Thirty-One
Sechinde and Lu'rchh oversaw the area of the forest that had served as the battleground for the unwitting To're'khe pack. The evidence was obvious. Trees and plants had been splashed with the Yautjan blood. Broken bits of armor and torn flesh lay scattered on the ground. Scorch marks from Burners grazed the trees. Fortunately, this particular region didn't have a heavy ooman population to stumble across this scene. This hadn't been a battle at all. This had been a straight up massacre. According to the images recorded by Te'oce-de, the To're'khe pack hadn't stood a chance. Whatever attacked them had completely overwhelmed their senses. Whatever it was about that strange cold cloud, it not only affected their sight, but their senses of smell and taste, as well. Sechinde could still detect it in the air and he felt his tongue going numb the more he smelled it. He breathed in deeply, trying to identify it, before backing up, sneezing twice and and shaking his head. Not a very wise move, he had to admit. However this was new to him. He hadn't encountered a substance like it before and it confounded him as much as it disturbed him.
Lu'rchh approached from further down the slope. He'd been overseeing a group of his own Ki'vai warriors summoned to assist in the retrieval. He bowed to Sechinde, swishing his decorated brown tendrils out of the way, "There are no signs of other living warriors," he announced, "I have sent my pack further down the mountain."
"Eliminate any traces of the battle you find," Sechinde said, "I will send my own pack to follow the beacons left by Te'oce-de. He cannot have gotten too far."
Lu'rchh approached, his head bowed before his superior Yautjan Leader, "Elder Sechinde, I will assume you have noticed the same thing that I have?" he said quietly.
Sechinde nodded; he'd certainly noticed it as well. Aside from personal affects and discarded and broken weapons lying forgotten on the slope, there was something even more disconcerting.
There were no bodies.
Every Yautja that had been labeled as dead was missing. Their corpses, their masks, their weapons, everything. They were just gone. He could see no signs of the bodies having been moved or dragged; the ground bore no markings. The plantlife was, however, slightly scorched in areas. It could be the bodies had been burned. But even that didn't make sense; the plants around them would've burned as well and ashes would be left behind to reveal the story.
Growling low in his throat, Sechinde turned to Lu'rchh, "Find Te'oce-de. Immediately. We need his mask. His recording sent to us may have been tampered with."
Lu'rchh's eyes narrowed, "That is a hefty accusation, Sechinde."
"Something has attacked and massacred our honored warriors," Sechinde spat, "And this is not the first time we have seen this in recent times. This is a perfectly sound accusation. Now find Te'oce-de."
This was said with an affirming snarl and a sharp click, signifying Sechinde maintaining his place as Leader and ordering Lu'rchh to obey him. Lu'rchh, while also an Elder of esteemed status, knew better than to argue. Sechinde was very soon to be honored as an Ancient. Yautja seldom lived to the highly advanced age that he had, and any who made it this far were to be obeyed. Just because Sechinde chose not to Hunt or fight anymore by no accounts meant he was unable to do so. If he chose to kill his comrade for insubordination, Lu'rchh knew he'd stand very little chance against him. Bowing his head, he turned and moved off down the slope, north of the direction he'd come from. Sechinde headed down in the other direction, moving nimbly along the rocks and steep inclines. He heard the clatter of rocks tumbling down the slope further to the east, alerting him of the approaching pack. As he cleared a rock formation jutting out, landing a good ways further down, he paused, scanning the surrounding area carefully. He recognized this place from the recording fragment sent back. Te'oce-de had fallen near here. He scented the air carefully, picking up whatever remaining traces he could find of the battle. The atmosphere was still heavy with that strange substance and his tongue still felt numb, hampering his sense of smell. He sneezed again and let out a deep sigh; finding the missing warrior through scent was clearly not an option.
He looked up at the sound of a short bellow from further down the mountain. One of the warriors had found something and was summoning his packmates. Sechinde leaped the final ten noks or so and landed heavily on a flatter piece of land, bolting in the direction of the call. He could hear others of the packs reacting in a similar fashion and as he slowed at the edge of a sharp drop off point leading down, he was joined by another Hunter who quickly staggered to a stop and bowed his head to him respectfully before turning his gaze down to the opposite side of the ravine. The warrior who had summoned them was standing beside a half-fallen tree. He was a relatively young warrior Sechinde had trained not too many seasons before, one of his many offspring chosen to learn the ways of the Yautja and the glories of the Hunt from his own vast experience. Time would tell if this one would be granted further opportunities to continue to Hunt with him in the future. For now, though, as Sechinde leaped over to stand near him and followed his gesture down into the ravine, he felt inclined to believe this male would go on later to prove himself quite highly. In a former battleground where the senses of smell and taste were deadened by an unknown (and hopefully not permanent) substance, and vision was hampered by the cooler temperatures, it had taken a very sharp eye to spot this find. He clapped his progeny on the shoulder roughly, both as a greeting and as approval for his discovery. He dropped down into the ravine, followed by two other warriors and Lu'rchh who had followed the call. Sechinde stared ahead, his fists clenching at his sides at he processed what he was looking at. Lu'rchh glanced at him, gauging his reaction.
