by Demi Harper
“But Shanky isn’t here—”
“I’m not talking about Longshank.”
Ris’kin’s tufted ears twitched. She was still staring in the direction the owl had disappeared, just waiting for my word.
“Give us an hour,” I said to Ket. To Ris’kin, I said, “Let’s go.”
Thirty-Two
Kind of Monster
Corey
My avatar’s muscles bunched and stretched as we flew over the forest floor. I reveled in the sensation of freedom.
Though we were out here on grim purpose, it felt good to forget that for a moment—to forget everything, exodus included—and for once be able to focus solely on the physical. Damp leaves crinkling beneath the pads of my feet, the scent of rain-soaked earth, the breeze in my whiskers.
Every now and again my avatar would halt to scent her surroundings. She was always on the alert; her enhanced senses were like a living system of tripwires.
The ears, for instance. It was as though they had a will of their own, like a pair of guardian watchers devoted to identifying the slightest potential threat. Their size and shape were ideal for triangulating the source of even the smallest vibration with a single twitch.
If the ears detected a possible threat, the nose then assessed it further, sorting the familiar scents from the strange within the blink of an eye. The eyes themselves—keen as Ris’kin’s were, especially with their darksight—came in last, but even they were far superior to most, seeing the world’s shapes and colors with startling clarity.
The air beneath the trees was mostly still, heavy with the threat of further rain, but occasional currents brought tidings of the local environs that Ris’kin’s refined palate could easily translate.
Half a mile to the east, a wild dog barked. From the west came the violent clack and crack of antlered beasts clashing in combat.
In the tree to our left, an owl hooted. I tensed, but Ris’kin already knew it wasn’t the one we were hunting. I caught sight of it after a moment: a pair of huge eyes peering down curiously at us. It hooted again, and a rodent scurried for cover somewhere in the undergrowth nearby.
Elsewhere, the scream of an unfortunate animal—rabbit, my avatar’s senses suggested—split the air as the night’s predators got to work.
Ris’kin discounted them one at a time, then turned to filtering smells and tastes. Fungi. Canine spoor. Deer musk. Rotting wood.
There—the salty tang of blood. It was coming from several sources.
A hundred or so feet away, a decomposing carcass was being feasted upon by some scavenger. Every time they tore into it, the scent of blood and decay was released into the air. But that was old blood.
Further away west, the blood was much fresher. One of the dueling stags had clearly come off the worse; the coppery tinge in the air conveyed defeat.
Ris’kin sifted through each and every source until she identified one that made the thick fur of her hackles stand on end.
Gnomish blood.
It was a familiar scent—my avatar had endured plenty of it during the battle for the Grotto, not to mention when Longshank had lost a good few spoonfuls of his own just a couple of weeks ago. There was just the faintest whiff of it here, hopefully meaning the child was not seriously hurt, but it was enough to stoke Ris’kin’s fury at the creature responsible for drawing it.
Teeth bared instinctively, Ris’kin and I traced the scent to the base of a leafy behemoth which Insight informed me was a furynut tree. We gazed up at the massive expanse of the trunk.
We can take it, Ris’kin and I thought together.
Though dauntingly high and wide, the craggy bark provided plenty of footholds, and Ris’kin ascended with ease. We assessed each branch cautiously before moving on to the next, but found nothing except ants, spiders, and one very irate squirrel.
We steered well clear of the latter; it chattered fiercely, despite Ris’kin’s much larger size, and actually seemed as though it were shaking its tiny fists at us.
Ris’kin snapped her teeth at it as we passed.
It’s just protecting its nuts, I told her. You’d understand if you had your own. They’re as precious to it as this child is to us.
She rolled her eyes, then yelped as something small and hard hit the back of her shoulder. Ris’kin whipped her head around to see the squirrel, still chattering furiously, another nut held at the ready in its tiny hand.
Little bastard!
