Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 84
12th B'ak'tun, year 103, season of Q'umarkaj
The jungles of Copan XII sweltered under the burning sun, an endless vista of fetid humidity and teeming life. Insects were everywhere, crawling through their tiny lifespans with barely a hint of awareness of the world around them. Vines hung like cobwebs and prey animals shuffled through the underbrush, trying to go unnoticed. Predators stalked the eternal gloom and deadly plants lurked in all corners, waiting for their moment to strike. The air was wet on the throat, skin would grow slick in minutes and the eye would not see past the next tree trunk, though the ear would be eternally prickled by the sounds of unseen stalkers. To walk amongst those boughs was to be confronted by one's minuscule status, merely a flicker span in the great cycle of life, but to the Smoke Jaguars it was as natural as breathing.
Through the twilight gloom he crept, every step carefully measured to avoid rustling a single leaf. Unarmoured he walked, save for a loincloth that supported a flint knife in a sheath and a coat of mud and leaf. Transhuman muscle corded his body, with a plethora of scars that spoke of centuries of fearsome combat. Coal black eyes attested to the veteran status of the warrior and the paleness of his skin proclaimed his bloodline. Keen of eye, ears honed to the slightest sign he had been detected, Damchak advanced on the quarry's den.
Behind slinked four more Transhumans, each as naked as he. They moved with silent grace, disturbing not a leaf. Insects did not fly at their passing, the birds of the trees did not sing warning to the sky, nor did the Shriving tree spit razor-needles as they passed. They were deep in their Shadow-path, becoming nothing more than a ghost in the night. With footsteps heavy as moonlight and noisy as the mountain stone Umbral Flame Prowl followed their First without question.
Damchak held up a clenched fist and the four froze into place. Slowly the First lowered himself to the underbrush, taking out his knife to lift a tangle of weeds. A flash of silver beneath, a warning device of some nature, its exact workings would determine the difference between success and failure. His Shadow-path was strong, but the mysteries of their gene-line were paradoxical. None could explain why the gifts of Corax would allow them to slip the eye so easily and yet have no effect on machines, the strongest among them could walk past a gaggle of Grots without a mummer of disquiet, yet fall victim to the simplest of tripwires. The deep wisdom of the Testimony taught that the Shadow-path was no excuse for inattention.
Damchak carefully examined the device, wary for motion triggers or heat-sensors but exhaled in relief, "A scent-trap alone."
"The eye of the sleeping man sees nought," young Nizca crowed eagerly.
Damchak scowled, "The simple trap is oft a cover for the hidden knife."
But Abizil scoffed, "Memory speaks of the traps passed already, the last line this be, a snare for the brazen oaf."
Damchak considered this, Umbral Flame Prowl had negotiated a score of auspex traps, tripwires and stake-filled pits already. It was likely this was the last line of defence, a final array set to catch someone who had grown careless with their ease of entry. Cunning, but not cunning enough. The device was a pheromone tracer, set to detect human sweat. Thankfully Umbral Flame Prowl had taken care to mask their scent with the jungle mud, they could pass with ease, but there was a better use for this.
"Cualli, Zyanya, the horns of the bull, a stampede, the gloaming," Damchak ordered in the coded battle-cant of the Chapter. Two peeled off, grinning as they moved laterally to their previous course. They disappeared among the tree trunks, leaving the remaining trio to hunker down and await a sign. Damchak peered ahead, seeing the jungle come to an abrupt halt. Just visible ahead was a short Ziggurat, crumbling stone and vine-covered masonry just barely sticking out of the jungle canopy. It was cunningly designed to appear as an abandoned ruin, but for the Smoke Jaguars it was as ostentatious as a palace made of gold. Fire Brand Prowl always did like vainglory.
"Glittering gold shines in the light of day," Nizca muttered sullenly.
"The crowing bird sings beautifully, yet oft is the Cyder-asp's breakfast," Damchak cautioned against boastful deeds.
"Umbral Flame rests our heads in a pothole," Nizca grumbled.
"Yet rarely are we raided," Damchak admonished, "Fresh in the memory is your choosing, in time you will learn the glory of silence."
A crunching noise cut in, causing him to frown. Damchak turned his head and found Abizil munching on a handful of beetles. The tree branch beside him was wriggling with blue shells, gnawer beetles quietly feasting on rich moss, but they crunched most loudly when ground between the teeth. Damchak scowled in annoyance at the racket but Abizil merely scooped up another handful and offered a fistful of wriggling insects.
