Page 160 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6
CHAPTER SEVEN
Endzoh
I go to sleep certain that there is no chance that my Carrie could be claimed by another. She is mine, and I will learn her and I will claim her. Lina’s hand guides my heartspace, and my feelings are true and right.
I am less certain when I wake. What feels real and definite by moonlight has a way of looking hazy under the brightness of the sun.
I get up, heading out to the fire. Several of my brothers are already there, along with most of the elders, and Rachel, also.
She is often awake earlier than her sisters, roused by the sickness her youngling sets in her belly.
She is chewing yuko root now, Vantos bringing her fresh water to drink, his eyes full of their usual mix of concern and devotion.
I take up my seat, pulling out my least favourite knife and a stone to sharpen it.
It does not need sharpening, but I am thinking that having something to do with my hands, something to concentrate on besides the noise and the buzz in my head, might make things a little easier for me this morning.
Of course, I may end up sharpening it so much that the bone blade becomes fragile, unusable.
Especially if I am to find my Carrie mated.
It is why I have brought my least favourite knife.
Rardek drops into the seat beside me.
“I trust we have all had wonderfully restful nights,” he says, then turns to Rachel, giving her a smile and patting his belly in question.
Rachel makes the hand gesture Shemza taught me meant ‘okay’, her lips curling downwards.
I have come to realise that the human females use this gesture for anything that falls in between the ‘good’ or ‘bad’ gestures with the fist and the thumb pointing up or down.
Which of these other gestures the ‘okay’ gesture is closer to depends on their facial expression.
Rachel clearly means it to be closer to the ‘bad’ gesture.
“Poor sweet sunset female,” Rardek says. “It is a cruel thing that doing something so wondrous as bringing a youngling into the world makes them suffer so.”
He uses the name we used to use for Rachel before learning her true one.
We had names like this for all the females, and still use them sometimes when we do not wish the females to know they are talked about.
We do not say anything they would not be happy to hear, but when Sally is not available to translate, it makes the females uncomfortable to hear their names amongst our words.
It will not be long before Rachel is competent enough at speaking our words that this will no longer be necessary with her, but for now, she does not follow.
“It will not last much longer, so Shemza says,” Vantos says, and his relief in this is clear.
“It will last several seasons of the moons,” Faltok says. “Though it is strange that it has started so soon after your mating. Unless human females are different to raskarrans in this?”
“She carried the youngling before we were mated,” Vantos says. “It has been nearly three seasons of the moons, she thinks.”
This sets the elders rumbling, but Faltok only smiles.
“The female Sally will birth hers before the big rains pass. Perhaps even before they start. Then you will be the next to be made a father, in another six seasons of the moon or so.”
Vantos stands straighter, pride radiating from every part of him. “Six seasons of the moon feels like a very long time to wait.”
The elders only chuckle at this.
“It will be here before you can even blink,” one of them says.
“Not if all the days have been as long as last night,” Darsha mutters.
Slowly, the village starts to rise. Mavren is the first of Darran’s mating age brothers to arrive, his face full of such disappointment that even I do not have trouble reading the emotion on his unfamiliar features.
“It seems our angry friend has not had the dreams he desired,” Rardek says to me, his voice low enough not to be heard by anyone else.
I follow the direction of his gaze to where Larzon is stalking toward the fire. His emotions were sharp last night, but now they seethe ahead of him, casting an ill mood over our gathering. I notice Darran’s elders frowning, their lips pressed into thin lines as they watch him.
“Come have a seat,” Namson says, his voice booming, as if he hopes to dispel the atmosphere with his volume. “We are making roots mash for breakfast this morning. It is a particular favourite of our tribe sisters, and we have it often for them.”
“What use to me is knowledge of your sisters?” Larzon snaps.
Even his elders look surprised by the strength of his displeasure. Rachel glances up at Vantos, radiating nervousness, though she could not have understood Larzon’s words fully. Vantos steps closer to her, placing an arm round her shoulder.
“Calm yourself,” he says, his voice low, commanding. “We have most of us known your disappointment, and we understand your heartspace’s hurts, but do not speak so here. Your anger is frightening to our sisters.”
I glance over to the other end of the fire.
Only Sally and Lorna have arrived so far, and both of them watch Larzon with wary eyes, Sally’s arms around Jassal, who also looks frightened.
At least Ahnjas does not seem to notice the tension, wobbling over to Lorna with his arms outstretched, a big grin on his face.
“What do you know of my hurts when you have what you wanted?” Larzon says. He does keep his voice low, the anger in it hardening into something perhaps more dangerous, but at least for now less noticeable.
“I have felt pain while waiting for Lina’s blessing,” Vantos says, and even if I did not know him to be a truthful male, I could not mistake the truth in his words. “More pain than you feel even now.”
Larzon scoffs, but before he can argue further, Mavren shoots up out of his seat, looking to something beyond our little confrontation.
I do not think any of my brothers are surprised to see that it is Calran approaching, walking beside Grace.
