Bastial Steel

by Narro, B. T.

  “Somewhere around fifty yards. We don’t know for sure.”

  “Fifty yards would be tough,” Cleve said. “But with a team of mages helping psychics get closer to the body, they could.”

  Jek’s eyes shifted to Lysha. “Are you getting chills as well?”

  “Yes…how would a psychic kill a desmarl?” Lysha asked. “Through pain?”

  “I suppose,” Cleve said. “Or they wouldn’t deliver the killing blow, just stop the desmarl from attacking so archers could shoot it.”

  “Psychics can stop the limbs of the desmarl on their own?”

  “At least one psychic can,” Cleve said, thinking of Rek. “He single-handedly stopped a ship-eater that attacked our boat on the way over here.”

  “A ship-eater?” Lysha asked.

  “I think some call them giant squids,” Cleve said. Though, Mmzaza said they weren’t that.

  Jek practically jumped. “He did?” the mage screamed. “How?”

  “It was grabbing the boat, so he pained it until it stopped. It didn’t follow us after that.” Cleve shook as he remembered how it had felt when he’d first met Rek. “I’ve felt the spell of pain he can produce. It’s completely debilitating.”

  “Enough of this,” Lysha demanded. “These wild stories are why people with even a slight psychic ability like me are considered dangerous.”

  “Can’t you tell I’m speaking the truth?” Cleve asked, dumbfounded that again his words might not be taken seriously.

  “I can,” Lysha answered to his relief. “And that’s what makes me so angry. It’s psychics like that who make it so the rest of us are forced to keep it a secret, even though I can’t do anything like that.” She turned. “It’s time to ride. We have some Takarys to save, and our horses have rested enough by now.”

  Their next few conversations were all about Rek.

  Jek made it clear that he hoped Rek could help with Greenedge’s desmarl problem, but Cleve couldn’t give him what he wanted—a promise that Cleve and Rek would return.

  “At least come back to tell me what can cure my darkness when you find that out,” Jek pleaded.

  “I’m sorry,” Cleve said. “I just can’t make that promise.”

  Jek looked away and shook his head. “You’re right. I should be the one to come to Kyrro, if anything. It’s not your responsibility.”

  Perhaps it was because they’d been speaking about Rek so much recently, but Cleve decided to put his hand on Jek’s shoulder just as the Elf often did with him. “I understand,” he said.

  Lysha came over and put her hands on both of their shoulders. “Are we done having a moment, boys?”

  Jek rolled his eyes and walked toward a tree, unzipping his fly on the way there. “We are now.”

  It left Cleve alone with Lysha as they waited.

  “How long have you known you’re a psychic?” he asked to break the silence that came with her awkward stare.

  “Since I was twenty, maybe.” She pointed, her tone suddenly scolding. “And don’t try and guess how long ago that was.”

  “Or you’ll try to wrestle me again?” Cleve joked. “Should I beat you with no arms this time?”

  They’d wrestled three times by then, Cleve winning each time with one arm held behind his back. At one point he’d teased that Jessend could beat Lysha, and he actually wondered if it was true.

  “Hold your tongue, Muscles,” Lysha said. “Or I won’t tell you all the mooker rules.”

  “Mooker?” Cleve asked, the name sounding familiar.

  Jek came back to join them. “I’ll need a reminder of the mooker rules before we get into Karri Forest. I’m sure there’s some I’ve forgotten.”

  Cleve held his puzzled look, planning to do so until he was answered.

  “When we met, I mentioned mookers living in Karri Forest,” Lysha said. “They’re short little creatures that come up to our knees, though their bite and claws are deadly when they attack in numbers—which they always do. In fact, they’re always in numbers in general. If you see one that looks to be alone, there are really others around that are hidden.”

  “Do not underestimate a mooker.” Jek grabbed Cleve’s shoulder, somewhat fiercely. “Or you could get us all killed.”

  “I’ll explain the rules before we get to the forest,” Lysha said. “For now, we ride.”

  Chapter 19

  When darkness had taken over the land, the three of them settled near a fire for a late meal.

