Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

The rest of the youthful entourage followed, flowing onto the veranda and threatening to spill into Meera’s home unchecked, had Ruko and Pirlan not inadvertently been blocking the entrance. As it was, they came close to bowling the two boys over. The din they raised was deafening and reverberated throughout the neighborhood.

  Senior Shaneh called up from the bottom of the stairs, her voice as good as lost among the cacophony.

  “Take off your shoes!” she yelled. “Remove them this instant!”

  She repeated the directive, and a few of the children began to relay the request. Some obeyed willingly, slipping out of their sandals. Some did so reluctantly, and only after Meera briefly appeared at the door to repeat the request.

  U’gan had been one of the first to push forward through the crowd. He now stood with his back to Ruko, talking to another boy, announcing loudly over the by now softening roar, his destiny to become the Secondary Rexrider of Piro-rex.

  “A well-trained rex,” he proclaimed to no one in particular, “will always follow the directions of his rider.”

  “Unless you’re the one directing him,” Ruko said just as loudly. Most everyone laughed.

  U’gan was not fazed and addressed Ruko to his face. “If you’re lucky,” he told the teller-to-be, “one turn you might get to tell stories about my adventures with Piro-rex.”

  “I doubt there will be anything you will want remembered,” Ruko replied. He mimicked U’gan, drawing out the phrase with undeserving emphasis.

  Pirlan stepped next to his friend. “Hey!” he shouted to the crowd. “What’s that terrible smell?

  Amidst a few titterings, the crowd quieted. Nose turned upward, sniffing exaggeratedly, Pirlan moved toward U’gan, as if he were following the lead of his nostrils.

  “I know that stench!” he exclaimed, turning as he said it, but pausing for dramatic effect, the pudgy boy stomped one foot on the ground. “It’s the smell of rex dung!”

  He looked squarely at U’gan again as the crowd erupted in laughter. The stocky youth’s face turned a deep enough shade of red it looked as if it might blacken.

  “I’ll fix that smeller of yours!” He charged the shorter, rounder figure, who immediately ducked behind Ruko.

  Ruko stood straight and resolute. “Back off, rex breath!” he hissed, laying his hands on U’gan’s chest and staring into the boy’s pockmarked face. The imposing figure suddenly halted, surprising the teller’s son more than anyone else present with the possible exception of U’gan himself, who stood in place, simply staring at Ruko. Ruko felt as if the end of his arms had somehow melded into the other boy’s chest.

  “Ruko, stop that right now!” commanded Meera, who had overheard the commotion. When her son appeared to ignore her, she grasped his outstretched hand and physically removed it from U’gan’s chest. Then she placed her hand gently on the larger boy’s shoulder and spoke directly to him. “Pirlan’s right. Rexriders do tend to exude the air of the predators they ride, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you certainly have not begun to carry that scent as of yet. In time, as you train with your father’s mount, you may. But not yet.”

  U’gan looked confused. As the comment had come from a genuine source—the daughter of a rexrider—the boy appeared to be unsure if Meera had nullified or validated Pirlan’s insult.

  The threat of imminent violence seemed to cease, at least for the moment, by the time Shaneh clapped loudly. “Children!” the guardian barked. “Compose yourselves.” U’gan moved away from Ruko and Pirlan, rubbing his chest where he had been palmed. Meera noticed him silently signal a profanity at her son and his friend, but decided to let the slight pass. Ruko had comported himself again and was smiling calmly now.

  “Come in, then,” Meera said sweeping her arm in a welcoming gesture that beckoned the group over the threshold.

  They funneled in. Ruko and Pirlan hung back, letting others pass. Vanaka stayed with them. “U’gan’s not so bad when he’s alone,” she said to Ruko. “He’s just a little annoying sometimes.”

  “I think you’re annoying,” Pirlan responded from the other side of Ruko. Then he whispered into his friend’s ear, “How would she know what he’s like when all alone?”

  “What did that slog-drooler just say?!” Vanaka challenged.

