PLAGUE
by Obsidian Blade
Stepping Stones and First Blood
He feared for her.
In the wider scheme of things, Tziir knew he ought to be glad. He had to focus on the tribe. He needed to remember that Shaaca's participation boosted the scouting party's chances of success to a near-certainty. If she lead the way into battle, their fighting force could well be the one to crush the omastar for good. The plague might stop altogether. That possibility had to take precedence over everything else.
But kabutops possessed extensive memories, strong to suit their long lives. Regardless of the kabtaar's wishes, Tziir's harked back to a time when silver wings and black armour marked a freak, not a war heroine. His mind's eye recalled with crippling clarity the way an imploring violet gaze once regarded him, awkwardly requesting the comfort and protection no-one else cared to give.
It was a ridiculous thing to dwell on. Shaaca no longer required that sort of assistance. Her physical strength had grown to exceed his nearly a century ago and she easily matched him tactically as well. Two weeks spent inactive would not have changed that. His general would crush anything that opposed her.
Yet the raw emotion she had shown played out a bloody tragedy in his mind. He saw fearlessness and recklessness and death. Her words echoed through him all over again. None of you mean anything to me. You can all die before I leave his side. Potent proof that some part of her had shattered. Some part had bent past breaking point and left her not herself. He couldn't trust Shaaca to withdraw as he had asked. She might challenge the whole oma tribe on her own. She might die.
Tziir stepped back from his personal grinding stone, raising his gleaming scythes to scrutinise the lethal edge. Razor sharp, there was nothing to criticise in either, save for their inactivity. Wielded at Shaaca's side, they would be perfect.
He lowered both with a muted hiss and forced all regrets about the constraints of his position aside. All thoughts of his aashnin disappeared along with them. Stepping out into the sun, he looked down the beach to the decimated ranks of his tribe going about their business. Tziir raised his head and willed away the worried wrinkles around his eyes. It was time to head out and serve.
o o o
Raahn's red eyes gleamed in the darkness of his shelter, line of sight obscured by the boulder supporting the enormous tree overhead. A drooping net of moss did nothing to improve the situation. He cursed inwardly, lifting onto the tips of his claws in the vague hope it might improve visibility. No such luck.
'Perfect,' he said dryly, glancing in Zetaahn's direction.
Initially, the sight of his so-called bodyguard sprawled on his back, cheek pressed into the pile of dung, had amused the telniin. A moment of realisation fixed all that. Old faeces would be solid. It wouldn't smear quite so satisfyingly up a childish kabutops' cheek.
More worryingly, something was definitely prowling outside. Past the boulder, undergrowth snapped and swished. It moved slowly: ponderously, the strategist decided. Not an intelligent enemy because it lived on land, but certainly large. He squinted again through the veil of moss. Nothing. Irksome.
With a huff, the kabuto skittered over to Zetaahn, climbing onto his chest and tapping repeatedly on the raakin's armour.
'Wake up!' he hissed. 'Wake up, you lazy chump.'
The kabutops stirred, staring dreamily at the blurry rock perched on his chest until his third lid drew back and the tetchy telniin came into focus.
'Raahn?' he mumbled vaguely, an attempt to sit up halted rapidly when his head made an ugly sucking sound.
The kabuto couldn't help the amused glint in his eyes at the horrified look gripping his companion's face.
'That's Telniin Raahn, thank you,' he said snidely. 'Now get up. There's something outside and we need to deal with it.'
The younger kabu curled into a crouch with a grimace, shuddering from helm to tail.
'But I'm,' he started.
'Completely and utterly disgusting, yes,' Raahn finished, creeping close to the widest gap in the roots. 'I really don't care. It's on the left,' he said, sweeping out one talon and glancing back at Zetaahn to ascertain he was paying attention, 'and undoubtedly expects us to come out here, so you're going to use those scythes of yours and go straight up through the-'
'Telniin!' Zetaahn lurched forward, his face so close to Raahn that it silenced him altogether with his own gag reflex. The raakin lowered his voice to a whisper. 'If it's that close it can probably hear you.'
The kabuto scurried away from the stink, snorting. 'It's a land creature. They're stupid.' Before the hurt look flitting across Zetaahn's features could manifest fully as spoken stupidity he added quickly, 'You're amphibious. Now get out there!'
The raakin leapt up, shuddering as the worst of the mess slid off his face. Outside, something gave a rumbling yawn. He swallowed at the sound, wondering how enormous it would have to be to make a noise like that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out his imagination's hulking conclusion. Best just to go. Stopping to consider things only made them worse.