  “We’ll reach the forest tomorrow,” Lysha said. “It will be our eighth day, which gives us only that day and the next to get Raymess and Vala out and send the pigeon back. Do you have a good memory, Cleve?”

  “It depends what I need to remember.”

  “How about information that’s necessary for you to stay alive?”

  “I can remember that.”

  “Good, because I’m about to tell you everything you need to know about mookers.” Lysha cleared her throat, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “First, think of someone who has done things so strange and risky that you couldn’t understand them no matter how hard you tried.”

  Steffen.

  “Done.”

  “Now, imagine he or she is a creature with claws and teeth that abides by rules instead of logic, has no sense of fear, and lives with thousands of others just like itself. That’s the best description I can give of a mooker.”

  Jek was nodding. “Sounds about right.”

  “Stand up,” Lysha told Cleve. “We’ll start with the dances. They’re the most important.”

  “Dances?” Cleve wasn’t happy about this already.

  “Yes, and you’d better learn to smile while you do them. They don’t like it when you don’t.”

  Bastial hell. He tried forcing a smile.

  Laughter erupted from Jek and Lysha, both of them doubling over. Cleve felt himself immediately frowning.

  “Forget the dancing,” Lysha managed to get out as her laughter quieted. “You’d better practice your smile first.”

  Jek was still laughing. “No, maybe they’ll like a giant man who looks like he’s shat his pants.”

  Lysha’s laughter came back.

  When they both were done, Lysha told Cleve to try again.

  “I’d better not look,” Jek teased. “Or I might die from laughter.”

  “I can’t just do it,” Cleve admitted, not even wanting to try again.

  “You make it sound like you’re performing some difficult stunt,” Lysha said. “My Bastial stars, it’s just a smile. Just think of something that’ll make you smile.”

  Cleve imagined returning to Kyrro and opening the door to his home. Steffen then Effie were there, greeting him with happy grins. He hugged Effie and shook Steffen’s hand. Then Reela burst out of her room and ran toward him.

  “There we go,” Lysha said. “Now we can get to the dancing.”

  Cleve felt his grin fade.

  Lysha grunted. “But you’d better practice keeping that smile while we do it.”

  He pushed it back onto his face…and again, they were overcome with laughter.

  Luckily, picking up the dances was much easier for Cleve than learning the false smile. It seemed that he had far more control over his body than his face.

  The polite introduction dance was the simplest, involving only two outstretched arms shifting left and right with a lift of both shoulders each time.

  Lysha explained that once a dance is initiated by a Human, the mooker will start dancing along, chanting, “mook, mook, mook, mook” usually four times, and the Human must move with the rhythm of the chant. If the mooker keeps chanting after four, the Human has to keep moving, otherwise it’s considered an insult and the mookers are likely to attack.

  The other dances were a bit more complicated.

  We have a gift involved a fancy twirl, but luckily only the gift giver needed to do the dance, so Cleve didn’t have to learn that one.

  Lysha showed him her many “mooker flowers�
�� that she’d been given by Danvell Takary. The round, gray plant was quite ugly and apparently the same color as a mooker’s skin. No bigger than Cleve’s palm, the mooker flower was riddled with holes of all sizes.

  “Isn’t a mooker going to be insulted by that?” Cleve pointed at it.

  “No, they love this hideous plant,” Lysha said. “They use it for a mating ritual. I don’t know how that custom started because the mooker flower doesn’t even grow in Karri Forest, and that’s the only place they’ve ever lived. I assume it used to grow there until it went extinct from all the mookers picking it.”

  “Why don’t they leave the forest?” Cleve asked.

  Lysha shrugged. “It’s their home, always has been.” She leaned forward. “And they’re very protective of it.”

  The most important dance was we are peaceful. At any point, doing this dance should alleviate any aggression other mistakes might’ve caused. Humans performed it by tucking their elbows against their sides and gyrating their hips in a quick motion, creating a full circle for every “mook” chant a mooker uttered.