Ris’kin snarled and made as though to climb back down. The squirrel squeaked and shot back into its hole in the trunk.
As we neared the crown of the colossal tree with still no further sign of our quarry, I began to doubt my avatar’s instincts. Then a huge shape loomed into view.
The nest was lodged snugly amongst several forking branches. At first I could only see its dense outer wall, a seemingly impenetrable fortress of tightly interwoven twigs and leaves. As we moved a little higher, though, we were able to catch a glimpse of what was inside.
The kidnapped child lay curled in the center of the nest. Her pale halo of hair was now full of dirt and bits of twig. She was whimpering, probably because she was surrounded by ugly, fluffy monsters.
Tiger Owlet
The juvenile offspring of a tiger owl.
Chicks remain in the nest for the first six weeks, fully dependent on their parents for food and security.
It was hard to believe these creatures were the offspring of the majestically terrifying raptor that had attacked our camp. Their gray coats were fluffy, comprised of down rather than feathers; it stuck out in all directions and made them resemble cotton balls that had been struck by an electrical current. The eyebrow-like markings above their all-black eyes added to this image; they looked permanently surprised.
There were five of the little horrors in total—and no sign of their huge guardian.
The owlets were pecking ineffectually at the gnome child, who I realized now wasn’t whimpering but giggling as she swatted playfully at her feathery harassers.
The girl was safe. That was a relief. Let’s just grab her and get back.
But Ris’kin hesitated. Her every instinct conveyed that something here wasn’t right.
I considered. Where was the big owl? According to the Augmentary, the parent should have hung around to help its kids eat. Frowning, I returned to Insight.
After the first six weeks, they will begin to venture from the nest (known as ’branching’), but will not learn to fly properly until around ten weeks of age.
When fully grown, their downy feathers will become darker and brindled, perfectly camouflaging them against the furynut trees in which they make their home—
The massive winged shape launched itself at us with a demonic screech.
While I reeled in shock—it had been right beside us, and we hadn’t seen it!—Ris’kin’s muscles reacted in almost the same instant her impeccable eyesight detected the motion. She flung herself backward, pushing off from the trunk and commencing the long fall to the ground. The landing would hurt even with her ability to land on her feet, but it was surely less deadly than the owl’s wicked talons.
For once my avatar’s reflexes weren’t quick enough. The curved talons raked her face, and the burst of hot agony almost severed Double Sight’s connection. Ris’kin’s scream echoed my own mental cry as we hurtled toward the ground a hundred feet below.
I braced myself for a painful impact, reassuring myself that Ris’kin’s evolutions would ensure the quick healing of any broken bones and internal injuries, but the owl wasn’t done with us. It dived in pursuit.
Hard claws closed about our torso and squeezed. I cringed at the horrible sensation of my avatar’s ribs creaking beneath the pressure. When the first one cracked, I almost dropped our connection, wanting nothing more than to retreat back into my blessedly incorporeal—and painless—god’s-eye form.
But I couldn’t leave my avatar alone.
Not that she needed my help. Even as another rib broke benea
th the crushing pressure, she managed to twist in her captor’s grip, raising her tail.
Words in the Augmentary’s golden text flashed before my vision.
Defensive Spray
An ability? When did Ris’kin learn this?
Her body was contorted, so I felt rather than saw the spray of fluid she squirted from her anal glands, right up into the owl’s face.
As one with Ris’kin, I recognized that she recognized the scent as her own familiar foxy musk. But the non-animal part of my mind was mentally gagging at how foul the odor was. That’s a whole new level of horrid. Even worse than mole-rat.
Our attacker seemed less affected by the smell than it was by the fluid spraying directly in its eyes.. It recoiled from the presumably unpleasant sensation, releasing its grip on the furry stink-bomb and beating its wings in an attempt to distance itself from her.
