by Alma Boykin
The next day Rada mulled over the problem while she attended to her usual duties. On the second day, shortly after dawn, she noticed smoke rising a short distance past the village. The color looked wrong for an ordinary fire and the mammal got her combat monocular out to take a closer look. The plume came from a section of the cremation grounds and Rada knew in her heart who had died. <
That night Rada went back up onto the northern wall of the manor and stared up at the two moons. Shibo waxed and Shinbora, the “nameless moon,” waned, making the night one that Azdhagi considered ill-fated. Rada watched the stars pass, the King’s Highway laying down a bright stream of light just south of the crest of the sky’s arch. Summer was swinging into autumn once more and the mammal tried to recall how many times she’d watched the seasons shift on Drakon IV. She’d lost count. A night-flitter darted past her head, chasing insects. Rada massaged under her blind eye and sighed. Life was not fair and the Universe cared not a whit for the fates of a morose mammal and two abuse victims on a random planet somewhere in one of the galaxies. Whatsoever you do to the least of these, you do unto me, she quoted in her mind. Suffer the little children to come unto me, for such is the kingdom of heaven. When bad things happened to her, it was understandable given her career, temper, and history. But little juniors should not die in agony because their dam’s injured mate could not fend off one of the largest males in the village. Both moons had crossed the horizon before Rada settled her heart enough to get a little sleep, leaving the darkness to the night-flitters and any ts-talee out browsing in the meadows near the manor house.
A sixt later Rada and the farm manager walked around the edges of the kurstem fields. She plucked a head of the purple grain and sniffed it, then peeled back a husk and bit carefully. The tart pop and firm texture confirmed her guess. “By the end of the sixt, Larakh, unless we get one of those baking winds that ripen everything overnight.”
The light-green reptile beside her waved his forefoot in agreement. “That’s what I’ve been planning on, Lord Mammal. The grain storage areas are being cleaned now and the last of the old harvest has been distributed or sent to central storage. I kept back some for shootee and teerlak feed. Fat summer, lean winter,” he quoted the old proverb.
“Good planning. I think, just this once, if the older juniors happened to miss one or two days of class because they were out gathering nut-roots, digging tubers or gathering fruit, it would not cause any difficulties. If it should be necessary,” and she flicked her tail.
Larakh rubbed under his muzzle with a talon. “Hmmmm.” He flicked the tip of his tail in an answering ‘wink.’ They continued their inspection, or rather Rada observed and took mental notes for her report while Larakh inspected the fields. They finished at the shootee pens, which had been made heavier and some new posts put in after the beasts were driven to the upland pastures for the summer. All domestic livestock had to be under cover by a sixt after harvest finished or it became fair game for the hunting parties. The same applied to gathering food from the woods and forests surrounding the estates. No one but the Imperial family and their guests could go out until the hunt ended. The Azdhagi living at Singing Pines and Burnt Mountain grumbled about it every year and every year someone boasted about how he’d go out and show “them.” And every year the reptiles all found so much in the settlements and villages to occupy their time that no one discovered a pressing need to go out until after the hunts ended. It was as much of a ritual as the priests’ exhortation and offerings to the Ancestors for a good and safe harvest were. Larakh decided that he was satisfied with things and Rada agreed.
They parted ways and Rada leaned against the new corner post for “her” shootee pen. She would take the daimyo’s tenth this year and her share of the livestock came to a score or so of herbivores of various ages. The females would get Ni Drako’s flank mark, a simplified version of her House sigil, and go back to the main nursery herd to increase over the next year. That left about ten males and geldings to feed up and then slaughter over the course of the winter and spring. The prospect of steaming hot, fresh shootee livers and hearts made her mouth water and the mammal entertained a happy vision of slaughter day. Then she shook herself back to the moment. “Many kliqs between harvest and home” as the saying went.
