by Mark Angel
Despite the adverse feelings he held for the strange man based upon their previous encounter, he tossed a packet of meat toward him to make good on his word. It landed near his feet.
“Here’s the prime flesh I promised.”
The Seer continued to stare at Tamik with his mouth relaxed and slightly agape. The woman who stood with him, however, came forward to accept the meat. She bowed hastily, but with appropriate decorum, before stepping back into the shadows with the prize as if she feared the weak evening light. Though she moved like heat lightning, her movements retained a mesmerizing grace. She reminded Tamik of someone, but he was sure he had never seen her before. A more thorough inspection would not be forthcoming, for Gar kept moving forward following the other rexes toward their stalls. Tamik turned once to look back, but the Seer and his companion were nowhere in sight.
When Tamik heard a blow whistle play a flurry of hollow notes, he understood it to be a call to silence. Melok, who had lain back down, stirred and opened his eyes again. Tamik bellied Gar-rex down, and climbed out of the saddle to check on his father.
Standing halfway up the steps to the promenade of the perimeter wall, the Venerable Senior Skywatcher Navivanu appeared as if out of nowhere. She stepped onto a platform lit by torchlight. For a moment Tamik imagined she was the woman with the Seer, but that would have been impossible, and this skywatcher lacked the gaunt and sallow look of the old man’s companion.
An abrupt hush descended upon the throng of people. The skywatcher stood erect for what Tamik thought was an interminable period of time before she began to speak.
“I commend the noble rexriders for their successful hunt,” she began, her skilled orator’s voice cutting across and through the assembly. “The skywatchers extend their heartfelt gratitude to this, your esteemed order that protects and supports the People of Rex.”
She paused. “Without the rexriders there would never have been a People of Rex,” she added. “Welcome home.” That her bell-like voice almost sounded sincere agitated Tamik all the more.
“She just wants her cut,” he grumbled to his father.
“And she will get it,” Melok replied in a firm whisper.
“Well, they’re going to have to settle for rough cuts from us,” Tamik snapped back. “I gave all the extra prime cuts to the outsiders.”
“That’s enough!” Melok admonished in a harsh whisper. He was fully awake now, fumbling for his pain pipe under the dim light of the wall torches. “It’s their right to have a share.”
Over Tamik’s silent protests, Melok straightened up, took one of the remaining bundles of prime flesh, which he had been using as a headrest, and pushed it off the cart in the direction of the skywatcher. It landed with thud that captured the attention of those nearby.
“Here’s a healthy portion for our noble friends, the skywatchers,” he said loudly. One of the many outsider youths milling about seized the opportunity to grab the package and deliver it to the cargo bed on the back of the skywatcher’s cart. Navivanu tossed the boy a cube of copper, liberal payment for his efforts.
“The skywatchers are most appreciative of your contribution to our welfare, Rex-Melok,” she announced, nodding toward the rexrider. “Your health and speedy recovery will be called for in our meditations.”
After all the rexriders had contributed from their stashes of choice flesh, Navivanu descended the steps leading down from her perch. Her elaborate, four-wheeled covered carriage, its brace of sloggerbeasts and their handler awaited her return. Deftly she slipped aboard, accepting no help from the the driver who closed the door behind her and took to his bench. Then he whipped the hefty, though docile, creatures into action. They trudged forward, heading back in the direction of the inner citadel.
As soon as the skywatcher left, the hush evaporated and the celebratory atmosphere of barter and bargaining resumed in full swing. Eventually even the buskers were rewarded for their perseverance.
Despite his father’s admonitions, Tamik could not contain himself. “I bet the skywatcher keeps close tabs on who makes these so-called voluntary contributions and how much they give.”
“And if she does, so what?”
Tamik had no time to respond, and hardly enough to frown before he heard Pako call to him.
“Tamik!” The round-bellied rexrider, whose mount was already in the hands of his saddler and crew, approached them with what was for him, considerable speed.
