The evening had a smooth, fresh scent that reminded one of winter-time bolberry nuts. The palatable morsels grew all year round, though in the cooler months each nut grew softer and, when chewed, exuded a sweet, honey-like juice that small children could rarely resist.
Had she not been so troubled by the day's turn of events, Sashek might have picked a few nuts of her own-- she preferred hers roasted in one of Mother's pans over a fire-- but tasty treats were the furthest things from Sashek's mind.
After watching Ziuta leave the lodge with Malaraq's bread-loaf tucked carefully under one arm, Sashek had forced herself to drink two and a half cups of Pomoq's heart-calming tea to try and still the pounding in her chest, but to no avail. Other than a more frequent urge to urinate, she felt no different.
For several hours she had sat hunched on her tea-mat in mute terror, allowing Joo-Lee to rest her head in her lap so that Sashek could stroke the curious, auburn-sable curls, but Amiechek had not come thundering to the door with accusations of treachery for harboring a girl who gestated a Draca hatchling. Still, it did not mean that Waru hadn't told, and if she did not do so tonight, then she would do so tomorrow. Or the next day...or the next.
Waru was one of the most intelligent young women in Looks Thrice, and she never forgot a troubling detail.
And so Sashek had sat, rocking gently back and forth, watching with tremoring lips as Gormaq shuffled about the lodge readying himself for bed, and feeling guilty at her irritation that Mother still had the will to whistle pleasantly as she bustled about, replacing freshly washed mugs and kettles on their shelves. The Twins had finished folding clothes (for about the tenth time) and had left the lodge together, where they would saunter to the well and discuss the wedding details that Michek so loved to rehash, but Sashek could not stand it any longer.
Joo-Lee was in danger; she had been found out, and it would not be long before someone burst their way into Gormaq's home to snatch Joo-Lee to oblivion.
Sashek had risen quietly and tip-toed out of the lodge, closing the door gently behind her. She had to see Pomoq. Surely he would know what could be done--
"The door is unlatched," came the familiar voice from within, now laced with a tinge of weariness that Sashek was unaccustomed to. "Why do you simply stand in front of a wooden barrier, like a deer with shining lights in his eyes?"
"How did-- never mind." Sashek slowly pushed the door open (it squealed on its hinges as it widened) and stepped inside with the proper piety.
Once inside, Pomoq, who was reclining on his sleeping bench with Green Wings perched on one hand, waved Sashek to the guest mat with his free hand and continued his 'conversation'.
"And so Red Tail thought she had the right to steal one of your own eggs, simply because a snake found her nest and made a meal of her own chicklings?" He cocked his head at the corbeau-speckled bird, who erupted into a serious of angry sounding, lilting chirrups.
"Well, my dear, try to see things from Red Tail's perspective. The fruit bird, as you well know, does not lay a clutch of egg for at least five to seven years. Now, all of Red Tail's babies are gone, and Red Tail may not survive to see another set of hungry mouths. That is why she took it upon herself to take one of your eggs."
A single, grudging peep.
Sashek shifted on her tea-mat. "Pomoq--"
He waved at her impatiently. "Now, then, how many eggs did you say you have left?"
A series of five lyrical chirps.
"Five, you say? Then that still gives you plenty of your own hungry mouths to stuff...and a sixth that you can watch grow up strong and healthy, even if from afar."
Green Wings started to protest, but Pomoq pointed a warning finger into her beady, resentful eyes. "I'll tell you what your problem is," he said sternly. "You've been coddled since you were the tiny chick I found abandoned on the ground in front of the village. You had not only worms, dragonflies, and slugs to feast on, but the rich morsels of crumbs from Evening folk dinner plates. Do you think you own anything that is given to you?"
A long, shrill, keening squawk.
"Ha! You no more own those five chicklings than you own the wind that whispers through your nesting at night. All living things are gifts from the Twin Moons; for the Twin Moons give, and the Twin Moons can take away."
Green Wings ruffled her breast feathers and was broodingly silent.
"Good; I'm glad we had this little discussion, and I believe you feel validated by it. Now forget this feud with Red Tail and do what you do best. By the time Sashek leaves, I expect you back into the forest and with those precious chicks of yours. Agreed?"
The tiny creature shrilled her agreement, spread her wings, and circled the lodge twice before alighting gently on Sashek's right shoulder. Surprised and not a little shocked, Sashek found that she was strangely pleased.
Pomoq managed to heave himself up off of his sleeping bench. Although he was very old, he had been doing more exercises lately and was exceptionally limber; relying less and less on his walking staff, Pomoq seemed healthier than ever-- although the staff was never far out of sight.
