Refugees Page 7

  “Long enough that I’ll need to spend the night there.” I answered. I thought for a moment and then continued, “I will go alone to Rhabdom’s. I have to come back down the mountain anyway, so I can stop by here on the way. By then, I will have a complete plan to present to father.”

  “Are you tricking me?” Tuka asked, swallowing hard. “You will return before the long journey, won't you?”

  “Of course I will,” I said. “I will need to return for provisions. Since I have to back track it makes no sense for me to take everything with me.”

  Tuka brightened. “Yes, of course, that is the sensible plan. Although I would have liked to have met Rhabdom and seen his cave.”

  “I will cook one of the kabob jugs now and take the other one to Rhabdom as a gift.” I said. I was incredibly hungry and starting to feel faint.

  While we were eating, the sun came up. After finishing a fine meal, I took a small skin of water, a bit of hard tack, the other kabob jug, my cestus, sling, and sword, and started up the stone stairs that were cut into the hill behind our house. Our house was not built into one of the hat-like formations that sprang up from the valley, but was on the side of the larger hills that led to Rhabdom’s hermit cave.

  “I don’t know how long I will need to stay with Rhabdom to get all the instructions I need. Don’t worry if it seems to take longer than you expect,” I told Tuka. “And don’t follow me. It would be dangerous for you to leave our family unguarded with the stone rolled open.”

  “I know, I will keep to my job as a watcher for now,” Tuka said.

  I had to admit that I did not blame him for wanting to come on the adventure. We had heard tales of Tzoladia that sparked the flames of the imagination with dreams of dazzling riches. Although the various tribes of Hattom were allowed to rule ourselves, we still supplied the Emperor Zoltov with an annual tribute of minerals, metalwork and mercenaries. Traditionally, some of the Armored had formed an elite group of bodyguards that protected the emperor. This past spring, we had begun to work on filling the emperor’s order for hundreds of metal stirrups. I wondered if that meant that the emperor was preparing for war with Karsos, a city far to the west.

  I was hungry for adventure. Although I had been in border skirmishes with warriors from tribes with whom we were not allied, they were Armored cave dwellers who lived much like we did, and whatever was won seemed to go back and forth between tribes depending on who won the latest battle. Real glory was to be won in Tzoladia!

  I picked my way among the rocks, noting the landmarks so that I did not get lost. I had to be ever on my watch for hydois, which lived in dens in the mountains and hunted in packs. Especially during the drought season, they were desperate for food and would not hesitate to kill a man. Expert climbers, they had rubber-like padding on the soles of their feet and a hard outer layer on their hooves made of the same material as the plates on our backs, which helped them to gain toeholds on the narrow ledges. They could jump as high as the height of two men and as far in a long jump as four men lying head to toe. I was not much of a match for one of them in climbing or jumping, let alone if I should encounter a group.

  Many men have been killed by these carnivores masquerading as innocent herbivores. Like chamois, they are tawny with a black stripe along the back and black marks below the eyes. They have short horns that curve backwards on their heads. People see them from a distance and assume they are not predators. But I knew that they were dangerous monsters, with horns that went straight for the jugular, and sharp long canines that could rip a person apart. I knew of no other animal that sported both horns and sharp teeth. Maybe I should not have brought the kabob jug with me after all, since it might attract the hydois.

  I wound in and out of the rocks. When I turned and looked down on the valley, I saw beneath me a magical land with conical pillar-like rocks mounding up in various shapes and sizes, sometimes with twisting points. Some were tall and some were short. Almost all of them had stairs winding up to arched doorways in the sky, which I knew led to caves carved deep into the volcanic rock. The soft rock turned hard when exposed to the air, but was easy to carve underneath.

  Perhaps I should not have admired the view so long. As I was turning back to face the hill, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement. Then, I saw a head with spiraled backwards-curved horns.

