Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

  Tamik urgently pressed Gar toward the she-rexrider. He could already see crox converging on her. By the time he drew near, he lost sight of the creature that had been closest. It had disappeared under the water to attack.

  Gar-rex, however, had no problem spotting the crox’s point of immersion and went under himself. Tamik inhaled as deeply as he could, kept his breath in, and held fiercely to the reins and girth strap as the rex undulated through the murk. Then there was a great thump which almost dislodged Tamik from his position, and Gar shot upward, breaking the surface with the crox’s scaly head in his jaws. It screeched incessantly. Scores of daggerlike rex-teeth bit into the thrashing monster. Gar-rex clamped down one last time, cracking unseen bone before spitting his prey out. The gravely injured crox went silent and the lifeless hulk sunk into the river.

  The rescue team continued swimming downstream toward the flailing she-rexrider. Tamik heard a great commotion behind him, and pictured other attack-minded crox converging on their injured cohort, twisting hunks of crox flesh off their compatriot, something a rex would never do.

  Tamik hoped it would create a diversion sufficient enough to enable him to get Tyna out of the water. On approach, he reined Gar off to the side and reached out. She grabbed hold of his extended arm and pulled herself up behind him.

  “Thank Mystery!” she exclaimed shrilly, between gasping breaths. “I’m going to whip the pitch out of that beast of mine for abandoning me!”

  “Good thing we were nearby,” Tamik said, directing Gar toward the shore, “or you’d have been crox dung by dawn.”

  Clinging to her rescuer, she chuckled nervously at his attempt—in true rexrider fashion—to make light of her near tragic end. “The lazy slime-lizards don’t digest their prey quickly like rexes, Tamik. I’d be in the gullet of that stinky creature for at least a quarter pass!”

  Tamik did not laugh—he was barely listening—because all of his attention was on the rider’s warm, wet, curvaceous body, slowly melting into him from behind.

  Her breath tickled his ear and he imagined he could stay this way for sars, but on dry land, once clear of danger, he ordered Gar to belly down so Tyna could alight. Not having the convenience of a saddle step, she held tightly to Tamik’s arm, and then slid down his bare leg before dropping to the ground. Her hand lingered for a finger or so on the inside of his thigh.

  She hailed her mount from the safety of the riverbank. The beast responded quickly to Tyna’s voice, looking aware but seeming somewhat chagrined that her rider and lifelong partner had nearly met her demise. Sama-rex scrambled up the slippery bank and plopped down in front of Tyna, managing to dwarf her even though she was small for a mature prairie rex. The rex, easily twenty times the size of the woman, threw back her head, offering her throat in complete submission. After stuffing her light-colored bangs back under her head scarf, Tyna gently chastised the beast. Since what happened would make a strong impression on Sama, and by itself make her more mindful of her rider, Tyna kept the reprimand to a minimum.

  Tamik’s gaze could not help but lock on Tyna’s clinging wormthread undergarment as she communicated with Sama-rex. When the female rider noticed Tamik’s eyes lingering on her, her face reddened slightly and she placed her hand over the discoloration on her chin, which only served to endear her more to Tamik. He could still make out the spot of purple that her missing finger used to cover when she was a girl. But in pointed contrast to customary modesty, she did not immediately adjust her tunic to cover her supple breasts. Tamik turned his gaze away after she had noticed him ogling.

  Tyna climbed onto Sama-rex’s head and up her neck, stuck her foot through the girth strap and slipped her leg around and over the rex’s spine. She turned and smiled once more at Tamik, and then urged her mount on toward camp to get her equipment ready for the long trek ahead. Tamik caught Tyna stealing glances at him on several occasions as the rexriders finished rubbing down their mounts on the upper part of the river bank where it was driest and safest.

  “Tamik!” Pako called. “Grab the tapers and stick ‘em on Gar’s saddle pins.”

  Tamik nodded and commenced to remove the metal tips of the lance from their tapered ends, storing them safely in their slots on the saddle hood.

  Finally, Pako helped Tamik get Melok loaded safely onto the modified litter on top of Gar’s cart.