"Now then, Sashek, I presume you would not come to me this late if you didn't have bad news...?" He struck a bit of fire from a kindling match, used it to light a short length of white candle in a gold-rimmed container, and shuffled back to his bench.
"I wish I didn't have bad news," Sashek said, fidgeting uncomfortably, "but I didn't know where else to turn, Elder. Earlier today, Waru came to the lodge with a loaf of bread for Ziuta to take to Malaraq's lodge. I guess he's supposed to have it as a sort of last meal. And while she was at the door, Joo-Lee beat me to the front of the lodge." Sashek paused, wringing her hands, and finally blurted. "Pomoq, Waru saw Joo-Lee's stomach!"
Pomoq's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.
"I had to struggle to explain that the size of Joo-Lee's belly was related to a bad liver and poorly-functioning kidneys, but Waru is a smart girl. She argued with me, and in the end, I don't know if she believed me or not. But you have to help us!" Sashek beseeched, falling to her knees and clasping her hands in front of Pomoq's lap. Green Wings peeped, resettled herself, and dug her sharp little claws into Sashek's shoulder.
"I don't have to do anything," Pomoq corrected her firmly, "but I can certainly pass on some advice, if that is what you came for."
Sashek shook her head wildly. "No, respected Elder," she insisted. "Joo-Lee is soon to pass the hatchling, and is in immediate, acute danger."
Pomoq nodded and fingered his chin, as though musing. "I would have to agree," he said after some time. "It certainly doesn't seem right that Waru would sent Ziuta off to Malaraq's with a load of bread that she could have delivered herself instead; something definitely isn't right there. ...As for Waru noticing Joo-Lee's belly, I'm afraid you are correct.The Matron won't rest until Joo-Lee is tossed out into the elements like some sort of deformed infant." And here Pomoq shook his head sadly.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Sashek said, trying hard to swallow a lump of frustration. "But is there nothing you can do? Can Joo-Lee not be hidden, perhaps in one of the surrounding villages? I could deliver her to Hidden Well or DayBreak myself, and if Ziuta tagged along--"
"No!" Pomoq's tone was formidable. "Although now is the time when everything secure falls apart around us in great, hunched pieces, like the fearless warriors of legends past, Ziuta and Joo-Lee are rapidly approaching their destines. And since you, Sashek, are to have such an important role in tying all of our fates together, tomorrow is your own date with fortune."
Sashek gulped. "To- tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
"And my job will be to tie everything--"
"That's what I said, yes."
Sashek folded her hands and looked at her lap. She was beginning to wish that Green Wings would take her perch elsewhere; the bird's sharp little talons were beginning to be an annoyance. "What must I do?" she asked softly, without looking up.
Pomoq used his lit candle, whose hot wax was beginning to drip onto his gnarled hand, to gesture to the far end of the wall, where a walking staff leaned against the wall and Pomoq's familiar old cloak hung from a wooden peg. "Do you see those?"
Sashek nodded dully.
"Those you will be permitted to take with you," he said. "The cloak is soft, made from the pelt of an old cow, and will keep you warm and concealed in the cool nights of winter. There are also deep pockets for your hands and a hood, which will not only warm the ears, but keep your face carefully hidden if you find yourself in a situation in which you don't wish to be revealed."
"But what if I want to wear my own--"
"The walking staff will have to go along as well," Pomoq went on, as though Sashek hadn't spoken. "Without it, some of the more difficult areas you'll have to traverse will be nearly impossible. You may fall and break an ankle, and what good will you be to us with a broken ankle? Eh?"
Sashek could only stare.
"You'll be permitted a small sack for jerky and water fruits." Pomoq tossed her a small satchel with a cover that folded neatly over the opening; it felt soft, but stiff, in Sashek's hands. "You won't need a water bladder, though," Pomoq continued, holding up his hand as Sashek began to protest. "It will add too much weight to your load--"
"But I barely have a load!"
"--and there will be plenty of streams and rivers along the way where you'll be able to cup your hands and drink the cool water."
Defeated, Sashek sighed. "I still don't know where you want me to go," she managed at last, "and I don't see how running away from Looks Thrice will help my precious Joo-Lee when the time comes for her to-- for her to--"
Pomoq smiled gently, although his eyes looked troubled. "My dear girl, Joo-Lee is in the best of hands right now, and when the time comes for her to endure her ordeal, Ziuta will be available to sit by her side. I promised you this once, and I would never go back on my world."
