Page 8

Drafe gave Larya a slight nod. Her cheeks paled, and she twitched, her hands forming fists. Kael wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side.

Without his sword, Drafe strode into the circle and waited.

Closing his eyes, he fought for calm and willed his anger to subside, for now.

He trembled with restrained energy, and the urge to kill the male gripped him.

Kreta whispered her seduction, how best to take his life, how Drafe would be doing the Meorri a great service if he killed Ulvus. To do so would make him an exile.

Drafe rolled his shoulders, his arms burning from meeting Ulvus’s strikes. His symbiotes scrambled to heal his cuts and fuel his attacks. He was so tired. What he longed to do was sleep for days. His cool home called to him, his bed a few strides away.

He clenched his jaw and raised his hands.

All Ulvus had to do was sit on Drafe to end the challenge.

He had to ensure that didn’t happen. Which meant more dodging, strategic kicks, and punches to the knees, thighs, eyes, ears.

The first two were doable, the last two required a longer arm-reach than Drafe had.

As soon as Ulvus assumed position, Drafe struck with a kick to the knee. He leaped back and orbited while Ulvus howled and hopped on one leg.

“Holy Kreta, Drafe,” he whined and rested the toes of his injured leg on the sand.

Drafe bounced, weaved, ducked, constantly moving between feints.

Ulvus struggled to focus on Drafe, his gaze darting a second or two after Drafe moved.

He pecked at the lumbering hudu, jabbed, kicked at newly healed wounds, at sore points, at weaknesses.

With one arm-swing, Ulvus caught Drafe across the chest and sent him flying.

He landed on his back with a grunt, sliding across the sand and stopping too close to the circle’s edge.

Moving out of it with any part of his body forfeited the challenge.

The ground trembled when Ulvus charged. Drafe’s symbiotes whispered a warning, and he rolled several times to the side.

When he leaped to his feet, he was in time to catch a kick to his stomach.

Again he hit the sand and skimmed backward.

He struggled to rise. Something squeezed his throat with his ability to breathe taken from him.

A shadow fell across him. Ulvus prepared to throw his weight on Drafe, who raised his knees at the last minute.

Ulvus’s eyes bulged as his chest met Drafe’s knees.

The stale stench of salt cakes on his breath bathed Drafe’s face, and he grimaced.

Howling, Ulvus fell to the sand and curled on his side.

Drafe rolled again and scrambled to his feet, swaying where he stood.

He brought his heel down on Ulvus's jaw, but the male caught his foot and dragged him off his feet.

As pain throbbed in his shoulder and the sharp bolt of fire shot up his leg, Ulvus landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Drafe sank into the sand, hindering his ability to fight, to escape.

Failure loomed while his symbiotes screamed suggestions.

His gaze fell to the side, to where Larya bit a clenched fist while Kael spoke to an animated Umda. No expression crossed the exposed part of the Ivoys’s faces. Bavu frowned, no doubt unhappy with Ulvus winning.

Drafe slumped, dropped his hands, and pretended to pass out. In times like this, he would play the weakling. Ulvus chuckled and jerked back, a slave to his nature.

Drafe struck, punching the male in the face.

Clear blood drenched him at the snap of a bone.

Ulvus howled, pulling away to wipe his chin.

His eyes paled to white, and before Drafe could thrust the male off him, Ulvus punched him.

His body registered the excruciating burn of agony as his head snapped to the side.

By the fourth blow across his jaw and cheek, the pain merged into one.

“Enough.”

The blue sky filled Drafe’s fading vision when someone dragged Ulvus off him. Drafe’s symbiotes muttered, cursed, but hurried to heal him. Yesterday and today had tested them, and for that, he was sorry. One eye began to close when Bavu leaned over him.

“Young Drafe, do you require a healer?”

Drafe winced. To summon a healer proved his unworthiness. “Is it that bad?” His words were mumbled with his lips smashed against his teeth. The salty tang of his blood coated his tongue. He chuckled, then moaned when his ribs constricted.

“I have seen worse.” Bavu grinned and offered a hand.

“I lost. That is worse enough for me,” Drafe mumbled.

“Against Ulvus you could never have won, Drafe.”

Hoisted to his feet, he smothered a groan and focused on standing still. His world tilted. Trickling blood from his ear dripped onto his shoulder.

“This day is not set.” Bavu patted Drafe on the shoulder. “The Ivoy will choose, and there is the small matter of your stolen water pouch.”

Drafe whipped his head up and gaped, despite his vision spinning. “How did you—?”

“Umda is our finest peacekeeper, Drafe. Did you doubt he would look into this?” Bavu shook his head. “The theft of a water pouch is not to be taken lightly.”

Ulvus stood to the side, laughing despite his bloody nose. Hanging from his belt was the evidence of his crime, but the foolish male was too arrogant for his own good.

Bavu strode toward the Ivoy instead of confronting Ulvus. A discussion ensued with Bavu pointing and gesticulating before he pulled his lips into a grim line. Marching to the center of the circle, he waved his hand, summoning Ulvus to his side.

“The Ivoy have chosen, but before I announce the next Qaldreth trainee or Karu, I would like to discuss Ulvus’s punishment.”

His mother gasped, her cheeks darkening.

Ulvus blustered, as if he was innocent of whatever crime Bavu would mention.

“Whose water pouch is that, Ulvus?” Umda called from beside Tiyl, both having thrust the butts of their spears into the sand.

“Mine?”