  Ruko ignored them both and went inside, lost in his own stormy thoughts. He hated to admit it, but he secretly envied the rexrider’s son. While U’gan matured and engaged in countless acts of bravery, Ruko would have to content himself with the telling of the adventures of others. No wonder girls admired the young rexrider with his strong and square jaw. Ruko even coveted the boy’s close-cropped hair, a convenience the teller-to-be would never enjoy due to his traditional obligation never to cut his hair.

  But Ruko was puzzled, too, a sentiment troubling in its own way. Something about the way U’gan had completely stopped when Ruko had put his palm up.

  Ruko entered the dwelling just in time to see his mother glide gracefully across the floor. The children were all safely inside now, and seemed calmed by the peaceful and inviting environment. She welcomed the group and led them toward a custom display case designed to exhibit and protect her precious collection of decorated eggshells. Inside were different pieces of many shapes and sizes, each placed on a glittering stand or a decorative cushion.

  Meera gently removed a pale blue egg with delicate abstract etchings. All eyes were upon it. “I found this one when I was just a little older than you are now,” she explained in a warm, melodious voice. “I was climbing among the cliffs near the wastewater drop-off—not that you should get any ideas about trying that yourself!—and the smell from the wastelands was so horrible with the breeze coming off the sea, but I had spied a fisherbird, and suspected she might have a clutch of eggs nearby. I wanted one of those eggs. They are highly sought after for their beauty, as you can see.”

  She held the specimen between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. With her right, she indicated the fine edges of the etch marks. The children’s focus contrasted sharply with the loose chaos that had taken place outside.

  “See how the color goes all the way through the shell?” Meera inquired. “No stain lines on this egg.”

  “Couldn’t you have stained it after etching?” Vanaka asked.

  Meera gave her a kindly look as she put the egg away and took another one out that had been stained. “Can you see the difference between the two?” she asked. “This shell was stained after etching. It lacks the depth of pigment apparent in the naturally-colored egg.”

  Meera held it up for all to see. Vanaka’s comprehension was accompanied by a soft childlike vocalization.

  The next egg Meera displayed was huge. It sported gaudy ornamentation and elicited small, short utterances from some of those in the room. This one was almost spherical—painted, then covered, with tiny, exquisite stones, delicate feathers and other bits of miniature treasure.

  “This is a longneck egg,” she revealed, “quite unlike the ones we will be using this turn. I experimented to see how many types of ornaments I could combine on one shell.”

  A girl with curly yellow hair and blooming pink cheeks wrinkled up her nose and squinted.

  Then U’gan bellowed, “You call that thing art?!”

  Meera composed a laugh and luxuriated in it softly. Talking about her art made her grounded; sure-minded. “You all have a right to your own opinion,” she chuckled, setting the ornate object back on its stand. “That’s part of the artistic experience, isn’t it? But it’s not quite a matter of right and wrong.

  “Beauty is not always obvious. Some of the finest art is accessible only to the discriminating eye. At first something may seem hardly worth the medium out of which it is fashioned. Spend some time with it, though, and you may learn to fathom its depth. Such is the art enthusiast’s endless search—for hidden splendors among the creations of people.”

  U’gan pointed to the long, narrow shell of a rex egg displayed over the hearth under a set of
swords. He used heavy steps to walk over and examine it.

  “How did you get this?” he demanded. “It is forbidden to steal the egg of a rex!”

  Still unflappable on the surface, a steely undertone crept into Meera’s voice. “You may recall, boy, that my father is Rex-Melok, Primary Rexrider of Gar-rex.”

  In a fluid sweep she was over to U’gan, who retreated from the display. “My kin would never forsake that convention.”

  She allowed sharpness and coldness to taint her voice. Ruko noticed it; it surprised him. U’gan looked at his feet.

  Not wishing to further humiliate the boy, Meera used a voice she hoped would sooth him. “It was abandoned by the she-rex, Noga,” she added, “and do you know what? It is still whole. Please, U’gan, pick it up. You will see.”

  With a care not foreshadowed by his impressive size, the young rexrider picked it up. For the first time the boy’s almost perpetual frown softened and he gazed almost hypnotized at the piece of tradition in his hand.

