by Rose Estes
Braldt heard a whimper and turned to look for the source and then realized that it was he, himself. Something soft and warm brushed against his leg and he tottered back and forth for several steps and then looked down. The lupebeast pup, the one he had not slain, regarded him curiously and then trotted off, stopping and turning to look back at him as though commanding him to follow.
Braldt stared dumbly at the animal. “Is that you, ’Tallo?” he mumbled. “Have you come back as a ‘beast’? Shouldn’ta died. Maybe I’ll die too. Both be beasts then. Hate flies, don’ wanna live ina cave with flies though. Hafta find another cave without flies…” Overcome by fever and the poison that raged through his body, Braldt staggered after the tiny pup as it led him deeper and deeper into the darkness of the cave. Finally, when he felt he could go no farther, he heard the sound of water, a steady drip, drip, drip echoing in the darkness.
His feet, so unreliable and unfeeling, took him unnervingly to the source of the sound, a broad, shallow pool of water carved into the rock by a steady seepage from above. He collapsed then, falling heavily on his ravaged arm, the pain hitting him like a solid blow to the belly. He inched his way forward, nudging into the pool like a turtle forsaking the land, and let the cool water lave his hot skin, filling his mouth with the precious liquid, feeling it slide down his parched throat and salve his burning flesh. He slithered farther into the water, allowing it to bathe his fearsome wound and cool his fevered body.
Braldt lay there until he began to shiver and then crawled back out onto the floor of the cave. The pup sat beside his head, staring down at him with wide, serious eyes. He had not seen it come, it simply appeared. He wondered if he had killed it and forgotten and now it too was a spirit. He wondered if he too were dead; if both of them were ghosts. Braldt closed his eyes against the solemn regard of the pup, for he had no answers to its questions or even his own.
When he opened his eyes again, the cave was in darkness, and it occurred to him that he had slept and that it was night again for the second or perhaps even the third time since he had killed the shebeast. He was still fevered and thirsty as well. He dragged himself back to the pool to drink again and felt a warm weight pressing against his side. Looking down, he discovered the lupebeast pup, no spirit and real enough from the feel of it, snuggled against him, rolled in a tight, furry ball. He drank and then, drawing the small creature to him, slept again.
His sleep was filled with images. Artallo was there, sitting by his side, warming him with his presence, talking to him earnestly, trying to tell him something of importance. Something that he knew was the most important thing in the world, something that would solve all the problems he would ever have, give him all the knowledge he would ever need. Try as he might, though, he could not hear anything that Artallo said. His mouth moved but there was no sound. He strained to see, and then Artallo sprouted tall ears, lupebeast ears that rose high above his head. His face elongated and became a lupebeast muzzle, long and narrow and filled with rows of sharp teeth. His eyes were no longer blue but amber-colored. Yellow. And even as Braldt watched, the face of his friend became that of the pup, watching him with quiet concern. And then the lupebeast that was Artallo spoke to him and told him to sleep without dreams, to heal without hurt, and then the light faded and took the strange images away.
Light streamed in from above, shining directly in Braldt’s eyes. His body was one enormous throbbing ache and he could not remember the last time he had eaten. He turned his head toward the water and saw the pup sitting beside his head, just as he had in the dream. He no longer thought that he was a spirit, nor the pup either, for it was obvious that they were both alive. No spirit could hurt as much as he did. But whether the pup contained the spirit of Artallo was another matter and one that could wait for another day. For now, it was enough that he was alive and he would do his best to see that he… or, rather, they remained so.
3
Braldt felt his way back toward the cave opening, his only thought being to somehow make his way down the narrow trail and find something to put in his empty belly. His legs were shaky and his body weak, but he knew that it must be done or he would die. He reached for his weapons with his good hand, only to realize that he still held the jaw of the lupebeast in his hand. He stared at it in the dim light, seeing the long, curved incisors and the double rows of teeth still stained with his blood, and nodded to himself, thinking that it would serve as a trophy as well as a reminder of the nearness of death. He tucked the jawbone into the folds of his robes and found his dagger still in its loop. His short sword was nowhere to be found and he could not remember when he had it last. He hoped that it was not back at the pool for his legs were without the strength to carry him there and back again. He could only hope that it would be found at the side of the slain he-beast.