"Well.. alright, I guess." Sashek felt a little better, but not much. "Where should I go first? What information am I supposed to gather? And am I supposed to come back here to report to you?"
"Absolutely not," Pomoq said stiffly. "You will gather the information that is necessary, file it away, and use it to our People's advantage whenever you can."
"But I won't know how to sort--"
"I say to you, child, you'll know. Travel first to Haven's Creek, where the Draca are. You are to see for yourself that these creatures are not the enemies of our People that you have believed for so long. You will listen to what they have to say, and treat them with the same respect that you would expect a stranger to give to you."
Sashek couldn't have been more surprised than if Green Wings had piped up and said, "Your hair is oily...when is the last time you washed it?"
Great Twin Moons. Pomoq wants me to talk to the Draca. The Enemies of our People-- the giant lizards who have accosted Haven's Creek and mean to 'protect' Ziuta from dangers unseen. Is he out of his mind?
"...are you listening to me, girl?" Pomoq's face was a dark as coal.
Sashek's head snapped up, and her cheeks flushed in shame. "Of course Elder: I apologize. You-- you want me to visit the Draca. I believe I can do that."
"Good, because you have little choice," Pomoq retorted. "In the process, you may meet an earth- or water-dragon. They are dangerous creatures, and you will have to defend yourself well, by any means necessary."
Sashek paled. She had also began to shake; she loved exploring. She had wandered the forests, creeks, and rivers ever since she'd been old enough to walk; why, now, was she trembling like a frightened child? "W- what else?" she ventured weakly.
"There are three places you will need to visit," Pomoq said, reaching into the pocket of his sleep-wear for a handful of shiny, burnished objects. Sashek sat forward to examine them in the dim light of the candle. They looked like tiny pieces of carved wood, and they were lovely.
"Pomoq! I had no idea you knew how to shape wood!" Sashek exclaimed.
Pomoq smiled widely, obviously proud of his handiwork. "Ah, but there is a lot you do not know about me," he said lightly. "I spent many a night carving so that you could remember your assignments...and I have imparted them with a blessing. As long as you carry these, no harm should come to you, no matter how dire the situations you encounter."
Sashek reached gratefully for the pieces, but he held them out of reach.
"Not so fast!" he snapped, plucking one from the palm of his hand. "This one is a small dragon," Pomoq explained, holding it up to the candle so she could see the smooth, etched lines of the bared teeth and individual scales. "For your first assignment, you are to visit none other than Dragura's fortress. It may take you weeks to arrive there; you will have to pass through the Ice-Capped mountains to reach the moat. Perilous though it may be, I will need you to interview one of Dragura's handmaidens without attracting the attention of the Wild Woman herself." Pomoq shook his head slowly, carefully placing the tiny dragon into Sashek's palm. "That woman is up to something, and if we can figure out what she has in mind, we may be able to save ourselves by remaining one step ahead of her."
Sashek looked down at the delicate dragon, fingering it gently. She stood in awe of Pomoq's craftsmanship, his trust in her, and in her expected duties-- which would cause any man to shame himself and lose face by refusing the Elder's requests.
"Then where?"
"A detour back through the mountains to the town of DayBreak. My dreams have told me that there may be some of Joo-Lee's People being held hostage in that village, and they may come from the same ship, this 'Celestial', that I have heard her speak of." He placed a thin carving of a rising star into her palm.
"...And what else?"
Pomoq handed her the final piece. It was a sculpted beauty that looked like a tiny basket, or well. "Your last visit shall be to the village of Hidden Well," Pomoq explained. "Here, my dreams don't show me anything but bright-hued, fuzzy images that seem to blend into one another; I can't make heads or tales of them, but what goes on at Hidden Well might be the most important of all."
Pomoq sat back and closed his eyes, as though exhausted. He set the flickering candle on the bench beside him, never minding the too-warm wax that dripped onto his fingers.
"Is-- is that all?" asked Sashek carefully.
A barely perceptible nod.
"But Pomoq, why me?"
Pomoq's eyes flew open and fixated themselves on her. "Why you? Because you are a mother: plain and simple."
"A mother? But--"
"When you assumed the responsibility to care for Joo-Lee as you have been, you ceased to become a single woman with self-centered interests and took on the role of Mother to a child who knew no other care-givers."
"But she is not one of us--"
"That did not matter to you, did it?" Pomoq asked. "The girl is foreign, alien, different. Furthermore, you did not give birth to the child of your own womb. And yet you loved her, embraced her. Blood or genes is not what makes a Mother, Sashek, no more so than Red Tail is disqualified to be the guardian of her stolen egg simply because it did not come from her body."
