Pursued

by Ivy Cross

  “And now,” Mayna says, “the upstarts have us greatly outnumbered.”

  Before I can think of anything to say to that, we round an area of thicket where the main road exits the forest entirely and leads out onto an open swath of grassland-like terrain. The Calji village rises up to greet us roughly three hundred paces down the path.

  Well, maybe rises up is a little generous for what it does. It’s more like it shambles out across the flat landscape like an oversized small-town flea market. The huts seem to have been arranged to some sort of plan, gridded out in concentric circles and evenly spaced from one another. But a lot is missing from the picture that makes it look run down. Along the parameter, it is clear there used to be additional huts, but now there is only the occasional blackened husk or toppled structure. And even further into the heart of the grim town, wrecked homes and other buildings space out the standing homes like broken teeth in the mouth of a sun-bleached skull.

  “You do not look impressed.” Mayna’s voice makes me jump, and I realize she’s been staring at me for some time.

  “No, it’s not that. I was just expecting… something different.” I look out across the sad-looking little town and try to find something kind to say about it. It’s harder than you would think. “The huts look comfortable, and I’m sure—”

  “It is a disgrace,” Atrae says suddenly. “In my youth, our village was a sight to behold. It was rivaled only by that of the Vanthae tribe’s in scope and beauty. It hurts my heart to look upon it so.”

  “This is all because of your problems with the Qarna?” We march closer to the village’s main entrance. There’s no gate, but I can see two tall warriors standing sentry at either side of the path as it enters the village.

  “Mostly,” Mayna responds, lowering her voice. “But our dwindling numbers do not help. It is getting harder and harder to keep pace with repairs and rebuilds. Plus, there simply are not enough Calji to fill the homes that still stand. You see, the Qarna do not only damage us by force—they also poach our warriors.”

  Atrae spits, making his thoughts on the subject perfectly clear.

  “You mean some of your guys join them willingly?”

  As we step past the two warriors along the road, both men cross their forearms across their chests in a form of greeting or salute, but no one says a word.

  “The weak-willed and dishonorable do,” Atrae says. “The Qarna make promises of wealth and status and victorious raids… it entices some of our people who have become disillusioned with life here.”

  As I look around at the empty paths between the huts and sniff the acrid scent of woodsmoke, it’s not hard for me to imagine some of the younger generation wanting to get the hell out of here. The place feels like a ghost town. Worse, the town might be dead and just not know it yet.

  This time I keep my observations to myself.

  It is only after we push farther into the middle of the village that I finally start to see people going about their daily lives. A few sullen-faced figures cooking outside their huts, a gray-haired man working some metal on an anvil in a building with wide double doors at the front, and a couple of young men launching arrows into a set of straw dummies.

  I see no women or children.

  We approach a large hut near the center of the village. It’s not that much different from the rest of the homes around, aside from being about three times as large. As much as the size, its pristine exterior gives it away as a place of importance within the village. The sloped thatch roof is immaculately maintained and the broad exterior walls almost glow with the recent application of a kind of whitewash.

  A tall, willowy young man stationed near the door bows his head as we approach and gives Atrae the chest-crossing salute.

  Atrae starts to stride past the young man without a word, then stops abruptly in his tracks.

  “Where is Reye? He was to be stationed here with you until the new moon. I saw to that before I left.”

  “Yes, sir,” the younger man responds in a crisp, formal tone. “Much has transpired over the night. Jaha sent Reye as an envoy to the Vanthae… He is fleet of foot and the leader wanted his message to reach them quickly.” The young guard flits a glance in my direction before continuing. “I am certain he will wish to discuss the matter with you himself.”

  Atrae grunts and then pushes open the doors to the hut. Mayna and I follow on his heels.

  Inside, I’m hit with a dizzying sense of déjà vu.

  “Are you well,” Mayna asks, narrowing her eyes down at me.

  “Yeah… it’s nothing.”

  Before I was scooped up from Earth by the weird lizard-bug aliens, I worked at an upscale restaurant as the head chef. It was my dream job, actually.

  But I had to pay my dues to get there, and the job I worked to get through culinary school was at a crummy theme restaurant where even the cooks, hidden away from public view in the kitchens, had to dress in costume. I’m still not entirely sure what the hell the theme was supposed to be… The restaurant was called Jack’s Retreat and was decorated like some kind of oversized tropical cabana hut, but there were colorful cardboard pirates and stuffed parrots. And the wait staff were suitably attired—shirtless men with long straw skirts and something similar for the women, only with coconut bikini tops.

  If I had a picture of that old restaurant, I could probably see that it looks nothing like the hut I’m now in, but the feeling of the place is almost dead-on. The smell of the raw wood floors, walls, and ceiling is sweet and comforting. And the woven plant fibers mats rustle and sigh as we walk over them.

  I did nothing but complain about my job the whole time I was at Jack’s Retreat, but through the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, this strange hut now fills me with a sense of both the familiar and that which is sadly lost to time.

  The entry hall leads to a long, low-ceilinged inner chamber with dim lighting and a heavy fog of incense that smells a little like burning mint. Most of the floor space in the room is taken up by a large stone firepit, its coals smoldering low and the apparent source of the minty incense smell.