As Braldt drew near the cavern where he had killed the lupebeasts, the pup stopped abruptly, its large ears stiffly erect, the piebald-colored fur on its back rising in ridged spikes. A low growl emerged from between its teeth, a poor imitation of its parents, but a growl nonetheless.
Braldt studied the pup, wondering what would cause such a reaction, then, because his head was feeling very heavy and his vision blurring with every step, he decided that it was nothing more than bad memories. After all, the pup had seen its entire family slain. Under the circumstances a growl was not inappropriate.
The pup stood stiff-legged and growled continuously, seemingly unwilling to advance farther. Braldt brushed past the pup, anxious to find his sword and be gone from the place. The pup would follow or not as it liked. When he looked back, the pup was following, although he still growled and his little tail, whip thin and without the plumelike brush that would distinguish it as an adult, swept back and forth like a nervous tic.
Braldt could see the entrance to the cave now, the brilliant midday sun pouring in through the opening, bathing the stony ground with its harsh, hot light. He hurried forward, anxious to feel the hot sun on his body, realizing that he was chilled to the bone by the cold darkness of the cave.
As he drew closer, his eyes fixed on the sunlight, Braldt suddenly became aware of a sound that he had been hearing for some time. It was a curious shrill, chittering sound, almost like quarrelsome children arguing in high-pitched voices. Braldt moved farther into the cavern, shaking his head in irritation and willing his eyes to stop playing tricks. The entire floor of the cavern appeared to be undulating.
Braldt made his way toward the body of the he-beast so that he could reclaim his sword, for he was certain that that was where it would be found, but as he advanced, the entire floor seemed to explode, rising up around him in screaming, flapping hysteria! Braldt could hear the pup barking wildly as he flung his arm across his face to protect his eyes, realizing too late what he had done. Blood wings! Thousands of them were feasting on the rotting carcasses of the slain lupebeasts and he had waded into the midst of them!
He could feel them flapping against his bare skin, attempting to settle so that they might suck his blood with their long, sharp-edged hollow fangs, replacing what they withdrew with a pale fluid that deadened the flesh around the wound. Harmless in small doses, the pale fluid could kill if the bites were numerous enough.
Braldt attempted to cover his head and shoulders with his robes, but his injured arm still hung heavy and useless at his side, and as the robe came over his head, he could feel the wings of two of the hideous creatures flapping against his neck and chest, trapped inside the folds of the fabric!
Then he was bitten on the thigh and again on his calf and he felt the cold wings with their tiny clinging claws gripping him tightly as they siphoned the blood from his body. More and more bloodwings clung to him as he flung himself from side to side, beating at their soft bodies, plucking them from his flesh, and throwing them aside. They scented fresh blood now, and for every bloodwing he dispatched, two and three more took its place. He could hear the pup howling now, a low, keening sound that only served to intensify the h
orror.
Braldt threw himself to the ground and felt the soft bodies smash beneath his weight, heard the sharp crack of fragile wing bones, and the shrill screams. Over and over he rolled, crushing the bloodwings beneath him, ignoring the pain of his shoulder and the dizziness that threatened to overcome him. Somehow, he was aware that the pup was close by, its jaws snapping and crunching an accompaniment to his passage.
He then came up hard against the body of the male lupebeast, stinking and rotting, filling his nostrils with the stench of decay. His hand reached out and swept over the ground, searching, searching, no longer attempting to beat off the screaming maelstrom of bloodwings who settled upon it, until at last he found what he was searching for. He rose up with a scream and plunged the blade of the sword up into the low, earthen ceiling time and again until he was rewarded by a cascade of dirt and stones that swept down upon him, stripping the bloodwings from his body. He struck out again and again, widening the hole, allowing the bright sunlight to pour in, creating havoc.