As she turned to go back to the manor house, Rada caught sight of someone watching her. A grey and brown male with brown eyes glared at the mammal and she returned his regard as calmly and coolly as possible. Nobles did not show emotion; commoners did. Kleet took a step forward. “You can see the Ancestors’ judgment, Lord Mammal,” he growled.
“I see pens awaiting a healthy herd that has not yet left the summer pasture.” The Wanderer-hybrid took a chance and turned her back on the larger reptile, starting to walk away.
“The cursed one . . .” Kleet began and Rada cut him off.
“The stricken junior died. Her soul belongs to the Ancestors does it not?” He didn’t reply and she continued, “Unless you have become an Ancestor yourself, you have no place tormenting the dead or their relatives, Kleet.” The mammal sauntered up the slope, ears cocked for the sound of Kleet rushing her from behind. He remained still and the noble departed unmolested. Typical bully, she growled in turn.
Two days later someone clopped politely on the daimyo’s office door. “Yes?” she inquired of Schleet, the estate manager.
“Ah, Lord Mammal, Larakh asks if you could assist a search party,” the brown blotched reptile inquired.
The mammal started to agree and get up. But when she moved her leg from its special rest and stood, a jolt of pain arced from knee to hip and into her low back. Rada sat back down rather firmly as tears of pain stung her eye; she wasn’t going anywhere. “Not unless it is an emergency, Schleet. I’ll try this evening after sundown, if someone can bring me something with the missing person’s scent on it. Who disappeared?”
“Shaek, the female who just lost her junior,” the manager informed the noble. “She’d been acting distracted for some time and has not been seen since yesterday morning. Her door was open this morning and the stove was cold.” If he did not seem overly concerned it was only because there were potentially much larger problems just over the horizon, literally. The royal meteorological service called that morning and warned that a very strong early cold front barreled down from the pole. It was the kind that brought high winds and strong storms, exactly the wrong weather for kurstem three days from harvest. A missing female needed to be sought for, but if storms came through then salvaging the harvest took priority if the village was to get through the winter. Schleet had already sent extra hands up to the pastures to keep the shootee in place and under control.
“I’ll try to go out tonight,” Rada repeated. Schleet gestured his understanding and then went about his business. But by nightfall Rada couldn’t move any farther than the soaking pool and even that required Zabet’s assistance. The mammal spent the better part of an hour sitting in water as hot as she could bear, gently moving the crippled limb to keep blood flowing in case a clot had started to form.
Zabet frowned and laid her ears back as she studied her injured business partner. <
“Walking up and down hill and tripping over a root and then sitting too long, combined with being angry about the female and her junior, caused the trouble,” the mammal sighed. She had no one to blame but herself. “I might have to use one of those painkillers if this continues.”
The True-dragon’s sapphire eyes darkened with concern and her whiskers fluttered, then hung limp. <>
“Neither do I. That’s why I don’t take them despite what Himself says.”
The searchers found no trace of Shaek.
Neither could Rada and Zabet, even after Rada began moving around again. A light rain, just enough to ruin scent tracks, fell overnight. The worst of the storms missed Singing Pines but now the forecasters cautioned that a frost might be in the offing. While that meant nothing towards the quality of the grain, it posed serious problems for the livestock up in the highlands. After listening to a bit too much of Schleet and Larakh’s worrying aloud, Rada tossed them out of her office and limped down to the communications center, wincing at the pain. “Connect to House Moytou, please,” she ordered.
By now the soldier on duty knew better than to question strange requests and he duly “called” the head of the closest True-dragon House. Rada shooed him out of his seat in front of the screen and waited until Vilara’s assistant tracked down her boss. “Good morning, Lord Vilara,” the mammal said once the gold and green reptile took his place in front of the screen.
A series of electronic connections converted Vilara’s telepathic reply into audible Azdhagi. “Good morning, Lord Reh-dakh. How fare you?”
“The skies are clear and sun warms,” she recited. If Vilara wanted to use archaic court language, then two could play the game. The large reptile had a strange sense of humor and it only grew quirkier over time.