Green Wings shifted and cheeped irritably.
"Do you understand the things I have told you tonight, my child?"
Sashek looked at the floor, at the ceiling, even at Green Wings...anywhere but at Pomoq. "I'm afraid I might have understood nothing," she admitted hoarsely, suddenly battling the tears that loomed at the idea of leaving Joo-Lee behind when the child would surely need her the most.
"Good," Pomoq said with finality, "because starting tomorrow, your life will no longer be your own. You will be a wandering vagrant, relying on the land and the charity of others to survive...and your daughter, Joo-Lee, depends upon you."
Sashek exhaled deeply.
Oh, Twin Moons...my life is no longer my own.
........................................................................................................................................................................
"Well, look who comes with a gift for the condemned," sneered a guardsman, who was one of the four which stood watch at the small, wooden jailhouse where Malaraq was to be manacled until the morning-- when his execution would finally take place.
Another chuckled and jabbed at the approaching Ziuta with the end of what looked like a rusty spear. "What is that, red-haired one?" he chortled, gesturing toward the package that Ziuta held protectively to her chest. "Do you come with restitution for the man who was wrongfully sentenced to be stoned in the morning?"
"I come only with a morsel of bread, that he might wet his mouth and enjoy the taste of food once more before he meets his burial pyre," Ziuta snapped, feeling enraged and at the same time alarmed: here was proof that not everyone in Looks Thrice saw her through positive eyes. These guardsmen looked disheveled and unkempt, as though perhaps they had been drinking the previous night; there were three of them that she could see, and they made no move to allow her to approach the door. From the inside, she could hear Malaraq rattling his chains.
"What is it? Who's there? Who comes?" he demanded hoarsely. Ziuta thought he sounded as though he'd spent half the night shouting...and he probably had. He would have had no food or water in nearly a week, and to be shackled in such a condition with only the company of sheer darkness and the whispering, fuzzy legs of Looks Thrice's palm-sized spiders was enough to have driven even the most hardened soldier mad.
"Shut up!" one of the guardsmen called over his shoulder.
"Let me pass," Ziuta demanded, trying to sound braver than she felt.
"Ha! You?" Rusty Spear jabbed his weapon at her. "Even the Matron herself has not been allowed an audience with the condemned. Why should you be so lucky?"
"Because it is the Matron who sends me," Ziuta replied, with equal acridity. "You forget that I am protected and bear the scale of the Draca upon my bodice. You cannot threaten or harm me, and I am not perturbed by it. Now let me pass!"
"What's the magic word?" the guardsman's companion slurred, leering down the front of Ziuta's bodice. "Ah, well it won't be long before you've reached womanhood, eh? When those melons grow a bit larger, perhaps you'll come looking for me in the drink-house, little red-hair." And with that he threw back his greasy head, bursting with vile laughter until Luka rounded the corner of the small prison, a hammer clutched tightly in his left hand.
Luka's practiced movement was little more than a blur to even Ziuta's sharp little eyes. In one smooth motion, he had drawn back the hammer and brought it down squarely upon the lewd guardsman's skull. There was a sickening crack, as of a large rock being split in two, and a mixture of blood and grey matter sprayed outward from the wound, dotting Ziuta's carefully pressed chemise with gore.
Eyes wide with surprise and the last vestiges of pain, the surprised fiend staggered forward, reached for Ziuta's chemise with one outstretched hand, and pulled down on the fabric before he collapsed, exposing Ziuta's small breasts. She shrieked and batted at him; the greasy-haired man was dead before he hit the ground.
"You-- you killed him!" cried the other two guards in tandem. They stood in shock, gaping down first at their dead comrade, then at the grim-faced Luka, who stood breathing heavily with the hammer still clutched in his fist.
"He deserved to die," said Luka blandly. "You know what the punishment is for molesting a young girl who has not reached womanhood. The Council would have sentenced him to death anyhow, and he'd have received far worse than a stoning. The death I provided him was merciful-- a quick way to go, considering."
The two comrades flapped their lips in astonishment while Ziuta dropped her bread loaf and struggled, shame-faced, to rearrange her bodice. Never had she been so humiliated!
"But he never touched--"
"His foul words were crime enough!" Luka snapped. When they continued to stare dumbly, he snatched a ring of keys from the belt of the first guard and turned to unlatch the door, throwing it open so that Ziuta could pass.
