Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  “But the lift was badly damaged when you helped me escape,” Yamir reminded her.

  Looking directly at Thoth, Lluava affirmed, “That’s true. So it must be repaired immediately.”

  The Ruire’s expression did not change. “She told me what you would say; she said to tell you, if you must come, do not approach Cronus until the new moon has passed and word has been received. Any sooner will mean certain destruction for those who follow you.”

  “How could she—?” Derrick began, but Lluava waved him silent.

  Although Yamir did not question Yena’s ability, he was not happy with the plan. “That’s three days from now. We could arrive tomorrow if we pushed ourselves.”

  Father scanned his people. “A rest would be much appreciated. I have no issue with caution.”

  “Nor do I,” admitted Lluava. “But on the night after the new moon, we will be at Cronus.”

  “High Priestess Yena will be waiting,” said Thoth. He shifted and flew off without delay.

  Lluava hoped he would survive the journey back. If he did not, or if the lift was not repaired, how many would die seeking entry into the capital?

  “That was strangely easy,” noted Yamir as he spat on his hand to re-twist a spike of hair. “I would suspect foul play.”

  “Yena needs to keep me alive. She will do everything in her power, even if it places her own people at risk, to ensure this. Thoth might not like me, but he knows that I am essential to the high priestess’s cause. The lift will be ready.”

  At least, that is what she hoped. If Yena ever doubted the young woman’s value or questioned the prophecy, Lluava and the clansmen could be left to die unaided at the hands of the Raiders.

  Turning away from the direction of the capital, she said, “We must fortify our camp.”

  The clan leaders did not rebuke her, even though she had no right to command them. Then again, it was a simple order.

  “What’s on your mind?” Derrick inquired, which was quite unlike him.

  Lluava shared her troublesome thoughts. “I’m wondering how we are going to get all these people inside Cronus.”

  The question worried her. She gestured at the numerous unhitched wagons. Restless children were jumping from their wheeled homes to stretch their legs at no less than full sprints on the ground. The elderly were helped off the wagons; some were carried to blanketed seats on the cold earth near newly made cooking fires. There were enough people to populate a small town. All believed that safety would be found behind Cronus’s high walls.

  “We aren’t,” Derrick answered.

  Appalled, Lluava looked at the dark-skinned soldier.

  Grunting, Derrick grimly explained, “You must prepare yourself, Lluava. Even if the gods smile on us, there is no way that a migration this large will escape the enemy’s notice. We will be discovered, if we haven’t been already. We will pay for this with many lives.”

  “But…if we…” Lluava stammered, unsure what to say.

  “People are going to die. Even you, Incarn of Theri, cannot prevent that. All we can do is try to minimize our losses, many though they may be.” Derrick patted her shoulder solemnly before heading off to see his fellow comrades.

  Onyx, who had been patrolling the terrain, alighted on Lluava’s other shoulder. He muttered into her ear, which did not help the gnawing pain now tormenting her stomach.

  “What am I to do, Onyx?” Lluava questioned as she continued to observe the clansmen’s activities.

  Snapping his beak, Onyx cocked his good eye up to the nearby trees. Small, dark silhouettes of the raven’s kin clustered above. They seemed to be watching the camp hungrily.

  She shivered.

  That night, rest abandoned Lluava. Giant forms lurked in the corners of her smoke-shrouded dreams. A face—no, just a broad nose with flaring nostrils—inhaled the dark-stained air deeply. Now a beard and hair the color of blackening blood framed emerging features. Though not real, they seemed as harsh as a sea storm that consumes a fleet in a blink of an eye. Eyes. The eyes held a flame that resembled a fire found only in the seven hells. These searching eyes bored through Lluava as if she were no more than a ghost or a vanishing zephyr.

  The head turned on a neck pulsing with black veins. With each pulse, Lluava felt her own pulse beat in time with it. Thump. Thump. Her heart strained to match the other’s. Thump. Thump. The beating grew more rapid. Thump, thump. Her heart was racing now, confined by the fear that tethered it to the monstrous figure before her. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  She could hear the salt-encrusted lips crack as they parted. “Murder is great.”

