The Book Gatherer

Chapter Two

Rain thundered down from the sky in thick waves despite the forest canopy. Honi could barely hear Jeje's huff huff huff pants as the giraffe ran, but she felt the exhaustion in Jeje's staggering run and frantic heartbeat. The giraffe couldn't keep going like this in these conditions but—

The distant shriek-like call of one of those foul ostriches sent ice-cold shivers down Honi's back. She looked over her shoulder and gasped at the flash of white feathers she saw. So close. Essi raiders, riding their hideous birds, chased after them through the underbrush on the sides of the trail. They'd caught up so fast.

"Faster," Honi whispered, voice raspy. She spat to the side and yelled after the roar of thunder, "Jeje, they're catching up! We need to go faster!"

Despite her exhaustion, Jeje rumbled and ran faster, heedless of tree branches whipping at her head and roots seeking to trip her up. She was a mountain giraffe, born and raised among trees, not a flat grassy plain. Her cloven hooves gripped the trail; her body bent and wove with the twisting path. She would not fail Honi today.

But not-failing might not be enough. A mountain giraffe could run only so fast and so long. When Honi looked again, she thought she could make out the rough shape and size of a bird and its rider through the trees—close, huge, running deftly through the thick underbrush.

Honi gripped the bookbag with the Holy Book inside. She'd dared not place the book in a saddlebag. She had to keep it close, on her lap, where it bounced from the bumpiness of Jeje's gallop. Her firm grasp on it gave her a false sense of security. It will be alright, Honi told herself. The Earth Serpent wants me to have his Holy Book. He's watching over us? She leaned forward, riding Jeje's bumpy strides easily, the giraffe's bristly mane tickling her nose. It was all she could do. Run, and pray for survival.

Another ugly screech from behind, then another one, louder. Honi sucked in her cheek and bit down on it. Don't cry don't cry don't cry, she told herself. It'll be fine!

It wouldn't.

Honi closed her eyes as she realized it, as Jeje stumbled slightly. She couldn't outrun them. They were just as fast, and Jeje would soon tire and be unable to run until she recovered. The essies would surround them with screeches and war cries, drag Honi down from the saddle. They'd steal the Holy Book and slaughter Honi and Jeje, leave their corpses to rot in the rain. No one would find Honi's body for weeks, and by then wild creatures would've made her unrecognizable.

The gruesome image twisted Honi's stomach, almost made her retch. Don't you dare, she thought, forcing herself to take calming breaths despite her racing heart. Jeje would throw a fit. Honi opened her eyes, one fist clenching the bookbag, the other squeezing Honi's reins.

"I am not going to die like that," Honi said, her voice shaking with the fear and determination that roiled in her gut. "I will not die like that. I can't." How to avoid it, then?

Thunder rumbled, as if mimicking the question. What will you do? What will you do, Honi, when your enemies are bigger, stronger, and many? What will you do? Keep running?

A memory rose, of a younger Honi running into camp after being bombarded with balls of dried mud thrown by Ruthus and his stupid gang. She'd ran sobbing to Aunt Raula as her mother hadn't been in sight. Aunt Raula had listened to Honi's blubbery tale without comment until Honi finished, sniffling. Then she'd told her to suck it up and get revenge, to teach Ruthus not to mess with her. Honi had asked how, when they were older and had ammunition. Outsmart them, her aunt had replied. Be smarter. It hadn't been much longer until the gang had stumbled into camp, wailing and stinking with marsh mud covering them head to toe.