  The only other feature in the room is the ornate wooden chair—throne may be a more accurate word for the oversized seat. Its darkly polished arms and high back are carved with dozens of animal-like creatures. Things that look like birds and beasts and lizards adorn every visible inch of its surface.

  Before Atrae has had time to lead us more than a couple of steps into the room, the wizened man in the chair leaps down and shambles across the mat-covered floor in our direction. He’s as big and tall as the other Calji warriors I’ve seen so far, but he’s far thicker than any I have encountered. It’s the kind of barrel-chested thickness that comes with age and the softening of a muscular physique. The older man is handsome in a silver fox kind of way, and his twinkling eyes and wide smile put him in contrast with all of the other people I’ve seen in the village.

  “Atrae! Returned at last!” The large man smacks Atrae on the shoulder hard enough to jostle him out of position. “Until this very moment, I thought I had news to share you would never believe.” The man turns his large, pale eyes on me, scanning me from head to toe for several seconds. “But I see you have similar news to share…”

  Atrae pushes out his chest and stands ramrod straight. “We have brought this to you, leader. She was being held captive in the Valat warren where I took Mayna for her Proving.”

  “Yes, yes.” The man says in a tone that indicates he hasn’t paid attention to a word that was said to him.

  I fidget in place as he continues to stare. I don’t exactly look away from him, but I don’t stare into his eyes either. It’s partly because I don’t want to be rude—it’s kind of hard to say what might be considered bad manners when dealing with the leader of a tribe of warriors like this—and partly because it’s hard for me to look into his eyes without feeling a little overwhelmed by what I see there. They seem to shine with a sort of zealous electricity that makes me more than a little nervous.


  “I am Jaha,” the man says finally. He reaches out and takes one of my hands in his, then brings my palm up to his lips for an entirely too long kiss.

  “Uh, nice to meet you,” I say when he gives me back my hand. “I’m Bailey.”

  “Bee-lee,” he repeats slowly. “Beelee. Lovely, just lovely. If there were more time, I would treat you to a feast here and now. But there is much to do. Much, much to do. And I need to have words with my man, Atrae.”

  He shakes his large head slowly, sending his thin tendrils of hair whipping back across his brow. For as much of a hurry as he says he’s in, he seems completely content to just stare at me.

  “Um… Jaha, sir.”

  I want to ask about sending out a search party for the other humans. Before I can say anything more, Mayna grabs my arm and hisses in my ear. “You do not speak to the leader unless he asks you to.”

  “It’s alright,” Jaha says. “This Naia is above the common riffraff. But just the same, there will be time for talk later on.”

  Jaha gives a sharp whistle and the willowy guard from outside appears almost at once. “Take this one to the hut with the others. She will be comfortable there with the others of her kind.”

  His words hit with enough force to knock sense from my head. Other humans are here? How many did they find?

  I look up to Atrae and Mayna, but neither will meet my gaze.

  The willowy youth gestures for me to follow. I guess all my questions will be answered when I get to the other hut.

  As we exit back the way I first came, Jaha’s booming laughter follows us out the doors. “With this bounty, Regar will have no choice but to meet our demands.”

  Chapter 6 – Atrae

  I suck in a long breath of the warm, fresh air just beyond the doors of Jaha’s hut. I have to stifle a cough when my lungs are filled. The incense inside the hut, while typically cloying, was almost overwhelming today. It was all I could do to power through and listen to the leader prattle on about Naia and forging alliances with the Vanthae.

  Jaha’s mind was already made up on the matter and, as such, he did not really wish to discuss the strategy with me. He only wanted to hear his words, and I was more than willing to oblige—the politics of the situation do not concern or interest me.

  In fact, I desire nothing more than to be left alone right now, a difficult thing for the head of the leader’s guard, true, but with the business of the envoy and the Vanthae, I think my men can carry the midday without me. And I doubt Jaha will even notice my absence.

  I make long strides away from the hut and head out toward the east side of the village. My home is in the opposite direction, but I do not want to be there either. There are few enough people within sight, but still I need distance from the village—distance from myself if that were possible.

  I quicken my step at the sight of the clearing at the edge of the village. My goal within view, the expected relief does not flood in… it does not even trickle. If anything, my mood sours further.

  It matters not. I can be alone with my anger just the same.

  “Atrae?” Mayna’s typically melodic voice scrapes through my thoughts like a knife blade against bone.

  I keep moving, not turning toward her calls. She is bright and has always been able to read me well. It should not be difficult for her to see I am in no mood to talk.

  “Atrae?”

  Or not…

  I finally stop and turn to see her standing just behind me. Her sour expression is a close mirror for what is surely on my own face.

  I wait in silence for her to speak, not trusting my temper to remain unlit.

  “We need to talk.” Mayna’s gaze does not quite reach my own. It is not difficult to guess what she seeks to discuss.

  “There will be time for that later,” I say. “For now, you should meditate on what happened—visualize where things fell apart. When we have both had time to prepare, we will try again.”