  “It’s heavy,” he proclaimed, without the overly dramatic, forceful voice he favored so much.

  “I suggest you don’t drop it,” Meera began, amused at the boy’s sincere, but absent look, “or it will smell like the well-aged death that it is.” She stepped forward to relieve the boy of the item. The audience broke out into laughter. Some clapped. All were delighted. U’gan still looked a bit dazed.

  “Ruko,” Meera asked, “will you please fetch some sloggerbeast eggs from cold storage. We’re going to blow them out and then decorate the shells.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he replied dispassionately, though amused to see the effect the combination of his mother and the rex egg had had on the would-be bully. He recalled the moment outside when he handled him one-on-one. Though seemingly fraught with danger, the encounter had been invigorating, a welcome alternative to the boredom of yet another art lesson. Now he had a chance to further consider what had happened when he stopped U’gan in his tracks.

  Soon, he returned with a basket of fresh eggs, put them down on the salon table and handed one to his mother.

  She shook it gently. “Thank you, Ruko. Now children, when you make a decorative egg, you first have to get the soft stuff out from inside. But try not to destroy the shell.”

  Using a time-tested technique, she poked a long, thin spine through the narrow end of the egg, then turned the egg over and used a tiny serrated blade to cut a hole in the large end. She turned the egg again, held it over a bowl, placed her lips over the hole in the small end and blew.

  The disgusted faces of Pirlan and Ruko mirrored each other. The guttural sounds in their throats blended in rough harmony as the insides of the egg oozed, slowly at first, then in a glob, out of the larger opening into the bowl.

  “See,” Meera said, flashing a scowl at the boys. She removed any small bits of shell that had fallen into the bowl, stuck them back on the egg in their respective holes, and divided the children into groups. Each got an egg of their own.

  One last time she checked the bowl for shells before handing it to her son.

  “Ruko, you’ve heard all this before. Would you cook something up for lunch, there are fresh herbs in the sieve.”

  He took the bowl without a word and again went off towards the cookroom.

  “I’ll help,” Pirlan offered. He was gone, too, before Meera had a chance to protest.

  Ruko was near the hearth when Pirlan entered the cookroom from the south. In the middle of the room was a large, stone-topped table. A deep counter stretched along the entire north wall, carved out when the room was constructed. It included a stove with two gas burners hewn from the stone. Under the window in the west wall was a large sink and smaller counter of similar design as that in the north. Here was home to a gas-heated cook hearth. Utensils of all sorts hung from the east wall, and pots and bowls were stacked in shelves there. Also in the east wall’s north corner a narrow tunnel led down into the cold storage closet.

  Ruko pulled fresh herbs from the wash basin. He grabbed a sharp knife from the block, and began chopping them up deftly. As he worked he said to Pirlan, “Would you beat the eggs while I get the stove ready?”

  Pirlan took the bowl from the table and began to mix its contents. “Vanaka has set her eye on you,” he said. “That’s why she bothers you all the time.”

  “Shut your mouth, bone-runt,” Ruko replied. He playfully threw a piece of dried fruit at his friend who dodged it rather nimbly for a boy of his girth.

  “Well, she’ll never be as good a friend as me." Pirlan flicked some chopped scallions back at Ruko.

  “Stop it, gas brains,” Ruko yelled.

  Meera’s voice sailed in from the other room. “You boys behave yourselves in there!”

  “I’m gonna get you for that,” Ruko hissed.

  “It only scars you because it’s true,” Pirlan replied in a similar hushed voice. “And I bet you like her like that, too.”

  Ruko grabbed a large wooden spoon and chased Pirlan around the cookroom table.

  Meera appeared in the doorway.

  “Stop it! Both of you! Can’t you do one little thing without making a mess? Behave yourselves! Finish cooking! And this room had better be as clean when you leave it as it was when you entered!”

  The boys finished making the meal preparations without further incident. They then took the hot food and fresh sprout bread into the other room so all could eat.

