Bruce Bethke - Maverick

Maverick muscled through the crowd on the edge of the tarmac, trying his best to keep track of WhiteTail. “There he is!” she shouted, somewhere up ahead. He bounced up to his hind feet-a devilishly tricky way to stand in a crowd-and caught a glimpse of her.

“WhiteTail!”

She looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with him just as someone lurched into Maverick’s weak leg and sent him staggering. “Over there!” she shouted, pointing with her tail. He caught his balance, looked in the direction she was pointing, and spotted LifeCrier at the leading edge of the crowd.

“I see him! Try to - oof!” Someone jostled his leg again, and this time he fell down. The large, muscular female that he landed on reacted with a growl, a snap, and the first words of a challenge in HuntTongue.

Then she saw the amulet that hung around Maverick’s neck and backed down with a snarling submission just two hairs shy of being a challenge itself. He accepted it before she had a chance to change her mind and darted off through a gap that opened in the crowd.

By the time he’d worked his way over to join WhiteTail at LifeCrier’s side, the flying thing had started descending again. The great whistling roar of its flight grew louder, and gusts of hot wind swept over the crowd, filling the air with the reek of lightning and brimstone.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he shouted at LifeCrier, trying to make himself heard over the noise.

“If it were dangerous,” the old kin shouted back as he pointed his muzzle at the flying thing, “the WalkingStones would chase it away!”

“But what is it!” WhiteTail shrieked, as the roar suddenly pulsed louder.

“Remember how I told you,” LifeCrier paused for a breath, “SilverSides first came down-in a flaming egg?”

“Mother’s whiskers!” Maverick howled. “Is that the bird?” The whistle that accompanied the roar abruptly shot up in pitch and choking clouds of dust blew up off the ground, momentarily blinding Maverick.

An instant later the whistle stopped, the wind ceased, and the tarmac was silent, save for the distant echo of thunder off the buildings and the frightened whimper of a pup in the crowd.

Slowly, Maverick’s ears adjusted to the quiet. The great flaming bird sat on the tarmac, stiff and rigid on its three slender legs, emitting only the occasional ping! of cooling metal. A few in the crowd were finally daring to breathe and murmur in low, worried voices. LifeCrier himself was standing with his head bowed, mumbling a prayer that seemed to be in extremely formal HuntTongue. He ended the prayer by nuzzling his amulet. “Well, then!” LifeCrier abruptly looked at Maverick with a madly cheerful expression. “Are you coming with me?” Not waiting for an answer, he started walking toward the bird, his tail held high, his ears cocked at a jaunty angle, his shadow stretching out before him in the long afternoon sunlight.

Maverick hesitated only a moment and then went after LifeCrier; the rest of the inner circle followed on his heels. “Father,” he heard WhiteTail growling under her breath as she trotted up to join him, “one of these times your faith is going to get us all killed. ”

WhiteTail had just about caught up to Maverick when a loud clang! came from the bird, followed by a massive creaking sound and a deep, unsettling hum. Several of the inner circle broke and dashed skittishly back to the crowd, but LifeCrier simply stopped and stood there calmly, as if he were expecting this. Gasps rose from the crowd as a small depression appeared in the bird’s skin just behind its head; after a few moments it became apparent that a large hole was irising open. Maverick could see that something was moving in the opening, but when he tried to get a clearer look at It, his eyes were dazzled by a blinding flash of reflected sunlight.

As if the flash was a signal, LifeCrier suddenly dropped to his belly and placed his head on his forepaws: the meekest gesture of submission a kin could make. “Down!” he said through clenched teeth. Maverick decided to follow his example. He could tell from the shadows that everyone near him did as well, with the exception of WhiteTail. She was still standing there, her tail twitching nervously, when the flap touched the ground and SilverSides stepped out into the light.

There was never a moment’s doubt in Maverick’s mind that he was seeing SilverSides. The goddess was exactly as he had pictured her: tall, strong, and beautiful, gleaming in the late afternoon sun like light off still water. She moved with a precise, icy regality, and yet her eyes literally glowed with love as she gazed out upon the kin.

Then he noticed the other female, cautiously slinking out after SilverSides. The second one was definitely not a kin-her muzzle was too short and blunt, her fur the lush reddish brown of nut tree leaves in the fall, and she walked on her hind legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Still, there was something about her exotic looks that made her terribly exciting and romantic. She was almost a vision of passion incarnate.

He felt WhiteTail’s breath hot on his ear. “I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered with the barest hint of a growl. “Stop drooling at that exotic wench. Now. ”

Maverick attempted to feign innocence. “Is that really the OldMother?” The look in WhiteTail’s eyes told him that his attempt had not worked.

His next question caught her attention, though. “ And what in the blazes are those ugly pink things with the loose fur?” WhiteTail’s hackles went up when she saw the other beings that were coming out into the light.

“Th-the one at the back is a WalkingStone,” she said in a halting voice. “And those two silver ones-they must be GodBeings, like SilverSides. ” She licked her lips and swallowed nervously. “But I’ve never seen anything like those other three. Mother, they’re ugly!” The slight murmur that had started in the crowd behind them suddenly dropped to silence as SilverSides descended the ramp alone.

She walked straight toward them: precise, formal, her every movement a study in perfection. Just when it seemed to Maverick that he couldn’t stand the power of her presence a moment longer, she stopped, smiled gently, and laid eyes upon LifeCrier.

“Old friend,” she said in the soft, warm tones of PackHome kinspeech. “Please stand up. You are my packmate, not my prisoner. ”

Slowly, unsteadily, LifeCrier got to his feet, while those near enough to hear SilverSides’ words looked at him with new reverence. “Great SilverSides,,, LifeCrier said in HuntTongue, his voice reedy with tension, “I have followed your commands. This pack I have gathered in your name; it awaits your orders. ”

“You have done well, Friend LifeCrier. ” She smiled again and looked over the massed faces as if she knew each one. For an instant her eyes paused on Maverick, and he felt as if the goddess’s gaze went right through him.

“Big furry deal,” WhiteTail muttered. “Her eyes glow. ” To Maverick’s utter amazement, WhiteTail was not struck dead, nor did SilverSides seem to notice her blasphemy.

Instead, SilverSides turned back to LifeCrier and draped a companionable tail across his hips. “Come, old friend. We have much to discuss. ” Looking over her shoulder, she said something to the strange beings in the bird. The language was unfamiliar-the only word Maverick caught was “Wolruf”-but whatever she said must have made sense, for one of the exotic beings and one of the GodBeings came over to join SilverSides and LifeCrier, and together the four of them turned away from the bird and began walking toward the city. The crowd parted before them like a field of tall grass before a strong wind.