by Ruby Dixon
I nod, impatient to get going. "Shall we split up, then? Head in different directions to cover more ground?"
"We will." I'rec narrows his eyes at A'tam. "Where is your spear, fool?"
A'tam simply drains his cup of tea and grins. "It is nearby. Did U'dron tell you that he thinks the others are keeping the silly female from him?" He glances over at me, amused at his own words.
"Is that so strange?" I'rec says in a harsh voice. "Are they not keeping T'ia away from us? Why would they not hide another? Perhaps if you spent less time chasing after a female that does not want you, you would pay more attention."
A'tam growls, low and feral, and his laughing expression fades. Even though I am irritated with A'tam, I put a hand on his chest to stop him before he pounces on I'rec. The never-serious A'tam has a sore spot when it comes to B'shit, and I'rec has been irascible and sour ever since the flirty little human left to go live with the other tribe.
Things have been tense at the Shadow Cat fires lately.
"Just get your spear," I tell A'tam. "Let us go already. The day is wasting." I glance over at the fire and it is normally crowded with people at this time in the morning. This day it is the females and the young kits. Everyone who can hold a spear is out searching for R'ven.
"I will get D'see, too," A'tam says. "She needs to learn how to track."
I clench my jaw, because is this truly the time to teach a hyoo-man female? Now is the time to rescue R'ven, and the sooner we find her, the better. We have no time to waste showing D'see how to read footprints or to follow the wind. But the others do not complain. They enjoy D'see's company, and I suspect both O'jek and I'rec would be thrilled to resonate to her. With a sigh, I know I am outvoted.
A'tam trots away, and I look over at I'rec. "Shall we head out, then? A'tam will be with D'see. I will head south and follow the coast—"
I'rec shakes his head at me. "You will go with A'tam and D'see. O'jek and I will head north."
I clench my teeth. "I can go on my own." A'tam and D'see will just slow me down, and the need to find R'ven is overwhelming. I imagine her scared and alone, shivering in the early morning cold. "The most important thing is that we find R'ven."
"A'tam has the best nose of all of us," I'rec says flatly. "He can make up for your shortcomings."
It is something I have heard from him many, many times. Each time, though, it feels like a fresh wound. In his eyes, I am not a true hunter. It does not matter that I am older than him by a full turn of the seasons, or that I bring in just as much meat as the others. I failed when I needed to succeed the most, and I'rec will never let me forget it.
But I swallow my anger, because R'ven needs me right now. "Let us just get going, then."
It is a long, fruitless day. A'tam does his best to pick up R'ven's scent, but it is nowhere to be found. D'see is quiet and keeps up well, so I have no complaints about her. We move over the beach, searching for any hint that R'ven has come in this direction, but there is nothing. My frustration mounts when we return at sunset only to find that I'rec and O'jek found no trace of her, either. The sa-khui hunters and the other searchers found no trace of her in the mountains. To make matters worse, a light snow has started to fall, which means any footsteps will be covered up.
The gathering by the fire that night is somber.
"We should keep looking," I tell the others. "I have good eyesight. I can hunt for her at night."
R'hosh shakes his head. "It makes no sense sending out anyone at night. If she is out there, she will have sought shelter. We will go again in the morning." He rocks one of his daughters against his chest, standing close to the fire, his mate and other children at his side.
Nearby, T'chai sits with his mate, M'rsl. She braids his hair, standing behind him, and all of Tall Horn is clustered together, just as I sit with ShadowCat…and D'see. He rubs his chin thoughtfully and then gestures to speak. "She cannot simply disappear. Someone would smell her trail."
"Unless she is hiding it," T'shen of the sa-khui says. He looks tired, his mate leaning against his shoulder. They have been out searching all day.
Many of the faces around the fire are worn and exhausted, I realize. People take the bowls of soup handed to them with weary movements, and no one seems to be talking much.
"Hiding her trail? Raven?" Buh-brukh says, wrinkling her nose. "I doubt it. She never goes hunting with anyone. Where would she learn to hide her trail?"