He still cannot stop looking at her, his head angled down to her rather than watching his approach to the fire, and his hand rests lightly on her shoulder.
A delicate, neutral kind of touch - one many of my brothers would have given to any of the females.
But combined with the look in Calran’s eyes, there is no mistaking it for anything other than what it is. A claim.
Grace’s cheeks are a bright red colour, but human females turn this shade when pleased or embarrassed, and it is not so easy to tell which side of this Grace leans toward.
Both, perhaps. She does not tell her mate to stand back, but she does not slot into his side as Ellie would have done to Anghar, or Lorna with Shemza.
Molly walks beside her, the youngling’s expression as unreadable as mine is so often accused of being.
Liv is also with them, and as Calran’s brothers start rushing over to him, she guides Grace and Molly away, sitting them down with the other females.
Many questions are fired at Calran, his brothers eager to know every little detail of the dreamspace, what was said between the two of them, what happens next.
I shake my head. There are some things that should be between mates and no one else, but Calran is far more obliging than I would have been, giving his brothers as much information as he can without revealing private things.
His brothers are like baby birds, their mouths constantly open, demanding to be fed more.
Even Larzon, despite his foul mood, finds his way into the crush to seek what answers he can get.
“I fear they have built all of this,” Rardek says, gesturing at the females, “the chance of a mate, so high in their headspaces that it consumes them. The same way that Vantos was consumed with Rachel, only with nowhere for their obsessions to go.”
“I only hope it does not take an ensouka horn to the belly to persuade all of them of the error in their ways,” Anghar says, a darkness to his voice that it does not normally carry.
We watch as Calran pushes his brothers back, dismisses them with talk of giving them the full story at a later time.
They peel away from him, a frenzied note to the way they speak amongst themselves.
Larzon watches Calran as he walks over to Shemza.
His rage has quieted some, but it is still there, bubbling away in his heartspace.
Shemza grips Calran’s arm in greeting, his delight for his apprentice clear in his smile.
Gregar arrives at the fire, Darran at his side, the two of them joining with Shemza and Calran, Gregar wearing a grin almost as wide as his Liv can prompt in him.
Darran is more reserved, and I think it must be a difficult thing for him.
Happy as he will be for his brother’s joy, it must remind him of his own linasha - lost to the sickness along with their younglings. Two daughters, if I recall correctly.
“I should like to make a request,” Calran says, looking between Gregar and Shemza. “I seek permission to take my Grace away from the village for a few sunsets. Not far, just far enough that we may have some time together alone.”
“And Grace is happy with this?” Gregar asks.
“It was her idea.”
Calran cannot resist glancing over to where Grace is sitting with Liv, our chieftess likely making sure her sister is comfortable and happy.
“It is a tradition among newly mated humans, apparently. She referred to it by a word I could not quite understand. The dreamspace gave me the name ‘sweet moon’. It is as close as I can get in raskarran words.”
Gregar does not look as though he has heard of this tradition. He looks to Shemza, who is as confused as him. It is obviously not something their mates have requested of them.
“I do not know this moon tradition,” Gregar says. “But if your Grace desires some time alone, then I see no reason why you should not take it. As long as it does not interfere with her healer training.”
“It does not,” Shemza says.
“Then go with my blessing, brother,” Gregar says.
“But stay within the boundaries of our warrior patrols. Vantos can guide you in this.” Then he grins.
“Normally, we would have a feast to celebrate a new mating, but if you wish to leave on this sweet moon immediately, well, it would save Hannah and Namson the trouble of preparing such extravagant meals for a second night in a row.”
“I need no feast in celebration,” Calran says, his eyes tracking to his Grace once again.
Grace looks flustered, but as she senses her mate’s attentions on her, she glances over her shoulder, the worry in her expression melting into a radiant smile.
“It is a good day,” Darran says, warming more and more to his brother’s good fortune. “A very good day.”
Larzon scoffs as Gregar, Darran and Calran head to join with Grace and Liv.
“A very good day for some,” he says, though he has sense enough to keep his words quiet, audible only to those standing around him.
“All is not so lost yet, Larzon,” Faltok says, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Do not forget in your tiredness that the human females may mate to a male many sunsets after the first meeting.”
I know the elder is only trying to appease his brother, telling him the thing that is most likely to lift him out of his hurt, but I wish Faltok had not spoken.
Larzon’s eyes narrow as he looks past us to where the rest of the females are now approaching the fire.
I have disliked it many times that my Carrie has the most appealing shape of her sisters, but never more than in this moment, when Larzon’s gaze fixes on her.
Drawn, I do not doubt, the same way that Callif was - by the pleasing arrangement of her curves and not the pleasing shape of her manner beneath them.
He makes a dismissive sound, turning abruptly back in the direction of his hut. But it is not Faltok’s words he dismisses. They have lit another fire in him, one that now burns alongside his anger.
And I fear my Carrie is about to get caught up in its blaze.