“So what should we do?” Litunga repeated.
Njekwa gave the usual answer. “For the moment, nothing.”
Meshwe
"Couldn't I try first with a huddu?" asked Chello plaintively. "Or maybe a mavalore?" Squatting on her haunches with her hands splayed on the sand, the youngling stared apprehensively at the tritti sprawled a short distance away in the little arena. For its part, the horned lizard stared off to the side. To all outward appearances it seemed oblivious to Chello's presence.
But tritti could move very quickly. And their fangs might be short but they were very sharp. As small as they were, their venom was not fatal to a Liskash, even a youngling. But it would hurt. It would really, really hurt. For a long time. And if it bit her in the wrong place, Chello might lose something like a finger.
Maybe even a foot. One of the older females, Kjat, had lost three toes because of a tritti's bite—and that had happened in an arena just like this one. True, Kjat was pretty dim-witted and should probably never have tried to become a tekkutu in the first place.
Still…
"No, you can’t try first on a huddu or a mavalore," said Meshwe. "It wouldn't do any good. No animal whose life is guided by fear can serve your purpose. Only in a ferocious mind can you find the strength you need. You know all this, Chello. It has been explained to you often."
His tone was patient. The mentor had been through this many times over the years. Most younglings trying to become tekkutu were afraid the first time they went into the arena—usually, many times thereafter too. Tritti bites hurt, sure enough, and the little predators were quite willing to attack creatures much larger than themselves if they felt threatened.
Which they did, of course, when they found themselves trapped in a small arena whose walls were too high for them to leap over and too smooth to scale.
"Now, concentrate," commanded Meshwe. "Find the hunter's mind and merge with it. From the hunter, take its fierce purpose. To the hunter, give your own serenity. Out of this exchange, surround your mind with impervious walls."
* * *
Fierce purpose, the tritti surely had. Unfortunately, Chello's serenity was as shaky as that of most six-year-old younglings. She started off rather well, but then got anxious and fumbled the exchange. The hunter reacted as such hunters are prone to do when their little minds are penetrated by strange and unsettling sensations. (You couldn't call them thoughts, really; not even notions—a tritti's brain is quite tiny.)
Strike out—and there was only one visible target.
"Aaaaah!" Chello began capering about, shaking her leg frantically. "Get it off me! Get it off!"
Tritti transmitted their venom down grooves in their teeth, not through hollow fangs like serpents. So they had to chew for a bit where a snake would strike and immediately withdraw. But not for all that long. By the time Meshwe could climb over the wall into the arena the horned lizard had already relinquished its hold and fallen back onto the sand.
The mentor lifted Chello over the barricade and passed her into the hands of a healer who'd been standing by. Then, drew the trident from its sheath on his back and turned to face the horned lizard.
The creatures were really very ferocious, given their size. The tritti leapt forward again and bit Meshwe on the ankle.
Or tried to. The mentor, unlike the youngling, was not clad in a light tunic. His upper body was unarmored, but his legs and feet were encased in thick boots that reached almost all the way up to his groin.
The fangs were unable to penetrate. Frustrated, the monster fell back and gathered itself for another leap. But the trident skewered it to the sand.
Meshwe waited for a while, as the tough little creature thrashed out its life. It was too bad, really. This tritti was fearless even by the standards of its kind. Had Chello's attempt been successful, the hunter would have made a splendid familiar until she was ready to graduate to a greater challenge.
But, she'd failed. And now the tritti would be inured to any further such attempts, either by Chello or any other youngling. It would simply attack instantly if it found itself placed in the position again.
Chello was still wailing. She had a very unpleasant few days ahead.
Too bad also, of course. But the Kororo Krek had never found any other way to raise up tekkutu.
They'd been left in relative peace for years, here in their mountain sanctuary. But it wouldn't last. Any attentive youngling could learn the basic precepts of the order. Only a few of them, however, would manage the task of achieving tekku. And only tekkutu could hope to withstand the mental domination of the nobility.
