Paul Cook - Children of the Plains

“I was in the orchard,” she said simply. “My hair got tangled in a tree limb, so I cut it off.”

“You look like you’ve been in a fight, one you didn’t win.”

“Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “I won.”

Duranix sensed that the haze in her mind seemed thinner now. Had she succeeded in chasing the shadows away?

“How’s your wing?” she asked.

He worked his left shoulder in a circle, hissing from the resulting pain. “Still hurts, but I’ll fly again.”

She ran a hand over the stubbly crown of her head. “Did I thank you for saving me?” Before he could answer, she frowned and added, “I can’t remember. So much has happened that I can’t remember.”

The dragon’s voice cut through this thought. “Do you recall your brother, Amero?”

“Do you know the sun and the wind?” she said sarcastically.

They both heard footfalls among the loose rocks higher up the shore. Two men paused on a rocky outcropping and one called out, “Karada! We must speak to you!”

She squinted into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“Tarkwa,” Duranix said, “and the one-eyed man — what’s his name?”

“Hatu.” Raising her voice again, she asked, “What do you want?”

“Karada, we need to speak to you!” came the call again.

She started up the hill and Duranix followed, but the men waved the dragon off. “We only want to speak to our chief!”

“Rude animals,” said the dragon. He settled down on his haunches. “Watch yourself, Karada.”

She looked back at him. “Why?”

“I sense those men are not your friends.”

She laughed in her old way and seemed almost her normal self. “No, they aren’t my friends,” she agreed, “they’re my followers. Besides, Hatu doesn’t hate me; it’s you he loathes. He thinks you killed his father.”

“I did. Ate him, too.” He waited for shocked exclamations.

There were none forthcoming. Instead, she asked, “Really? How was he?”

“Treacherous, like most humans.”

Amero didn’t like jokes about eating people, but Nianki laughed heartily and strode up the hill to meet her men. When she drew near, both Hatu and Tarkwa recoiled at the sight of her ragged hair.

“Who attacked you?” exclaimed Tarkwa.

“Forty angry centaurs, but I bested them,” she replied. “What do you want?”

“We want to leave, Karada.”

“So go.”

“He means the whole band,” said Hatu.

“I’m not ready to leave,” she answered.

The two men exchanged looks. Tarkwa said, “Karada, we can’t stay here forever, living on scraps from the villagers and idling our days away. We’re getting to be like those fat oxen they keep in pens, dull and lifeless. We need action! What about the elves? What about your plan to drive them off the southern plain?”

Memories of her bizarre dream echoed in Nianki’s mind. She shook her head hard, dismissing them, and said flatly, “We’re not ready yet. We need to build up our numbers, rest, get strong.”

“And how long will that take?” asked Hatu.

Nianki folded her arms. “As long it takes.”

“Some of the band are restless,” Hatu retorted. “Nacris has been talking to the warriors — ”

“That poisonous wench had better keep her mouth shut! I spared her because of what happened to Sessan, but if she crosses me again, I’ll have her head!”

Nianki’s voice had risen to a shout. From twenty paces away, Duranix heard her and lowered his head to ground. He could hear better that way, as the rocky soil transmitted noise to the sensitive barbels on his chin.

“It isn’t just Nacris,” Tarkwa said. “Others are grumbling too. Even Pa’alu.”

“Where is Pa’alu?” she demanded.

“I can’t say for certain, Karada,” replied Hatu. “He seldom stays in camp but roams the valleys by night and the high peaks by day.”

“Hiding from me, is he? Next time you lay eyes on that pig, you tell him I want to see him. No, better still, bring him to me! Drag him, if he won’t come on his own! I have much to pay him back for!”

Both Hatu and Tarkwa were edging away from her. The sight of their chief, red-eyed, hair ravaged, screaming at them, was fearsome even to the seasoned warriors. She might have gone on denouncing Pa’alu had not Amero appeared, drawn by the sound of her loud voice.

“Nianki? What’s the matter?” He stared at her, aghast. “What’s happened to you?”

Her rage evaporated like mist in the hot morning sun. In the space of a few breaths, Nianki’s face mirrored a whole gamut of emotions — delight, relief, anguish, shame. The display wasn’t lost on Hatu. He made careful note of it.

“Amero,” she said, “forgive me, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“Is there trouble?” He stepped forward, hand out, but his sister evaded his touch.

“No trouble, Arkuden,” said Tarkwa quickly. “We were talking about the day our band leaves Arku-peli.”

“Oh? When is that?”

“Soon,” said the two men in unison.

Nianki’s jaw worked. “I haven’t decided yet. There are still things to be done here.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Amero told her, putting a hand to her back. She swayed and shut her eyes briefly.

“Spread the word,” she said to her followers. “Karada’s band will move when Karada says so — not before.”

Hatu said nothing, but Tarkwa nodded, saying, “Yes, Karada.”

They left.

“Did you fall off the mountain?” asked Amero, perfectly seriously.

She touched her head self-consciously. “It was tangled in a tree limb. I couldn’t free it, so I cut it off.”

“What with, a hatchet?”

“No, a flint knife.”

He looked her in the eye. She avoided meeting his gaze momentarily, then let herself be fixed by his concern.

“I am well,” she said firmly. “For the first time in many days, I am well.”

“Are you sure? Forgive me, but you look like you just finished battling a panther with your bare hands!”

“A panther would be easy compared to what I’ve been wrestling with.”

“Was it a fever of the brain?” he asked.

“No. The affliction lay… in other regions.”

Hearing Duranix snort nearby, Amero moved toward the dragon. Nianki followed closely.

A warm breeze struck their faces. Amero halted, peering into the darkness. He held a finger to his lips and pointed. Duranix had fallen asleep at last. The breeze was his breath.

Amero took his sister’s hand, and they tiptoed away. Nothing was said as Amero led Nianki past the falls to the waiting hoist. Remembering her last visit to the cave, Nianki dug in her heels and balked.

To be heard over the roar of tumbling water, he had to put his lips close to her ear. “It’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “You won’t fall out this time.”

He righted the basket and helped her in. With a stout heave on the rope, Amero started the counterweight on its downward journey. The basket stretched under their combined weight then, with a groan, lifted off the ground.

The cave was dark when they arrived. Amero knew his way and crossed to the hearth. He poked in the embers of the afternoon fire and found some coals still glowing. Tossing a handful of grass on the embers, he quickly had a smoky red fire blazing. He laid on a few larger pieces of kindling. When the firelight bloomed, vast shadows were thrown upon the high walls.

“Come, warm yourself,” he said, beckoning her to the fire. “Are you hungry?”

Nianki sat down stiffly on a pile of furs. Amero stirred the small fire, laying on a few larger splits of oak to keep the autumn chill out of the cave.

“Hatu is right,” Nianki said suddenly. Her voice echoed off the distant ceiling. “The band should leave, and soon.”