Chapter 1
Ortak
Given how often I hear them, I should be used to the sounds of Kala and Iris mating. It is never my intention to listen, yet, somehow, I cannot escape them. The human female is exceptionally loud and clearly well-pleased.
We have all sworn to keep our knowledge of how vocal Iris is to ourselves, because none of our tribe would risk embarrassing our leader’s sivalla. We care far too much for her and what she has come to mean to the Krijese.
Envy pierces my gut. Not because I want Iris for myself. Only what it is she and Kala share. Pain swiftly follows, because I am aware I will continue to travel through this life without a female of my own.
“Gogo.” Gannen approaches on quiet feet.
Considering his small size, it is no wonder he barely makes any noise. I cradle the back of his neck—the rope-like texture of his floks abrading my knuckles—and guide him away from ourleader’s tent and closer to the edge of the small village. We pass a few of the remaining warlords who rotate shifts, either keeping guard or leaving the village to hunt. Otherwise, the rest of our small tribe remains within their tents.
“Is all well?” While Gannen is not my kit by birth, I have raised him . He is mine in every way but blood.
“This is the turn you are meant to check your traps. I would like to go with you,” he says, straightening his spine as though that will make him appear taller than he is.
Instead, it merely reminds me of how thin he remains despite the fact our food stores have increased drastically since our tribe became allies with the Tavikhi who live beyond the bari field at the base of the mountain we call home. He has grown some in nearly three sun cycles, but I still see the weak, sickly kit he was and I have tried my best to protect.
“Please, Gogo,” Gannen says when the silence stretches for too long.
My hearts hurt that I have made him plead. There is no hesitation on Kala’s part in allowing his own kit to hunt with him, despite Sorin nearly dying several sun cycles ago. If not for the human healer in the Tavikhi village, he would have.
The two kits are nearly of the same age. The fact does not escape me that it is time for me to loosen the protective net I hold over my kit, but it is not an easy task, I am finding.
“Let me gather my war axe and other items we might need to haul back any kills that might have gotten trapped and we will go.”
“Thank you, Gogo.” Gannen does the strange “smile” Sorin was taught by the humans to express their happiness, who then proceeded to attempt to teach everyone in our village.
On occasion, Kala will demonstrate this thing, as do Moshi and Ashrif—two of our elders—but no one else. It is not an easy movement for Krijese, due to the shape of our mouths. Whereas the humans’ mouth slit is level with the horizon and curls upward, ours is upright, bracketed by upper and lower mouth claws, and folds outward.
Once I have everything I need, I offer a small axe and sheath to Gannen. He is not fully skilled in its use—which I take blame for—but it is not smart to take him with me and not give him access to a weapon. While there should be no reason for us to come across any danger, it is better to be somewhat prepared than not at all. He fumbles with it until I step in to assist securing it across his chest and shoulders.
We make our way out of the village, farther up the mountain and through the trees in the direction of one of many traps I carved into the earth to catch large prey that roam our planet. The trek is quiet aside from our steps, the sound of which we have not learned to mask despite all the teachings by the Tavikhi warriors.
The silence does not last long. Gannen breaks it in a harsh whisper. “Perhaps this warm season you will be able to teach me how to track and hunt?”
Not even I can miss the hopeful tone in the question. As much as I wish otherwise, my kit will become a grown Krijese soon. To my knowledge, every warlord in our tribe had gotten their first kill—not of game, but of enemies—long before the age Gannen is now. I have done him no favors by holding back.
“Aye, perhaps it is time.”
He blinks as if surprised that I have given in with no argument, but then he bares his teeth with his smile and a small flicker of silver sparks in his eyes. Perhaps because of their innocence, they have not lost that shimmer of color, unlike the rest of our tribe whose eyes are darker than even the night sky.
While Krijese were born and bred to do nothing more than kill our enemies, we have lived in peace—especially after the death of King Armik. A few of our people still wander the planet who followed our king into the final battle against the Tavikhi, but they have not attempted to join us. Nor, to my knowledge, have they attempted another attack against our neighboring tribe.
I do not assume they have let the hatred go, but it is no longer my concern. All I intend to do for the rest of the time I have left here on Tavikh is live in peace and teach Gannen how to be a good male. And that means one who can track and hunt.
While no one—not even Kala—has ever voiced out loud that I have done a great disservice to my kit, I am certain they have all thought it at least once. Not for the first time does guilt swarm me. However, beginning this turn, I will change that.
“Neither I nor Kala are experts at tracking prey, but there are a few things you must watch for.” While we walk, I point out various markings on the ground, scrapes along the trees, broken leaves, and twisted branches that indicate the different types of creatures that have passed through.
We come across scat from a dreri as well as claw marks of a dhembe. Gannen absorbs every word I speak and with each step we take, he scans the area, intent on finding any markings and pointing them out. I am impressed with his astute observationsand pride rises inside at how smart my kit is. This fact should not surprise me, and yet, it does.
Every so often, we pause and focus our senses. The flapping sound of mellenje wings is overhead, while there is the skittering of tiny feet beneath the ground—most likely that of a burrow of ketri. The sky is clear and bright and the sun shines through the fullness of the trees that are not yet in full bloom but soon will be.
It is early in the warm season and a chill still lingers in the air but will burn off the higher the sun climbs. At least the last of the cold dust has melted. A mild breeze blows and brings with it the scent of the many flowering bushes that are awakening after the long cold season.
I glance down at Gannen. “What do you smell?”