Chapter 2
Sebetwe
The hatchlings might be too old. That much was already obvious from the volume of sound being emitted from the nest somewhere above and still not in sight.
"At least two, maybe three," Nabliz said softly.
All four of them were huddled together under an overhanding rock on the steep slope. The vegetation was getting very sparse now and there weren't many places to find concealment.
"Too old," grunted Herere. She had the odd quality of being pessimistic as well as aggressive. The combination often irritated Sebetwe—as it did now.
He started to say something but Aqavo spoke first. "Maybe not, Herere," she said. "Sebetwe is very—"
"Powerful," Herere interrupted, impatiently and a bit sourly. "Yes, I know. This is still not magic."
The word Aqavo had actually been about to use was bradda, Sebetwe thought. The term was subtle and while it had much in common with gudru—"powerful"—it suggested more in the way of influence and persuasion, even charisma. The fact that Herere did not understand the distinction was much of the reason she herself had never risen very far in her ranking as a disciple.
For Herere, all conflict came down to strength against strength. That had served her well enough as a child at establishing her mastery over creatures like tritti and even paqui.
But today they faced great gantrak of the mountains. No Liskash disciple, no matter how great their gudh, had any chance of simply dominating such monsters. You might as well try quenching a bonfire by force of will.
There was no point trying to explain any of this to Herere, though. No mentor of the Krek, not even Meshwe, had ever managed to do that. So Sebetwe simply shifted his shoulders in a slight shrug and said: "Maybe I can, maybe I can't. We'll find out soon enough."
Another chorus of screeches came down from above.
"They're hungry," said Nabliz. "We'd better move quickly."
He was right. The mother would be away, hunting for her brood. The father…could be anywhere, but there was no point in worrying about that. Male gantrak were every bit as protective of their brood as females, but they had little of the same territoriality. The brood's father might be a mountain range away.
Or could be asleep in the nest itself. With males, behavior was hard to predict.
"Let's get going," Sebetwe commanded. "I'll continue directly up the slope with Nabliz. Herere, you take that little draw to the left. I think that'll bring you above the nest." A little diplomacy here. "You're the strongest, so you'll have the best chance of handling the mother if she returns."
"And me?" asked Aqavo.
Had he been fully honest, Sebetwe would have replied: "You stay here, because you're only a novice, not yet a full tekkutu, and won't be any use to me in the capture. And you won't be any more use if we have to fight."
But he liked Aqavo as much as he disliked Herere, so he coated the answer. "Stay here and make ready the harnesses. We won't have any time to spare."
"How many?" she asked, sounding a bit relieved.
"Only two. If I can capture any at all, it won't be more than that."
Aqavo started rummaging in the sacks they'd all unloaded when they reached the overhang. Herere was already out, heading for the draw.
"Ghammid be with you," said Nabliz after her.
Aqavo whistled softly. "Don't let Meshwe hear you say that or y
ou'll get a lecture."
Sebetwe grunted his amusement. It was true enough. He could hear it already. The so-called "God of Good Fortune" is simply another manifestation of the Godhead as we can perceive it. No more a real deity than the sun or the moon—and you have as much chance of improving your luck by invoking her as you do of changing the dawn or the tides by invoking Huwute or Ishtala.
Sebetwe didn't doubt Meshwe's teaching. Not for a moment. Still…
"Ghammid be with us," he murmured, and headed up the slope, shaking his catchpole slightly to make sure the noose was not tangled.
Achia Pazik
"What is that thing?" hissed Chefer Kolkin. The warrior’s grip on his spear was tight enough for his knuckles to stand out in sharp relief—quite unlike the veteran’s usual relaxed manner when handling his weapons.
Part of his tension was due to the unearthly shrieks coming from somewhere above them. Most of it, though, was simply due to the uncertainty of the moment. Should they fight? Flee? Hide? And looming behind all of those questions was a still greater one—who was to decide? Which of them was to give the order, whatever that order might be?