"I shall go with you to begin," said Luka blandly, avoiding her eyes. "Malaraq has both hands manacled to the wall; I shall unlock one of them to allow him to eat his last morsel. You'll be allowed five minutes; no more, no less. ...And Ziuta?"
She looked up at him with lips trembling and met his slate-colored eyes for the briefest of moments. In them, she thought she saw rage, sadness, and something else-- something intense which she could not identify.
"What is it?"
"If he gives you any trouble, you come to me. These simpletons couldn't save a child from a forest ptarmigan," he snipped, striding into the small prison.
Meekly, Zita followed him. She could hardly believe what had just occurred, and being in Luka's presence again was strangely exhilarating. She was too young and naive to describe her feelings, but the sheer closeness of his virile form literally gave her shivers inside. Ziuta noticed with some degree of embarrassment that her nipples hardened, and was glad for the protection which covered them from lewd men's eyes.
"Won't you g- get into trouble? For killing that man?"
"Luka never gets into trouble," he replied wryly, stepping into the gloom of Malaraq's cell and switching keys, using one of them to unlock one of the manacles that suspended Malaraq from the ceiling.
Scowling and trying to shake some feeling into the released hand, which was swollen and had turned various shades of purple and blue, Malaraq tried to right himself and tossed Ziuta a poisonous glare. "What is she doing here?" he demanded. "Why do you send the Sorceress who sent me to my death and deny me the right to see the Matron?"
Luka said nothing. Instead he turned away, looking back only once when he reached the door. His eyes softened briefly when they rested upon Ziuta, then rose to peer at Malaraq's twisted, bloody form and hardened. The look on his face was such as if he'd just been charged with cleaning up dragon dung. Were she still not seething with mortification and shaking with the mild fear of being in Malaraq's presence, Ziuta might have laughed out loud.
The door clanged shut behind him, once again clouding the room in darkness. The single half-moon window was barred with iron and too high for anyone to have looked out of it. A dusty stool rested on the floor in front of Malaraq, and Ziuta sat upon it, clutching the bread loaf and pondering once again on how much she hated men.
Men, who were good for nothing but baby-planting, leering, grabbing women's fragile parts, and making them prisoners in their own bodies. It was no wonder her own mother, Siuntla, had resolved never to love again before her death; Ziuta decided that she would do the same.
Staring Malaraq directly in the eyes, she grinned at him. Ziuta resolved to make this visit as entertaining as possible: oh, yes.
"I should have slit your throat while I still had the chance," Malaraq growled quietly. The words were chilling enough to send another shiver down Ziuta's spine, but she was no longer afraid.
Malaraq would have his punishment.
"Ah, but you did not-- and that is why you're in here," she replied, smiling gruesomely. Ziuta had mastered the art of cold expressions and displaying hatred in her eyes; at the very least, when she was not surrounding her fragile emotional exterior with hardness, she kept her jutting nose in the air and projected a a shield of both boredom and disdain. Fewer people approached her that way, least of all the children.
"What you saw out there is proof that not everyone in Looks Thrice things of you as some dragon-loving wonder," Malaraq spat. "While it may be true that you can command those beasts, it is still not natural. The People will never love you, never trust you. In the back of their minds, they will always be wondering if you shall turn on them, luring those foul-toothed Draca into the village to snap all their necks as they lie on their sleeping benches. Is that the way you want to live your life? Is it?"
"What do you care how I live my life?" Ziuta replied smoothly. "It is you who will be dead tomorrow. Were I you, I would worry more about how you will lose control of your man-parts and urinate as they drag you from your cell...and less about me."
"Malaraq will not die like a coward!" he raged, jerking his one manacled hand desperately against the wall. "I shall die with courage in my soul, knowing that the moment I pass from this world, I shall join the next and assume my rightful place as a guardian of stars. That is where all Evening folk retire when they die-- except for you, foul temptress. You are nothing like our people. You are foreign, alien. And as such, not even the black abyss in the center of our galaxy shall accept you. Ha!"
Ziuta tsk-tsk'ed sadly and shook her head. "But first comes the death...the stoning. Not a pleasant way to die, eh?"
"Guards! Get this harpy out of here!"
Luka simply looked through the iron bars of the door and smiled gently.
"First will come the dragging," Ziuta began, "and we may as well admit that you will have to be dragged from the safety or your cell to the platform, because every soul who is condemned to death changes his mind about noble aspirations of an uneventful execution. The thought of being displayed for all the village to see, shackled and tied, and then slowly tortured to death with rocks will be too much for your primitive little mind-- and before you know it, you will be screaming for your mother." Ziuta placed a hand to her cheek in mock sympathy.