"This is...," Sechinde rumbled, "This will not go unpunished."
Great glory and honor came from dying in battle. Even though this was the essential spine of the culture of the Yautja, Sechinde knew that some ancient, ingrained instinct remained buried deep within their beings that they couldn't control. One such instinct that could not be erased was the innate shock and disconcert at the sight of a member of their kind lying dead. It didn't matter whether or not the death had been honorable; every Yautja's first instinctive reaction was either shock or minute grief, depending on the connection of the fallen warrior. It lasted all of a few seconds before being replaced with pride for their honored brother, now welcomed in the lands of the Paya. But the initial reaction just couldn't be suppressed. Through thousands of generations and tens of thousands of years of advancement, as beings of Life, it was simply natural for one's blood to chill at the sight of a comrade's demise. This held even truer when the death was something unnatural, and especially dishonorable.
They had found Te'oce-de, or what was left of him, anyway. Some parts of him lay here, others there, and some parts were missing altogether. Most crucially of all, his head was gone from his torso. Sechinde felt his spines stiffen in pure, unbridled anger at the clear taunt this was as he stared straight ahead into the cold, dead face of a former warrior, mounted on a rock perfectly at eye level.
His mask was nowhere to be seen.
"Search this place," Sechinde ordered, "If his mask is here, find it."
His tone was uncompromising. The warriors who jumped in with them immediately set about to searching the small cave, checking every nook and cranny for the missing mask that Sechinde suspected heavily they would not find.
"This is mockery." Lu'rchh hissed.
"Whatever did this knew we would arrive and discover him." Sechinde said, "They are as cunning as they are dishonorable."
"I will order a pack to continue to search this place."
"No," Sechinde responded, "We are finished here. His mask will not be found. To go to such lengths to taunt us so brazenly; they would not be so foolish as to leave incrimination behind."
His gaze fell to the severed arm of the warrior laying a short distance from his head. He approached and turned the limb over, finding the intact bracer still attached to his arm. Sechinde huffed deeply, twisting his head around to Lu'rchh and nodding. The old Yautja understood his gesture and bellowed to the searchers. They stopped their trek further into the ravine and quickly scrambled up and out the sides, moving swiftly away from the area. Lu'rchh followed, climbing back out without a second glance. Sechinde activated the bracer, setting the controls for the explosives stored within. He set the timer to an appropriate time and backed away from the corpse. He faced the head of the warrior and placed his hand over the blank eyes of the fallen Yautja, closing them in dhi'ki-de, the sleep of Death. He rumbled softly before removing his hand and turning abruptly, leaping up to the edge of the ravine and clearing it in two powerful bounds. He ran, then, moving swiftly and surely through the trees after his brethren who had already cleared the danger zone. The ground shook beneath his feet as the explosion ripped through the forest surrounding them, blasting enormous chunks of rocks, dirt and trees free from their moorings and into the atmosphere around them. Sechinde dug his feet into the soil and ground to a halt, turning back and watching in the distance as all traces of Te'oce-de were erased from existence. He made certain that nothing would be left behind. What honor the warrior had had upon his death would not be forgotten. His brief recordings had at least given them some insight into the fact that something in their world was very, very wrong. Now, the Yautja, the chosen Hunters of the Paya, were facing the very real possibility that they themselves were now being Hunted.
And the thought caused Sechinde to flare his mandibles, a vicious snarl escaping his throat.
/ooo/
Luar'ka endured one final examination by Than'ja as he made certain her wings had received no further injury. He didn't know how to repair wings and wasn't thrilled of the prospect when he'd eventually have to learn. Fortunately, the injury she'd sustained on N'-yuicte to her wing had simply been a dislocated joint, nothing more. Easily, albeit painfully snapped back into place. Between the repair from Than'ja and the final docking, Luar'ka managed to regain near complete mobility in her wings.
When the ship docked within the hold of the Jag'dja'd atoll, Luar'ka noticed that Thwei'ja disappeared unnervingly quickly. But she didn't question it as she hurriedly helped her brothers to finish their tasks so they could leave quickly.
They'd told her what was happening.
The Jag'dja'd atoll was bustling with activity. As Luar'ka followed her brothers back through the main body of the ship toward an as yet, unknown destination, she could sense the heavy tension in the air. The males grew restless, the h'dui'se strong and heady in the air. Luar'ka felt her feathers flare at the scent of it, knowing instinctively to connect the scent with tension or excitement.
