Page 115 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER THREE

Shemza

I wake the next morning, disappointed again.

No dreamspace. No Lorna waiting for me, her eyes going soft with happiness as she realises it is me who will call her linasha.

No sharing in human kisses together. No learning the shape of her curves, or the taste of her cunt as I seek to coax pleasure from her body, to give her the kind of climax that will leave her knees shaking with its intensity.

Things I have spent so much time imagining, I fear my headspace might start confusing them for memories.

I have always considered myself a thinking male above all else. It is what makes me well suited to the role of healer. But when it comes to Lorna, it is as if I have lost all of my good sense.

I dress for the day before heading out to help Lorna with her water.

I am on patrols this morning with the warriors.

It is not my calling, but with Maldek and Vantos both gone to other tribes, it is necessary for me to do my part with the warriors more often than even before.

I am only glad to now have Grace to leave in my stead, so the village is not without a healer’s skill entirely.

Lorna is wet when she answers the door, her top sticking to her skin. She pulls a sad face and gestures to the bowl she has clearly tried to pick up. She has soaked the worst of the water up with her laundry pile, but the wooden floor and countertop are stained dark where they have got wet.

I tap her wrist gently. “ Hurt ?”

“ No .”

“Good .”

My healer's concerns answered, I can no longer stop the grin from breaking out across my face. She is in a bedraggled state, her whole top half drenched. Her sunshine hair has turned dark at the ends where it has been soaked, and her oversized top clings to her, the fabric wrinkled like old skin.

“ Nofunny ,” she says, and pokes me in the side.

It is the first time she has touched me voluntarily, and not as part of some treatment or checkup. It is to express her discontent in my laughter, but it is playful, and it makes my heartspace soar to receive it. Even though it should not.

She is not your mate . If I repeat the words, perhaps my heartspace will start to understand what my headspace knows is fact.

I carry her water for her, then leave her to get dressed for the day, heading to the fire for my breakfast. Many of the females are already gathered round the fire.

Carrie sits alone, bent over some garment she is fixing.

Grace would normally sit with Rachel, but today she has joined Liv and Khadija, the three of them discussing something.

Sally is in the comfortable chair Jaskry brings out for her each day, Ahnjas playing with his blocks by her feet while Jassal and Molly sit together for their lessons.

I take a seat next to Sally and Ahnjas immediately pulls himself up on my legs, holding out a block towards me.

“Zaza!” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

“I see you are feeling better this day,” I say, lifting him up into my lap. His tail loops around my arm and he settles himself against me as he turns his block over in his little hands, studying it closely.

“Much better,” Sally says. “He has slept well, and it has made all the difference.”

“It pleases me to hear it. What lessons are you doing today, Jassal?”

Jassal pulls a face. “ Writing. ”

It is one of those human words that does not have a raskarran equivalent. We do not record our words the way humans do.

Sally gives her a stern look. “I don’t like that attitude, Jassal.”

“But Mama, I’m so bad at it. I don’t want to do it.”

“Being bad at something is a good reason to do it,” I say. “You will learn much more than just how to do it. You will learn patience, and perseverance and diligence. Those are all important skills for a hunter.”

“Papa doesn’t know how to do writing .”

“No,” Sally says. “But he was the littlest in his tribe. His tribe brothers did not respect him. He learned patience and perseverance and diligence because he wished to prove them all wrong. You will learn it by proving yourself wrong about writing .”

Jassal sighs as though the weight of a mountain rests on her shoulders, but then she turns back to the slate she was working on, making small scratchings with her chalk stone, chatting with Molly in the human language.

“It is probably a waste of time,” Sally says in a low voice, speaking direct to me so Jassal does not hear.

“It is just something I remember fondly from my own childhood, my mother teaching me to read and write . I wish very much to have this memory with her, but I fear raskarran headspaces are too different. Molly takes to the words so much faster. Jassal is glad to have the company in her lessons, but then frustrated by her lack of progress in comparison.”