  With preparations now complete, the pride set out toward home with the wind at their backs, grit in the air and a long journey before them. Fully laden as they were, headway would be slow and tedious.

  The thunderrex, largest of the flesh eating beasts,

  Is an impressive animal, but usually slow to stir.

  —Melok

  13. Thunderrex

  Western Wilderness after high meridian, 11/01/1643--

  The still air made resting more miserable than travel, so the pride pushed on through the hottest part of the turn. Gar-rex brought up the rear, pulling his heavy cart, piled high with packages of flesh, Melok on top. The surviving fledgling traipsed along beside her older sibling.

  Tamik looked back in the direction of the Red River. He took measure of the giant airborne scavengers circling the remains of the hunt, insects from this distance, and in no hurry to claim their meager share of the dead. The ground was still too dangerous for them to land. And what the crox and avians didn't eat the humblest of scavengers would make short work of: ticks, ants, and other insects.

  Tamik became aware of a silhouette taking shape behind the cloud of dust that had more or less taken permanent residency around the pride. It was immense, towering above him, a shadow filling his vision with its broadness—and moving right toward him. It emitted no vocalizations nor any other sounds save the—thump! thump! thumping!—of its approaching footsteps.

  “Must be ol’ Surpus,” he mumbled to himself, and started to ignore the beast. But when the enormous carnivore lunged in from behind the billowing beige curtain, Tamik realized it was an adolescent bull thunderrex.

  Tamik grabbed the horn hanging from his saddle and blasted it. “Thunderrex!” he yelled. “It’s after my cart!”

  Tamik’s head spun, his concern squarely on his father riding atop the load of meat. He knew Melok’s injury would make him vulnerable; easy for giant jaws to pick off. If it had not been for that fact, he would have just dropped his cart and let the thunderrex eat the meat, but that was not an option now. Tamik drove Gar-rex forward, passing the other rexes leaving a cart with less precious cargo to suffer the ravages of the marauding giant. To his relief then shock, the monstrous interloper lost interest in his cart, diverting his attack toward the female fledgling that had fallen behind after Gar-rex’s surge.

  After one failed attempt, the thunderrex clamped down on its victim’s head with a snap of its jaws, biting it off at the neck. At first the headless body zigzagged about the larger beast’s feet in a macabre parody of evasive action, but it soon flopped to the ground and twitched. The thunderrex took one mighty step forward, stomping on the carcass, holding it in place with his claw as he ripped it in half, swallowing once. Then he emitted a roar as thunderous as his name.

  The other rexriders worked quickly to release the lance poles from their saddles, pulling on each of the lashing tethers and thrusting at them with their feet. Things were happening fast, and by the time Tamik had turned Gar-rex around unencumbered to guard the cart, several others had already answered his call. The she-rexes were already roaring and striking at the giant, spears flying from each rider. Nef-rex made his best effort to join them. And though his limp slowed him, he still had one lance to bring to bear and Pako dropped it into place. But with only one armed bull, it would be difficult to kill the large animal and to only wound it could invite disaster.

  “Gar! Fall off!” Tamik commanded, getting the rex to stay back and guard his father. Gar-rex instantly obeyed the directive, sounding a ferocious challenge while maintaining his distance.

  The huge predator barely took notice at first, but the pride
joined together made a formidable alliance. Rayak-rex pushed through the other rexes to assume point alongside Tiga-rex. In seconds they all attacked as one, and for a brief moment, there was pandemonium like a flock of small avians trying to drive off an eggeater. And even though only a few nips and scratches managed to pierce the tough skin of the thunderrex, the beast seemed unwilling to put up a fight for more meat. Tamik wondered if the beast really understood what he had stumbled upon. It shook the ground one more time with a stomp and a roar, and then picked up the rest of the fledgling's carcass and trundled off into the murky cloud from whence he had come.

  Capturing the affections of a new lover

  Is one of the elixirs of life, but

  How does it compare to

  The sweetness of long-awaited passion?