It was time to Hunt once again.
Luar'ka walked behind her brothers, still diminutive in size to them, but feeling more confident in her abilities and her speed. With the Yautja aboard the ship this keyed, up, she knew she'd have to be ready for anything. And there was no time to prepare. Ikthya'de had warned her under no uncertain terms that as of her Blooding, which could now be seen by all, their protection of her ended. Whatever happened from this point onward was the will of the Paya. The Black Warrior could demand her company and she would have no say in the matter, but she was expected to fight with everything had until she could resist Cetanu no longer. She had made up her mind. Should she perish, she would make certain that her final action would be to smile in the face of Death.
She walked with her head held high, her feathers flushed and held stiffly behind her. She now knew where they were headed. Since the announcement went out that a Clan Hunt was approaching, they were making their way down into the middle of the ship where the largest kehrite lay. This one, while also used for training purposes, was much, much larger than the others scattered about the ship and often set aside either for large groups of students, or cases like this; exhibiting strength against other warriors for the sake of joining the Hunt. Luar'ka hoped to watch the battles, as she now felt more confident about her status. However, Ikthya'de and Than'ja were right; her survival was now her own worry.
The Yautja of the Sev'kai, along with scattered members of the other Clans in the Triad, filed into the viewing rows of the kehrite, watching as the strongest warriors gathered in the center of the stage-like arena. Luar'ka stood with her brothers, careful not to lose them in the throng of screaming, boisterous forms. She kept her eyes trained around her, noticing that excitement for the impending challenges was so high, very few Yautja seemed to notice or even care about her presence. They were so keyed up, even she didn't bother them.
The way these battles worked for the most part, the warriors would face off against one another. Only twenty individuals could go on the Clan Hunts, which were usually performed either as a mass ritualistic Hunt of special prey, or more commonly, for food. It took a lot of supplies to sustain such large groups of Yautja and these Hunts were very frequent. But only the strongest, most honorable warriors would be allowed to take part. Hunting for prey to be consumed was just as important as Hunting for honorable kills. Nourishment kills had to be performed on the absolute weakest members of a species as a way to keep the bloodlines of that species strong and pure. But the utmost respect for these beasts of prey was not only required, but demanded. These creatures' sacrifices enabled the Hunters to continue to live, thrive, and fight. No Yautja even slightly lacking in honor was permitted to take part. The creatures had to be killed as swiftly and painlessly as possible, so as to offer them proper respect and honor in exchange for the use of their remains. Oftentimes, the prey would still struggle furiously against their attackers, as was natural. This was where the swift and painless strikes came in. When at all possible, the Yautja dealing the killing blow must absolutely aim truly. Once subdued by his brothers, he would strike, and the prey must feel as little agony as possible. Restraining live prey took even more strength and skill than killing it, and any Yautja that could perform such a feat was a truly formidable Hunter.
This was where the battles came in. And determining the roster for such Hunts was an event the Yautja always counted on. Any Youngblood could jump into the arena and challenge the known Leaders; in fact, it was expected. It also helped weed out the overconfident and pitiful fighters who took nothing away from their lessons. Luar'ka had never seen these battles take place, but experience living with the Yautja told her what to expect; today, she would see many Youngbloods defeated, and possibly killed.
She recognized a few of the older males standing out there, throwing their fists into the air, bellowing and both encouraging and being encouraged by the rowdy and furious gathering of Yautja. She saw R'zha down there, as well as Me'vi-te. She couldn't suppress a hiss of delight when she saw Thwei'ja among them as well. He was one of the few Yautjan Leaders who wasn't loudly rallying the Youngbloods as the others were doing, but his posture was rigid and stiff, his head held high and his armor cleaned, polished, and gleaming in the harsh light. His very presence commanded respect and she found herself growing more excited; her Leader, the Yautja who had Blooded her was preparing to take such an important role. She found that the cries and screams of the Yautja around her were becoming infectious. Ikthya'de and even Than'ja had already lost themselves in the chaotic fray. Her spirit rose along with theirs and gradually, Luar'ka unleashed her own voice into the roar where it was quickly lost among the hundreds of others, filling the arena with the growing excitement and frenzy for the important rite. It was only when Elder Sechinde stepped out into the arena that things began to settle, and it still took him unleashing a roar so powerful that it practically rattled the framework of the ship. Luar'ka felt her ears ringing as Sechinde, legs spread apart and back arched, flared his mandibles, his posture completely belying his age. Truly, he showed his might as a legendary warrior, his dominating presence commanding even the air around him. His nearly gray tendrils lined with dozens of gleaming beads, his equally graying skin, and the hundreds of healed scars and old injuries held absolutely no sway in his stance; age meant nothing whatsoever. Any Yautja foolish enough to challenge him right now might as well consign themselves to the Black Warrior.