"Perhaps she wandered away from camp and had an accident," J'shel states.
His mate clutches at his arm, a worried look on her face. "An accident?" H'nah echoes.
"Swept out to sea," J'shel clarifies.
My gut grows cold at the thought. It is the only way her scent would disappear, and it is a thought that has occurred to me many a time…but R'ven is smart. She avoids the icy waves. She would not go out far enough to get dragged away.
"Or a tidewater kaari," N'dek says, no doubt remembering the one that attacked his hyoo-man mate.
"Unless she was swallowed whole, there would be signs of a struggle of some kind," D'vi points out. "Smears of blood on the sand and bits of organ found on the beach. Or body parts would wash up onto shore unless she was dragged out far enough for her corpse to get caught up in the current—"
"Devi," An'shee hisses, holding her kit tight to her chest.
"What?" D'vi asks, blinking. Her mate puts a hand on her knee, and the female slumps. "Sorry. Was that too graphic? I'm just trying to look at things logically."
W'lla with the springy mane and the beast-like mate speaks up. "Maybe she was just sad and wanted to leave."
"Why?" someone asks.
W'lla shrugs. "Maybe she's depressed. Maybe she doesn't want to be here anymore. We can't force her to stay. Maybe she left and hid her trail because she doesn't want to be found." She looks over at her mate and laces her fingers with his, and I remember that they both left for a time and returned.
Her words make my heart hurt, because perhaps she is right. Perhaps R'ven decided she was tired of all of this and simply left when others were distracted.
But…it does not fit the R'ven I know. It does not fit the female with the rueful smile and determined expression. A sad R'ven would not always have a song on her lips. A sad R'ven would not do her best to cheer me up whenever I am frustrated, or meet me for secret talks amongst the rocks and to watch the stars.
I think they are wrong about her.
"She wants to stay," I say, loudly.
"How do you know?" R'hosh asks.
"I just know."
R'hosh turns to A'tar of the golden skin. "Did you see any sign of her when you flew overhead?"
He hesitates, glancing over at me, and then shakes his head. "Nothing. Not even a trail of footprints in the snow."
R'hosh grunts. "We will search again tomorrow. After that, we might have to accept the fact that if she left no trace, it is because she does not wish to be found."
I think they are wrong.
I think R'ven was happy…or at least, happy enough. I think of the constant sad expression on M'rsl's face, and R'ven was never like that. I think R'ven would want to be found if she is lost, or if someone has stolen her. I eye the faces of the males around the fire. Who has shown interest in her? I'rec and O'jek would not. They know I have my sights set upon her. A'tam is obsessed with B'shit. That leaves S'ssah and R'jaal. I narrow my eyes at the Tall Horn hunter. He has not spoken up much this night…perhaps because he already knows where she is?
If that is the case, it is doubly important for me to find her before he can force resonance.
If R'jaal has her, then she is somewhere nearby.
And if she is, I will find her.
I sit around the fire with the others, my skin itching to get away from the group, but I cannot look too obvious. I wait until others start to drift away to their huts. The mated couples go first, but eventually I'rec leaves, and R'jaal. I take my leave then, as well, slinking into the shadows and following behind R'j
aal a good distance. His scent is thick on the breeze, but there is no whiff of R'ven in it. I follow him…and then stop when he heads into his hut. I circle it twice, even sliding my body under the platform to test for scents, but there is nothing. And when R'jaal begins to snore a short time later, I must concede that perhaps I was wrong.
If R'jaal does not have her, then who?
3
RAVEN
When I wake up a short time later, the fire is out and the father and son are staring at me warily. I sit up and rub my eyes, looking around. Nothing's different about the beach. The father and son haven't bothered to make shelter or do anything, and they're sitting a short distance away from me like they were when I went to sleep.
This really is the weirdest situation.