  — Pirlan

  14. Lover’s Peak

  Western Wilderness after dusk, 11/01/1643--

  The brightest stars already speckled the lavender dome by the time the hunting party arrived at an elevated mesa known as Table Mountain, which extended southward from the base of Lover’s Peak. The stream that flowed from the peak trickled across three-quarters of the plateau and then poured into a crevice that cleaved the landmass from that point southward to the cliff face. Beneath the cleft, the water plummeted into an abyss where it disappeared through a maze of limestone caves and caverns until it spilled out at the base of the mountain 50 strides below the surface of the mesa.

  The rexriders had followed a winding path up a narrow canyon pass to arrive at their present position. The approach would have been impassible had the weather been overly wet. But with the extended drought conditions, there was little risk of flashflooding during their ascent, and the shortcut saved them a full turn’s worth of travel. The improved pass was cordoned off at the bottom by a heavy timber picket wall that kept wild rexes and other large beasts from using the same route. Another route led down from the top of the mesa in the northwesterly direction. It was a more refined roadway, excavated by stonecrafters and paved with flat sandstone. They would descend that way the following turn. It, too, was protected from the wilderness by a heavy barrier.

  There were those who felt Lover’s Peak and the plateau over which it presided would make an excellent location for a protectorate, but the general population of both the Western and Southern Kiths, which each laid claim to the place, preferred it remained a way station between them. It was considered a retreat in the wilderness, a pristine and pastoral setting that made it one of the few undeveloped places where Rexians could feel relatively safe. Each sar during High Solstice hundreds of young Rexians, mostly journeying from the Western and Southern Kiths, came to sleep under the stars, renewing old friendships and building new ones.

  The spring that bubbled out from the face of Lover’s Peak was crystal clear and clean enough for drinking, untainted by grazing beasts. It wound southward past an ancient orchard—intermittently tended by visitors to the place—and through the gently sloped meadow until it cascaded into the caverns. But before the stream disappeared into the darkness, it formed a broad pool near where the rexriders now established their camp.

  Currently, only a thin trickle of water made its way through, a sliver of reflected moonlight whispering to the rexriders as it passed them. It provided a soothing background to the crackling of the cookfire and the chirping and chattering of nocturnal birds and insects.

  The rexes rested outside the circle of hutches. Tamik could hear, or rather feel, the low-frequency rumble of Rayak-rex and Tiga-rex as they mourned the loss of their last fledgling. The grumbling lasted well past dusk.

  Despite the Prime Pair’s loss and the seriousness of Melok’s injuries, the general mood was one of contentment given the ample spoils of the hunt. The rexriders sat around the main fire long after evening meal, giving accounts of past escapades of dubious virtue alleged to have taken place on Table Mountain and in the caverns below. This was a rare occasion where K’tag had no stories, as he was from the Northern Kith and had never partaken in the local High Solstice “tradition.” And the she-rexriders seemed content to keep their tales to themselves.

  But Almar had dozens of tales about sordid engagements he had enjoyed throughout the sars of his youth, and he relayed them freely to those who would listen. “Of course, after I met Zendal, I never returned to this place without her,” he declared. Of course, that was only partly true, after all, wasn't he here now? Tamik thought.

  Up front, in the brightest light of the fire, laid Melok, Pako and Tamik close by. Spotting the threesome, Almar took a few steps toward them. “Melok, how is your leg, old man?” he asked.

  “Not working very well, I’m afraid.” Melok was too exhausted to bristle at the insinuation, choosing to exert his energy in an effort to sit up, but it was futile. The long and bulky splint Pako had fashioned made any movement difficult, and the pain made it near impossible. Reluctantly, Melok leaned back again. Blood had already stained the new dressings which Pako had changed after making camp.

  Almar smiled wanly, before walking away. Under his breath, Tamik said, “He’s not that old.”

  Pako, ever vigilant of his friend’s condition, felt the injured rexrider’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Well, you don’t have the heats, as I feared you might by now,” he said encouragingly.

  “Only due to your skilled care, dear healer,” Melok commended, fiddling with the knots on his splint.