  Was it a lovely chamois or a dreaded hydois? There would be no way to tell, unless it opened its mouth, and if I could see inside of its mouth, it would be too late. Better to be on the safe side of the rock. I did not stare at it, so I would not appear to be challenging it. I knew better than to run. Slowly, I bent and picked up several stones, then put one in my sling, and started twirling it. In an instant, the animal had turned and leapt to a higher rock and disappeared. Probably a chamois, then. I breathed in relief.

  I began my climb in earnest again. As I hurried along, my thoughts couldn’t help but go to Lasulla, with her big brown eyes and soft dark feathers. Armored men’s heads were covered with scales, but our women’s heads were adorned with feathers. I knew she would be a rock right now, which meant that I would not be able to say goodbye to her. How would she feel when she knew that I was gone, and that I had unchivalrously left without saying goodbye? Would she wait for me?

  The chamois seemed to have stopped running and was picking its way back toward me, seemingly looking among the rocks for any tufts of green…or was it a hydois looking for bugs or rodents among the rocks?

  Then I noticed another one appear off to my left. The chamois travelled in herds, just like the hydois roamed in packs. When a third one appeared on the rock up above me, I tensed, readying myself to fight. I glanced behind me and saw a fourth. I was surrounded and I knew: definitely hydois.

  Once again, I placed a rock in my sling and swirled it over my head while yelling. Perhaps this would be enough intimidation to make them go away. I slung the rock at the one in front of me, hoping to improve my odds. I missed.

  Acting as if they were attached to a cord that pulled them in, they all leapt toward me at once. I drew my sword and slashed in a circle. I was able to connect with the one that came at me from above, and the others backed off snarling. Each would move in and then rapidly back out. I moved quickly, and this time lunged with my sword instead of slashing. Two down. The odds were getting better. The third lowered its horns and charged at me. I dodged and then stabbed its neck. Now, it was one on one. I was starting to feel the adrenaline that comes with the speed and the kill.

  This kill would have meant food, if I had brought the means to transport it. The last hydois and I were lunging and dodging, when, to my dismay, a group of about eight more hydois appeared within jumping distance from me. I was a dead man, or I would have to act like one.

  After tossing my kabob jug onto a distant rock, hoping that the tasty morsels that spilled onto the stone would distract some of the hydois, I took one last stab at the hydois in front of me, sliced him in the haunches, and then dropped my sword to take a defensive posture. Quickly, I slipped on my spiked cestus and fell to the ground in a ball with my underside and face covered, my knees pulled to my chest, exposing only my scaled back to the hungry beasts. My tight stomach muscles kept me in the ball, and I dug the cestus into the ground to keep me down. I prepared for the blows I knew were coming.

  One after another, the hydois pounded me with their horns, and tried to bite through the keratin layers on my back. The biggest danger was the possibility of them uncurling me, but I focused and stayed curled. The jarring hits grew fewer and further apart. I heard them circling and growling. I waited. I heard them moving away, but I could not tell how many left. Now the worst danger was for me to get up too soon. After what seemed like a full hibernation cycle of silence, I finally lifted my head enough to look.

  Within inches of my face were two eyes with black streaks under them, in a head crowned with two black horns.

  Chapter 10

  Trees - Brina

  As her body passed in
front of me, I saw Klala twist and straighten her arms and legs to release the skin between them. But this only slowed her fall, making it easier for the lion below. Before she had even reached the ground, a second lion grabbed the back of her neck with his immense jaws and snapped it. For an instant I had frozen, gripping the tree, unsure of what was happening. Then I went into action. I released a shot at the lion on the ground. Usually, when faced with an emergency, people do not rise to the occasion, but sink to the level of their training. Fortunately I had reloaded my bow after the first shot, without even thinking. Many hours of training had taught me to instantly reload my bow, and to aim for the heart and lungs of the target. The arrow met its mark and blood poured from the lion on the ground. So much blood made me queasy.