  Her eyes finally lock onto mine, a flash of surprise cutting through her sullen expression. “Try again…” She nods as though considering. “I suppose that is appropriate. Things did not only fall apart for me.”

  I bite back the retort that rises in my throat. She should be grateful to me—I saved her life, and I am offering her another chance at her Proving. That is no small thing. I can count on one hand the number of warriors who have been given a second chance. Provings have two outcomes: victory or death.

  I hold her gaze for only a moment or so longer, then I have to look away.

  “You are right,” I say finally. “It all went to shit for both of us. Gods, maybe more for me than you.” I look back out toward the clearing for a moment, but it no longer holds the same appeal. “Come with me.”

  Mayna falls into step beside me without hesitation, and we wind our way back between a few of the huts. We continue on until the wide, squat structure of the smith’s hut comes into view.

  “Menne’s?” Mayna asks. “Do we need something forged?”

  I guide her to the raw wood table in front of the building and take a seat on one side. After a moment’s consideration, she does the same.

  “I—I guess this is as good a place as any,” Mayna says. “What did Jaha say about my—”

  I hold up a hand for her to wait. “Not yet.”

  As we sit in silence, Mayna’s expression goes from curious to incredulous to slightly irritated.

  Finally, the old smith totters out through the double doors and smacks two clay jugs onto the middle of the table in front of us. “First time you come w’ company.” With that, he turns and walks back into the building.

  The old smith might well be the eldest member of the village. He is at least twenty cycles farther along the path than Jaha—thirty, by some counts—and the many seasons decorate the skin of his face and bare arms as deep-carved lines and hard-earned scars. Age has stooped his back and lightened his hair, but it has not weakened the coils of muscles that snake through his powerful arms. His many cycles of smithing have forged him into something formidable, and I would not doubt that he could snap a Vanthae spear with his bare hands.

  Despite his intimidating appearance and gruff attitude, Menne is probably my favorite person in our village. I am a man who, for the most part, enjoys his solitude, and being around Menne is nearly the same thing as being alone.

  Plus, he brews the strongest mead I have ever had.

  I raise my jug and pull in a long drink of the cool, pungent liquid. Mayna hesitates for a moment, then does the same.

  “Gods, is this mead or poison?” Mayna’s lips pucker, but she’s quick to bring the jug back to them.

  “A little of both, I think.” I drink down nearly half the jug, and some of the peace that solitude might have brought comes just the same. Warmth spreads through my chest enough to almost dispel the demons of the past days.

  “I told Jaha nothing,” I say at last.

  Mayna raises an eyebrow. “You would lie to him about this? Are you sure that is the wise course?”

  “It is not a lie… I simply did not tell him.”

  Mayna covers her smirk with another swig from her jug.

  She is right, of course. A lie of omission to our leader is the same as any other lie. It is his domain to know of all Provings—all victories and defeats.

  “I doubt he would have heard my words, anyway,” I say. “His eyes and ears are trained only on the deal with the Vanthae and his newly acquired Naia.”

  “You and I both know they are not Naia,” Mayna says.

  “I do not think even Jaha believes them to be Naia. It is a fanciful story to get the attention of Regar and nothing more.”

  I drain the last sips of my mead and a new jug appears almost before the old one hits the table. Menne slides another to Mayna as well, then glides back inside without a word.

  “Is he trying to get us drunk?” Mayna asks. She grabs up her second jug quickly enough, apparently not opposed to the prospect.

  “T
he old man knows my habits well. He will not bring another after this one.”

  Mayna remains silent for a few moments and rolls the clay jug back and forth between her hands. “About what happened in the warren…” Her words drift out slowly like she is not sure of what she wants to say. “I do not want you to think me ungrateful for what you did, but my failure has now stained us both.”

  I continue to watch her deft hands turn the jug against the wooden table. The sound made by the rough clay against the even rougher wood reminds me of the sounds made by an ancient tree outside my childhood hut. On a windy night, the tree’s limbs would creak loudly enough to wake me from a dead sleep. And even on a not so windy night, it was often enough to wake my younger brother Raeti, before he was taken by the fever.

  When the wind was right and the limbs would kick up a particular ruckus, Raeti would sometimes rouse me in the middle of the night to check and make sure the sounds were only that of the tree. My brother’s half-dreaming mind could make those sounds out to be almost anything—bandits stalking through the night, creatures rising from the ground, the spirits of the dead coming back to vex the unwary… he almost had me convinced on a few occasions.

  I do not know how long I sit wading through my memories of old but, eventually, I realize Mayna is waiting for me to say something on the matter of her Proving.

  “Stained,” I repeat, feeling out the word. “That is close to the truth. But I think it is closer to say that your Proving was tainted—tainted before we even got to the Valat warren.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I still believe the warren was the right place for your Proving. I set the right conditions, found the right spot. But a Proving needs an appropriate First, and that is where I went wrong.”

  “You cannot mean that. You are the commander of Jaha’s guard… there could be no better First. It was my honor—”

  I shake my head. “What kind of commander cannot even save his own mate? And what kind of commander lets the ghost of his memories sway his hand when it counts most?”