Malaraq lunged at her and bellowed like a trapped beast.
"Then come the stones. The first ones will be small, you know, because even the children are allowed to participate, and those will be the most painful. A stone lodged in the eye, perhaps another in the ear, and a few rocks heaved right at your man-parts-- imagine the pain, the blood! And seeing as you will be blindfolded, you won't have any idea where the next stone comes from, or how large it will be." She giggled with pleasure; this had become more entertaining than she'd thought.
"I curse you! I curse you to the depths of the Afterworld and back!"
Ziuta was untouched. "Once the People grow tired of letting the children have their fun, then will come the larger rocks-- and quite a few of them will be big enough to cause cracks in the skull without knocking you unconscious outright. I have learned a little of the customs of your People. They have perfected this technique. No one will see that you have any bit of mercy, and it may take you-- oh, let's see: an hour to die? Perhaps two?"
Malaraq sagged against the wall and began to weep piteously. He truly was a sorry sight: the lack of food and water had turned him into a thin sack of bones, causing his clothes to hang off his angular limbs as though he were a bag of kindling. Stubble covered his saliva-encrusted face, and his eyes were puffy and swollen. A few bruises and scrapes on his upper and lower arms made Ziuta wonder mildly if any of the guardsmen had tortured him before her visit.
She cocked her head at him. "Why do you cry?"
Malaraq's tone seemed to have made a sudden miserable turn. "Please, wretch, have mercy on an old man's soul!" he sobbed. "Did I make a mistake that day by the Creek? Yes, I admit that-- but my crime never came to be, and you are alive, sitting here before me. I once had a wife, a son! And you would deprive my family of their ability to see me?" He ducked his head and allowed thick tears to plop onto the floor. Mucous hung from his nose like icicles; Ziuta turned away in disgust.
"It is out of my hands now, and I would not give Pomoq a good word if my life depended on it." She leaned forward. "You will die. That is all."
Still hitching with pathetic sobs, he jerked a miserable chin toward Ziuta's bundle; she had almost forgotten about it. "What do you have there?"
"This?" Ziuta looked down at it, then tossed it carelessly in his direction. It landed at the floor by his feet with a dull plop. "Amiechek wanted you to have this morsel of bread she baked; there it is. Enjoy a last bit of pleasure before your ordeal tomorrow morning."
Malaraq snatched the morsel as though he were starving (he was) and shoved it greedily into his mouth, chomping and making muffled sounds of contentment as he chewed and licked every stray crumb off his dirty fingers. The sight was rather piteous, like watching a caged animal tear apart the haunch of a deer.
When he was finished, he looked at her greedily. "More."
"I have no more," Ziuta said, spreading her hands helplessly, "but if you are still hungry, you might join me in a small snack before I leave."
Malaraq looked hopeful. "A snack?" he asked, looking round eagerly.
Something soft made its way carefully up one of Ziuta's thighs; she looked down to find one of Looks Thrice's notorious spiders clinging to her soft skin and reached for it triumphantly. Evening folk wanted nothing to do with spiders, but Ziuta had never been afraid of them, and this type was not venomous besides. Some buried instinct knew of the valuable protein that a spider could provide the body; when no one looked, she often collected them and made a meal of them in one of Mother's skillets over a crackling fire.
"What on Weema are you doing?" Malaraq asked, looking horrified.
Ziuta shrugged. "Eating." The spider struggled mightily in her grasp. The legs were thick, and the color a soft tourmaline. These spiders did not bite and had no hairs to get caught in the throat, so they made easy bitefuls. Deftly, Ziuta picked off the legs, threw away the round abdomen, which she squashed under one heel, and popped both the legs and the middle portion into her mouth, chewing with gusto. The flavor was rather bland, but the texture reminded her of cooked octopus tentacle, which she had once eaten with relish on Kiwa.
"You disgust me," Malaraq said slowly, staring at her as though she were a spirit.
"Bah. You are confused. Hunger addles your brain. You must eat," Ziuta said sweetly, rising from the stool and looking carefully about for another spider.
Malaraq's eyes widened. "No!"
"Spiders have protein."
"I don't care what they have! What-- what are you doing? Don't!"
Plucking another spider from its web in a corner, she approached Malaraq and held it up with a smile. He lashed at her in fear with his one hand, reaching for her chemise, but the memory of her exposed breasts caused a furious vein to throb in Ziuta's forehead.