The two nobles batted fancy words back and forth for several minutes before getting to the point. “The daimyo of Singing Pines and Burnt Mountain must make a request of the generosity of House Moytou.”
Vilara dropped all pretense of formality and leaned back, obviously concerned. “What’cha need?”
“Just the labor of some of your younger House members for a day or so, if possible. The weather forecasters are calling for a strong cold snap and the herds are still up in the pastures. Singing Pines is about to start the kurstem harvest and can’t spare anyone to help bring them down.” She assured the green and gold True-dragon that, “it is not really an emergency but I’ve got two managers who are getting their tails in a twist.”
Vilara’s black whiskers and ears swirled in the draconic equivalent of an eye-roll. “Got’cha. How about trading labor? Ten of our more mature younglings help get your herds down tomorrow and once things settle out after harvest a couple of your hunters come up here, clean out some feral seer and bring some bread and watergrain with them?”
Rada all but bounced with excitement. “Deal.” She loved hunting and it had been a century since she’d gone up against feral seer. The herbivores grew large and aggressive in the wildlands, too canny to be caught easily.
“Usually we take care of them ourselves, but the storms a decade ago let the beasts get a generation bred before we could start hunting again and you know what happens then. And they’ve learned our techniques,” Vilara admitted, rumpling his tail in a “what can you do” shrug.
“Those storms were fierce,” the mammal agreed. After confirming numbers and contacts, Vilara signed off and Rada did the same. It was a good thing, because as soon as the connection terminated the Imperial call code chimed. “Got it,” she yelped, scrambling to convert back to the proper transmission frequency and hauling her headset off her ears, all while entering her decryption code in case it was a military message.
A large, blunt-muzzled head with grey-green stripes sweeping back from green-yellow eyes appeared on the screen and Rada caught a glimpse of embroidered black collar. “Reh-dakh,” the King-Emperor Huan-di stated.
“Imperial Majesty,” and Rada bowed very low from her seated position.
“We did not anticipate you taking the transmission,” the reptile half-inquired. He swung his forefoot in a gesture of mild concern. “Is there a difficulty?”
Only rarely did the mammal act as her true official rank specified but this was one of those times. “No longer, Imperial Majesty. Concern for your harvest led your servant to contact House Moytou for assistance with a minor matter. Your Majesty’s herds will return early from the highlands and harvest will begin on time, so that neither the crop nor the herd’s year-gains suffer loss.” Huan-di took a very personal interest in the management of his estates and Reh-dakh made absolutely certain that she knew everything possible, in case he asked.
“Good. Inform Us when harvest ends. We will begin hunting a sixt after, as things permit.” And with that the ruler of Drakon IV and six colony worlds, Protector of De Shan’s System and King-Emperor of the Azdhag Empire terminated the transmission. His deputy sat back, or started to before she remembered that there was no back support on the bench she’d commandeered. She wrenched herself upright before she lost what remained of her dignity. The communications tech studiously ignored his commander’s ungraceful recovery and departure from the room.
After informing Schleet about his new assistants and leaving a message for Huntmaster Shoti at Burnt Mountain with the King-Emperor’s arrival date, Rada went to her quarters and picked up a small transparent packet. It held ten capsules and she regarded them soberly. The mammal fished one out of the bag and swallowed it along with a large amount of cold water. After three minutes she laid down on her sleeping platform and closed her eye. The onset of the drugs’ effects destroyed her balance and vision for almost an hour as well as making her nauseated. Once that phase passed Rada could function again but had to watch her thoughts and words very carefully because another side effect of the mixture eroded her emotional self-control for a day after she took the dose as well as weakening her mental shields and defenses. But she would be almost pain-free for two sixts of days afterwards and the reduced joint inflammation lasted even longer. Dear Lord but I hate this, she told her god again. And it gets worse with each dose. When I finish these I’m not taking more drugs if there is any other option. Himself had done an amazing work of biochemistry in finding a combination of things that dulled the pain of her old injuries but the chemical interactions wreaked havoc on her mind and body. It’s better than being dead or completely crippled, the hybrid reminded herself for the hundredth time. Maybe someday she’d believe it. Now she concentrated on not losing the contents of her stomach.