Once begun, the low roof, already weakened by the numerous cracks that crisscrossed its surface, collapsed in upon itself, burying the bodies of the lupebeasts and the coven of bloodwings. A few escaped, but these made no attempt to attack and quickly departed, seeking safer, darker quarters.
The earth stirred at Braldt’s feet and the pup’s nose emerged, caked with dirt, quickly followed by the rest of its head and shoulders. It sneezed once, twice, and then stared up at Braldt with bright eyes as though wondering what came next. For all his pain, Braldt was forced to laugh, for the young animal, hated lupebeast though it might be, had the heart of a warrior.
“Come, little one, it is time we left this place, you and I, our bellies are empty and I have had my fill of bloodwings and death.” Gripping the pup by the scruff of its neck, Braldt fitted it into the drape of his robe and began to search for a way out.
Much of the roof was unstable and came down as soon as Braldt placed any weight on it, tumbling to the floor of the cavern, burying it still deeper. But at last he found an area that was composed of rock and did not give under his weight. He could not pull himself up with one hand for he was too weak, but he piled rocks one on top of the other until he was able to climb out of the ruins of the cavern and rest on the hot, sun-drenched plateau. The pup slipped out of his robes and lay flat beside him, its head lowered, ears flattened against its broad skull, and the bright intelligent eyes, darting nervously in all directions, filled with fear. The pup panted heavily, from fright rather than heat, but made no attempt to leave Braldt’s side.
“First time you’ve been outside,” Braldt said, laying his palm atop the pup’s head. “No wonder you’re frightened. It’s a scary place, little one, and if you’re going to make your way in it, you’ll have to grow up fast and tough…just like I did. It starts now and we’d best be on our way before something else tries to kill us. Stay close and you’ll be fine.”
Braldt struggled to his feet and set off with the pup hugging his heels. Sometimes it pressed too close and all but tripped Braldt, whining fearfully and hugging the ground with its belly, casting wide, frightened eyes about in all directions. It occurred to Braldt that the small creature was absolutely terrified by the wide stretch of blue sky and the burning white orb that hung above them, for all of its young life had been lived in near darkness. The hot rock was surely scorching its tender paws that had none of the thick, callused protection it would develop in later years. Taking pity on the small animal, Braldt lifted it up and placed it inside his robes again where it immediately settled and was still.
“I wish it were that simple for me,” Braldt said to himself as he patted the trembling pup. “Food and shelter. Got to have food and shelter and then deal with this arm, if I don’t want to lose it.”
Strangely enough, the bloodwings had done him a favor, for sensing the fresh blood, they had gone straight for his wounded shoulder. They had robbed him of his blood and they had replaced it with their own fluid that was intended to dull the senses of their sleeping victims, but in his case served to deaden the pain, enabling him to travel. Braldt didn’t know how long it would last or if it would have any lasting effects, but he welcomed even the temporary relief from pain.
And then suddenly a path appeared beneath his feet, a deep indentation in the soft red rock that led straight to the edge of the precipice and then slipped over. Braldt wondered if a section of rock had broken off here as well, but as he drew closer he saw that the trail descended the face of the cliff at a steep but passable incline that terminated at one end of the stony amphitheater. There was a large pool of water, deep enough to withstand the worst of droughts, as well as several stands of small trees, thick grasses, and tall reeds, and a variety of weedy foliage.
There were still the predators to be considered, none of which he cared to meet with the scent of blood hanging heavy about him. But the small oasis offered all that he needed to heal himself: water, shelter, and the promise of food. Home and safety lay six moonsets distant and between them lay seventy leagues of danger and harsh, inhospitable terrain. To travel in his condition was an open invitation to death.
His decision made, Braldt descended the face of the cliff.