On his first jump, Zetaahn's scythes hacked straight through the roots overhead, his helm breaking through the remaining splinters. His second leap sent him up through the gap. He slammed down both arms on either side, talons scrabbling for purchase on the boulder below as he hauled himself up. The jungle greeted his precursory glance around. Vibrant flowers, shiny green foliage, dappled sunlight and- oh.
Zetaahn stared straight into a heavy-lidded eye, boggling at the sheer width of the enormous head behind it.
'Slaaaaak,' it rumbled.
The sight of its yellow fangs snapped him back to his senses. Off-balance on the knotted roots, he slashed out hard. His scythe caught the monster across its massive shoulder, shearing a bloody gash through its matted brown pelt. It retaliated instantly, a clumsy punch crashing down onto the spot the nimble kabutops had occupied not a split-second before. An explosion of splinters clipped Zetaahn's heels as he lurched through the air, skidding to a halt as soon as he hit solid ground. The slaking's second arm slammed down right in front of him, then swiped for his legs.
The raakin dodged away smartly, darting toward its exposed belly as his enemy struggled to free its right arm from the tangled roots. It jerked before Zetaahn's blades even touched it, wrenching its bloodied fist up into the air with a growl that flexed into an agonised bellow as the kabutops' sickles dug into its rubbery flesh.
'Hah! As you deserve!' Zetaahn heard Raahn's victorious voice exclaim from within their makeshift shelter.
Drawing back his blades, he moved to strike again, but the monster swiped at him as though it hadn't been hurt at all. The pure muscle beneath its matted fur heaved the raakin off his feet and into the air, flailing as he collided with a nearby tree. The knuckle of his right scythe caught in the crux of two thick branches, nearly tearing the arm from its socket as Zetaahn's full bodyweight came crashing down. He howled, tumbling to the ground with a sickly crunch. Sprawled on his back, he writhed, desperately seeking some elusive position that might soothe the wretched joint. Raahn's warning shout went unheard.
Reliably, it all came down to the power of the kabuto, the strategist mused. He had seen clearly the flex of massive muscles beneath the creature's flabby chest. Zetaaahn really should have too. Their enemy might be misleadingly fat and short-legged, but it was fast and bloody strong. Laziness could only hinder that amount of power so much.
But it really was damned lazy. Even now it took its sweet time as it lumbered towards the injured kabutops, almost as though it couldn't quite raise the motivation to finish him off. Raahn narrowed his eyes as he darted forward. He could exploit that.
Water shot from his reserves, spraying Slaking in the side of the head. It whipped around with uncanny speed, nostrils flared wide in its pug nose. Its white ruff dripped. A low rumble built in its chest as it advanced on Raahn, leaving his larger counterpart for later.
'Yes, hello there!' he shouted, undaunted. He backed off quickly, waving one front leg with each insult. 'You're a frightfully ugly piece of work. A face like that makes even a tentacool look attractive.'
The back of his shell bumped against a vertical root, and his legs skittered on one side to turn him quickly around the obstruction and into the wooden shelter.
'Comparatively, of course,' he continued, sidling up to the boulder. 'Tentacool did, after all, hold the unfortunate title of ugliest being alive, until you came along.'
Its tawny face lowered to the ground near the entrance, blocky jaw skimming the dust. On all fours, its enormous shoulders just fit through the gap. Although he tried to smother it, the telniin felt the first prickle of excitement.
'I dare say you killed your mother outright, when she looked in your egg and saw what a malformed monstrosity she'd birthed!'
With a roar, the beast lurched forward. Raahn jumped in fright, nearly overturning himself, and managed to hook one needle leg into the moss adorning the boulder. Glancing back when he didn't seem to be dead, he saw Slaking force its shoulder through the roots. It balled its fist.
'By the bloody Bladesworn,' he cursed, struggling up the rock, 'Hidden truths!'
The punch missed him by a breath, and only because fear considerably improved the kabuto's climbing prowess. Slumping onto the top of the boulder, the base of the tree pressing against his back, Raahn pushed himself up onto his claws. He turned, looking down at the furious slaking.
'You happen to be preposterously poor at fighting, too,' he snipped, then turned sharply and forced himself through the one tiny gap between tree and stone.
As predicted, the beast slammed against the solid wood behind him, bellowing fury. Rather unexpectedly, it burst straight through.
Raahn plummeted from his perch, glancing off the twisted roots before slamming into the ground on his side. Above, Slaking's enormous head forced its way back into the sunlight, splinters raining from its bulging shoulders. With a crackling, splitting moan, the tree collapsed against its neighbour, taking a whole system of vines with it. The evening sky blazed through the gap that opened in the canopy.