“When Jassal is grown, she will not remember the frustration. She will remember her mother’s love and dedication in teaching her.”

Sally touches a hand to my arm. “You are a sweet soul, Shemza. You always know the right words to say.”

If only I knew the words to say to Lina to persuade her to grant me Lorna as my linasha.

Lorna approaches the fire now, and when Khadija arches a brow at her wet hair, Lorna relays of her misadventure, pointing at her strapped up arm and laughing.

The others shake their head at her, even as they laugh, and I hope they are telling her she should take it easy, stop trying to rush herself into full health.

I am glad she is allowing me to help her recover her strength safely. It pleases the healer in me. The rest of me is pleased that I will have more time spent in her presence, though it is a fool’s pleasure - one that can only cause me more hurt in the long run.

It is a quiet morning for me, patrolling with Endzoh.

He is not much of a talker. If Maldek and Rardek always use six words where one would do, Endzoh would prefer to use none.

We raskarrans need our tribe around us, it is in our nature to need company.

But when Lina made Endzoh, she must have left that part out.

I do not mind it. Sometimes it is nice to enjoy the sounds of the forest, and someone’s company without the need for conversation.

We see no signs of any issues, and the traps and triggers he has been setting with Khadija are all untouched.

No one has approached our village. We remain safe for now.

I send prayers of thanks to Lina and ask that she might grant us a few more sunsets of respite.

Just long enough for Darran and Walset to join their tribes with ours.

Should they wish to join their tribes with ours.

I think of my lovely apprentice. Rachel’s hair shines with the fire of the setting sun, but more than just her beauty, she is kind and sweet and gentle.

No raskarran would look at her and not wonder what it would be to have her, or one of her kind, for a mate.

Then there is Sam, who is bright and happy, quick to befriend even those she cannot speak to.

Liv was wise to counsel sending her sisters with Maldek and Vantos - I cannot see how Darran and Walset could turn them away.

It is a good thing, even though it means so many males arriving who are unmated.

It seems a slim chance to me that of all of Darran’s and Walset’s brothers, none would be the male intended for Lorna.

My headspace knows growing the tribe is good for us.

It will make us safer, lessen the burdens on our shoulders.

No more patrols for me. I will be able to dedicate my time to healing - and if any more matings occur, any more younglings are seeded, my time will soon need to be dedicated to it.

But my headspace and heartspace are not in accord with each other so much these sunsets.

I know it is a good thing, but my heartspace cannot be convinced.

We are heading back towards the village, our patrols for the day finished, when we hear bickering voices.

It is Rardek and Callif, fresh from their hunting.

Rardek has two frenelles over his shoulder, caught in his snares, and Callif carries a fat horkat - an excellent catch for this time.

The beasts are thick with meat, but their fearsome tusks make them difficult to kill.

They are most numerous in the hot season, most having travelled out towards the great plains beyond the mountains during the rainy season. I am surprised he has come across one.

“Where did you find that, brother?” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Snuffling in one of our old supply caves.” Callif beams. “It is scarred badly on its hind leg here. I think it perhaps encountered a merka beast and was not able to leave the forests with the rest of its kind.”

“Bad luck for him, excellent luck for us,” Rardek says, grinning. “We will eat well tonight. The females are yet to taste the delights of horkat meat.”

“I think it will please sweet Hannah greatly,” Callif says, his chest puffed up with pride.

I cut a glance to Rardek, whose expression is one of mischief.

“Sweet Hannah?” he says. “I thought it was the beautiful Carrie who held sway over your heartspace?”

It is true that Callif has spoken of nothing but Carrie since the females arrived at the village. I do not think he has actually attempted to speak with Carrie, but we have all heard many words from his mouth about her beauty.

Callif waves a dismissive hand. “Carrie has a fine face and a fine shape. If that beguiled my heartspace for a time, then I think that is only natural for a male who has not looked on female faces since he was the youngest of younglings.”

