FAT TEARS, SURGING WITH SELF-PITY, spilled down Shikoba’s cheeks and soaked into the fur collar of her favourite coat, the hairs clumping together like wet lashes. She sobbed then tried to ease her back but the pain was too intense. Blood, moist and sticky, dribbled down her left arm and dripped from her fingers, a conduit of pain and misery.
She was a failure. Pure and simple. It did not matter what she did. The testers always found fault. She had counted her foes and measured their strength, no matter what the elders said. Shikoba had spent long hours studying all the scripts, memorizing the lay and fall of the land, and learning the intricate trails and paths. She’d known exactly how many warriors were set against her and exactly how many beat the bushes driving the predator toward her, but at the end of the day she could only do what she could do in the time allotted.
And now she had failed.
A low growl sounded from the bushes on the left side of the clearing.
An answering growl rumbled across the space from the right.
Shikoba marked the locations of the angry animals, fixing their relative positions in her mind. “Damn,” she muttered. “This is going to get ugly.”
A werecat lay on its side in the middle of the chaos, riddled with arrows and oozing blood onto the tundra. Fresh meat was rare enough that predators easily succumbed to scavenging, and the predator became prey in the blink of an eye.
A second werecat left the camouflaged safety of the scrubby twigs on the left side, while a Great White bear powered its way in from the right, both predators’ intent on the bleeding carcass resting dead center.
The problem was that Shikoba was hiding under the heavy weight of the dead werecat. As a matter of fact, the cat had collapsed on top of her as she’d thrust her bone knife under its ribs, all two hundred pounds of weight crushing her like the flat cakes served on birthday mornings. She wriggled her feet, digging her toes into the soft soil on which she lay, readying herself to spring into a dead run. When the wild beasts reached her, she would have a very narrow window of escape. She pushed back her heavy fall of ebony hair, tucking it behind her ears to clear her vision.
“Are you ready? They are coming,” she whispered to the boy at her side. Bronze curls bounced around his chubby cheeks as he nodded his head vigorously. Casper was easily double her weight, and his protective bulk was the reason she could move at all.
Casper was also the reason her strike had failed and she found herself trapped beneath the dead weight of the werecat. Once again, she was rescuing him from his clumsy, stumbling self. As best friends went Casper was top, but as a hunter he was abysmal. Yet the ritual hunt was an integral part of their coming of age. They could not come home without their werecat prizes. Casper shifted, and a heart of crystal swung out from the front of his shirt, casting refracted rainbows of light across the patches of last-season snow. He tucked it back inside his shirt then readied himself to spring.
A spitting yowl curled around them and was answered by a huffed challenge, the bear sniffing the air and then swinging upright, standing on its hind paws not ten feet from their location.
“Okay. On the count of three, grab the rope and run!” Shikoba dug her toes into loose pebbles and tensed. “One. Two. Three!” Casper heaved the werecat off them with a bellowing roar of his own, exploding to his feet with a speed born of fear and leapt for the rope swinging from a tree limb above them. The other end of the rope was tied around the torso of the dead cat. They had chosen this tree because of the wonky way it grew sideways out of the rock, leaning drunkenly over the werecat’s favorite hunting path. Casper caught the braided line in one fleshy hand. His weight dragged the carcass into the air, so that the two hung side by side. Flexing his body, he rocked himself back and forth until he was able to swing his legs up onto the cleft of rock that held the tree.
The explosion of sound from Casper’s scream froze the two snarling combatants, giving Shikoba the moment she needed to clear out. She ran screaming toward the stunted tree growing out of a crevice of rock. She leapt into the low branches and scaled the tree to the very tip, clinging to the thinning trunk with her hands. Her weight pulled on the tree tip and it bent over the rock where Casper crouched watching her. When it had tipped far enough, she let go, dropping lightly to her feet beside him.
Running wasn’t the smartest of plans, but with all the commotion the spooked werecat abandoned the standoff and dashed off into the brush, leaving the Great White bear to sniff round at the coagulated jelly on the ground. Great White bears rarely gave chase. However, after a few licks, it reared on its hind legs once again to sniff the air, following the scent of blood to see if it could reach the prize dangling above. When it could not, it wandered away bellowing its frustration.
Casper sighed with relief as the bear ambled away, then flopped onto his back, his jowls bouncing. “I need a nap.”
“No, you don’t. Come on, we will be late.” The anxiety was back. Dawn approached, and Shikoba was not going to fail the quest.
