Chapter 7: The Slumbering Lynx

The fire died out as quickly as had the argument, and over the following days, they never rekindled it. Aimless, they wandered the vast scrublands, which provided just enough for them to survive but little more. They saw herds of horses, and occasionally small gatherings of aurochs, but not the great aurochs herd, the thundering of whose hooves could be felt leagues away, if the legends were true. Still, wherever they wandered, Qemik kept his eyes open. He would crouch, when no one else was looking, to examine and count hoof-prints in the ground.

She did not show it, but Oyana also watched for the signs and listened for the rumbling. Usually when Qemik was studying the footprints in what he took to be secrecy, Oyana was watching him do it, and studying his reaction. She was torn. There was a thrill in her blood that told her the day had come, and it whispered to her of duty to her people; she yearned to rise up, to fight, to see her people at last be freed. The prophecy's warnings, which she'd whispered to herself a thousand times, rang hollow. If the sand-mouse awakens the lynx, or hurls the spear too soon, the blood spilled shall not be Ortheri. She did not feel like being a sand-mouse. But still, she saw the pain in Yîgeke's eyes, the fear, and above all, the wish to be quiet. She knew that Yîgeke wanted nothing more than to be a sand-mouse. Why had fate not chosen Oyana to be the First Hand? She longed more than anything to take that burden off her friend's shoulders. Both to release Yîgeke from that haunted look, and perhaps more so, because she yearned to clutch a spear in her fist and stand defiantly, scream a challenge to the Ortheri Baugcaun and see his works rent and scattered.

The moon, now free of its crimson taint, rose and sank and rose again. Each sunrise greeted a First Hand, and her friends, more thin, cold, hungry, and weary than the last had seen. Under the merciless glare of the unshadowed noon sun, hours could pass without a thought of Spears, of fate, of the First Hand; it was enough to seek water. They hadn't seen any Ortheri hunters, and few people at all. The occasional group of hunters, or Haehînbór gathering horses to tame, or a caravan of horse-drawn wains making way from one city to another, perhaps heading for Caras Lithgweth in the north; but more often, they were alone.

Even amongst themselves. They marched surrounded by friends, yet their disagreements, rivalries, and unhappiness kept them separated. With one exception.

Back in the city, Kumzu and Ulgî had been forced to keep their feelings for one another quiet. It was an odd custom: the Ortheri allowed, even encouraged, the Haehînbór to pair up (after all, there wouldn't be any more to serve if they didn't). Yet they also had to be reminded that they did not choose their own fate. If a couple was reasonably discreet, drawing no attention (particularly amongst the Ortheri) to their choice of mate, even though everyone knew what was going on, the Ortheri would pointedly look the other way. But once they made the mistake of proclaiming their marriage, the Ortheri felt obligated to separate them, a gesture against the defiance. Kumzu and Ulgî has chosen each other several years ago, and it had long become a custom of habit, to keep the smallest of affections secret. It took several days before, realizing as runaways they no longer needed to maintain the pretext, they broke the habit; and once they did, they were practically inseparable, holding hands constantly and reveling in the freedom to lie together without concern for who might see.

Which only made the others feel all the more alone. Yîgeke kept to herself and turned away from any who tried to speak to her; the weight of their expectations of her was wrapped around her like armor of stone, and while she was increasingly miserable in her isolation, she was only more so when anyone tried to reach out to her. Qemik and Kargöz spat at one another over any pretext, both because of their disagreement about how they should proceed, and their rivalry for Yîgeke's entirely-absent affections. Trying to keep the group together required Oyana to remain at some distance from these disagreements and hurts, lest she become entangled in them, which was itself an isolation as wide as the sky.

And thus, Qemik was able to guide their path by the simple expedient of having no opposition. He would merely drift in one direction, and the others would eventually veer to follow, because both alternatives – getting too far apart, or re-opening the discussion of where to go – were unacceptable. He grew more eager as the signs of the great herd seemed more pronounced, and Oyana became more anxious about what she saw him seeing. Though bone-weary she struggled to remain vigilant, to balance Qemik's boyish excitement.

It had been a fortnight since the First Spear, and Qemik was suddenly hurrying, under the light of the setting sun, to the top of a crest. Oyana could hear a faint, low sound; the rumbling of the aurochs herd, or just a sandstorm, or the beating of her own heart? Rather than rushing behind Qemik, she swept the horizons for danger, and was thus the first to see a dozen men and women approaching from the left, unnoticed by Qemik.

Crouching, she peered at them, holding her breath with anxiety. Then she released it. Rather than seeing the sallow skin and angular features of the Ortheri, what she saw under the ruddy sun was the olive of her own people. She hefted her makeshift spear and waved it, and soon the strangers, and her own company, were closing with one another, shouting greetings into the greedy wind, which carried them over the ridge. Qemik alone continued heedlessly on his course, perhaps too excited at the prospect of a vast aurochs herd, or perhaps simply unaware of the chance meeting.

"What brings so many so far?" Kargöz called as they finally were near enough to hear one another. Oyana frowned, thinking this an unnecessarily suspicious question. A fair one, but not setting the right tone. At least she thought so until she noticed how many of the dozen had their eyes on Yîgeke. And not with the awe that might attend the knowledge that she was, at least if the signs were true, the First Hand; rather, they seemed suspicious. She moved closer to Yîgeke and remained watchful and silent.