By strict seniority, Chefer Kolkin himself should perhaps be in charge. But as doughty a warrior as he was, Chefer Kolkin had never displayed much in the way of leadership in the past.
Neither had the other surviving dancer, Gadi Elkin. Besides, although she was older than Achia Pazik, she did not match her in skill—and rank among the dancers was based mostly on ability, not age.
Of the other four soldiers, the half-brothers Tsede Zeg and Elor Zeg generally kept to themselves, to the point of being almost rude. Zuel Babic was too young—not more than two years past Lavi Tur’s age—and Puah Neff was cut from the same hide as Chefer Kolkin. Brave and fierce in battle, capable at other tasks, but not suited to lead more than a handful of warriors.
So…it would have to be Achia Pazik herself who took the position of leader. Until now, she’d been able to avoid that task, because they’d simply been fleeing. The only decision to be made was this way! or that way! and any one of them could do that much.
There was no need to make a formal proceeding out of the matter, though, even if they had the time to do so.
“I think it’s more than one thing, whatever it is,” she said. She pointed to a narrow ledge that moved up the side of the mountain to their right. “I think we can follow that around, and stay away from…whatever they are.”
Chefer Kolkin nodded. “I will take the lead.” He moved off, crouched over so as not to show his profile above the terrain. Not until he had taken eight or nine steps did Achia Pazik realize that the warrior had displayed as much adroit skill in tacitly accepting her leadership as he had in moving up the mountain. Apparently, there were subtleties beneath than stolid exterior.
She stayed in place, waiting for the other warriors to reach her. As they did, she passed along the same instructions: Up the mountain using the ledge. Follow Chefer Kolkin. No one disputed her authority, either because they accepted it on its own terms or because they supposed Chefer Kolkin had made the decision. Again, there was no point in forcing a formal agreement, even if they had the leisure time. Hopefully, as time passed, the warriors would come to accept the situation without quarrel.
She expected no dispute from the other dancer—and, indeed, Gadi Elkin did as she was told without hesitating. So did the four females and their kits.
Lavi Tur brought up the rear. And he, of course, raised the issue. Being quick-witted at his age was a very mixed blessing.
“Who put you in charge?” he demanded, in a tone which was both challenging and amused.
“I did,” she said curtly. “Do as you’re told.”
She was half-expecting an argument, but all she got was a smile. An instant later, Lavi Tur was moving up the mountain.
She followed, after taking a long look behind to make sure nothing was pursuing them. Nothing she could see, at least. Because of the folded terrain, she could only see a short distance. There might be an entire army on their trail, for all she knew.
But she thought it was unlikely they were anywhere near. Liskash generally did not move as quickly as Mrem. That was true even in the hot lowlands. Here, in the cold heights, they would be more sluggish than usual.
Sebetwe
Sebetwe was cursing his own sluggishness that very moment. Liskash were not cold-blooded, in the way true reptiles were. But they were still more susceptible to low temperatures than Mrem or other mammals. In high altitudes like these, they needed to absorb sunlight after dawn in order to get moving quickly, and they needed to rest more often than they would in the lowlands. That was so regardless of the difficulty of the terrain—which, if it was arduous to travel across, required still more often and longer rest periods.
Not a big problem, perhaps, for someone taking a leisurely hike simply to enjoy the scenery. But when you were hunting gantrak…
He tried to raise his spirits by reminding himself that gantrak, while they lived in the mountains, were not mammals either. They too would be sluggish this early in the morning.
The thought was not very cheerful, though. Sluggish in the morning or not, a fully grown gantrak would weigh half again what Sebetwe did, had talons three times as long as his own, fangs that made his teeth look pitiful—leaving aside the scaly armored hide and the thick bony ridges guarding the creature’s skull.
Not far now, judging from the sounds being made by the hatchlings nesting somewhere above them.
Achia Pazik
Elor Zeg almost slipped off the narrow ledge, he came back down in such a hurry.
