Orphan Tribe, Orphan Planet

by Jonathan Vick

  There was a spear leaning against the tranik vine bench where Meisx sat. Without conversation or provocation, Meisx reached for the spear. He was too slow.

  Thurl upended the pile of warming rocks, scattering them across the dais toward Meisx. The clattering sound of the tumbling rocks was distraction enough to give Thurl time to round the dais and kick the spear out of reach.

  He tackled Meisx from behind. The two of them crashed to the ground as Thurl launched a pounding attack. His balled fists landed solid flesh two, three, four times before Meisx regained balance and twisted to face Thurl. He shoved Thurl back – two giant hands against Thurl’s smaller chest.

  Thurl stumbled back and tripped over the tranik vine bench. Meisx leaped toward him, but Thurl was able to roll away before Meisx landed. Thurl got to his feet and found the spear he’d kicked away. He picked it up and brandished it before himself as Meisx stood.

  “You killed Sohjos,” Thurl said, as the drums from the Grand Hall thumped behind him.

  Meisx didn’t answer. He was clicking and grunting, searching for advantage in the dais.

  “You killed Gabal,” Thurl continued. “And Yadreet, and Darawa and Ciashi.”

  Meisx stepped back and found a heavy warming rock. He picked it up and hurled it at Thurl. Thurl jumped away and the rock clattered to the gravel walkway and slid to a stop.

  “And now, Sreht is dead. You’re getting rid of the entire hunt team,” Thurl continued.

  Meisx could have called for help. Inside the hut was Meisx’s family: his mother and sisters. He had no brothers, and his father had grown ill when Meisx was young and died before Meisx ever knew him. But he didn’t call for any of them. He faced Thurl alone.

  Thurl clicked a few times and went on: “Next, you’ll come for me. Maybe my family. They’ll all be accidents. Then, nobody will be left to challenge your place as Leader of the Hunt.”

  “I am Leader of the Hunt,” Meisx snarled.

  “Not legitimately,” Thurl said. “And you know it. It only takes one Racroft to tell the truth about what happened on that hunt; about how you really survived the vortex storm; and you and your entire family are disgraced.”

  Meisx threw another warming rock at Thurl. Again, it missed, this time by a wide margin. It struck the stacked wall of spent warming rocks. The wall creaked. Another stone flew toward Thurl and missed, striking the wall. From behind him, the wall tumbled, towering over Thurl and raining down around him.

  As Thurl scrambled to get out of the way of the falling stones, Meisx turned and ran, escaping into the village.

  The sound of the tumbling rock wall echoed in the central dais. As Thurl was battered with falling stones, nearby Racroft came out of the huts. Through the dust of the crashing rocks, Thurl could smell Lavis and Aivira – the last two surviving members of Sohjos’s hunt team. Meisx had kept them close, and given them homes within his own central dais.

  By the time the rocks had settled, Thurl was already gone. He chased Meisx through the village, following the scent of the much larger foe. As far as Thurl was concerned, Meisx’s flight was admittance to his guilt, and a testament to his cowardice.

  Meisx had made a confusing race through dozens of central dais’s, circling round them, then doubling back, trying to mask his trail and confuse his pursuer. Thurl knew the distance between them was increasing. He also knew that there was nowhere Meisx could hide for long. The cavern was immense, but finite. Eventually, Thurl would find him. The danger was in Meisx finding Thurl first. By running, Meisx got to choose the battleground.

  Thurl was nearing the Grand Hall, following the scent as the drums pounded more loudly and the crowd of the gathering Racroft could mask any scent or sound Meisx might leave.

  Then, Meisx attacked.

  Like a coward, he jumped Thurl from behind, leaping off the thatch atop a storage hut and dragging Thurl to the ground.

  His powerful arms pounded into Thurl, knocking the wind from him. Thurl gasped and writhed on the ground. Thurl tried to stand, but Meisx planted his giant foot onto Thurl’s back and shoved him back into the ground.

  Thurl wrapped his hand tightly around the spear and stabbed it quickly behind him. Somehow, he managed to catch Meisx in the abdomen. The huge foot lifted off Thurl’s back and Thurl scrambled to his feet to face Meisx. He swung the spear around and thrust it into Meisx’s shoulder.