  ***

  Tel-Rudanomi climbed the steps to the veranda just after the children’s high meridian meal ended. He paused outside the entrance, his smooth face tight with contemplation as he spoke with Shaneh. She sat on the ornately carved bench outside the door. He flipped his long braid back over his shoulder as the two conversed.

  With the children again immersed in their egg works, Meera moved to the main window of the salon. She had recognized her spouse’s footfalls and now watched Rudanomi and the guardian, trying to glean the gist of the conversation. Meera knew that look of concentration. Shaneh seemed to agree with everything he was saying. He saw Meera’s face, terminated the discussion and entered the dwelling quietly, so as not to interrupt the learning group.

  He took Meera aside, drawing her into the hallway.

  “Your father’s mount is confronting the Prime Bull again,” he told her. “I want to take Ruko to observe. If it becomes a full-blown challenge for Primacy, he would benefit from seeing it.”

  "Tamik mentioned something about that on his way out to the paddock." Meera seated herself on a chair by the cookroom table. “How is Appa?” she asked, the weight of concern in her voice. Her father had gone out to the paddock with Pako earlier in the turn. She had no doubt he was with Gar now.

  “I do not know. One of my Senior Tellers told me about the altercation while I was working at the orderhouse. It may lead to nothing, but Rex-Almar sent word that Gar-rex is close to pushing Rayak-rex into a full Primacy challenge, and most feel the time is right for that.”

  “Yes, take Ruko,” she agreed. “And no doubt Pirlan will want to go along.”

  “Perhaps Rex-Dero’s boy should be at his father’s side,” Rudanomi suggested. “Did I not see him in the salon?”

  “Of course . . . U’gan . . .” Meera said slowly.

  Rudanomi walked to the entryway and explained his intentions to the guardian. As the person responsible for all the children under her charge, she would ultimately have to make the final decision. She agreed and went in to the learning group and brought the three boys out to the front terrace. None of them had been too involved in the art project anyway.

  Ruko was delighted. For this chance he would even put up with U’gan. And Pirlan was thrilled to get to go with Ruko. U’gan was just glad to get away from the eggs, Meera, and the learning group. But he was also as excited as Ruko to be going to see a battle between rexes, and his father’s mount had nothing to do with it, so he had nothing to lose.

  Meera took a bridle and bit from the riding closet near the door, and t
hen grabbed a wide, bareback girth and shoulder strap assembly fashioned with loops for hand and footholds, and gave it to Ruko. The boy was skilled at rigging and riding her domehead mount, more skilled than the teller.

  In struggling with others,

  I struggle with knowledge.

  In struggling with myself,

  I struggle with Mystery.

  — Pirlan

  23. Domehead

  Stonehaven after high meridian, 01/02/1643--

  Rudanomi and his three young charges hurried along the windblown canyon roadways of Highland Coulee, and then out through the long tunnel toward Main Axis. The wide avenue led from Fen Plaza directly through Stonehaven to the eastern gates of the citadel.

  Their progress came to a momentary halt as they were about to cross Main Axis. A grower was trying to secure his wagonload of melons and citrus to the steam track. His efforts began well enough as he lowered the cable clutch with a lever on the side of the cart. The clutch clenched onto the moving cable, bringing the cart slowly up to speed, but something went wrong and the cart broke loose, and fruits and melons bounced, splashed and rolled in all directions away from him.

  While the distraught man cursed, Rudanomi stepped out into the thoroughfare and began helping him reload his wagon, motioning to the boys do likewise. It took them a relatively short time to rescue the runaway fruit. Their reward was all the damaged fruit they could carry, so they stuffed their pockets and filled their arms with treats that Tara would enjoy.

  Once outside the city gates, U’gan’s mother, Rex-Dero’s spouse, was waiting for a calash to take her out to the perimeter wall and the boy hurried off to join her.

  In the meantime, Ruko spied Tara grazing in the lower paddock. He whistled for his mother’s mount, and she lifted her head so quickly she caught flower petals on her skull spikes. She sprung to a run up the hill toward Ruko, anticipating the treats that awaited her.

  As she neared, Ruko commanded her using hand motions and voice.

  “Drop!” he shouted firmly.