was catching an updraft, lofting himself hundreds of feet into the air and carelessly gliding downwards again. He spotted Tahra watching him and smiled, waving to her as he came to a rather clunky landing. Tahra wasn’t sure what she pictured for the future of her relationship with Hite but the mere fact that she pictured a future with someone else astounded her.