  Meisx staggered back a few steps.

  “Are you trying to kill me, Thurl?” He asked.

  “I’m avenging my Father,” Thurl spat. “And all the members of his hunt team!”

  In the pathways between central dais’s all around the village, Thurl could hear Racroft moving toward the Grand Hall for the funeral ceremonies of Sreht.

  “Then, shouldn’t you be killing narvai-ub?” Asked Meisx.

  Thurl snorted and exhaled viciously.

  “I saved my Father from the narvai-ub,” he said. “You killed him. Just like you killed Ciashi and Gabal and Yadreet and Darawa. Just like you’ve killed Sreht. You’re trying to eliminate anyone who saw your cowardice on that last hunt; murder everyone who was loyal to Sohjos; anyone who might challenge you for Leader of the Hunt.”

  “You’re crazy,” Meisx said. “Who knows what strange diseases you encountered down there below the crust. They’ve turned your mind to babble.”

  “Let’s see if the Elders think it’s babble.”

  “If you kill me,” Meisx said, “How will you convince the Elders, the Racroft, anyone. They’ll believe that your journey drove you mad and murderous! No one will believe you, Thurl. You and your family will be exiled. Is murdering me really avenging your father? Does it bring back your father’s tired, old hunt team? It was time for change. The narvai-ub knew that. Why don’t you?”

  “I would rather live in exile with my family than under the—“

  Before he finished speaking, Meisx had slipped away. He shot between two huts, heading for the shores of the river that flowed from the base of the waterfall. Thurl took the chase, tucking his spear under his arm and clicking as quickly as he could.

  Thurl listened to the sounds of the rushing water as it flowed from the waterfall in the Grand Hall into the main cavern and cut across their entire village until it finally slipped into a deep gutter along the wall near the Northern mouth of the cave and dropped back down into a chasm buried somewhere in the rock. He knew that the closer Meisx got to the waterfall, the more difficult it would be to hear him, especially with the drums pounding and noise of the gathering crowd.

  They passed through alleys between huts and across empty central dais’s. Just before they reached the entrance to the Grand Hall, Meisx crossed the long Waterfall Bridge – the oldest bridge in the village – to the other bank of the warming river.

  Thurl followed him, but slowly, anticipating a trap or ambush. The sound of the waterfall was deafening, and the smell of the spray masked the scent of Meisx. He trod lightly, listening intently to the drums and the rushing water and the crowds gathering in the Grand Hall beyond. His clicks and grunts were carried quickly by the spray and the blast of air running along with the current of the fast moving river.

  Slowly, tentatively, Thurl reached the end of the bridge and stepped onto the gravel of the path. A hand shot out from beneath the bridge and grabbed Thurl by the ankle. Like a coward, Meisx had hidden himself under the tranik vine bridge, his body pressed into the soft mud along the shore of the river. He grasped Thurl’s leg and yanked so hard it threw Thurl off balance.

  Thurl spun to face his attacker, then dropped to a knee and threw his hands out to catch his fall. His fervent grunts revealed Meisx crawling out from beneath the bridge. An aura of warmth and rage surrounded him. Thurl could feel the tremors in the air as Meisx trembled with violent intent.

  The second attack came from behind.

  Before he felt the heavy thud of the monstrous Racroft, Thurl could feel the air race around him, brushing the follicles against his back and pressing his whiskers to
his flesh.

  The impact knocked Thurl so hard he dropped the spear and lurched forward. His face pressed into the mud. Meisx grabbed his arm and picked him up; spun him around and landed a crushing paw in Thurl’s ribcage.

  Thurl fell again, clicking and grunting. There were at least two attackers. Thurl knew Meisx, straddling Thurl’s prone body, shaking with fury. The other attacker smelled like Aivira.

  Thurl scratched at the gravel, trying to get a control of his limbs. Meisx leaped on top of him. Straddling Thurl’s body, he swiped his huge palms, beating Thurl’s face and neck with open hands until Thurl’s whiskers were bent and broken.

  Aivira, one of Sohjos’s most trusted and loyal hunt team members, was walking around the shore, hunting for the dropped spear, helping Meisx. Finally, he found it and as Meisx stood up, raising himself off Thurl’s abdomen, Aivira jabbed the shaved stone head into Thurl’s gut two, three, four times, until Thurl could feel the blood and bile running down his sides and into the muddy shores.