Ris’kin was having none of it. Our rage at the owl’s intrusion, and our determination to keep my denizens safe no matter what it took, came to the fore. Her fingers gripped the owl’s stick-like ankle tightly, her claws digging in and making the creature screech. It shook itself, spiraling through the air as it tried to dislodge her, but she’d already hauled herself up its legs and was using fistfuls of feathers to climb its chest.
Holding tightly with one hand, Ris’kin reached over her shoulder and pulled one of her half-spears from the holster on her back. As though it knew what was coming, the owl rotated its head as far as it would go, twisting in a way that was creepy and unnatural.
That stopped it from taking a spear to the eye. But it was also essentially flying blind, which it turned out was not the brightest thing it could have done.
The branch came seemingly out of nowhere. The owl slammed into it with twig-snapping force; similar snapping sounds, of hollow and brittle bones, crackled out from one of its wings, and it plummeted helplessly toward the ground.
Ris’kin hadn’t seen the branch either; she was totally focused on her target, and her peripheral vision on one side was totally gone, but once more her feline reflexes kicked in. Her sight might have been damaged, but she sensed our relative position to the ground with accuracy despite the owl’s kamikaze journey toward it, and was able to maneuver herself atop her feathered nemesis just before it hit the ground with a sickening crunchy thud.
The impact jolted my avatar’s wounds. She growled as her cracked ribs screamed and her mauled face throbbed, but the owl’s huge body had broken her fall as she intended.
As she climbed down, stretching each limb experimentally, I tried to come to terms with what I’d just seen.
She’d used something called Defensive Spray—an ability, just like those Binky had access to. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to me that my avatar would have them too; so many of the god-borns’ other rules did not apply to my avatar, after all.
You pee-farted on it. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you, I told her.
I could feel her giving me the side-eye, aimed directly at the space in the back of her mind I currently occupied. I was about to examine her Augmentary profile to see what other named skills she had. Then I realized she really was looking at me with just one eye.
Our nose was filled with the stench of blood—our own this time. Hot fluid dripped down the right side of Ris’kin’s face; parallel lines of pain throbbed from her ear to her jaw, and her vision on that side had gone dark. The partial blindness was disorientating, and my avatar stumbled a little as she turned on the spot, trying to compensate for the loss.
A rustle of feathers had her whirling around.
Her mutilator was somehow still alive.
Pain and rage surged through her as she glared down at the wounded owl. I felt more than a little uncomfortable at the idea of killing an injured creature in cold blood—much as I’d felt upon seeing Longshank viciously stab the incapacitated mole-rat back in the tunnels—but now I understood.
It’s it or us.
She raised her half-spear.
Triggered by the movement, the owl attempted one last lunge at its vanquisher. We dodged the clumsy attack with ease, following the movement with a practiced thrust of her arm. One quick stab and it was over.
“Is everything okay, Corey? Did you find her?”
Ket’s voice wavered nervously. I sensed her hesitance in communicating, probably after I’d given her such a dressing down last time for distracting me at a crucial moment.
“We found her,” I said. “She’s alive.”
Ket’s joyous relief flooded through our bond. She started babbling about how Shanky and the scouts had returned. Meanwhile, Ris’kin and I squinted one-eyed up toward the tangled boughs we’d just fallen from.
We need to get the child down. Think you can manage it?
A flash of indignation. Ris’kin was offended at the notion that she was too weak to handle such a task.
The instant her hand touched the tree trunk, something hard smacked against her head. The squirrel was back. It hopped from foot to foot, chittering and spitting as it lined up another shot, which my avatar dodged.
She bared her teeth at the mad little critter. It reciprocated.
Then its tufted ear—a tiny gray version of Ris’kin’s own—twitched at a noise from further up the tree. We heard it too: a tiny chorus of peeping, high-pitched and slightly pathetic. It was coming from the nest.
Two adult tiger owls had attacked our camp. We’d dealt with this one. Hoppit’s deadshot had felled the other. Most likely they’d been a mating pair, the parents of the fluffy nestlings.