As it settled slightly, it became apparent that there was to be no formalities. Sechinde turned slowly, eying the crowd carefully, as though he were judging them. He turned to the Leaders awaiting his command. Tossing his head, he whirled, "Let the selection commence!" he bellowed.
The cacophony of excitement burst forth again and the Leaders faced the crowd as Youngbloods began to funnel over the short walls surrounding the arena, issuing their challenges. Each was met in turn by one of the older males determined to keep his place. Not all Yautja would participate, but a good number certainly would. Plenty of Yautja here were of other castes, such as metalworkers, healers, textile workers and rare artisans, builders, and even the eta. Any and all could participate, but many chose not to. However, those who did faced an enormous challenge. Luar'ka was astounded when she recognized a young Yautja forcibly designated to the eta due to his abnormally small size clamber over the wall and approach one of the Leaders, bellowing forth a challenge. The battles had begun, and Youngbloods who succeeded in impressing the Leaders would be presented with a blessing and allowed to remain in the arena to continue to fight. Defeating the Leaders wasn't necessary, though it certainly remained an option. The position was usually passed down upon the demise of a commanding Yautja. If one wished to become a Leader to replace a still-living one, one needed to first defeat a Leader in battle.
She watched, dumbfounded as the challenging eta, followed by jeers, snarls and taunting, collided with the clearly more powerful male he'd issued a challenge to. The more experienced and larger Yautja caught the weaker individual by the shoulders, twisting his body to the side and hurling him to the floor. The young eta rolled with the blow and scrambled to his feet, turning his body sideways in a clear indication of injury to his right shoulder. However, he hissed and lunged forward again, attempting to plow into his opponent's waist to try to knock his center off balance. Instead, his opponent spun to the side and kicked the young male down to the floor, catching him in the sternum. The eta attempted to right himself, but his weakness and inefficiency in battle were clearly going to be the cause of his downfall. As he tried to stand up, his opponent slammed his fist down against the crest of his skull, sending him reeling. Luar'ka watched, wide-eyed as the Leader hauled the eta up by his neck, his mandibles flaring aggressively. The young male snarled defiantly as the clearly more powerful Yautja unsheathed his wrist blades and buried them deep in the weaker fighter's chest, wrenching them to the side and slicing outward, ending his life nearly instantly. He dropped his lifeless corpse to the arena floor and bellowed his victory to the crowd of exuberant onlookers. Luar'ka had never seen a spectacle like this, but knowing the Yautja, she somehow doubted this was the normal outcome. The eta were so looked down upon that by challenging a better foe and dying in battle gave them something to fight for, a chance to die with a smidgen of honor. It was just the way things were for this powerful and brutal race.
The battle raged on, the floor quickly becoming stained with the blood of the defeated. In the hour of the first bouts of struggling, Luar'ka watched two more Yautja called upon by Cetanu, one of them being another eta. By this point, seven more Youngbloods had been recognized as competent warriors and taken their place on the floor. Now, the victors were issuing challenges into the crowd, meeting the eyes of those who they wished to fight and daring them to accept. This too seemed to be a normal part of the process and those who were challenged eagerly leaped from the crowd and into the arena, anxious to join the fray. A couple of Yautja chosen for the Hunt bore the mark of the Ki'vai Clan and Luar'ka was beginning to understand how tightly woven the Triad was to allow such mixing of Clan brothers.
Another Youngblood succeeded in securing a spot in the Hunt, having challenged and won the approval of Me'vi-te. Luar'ka bristled when she recognized S'kivn-a, her former fellow student under R'zha. He hurled his fist into the air, pounding his chest once with a show of victory as he roared to the crowd who responded excitedly in kind. His tusks extended, his teeth bared, he scanned the crowd and Luar'ka felt her blood race when his gaze settled on her just a few rows back, meeting her eyes exactly. He raised a hand, pointed toward her, and stamped forward one step, throwing his arms out and bellowing out an obvious challenge. Yautja near her turned to her and she was met with an earsplitting blast of voices from all around her. However, the sound of the blood pounding in her ears awoke her instinctive responses and she reacted before she fully knew what she was doing. She let out a snarl and sprang free of the crowd, clearing the heads of the few rows of Yautja in front of her. Her wings snapped open and she glided easily and quickly down onto the arena floor, touching down and tucking her wings back behind her. Her tail lashed and her feathers raised. When she felt them reach their peak height, she flushed them as brightly and as colorfully as possible, exuding so much energy that she felt the warmth seep into her wings as well. Her peripheral showed, to her amazement, that her wingtips were also turning magnificent shades of scarlet and gold and she felt a blossom of heat rush down her tail, creating a similar pattern of display. She opened her mouth, flaring her wings and shrieked for all she was worth, the sound carrying to the ceiling and to every Yautja watching in stunned amazement. The roar of voices hadn't died entirely, but it had hushed considerably when she took the arena. The sound was strong, shrill and filled with as much power as she could muster. It didn't last for long, but the effect was enough. Within seconds, the roar of voices erupted forth again, and she knew that her fight was the center of attention. There was no way it couldn't be.