Never again! She thought with fury, reaching up to grab his wrist before he could snatch at the already-torn fabric of her chemise. A supernatural sort of strength allowed her to hold it there, while she shoved the spider into Malaraq's disbelieving mouth with her other hand. The arachnid collapsed in a crunch of legs and abdomen; sloppy, loden liquid dribbled down Malaraq's chin, and he promptly vomited.
Ziuta had had enough. She was growing bored, tired, and wanted more than anything to sleep. She had had her fun; there was little else for her to do but return to her bench in Mother's lodge and dream incomprehensible dreams.
"Luka!" she called, approaching the door. "I'm done. Please, let me out!"
There was a prompt rattle of keys, followed by a click as Luka unlocked the door and swung it open, allowing Ziuta to slip out and back into the fresh-smelling evening air.
"Thank you," she managed softly, staring at the ground. Remembering her physical reaction when she had stared into his eyes earlier, she vowed not to make the same mistake and carefully avoided his gaze.
"You're welcome," he said. "Shall I walk you home?"
Ziuta shook her head. "I can make it. I'm a big girl," she joked, fighting the urge to reach up and touch that long, flaxen-colored hair which hung longer than her own and twisted lightly in the gale. Then: "How are the wedding preparations with you and Michek coming?"
Luka looked at her suspiciously; Ziuta kept her eyes on her sandals.
"Fine," he said shortly, twirling the key ring on one finger.
"You are lucky. She is beautiful."
"Yes. And so are many others."
He still desires me!
Ziuta did not know what to say.
"Michek wants babies...lots of them. She is a good woman, but a clingy one at that, and she peppers me regularly with questions when we meet at the well at the end of the evening. She is a good woman, that Michek. I have known her since childhood. But she has a good deal of insecurity, and some of those questions are about you."
This time Ziuta could not help it. She shot a quick glance at him, and found that he was staring into her eyes with a deep passion that she had not seen since she'd spent time alone with Dijaq-- and that had been quite a long time.
"What about me?" she asked defensively. "What have I done?"
Luka smiled wanly. "She has seen the way I look at you," he said, "and a man cannot help his feelings." He jammed his hands into his pockets and sighed. "I wish--"
"On my world, Kiwa, it was not unusual for a man to take more than one wife," Ziuta blurted suddenly, without thinking. Luka looked at her and gave her a slow, lop-sided smile.
Sweet Mother Star, why would I tell him such a thing! Now he all but knows about the discreet feelings I have for him...oh, Ziuta! When did you become such a loose woman, such a harlot?
"I-- I have to go," she mumbled nervously, lifting up her skirts with both hands so she could hurry away without tripping. She wanted to say something else- perhaps to apologize, anything-- but she could think of nothing that made any sense. Ziuta kept running until she reached Mother's cabin, and while the men behind her began the process of cleaning up the dead soldier's body, she never looked back.
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Doora was given a harsh awakening by the gnashing of teeth against her ultra-sensitive, myrtle scales.
"Awake!" cried Duscha, her eldest sister, who pushed her formidable wings outward until they sliced through the brush and brambles of the boblerry tree like a scythe, at the same time plowing into the still-sleepy Doora and causing her to tumble heavily to the ground.
Doora, having not had enough time to even spread her own wings to shield the fall, brayed with pain and looked up at Duscha with confusion in her eyes. Fruit birds chirruped and took flight; there was excited rustling as wood rats, who'd been snuffling around for a last meal before sleeping, retreated to their burrows with haste.
"What is wrong with you?" Doora brayed, scrambling to her feet and lashing her tail angrily back and forth. "Do you want to wake the entire Forest? And the People will hear--"
Duscha snorted her fury. "The damage has already been done! How have you not smelled the air for the last three days? There is an enemy afoot! I have been waiting for you to notice the arrival of the Beast and prove your strength as a member of this clan of Sisters, and yet you lie curled up and sleeping in the boughs like a hatchling!"
"But-- but the wind must have been travelling in a different direction--"
"Do not make excuses!" Duscha raged. "If the Beast does not kill you, then I will make it my personal duty to tear at your throat myself! This monster will place Ziuta in grave danger!"
Understanding the gravity of the situation for the first time, Doora hunkered down, just as she did when she'd been younger and Duscha would stretch out a protective wing to shield her. Her mighty eyes rolled in their sockets, and while her wings batted back and forth, they did not provide enough momentum to lift her from the ground. She had been injured in the fall, and she was simply too weak. Was this a nightmare?