  Jerking awake, Lluava gasped, “What?”

  A pair of startled clansmen jumped in surprise at her sudden movement. One pointed to the flocks of crows in the early morning sky. “I said, ‘th’ murder’s a great many.’”

  Under the cloud-choked sun, the massing crows joined with groups of ravens and numerous buzzards. The heralds of death were circling above the future victims.

  “We need to leave,” Lluava said to no one in particular. Wiping the chilled sweat from her brow, she tied her unkempt hair into a knot at the base of her neck. Then she found Father’s wagon and called to him, “We must head to Cronus immediately.”

  There was a fit of hacking and coughing before the mammoth man climbed out of the covered wagon. “What is it ya said?”

  “We need to leave as soon as possible.”

  “I thought th’ agreement was that we wait a bit.” Father hacked again and spat out a wad of phlegm.

  “We are a target here. The longer we wait, the more likely we will be found.”

  “What of th’ lift? Ya think it will be ready ’n time?’

  “We need to chance it.”

  From a neighboring wagon, Yamir called out, “What’s happening?”

  “Ya friend here says we should leave now,” alerted Father. Then, returning to the prior conversation, he asked, “What ya know, Lluava?”

  “Something is coming for us. Something big.”

  Father furrowed his brow. He harrumphed once, then twice. Although he waved Yamir over to help him off the wagon, his massive weight still caused him to land heavily. The thin strands of facial hair twitched agitatedly as he shuffled about. “What chance will we ’ave if we can’t get over the wall?”

  “What chance would we have if we were discovered here?” Lluava knew Father was not appeased. “I can’t really explain why I feel that we must push forward. Something inside me is telling me so.”

  “You sure that’s not just fear?” questioned Yamir earnestly.

  Father’s voice boomed out, though not intentionally, “Theriomorphs all ’ave a special ability, Lluava. Th’ not as special as ya’ select Incarn, I suppose, we still ’ave a natural instinct. It’s said that humans once were much th’ same. But they lost this gift as they began to rely less on the land and to live more in towns and cities. Heeding this sixth sense ’as kept our species alive on more than one occasion. It is a privilege that not many choose to benefit from nowadays. But when we do listen to it…” Father looked out over the sprawling camp. His features changed, and he growled out, “We will head toward Cronus come noon.”

  Yamir looked vexed. He bent over and spoke directly into Lluava’s ear. “Since I know you won’t, I will pray to the gods that you are not wrong.”

  Above them, the caws and sharp cries of the winged scavengers grew louder.

  ***

  With the sun directly overhead, the wagon train began to slowly lurch northward. Lluava rode near the front, for she could not stand the grumblings of the unhappy crowd. Derrick plodded next to her in his wolf form. Lluava’s horse, though accustomed to his scent, continued to eye the canine warily.

  “You don’t agree with this, do you?” Lluava asked. Though none had rebuked her, she was aware that many were displeased by the sudden departure.

  “Actually, I do,” acknowledged the black wolf. “Look at them.” He nodded toward the sk
y. The massing flock of birds flew about in no particular order. “They are a screeching alarm that we are here. We need to keep moving.”

  Lluava shivered again. “Do you think the Raiders know about us yet?”

  “I have sent my troop members on perimeter patrols. They will scout out and alert us if an enemy approaches.

  “Let’s hope we don’t hear a warning howl anytime soon.”

  Lluava peered back at Yamir. He looked fierce with all his metallic piercings sparkling in the light. The gauges he had wedged in his ears were made of long canine teeth, and his bare chest sported a painted pattern associated with the warriors of his clan.

  “What happened to him, Derrick?”

  “I heard that Father might make him his heir.”

  “That’s amazing. I wonder why he has not told me yet?”

  “You do realize what that means?” questioned Derrick as he snapped at a biting fly. The spring temperature was warming enough for insects to appear.

  Lluava thought for a moment. “That he will command the Cloven-Hoofed Clan and assume the role of Father for his people.”

