John Burkitt - Shadow of Makei

“I’m sorry I was late,” Jal said, depositing a fat hare at Gur’mekh’s feet. “The other one was too scrawny. I wanted to get you a good rabbit.”

Gur’mekh looked into Jalkort’s eyes and saw the love there. “My brother,” he said, nuzzling Jalkort, then tearing into the small carcass with more pride than hunger. And from that moment on, Jalkort and Gur’mekh were always referred to as “the brothers.”

Every time something disappeared, eyes would turn to follow Gur’mekh, but no matter how they tried to trick him into admitting guilt, he sidestepped them and always had perfect alibis for himself and his friends.

As he grew older, Gur’mekh’s ambitions rose from simple mischief to power mongering. He wanted a position on the ruling council. Prestige appealed to him, and he had an eye to one day becoming the next Roh’mach. And there were suspicions that his desires reached even higher. To his friends that seemed only natural for the founder of the master race. To them, the world owed him a debt it could never repay by any other means.

He applied to Memnekh for a position on the council. When the old female asked him if he had studied, he replied, “Yes, diligently.”

He listened to her thoughts and every time she asked him a question he would quote back the expected answer. She nodded her head each time, but frowned at him.

“Did I do well?”

“You did too well. I always expect one or two errors.” Memnekh grumbled, but she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. And so he entered the Clan Council under a cloud of suspicion.

Gur’mekh used the thoughts of his enemies and of his prey against them. He could corner better in a hunt than hyenas with three times his age and experience. He could anticipate moves in a fight and rethink his strategy. He was a great hunting master, and assumed the position with a clear right to it. But though he brought in steady meals, everyone was afraid of him.

Actually there was one hyena who was not afraid of him. He was very mentally disciplined and a formidable foe. Demrath, son of Ber. Demrath was a philosopher, great in a fight but even better in an argument. And though he was not gifted psychically, he could best Gur’mekh in either kind of struggle. Just how bitter that strength was hated only became clear to Gur’mekh when Demrath began dating Lenti, the object of his childhood infatuations.

Gur’mekh loved Lenti. If he had to choose between her and all his other grand dreams, he would have had a hard decision indeed.

Lenti had never liked Gur’mekh, but he determined to do something about that. He exhibited his usual flattery, guided unerringly by his psychic sense, but it rarely got him more than a begrudged ‘oh, hello.’”

Lenti was rarely impressed by flattery, and Gur’mekh’s reputation had preceded him. A shy and quiet sort, she resented Gur’mekh’s attentions. She only loved the quiet and thoughtful Demrath.

One evening Gur’mekh stood just few feet from her bed as she settled down for the night. He regaled her in his fine voice with words from La’kresh:

Lenti came to him and smiled. “Very good, Gur’mekh! You memorized that whole poem just for me!”

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I’m crazy about it. You’ll have to perform it at my wedding. Demrath likes poetry too.”

“Demrath?”

“Yes. If I needed an excuse not to marry you, it would be him. I suggest you give up now before he finds out you’re making passes at me. He’s the jealous type.”

This angered Gur’mekh, especially because Demrath was so well liked, and most people thought Demrath would be Roh’mach when Amarakh retired.

Gur’mekh decided that he had sold himself short. “If she does not like my praise, what WOULD she like?”

The next day he followed her at a distance, and when he finally got the chance to speak with her alone (and that was not easy) he strolled to her casually to avoid suspicion.

She sighed in disgust. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Well, aren’t we discrete!”

“I’m sorry. Hello, Gur’mekh. Nice weather, isn’t it? Well, I have errands to run....”

“Your small talk is as good as your manners.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I need you to do a personal favor for me, OK?”

“That depends on what it is--and if you’ll leave me alone for a change.”

“It’s nothing naughty, and yes, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of today if you’ll help me.”

“OK, you’ve made it worth my while. What’s on your mind?”

“I have this problem with my eyes. I think I’m getting cataracts, but I need someone with sharp eyes to see if they’re clear.”

“Why don’t you go to the healer?”

“She doesn’t like me. I don’t think she’d tell me the truth, and if she did, she wouldn’t want to help me.”

“I don’t like you either. Not that it stops you from reciting erotic poems to me in the middle of the night.”

“At least you’re honest. Please, Lenti. You don’t want me to go blind, do you? I mean, you’re getting to marry the one YOU love. You’re set for life. Why should you wish more harm on me?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. Sure, I’ll look in your eyes if you promise to behave yourself. This isn’t one of your tricks, is it?”

“If it was, would I tell you?”

“Yes. I believe you would. Bluntness with bak’rets is your one good trait.”

“You’re refreshingly honest.”

“But why here when were alone? That’s what I don’t understand. I know you’ve been following me all morning.”

“I don’t want anyone to know if I’m going blind. Surely you can understand that? And I don’t want Grou’besh to have the satisfaction of knowing I’m worried.”

“She is a bit of a prig.” She smiled and laughed, something that made Gur’mekh light up like the full moon. He admired the light of her ka that shone from her gentle face, and it took all his strength not to melt in front of her.

Lenti came close and looked into Gur’mekh’s deep amber eyes. “They look fine to me. I really don’t see....”

“Look harder.”

“Oh!”

She froze, her gaze locked into his, staring straight ahead as Gur’mekh fondled her soul, violating her privacy.

“I can see now. You don’t like people who talk too much or brag about their accomplishments. You like quiet males that are good listeners. You like gentleness and shyness, but not TOO shy.” He touched her cheek with his paw, and she gasped. Drawing close until his nose almost touched hers, he searched her with his eyes. “You think I’m shallow, that I have no deep feelings or tenderness. You don’t think I’d ever show my vulnerable side. Now tell me, what is your favorite color?”

“Blue,” she stammered. “Sky blue.”

“You are surrounded by blue. It is filling you like the heavens. It is covering your memories, covering over our little talk. You try to remember looking into my eyes, but it was only the blue, the sky blue. Close your eyes and count to eight, and when you open them, I’ll be gone.”