  Aivira tossed the spear into the rushing water beneath the bridge and grabbed Thurl by the arms. Meisx grabbed his feet, and together they pulled him down the bank, dragging him as Thurl painfully tried to get his feet under him. They tossed Thurl onto the shore, flipping him over so his face was in the water of the steaming warm river.

  Despite the rage and hatred and fury of Meisx’s fight, he and Aivira were silent, only clicking or grunting when necessary. A few huts away, hordes of Racroft were making their way into the Grand Hall. None of them were crossing the Waterfall Bridge. None of them could hear the battle, or smell the blood or feel the rush of panic on the air.

  Aivira held Thurl’s face beneath the water while Meisx lacerated him with jagged, thick claws. Thurl tried to lift his head out of the water; tried to push himself up the bank; tried to flip over and get control; tried to breath; tried to kick and buck and writhe out of their grip. After too few moments, he was exhausted, unable to breath or move or fight back. Beneath the water he couldn’t hear anything but the thump of Meisx scratching and punching his limp body. His spray-wet follicles and broken whiskers were incapable of sensing air currents or shifts in movement. Clicks and grunts got swept beneath the water.

  Soon, Thurl realized it was over. He stopped fighting. He was going to die face down in the scalding waters of the warming river. He exhaled and relaxed and shut out all the pain and the grief and waited to rejoin his father, Sohjos, in whatever realm the dead occupied.

  He felt Meisx lean back. He felt him lift off Thurl’s body and toss the lifeless carcass into the water. Thurl felt himself float into the wide river, grabbed by the current, and wash down stream. He was too weak to lift his head; too far gone to turn over and find breath.

  Somehow, the waters turned him until his face was out of the water. Independent of will or desire, Thurl’s mouth opened and drew in a long slow breath. It was the last thing Thurl remembered before his thoughts disappeared and his mind shut down.

  CHAPTER thirty-seven

  No Racroft noticed his body floating down the river. There was no one to detect the acrid scent of his bleeding corpse, or the ripple of the waves as he pushed through water, or hear the gurgle of his slow, deathly, wet breath. Everyone was heading toward the Grand Hall for the funeral of Sreht. Thurl’s limp, lifeless body floated past the shores where the Racroft warmed the warming rocks, through the irrigation cusps where they pulled water for the fields of bonroot and kanateed and leafle and pinolan, past the hand-dug tide pools where they farmed fish caught from the seas, beyond the tailored shores of the mating huts where couples met during mating season and disappeared inside for days until they were sure a new generation of Racroft was imminent. His body tumbled and rolled and floated through the entire cavern, through the village, until it reached the rapids near the North wall, and slipped under the rock into the eroded gutter beneath the cavern wall, where no Racroft would ever find it.

  CHAPTER thirty-eight

  There was warmth and song and sound and scent. There was the crackle of Iassa’s fire. There was some strange voice chanting a lilting lullaby. There was the smell of blood and the sharp sting of what Iassa called ash and the acrid fumes of rotting moss from the South wall of the cavern.

  Thurl wondered if he was dead; if he had entered the realm beyond death. He tried to move his arms, to feel the air, but they wouldn’t move. They were heavy and encased in something thick and muddy. He opened his mouth and let his tongue protrude, trying to increase his sense of smell, searching for the scents of those who’d died before him; hunting for any rumor of his father, Sohjos. There were other Racroft there, but he couldn’t determine who they were.

  Then, there was a voice: “He’s waking up.”

  Slowly, Thurl slipped back into consciousness; came back to life from his deathly slumber.

  He didn’t know where he was, but he could smell Iassa; hear her moving through the room. He was lying on thick fegion fur, and was covered in cakes of moss.

  He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and too warm and wouldn’t move the way he wanted.

  “Don’t speak,” he heard Iassa say. “You’re going to be fine, but you need rest. You were near death when I found you. The Elders helped me bring you here. And a warrior named Lavis.”

  Lavis and Aivira were the last two remaining warriors from Sohjos’s hunt team, with the exception of Thurl and Meisx. Thurl knew Aivira was helping Meisx. If Lavis helped Iassa, then he was likely still a Sohjos supporter, and next on Meisx’s target list.

