The Matriarch nods her approval and turns away, lifting her hand. An unspoken command to supply me with coverings. One of my clan brothers tosses me a pair, and I rise to catch them as they hit my chest, sliding into them before my feet fully settle on the ground. A familiar scent reaches me before I can take another breath. Petrichor and wild grass. I turn to find Zaki approaching, her silver-ringed eyes narrowed with that permanent irritation she wears on her face. Her Ridge is longer than mine, the spikes sharper and more symmetrical, marking the royal bloodline that runs through her veins.
“You show off too much.” She stops beside me, arms crossed over her chest. “The young males are starting to resent you.”
“Let them.” I roll my shoulders. “If they want the Queen’s favor, they can earn it.”
“You sound like Father.” Zaki snorts at my response, but the name hits a nerve. Our father died during the Great War, and I still remember the sound of Zaki’s cackle that night. I killed the stragglers. The ones who thought they could hide in the dark.
Good times,my Bouda sighs, almost nostalgic.Your sister’s cackle is truly impressive. If you ever make her angry enough to use it on you, do not try to reason with her. Just run.
“I will take that as a compliment,” I say finally, and Zaki’s face softens for just a moment. She reaches out and grips my forearm, her claws extending just enough to dimple my skin. Ireturn the pressure, and for a moment we stand together in the fading light, two hunters who have already lost too much.
“The Matriarch is considering you for First Guard.” Zaki lowers her voice. “She told me this morning.”
“I thought she would choose Tafari.” The words come out rough with surprise.
“Tafari is strong, but he is not clever.” Zaki releases my arm and steps back. “You think three moves ahead. The Queen needs a strategist, not a brute.”
I like your sister,my Bouda announces.She has a good head on her shoulders. Unlike some males I could name.
Before I can respond to either voice, the evening horn sounds from the watchtower. Three short blasts, the signal for gathering. The children scatter toward their mothers, and the elders begin the slow procession toward the central fire pit where the Matriarch holds court each night.
Zaki and I fall into step together, our shoulders nearly brushing as we walk. The sun bleeds red across the horizon, painting the clay walls of our village in shades of rust and gold. I breathe deep, filling my lungs with the scent of cooking fires and family and the frankincense that burns perpetually at the Matriarch’s altar.
Remember this,my Bouda whispers, and the voice sounds different.Remember exactly how this smells.
What does that mean? He pulls back.Nothing. I am being paranoid. Ignore me.
I try to shake off the unease, but it stays with me as I follow my sister toward the fire.
The night is warm and the stars are bright and my belly is full of roasted antelope. I lie on the flat rock outside my hut, staring up at the sky while my body digests the meal. The gathering ended an hour ago, the cubs sent to bed, the elders retreating to their quarters. The village is quiet now, just the soft sounds of families preparing for sleep.
You are getting fat,my Bouda observes.All this eating and lying around. When the Queen names you First Guard, you will be too slow to protect her.
I am savoring the fruits of my labor. My Bouda laughs.You are savoring the fruits of the antelope’s labor. The antelope did all the work of growing that meat. You simply killed it.
I snort, and the sound turns into a laugh. My Bouda has a point, but I refuse to admit it out loud. The night air carries the scent of dying cookfires and frankincense, and somewhere in the distance, a nightbird calls to its mate. My muscles loosen. My Ridge flattens against my back. This is what peace feels like.
Do you think the Queen will announce her decision tomorrow?my Bouda asks.I am tired of waiting. Tafari keeps strutting around like he has already been chosen, and it makes me want to bite his face off.
“You cannot bite Tafari’s face off. He is a clan brother.”
I did not say I would do it. I said I want to.
I close my eyes and let the warmth of the rock seep into my back. Tomorrow, maybe, the Queen will call me to her hall and place her hand on my head and name me First Guard. My life could finally have purpose beyond hunting and waiting. I could finally feel like I am becoming the male I was meant to be.
The sound reaches me before my mind can identify it. Engines. Distant but approaching. The growl of vehicles climbing the mountain road that leads to our territory.
Poachers,my Bouda says, and the lazy warmth in his voice vanishes instantly.Get up. Now.
I am on my feet before the thought fully forms, my Ridge calcifying along my back as the spikes harden into bone blades. The village stirs around me. Other warriors emerge from their huts, noses lifted to catch the scent on the wind.
We know this dance. We have performed it a hundred times. The humans come with their jeeps and their rifles and their arrogance. They think they can take what is ours, and we let them believe it. We let them taste victory, let them think they have already won. Then we laugh, and they fall, and we feast on their fear before we finish them.
I move toward the Queen’s compound. Protocol demands that I join the perimeter defense, but something feels wrong tonight. The engines sound different. More of them. And my Bouda is pacing inside my head, restless in a way I have never felt before.Go to the Queen,he urges.Forget the perimeter. Go to her now.
The first cackle erupts from the watchtower, Makeda’s voice splitting the night with that weaponized frequency that should drop any human within a hundred meters. I wait for the screams. The crash of bodies hitting earth. The satisfying chaos of our enemies destroying themselves.
Nothing. The engines keep coming.