S'kivn-a flared his mandibles, sidestepping around her as she followed his movements. She recalled the motions of the kainde amedha and dropped down to all fours, moving just as easily and swiftly as before, her tail lashing. She mimicked the hard meat, and her motions as she and S'kivn-a sized one another up occurred to her that it felt like a dance. This was a dance.
S'kivn-a was clearly unnerved by her mimicry of the kainde amedha, even more so when she attempted its cries.
Hsssssssssssskk!
"Pauk-de kainde amedha!" someone screamed from the crowd. Others didn't seem to share his opinion, as the roar only seemed to grow louder. Luar'ka felt her blood boiling.
Her feathers flared when a familiar bellow echoed throughout the arena.
"Bhu'ja!" someone near her screamed. Another bellow. From the sea of striped and spotted browns, reds, blacks, greens, and yellows, a flash of white was seen briefly before an all-too-familiar figure erupted from the crowd of onlookers and landed powerfully in the center of the arena. Luar'ka raised to a standing position, her feathers still flared as her eyes focused on the terrifying newcomer. Warkha straightened up, his glaring white hide gleaming against his dark armor. His neon green eyes flamed as he eyed S'kivn-a dangerously. The Youngblood bristled and snarled as Warkha drew near him, his tusks flared widely in aggression as he slammed his fist against the young male's shoulder, driving him back. Ordinarily, butting into a challenge like this was considered extremely rude and a smear against the honor of both fighters. However, in Hunt selection, nearly anything was fair game so long as the warriors remained honorable and respectable. Warkha issued a fair challenge despite his target having already been embroiled in another fight. Luar'ka watched as S'kivn-a tried to fight back against the much stronger Arbitrator, but was quickly overwhelmed when Warkha ducked beneath a vicious right hook and slammed the crest of his skull up into S'kivn-a's jaw, wrenching his head backwards and causing him to stumble. Before he could regain his balance, Warkha lunged forward again and this time, slammed his skull against the crown of his opponent's, allowing him to throw S'kivn-a to the ground with little effort. The moment S'kivn-a's back hit the floor, the challenge was over. Warkha bellowed his victory to the crowd of screaming Yautja before turning to Luar'ka, who had remained in her position when her fight had been stolen from her. At first, she couldn't decipher his meaning beyond the possibility that he saw her too unworthy to fight a reasonable challenge. Whether or not she was even allowed a place in the Hunt was beside the point; how dare he assume her weakness like that!?
But when he strode toward her, a peculiar gleam in his eyes as his mandibles curled up in a delighted grin, she felt her skin grow cold as his true intentions set in. He didn't care about obtaining a place in the upcoming Hunt.
He simply wished to fight her.
Luar'ka took a slight step backward, her feathers lowering for just a second before flaring again. Warkha drew nearer to her, a sharp hiss escaping him. He clacked his tusks together once, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Around them, battles still raged on, but Luar'ka knew that the two of them were the center of attention. Voices had practically died down, replaced by curious, baffled, and outraged mutterings. The Leaders who weren't embroiled in fights watched them, either too stunned or more likely too curious and intrigued to intervene. Here were the two outcasts of the Triad, the albino warrior from the Ki'vai, and the feathered alien from N'-ithya. In a sense, it was only natural that they form into rivals. It could be that the Triad could only afford to tolerate one outcast. However, Luar'ka didn't see it that way. It could very well be that that wasn't the way at all. Warkha was the only Yautja who still scared her; there was something incredibly unsettling about him, but she couldn't place what. And now, here he stood before her, stealing her fight with S'kivn-a, apparently waiting for her to challenge him. His desires were as plain as could be. Luar'ka knew what he wanted.
It took her a second to realize how quiet it had gotten. The faint hum of constant muttering could be heard throughout the kehrite. She didn't know how long she'd been lost in her thoughts. She didn't need a second longer to make her decision. She unfurled her wings, baring her teeth and claws and shrieking out her challenge toward him, pulling her mouth back to reveal nearly all of her newly erupted adult teeth. In this split second, it vaguely occurred to her that for just a moment, she didn't recognize herself.