Given recent events, Rada opted to remain in seclusion until the next afternoon, when she took a transport and visited the village to attend the prayers for harvest. The noble appeared, waited outside and listened, and made a generous donation to the temple benevolence box. Threads of incense wafted out of the wooden building and the mammal’s nose twitched and then itched. A helpful breeze saved her from sneezing and she turned into the wind, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. Footsteps crunched on the gravel path and an Azdhag came around the corner, caught sight of the daimyo, and froze.
It was Kleet. He studied Ni Drako and made an intricate warding motion with his weak-side forefoot. The corner of her mouth twitched and she pulled out the small gold cross and St. Michael medallion she wore. “I don’t have Ancestors, as you yourself said.”
“The harvest will fail because of you.” Kleet’s neck spines rose halfway but the rest of him remained still, even his brown tail-tip. “The herds are already dead, missing from the pastures.” Rada strained to hear his quiet words but caught the venom in them easily.
“The herds will be here by sun-dark tomorrow, Kleet, with an escort. And if the harvest fails, it will be because of a crime unpunished, true. But not one committed by a dying junior or her dam, Kleet.” Rada’s ears lowered and her tail began bristling as she advanced on the reptile, her claws extending. He retreated a pace, then another, and made another warding sign. His target accelerated her pace and he backed frantically. Rada glared at the blustering reptile once more and turned on her heel, long braid whipping the warm air.
As soon as was seemly Rada cornered Father Taer. “What does it mean when someone makes a warding gesture with the weak-side and not the strong-side?”
“It means a curse, Lord Reh-dakh,” the priest hissed.
Rada snorted; Kleet was well behind the times if he thought that yet another curse on her head would upset the daimyo. “Thank you, Father. A quiet night to you,” and she left the village.
Once at the manor house she called in the forefoot-full of troops on rotation with her. “Guard the kurstem fields at Singing Pines from sun-dark to sunrise until the harvest is underway,” she ordered. “Sergeant Leerst, see to it.” Then she went to her quarters and opened the bottom of the sleeping platform. First she moved Zabet’s weapons out of the way, noting with approval the lightly oiled wrap cloth. Then Rada retrieved a little surprise of her own.
The woman slipped out of her quarters by a hidden back way, tracing a silent path down into the cavern where the spring-fed soaking pool provided emergency water for the manor house. Instead of visiting the pool, she turned and eased behind a pile of un-cut rocks, padding quietly into a second, smaller cave. Here were the foundations of Singing Pines fortress, where centuries before an unknown engineer had tied the stone foundation walls into the living rock of the mountain front. And here was a secret practice space. Rada stretched slowly after lighting two very small lanterns and setting them on flat spots, giving herself enough light not to bash into a wall. First the Wanderer-hybrid screwed two pieces of wood together to make a longer staff. Then she slid what looked like a curved sword blade into place and took the protective case off the end of her little toy.
Never thought I’d ever need one of these, she mused as she set her stance, then began a series of drills and exercises. Never thought I’d collect canes, either. The dim light flicked off the steel blade at the end of the tight-grained wooden shaft. All told the weapon added almost two meters to her reach and had a perfectly balanced mass of four kilos. Rada concentrated on smoothness and precision rather than brute force, slowly accelerating her attacks and parries. As usual she lost track of time, entering a half-trance as she worked. Eventually the warrior stopped, covered the blade and removed it from the shaft, and turned off the lamps. After a quick check for observers, she returned to the main cavern and indulged in a quick dip in the soaking pool, letting the hot water finish loosening her muscles. She took the back way to her quarters, changing into a sleeping robe before unlocking the door and opening it slightly. Instead of hiding the naginata, she tapped a protective cap onto the butt and propped it against the wall in plain sight behind her weapons stand.