As though aware of our scrutiny, one of the owlets hopped out of the nest and onto the branch. It peered down at us.
They can look after themselves… right?
Another of the owlets flung itself from the nest, landing on the branch beside the first owl with a flurry of feathers. Startled, the first owl jumped, then tipped forward.
We watched as though in slow motion as the baby owl teetered on the edge of the branch, flapping its wings uselessly before finally losing its fight with gravity and plummeting toward the earth.
It bulleted down toward us, emitting a constant skreeing sound that somehow conveyed the dual sentiments of “Help!” and “Wheeeeeee!” Our instincts overruled our better judgment, and we leapt back from the trunk, arms outstretched, just in time to catch the wind-ruffled bundle and spare it from its accidental near-suicide.
The owl—surprisingly light, considering it was almost the size of a gnome juvenile—gave a surprised hoot, then hissed at its rescuer. Ris’kin held it out in front of her as far away as she could and then gave me a mental prod, as if to say “And what exactly am I meant to do with this?”
We both glanced down at her bloodied spear. It lay on the ground where she’d dropped it in order to catch the falling chick.
You’re injured, I said to her. I’m going to return to the camp and send Longshank and the others out here to help you.
I ignored her disgruntlement at the plan, and waited until she reluctantly agreed. Wait here, then. And make sure the kid’s safe.
Ris’kin looked again at the fluffy owlet, still held at arm’s length. It looked back at her solemnly. I sensed her distaste, and she prodded me again questioningly, as if saying, “Again, what am I meant to do with this?” She looked up at the nest. “With these?”
We already have more than enough mouths to feed, I said after a moment. It was true. There were 101 gnomes in the tribe—plus badgers, Binky, bumbling Benin, and Coll. That’s quite enough for us to look after.
We searched the ugly creature’s face. Its big black eyes stared back at us. It let out a strangled hoot and flapped its wings ineffectually.
I felt a flood of pity, and tried to push it down. The exodus is hard enough as it is. It’s life and death, and we have to prioritize our denizens above everything else. Wait for Shanky, let him help you get the girl down, then…
The owlet blinked. On the branch far above, the other one that had hopped o
ut of the nest peered down at us. Those still in the nest hooted piteously.
No. My priority was the gnomes, and the others already under my care. So I steeled myself and said what needed to be said.
Take care of them, I told Ris’kin firmly. I severed Double Sight’s connection and returned to camp.
An hour later, I found myself glaring down at my avatar.
I told you to ‘take care’ of them.
She nodded.
Longshank’s scouts followed her into the camp. Each clutched a gray-feathered bundle in their arms. Five pairs of big black eyes peered curiously at their new surroundings, blinking in the light from the illumishrooms. The owlets chirruped and hooted to one another with each new sight, and the scouts had soon acquired a procession of curious gnome children mimicking the owls’ noises and giggling in delight at the fluffy creatures.
Longshank himself brought up the rear. He was leaning on the blond-haired child for support, limping heavily, and I felt a twinge of guilt for working him so heavily this night.
At the sight of the rescued girl, the two gnomes who’d been so distressed earlier converged on her with squeals of delight. They smothered her in their embrace, crying tears of relief, wringing Longshank’s hand and calling their thanks to Ris’kin.
What gives? I said to my avatar, who was passing a handful of familiar-looking nuts to a nearby gnome. I sensed her satisfaction at the find, and could only assume the offending squirrel had been made to pay for its impertinent antics.
She just shrugged again, acting confused. She patted a passing owlet on the head, as if to say, You said to take care of them. We’re taking care of them.
Ket sniggered, clearly delighted by this latest development. I scowled, though I was secretly glad my avatar had not had the heart to commit cold-blooded owlicide.
That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it!
But it was hard to stay mad at Ris’kin. Especially now I could see her from the outside. I stared in horrified fascination at her face.