I rub my arms, grimacing at the cold. Without my sodden clothing, it's just frigid and not devastatingly cold. I mean, it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but my khui keeps me warm enough that I'm not going to die from exposure…I hope. It hasn't seemed to affect these two too much, I can't help but think as I glance over at them. They're wearing nothing but woven yellowed leaves, their feet wrapped crudely in skins. They don't seem as uncomfortable as I am, but who can tell? "You guys didn't tend the fire? You let it go out?"
The child blinks at me. I look over at the father, and he's watching me with that same narrow-eyed expression, like he's trying to understand me.
"Do you guys not speak at all?" I try again. I pat my chest in the universal way of sharing names. "I'm Raven." I gesture at them.
The boy looks at his father.
The father says nothing. His expression doesn't change.
I try again. "Raven." I pat my chest, but no matter how many times I gesture at myself and indicate my name, it's like talking to a brick wall. They show no sign of understanding. "Ugh, fine," I finally say, and give up. I get to my feet, grab a new log and toss it on the fire. "I'm going to make this again so we can all enjoy a toasty-toasty fire at least, okay? Because my clothes need to dry out and they're not going to in this weather." I gesture at the snow that's drifting down from the clouds overhead.
This time, it takes several minutes for me to get the fire going, and I let out a sigh of relief when the flames catch on my tinder. I raise the pile to the firewood and settle it in a spot where it'll catch, then lean in to blow on the flames.
The man gets to his feet and kicks sand on the fire, putting it out the moment I lean back with satisfaction.
I sputter in shock. "What the fuck, dude?"
He gives me that same unyielding stare, and I feel something like hate in my guts. I try not to hate anyone, but this jerk is really pushing my boundaries. I pick up the rocks and what's left of my tinder and give the jerk a defiant look.
The stranger drags his foot slowly across the sand, an ominous indication he's going to do the same thing all over again.
I scowl and toss the rocks down. "You got a better idea on how to get warm? My clothes are like fucking ice. My nipples feel like they could scrape a hole in the side of the goddamn Titanic." When no one answers me, I suck in another deep breath of frustration. "Okay, well, if you're going to be like that, I'm not staying here."
I get to my feet, brushing off my leggings (wet and icy) and pick up my tunic (also wet and icy). I tighten the (wet) ties of my boots (also wet). I scowl at the man and his kid as I slop my wet clothes back on and begin to stomp down the beach. I have no idea where I'm going, but anywhere beats here.
It's no surprise that the man immediately steps in front of me, an ominous look on his face. He puts up a hand, his skin shimmering with a camouflage change that I've seen others do. And he frowns mightily, as if that will quail me into turning around and sitting next to my unlit fire again.
"Nope," I say, stepping right past him. "Go fuck yourself. Peace out." I flip him a peace sign and ignore him when he tries to get in front of me again. If I follow the coast, I'm bound to run into someone or something in the next few days. If not, well, I'll turn and go the other direction. I eye the rocky cliffs that seem to go right up to the edge of the water, the waves crashing against them. That's troublesome, but if he got me here, there's got to be a path. If there's no path, then I'll go the other way. All I know is that I'm not staying—
Footsteps crunch on the sand. Fast, running footsteps. That's the only warning I get before a big arm goes around my shoulders and something is pressed over my nose and mouth. It stinks. The leaves smell medicinal, and as I struggle against the dick holding me captive, I realize my limbs are getting heavy and everything's getting cloudy.
My last thought before I pass out is that this explains why my mouth tasted so weird before—because this isn't the first time I've been drugged.
I wake up eventually, and the world is swaying. My stomach churns, and I sit up, because if I don't, I'm going to puke up a belly full of acid. My mouth has the same awful taste as before, and I fight back the urge to growl in frustration. This jerk is drugging me. I don't know what he wants, but I'm guessing it's a bride, ice planet style. Yeah, well, he's in for a really rude awakening, because I have no desire to be his little wifey or the mom to his kid. I rub my mouth, trying to get rid of the medicinal taste in it, and when the world bobs and sways around me again, I pay attention to my surroundings.
I'm…not on shore.
