Siren's Call
Ri'al crouched casually on a limb, fifty feet above the ground. The sturdy tree afforded him a nice view over the nearby river and woodlands, spotted here and there with open fields. It was not a particularly wild place, having been farmed for centuries, and there were no large creatures to hunt, but after spending several cycles in the dense ooman city some distance away, he needed a chance to clear his mind in a more natural setting. He relaxed his muscles and let his thoughts wander.
He'd come to the Blue Planet, known to the oomans as Earth, on a rather distasteful but necessary errand. Over the last hundred seasons[1] the females of his species had mysteriously become infertile. No matter what the healers and scientists tried, they were unable to find a cure for the affliction. The disease, if that's what it was, had spared no female, aged or young, Elder or Eta[2], until 15 seasons had passed without a single new pup born. The Yaut'ja faced extinction unless a viable solution for procreation could be found. In the end, it was the Pyode Amheda, soft meats, otherwise known as oomans, which had been the key. That a prey species would be their salvation was simple irony.
Female oomans, though physically much smaller and weaker than Yaut'ja females, were yet similar in structure and type. Their reproductive systems were compatible, and with a little genetic tinkering, could safely gestate and birth Yaut'ja offspring. Clan geneticists had detected some commonalities deep within both species' DNA which, as impossible and unthinkable as it seemed, suggested a common ancestor. The historians were having a field day with that discovery. It would have caused an upheaval in their society, had it not already been falling apart. Females had always been the dominate sex, dictating culture and law. Both sexes were driven to the hunt, but males did so not just to garner status, but it was a necessity to further their bloodline. Females, being larger than males, sought the strongest and most accomplished sires for their pups. A male's prowess, his ability to father strong young, was displayed in his collection of trophies and battle scars. The more impressive the skulls gracing his walls, the more females desired his seed.
Now though, the structure of their society, which had held for thousands of seasons, was crumbling. A staggering number of young females, on learning they would never bear pups, chose to take their Last Hunt, dying with bittersweet honor. Most others retreated to female-only sanctuaries, where there were few reminders of what they had lost. Some Elders remained in public to help govern, knowing that the males would tear each other apart without female guidance. Others, females among the ranks of healers and scientists, stayed to help find a solution. It was those females that suggested seeking another species by which to keep their race alive, much as it hurt their pride to do so.
It had been approximately ten Earth years since the Elders of the twelve clans had approached the leaders of the ooman world with a proposition. They had readily agreed to the proposal, which may or may not have been viewed as a genocidal threat. No one felt the need to correct that assumption. In the seasons leading up to that first formal contact, a number of ooman females, of different ages and types, had been cherry-picked from around the small planet and genetic experiments conducted until a viable system for impregnation, gestation and birth was established. The core tenets of their society would not allow for cloning or embryo transfer, thus the ability of ooman women to successfully mate with Yaut'ja males was a key deciding factor. The Council of Elders agreed that oomans would be declared a protected species and no longer hunted, except for the ooman bad bloods, which would be turned over by their own people and relocated to hunting preserve planets. There were still many older warriors who were loath to completely give up a favored prey. Since simply taking the necessary number of females would cause panic amongst the oomans, and likely lead to complications and conflicts, the difficult decision was made to openly contact and interact with the people of Earth, which had not been done since oomans were little more than savages. Being as Yaut'ja are an extremely secretive species, many hours of debate lead to the resolution, which was never wholly accepted.
Unknown to the oomans, the planet was divided into territories, each controlled by one of the 12 clans. The respective clan took the offered bad bloods for their own hunting pleasure and the males of that clan were given exclusive breeding rights to the females found within their territory. Being a matriarchal society, Yaut'ja males were instilled with a deep respect for all females, even prey. As a proud and supremely intelligent species, for whom honor meant everything, they never actively hunted any but healthy males in their prime who were trained for battle or use of weaponry. Only females that took up arms were considered acceptable to hunt. This they'd felt was fair and honorable.
For the last few thousand seasons, since the ooman planet had been discovered, the Yaut'ja had valued the pyode amheda as a prey species. They were unpredictable and cunning, making for an exciting hunt. They also made excellent hosts for the Kainde Amedha, hard meats, the ultimate in challenging prey and the benchmark by which all Yaut'ja hunters became blooded. It had been many seasons since Ri'al had gone on his Chiva, killing three Kainde Amedha and securing his status as a Blooded Warrior, the glyph on his forehead and mask declaring it to all. He was still subject to the whims of his Elders though.