"Duscha, what must I do?" Doora begged, oblivious to the sinuous, brindle-colored serpent behind her, which was closing the distance between itself and Doora with horrifying speed.
"Take him!" Duscha snapped, spreading wide her jaws and shooting thin strands of mucous from the two salivary glands from beneath her enormous tongue. All dragons had the capacity to spit, usually saved for situations when they were cornered by some predator and had no other means of self-protection. But in this case, Duscha had used the ability to spur the doddering Duscha into action.
The mucous struck Doora's eyes until she boomed in pain, shaking her head back and forth until thick drippings of foam and saliva hung from her jaws. The effect was akin to having spicy pepper forced into one's mouth and eyes.
"Duscha!" Doora pleaded, hardly able to speak in her agony. "What must I do?"
Duscha uttered a throaty growl, loud and long, and slitted her eyes as she stared at her bumbling sister. "Fight!" she hissed.
Doora swung her head, beat her front paws into the dust, and bawled.
Very well! If it's a fight she wants, as 'proof' for the others that I can be trusted, then a fight she will have. Never could I allow the Beast to harm our Star-Child!
With these thoughts, Doora whirled...and found herself face-to-face with the charging earth-dragon. Bracing herself for the impact that would come in seconds, she lifted her lips to display gleaming white daggers and thundered threateningly, trying to let her nemesis know that she was no weakling to be trifled with. Earth-dragon bellowed in return, galloping furiously like some kind of stunted pony, and bristled with the promise of a battle.
Above them, Dusha, Deema, and Disha took flight from their perches in the tree and pointed their noses straight into the sky, where they now circled above the two feuding creatures like enormous eagles, each one ready to dive into the midst of the action if something happened and Doora became incapacitated. They were far enough above to look like tiny specks, rather than the arduous creatures that they actually were.
A huge weight plowed into Doora's unprotected right side, crumbling her wing into shreds against her scaly thorax and sending both her and the earth dragon skidding across the grassy plain for fifty yards or more. When they finally slid to a stop, Doora found herself hurled suddenly onto her back with one twist of the earth-dragon's paw; she had seriously underestimated his abilities dimply due to his small size.
With her belly exposed, her rival prepared for the kill by unsheathing his claws and attempting to rake them into Doora's tender underbelly, but Doora spat at him with her own salivary glands, striking him in both eyes. Though he shrieked with pain and rage, backing up a few feet to swipe at his damaged eyes with both paws, he was too cunning to turn away from her. So Doora took the only advantage she could: she clambered to her feet and darted for his neck with a sharp-birdlike motion of her head.
Earth-dragon stepped away before she could make the kill, but her teeth raked his right eye, taking it clean out of its socket. He roared and yipped-- but his strength never faltered. Already, Doora felt as though she had flown all the way around Weema and back again.
I am doomed. He will kill me for sure...where are my sisters? Where is my strength?
Earth-dragon jabbed forward and bit back, taking a chunk right out of Doora's unprotected cheek with an ugly tear. Doora screeched her pain as thick, purplish blood flowed. This altercation was not leaning in her favor at all-- and so she came up with the only idea she had left, for she could not fly, limped too badly to run away, and the next blow she suffered from her enemy would surely be fatal.
It turned out to be brilliant.
While earth-dragon padded away and turned to face her from a short distance, pondering his next move, Doora changed her entire demeanor. She lowered her belly to the ground, dipped her head reverently, and began a series of coos and gentle titters that she knew would momentarily placate her attacker.
They were mating calls.
Earth-dragon inclined his head suspiciously at her, but Doora continued to chitter in as alluring a way as possible, hoping against hope that her enemy would fall for this ruse. After all, she was not in estrous and gave off no female pheromones...but could it work?
Earth-dragon pawed the ground indecisively, lifted his snout, and bleated toward the heavens, as though expecting them to give him a sign, and Doora crept tentatively forward. While continuing her beguiling titters, she carefully maneuvered sideways and swept her tail to one side until it hugged her body, exposing her genitalia.
Oh, dear Twin Moons, please don't let him mount me please don't let him mount me please don't let him mount me...
Warily casting aside any further suspicions, earth-dragon approached cautiously. His tail had relaxed, though his body had stiffened, and his mouth hung open, allowing the tongue to loll as though he were an over-sized canine. He stood close to her for a long, long while, testing the scent of the air with his tongue and gazing at Doora out of the corner of one eye, as though daring her to make one wrong move, and then approached her for the final time.
Doora shut her eyes and waited, preparing to strike.
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