"The eve of adventure and you mind only your stomach," Damchak lamented.
"What greater enemy is there than hunger?" Abizil retorted.
"Your mother would weep to learn she whelped a dolt for a son!"
"Our mother gazed into the mirror on our birthing day," Abizil teased.
Damchak turned his face away as Abizil scoffed down more beetles, annoyed as only a blood-brother could be. His twin was slovenly, concerned with basic pleasures and uninterested in tomorrow. How he'd survived his time among the Doans was a mystery, but he'd done so and been selected to join Umbral Flame alongside his true brother. Damchak had been voted First for his mighty deeds, but Abizil was perfectly content to stay in his humble role. Damchak hated and loved his mirror reflection, as only true brothers could.
Nizca cleared his throat, "White Crow Prowl walks the stars, their den lies unguarded."
"To raid an empty house is not done," Damchak admonished.
"There is less chance a Headsman watches," Nizca argued.
"And less challenge in the deed, to walk in a rival's house takes true skill and the rewards are sweeter for it."
Nizca frowned in confusion, "The ear hears but the heart understands not."
But Abizil chuckled, "No sport in stealing when one's back is turned."
Damchak was about to explain further but a great ruckus arose from Fire Brand Prowl's den. Shouts of alarm and challenges sounded, the rushing of feet and the emergence of giants from the ruins. Damchak hunkered low as Fire Brand Prowl rushed forth to challenge the intruders, all headed away from his position. Damchak smiled as he saw their ruse had worked, Cualli and Zyanya had snuck around the den and found another pheromone sensor. They'd triggered the device by virtue of pissing on it, setting off every alarm in the den and summoning their foe. Already they would be slinking away, letting Fire Brand Prowl chase ghosts, leaving their home unguarded. If they were wise they would have left half their number as a rearguard, as Damchak had left half his Prowl to guard their cavern. If they were unwise they would lament it.
Damchak counted to a hundred under his breath then sprang into action. He leapt over the sensor and pounded for the grey wall ahead. His bare feet felt grassy moss squelching underfoot, pricked by the occasional thorn-root or needle bug. The pain didn't matter, he easily set it aside as he ran for the wall, feeling his hearts beat in exhilaration. Moments later he reached the wall, hearing no challenge rise, they'd reached the den undetected. He tensed and leapt high, snagging the top of the first block with his bare hand and boosting himself aloft. Quickly he ascended the next two levels, rising above the treeline. A vision of green awaited him, an ocean of jungle leaf as far as the eye could see, wondrous in its lethality.
Humanity was confined on the high-mesas, drawing minerals from the planet's core via ancient devices whose workings were long forgotten. Men did not sojourn beyond without great need, for it was perilous, but the Prowls of the Smoke Jaguars walked as lords of all they surveyed. They did not fear the Thirstvine nor the grasping willow, the jungle was their home and it made them strong. Thus had it been for twelve B'ak'tun unchanged, till eighteen months ago when the sky split and the stranger came, the Rogue Trader with his wondrous tales of Imperium. Damchak shook off his introspection and forced his mind to the moment. Distractions right now could be dangerous, there had been many of them the last year, the revelations brought from afar upsetting all they knew. The Smoke Jaguar's universe had changed, and greater changes were yet to come, which was why Damchak had determined to centre their hearts with the tradition of raiding. Blood of Corax, he was doing it again.
Damchak forced his attention to focus as he found a window, cunningly concealed a crack in the rockface. He slid within and found a sleeping chamber, filled with crafted adornments and golden trinkets sent as gifts from the Kings of the Boscage. Fire Brands truly did love vainglory, a stark contrast to the natural beauty of the caverns Umbral Flame called home. Abizil and Nizca slithered in as Damchak crossed to the hanging reeds acting as door and peered out. No challenge, no rivals coming at him with fists raised. Fire Brand Prowl had rushed out heedlessly, leaving no rearguard. Fools, Damchak judged them, he would not be so careless, that was why he left half his Prowl to guard their cavern.