A slender and tall Haehînbór, almost as slight as Yîgeke herself, stepped forward to speak for the group. "Möktîg," he said with a bow, which led Kargöz to introduce himself in turn. "I might ask the same," Möktîg went on, "but we seek the same thing." One hand gestured toward the ridge, up which Qemik still scrambled. "But for different cause. We must entreat you, turn back."

"We did not choose to be runaways, but nevertheless, we are," Kargöz answered. "We cannot go back."

"Then go another way, if you must go any way," Möktîg answered. While his fellows were staying behind him, there was a cohesiveness to them that Oyana at once feared and envied. They were here for a singular purpose and prepared to act decisively in its pursuit, something her rag-tag fellowship could not claim. "We know what you believe. We have seen the signs. I myself gazed upon the tree in the bog, before it was torn down. But we do not believe it is time. You risk all of our people, without our consent. Sand in our breath. We ask you to turn away from this reckless path."

Oyana was silently grateful that Qemik was too far to hear; he would rail against this claim in the most impolitic way imaginable. But even Kargöz proved surprisingly defiant. "You saw the First Spear, and the Second Spear, and still you doubt?"

"A happenstance of lines, easily falsified. And a sapling not even a season old. There were indications," Möktîg continued in almost a whisper, "that the sapling had grown elsewhere and been carried to the bog and planted there, perhaps but a day or two before the First Spear was seen."

"Do you dare accuse us of such deception?" Kargöz called out. Yîgeke flinched at the intensity in his tone, though she seemed almost more hopeful than she had in days. "To what end?"

Möktîg raised his hands in a gesture of pacification. "We only suspect that the signs are false. Whether that be by the hand of another, or by that of fate itself, they are a temptation we must not follow. A temptation you must not follow." His eyes were fixed on Yîgeke now. "The lynx yet slumbers. We must not awaken it."

Oyana knew that Kargöz was remembering axes in the dark. In a moment he would protest that the lynx was already awake. She wasn't sure what to think of this; it meant their efforts were doomed, if it were true, and how could it not be? But she was sure it would ill behoove them to say this before Möktîg. She spoke quickly, before Kargöz could. "Peace, friends. We take no steps to awaken anyone, lynx or otherwise. It was not by our hands that the First Spear was seen, nor fashioned. Nor did we choose to escape; we were hounded hence. We saw the Second Spear, and we may yet see the truth or falsehood of the Third Spear," her eyes flashed to Qemik and back in an instant, "but we take no actions. The First Hand," she watched as Yîgeke bristled at this title, "will act only if we are sure that it is time. Sand in their breath. We have spoken the words of warning to ourselves under an empty sky as oft as have you."

There was a low murmuring, and then a silence as the two groups stared each other down. Though he stayed at the rear, sheltering Kumzu, Ulgî drew himself to his full height, and some of Möktîg's men turned their gaze up, then took a step back. But still they stood, separated only by the hasty wind.

Then Möktîg shook his head. "That may be, but we cannot take that risk." He gestured, and as the men and women behind him started to advance, fists raised, Oyana shook her head. Had it come to this? Haehînbór fighting with other Haehînbór?

The others had no weapons amongst them, while Oyana and Kargöz both had crude spears. But there were many more of them. "Kargöz, keep Yîgeke safe any way you must," Oyana said, but as she stepped in front of the two of them, she caught Möktîg's eye by raising her spear. And then dropped it to the ground behind her. "We shed no Haehînbór blood this day. But neither do we allow ours to be spilled."

It must have seemed a gesture of such bravado that even Möktîg paused a moment. But Oyana's true intent was simply to buy time for Ulgî to arrive by her side. The great brute could, by himself, knock aside a half-dozen men before he was felled, in an honest donnybrook. Oyana was herself the match of any of her rivals, and she was sure Kargöz would find similar strength in himself if Yîgeke were threatened. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw Qemik, standing atop the ridge, turning to wave to them. By now, he'd seen the aurochs herd, for Oyana was sure that it must be there, and that Möktîg and his fellows had been circling it to watch for them. And any moment, Qemik would notice what was happening and come, she hoped, to their aid.

The fighting was over before Qemik made it back down the ridge, though. Ulgî had only to toss two of them through the air like sacks of peas, and pound another to the ground, before some started to break off and retreat. There were many bruises earned on both sides, and Oyana thought she heard a shoulder popping out of place; but as she crouched and gasped for breath, wincing at a deep ache in her side, watching Möktîg's unconscious form being carried away, she pondered how much worse things might have gone.

"The Ortheri warriors, clad in armor and carrying spears, axes, and bows, would have felled us in seconds," she murmured. "They would not run, even from Ulgî, even without their spears; they are the first to enter and the last to leave any battle, even a hopeless one. How, even with the First Hand and the Six Spears, can we ever hope to rise against them, with bare fists and feet, so quick to flee a fight?" She gathered up her makeshift spear and leaned heavily on it as Kumzu moved amongst their number, assessing minor injuries and lecturing all and sundry on the perils of battle. "And what if Möktîg is right? The lynx already is awake. Sand in their breath, sand in our breath."