  “If at any point the mooker doesn’t start ‘mooking’ along with you—chanting ‘mook’ and matching your dance—then you’re not doing the dance right,” Lysha explained.

  “Is it better to stop at that point or keep trying?” Cleve asked.

  “It’s better to run,” Lysha answered. “Oh, and you should know that turning your back on a mooker is the worst insult. You need to show them the goodbye dance if you’re going to leave before them.”

  “This one, I remember,” Jek said with a smile. “It’s my favorite.” He broke into dance by thrusting his pelvis, lifting and dropping one leg at a time in rhythm. Although only one leg was moved with each forward thrust of his pelvis, both hands were balled, and both elbows swung behind him to emphasize the thrusting motion.

  “You’re not leaning back far enough,” Lysha said.

  Jek bent backward, making his thrusting pelvis his forward-most body part besides his knees.

  “That’s it,” Lysha said, her face deathly serious, as if teaching Jek how to dodge the slash of a sword.

  It didn’t feel right to Cleve when he tried, but apparently he got it on his first attempt.

  “How long do we have to do it?” Cleve asked.

  “Until they stop mooking and leave,” she answered.

  “Please tell me that’s the last dance,” Cleve said, beginning to worry he would forget at least one of them.

  “It is the last one you need to know, but there’s something just as important you should remember.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jek added. “I’d forgotten.”

  They both spoke at the same time, each pointing at Cleve. “No talking.”

  Lysha added, “At least not loud enough to be heard while a mooker’s around.”

  “They take grave offense to it…for whatever reason,” Jek said.

  “It’s like when we whisper to each other in the presence of others,” Lysha explained. “To a mooker, talking seems like we’re keeping a secret from them.”

  “I can manage that far easier than the smile,” Cleve said.

  “We’ll practice again in the morning,” Lysha said. “Jek, you should keep closer to us tonight. We’re on the western edge of Zav, not nearly as safe as the rest of the territory. Who knows, maybe this will be the night you actually kill your darkness and you won’t wake us up,” she teased.

  “Yeah, and maybe we’ll get to the center of Karri Forest without running into a mooker,” Jek said sarcastically.

  A silence followed. It was solemn, tightening Cleve’s previously relaxed muscles, for he knew what it meant. Everyone did.

  That will be the last joke we hear until this is done.

  Chapter 20

  “The trees look blue,” Cleve commented.

  “I’d say turquoise,” Lysha said.

  The rising sun was pouring in from the west—the opposite side from which they were entering Karri Forest. The trees along the outer rim were narrow, with few branches covered in small leaves. But many layers of thick green shrubbery hid the rest of the forest ahead, so much so that there was no clear path to take.

  “How will we ride through?” Cleve asked.

  “We may have to walk for a mile,” Lysha said. “There’s more space farther in.”

  She turned out to be right. They led their horses through thick clusters of plants and trees, eventually making it past what Lysha called “the barrier.”

  Just after they remounted, Jek held out a hand. “Wait, listen.” A light breeze was gliding through the trees, giving the branches a spirited shake. Nulya whinnied. Cleve pet her mane and shushed her.

  Then he heard it, a dull roar of voices, like a distant crowd. It came from deeper within the forest, growing louder and more thunderous with each breath Cleve took. A group of elk darted past them, running away from the sound.

  “Shit.” Lysha nearly spat out the word. “A mooker gathering.” She turned to Cleve. “Hundreds of them have chosen a place to meet, so groups of them will be headed there from all directions.”

  Then Cleve noticed the same noise coming from the opposite side.

  “Where’s their meeting point?” he asked.

  “There’s no way to know.” Lysha spoke with a pressing tone. “But we don’t want to run into them.”

  “We have to go back!” Jek said urgently.

  “No, we don’t have time to go through the barrier again if we’re going to make it to the center before sunset, especially when they could be meeting here for hours. Follow me.” Her horse galloped forward.

  Cleve and Jek followed. The strange dialogue of the mookers was on either side of them but not ahead.