The second her challenge sounded out, the roars started up again. Luar'ka charged forward, weaving out of Warkha's range as she closed the gap between them. He swept to the side, dodging her lunge toward him, but not expecting the sudden and near instantaneous jink she performed, pivoting on her right foot and launching off the ground toward his face. At that close distance and at that speed, she threw a punch toward his face, cracking her fist against his skull just above his eyes, a slightly thinner spot than the rest of their skulls. She raked her foot claws down his chest, pushing herself off and away from him as his claws came up and snagged the feathers on her head, ripping a handful out as she twisted out of his reach. She landed on all fours, flipping back even further with her built up momentum as she crouched at a distance. Her tail lashed for balance and she growled deeply, her eyes wild. Warkha had been the first to shed blood, but rather than anger him, he seemed only to grow more excited as he roared viciously at her. Luar'ka was still learning how to fight. Her speed was her greatest asset in these battles. She knew that she'd always have to make the first moves. The Yautja were very fast, but they were not usually very agile, especially not compared to the agility she was developing at an alarmingly fast rate. Growling warningly, she lunged forward again, hoping to catch him off guard with another jink in a different direction. However, he kept his eyes on her the whole time and as she braced to spring, he leaped out of her range, crouching to gain power and then charging forward while she was stuck in the force of her own movements, unable to change direction while preparing to jump. She gasped; he was much faster than any Yautja she'd faced before! He lashed out, his hand clamping around her tail. He hurled her across the entire length of the arena, likely unwittingly giving her a small advantage as she scrambled to balance her equilibrium and twisted in a vaguely feline manner, her back claws raking the floor as she scraped to a halt. An earsplitting roar rent the air from the crowd as Luar'ka straightened up surprisingly quickly, barely phased at all from the throw that normally stunned heavier opponents. Luar'ka raised her head as Warkha studied her from afar, his mandibles torquing curiously. The gleam in his eyes was still there. Her own eyes narrowed; it was time to show off her latest ability. She bent and bolted forward as fast as she could, unfurling her wings as she did. She bounded into the air, pumping her wings as hard as she could until she gained momentum, twisting her lower body and angling the feathers of her tail to create the drag she needed to turn. Part of this was instinctive, but the other part came from her intense flight training in recent months, and as she angled sharply and grazed the heads of several astounded Yautja before ascending to the ceiling, she was able to gauge from the clamor that she'd pulled a new trick they'd never seen before. Her momentum died as she reached the ceiling and her hand shot out, scrambling for purchase on the surface of the domed hull of the ship, digging her claws into the lateral grooves, her tail lashing. She let out another shriek reminiscent of the hard meat, scrambling along the ceiling as they might do. She saw Warkha down there, watching her attentively and waiting for her next move. Luar'ka had to time this trick perfectly. It was meant only to surprise the Yautja and throw Warkha off guard. Too much time spent on the ceiling would brand her as cowardly. She let out another shriek, moving steadily along the wall before pushing off again. She'd failed to tell her brothers how she'd dislocated her wing in the first place. She'd been doing almost nothing but flight training the entire time she was in exile. As such, when she fell into a tumbling motion, she followed the twisting images around her and righted herself, careening down from the ceiling toward her opponent, her feathers blazing in color as she pulled her upper body back, beating her wings and extending her vicious talons. Going at that speed and velocity, she found that the physics worked in her favor and she plowed into Warkha, who had thrown his arms up across his face in preparation. Sheer momentum knocked him down and Luar'ka pulled her wings in and lunged down toward his face, sinking her teeth into his crest and ripping out a chunk of flesh as he slammed his arm into her abdomen, his other arm angling up and connecting with her right shoulder, throwing her off. She rolled, crouching again and baring her teeth at him in defiance, her feathers still flaming. She skipped out of Warkha's reach as he rolled to his feet, straightening up and eying her dangerously. She recognized the hungry look in his eyes; all Hunters gained that look when faced with an enormously desirable prey. She pushed her hands off the ground, returning to a standing position as her tail swished back and forth, her eyes watching him. Studying him. They circled one another briefly. Luar'ka kept her mind trained, entirely locked on Warkha. Everything ceased to exist. All that remained in the universe was the two of them, locked in nanku-e a' n'ritja, the Dance of Life. The Avians were once fearsome predators in their own right. Luar'ka was almost undoubtedly the last of them. She was built to fight, to Hunt, to thrive. This world of violence seemed to suit her perfectly. A wicked grin split her mouth open, revealing her teeth. She was still small and unskilled; she was probably going to lose this fight. But Cetanu damn her if she wasn't going to battle to the end. She shifted, making it appear as if she'd shift to the right and did so, charging forward toward his right and waiting until the last second when his leg bent, bracing and enabling his body to absorb the blow of her impact. She grabbed his shoulder, digging her claws in and heaving herself up and over his head, twisting in the air to grab his tendrils. She kicked her talons as deep into his back as they would go and sliced downward, slashing three deep, bloody gashes into the back of his right shoulder blade. Warkha howled in pain and threw himself forward, dropping his head and throwing his body into a tumble. Luar'ka hadn't seen this coming and jumped off of his back just a fraction too late, her leg getting caught in his grasp as he righted himself. He dragged her closer, his fist closing around the delicate bones of her ankle and she shrieked as they cracked in half. She was flipped roughly to her back, his hand closing around her throat and his knee pinning her movements at her stomach, forcing her into submission.