  Unbelievably, the lion on our tree was still climbing toward us.

  I have seen wild lions climb a short way up a tree, but usually they back down after shimmying up a few feet. This incensed animal continued to climb. Garwin gave the whistle to retreat. I replaced my bow in my quiver, scrambled down my branch, leapt to the trunk and climbed, faster than I had ever moved in my life. When I reached a branch that was high enough, I leapt and glided to another tree toward the safety of the forest center. My peers all did the same, followed by Garwin.

  We had killed two men and injured a lion, possibly fatally. A lion had snapped Klala’s neck right in front of my eyes. I dug my claws into the trunk and hugged the tree with all my might. My whole body was shaking. I started to cry. I knew warriors were not supposed to cry. But I had known Klala since we were small children. We had spent hours in the forest: playing tag, racing as we glided side by side. We had combed each other’s hair, shared secret crushes, and spoke of dreams of the future. Klala was dead, taken down like a common beast. My chest was heaving, the tears were flowing, and I was quietly sobbing.

  “Shh…it’s not safe.”

  I hadn’t noticed that Barque had landed beside me and slipped his arm around my shoulders.

  “Shh,” he whispered again, gently.

  I realized that I was endangering the entire troop with my noise. I looked into Barque’s steady, but gentle gaze. Then, I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, and listened. I heard claws scraping a tree and the roar of a lion. The first lion was trying to back down the tree we had left. I turned to see that two more cat riders had appeared from the bushes beyond where we had struck the men. They were both looking fearfully from treetop to treetop and aiming their bows high. Although I had acted stupidly, thankfully they did not seem to have heard me.

  “Cover me,” a young man with long tawny hair said in the cat rider tongue. He climbed off his lion, and leaving the cover of the bushes, the cat rider pushed aside some hanging vines and took a few steps toward the bleeding lion, which was lying near Klala.

  “I thought they didn’t kill lions.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” the other man said, still pointing his arrow from tree to tree.

  The braver one stopped to examine one of the Ground Dweller bodies on the ground.

  “This man is dead,” he announced.

  “Then leave him. Get back on your cat. Let’s get out of here!” the frightened one repeated, pulling on his lion’s mane. He turned the cat back the way they had come, while looking over his shoulder still aiming his bow at the trees just above him.

  “The cats would know if they were still here,” the braver one answered, nodding toward the largest lion who was still having trouble backing down the tree.

  “They’ll be back. We need to go.”

  The large lion’s back legs reached the ground, but it did not go to the living men, instead it went and stood over one of the dead men and started to nudge him. I was surprised that it didn’t try to eat him.

  The brazen man with the light hair nodded toward Klala’s body and said “There’s fresh flier meat here, we should try to bring it back for the cats.”

  “You’re crazy! This isn’t safe. I’m leaving!” the other man said as he reached the bushes, still astride his animal.

  The first man took a couple more steps in the leaf covered ground toward where Klala lay, and as he stepped down, he seemed to trip. In the next moment, he was lifted into the air, as the four corners of the net came together around him. The net had been strung from a vine and attached to a bent branch. Many such traps had been set around the perimeters of our forest.

  “Pergassi, run!” the man yelled. The lion in the bushes answered its master’s command by roaring in a voice that seemed to shake the whole forest, then disappearing into the brush from which they had come. We had captured a cat rider.

  Twang.

  Several arrows landed just short of the other man as he retreated into the bushes on his cat. He would have been dead if the archers had shot to kill. The lion near the dead man, started, tensed with wild eyes, and then ran. I hoped they would not return with more cat riders.

  The net with the man inside it was lifted high into the air. As he struggled, his legs fell through the mesh. If the man tried to cut himself loose, he would fall to his death. We waited for a long time.