The trio drifted into the corridor and split up, Abizil headed right, Damchak taking their newest member left. Nizca had proven himself worthy, his hunt-trophy laid on the sands of the proving ground had been mighty, but he still had much to learn. Down the corridor Damchak led the way, careful of traps. His senses screamed of low voices and hurried steps closing, a pair of Serviles rushing to their posts. Nizca's hand went for his flint knife but Damchak caught his wrist and scowled furiously at the stupid move. He nodded to a spot on the wall where flickering lumen-orbs failed to reach and the pair pressed themselves firmly against the surface as they drew on the Shadow-path.
Damchak sank into the mental state required to walk unseen, becoming drab and unnoticeable. It was not invisibility, no man could claim such a thing, it was merely the knack of passing unnoticed. To become uninteresting, forgettable, a suggestion in the corner of the eye, not worthy of attention. Preconception was a large part of it, one expecting to find an empty corridor must be convinced it is otherwise, not easy when one is hurried and distracted already.
Two Serviles rushed around a corner and hurried past, heads low as they whispered about what was occurring outside. How could two men miss the giants lurking in the corridor would be baffling to one not schooled in the Shadow-path, but the pair weren't Transhumans anymore. They were shadows cast by flickering lumens, a trick of the eye easily dismissed, not worth bringing to the conscious mind's notice, especially when one was racing to their post in an emergency. The Serviles went past without realising anything was wrong, disappearing around another turn and then they were gone.
"My blade hungers," Nizca whined as he relaxed his Shadow-path.
"Stupid child!" Damchak berated him, "We come to hone our skills, not slake our thirst. We are not Deathmaker prowl."
"To leave one's knife unblooded is the mark of a coward," Nizca whined.
"Pride is a hollow reed," Damchak hissed, "These Serviles are property of the Fire Brands, to slit their throats invites retribution. Kill them and our blood shall be spilled in vengeance, or worse we spill theirs. The Headsmen will hear, they will repay the sin in kind. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, thus it is written, thus shall it be."
Nizca shut up at the threat, too wary of the Headmen to argue. All Smoke Jaguars trod lightly when the Headsmen were near, and none could know when their eyes were upon them, for their Shadow-path was strongest of all. Though the Prowls raided and sparred galore, occasionally even brawled, they never dared spill the blood of Kinsmen. Smoke Jaguars were haughty and unruly creatures, but they knew the laws of Sedaxus well. Damchak as a Doan had asked the Eldest once why they raided at all if the risk was so great, and been told that if the consequence of failure were not dire then there would be no thrill in success.
Down the corridor the pair slinked, till they found an unguarded door. Damchak smiled as he found a storage room, filled with various items. They entered swiftly and Nizca grabbed a case of Transonic mines. Young fool, Damchak sighed, useful they may be but nothing Umbral Flame could not claim for themselves, the Fire Brands would barely miss that. For himself Damchak took a wooden stave, adorned with Eruth feathers and woven dream-catchers. A work of art, carefully carved by a skilled hand. The Fire Brands would miss that for sure and he grinned at the thought of their faces when they discovered it gone.
Three minutes had they been in their rival's den, too long already. Damchak hastened back to their entry point, slipping along corridors as a ghost of the night. No Serviles did they spy, though troubling echoes rang down the passages. The alert was fading, word spreading of a swift return. The Fire Brands must have realised they'd been tricked; they would be back in a minute or less. Time to leave, with the greatest of haste.
Into the bedchamber they slipped, to find Abizil waiting. The stout Marine stood with a crate of live Cyder-asps under one arm, and the other bore a wriggling Arcupine, young and plump and with its poisonous tail clipped. Damchak screeched to a halt and spat, "A prize for the eye I said, not your stomach!"
Abizil smirked, "A fattened calf will not adorn the Fire Brands table this day."
"Mother's memory alone keeps me from beating you to a pulp!" Damchak snapped.
"Mother's memory enjoins me to share my feast," Abizil countered glibly.
Damchak rolled his eyes at his irritating brother's poor jest, but a tiny voice nudged him with the fact Arcupines were a delicacy and he'd been living on worms and beetles for days. He decided to let it pass, beside Fire Brand Prowl would be incensed to learn their feast had been snatched away. A good day's work, Umbral Flame had sharpened their skills, proven their superiority and initiated their newest member. By any measure they had succeeded, it was time to depart with their prizes. So the trio slipped out the window and made their way back into the jungle. Damchak was pleased and he looked forward to the Fire Brand's response: that would be true sport.