It occurred to her then, as she lay there, stunned from the pain and the lack of air as his weight pressed against her lungs; Than'ja had told her stories, legends of the infamous Dahd'tou-di, Small Knife. How a fight against a Yautja had ended her time with the race, how she'd left in disgrace. She opened her eyes to see Warkha leering down at her. The jeers and taunts and roars of the Yautja seemed muffled to her as she watched him warily. He could have easily killed her to show his victory. She knew what he was expected—and going—to do next. She was more than prepared for this, at least. She felt him rise up and grasp her limp form, lifting her into the air where she hung limply, her broken leg dangling uselessly beneath her as he hefted her over his head. As he was expected to do, he hurled her across the kehrite.
One final spark.
Luar'ka twisted with the last of her nearly depleted energy, tucking herself together and shifting her body against the inertia, warping the rules of battle somewhat as she landed stiffly on her undamaged leg, coiling it beneath her to absorb the impact, keeping her other leg curled against her. Her tail stiffened for balance, her wings extended for counter-balance, she managed to stick the landing, but just barely. Fortunately, they couldn't see her body shaking from the effort it took to pull off this final trick withdrawing on her wealthy source of balance and precision. She barely registered the angry bellowing at the slight breach of fighting etiquette as she straightened up, favoring her right leg slightly above the other one, but otherwise held straight. Her face was expressionless, her gaze fixed on Warkha watching her with clear amazement etched across his features. She doubted that something like this had ever happened before.
This seemed to be a common occurrence where she was concerned.
She was in pain, but she wouldn't show it. She glanced at Warkha, ignoring all the other Yautja either staring or bellowing furiously at her. She locked them out of her mind, her gaze cemented on the white warrior standing before her. She raised her right hand, curling her fingers into a fist and lightly pounding her own chest just once, baring her teeth in a defiant grin. Warkha's eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in his gaze. The hunger for the Hunt had diminished slightly, but there was no mistaking that gleam in his eyes. His upper mandibles torqued in a smirk and she was sure she heard the deep guttural clicking that betrayed his laughter, even over the din of the crowd.
Stalemate.
Luar'ka turned, knowing that she could no longer stay in the kehrite. She'd probably never even had a place in the Hunt to begin with, not at her current skill level. Putting the sneering taunts and hisses out of her conscious mind, she limped away from the arena, her head held high and her feathers flared and flaming. Her tail lashed slowly, gracefully as she passed the sentry Yautja standing at the doorway. They eyed her with a combination of wariness and disbelief. She nodded her head respectfully toward them as she moved down the corridor. She would be the only one leaving before selection was over with. The rest of the Clan would be too eager to see the victors and celebrate their choosing. She figured she'd done enough damage for one ceremony.
To say nothing of the damage done to her.
/ooo/
The human female had been bested in the arena by a low ranked Yautja, dishonored and thrown away by her Clan. All Clans were different; some had frequent contact with certain prey, more so than others. Some held different traditions, different ideas, different methods. According to the stories, Dahd'tou-di had found refuge with a Clan possessing of warier and more close-minded traits. Extremely traditional, to the point of refusal to adapt and change with their ever-shifting world. What made a species successful was its ability to change when necessary, back off until the time was right to address the new changes head on. That Clan was unable to do that, paralyzed in time by their clutching onto old myths and suppositions with no real truth or backing behind them.
Luar'ka was blessed.
The Sev'kai were an ancient Clan, well versed in the practices of the Yautja, possessing of the utmost intellect and technology needed to bring the highest of honors to their name. Yet they also possessed the wisdom of good Leaders and the will and drive to change when change was demanded, all for the procession and survival of their race. Yautja are born, they live, and then they die, every day without fail. She had watched it happen firsthand. The Sev'kai was referred to as home by many honorable and respectable Hunters who sought progress in the name of hanging onto treasured customs and traditions. They moved forward while staying focused on what and who they were. They maintained a balance between progressiveness and their ancient ways, never losing sight of where they were going in the grand scheme of the universe, staying connected to the distant past of their origin. Not all Clans were as cohesive. Feuds occurred, wars broke out, Clans were annihilated. To the strongest go the spoils.