“I don’t care. We’ve been at this all night.” Casper’s eyes drifted closed.
“Get up, you great lump! I am not going to lose first place because you are tired.”
“But I am tired!”
Shikoba smacked him with her bloodstained hand and then wiped it on her pant leg, wincing at the renewed pain in her back. “Ouch,” she muttered, not loud enough for him to hear.
Casper popped one eyelid open. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, eyeing the plump rolls of his waistline, accentuated by his twisted tunic. “Stop snacking on sea snake, and you will not look like one! That is why you are tired. A nice jog back to the village is exactly what you need.”
“I am not jogging anywhere with that.” Casper pointed at the werecat dangling from the tree. “Someone has to guard it.” His eye drifted closed again.
“Fine!” Shikoba rose to her feet, glaring at his prone form.
“You will want this. I grabbed it from the ground just before I jumped for the rope.” In his fist dangled a necklace, the twin of his own, on a broken braid of seal skin. Shikoba snatched it from his hand and tied it back in place around her neck, dropping the stone under her shirt for safety. The werecat’s claw had snagged the cord when it leapt onto her back, but she hadn’t realized she had lost it.
“Thanks.” The words came out in a grunt, as she focused on the horizon. The grey of early dawn was fading, retreating before a silken sky that had brightened in the last few minutes.
“I’ll go fetch a travois to help us bring in the werecat.” Shikoba mentally traced the route back to the village and the time needed, against the advancing sun. She had to return before the sun jumped from its bed on the other side of the world and ahead of the warriors who were tasked with witnessing their trials, to verify their victory. Maybe she could beat the warriors to the village if she ran very fast. Maybe.
Casper raised a lazy hand in acknowledgment, already drifting off to sleep. “We have until noon. There is time for a nap.” Shikoba heard his gentle snores and kicked Casper’s ankle, but he only turned on his side.
Annoyed, Shikoba climbed down the tree. The descent made her skin sting as the coarse fabric of her shirt rubbed across the swelling claw marks, but thankfully the scratches did not bleed again. She let go of the branch about five feet from the surface then hit the ground running. She set off in the direction of the village.
Shikoba ran as fast as she had ever run in her life. She flew down the trails, leaping over logs and sliding down hillsides, scrambling for every ounce of time she could gain on the warriors.
She crested the ridge at Horned Owl Rock and ran full tilt down the steep side of the hill. Gaining the valley, she turned toward the narrowed walls of the canyon. She followed the coursing stream at its base to where a shallow fording existed and then she knelt on the pebbly shore to dip her palms into the liquid to scoop up a deep drink of the clear water. Breathing heavily, she did not hear the soft movement at her back. A rock dislodged, clicking over the top of an assortment lining the stream. Shikoba spun around, a knife coming to her hand from the hidden sheath strapped to her arm.
A black-eyed dragon with iridescent grey scales stared at her, puffs of smoke curling from its rounded nostrils. Four times as tall as she, the dragon towered above her. Long lashes covered silver-lidded obsidian orbs, through which shone a clear intelligence.
A female dragon? Shikoba thought as she slowly rose, her palms facing the dragon with fingers spread wide as if to say Whoa there, beautiful. Calm down. I won’t hurt you. Where have you come from? Shikoba’s eyes drank in the sight, disbelieving the proof before her. Dragons did not exist on Gaia.
“Of course, you won’t hurt her,” said a disembodied voice. “She is the extension of your own soul. She has come for you. I believe you are the agitated one.”
At the sound of the voice, Shikoba froze and then crept around the dragon to see who sat on it. A young man with dark intense eyes stared back, unblinking.
“You can hear my thoughts?” she said, staring suspiciously at the boy.
His lips twisted into a smirk. “In a way.” His age was near her own age of fifteen, or so she thought. “It is time.” He held out his hand. “Come.”
The dragon’s head twisted back to Shikoba. A soft crooning filled her throat and a wave of peace flooded Shikoba. The calming song drew away her anxiety so that she knew no fear. Kindness was reflected in the dragon’s dark orbs. Her thick lips curled. Shikoba fancied she was smiling at her, or as close as a dragon could get.
Shikoba stared at the pair, then blinked, breaking eye contact. She slid her knife back into its sheath and placed her hand in the boy’s proffered palm. He pulled her onto the dragon behind him, and together they disappeared into the dawn.