Page 163 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6
CHAPTER NINE
Endzoh
I hoped that Darran’s brothers would tire of discussing our sisters after a morning talking of nothing else, but as we gather at the fire for our lunch, they continue with the single-mindedness of a hunter tracking his prey.
“The moons do go away in the sky,” Mavren says. “Perhaps that is what the tradition is. The moons represent the first mated raskarrans, after all. When they disappear in the skies, perhaps this is them spending their time together, and this is what the humans wish to mimic.”
The mysteries of the sweet moon tradition, and why it takes that name, have been the subject of much speculation already and I am not the only one of my brothers who grows tired of hearing about it.
Darsha shakes his head, huffing with impatience. “They are not from these trees. They do not know of our stories and traditions. A sweet moon is something they do, not something linked to us.”
“Perhaps it is a type of food that just looks like a moon that they eat while they are alone together?” Flarin says.
“Unless humans have captured their moon from the sky to taste it?” Rardek says, coming to sit beside us. He was playing with Ahnjas, but I think the prospect of two easy subjects to torment has proven too tempting.
“Humans have this capability?” Flarin says, his eyes wide.
“They can travel across the stars,” Darsha points out. “I would not be surprised if they have captured their moon.”
“Do you think they wish for us to capture ours?”
I do not think that Flarin is the smartest of Darran’s brothers.
“Humans have many strange names for things,” Darsha says.
“Perhaps what is a moon to us is not the same thing to them. Or they use the same word to describe many different things. There is little point in trying to fathom reasons and explanations. Even our mated brothers did not know of this tradition. Perhaps Grace just invented it.”
His tone is final, attempting to close the conversation, but Darran’s brothers will not be so easily deterred.
“Perhaps it is like with certain forest creatures,” Mavren says. “Perhaps they are more inclined to mating when the moons are a certain shape in the sky.”
“They are under different skies to their own here,” Rardek says. “I think if the moons held sway over them in some way that they would be more affected.”
“You do not have a linasha, so how would you know?” Larzon says, dropping into a chair with a heavy thump.
They are words said to sting at the heartspace, but Rardek, as ever, lets them slide off his skin as if nothing could get beneath it.
“It is true, I am not so blessed. Fortunately, where Lina has not blessed me in this way, she has blessed me greatly in other areas. Such as my talent for observation.”
“Then you must tell us what you have observed of your sisters,” Flarin says.
Rardek catches my eye. “What do you think, brother? Should I tell them of my observations?”
He says it so innocently, but there is no doubt there is mischief in his headspace. There is always mischief in his headspace.
I scoff, which for my brothers would be enough to understand my contempt for the idea. But Darran’s brothers do not know me well, and they do not know Rardek well, either. So for their sake, I speak my thoughts.
“I would not trust a word that leaves your mouth.”
At least with Rardek, I know he will not take offence. He and Maldek are impossible to upset.
True to his nature, Rardek beams as if delighted.
“Endzoh is an honourable soul, for all he looks like he would prefer to punch you than speak to you,” he says to Flarin and Mavren. “I would trust him, if I were you.”
“But he just told us not to trust you?” Flarin says, this contradiction overworking his headspace.
Darsha rolls his eyes, his voice ringing with impatience now. “We do not understand the females any better than you do. It is not worth getting our headspaces tangled with it. If Lina wishes for us to be mated to one of them, then she will find a way to bring us together.”
“You do not intend to try to win the heartspace of one as Vantos did with Rachel?” Mavren says, his eyes narrowing.
“Even if I did, I have no more knowledge than you do as to how I might go about it,” Darsha says, throwing up his hands.
Larzon sneers. “You will find that Darran’s brothers do not give up on a prize so easily.”
Unease trickles down my neck, especially when his gaze flits across to the females, fixing on my Carrie.
“Prize?” I say, giving Larzon a hard look.
More of my displeasure must creep into my voice than I intend, for Larzon stiffens like I have threatened him, not rebuked him. Rardek eases his way between us, still grinning inanely.
“It is just a manner of speaking, Endzoh,” he says, patting my arm. “I am sure Larzon did not intend to speak of our sisters like objects?”
And though he says it with lightness, in that double-edged way Rardek has of wielding words, there is a rebuke in them.
One so polite and well phrased that Larzon can only nod and agree, though the moment Rardek turns away, Larzon’s sneer returns.
He aims it at me, jutting his chin upwards as if in challenge.
I raise my own chin. If he thinks my quietness means I will submit to him easily, he will find he is mistaken.
After a moment, Larzon huffs, then turns very deliberately to his brothers, so he is no longer facing me.
I had thought Rardek was unaware of our standoff, but he glances over his shoulder at me as soon as Larzon’s back is turned.
There is a coolness to his gaze that I do not normally see, but I know well enough that it is not my actions that have prompted his displeasure this time.
Fortunately for everyone’s tempers, Darran’s brothers retreat to their huts after lunch to finish arranging them. At least, this is what they say they are doing. I suspect there is some discussion still taking place over our sisters, but at least we do not have to listen to it for a while.
The females relax when they leave, also. They have not shown discomfort through scowls or angry glances, but there is a lightness to them once we are returned to just Gregar’s tribe once more, their bodies lifting, sitting up straighter, their smiles coming easier.
“We knew it would be a period of adjusting to this change,” Rardek says, “but I will be very glad when it is over and our new brothers have settled.”
“You should not wind them up so,” I say, and do not care if I come across as more harsh than is necessary.
Rardek, always quick with a barb, a jab to the gut, does not lash out with his tongue, but rather inclines his head in acknowledgement.