  Derrick huffed, “A people who are the sworn enemy of the Mandrun line. If he accepts that role, he must permanently separate himself from Elysian society. He will never be allowed at court, at the capital, or in any city. He will denounce the monarchy, the government, and the very structure of our kingdom. In many ways, he will represent everything you have been fighting against.”

  Could Yamir really embody all of that? Lluava shook her head. He is just angry. Until he has had time to let go of some of his blind hatred, he will never be able to understand and accept the truth about the recent past.

  Derrick seemed to read her thoughts. “Some people cannot let go of their anger. It becomes part of them.”

  Lluava thought of Aquila. The nomad had pushed aside his hatred of her. He had been willing to help them in the war—that is, until Lluava said she would have to rebind him against his better judgment. She was wrong to have asked that of him. Anyway, he was gone now. Find your way home, Aquila. Get far, far away from this place. Evil is all about.

  ***

  When the great walls of Cronus came into view, the large caravan went on high alert. Many of the clans’ finest warriors joined Derrick’s men in protecting the perimeter. With the flocks of carrion-eaters close behind, they anticipated an attack. Wagons that contained children, the elderly, or the infirm were positioned in the middle of the train, while those carrying able-bodied people were on either end so they could protect their weaker clan members.

  The extreme tension caused many to jump whenever they heard a twig snap or saw a shadow move in the strengthening breeze. For the last several days, the wind had never died down completely; it waited as patiently as a night cat about to ambush its prey. Now, the air stirred with activity. People whispered that it was a sign some higher power watched their progress, although they questioned for whose benefit.

  Derrick kept pace with Lluava whenever he was not on patrol. She enjoyed his company, since she had neither Varren nor Apex by her side. Slowly, the walls of the capital rose above them like a titan. She noted how the spiderwebbing trails of red lichen and blue-gray moss had begun to grow like veins and arteries over the ancient stone backdrop.

  Gesturing to the left, Lluava said, “The lifts are a little farther that way.”

  “It seems that our welcoming party is ready,” responded the large wolf as he spied the distant faces peering over the parapets. A few figures scurried around, while others watched, transfixed by the sight of the approaching caravan.

  Thoth must have made it back safely. Why else would Yena’s men not sound an alarm? They were expecting them. Lluava had been right to make the clans leave, although she knew it was neither instinct nor her goddess’s guidance that had led her to make that choice. Fear, no matter what source, could also help at times. Safety was in sight.

  A rider approached from the rear. Yamir reigned in his horse on the other side of Derrick. “This was a mistake. Something is not right.” Yamir’s obvious apprehension ran counter to everything she had been thinking. Beads of sweat peppered his ruddy brow. “If the crane said that the Raiders would kill anyone that attempted to leave Cronus, why did they allow us to get so close to the capital? Don’t say it’s because they don’t know we are here.”

  Lluava looked worriedly over at Derrick. He, too, seemed caught off guard.

  It was Derrick who stated what they now all understood. “We have walked into a trap.”

  “Alert everyone to head to the lift as quickly as possible,” commanded Lluava as the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise.

  Yamir wheeled his horse around and spurred it on to spread the word. As Derrick turned to assist with the notification, the echo of a wolf howl reverberated from the right rear.

  “The Raiders are approaching,” snarled the lupine. “I’ll help defend.”

  But before he could run off, another howl burst forth, this time from the left. Then another from up ahead.

  “We are surrounded,” growled Derrick.

  The lifts were in sight. Lluava exclaimed, “We have to prevent them from cutting us off!” Turning, she shouted to those behind her, “Everyone, to the lift!”

  No one questioned the young woman’s command. The cracking of cart whips and the whickering of spurred horses confirmed that her order was being followed. Charging forth, Lluava and Derrick raced ahead in hopes of preventing the enemy from reaching their target first. More howls pierced the once-quiet spring day. They were accompanied by the beating of war drums and the cawing of excited crows.

  Reaching the base of the lift, Lluava leaped from her horse with Issaura’s Claws at the ready. She did not care if the frightened beast bolted; her only concern was to see if the lift was in working order.