“Liskash—up ahead!” he hissed. “Chefer Kolkin sent me back to tell you.” He hesitated briefly, and then added: “He wants to know what you think we should so.”
From the slight frown on his face, it was clear that Elor Zeg had his doubts about the propriety of a noted and veteran warrior like Chefer Kolkin seeking instruction from such a young dancer as Achia Pazik. But, thankfully, he kept whatever reservations he had to himself.
She suspected those same reservations had distracted Elor Zeg from passing along the critical information she needed to make any decision.
“How many are there?” she hissed in return, trying to speak as quietly as possible. “And are they warriors?”
Elor Zeg grunted slightly with embarrassment. If he’d neglected to include that information in a report he’d given Chefer Kolkin himself, the older warrior would have berated him. Pretty savagely, too.
“Only three, that we can see. And we’re not sure if they’re warriors. Exactly.” He seemed a bit confused. “What I mean is, they’re carrying weapons. I guess. Of a sort.”
Achia Pazik was getting exasperated. Neither of the Zeg half-brothers was exactly what you’d call a mental giant. “What do you mean, ‘you guess’? What sort of weapons?”
“They’re more like snares than weapons. Ropes mostly, attached to poles, with odd loops at the end. They also have big knifes, but those are still in their sheathes.”
Ropes with odd loops…
Some of the Mrem tribes used devices called lassos, she knew. Her own people didn’t, because the animals they herded were too big to be held against their will by mere ropes. But there were tribes whose herd animals were a lot smaller and more manageable.
So far as she knew, though, the lassos were simply ropes designed to be cast in such a way as to loop around the necks of their targets. She’d never heard of any attached to poles.
Then again, she’d never actually seen a lasso. Her knowledge might simply be faulty.
But this was no time to let her thoughts stray. There was a decision to be made.
“They’re above us on the mountain?”
“Yes. Climbing still higher, too. They haven’t spotted us. I don’t think they’re paying much attention to anything below them.”
They must be hunting something, then. Whatever was making the hideous shrieks?
Possibly. B
ut it didn’t really matter, one way or the other. If the Liskash were pre-occupied, the small band of Mrem could pass them by without being noticed.
Hopefully.
“Tell Chefer Kolkin to stay on the trail.” Tiny narrow treacherous ledge would have been a more apt term to use than trail. But everyone’s spirits needed to be kept up.
Elor Zeg left without a word.
Or anything else. Warriors taking orders from their superiors were normally in the habit of making a small gesture when they did so. A sort of hand-clenching coupled with a forward thrust of the fist. But Achia Pazik was not about to insist on formalities. It was enough that no one was openly challenging her authority.
Well, almost no one.
By the time Elor Zeg and Achia Pazik had finished their little conference, the rest of the party had crowded up the trail and come close enough to overhear the last exchange.
“I think we ought to attack them,” said Lavi Tur brashly.
Before Achia Pazik could reply, Aziz Vardit spoke up. She was the oldest of the females in their party.
“Thankfully, you are not in charge,” she said. “Achia Pazik is. So be quiet.”
Sebetwe
They were almost there. Close enough to separate the tones of the hatchling screeches. There were two of them.
No adults. By now, they would have made their presence known. Gantrak did not tolerate much in the way of obstreperousness from their offspring. If there had been an adult in the nest above, she or he would probably have silenced the noisy hatchlings.
That was the good part. The bad part was that gantrak hatchlings wouldn’t be making that much noise if they weren’t hungry—which suggested, at least, that an adult might be returning with food soon.
But there was no way to know, and they couldn’t possibly stay on the mountain for another night. Not this high up. At least one of them would die, and quite possibly all four.
Sebetwe glanced around. Nabliz was also in position. He couldn’t see Herere because the big female had moved far enough around the slope of the mountainside to be out of sight. But whatever her other failings, Herere could be counted on to be in position also. In the field, as long as the task didn’t involve subtlety and indirection, she was extraordinarily capable.
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 13