“Unburden your mount and let’s get your father some proper care!” the older rexrider declared, beckoning with a roundhouse sweep of his arm to a group of healers he had commissioned. Many strong hands then lifted Melok from the meat cart on his makeshift litter as Melok sucked ravenously on his pain pipe.
The covered transport employed by the healers was a well-sprung apparatus, as comfortable as any carriage, and considerably more maneuverable, but it was drawn by a domehead, the natural prey of rexes, meaning care had to be taken in selecting a waiting place. As a result, the transfer distance by foot to the calash was significant. Melok relied heavily on the pain pipe during the move.
When they reached the medical transport, Pako turned to Tamik. “I’ll go with him to the Healer’s Lodge,” he said. “Tell your sister where to find him.”
“Meera prefers Dasha, the spouse of the thunderrex’s rider, to the Healer’s Lodge,” Tamik advised.
“Any will provide care better than he has had so far from me,” Pako said good-naturedly. “Worry about your father’s mount. I’ll worry about your father.”
Melok continued to puff hard.
“Easy, old friend,” Pako said striking him playfully on the arm. “Only a few grains at a time.”
Melok coughed. “Don’t worry, dear healer,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I haven’t had a bowlful for at least an arc.”
Melok held up the long-necked pipe as if that might prove something to Pako. “And there was only one pinch left in it, anyway,” the rexrider sighed, before punctuating his statement with a cough, bursting a good deal of smoke from his nose and mouth.
The formally trained healers who took charge of Melok at the cart checked the blood-soaked bandages, and quickly wrapped new dressings over them, before setting the vehicle in motion toward the East Barrier, within which the Healers’ Lodge was built. Tamik was watching his father roll off into the paddock, when he heard his name called.
Ruko, Meera’s son, came trotting up on his mother’s domehead mount, Tara. The boy pulled her to a halt and dismounted the fast and enduring plant-eater. The animal’s boney, dome-shaped head was a formidable defensive weapon, crowned as it was with a perimeter of short spikes. Yet the beast’s preferred strategy for protecting itself was to simply run away from danger, which it could do from dawn to dusk, if need be. This quality made it an especially sought-after species by smugglers and guardians.
Ruko ran up to his uncle and hugged him eagerly. Gar-rex turned his head and sniffed the boy casually, obviously recognizing his scent.
“What was it like out there in the wilderness?” Ruko asked, jamming his words together in rapid succession. “Did you kill anything?”
There was a finger of a pause, but before Tamik could answer, the boy continued.
“Did you see any crox? What about wild rexes?”
Tamik smiled at his nephew’s enthusiasm, but then Ruko ceased speaking, and looked toward the perimeter wall.
“Where is Zaba?” he asked, perhaps expecting to see his grandfather performing some kind of business near his mount’s stall. When Tamik remained silent and the boy noticed that Melok was nowhere in sight, his head dropped slightly and he intuitively looked back in the direction of the healers’ calash.
The usually light-hearted Ruko looked so forlorn that Tamik could no longer withhold his bad news.
“Father was injured,” he admitted, taking Ruko by shoulder, “but he’s going to be fine. He’s on his way to the Healers’ Lodge now.” He ruffled his hair. The boy ducked a bit, but toler
ated the affection, somewhat revived by his uncle’s words.
Tamik grabbed Gar-rex’s lead, patting him on the nose firmly. “Come on, Gar. Let’s get you stripped down.”
Ruko watched as Tamik gainfully sold off some of the remaining cargo on the makeshift cart, and then the rexrider led Gar toward his stall. Ruko continued his steady barrage of questions, most of which his uncle answered to his thrilled delight.