“The youngest was our Shemza here,” Rardek says, pinning me with an innocent gaze. “Is your heartspace also beguiled by Carrie’s shape?”

Endzoh snorts derisively. He can be more eloquent with a sound than I can manage with words some days.

“Carrie is a fine female, as are all her sisters, but I am not beguiled, no.”

Callif does not let Rardek’s teasing deter him. Or perhaps does not recognise that Rardek is teasing at all.

“A fine face is a good thing in a linasha,” he says. “But it is not the most important characteristic. My sweet Hannah has proved herself a talented cook. Such a skill is very admirable, do you not think?”

“Most admirable,” Rardek agrees. “But is your heartspace taken with her or is it the meals she makes that hold all the allure?”

Callif’s brows knit together, his tail flicking behind him in a way that suggests agitation.

“I will not hear you reduce my longing for Hannah so,” he says, attempting to be imperious and commanding in his tone. A warrior might have managed it, but Callif has the rangy build of a hunter and no physical advantage over Rardek. In a war of words alone, Rardek will always win.

“Oh?” Rardek says. “Shall I save it for a few sunsets hence, when your longings are directed at Khadija or Grace?”

I glance at Endzoh as the two of them walk past, heading back toward the village, bickering spiritedly. Endzoh shakes his head, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“They are a pair of fools,” I say. “But Rardek is a fool on purpose. Unfortunately for Callif, he is not.”

At least the horkat he bears back to the village will earn him much admiration and appreciation - enough to be a balm to any bruises left on his spirit from his verbal sparring match.

As we arrive back at the village, we head straight for the weapons store, stashing our spears inside it.

Endzoh loosens the belt around his waist, rolling it up - knives along with it.

I have only a borrowed knife in my boot, and return this to the store also.

I am always glad to lose my weapons after a warrior’s patrol.

I am skilled enough in their use, but I do not feel the content the warriors feel to have blades on my person, or a spear in my grip.

Namson and Hannah have already prepared lunch, so Callif’s horkat will make the evening meal.

I can see, even from this distance, the delight in Namson’s eyes.

Hannah views the creature with wide-eyed uncertainty, looking, I suspect, to the huge tusks that jut from its jaw.

It is probably not the response Callif hoped for.

And then, because I am as much a fool as Callif is, I scan the crowd at the fire for Lorna.

I spy her sitting on the floor with Jassal and Ahnjas, Ahnjas waving one of his beloved blocks under her nose.

She is smiling at him, making silly faces, and her whole being is alight with joy.

Callif longed for Carrie, but could find nothing to admire in her beyond her physical features.

Her quiet nature, her diligence with her tailoring craft, do not make his heartspace sing as they might another male.

When Lorna was sick on the sands, I confess, my admiration of her was every bit as shallow.

I had nothing but the imagining of what she would look like if hale and clean.

But unlike Callif, who has moved on to another, the more I get to know Lorna’s true nature, the harder my heartspace beats for her.

This love she has for younglings - it will have me undone.

Endzoh clears his throat, and I realise too late I have been staring. Probably with a moony-eyed expression.

“I know, I am as bad as Callif,” I say. “‘The dreamspace forms when raskarrans are first in close proximity when both are of mating age and in good health.’”

I quote the teachings of our elders, drilled into us when we were younglings, despite there being no females remaining for us to mate.

Did they foresee other females arriving?

Or did they just fall back on the comforts of teaching us what their elders taught them?

Either way, they have ensured we are all of us knowledgeable in the ways of the dreamspace.

I have no room for doubt in my headspace, much as my heartspace might protest.

“She is no longer sick. I can no longer argue that her dreamspace may not be ready to form.”

Endzoh shakes his head and claps my shoulder.

“She is not raskarran,” he says, then ambles over to the fire, leaving me motionless behind him.