Slaking clambered out of the ruined shelter, the boulder shifting beneath its weight. Its head turned downward and its heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Raahn. He stared.
'Improbable,' he spluttered.
His first implemented strategy in nearly a decade, thwarted by brute strength? It was utterly humiliating, but he had little time to dwell on it. The next lance of water, aimed at the beast's snout, was his last and, water reserves emptied, he raised his needle legs towards his notably uninjured foe. Could he leach from a creature with that much fat? Hard to tell. Bloody annoying. Worth trying?
'Slaaaaakiiiing!'
The giant sloth had barely raised its fist to crush the dithering kabuto when it was hit from the side. Twin sickles sliced into its belly and flank, forced deeper by a tenacious attacker. Zetaahn clung to its ragged pelt, hissing through the pain in his arm. As Slaking struggled to shake him off, he brought the talons on his feet to bear.
'Hah,Raakin, that's better!' cried Raahn, apparently undaunted by his brush with compaction.
Skittering forward, he launched himself at the slaking's leg and dug in his tiny claws. His aim wasn't especially true: one blade hit bone whilst the other barely forced through the thick layer of fat. Nevertheless it elicited another angry bellow from the beast. Raging, it ploughed into a tree, the trunk shattering on impact and sending shards of sharp white wood clattering off the two kabus' armour.
The tree went down and Slaking stumbled over with it, crashing to the ground and half-crushing Zetaahn with its weight. He gave a pained squeal, one scythe coming loose, and with the next thrash of his furious host he tumbled from its side, skidding a few metres before coming to a halt near the entrance to the shelter. His warrior instincts cut in quickly this time, however, and he sat up almost immediately, ready to gain his feet.
Warrior instincts, after all, could hardly anticipate the hurtling projectile of shell and angry mind that shot through the air towards him. Warrior instincts had no idea that sitting up would put him directly in the path of that projectile, or that it would hit his head so hard his armoured helm would crack upon impact.
Unfortunately, this proved to be a major failing for warrior instincts. Caught just above the eye by Raahn as the kabuto hurtled through the air, Zetaahn dropped straight back into the dirt, reeling from the hit. His thoughts sprawled, disjointed, stupid. Instead of focusing on the advancing foe he found himself staring in dazed disbelief at Raahn, watching with dumb curiosity the way the little yellow legs twitched in waves. The telniin's litany of furious insults washed through his mind without a trace of any sense whatsoever. The world distorted wildly. A piercing shriek tore through the air and thunder thudded through the ground.
Slaking's thunder.
He had to stand.
Rolling onto his back, he stared upward just in time to see the monstrous creature towering over him, bleeding and angry. Then it stumbled forward; it tried to turn but it was late, far too late to stop anything. Blood gushed, spurting in gory fans from its throat.
Zetaahn's stomach did a tell tale flip even as his field of vision narrowed. This wasn't getting any easier.
o o o
Sand rained down across the beach as the raakinoi duelled furiously in pairs. Scythes clashed and talons struggled for grip in the shifting ground. Someone slipped and fell to one knee toward the middle of the group; their partner missed running them through with a last-second twist to the side. His hip caught on her shoulder and he sprawled face-first through the air.
But nobody stopped. Around them, the others shakily deflected badly-aimed blows before riposting with their own. They ducked and tripped, the air buzzing with ecstatic laughs and nervous giggles.
Toward the end of the column, Siira fought against a slightly younger opponent, positively gleeful. She feinted back and scissored both scythes forward, far too focused on the raakinoi's mutual aim of impressing the kabtaar to realise how lucky they were that no one was seriously hurt. In their quest for Tziir's approval, general ignorance had led the group to opt for sheer speed. Had any one of them glanced up and noticed the furious expression of their tutor as he stormed back across the sand after a brief, hushed conversation with one of the shiraari, they might have recognised their own mistake.
Instead, Siira's blue eyes gleamed with excitement as she caught sight of an opening in her peer's defence. Darting forward, she swiped the flat of her blade hard into the other raakin's chin. He staggered back, flailing, and with a victorious shove she pushed him over on his side.
Then her heel slipped. With a surprised yelp, she tried desperately to pull back, only for the ground to part beneath her. The dune gave way in a torrent of loose sand, gushing down the sheer drop the sandbank had hidden. Clawing desperately for purchase, Siira reached for her partner's outstretched elbow and missed. She plummeted backward.
Something hit her from the side mid-air. On pure, terrified instinct, she latched onto it with every available limb, and a pair of powerful arms responded by clasping her to a plated chest. They hit the ground with a winded grunt from each, but nothing broken.