  Thurl reached out for her, but caught the soft, cold wall of a muddy cave.

  “The echoes in here,” Iassa told him. “They can be disorienting. We’re inside a cavern along a mountain ridge. The Elders gave us direction. They said it has been abandoned for generations.”

  Thurl grunted, trying to orient himself. The cavern was about the size of a Racroft hut. It had once been used for storing meat. He could smell the decay and ancient blood trampled into the wet, stone floor. Iassa had built fire near the mouth. There were a few packs with supplies; a shield lying on the floor filled with michau meat; some spears and a bow against the wall. There were two piles of chunacat cloaks over fegion fur – two more beds. Thurl wondered if Lavis had stayed to help Iassa.

  Then, he could hear him.

  Outside the mouth of the cave, Lavis was popping his lips, making a loud echo that straddled the valley, hunting for predators that might smell them on the wind.

  Iassa was tending to Thurl’s many wounds. The Elders must have given her healing moss. Thurl was bound in it.

  He wanted to speak; to ask where they were; to tell Lavis and Iassa what had happened; who had attacked him, and why. But he was exhausted, and was soon asleep again.

  CHAPTER thirty-nine

  “He offered me the same protection he offered Aivira,” Lavis said.

  They were sitting on the stone floor of the cavern. Thurl was sitting up, his back leaning against the smooth wall. He was drinking some warm liquid with bitter herbs floating on the surface. It was a remedy Iassa gave him; something with roots Thurl had never tasted; something the Meson Healers used.

  He had suffered days of sporadic consciousness. Finally, he felt awake. He was hungry. That was a good sign. Before she let him eat, Iassa made him drink.

  Lavis was sitting in the back of the cavern, as far from the fire at the mouth as he could get. He’d spent a week or more with Iassa, protecting Thurl, but he still didn’t trust fire; didn’t understand the leaping, itching liquid.

  “Aivira helped him attack you,” Lavis was saying, “As a way to pledge his allegiance to Meisx. I didn’t accept his offer. He gave the same offer to Sreht, and look what happened to Sreht when his help was no longer needed.”

  “Did Sreht help kill my Father?” Thurl asked.

  “Yes,” said Lavis. “We all helped a little. Sreht knew what poisons to put in the salves they were using to treat Sohjos’s wounds. Yadreet delivered the final blow, pressing t
he tenertid paste on the roof of Sohjos’s mouth while Aivira and I helped distract the Healers, and your sisters, and your mother. We all looked the other way; kept our voices silent; let Meisx finish the job he’d started. When you travelled to the sea with the remains of your father, Yadreet disappeared.”

  “When did Meisx become Leader of the Hunt?” Thurl asked.

  Lavis shifted on the stone where he was sitting. He pressed his hands against the sides of his head and clicked at the cave roof a few times. Finally, he answered:

  “He started claiming to be Leader of the Hunt as soon as we got back to the village,” he said. “Nobody disagreed with him. We were all too exhausted and stunned at losing Sohjos and so many members of our hunt team. I don’t know if he was ever declared Leader by the Elders. It doesn’t matter, I guess. Once he’s put together his own hunt team, then everyone will accept him as the Leader. If nobody says that he’s not, then he is.”

  Iassa came into the cavern and sat opposite Thurl.

  “Why does it matter who is the Leader of the Hunt?” She asked. “Let him go out and risk his life.”

  “In the Racroft village, the Leader of the Hunt is, essentially, the leader of the entire Racroft people,” Thurl answered. “The Hunt is the most important aspect of our lives; it sustains us; it provides us food and bedding and cloaks and tools. There is no part of any killed animal that we don’t use in some way. So, the Leader of the Hunt is considered the wisest, strongest and most important leader in the village.”

  “Sohjos was a great Leader,” Lavis said. “Without his guidance, we are thrown into chaos and disarray.”

  Memories of his father flooded back into Thurl’s mind. He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to rage back to the Racroft village and drag Meisx into the street and expose him as a coward and a liar and murderer.

  He punched his fist into the stone floor and threw a clump of rotting moss toward the crackle and stench of the fire.