Ri'al stood and stretched, popping a few joints and vertebra. While it had been pleasant to relax in the forest and attempt to reach a state of za'zin[3], he was itching for a good hunt and annoyed with his current chore that superseded it. He had come to this planet, by order of his sire, who just happened to be a clan Elder, to find a suitable ooman female with which to mate and breed pups. He was old enough to have enjoyed a few mating seasons with Yaut'ja females before the infertility plague; to have experienced passionate mating battles and even sired two pups. Unfortunately, both were female and now unable to further their line. As the only living male offspring of his sire, Ri'al faced the unappetizing prospect of mating with an ooman to perpetuate the bloodline. He had spent the last earth week wandering the metropolis known as New York in search of a female that piqued his interest. If he had to breed one, he damn well wanted one he could at least tolerate. While he hadn't yet mated with an ooman, some of his clanmates had, and boasted the experience could be quite pleasurable. Those were Youngbloods though, who had never had a Yaut'ja female. He could not imagine how one of these pitiful creatures could compare. No, he doubted he'd find much pleasure in the act but it was a necessary means to an end.
He'd hoped the search would be over quickly, and had gone where the concentration of females was high, but he had yet to find any he considered remotely worthy. In the city they wore strange and constricting coverings, painted their faces with unpleasant chemicals, and spoke of only the most inane topics. They were weak and vain, completely unworthy as prey, let alone of breeding quality. He was on the verge of giving up. Only the threats of his sire kept him from simply returning to his ship and leaving this miserable rock to go hunting on some other planet.
Clicking in frustration at his task, he was just about to leap to the ground and return to his ship, prepared to begin the female hunt anew, when a strange sound made him pause. It was singing, ooman singing, and it was steadily heading his way. Yaut'ja could not sing, but he'd become familiar with the ooman practice, through none of the recorded tunes he'd heard in the city compared to this pure sound. Activating his cloak and descending to a lower branch, he curiously waited to see what kind of ooman produced it.
In the arms of the angel
Far away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you feel
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here.[4]
Lia sang to herself as she rode through the woods. It was an old song, one her mother had taught her as a child. Here, alone, as away from civilization as she could easily get, she felt free. Free of the burdens of everyday life that never went away: marriage, job, money. She cherished this time by herself, with only her silent mount and the towering trees. She was a solitary creature by nature and the necessary daily interactions with other people would wear on her until she felt the pressing need to escape. This was her peace, her way to mediate and recharge. Most days she felt as though the world was closing in around her and she was trapped with no way out.
How had she gotten to this point? 30 years old, married but no children, a job that helped pay the bills but was wholly unfulfilling. She had once dreamed of grand adventures, of visiting remote locales, doing great deeds, being a worthy and admirable person. She had once been an artist, creating beauty from disparate parts. And yet here she was, living an unspectacular life with few prospects of it ever being more. Some days it all felt so hopeless and she could hardly find the motivation to go through the motions of her daily routine. Only these sojourns into the fields and woods on the back of her horse gave her the wherewithal to carry on.
Sure, there were good times. She liked her husband well enough. He was a decent man, though she'd never felt particularly passionate about him. They'd been married five years now and she found her initial interest in him had waned, just as it had with every man prior. Mark was 10 years her senior and had two teenage children from a previous marriage. They were good kids, but they weren't hers, and she felt no deep emotional connection to them. Mark was willing to have children with her, and she felt that some day she'd want them, but that day had yet to come. She was finally starting to feel the pressure to get on with it, despite her internal reluctance. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she wasn't ready to give up what little freedom she had just yet. Without children, she at least still had a choice.
Titan cocked one ear to listen to his mistress, the other swiveling back and forth to take in the sounds of the woods. He was large for a horse, standing 18 hands[5]. Lia had rescued him nearly 10 years ago when he was destined for the slaughter house. He was a magnificent animal, with a golden chestnut coat, blonde mane and tail, and flashy white face and legs. Despite his size, he was very sensitive, and the cruel treatment of his early owners had damaged his trust in people. When Lia first saw him, he was a mess, thin and dirty, shaking in fear. Her experienced eye could see the diamond in the rough though. It had taken a lot of time and patience to gain his trust, but she loved the big beast who liked nothing better than to rest his broad forehead against Lia's chest while she gently stroked his ears.