The interrogation ended when Tamik directed Ruko to climb up in the saddle and pass down his personal belongings. Ruko loved Gar-rex almost as much as he loved his mother’s domehead and, eager to help, scrambled up the saddle ladder to comply with his uncle’s request. When Ruko was finished, Tamik signaled Gar’s saddler to approach with his crew of attendants. After the boy was safely off, they began to remove the equipment and hauled the gear off to clean, check for damage, and repair. The remaining coarse-wrapped, dusted-flesh would be stored in cool rooms deep in the foundation of the perimeter wall to feed the rexes between hunts. Tamik took one of the few remaining packets of prime flesh and heaved it up on his shoulder, leaving the rest for his saddler to divide among the workers.
Ruko now stood near the wall watching the work, glancing back and forth between the saddler crew and Tamik as information was exchanged. Tamik knew Ruko was aching to learn more about his grandfather. When he was ready to leave the area, he gave the boy a light cuff on the arm.
“We’ll talk after Gar’s settled,” he reassured him, then removed Gar’s girth strap and hackamore, offering his personal belongings back to his nephew to hold before slapping the rex loudly on the haunches.
“Off you go, Gar.”
Gar-rex glanced fleetingly at Tamik before prancing down toward the river where most of the rest of his pride were already resting on its banks. Exhausted from the trek and recently fed, the pride should be well-behaved for at least half a moon.
Meanwhile, the gates of the perimeter wall groaned closed and the spontaneous festival celebrating the return of the pride moved toward Stonehaven’s inner city. The gathering more or less followed the loosely assembled group of rexriders, who, having finished their work could now enjoy some rest and pampering until the next time duty called. The bathhouses, especially, could expect good business from the returning hunters this dark.
“Can you give me a hip to the gate?” Tamik asked Ruko.
The boy nodded and hailed Tara. Tamik climbed up behind his nephew to straddle the domehead’s broad back, and soon they were rocking side to side as they rode back toward the East Barrier. Ruko began again to question Tamik about every detail of the hunt, emphasizing those points that related to his grandfather. Ruko’s persistence was not just a product of his youthful exuberance. Tamik knew he would soon have to relay the information with meticulous and painstaking accuracy to the leading teller of the Western Kith, Ruko’s father, a consummate historian, and stickler for details.
Tamik gave the boy as thorough a rundown of events, including Melok’s condition, as he could, hoping to preclude his own interrogation from Rudanomi.
“I am exhausted and I stink,” Tamik said as Ruko unharnessed Tara and sent her back into the paddock, “and I am in desperate need of a hot bath. I’ll find the teller on the morrow. But for now please don’t ask me any more questions.”
Tamik longed for the steam room, a hot soak, a tall drink of cool ferment, and the newly found comforts of Tyna’s company. That he also found himself looking forward to the next hunt was a complete surprise.
Part 2
A first impression is the hardest thing to change.
But sometimes they turn out better than at first they seem . . .
. . . or worse.
— Pirlan
16. Smuggler
Guardians’ Lodge before high meridian, 15/01/1643--
Tamik arose well after dawn feeling more the rexrider than ever. As he staggered into the washroom where Tyna’s wormthread wrap lay in a heap on the floor colorfully lit by a beam of light shining through the narrow window in the wall. In the blur after waking up, he felt embarrassed that he might run into his father, but then recalled Melok’s injuries and the fact that he was now at the Healer’s Lodge.
Careful not to waken his guest, Tamik dressed and washed, donning a clean short-sleeved tunic and Senior Guardian’s sash. This turn he would have his first high meridian meeting with the guardians since being passed to Senior. After little sleep, he wanted to appear polished and competent, even though he was not yet sure how much like a Senior Guardian he actually felt. But first, he had to report on the recent hunt to his sister’s spouse, Rudonomi.
As part of his preparations, he meticulously buffed out the sword that Almar had found in the dead wild rex, studying the smuggler designs engraved upon it. Then he sheathed it and left his home.