“I am ever quick to highlight the funny side of things. I have always thought it the best way of dealing with problems. I do not think our new brothers are ready to see the humour in all this yet, though.” He grimaces.
“I thought they would have calmed down some now the first night has passed, but they only grow more ardent.”
“They do not mean the females harm,” Darsha says with a shrug. “Though they may harm my headspace if they persist with their questions much longer.”
“They may not mean them harm, but they will cause it if they are not more careful,” Shemza says. “Our sisters are each fragile in their own way. Especially those that remain unmated.”
My headspace fills with images of my Carrie’s face dropping.
I am sad that I cannot speak.
I wonder what it is that has caused her voice to abandon her.
People do not lose the ability to speak for no reason.
I may choose not to use my voice most of the time, but there is nothing wrong with it.
When I wish to say something, it is there.
A little crackly, perhaps, a little rough, but it never sticks in my throat and refuses to leave.
Does Larzon even know this about her? He has watched her with interest, but has he noted that she does not speak to her sisters, that she communicates with gestures and expressions instead?
Would he understand her well enough if he approached her, and she tried to tell him that she was unhappy with his nearness?
My gut churns at the thought, my teeth gritting together.
“I think we can all agree that it would be a good idea to be a close presence in the lives of our sisters for the next few days,” Rardek says.
He will get no argument against this from me.
I decide the best way I can be an unobtrusive guardian to my sisters is to work on some traps with Khadija.
With more warriors in the tribe, some of the further outposts can be reopened, and a collection of traps around them will assist in keeping our village safe.
There are plenty of supplies in the village now that Darran has joined his strength to ours, and his brothers have some traps with them that need restoring before they can be used.
Time squashed into a crate has not agreed with them.
I roll out an old pelt on the ground, setting some tools down upon it, along with the first trap I intend to fix.
It is a net, designed to lift a creature up into the trees.
Excellent for trapping merka beasts, though the creatures are cunning and often recognise the trap has been placed if you do not cover your scent carefully.
Against a raskarran, they are more of an annoyance than a true hinderance, but they are noisy and difficult to get out of. If a Cliff Top tribe warrior were to get entangled in one of these traps, it would give the village much time to rally a defence.
Khadija comes to sit beside me. She has seen how net traps work before, knows how they are set up and how they are triggered.
Her nimble fingers are quick at untangling knots, so I hand her the net itself, while I check that the sticks used to set it are not damaged or weakened.
There are no counterweights with it, naturally, so we will have to go looking for some larger fallen branches at some point.
For now, we have enough to keep us busy that can also be done here.
There is a pleasantness to working alongside Khadija.
She does not silence the noise in my headspace the way my Carrie does, but it is definitely quieter around her.
I do not have to watch her closely, as I know she has watched me and learned her chosen craft well.
So I do not have to meet her eyes and smile, and she does not seem to mind this.
Sometimes, she hardly looks upon me at all.
If she wants my attention, she taps the back of my hand to get it.
Always the back of my hand, not my knee as my Carrie did.
I almost shiver at the memory of that little touch.
I hope I will know more of my Carrie’s touches before long.
A thing I have never hoped about anyone before.
I glance over to where she is sitting. Jassal is dancing in front of her, wearing the leathers she mended last night, exclaiming over the little flower my Carrie stitched into them.
My Carrie’s smile is so wide, her eyes glittering with a brightness that makes her even more appealing to look at than she already is.
I would see her smile like that every day if she were my linasha.
I would see her smile like that every day, even if she were not.
Strange how two sunsets ago I was so certain that I could never be a source of her smiles.
But my Carrie has gifted me several now, and with each one I grow more certain that this is something I can do.
That I can learn her. Learn what it is that makes her happy, then provide her those things.
My headspace buzzes, but it is not with discomfort - it is with ideas.
I watch as my Carrie scrapes her chalk over her slate, doing writing. When she is finished, she holds it up to Jassal, who leans forward to peer at it.
“ Glad. Yoo. Lik? ” Jassal says.
My Carrie shakes her head, laughing silently. Jassal giggles, revealing her little fangs.
“ Glad. Yoo. Like. ” She says, pointing to what is on the slate. “ Ahdonlikem. Ahlovem. ”
I have not understood the females’ preoccupation with this writing before now, but seeing my Carrie use letters in place of her voice - it is a strange kind of magic. Humans have their clevernesses, even if their tribe leaders sound like they lack any kind of wisdom.
My Carrie sets the slate down so she can give Jassal a hug. It is a large, unwieldy thing. Good for lessons for it gives plenty of space. Not so good for using to communicate. Carrying it with her all day would be difficult.
My headspace spins and spins. Not being able to speak makes my Carrie unhappy, and so it is reasonable to believe that being able to use her letters to talk would make her happy.
I cannot make her voice come back, but I can make her a better way to communicate.
One that is easy to use and practical. And just as she has made something beautiful for Jassal, I will make it beautiful for her.
We have not had much cause for beauty in the tribe since the sickness.
When you are surviving, beauty is a frivolous thing.
But for all he knew my time would be dedicated to being a warrior, my grandfather did not neglect to teach me some of his own work.
The leather crafting skills that would have died with him otherwise.
It has been a long time since I picked up his tools, but my memory is good. I am sure I can still use them.
I feel a tap on the back of my hand and turn to Khadija. She holds up the net to me - neatly folded so it does not get tangled again. I place the sticks atop it, then set it aside. One net done. With my apprentice’s assistance, they will all be done before long.
And then I will leave my sisters under my brothers’ careful watch while I go to find my Carrie a new slate.