22nd Day of Fall, 509AV
The deer came apart under his hands like it was willing him to devour it. The thick pelt was carved and pulled away from livid pink muscle and tendons. Hooves and antlers were sawed off for use in weapons and tools. Once they were gone, shanks of meat as long as a man's arm were sliced off the bones until only they were left, them and gristle and fat.
Zek's arms were soaked in blood by the time he was finished, but as he washed them, he felt fulfilled. A job well done was its own reward. He held out a hand for a towel... but none was given to him.
There was no-one beside him now.
The old Myrian male cursed himself again, feelings that he had thought were dead and buried rising up again in such a simple error. His wife would be the one to dry his hands, back when she was alive. Such a proud and fierce woman, but she loved him enough to dry his hands, him, a mere male, after his work was finished.
He dried them himself, alone. He missed her all over again.
"Finished, father?"
He turned and saw his daughter Sheema standing in the doorway. Grown to womanhood and already taller than him, the very reflection of her mother despite her youth. He smiled slightly and nodded to the pile of meat. She grinned back and patted the back of his hand.
She would not ask his help to carry the load and, much as he disliked it, he would not offer to. She had to learn to carry her weight.
"Someone is coming!"
He had his ax in hand before his body had even fully exited the hut. Sunlight, filtered through the jungle canopy, made him blink once or twice, then the discomfort was gone. Stinking, oppressive humidity blanketed him in sweat before he'd gone ten paces, but such was the way of the jungle. He had heard barbarians complain there were no seasons here, just an endless, stifling summer.
Zek always rolled his eyes. What did they expect from a rainforest, after all?
Others were waiting. Most were armed. Raiders were unlikely, at least not from their own race. Myrians did not wage war on Myrians, so commanded the Goddess-Queen, and none dared defy her. Yukmen? A possibility, but then there would be an almighty racket as they approached. There was not. Human or Dhani? Possible... but unlikely. For centuries the Shorn Skulls had lived not far from Taloba, roughly between the great city and the Kandukta Basin. A raiding party of the snake people or the barbarians would need to get past the Taloba Army.
And that would never happen. Not while a single Myrian lived in the city of the Goddess-Queen.
No. It was his son.
Razkar of the Shorn Skulls emerged from the jungle, loaded down with his pack and his weapons. Immediately a volley of small children (small when he left, anyway) flocked to him, jabbering in joyful surprise. His face twisted into a half-smile as he greeted each one of them, looking over their heads to his father.
Zek smiled and nodded to his son.
"You have been gone a long time," he said when he finally approached, after they embraced, "Fighting?"
"Fighting. Training. Patrolling. Whatever is required of us." The young warrior did not shed any of his load. Not yet. "I will not be staying long."
"Something is wrong?"
"Something must be set right. I have a debt still, with Mayla. I have returned to fulfil my vow."
Zek nodded, wondering when this issue would be resolved. For nearly a year Razkar had shirked this duty, but he had understood why. Mayla, the Old One, had gifted Razkar's gladius with the Power of The Bones. He had replaced it with the thigh bone of Elanosa, a fierce warrior, and the power of her spirit now aided him in battle. But her price was the skeleton, the entire skeleton, of a tiger. He had given his word, and that was that.
A month later, his mother was dead. Razkar had... not exactly forgotten, but it no longer became a priority. Zek had let that go, knowing his son well enough to understand that when he was ready, he would honor his vow.
And now, here he was.
"Come. You will eat first. You have travelled far."
Razkar saw the platter of raw meat in his beaming sister's arms, and decided not to argue.
The deer came apart under his hands like it was willing him to devour it. The thick pelt was carved and pulled away from livid pink muscle and tendons. Hooves and antlers were sawed off for use in weapons and tools. Once they were gone, shanks of meat as long as a man's arm were sliced off the bones until only they were left, them and gristle and fat.
Zek's arms were soaked in blood by the time he was finished, but as he washed them, he felt fulfilled. A job well done was its own reward. He held out a hand for a towel... but none was given to him.
There was no-one beside him now.
The old Myrian male cursed himself again, feelings that he had thought were dead and buried rising up again in such a simple error. His wife would be the one to dry his hands, back when she was alive. Such a proud and fierce woman, but she loved him enough to dry his hands, him, a mere male, after his work was finished.
He dried them himself, alone. He missed her all over again.
"Finished, father?"
He turned and saw his daughter Sheema standing in the doorway. Grown to womanhood and already taller than him, the very reflection of her mother despite her youth. He smiled slightly and nodded to the pile of meat. She grinned back and patted the back of his hand.
She would not ask his help to carry the load and, much as he disliked it, he would not offer to. She had to learn to carry her weight.
"Someone is coming!"
He had his ax in hand before his body had even fully exited the hut. Sunlight, filtered through the jungle canopy, made him blink once or twice, then the discomfort was gone. Stinking, oppressive humidity blanketed him in sweat before he'd gone ten paces, but such was the way of the jungle. He had heard barbarians complain there were no seasons here, just an endless, stifling summer.
Zek always rolled his eyes. What did they expect from a rainforest, after all?
Others were waiting. Most were armed. Raiders were unlikely, at least not from their own race. Myrians did not wage war on Myrians, so commanded the Goddess-Queen, and none dared defy her. Yukmen? A possibility, but then there would be an almighty racket as they approached. There was not. Human or Dhani? Possible... but unlikely. For centuries the Shorn Skulls had lived not far from Taloba, roughly between the great city and the Kandukta Basin. A raiding party of the snake people or the barbarians would need to get past the Taloba Army.
And that would never happen. Not while a single Myrian lived in the city of the Goddess-Queen.
No. It was his son.
Razkar of the Shorn Skulls emerged from the jungle, loaded down with his pack and his weapons. Immediately a volley of small children (small when he left, anyway) flocked to him, jabbering in joyful surprise. His face twisted into a half-smile as he greeted each one of them, looking over their heads to his father.
Zek smiled and nodded to his son.
"You have been gone a long time," he said when he finally approached, after they embraced, "Fighting?"
"Fighting. Training. Patrolling. Whatever is required of us." The young warrior did not shed any of his load. Not yet. "I will not be staying long."
"Something is wrong?"
"Something must be set right. I have a debt still, with Mayla. I have returned to fulfil my vow."
Zek nodded, wondering when this issue would be resolved. For nearly a year Razkar had shirked this duty, but he had understood why. Mayla, the Old One, had gifted Razkar's gladius with the Power of The Bones. He had replaced it with the thigh bone of Elanosa, a fierce warrior, and the power of her spirit now aided him in battle. But her price was the skeleton, the entire skeleton, of a tiger. He had given his word, and that was that.
A month later, his mother was dead. Razkar had... not exactly forgotten, but it no longer became a priority. Zek had let that go, knowing his son well enough to understand that when he was ready, he would honor his vow.
And now, here he was.
"Come. You will eat first. You have travelled far."
Razkar saw the platter of raw meat in his beaming sister's arms, and decided not to argue.