He exited the citadel via the East Barrier gate and joined the North Canyon Road, en route to Guardians’ Gulch. The North Canyon Road originated at the gas transfer station—a place full of pipes and valves—in the northwest corner of the valley, and continued along the outside of the citadel’s three barrier walls, past the Smuggler’s Compound and Guardians’ Gulch, all the way to the northern foot of the perimeter wall. His commute was uneventful except for the behavior of the pride, which he could observe from the moment he exited the citadel. Gar-rex was already acting out again, showing marked aggressiveness toward Rayak.
This development made Tamik, as a rexrider, anxious to an unprecedented degree. He had hoped the beast would be well-behaved for at least a quarter moon, but no such luck. Then a revelation struck him like a boulder: if his father’s mount was expelled from the pride by the Prime Bull, Tamik would have to follow after him into the wilderness. Gar would have to find a new pride. That undoubtedly would involve several battles for Primacy against seated bulls throughout the Civilization of Rex, until the surly young bull either won over a pride to make his own or had all the fight beaten out of him. If the latter turned out to be the case, he would have to settle—Mystery knows where—as a sanctioned bull under some other Prime Bull, with no chance to lead or breed.
For the first time in his life, the depth of Tamik’s commitment to Gar carried with it a suffocating inevitability. It was even more troubling because he felt compelled to disregard his hard-earned career with the guardians for the one thrust upon him by heredity. When his father was well, Tamik might again shirk some of his responsibilities with Gar. But now, even Grandmaster Tsi’galivo had made it clear that Tamik’s true allegiance to his kith was best proven through his rexriding. Any elation Tamik had felt from his advancement among the guardians had suddenly become eclipsed.
He had trouble with such inexorableness, but for now he could only hope his father would fully recover and again take over primary responsibility for the beast. Unfortunately, his father remained very ill.
Tamik’s reverie was broken when he approached the circular gate into Guardians’ Gulch. He nodded to the young guardian on watch as he entered. The rexrider followed the paved pathway wending along the bottom of the box canyon that enclosed the compound until he arrived at the refectory.
He could see into the cavernous room through several tall windows, glazed slits in the side of the cliff wall. Inside, some of the resident guardians were sipping cool drinks at their usual places. He entered.
“Senior Guardian Tamik!” A familiar voice boomed across the hall. It was one he had not heard for some time and it brought a broad smile to his lips.
“Sortan!” Tamik exploded, and then used all his will not to run to his former mentor. “I heard you were in the distant northeast on a mission of great importance.”
Tamik stooped slightly to greet the short, stout man. Sortan took the young rexrider by both arms, gripping them with meaty, vice-like hands. They pressed their foreheads and noses together in warm greeting, and then Sortan led Tamik to a seat of honor at the head table, Tamik’s first time sitting in this position of distinction. From there, he could watch other guar
dians enter and find seats throughout the hall.
“I was sent with a small group of other Master Guardians from other Kiths to assess the condition of the inland territories,” Sortan explained.
“What do you mean by ‘condition’?” Tamik poured himself a mug of cool water from a pitcher on the table. The murmur of soft conversation began to fill the room.
“The skywatchers are concerned that if this drought and the subsequent changes in climate persist, it may alter the balance of the wilderness. We were charged with assessing aggregations of wild rexes and their movements.”
Sortan had explained his adventure routinely, but the news shocked Tamik. “Since when do the skywatchers concern themselves with the activity of rexes?”
Sortan chuckled, obviously amused at what he perceived to be Tamik’s naiveté, which infuriated Tamik.
“My father was severely injured last hunt right after the Stonehaven Pride drove out a pride of wilds from the Western Clan’s territory. Don’t you think the rexriders know there is trouble here? Did anyone think to ask us?”
Sortan stifled a second laugh. “Tamik, there is no way the rexriders can monitor the state of the wild rexes—the domestics can’t venture out of their territory into the Deep Interior any more than the wilds can enter domestic territory. Even if we heard from every rexrider in every kith, we wouldn’t have the big picture. Look no further than the wilds you encountered on your last hunt.”
“You were in the Deep Interior?” he asked, now with more awe than ire.
“How else could I monitor the activities of the wild rexes?”