  Above her, the large platform stood frozen in its position at the top of the wall.

  “We’re here!” Lluava shouted above the growing din. “Lower the lift! Lower the lift!”

  Where was everybody? Atop the wall, not a figure moved. The lift lay immobile above them.

  “Somebody lower the lift!” Lluava screamed.

  Nearby, Onyx attacked a crow, plucking tail feathers out of his smaller kin. The crow cawed out in panic, flapping wildly, trying to escape.

  With each exasperated caw, Lluava recalled the terrifying voice from her dream: “Murder. Murder! Murder is great!”

  Chapter 16

  Ring of Fire

  The first wagon arrived, and still the lift had not moved. Just out of sight, the enemy was encroaching. The clansmen were trapped in an ambush of their own design.

  “Get ready to fight,” snarled Derrick, baring his sharp teeth. His raised hackles made him look even larger.

  A horn blasted. The Raiders were nearly upon them.

  “Where is your lift?” demanded Father as he lowered himself from his wagon.

  Yamir stood next to him, scowling fiercely. Lluava knew this was exactly what he had feared. From a pouch about his waist, he pulled out several long porcupine quills. The sharp barbs were ready for him to expertly throw into their fleshy targets.

  From the wagons, a baby squalled, increasing the tension unbearably as its mother tried to silence it. Then long, inhuman shadows, cast on the ground by the horned helmets of three gigantic forms, emerged from the forest-lined road. Behind them, a line of Raiders held their weapons at the ready.

  Lluava glanced down at her distorted reflections in the Claws. Each Claw’s three curved blades reflected a different fragment of her face. She watched her pupils narrow into sharp, javelin-like slits; she felt the cool metal counter the boiling heat in her core as it spread to her extremities. Shifting, Lluava raked the earth with her gilded foreclaws and let out a deafening roar.

  The central Berserker removed the war hammer strapped to his back. His companions followed suit with battle-axe and mace. They approached slowly, dragging their weapons lazily behind them. Ll
uava could smell the drug-tainted smoke from their breaths. Her muzzle crinkled in disgust.

  A heavy groan, like that of a man adjusting an injury to seek some relief, came from above. Risking a glance, Lluava saw the lift lurch slightly before it slowly began to make its way to the base of the wall.

  More wagons arrived, and Lluava growled, “Get the families onto the lift—the children and those unable to fight!”

  Several men responded to the order and began to organize the first group. Lluava had to turn her attention back to the enemy. A line of clansmen, their war paint showing, lined up just behind Lluava and her two friends.

  “Ready?” Derrick snarled.

  Yamir echoed, “Ready.”

  With a quasi-bestial roar, Lluava shouted, “Charge!”

  The Berserkers did not run toward them. Instead, they strolled at a leisurely pace until the clansmen were within swinging range. Lluava and her friends slowed to avoid the first strike, but others were not as fortunate. A Berserker’s mace ripped flesh and bone from the first pair of clansmen that met his weapon. A stunted scream was heard from the victim of the axe.

  The tigress leaped at the arm wielding the war hammer, while the black wolf rushed behind the brute, hoping to tear his Achilles tendons. Once grounded and disarmed, the Berserker would not pose as great a threat. This tactic had worked before. Would it work again?

  Yamir’s dual form, a porcupine, was not as quick-footed as the others, so he stayed in human form, where his throwing quills could do their damage. These small projectiles whistled past Lluava’s ears; one even brushed against her sensory whiskers. Their targets were the charging second line of Raiders; several collapsed as Yamir’s quills pierced their eye sockets or jugulars.

  Lluava’s foreclaws sank into the Berserker’s thick leather arm brace. As she stood on her hind legs to wrestle him down, she felt his massive free hand grip her rear leg to pull her off. His steady tug caused Lluava’s grip to loosen. She gave one huge jerk, and the brace tore free of his arm. The tigress tumbled to the ground, claws still embedded in the leather casing. Before she had time to lash out, the giant dropped his war hammer and grabbed the feline by the nape of her neck.