  The horses’ speed soon proved to be too fast when Cleve nearly had his head taken off by a low branch. Lysha’s horse stumbled, slowing too suddenly, and Jek’s nearly rammed into hers.

  “We have to slow our pace!” Lysha shouted to be heard.

  “They’re ahead of us now!” Jek yelled.

  Cleve heard it as well—the noise of a thousand creatures grumbling, like a dozen boulders rolling down hills.

  Then a line of mookers pushed through the plants, stopping at the sight of the three of them.

  Each mooker stood on two stumpy legs, but some leaned forward to rest the knuckles of their long arms on the ground as well, putting them on all fours. Their faces looked like a mix between an Elf and a dog, with a small round nose, two gray eyes with dark circles around them, a massive mouth that basically split their head in two, and a square chin. Their ears were even longer than Rek’s, pointed just like his.

  Behind their ears were horns that were the length of Cleve’s hand. A few of them sat, plopping down on their rears in a motion so quick it looked painful. They leaned forward so that their elbows rested near their short legs, their long outstretched arms with black claws resting on the forest floor as well.

  While they were gray overall, a dark hue covered the top of their heads down to their tails. Each had a massive chin and a pronounced underbite, with two large teeth coming out to point up toward their eyes.

  “Dismount slowly, tie your horse, smile, and don’t talk,” Lysha whispered.

  They did, and when they were done, three mookers had come forward, each speaking loudly.

  “Mook kakamook,” one said, waving a claw at Cleve. It seemed to be talking to the two mookers next to it.

  “Bra kuka mooka,” another said, pointing at Jek.

  The last one pointed at Lysha. “Guba yarka mook.”

  Lysha started the polite introduction dance, swaying her arms left and right with a lift to her shoulders. Cleve joined in, noticing Jek doing the same.

  Cleve tried to think of Reela to make his smile genuine, but it was hard to picture her with all the little mookers watching him. He could feel his grin wasn’t sitting right on his face, so he tried to make some adjustments.

  The two mookers in front of Lysha and Jek each star
ted dancing…no, mooking with them, chanting “mook, mook, mook, mook.”

  But Cleve’s mooker wasn’t joining the other two.

  It approached Cleve, stopping at his knees where it twisted its head up to study his face. He tried to smile wider, but it only felt more disingenuous.

  Lysha and Jek continued to dance, so Cleve figured he should do the same instead of stop. Though it instantly became harder when the creature jumped up and grabbed onto Cleve’s thigh. With the agility of a monkey, it swung around Cleve to grab his shoulders, placing its feet on his back.

  He almost asked Lysha what he should do. He knew he shouldn’t talk, but fear was gripping his heart, making it harder to follow the rules. He shot her a glance. Her smile was still there as she danced, but her teeth were gritted. She seemed panicked.

  Lysha lifted a thumb to her mouth, only for a blink, quickly bringing it back so as not to disrupt her dance. Is she telling me it’s my smile?

  The mooker balanced its plump belly on Cleve’s shoulder to lean around in front of his face. It took its black claws and patted his cheek, muttering, “Mook zuka nook. Mook zuka zuke.”

  Cleve tried to fix his smile again, but it was becoming even more difficult just to keep his lips bent. The mooker bit the air in front of him threateningly. Cleve was feeling himself coming close to tossing the mooker off his shoulder. Then he remembered the we are peaceful dance that should be used whenever trouble has begun.

  He tucked in his elbows and twirled his hips in a circle. Lysha and Jek joined him.

  The creature leapt off his shoulder, gaining some distance before turning back with a tilt to its head, studying Cleve. With the newfound respite, Cleve felt it easier to smile.

  The mooker in front of him shifted its elbows against its body and twirled its waist, chanting, “mook, mook, mook, mook.”

  It stopped chanting after four, and the other two stopped with it.

  Immense relief flowed into Cleve’s body with his next breath, as he let his dancing come to a halt.

  Lysha immediately started her I have a gift dance, twirling in a circle with her arms over her head.

  Her mooker came forward and joined her, chanting along.