With a gasp, I jerk backward, trying to scuttle away from the man seated in front of me on what looks to be the world's crudest raft. It's the alien stranger, and he grunts and grabs my arm in a tight grip before I can careen off the back of the raft. He also makes the first noise that might be some sort of communication—a sound of pure irritation. He shoots me a look, gestures at the water, and then shoves his paddle in again. He's acting as if all of this is my fault somehow.
"How was I supposed to know I'd be on a fucking raft, dude? You drugged me." I curl my fists as I sit up, wanting to punch his scowling face. I don't care if he's got a kid or not, dude's a dick and a half. I sit up and glare at my surroundings. Sure enough, we're in the ocean—the creepy, creepy, cold ocean. The raft we're on looks like nothing more than a few trees that have been quite shittily hollowed out and lashed together with vines, and the guy seated across from me is using a paddle that looks like it's made of leaves lashed to the end of a branch.
Well doesn't that just instill confidence in a girl.
At his side, the little boy watches me with a curious expression. He holds one grubby little hand out and offers me a leaf.
His father shoots him a look.
I shake my head. "If it's all the same, I can guess what that leaf is for. No thanks."
The boy gestures again, indicating I should take the leaf, and he mimes eating it.
"Pak!" the man says in a low growl.
The boy shrinks back, moving closer to his father's knee. He puts the leaf on the raft, between us, and watches me.
"So you can talk," I muse aloud. "You just don't want to talk to me. I see how it is. Well, you don't have to worry—I absolutely am not interested in being your friend. And the moment we get on shore, I'm getting the fuck away from you." I smile fakely at the two of them and pick up the leaf that the boy offered. Pak is either his name…or it means “stop.” I try repeating it. "Pak?"
The boy looks over at me and smiles.
"That's your name, all right. Good to know." I file this in my brain for safekeeping and pick up the leaf he held out to me. The good news is that if it's drugs, I'll at least be able to pass out again. I sniff it, and it smells sweeter than the other stuff Pak's dad held against my face.
Pak quietly points at his mouth and makes a chewing motion, then casts a quick, covert look at his father, who's still paddling.
Hmm. I put the leaf to my lips, and when no one stops me, I take the tiniest nibble. It's different than the stuff before. The taste is almost sweet, and it helps get rid of the sour, medicinal tang in my mouth from the other stuff. "Thanks, Pak."
The dad scowls.
I grin. I plan o
n using the kid's name a million times a day, just to piss off daddy.
It's quiet on the raft, and the lull of it makes me drift off to sleep. I know I probably shouldn't, because I'm not safe, but what else is there to do? I'm cold and wet and hungry, and I'm far from shore. Actually, when I look around, I can barely see the shore. It's like my new “friend” has deliberately taken me as far away from the beach as possible so I can't get away from him. Even if I tried, he'd just drug me again. So I sit at my end of the raft and do my best to remain calm while I assess the situation.
We can't stay out on this raft forever. We have to eat, and drink water, and use the bathroom. Dad will have to sleep eventually, and he won't be able to do that on the raft without the danger of us washing out to sea. I just need to bide my time, figure out where the hell we end up, and then get away.
If there's one thing my harsh life has taught me, it's how to survive. I'll get through this, and then this guy will be sorry he messed with me. With a yawn, I settle in and watch the waves slosh back and forth against the edges of the raft. The kid watches me, and I offer him a half-smile. If his dad wasn't such a dick, he'd be a cute kid, I decide. He doesn't look like the sa-khui, but when his camouflage flutters and shifts in color to match my skin, I think he's flirting with me in the only way a four-year-old knows how.
Pak looks over at the side of the raft, and I do, too. There's a tentacle creeping over the edge of the craft, worming its way on board. Before I can cry out, Pak whips out his hand, grabs the thing out of the water, and twists. Hard. There's an ugly pop and the thing goes limp in his hands. It looks like one of the Flying Spaghetti Monster creatures, just bigger than the small ones we see on shore.
With a delighted expression, Pak shows his catch to his father. The man nods, and there's a hint of pride on his face as he looks at Pak. The little boy turns to me, rips one big, juicy tentacle off, and then offers it up.