  Finally, a whistled message from afar informed us that the cat riders had all retreated. Villagers glided from the side trees to our troop tree and other nearby trees, until they surrounded the man dangling high above the forest floor. Garwin signaled for my troop to join them. Concentric rings of archers formed in the trees around the dangling captive. No longer hidden in silence in the forest, the inner circle all began a low noise that slowly increased to a crescendo, while aiming our bows directly at him. Right when the sound reached its loudest point, we all fell silent.

  I have always loved the freedom of the feeling when I leap from a branch into air, just as I love the feeling as my arrows release from my bow. Those arrows are like sisters to me. I can feel their flight and judge the distance, just as I can judge my own trajectory. Although I love the excitement of being an archer, I cannot stand the sight of blood. I hated the cat rider for Klala’s sake, but I was glad that according to custom, he would not be killed here, in front of my eyes, unless he foolishly refused our demands. Instead, he but would face the council at twilight for a decision. Hopefully the man would willingly throw down his weapons.

  Garwin whispered in my ear, the words I knew were coming. “Brina, tell him to throw down his weapons.”

  I carefully strung together the words, with odd sounds, that Baskrod had spent so many nights patiently teaching me to form. I had sometimes practiced the language with some merchants who knew it, but had never spoken it to a real cat rider. Would he understand me?

  “Throw down your weapons or die,” I intonated, putting my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and blowing, to let out the difficult rasping sound, in the cat rider word for “die.”

  Silence. The cat rider struggled to turn in the snare towards me, to see who had spoken to him.

  “Throw down your weapons or die,” I repeated in the strange language.

  The man pulled one of his arms back into the net, grabbed the hilt of his curved sword, and dropped it to the ground. We heard it drop and bounce in the brush below. After awkward swinging around, he was able to remove a dagger from a leather strap at his ankle. That too he dropped to the ground. After we heard it hit far below, there was silence. The only movement was the swaying of the trap.

  Garwin said to me, “Tell him not to try our patience. He must drop his bow.”

  I vaguely remembered that the cat rider term I had used was a word that meant hand to hand combat weapons. Interpreting was not easy, even though Baskrod was an excellent teacher, and languages had always come naturally to me.

  “Do not try our patience. Drop your bow,” I stated loudly and firmly, hoping I had gotten the words right.

  After a pause, the man replied, “My bows have all left me.”

  “What did he say?” Garwin asked.

  “He says his bows have all left him,” I translated, puzzled.

  Garwin furrowed his b
row and angrily stated, “The man must be a fool to play with us. Anyone can see, he still has his bow. Tell him we will not ask again. He must drop his bow now, or die.”

  I thought that perhaps the boy just wanted to die quickly, as he dangled in the air with so many arrows aimed at him. Our customs allowed us to give him his wish, if he did not follow our commands. My head started to ache, as I reviewed the words in my mind. A man’s life, albeit a cat rider, was hanging on my words, so I must get the words right. I thought about his answer which made so little sense.

  He had said his bows had all left him. Maybe he was thinking of arrows? But I had used the word for bow. Just as I was about to repeat the same phrase, I realized: in our language the word for “bow” is the same as the word for “friend.” I had used the cat rider word for “friend”. Our lives depended on our bows to such an extent that we even gave them personal names. If cat riders had a separate word for bow, I did not remember it.

  Garwin nudged me, “What are you waiting for?” he asked.

  “We will not ask again. Drop the thing you shoot your arrows with,” I stated.

  “My Plushka,” he stated. “Why didn’t you say so? You almost got me killed.” He shook his head, and to my great surprise, he smiled at me. Then he dropped his bow, and a clatter of arrows with it.

  Before the bow even hit the ground, his net started to move, tossing him about within its confines, as he was transported along our system of pulleys and vines toward the interior of our village. I was glad that my part in dealing with him was over.

  “What was that about?’ Barque asked as the net slid away.

  I told my troop about my mistake, and for a brief moment the tension was relieved, as we all laughed, but just as quickly, a shadow fell over our hearts, as we remembered the horrible duty that still faced us.