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Pako advised, pulling Melok’s hand away from the dressing and proffering another spoonful of marrow broth. “And don’t loosen those knots. If the tension is released, the bone ends will grind together and you won’t like that one bit.”

  When Melok pushed the offer of food away, Pako seemed displeased, but then he stuffed a few sticky crumbs of pleasure-pitch into the small bowl of a long-stemmed pipe. “Here, smoke this, it’ll take the edge off the pain and help with your appetite.” As Pako held a smoldering twig to it, Melok sucked on the mouthpiece—a bit gluttonously, Tamik thought—though his father pushed the utensil away after taking a few fitful puffs.

  “That stuff really goes to your head,” Melok coughed.

  “Don’t overdo it, but when the pain is no longer bearable, take a draw. Now eat something so we can get you to bed.” After Melok sipped a satisfactory amount of his broth, Pako handed him a small green gourd full of tightly packed green moss where a glowing ember smoldered.

  Tamik helped Pako lift Melok’s litter and they carried him to his hutch. They returned to the fire after the injured man was settled in. Tamik then sat on a stone bench next to Tyna who casually pressed her shoulder against his. As they listened to the other rexriders tell tales, they laughed slightly more than was appropriate, jostling each other, and welcoming any excuse for physical contact.

  “Do you think you might like to visit my hutch before you sleep?” Tyna whispered. Tamik was sure his look of surprise did not come close to revealing the trepidation mixed with excitement her words stirred in him. He felt like he may have inhaled too much second hand smoke from Melok’s pipe.

  She touched his lips with a single finger to stifle any reply, and then excused herself.

  Still dazed, Tamik watched her leave. He gazed at the fire for some time, looked back in the direction in which she had gone, and again back at the fire. By the time he had glanced around a third time, he realized he was alone. If anyone had bid him a fair sleep before leaving, he had not heard.

  He stood and headed for Tyna’s hutch, barely noticing that he was using an indirect route running past his father’s site, as if he were subconsciously giving himself one last chance to pretend nothing had happened. He continued on, however, in pursuit of that which was not quite clear to him. Obviously this was not a time for over thinking; there was no over thinking a dream.

  Tamik peeked through the door flap of Tyna’s hutch and took in the soothing light of carefully arranged, scented tallow lamps. Everything was reddish and brown and warm. In the unpredic
table shadows that the flickering light threw, objects flowed with wavelike motion. A large ground-skin blanketed the earthen floor, and the fitted hutch cover, supported by two lances and several spears sticking up out of the ground, hung like the canopy of a bridal bed.

  Tyna stood with her back toward him, her reddish hair an even deeper amber in the soft light. She had removed all her exterior garments, and poured a pot of steaming water into the bathing basin.

  She turned to face him. “Welcome,” she said in a barely audible voice, the expression on her high-cheeked face defying interpretation.

  He lifted the weather flap and gazed in.

  She smiled and said, “If you’re here to assist me in washing, you’re too late.”

  He stood hunched over slightly under the low roof as if a heavy weight were tied to his neck. He was so shot through with excitement that he did not even comprehend her jest.

  “If you have nothing better to do,” she whispered, “would you go get the other pot of hot water from my cook-fire and bring it in?”

  Words failed him, but he did as directed. When he returned he placed the pot on the ground just inside the vestibule of the hutch and took the time to remove his hip boots and dirty leggings. Then he picked up the pot and stepped inside.

  The most glorious of visions awaited him. Tyna’s physique was robust, a build fit for the wilderness, but she did not lack for soft feminine curves, accented by the wash wrap of fine wormthread now tied around her. The multicolored square garment—all rusts and browns and deep reds and oranges—fit snugly enough to emphasize her round breasts and flat stomach.

  Tyna laughed.

  “The pot, please?” she said, in a soft voice both strong and sweet.

  “Oh,” Tamik replied, more of a grunt than a word. Awkwardly he handed her the vessel. She took it by the handle and he had to pull his finger out from under hers before she could turn to pour half its contents into the basin.