Luar'ka opened her eyes, resisting the waves of chill that swept over her body as the bones in her ankle repaired themselves, slowly, flash-frozen as with the time before. Ikthya'de stood by the door, watching her silently, wondering; was this even the same timid, soft-spoken little pup they'd stumbled across so long ago? There were times when he found himself wondering.
"You fought well, mei'jadhi." he said.
"Not well enough." she said, standing and testing her weight on her broken leg. She turned sharply and eyed him, "Not good enough."
"It will suffice." he told her, though he was uncertain whether she referred to her leg or to her performance, "Your flight was most surprising."
She chuffed softly, flexing her wings, "Let it be known among all Hunters; the sky belongs to me and me alone." she snarled softly, "And soon, I shall claim all Hunting World skies for myself."
"You have struck the lowest point, Luar'ka." Ikthya'de told her firmly, "Your honor has been shattered."
"I am aware."
He watched as she moved to her pallet in the corner of the storeroom. She sat, lying on her left side to keep pressure off her leg. She sighed, resting on her folded arms, her eyes dark. He had come to speak with her following the selection. Much to her surprise, her match with Warkha had been declared legitimate and he'd secured a place for himself in the upcoming Hunt. She tucked her wings behind her, keeping her leg as motionless as possible to avoid exacerbating the injury.
Ikthya'de chuffed softly, his eyes narrowing, "It will take a long time to rebuild your honor, Luar'ka. You may not succeed."
"Tell me about Dahd'tou-di."
"What?"
"I suppose I mean to say explain your meaning. I had gained, honor, correct?"
"Correct. A miniscule amount, but it was there."
Luar'ka raised her head, fixing him with a steely stare, "And if it existed before, then it could exist again. Other species, ooman individuals who come here rarely, they stay for short periods indeed. Through my extensive research into the archives, as deeply as I am permitted to do so, I have learned of those warriors come and gone. I have learned of the ones who gained honor, and of Dahd'tou-di. I am aware she was not of this Clan. She belonged to another, more traditional Clan. One that did not welcome the changes she inadvertently wrought. I have learned of her defeat, her treachery, and her abandonment of her loyalties."
Ikthya'de frowned, his mandibles curling at his own knowledge. He had been very young when that incident occurred, but he dimly remembered hearing of it. He recalled much had been lost.
He watched as Luar'ka stood, clearly ignoring the pain in her leg as she faced him, a stony expression on her face, her eyes set and determined. She bared her teeth in aggression, "I am not like that. I am different," she declared, clenching her fists, "I have lost it all through this failed battle, but I fought one of the most powerful Yautja the Triad has to offer, mei'hswei. I may even have won his respect in doing so. I have lost my honor, but it can be retrieved. I do not care how long it may take, but I will regain it and build upon it."
"Many do not believe you will survive." he baited her, tilting his head curiously.
"I will prove them wrong. Everything that can be done, I will do. Everything that can be said, I will say. I will prove what can be proven and conquer what can be conquered. The Paya have chosen me above all others to walk among your people and learn your ways, become one with the Hunt. I may never learn the reason why they chose me, but I am content in its existence regardless."
Ikthya'de raised his upper tusks in a pleased grin at her determination. He strode forward, clapping her roughly on the shoulder and admitting his surprise when she barely moved from the force of the blow. She looked up and actually met his gaze, causing his spines to stiffen. Her scent spiked with anger as she spoke, "Believe me, mei'hswei. I will become better than Dahd'tou-di ever was. She chose her place and now I choose mine. I choose the Yautja and with them, I will remain until the Black Warrior demands my company."
"I look forward to Hunting with you in the future, Luar'ka." Ikthya'de said with a wide grin. She returned this gesture and stepped back, "Of course. When the Hunt begins, Life is certain to follow. A new Hunt will just be the beginning."
A/N: Okay, so the lateness here is inexcusable, but I do have an explanation. Firstly, I had to move again to a new place, the cost of which set me back significantly, forcing me to shut off my internet, which makes it harder to update because I have to travel around to find it. Secondly, I haven't written anything at all in a few months because my boyfriend and I had a falling out, and while it seems to be something neither of us wants, our future is still up in the air, which is also stressful. Third, I just got a very demanding new job that I've been struggling to adjust to and I'm only now finding something of a balance. My new goal from here on in is to write 1,000 words a day at a minimum and now that things are settling down, I intend to get back onto a regular monthly update schedule. I hope you're all still with me, and werewolfbleu, if you're still reading this, I am back and I have a lot of catching up to do. I can't wait to read more of what you've written!