Twenty feet above, an invisible Ri'al listened, entranced by the ooman's song. He was surprised when the creature had appeared on the trail sitting atop a large grazer. He recalled from hunts long past that oomans rode this particular animal as a form of transportation, but since they had progressed technologically to the use of mechanized conveyance, he found it odd that this one chose to use a beast of burden. She, he identified it as female by the prominent curve of milk glands on her chest, seemed in no particular hurry, moving at a steady but relaxed walk. The sounds she produced were unlike anything he had ever heard. The cadence of her voice lulled him in a way only mediation previously had. He was intrigued.
So tired of the straight line,
And everywhere you turn,
There's vultures and thieves at your back.
The storm keeps on twisting.
Keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack.
It don't make no difference,
Escaping one last time.
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness,
Oh, this glorious sadness,
That brings me to my knees[6].
He only understood about half of the words, not yet having put serious effort into learning the dominant language of his clan's territory. There was a mournful tone to the melody. He wondered what it meant. The female and her mount passed right beneath his perch, oblivious to his presence, and continued down the path. Ri'al wanted to hear more and leapt silently to another tree, his sharp black claws digging into the trunk to support his weight. He followed her in this manner for several minutes before cracking a branch. The song stopped as beast she rode gave a sharp snort and spun to face the noise, ears pricked and nostrils flared, muscles quivering. The female was not unseated by the abrupt movement. She spoke quiet sounds and stroked the beast's neck while nearby Ri'al held his breath and stayed perfectly still. He might be cloaked, but a ripple in the air could be seen by a keen observer if he moved. The grazer slowly relaxed its tense posture as the female soothed it.
"It's ok boy. There's nothing there. Let's head home now."
She lightly tugged on the harness attached to its mouth. With a final snort, the beast lowered its head and allowed its rider to direct it back to the trail. Ri'al released his breath in a huff, cursing himself. Stupid Youngblood mistake. Annoyed, he dropped to the ground and made his way back to his ship, grumbling all the way, wanting to kill something. Ooman's are prey! And pretty sounds do not a mate make. Why am I even here on this pauk'de fool's errand? Oh right…my sire.
Still, he couldn't get the intriguing female out of his head though. He hadn't been able to see much of what she looked like, with a protective helmet on her head and long clothing covering almost every inch of skin. It was autumn, and while the air was crisp, it was not yet cold enough to make the hunter uncomfortable. The Yaut'ja naturally preferred warmer, humid climates, like their home world of Yaut Prime. When not armored, they generally wore only a loincloth and sandals. Finding his cloaked ship in a clearing a short hike from the ooman's trail, Ri'al punched a code into his wrist computer and a ramp slid down for him to enter.
Being a successful Blooded Hunter, not quite Honored but well on his way, Ri'al had his own fine hunting vessel, just large enough for a lone hunter. Newbloods and Youngbloods would band together in hunting packs after their Chiva, pooling their resources and hunting together. It taught them many necessary skills, such as teamwork, that did not come naturally to Yaut'ja. Once they had reached Blooded status though, most hunters preferred to travel alone, returning to the Clanship only for breeding season or at the decree of the Elders. Stalking thorough the docking bay, he made his way to his weapon and trophy room, stripping off the light awu'asa[7] and mesh shift suit[8] he wore. Proceeding from there to the kehrite[9] to train, and hopefully banish thoughts of the female. Several hours later, he was no closer to inner peace. C'jit he mumbled aloud. With that thought, he redressed, activated the cloak and went to track the ooman.
[1] Yaut'ja season equivalent to four earth years (one year on their homeword, Yaut Prime)
[2] Eta - Yaut'ja servant class, those that are weak, crippled or too cowardly to hunt
[3] State of zen, calm, centeredness
[4] Arms of the Angel – Sarah MacLaclan
[5] 1 hand = 4 inches
[6] Lyrics: Arms of the Angel – Sarah MacLaclan
[7] Armor
[8] A fishnet-like wire bodysuit that helps maintain temperature and allowing for cloaking (invisibility).
[9] Training room, dojo