Ten moonsets later, well fed and rested, recovering from the worst of his wounds, Braldt and the pup, whom he had chosen to call Beast, left the spring and set out for home. The jawbone of the he-beast had been stripped of flesh and polished by an accommodating colony of fire beetles. It now hung from a thong around his neck. The shiny new pink skin of his shoulder contrasted sharply with the dark, coppery tan of his body, and while it too would darken with time, it would always bear the scars inflicted by the lupebeast.
Braldt was not concerned with the color of his skin, nor the scars, merely pleased that the arm had suffered no permanent damage and would still be able to wield a weapon. This had caused him a good deal of concern during his recuperation for he had trained since youth to be a fighter and a protector of his tribe and he could envision no other life.
He had been right in his assessment of the spring for he had found all the medicinal herbs needed to treat his wounds. Wild animals and birds had come to the springs at dawn and at dusk in great numbers, braving the gauntlet of predators, and if some of their numbers fell, they were not missed in the multitudes that depended on the steady source of sweet water that flowed even in the hot time.
Trees and reeds had provided shelter as well as firewood and the fire burning brightly all night long held the predators safely at bay. Carefully placed snares had provided fat birds to roast over the fire and a well-thrown rock had brought down a small desert deer.
He had not forgotten to offer homage to Mother Moon and he sang her praises and offered her homage each night as she rose majestically over the edge of the plateau by burning bits of flesh to show his gratitude for watching over him and sparing his life. Beast had added his own quavering tones to his, an eerie combination, but somehow fitting for both had lived despite the odds against them.
Braldt and Beast had come to know each other better. The pup had accepted him into his world and looked to him for direction, but there was a fierce burning light that shone from deep within his amber eyes and Braldt knew that for all his apparent loyalty, this would never be a tame dog to do his master’s bidding.
There seemed to be little need for words between the two of them, the pup needing only to look at Braldt to know what was expected. They had begun to work as a team, the pup rushing forth barking wildly and scaring the prey within throwing range. The technique was not perfect for the pup was filled with all the erratic enthusiasm of youth, but Braldt could see that with his obvious intelligence, the rough edges would soon be honed away.
The pup’s presence and his intelligence touched something deep inside Braldt, something that only Artallo had come close to touching. Others, more knowledgeable and sensitive to their own needs, would have called it friendship.
As they made their way across
the empty Forbidden Lands, back toward the tribal state, Braldt allowed his thoughts to reach forward and wonder how Beast would be welcomed. It was a foolish question for even though lupebeasts were the sworn enemy of his tribe and all others, Braldt could have brought a raging merebear into the middle of the city and gotten away with it. He was the chosen favorite of the chief.
Braldt grinned as he thought back on some of the pranks he had played in his own erratic youth and remembered how Chief Auslic had tried to keep his face grim and unsmiling while issuing a reprimand. Carn, his younger half-brother and Auslic’s own nephew, had seldom gotten off so lightly with his misdemeanors. Braldt himself had been adopted by Carn’s family soon after he was found in the desert beside the bodies of his parents.
They had been strangers, unknown to the tribe, different from them in every way. The dead man and woman had been fair of skin, their eyes as blue as the distant sea, and their hair as white as the sun that burned in the sky. Braldt grew up in their image with high, broad cheekbones, straight nose, and wide, flat brow—all flat planes and hard, sharp edges, so unlike the features of his adopted tribe.
His body developed differently as well. Although he and Carn were nearly the same age, Carn had the slender, wiry build so common to the tribe as well as dark eyes and skin and curly brown hair. Carn’s strength lay in his endurance and his burning hatred of failure, and he practiced long hours on the hard-packed earth of the training ring, drilling over and over the proscribed movements of sword and dagger. Equally long days were spent with bow and arrow.
Braldt grew taller and broader than Carn, taller by a full head and a good deal heavier. His bulk was not excess flesh, however, for he was solidly muscled and the smaller, thinner Duroni could only look at him and marvel. He was their champion and the pride of the tribe.