She recognised the timbre of that minute sound, though. It named her dignity the casualty. Death by grovelling.
Scrambling to her feet before her ungainly position sprawled across the chest of the kabtaar turned her into a gibbering wreck, she spun to face him and proceeded to prove that she was much too late.
'Tziir!' she cried, then yelped and waved her scythes wildly as though to slice her misdemeanour out of the air. 'I mean- Sir! Lord! Mister Kabtaar Tziir sir! I didn't really mean- I mean, that wasn't what I meant to-'
Standing slowly, white sand cascading over his mahogany brown shell, Sir Lord Mister Kabtaar Tziir lowered his head slightly to blow a few stray grains from the ornamental cuts in his shoulder plates and silver chest armour.
'Raakin,' he warned, his deep voice lowered even further than usual, 'Be silent.'
'Yessir!' she exclaimed, standing sharply to attention.
The others lined up along the top of the dune, watching intently. She would never hear the end of this.
Then again, they might not either. Raising the sweeping shield of his head, their leader and tutor raised his voice until his words practically boomed off the surrounding cliffs, each stressed syllable eliciting a collective wince from the raakinoi.
'Contrary to what is apparently common belief,' he roared, blue eyes flashing, 'You are here for practice sparring, not to display your communal ignorance! At what point have I ever so much as insinuated that throwing yourselves about at top speed in an area where footing is poor is anything other than straightforward suicide?'
The smaller kabutops cowered back, their eyes aimed anywhere but their livid kabtaar.
Swiping the air with an audible slice, Tziir continued, 'If any of you had listened for even a fleeting second you would no doubt be chanting 'never' by now – as you are not I can only deduce that you are either deaf or stupid! Which of those is the truth is of little consequence. If you continue to ignore my advice and waste time lurching about like brainless idiots rather than the precise, intelligent warriors you should be you will die, and this is not a threat, this is not a suggestion that I shall come after you personally, it is a fact! You are the fighting force of this tribe now! And as long as you blunder about displaying to the world your lack of common sense, discipline and respect for my time, you will be jeopardising your lives and those of all the others who are depending on you! And I assure you, where the omastar are involved even the slightest crack in one's performance can have catastrophic results… I wonder what they could do with the bloody greatgaping chasms in yours!'
He stopped, sides heaving, and cast his burning gaze about the shamefaced crowd. The sight of them all cowering away, scythes crossed clumsily and eyes squeezed shut, only made him angrier. Where were his delfiiri and djirnoi, the proven warriors and warrior elite? Kabutops he could rely on, kabutops who knew that if he was shouting it was for a good reason, and that they should stand and listen and learn. All taken, all stolen away by that blade-cursed plague. And what was he left with? This rabble. This quivering, spineless mass of immature, ill prepared youngsters. They weren't ready to fight off half a dozen lileep, let alone a force of omastar. His whole being yearned with unfamiliar malice to take them all on, just to see if there was anything left when he was done.
'Most revered kabtaar,' a young voice said carefully, and Tziir traced the source to the female he had caught.
She was slim, lightly built like all of this newer generation, with armour so pale as to verge on sandy gold. Obviously the fall had shocked her, as he could see the slight tremor in the smooth, sweeping curve of her blades, but her blue eyes held his gaze, more or less, and she appeared to have gained control of her blathering tongue.
'Yes?' he replied, hissing slightly despite himself.
'I… apologise on behalf of us all,' she continued, mumbling a little and lowering her head a fraction more. 'We only wanted to impress you because we know you're so strong and we want to be as powerful as possible to help you. We were trying our best.'
There was something about that apologetic, nervous tone and the pleading look in her eyes that drew his earlier brooding right back into Tziir's mind, despite the fact that she was pale and delicate, the precise opposite of the last truly important person to peer at him in that imploring manner. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the frustration from building even further.
'Kabtaar Tziir?' Siira inquired, leaning forward slightly in concern.
The kabtaar's eyes snapped open and she started back.
'Then your best, Raakin, is sadly pathetic,' he snarled venomously, glaring up at the cluster atop the dune. 'Work harder and achieve something worthwhile before you so much as speak to me again! I will not accept this laxity!' he bellowed, then turned furiously on his heel and stalked off across the beach before anyone could so much as splutter.
Stunned, Siira stood and watched him go, blinking in disbelief.
'We weren't that bad, were we…?' inquired the first of the others to reach her, having taken the long route down the massive dune.
She shook her head slowly, unable to jerk her gaze from the retreating kabtaaruntil he finally reached the line of the cliff, glanced over his shoulder once and made the brief climb to his cave, disappearing inside.
'I didn't think so either!'
'Nor me!'
'Me neither…'
Around her, the growing group of raakinoi chatted animatedly, each claiming that he or she had been really impressive whilst a few wondered why the firm, fairkabtaar was suddenly so mean. Maybe, one theorised, he had noticed that the raakinoi were smaller and defter, and hence he was jealous. Another, a coppery female, rejected this instantly on the grounds that Tziir was far too handsome to be jealous of all the wimpy little male raakinoi.
Dazed, Siira moved out of the way with the rest as the two fell into a brief tussle over the matter, but her mind lurked elsewhere, far out of its usual depth.
Unlike Zetaahn, who had always been caught up in his ambition to become the next helniin, Shaaca's equivalent, her interest lay in legends and kabtaarin. Whenever a Bladesworn tale was being told, Siira would be there, hanging onto the speaker's every word. As a result of this dedication to his earlier exploits, she once felt she knew Tziir as though he were a close friend. She'd almost hoped he'd look at her and know it. But he'd only shouted. He wasn't anything like the tales made him out to be. He didn't even match the simple image of a fair kabtaar. She felt betrayed.
Heroes shouldn't change.
o o o
Heat and blood and nausea. A lumpy horizon of dirt and twigs obscured half of Raakin Zetaahn's vision every time he found the strength to open his eyes. But he still saw the demon. It towered overhead, tugging brusquely on his limbs, forcing back his head and blasting water across his brow. He choked on bile. Fighting the monster off was impossible: his scythes lolled, disconnected from his brain, whenever he tried to raise them. He couldn't even turn his head as its silver talons dug into the ground beside him.
Then he was airborne, floating, jerking painfully from the ground. His head knocked against something rock-solid with each step. Impossible to count the strides. When they stopped, he would be lost. He had no hope at all.
But then the ground was beneath him: a soft, shallow pit in the earth, shaded by leaves like a ka'aan at midday. Sweet blood dripped into his mouth. He spluttered on the first few drops, but food, he had never felt this grateful for food, let alone simple liquid. He lapped up the rest with stomach-twisting vigour and bleated shamelessly for more as though he were a kabuto again, begging sustenance from his parents.
The demon withdrew sharply at the sound, leaving him helpless and alone on the ground, choking again. Something sharp jabbed at his side, muttering and hissing. Zetaahn pressed his face further into the dirt and let dizziness steal him away.
Raahn clicked his claws irritably as Zetaahn slumped further over in a dead faint, scythes stretched out over the edges of the makeshift ka'aan they had placed him in. The crack in the raakin's helmed head oozed sluggishly
'Why is it taking him so long to get over it, Aashnin?' he inquired of his companion, glowering.
Standing a few strides away, the black kabutops stared down impassively at the massive mound of fur and fat that was her kill. The worst of the blood was gone from her scythes but vague stains could still be made out against the silver. Raahn couldn't quite suppress the thrill that ran through him at the sight. That monstrosity had brought both him and Zetaahn to their knees, but she had killed it so quickly Raahn doubted it had seen her at all. Straight into its back, snapping ribs, then somehow getting her scythes far enough around its colossal trunk of a neck to slit its throat: the attack had been perfectly executed. Clearly Shaaca's skills had only grown since he had last seen her fight.
She didn't seem all that attentive, though. It was only after he had repeated the question three times that she gave any indication that she had heard. Even then it was only a slight lowering of her head, violet eyes slowly shifting over to him and staring vacantly.
She spoke in monotone. 'It was a heavy hit.'
'But I endured the same and I'm fine,' retorted the kabuto. 'He can't be that weak, can he?'
Shaaca's gaze wandered over to the makeshift ka'aan, growing even more distant as she stared at the smooth dip in the earth.
'Aashnin, ' Raahn prompted, scowling.
This was what he hated about kabutops: they were so arrogant. Getting their attention, let alone their respect, was nigh impossible for a kabuto, and the lumbering creatures seemed to feel entitled to ignore them at will. Even blood ties didn't seem enough to keep a kabutops close to a kabuto for long, he noted snidely, seeing as Shaaca had abandoned her ailing son to come out here. Self-centred creature, what did he care for talent if she wouldn't even listen?
'Stay here,' Shaaca ordered abruptly, cutting into his internal tirade. 'Watch him.'
She didn't wait for his inevitable objection, turning and racing away into the undergrowth. Glowering, Raahn shuffled over to Zetaahn and set himself down next to the raakin's domed head.
'Just as useless as each other,' he grumbled.
Beside him, Zetaahn shifted and whimpered in troubled sleep.