Drafe laughed. “You are not sure?”

Ulvus glared at him. “Of course I am sure. It is mine.”

“It bears your father’s symbol?” Bavu arched a brow.

Ulvus’s cheeks paled. “Um…yes?”

“So, if I were to examine it, a tall cucooya tree would be burned into the leather?” Bavu folded his arms across his chest, twisting his face in disbelief.

Ulvus trembled. He opened and closed his mouth, choking on his words.

“Whose symbol is it?” Bavu raised his arms above his head. “Elders and primary males, gather around and share your wisdom.”

Males strode into the circle, studied the water pouch still hanging from Ulvus’s belt, with most raising startled glances to Drafe.

Ulvus stilled. “But—?”

“You wish to defend your actions, young Ulvus?” Umda asked.

Ulvus rocked from side-to-side. “Drafe gave it to me.”

Laughter rippled across the males, for such an event would never occur. A water pouch was as sacred as the symbiotes, passed on from father to son for generations.

“Young Drafe, what say you?” Umda stood firm, gripping his spear’s shaft close to him.

Drafe hesitated. To reveal Ulvus as a thief would cost the male a hand. He could not lie either. With a grimace, he forced the truth past his lips. “It was taken while I rode the vasquva’s back toward the Ki’irinzi Mountains.”

Gasps rippled across the males with Ulvus’s mother wailing in the background. Females held her back. To enter the ring without invitation was suicide.

“Ulvus, you have been judged.” Bavu swept a hand over his shoulder, stating the matter settled. “Umda, he is yours to deal with.”

“No.” Ulvus shoved males aside. “I found them unattended.”

“Them?” Bavu widened his eyes. “You stole more than a pouch? No more lies, Ulvus, or does the loss of more limbs not matter to you?”

“It was but a water pouch, a spear, and two dead garak,” Ulvus muttered, lowering his chin.

“Did you present them to Drafe or Larya when you returned from the hunt?” Bavu pursed his lips when Ulvus said no more. “Very well, failure to accept punishment means banishment for you and your family. Is this acceptable?”

“No.” Ulvus settled his gaze on his mother, raised his head, and trailed Umda.

The village waited. Silence reigned except for the hiss of shifting sands and the howls of the winds as they raced through the tunnels. An agonizing cry pierced the air. As one, the village gasped. The deed was done. The punishment was carried out.

Umda returned, ushering a gray-tinged Ulvus into the circle. He gripped his forearm, with a bloodied cloth wrapped around his wrist. Sweat dewed his temple and saturated his black hair. His eyes were a rich gold and his lips drawn into a narrow line.

Umda held up Drafe’s water pouch. He accepted it with his hand on his chest in thanks.

“The Ivoy have chosen.” Bavu gestured to Ulvus. “They will take you as you are.”

Drafe tried not to show his disappointment. This was as expected. He would try again next year. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he envisioned a future in silence. Without Larya, no one would care for him, ensure he ate, or force him to converse.

An Ivoy sliced through the crowds, parting them. He raised a four-fingered hand. When Bavu bowed his head, so did the tribes.

“Ivoyans do not care that you are missing a limb for this is repairable.” His voice was smooth, cool, like trickling water in a deep well.

“Your size is what is valuable. But,” his lip curled in derision, “a thief is not tolerated. Continue this dishonorable behavior, and your service will be terminated. You have been warned, Meorri aac Ulvus.”

The Ivoy turned, not waiting for a response from Ulvus, and rested his gaze on Drafe.

“Meorri aac Drafe, the Ivoy will accept your service.” The crowd gasped, but he sliced a glance, silencing them.

“Your determination, strength of will, and use of strategy makes you a worthy selection. Elder Bavu informs me that you also killed a vasquva, yet here you stand, able to participate in a challenge despite your recent injuries. Commendable. Do you accept?”

Violent emotions bubbled in Drafe’s chest. He struggled to hold back his joy or a wide triumphant smile. “I do.”

“You have a few minutes to bid your loved ones farewell.” The Ivoy strode past his companion and climbed into the craft.

“May I?” Drafe gestured to where Larya bounced on her toes, her smile bright against her dark face.

Bavu pressed a hand to his chest. “You may, Drafe.”

Drafe ran, dodging the males eager to grip his arm. He paused beside Umda and rested his hand on his shoulder. Nothing needed to be said. As soon as Drafe neared Larya, Kael reached across the circle’s edge and yanked Drafe over it.

No tears trickled down Larya’s cheeks. To do so was to waste precious liquid, but she gripped his hands. “So happy for you, Drafe.”

“Take care of my sword and Father’s water pouch.

I will return.” He handed the pouch to her and cupped her cheek one last time.

With a nod at Kael, he strode to the craft and climbed into the dark depths, the smell metallic and foreign.

A strange coolness swept across his skin as he waited, unsure what was expected of him.

“Sit,” an Ivoy said, gesturing to a wall-mounted ledge.

Drafe obeyed. Straps shot across his legs and around his waist, holding him to the structure. He could move and wasn’t uncomfortable. An Ivoy sat on the opposite ledge, strapped in place, so nothing Drafe needed to be alarmed by.

Ulvus staggered into the craft, and the last standing Ivoy ushered him to a ledge.

The male was in agony, his shoulders curled in, his cheeks still gray and glimmering in the craft’s pale lighting.

The door closed, sealing them inside. As soon as the Ivoy assumed a ledge, the craft lifted.

Images of Meorri flitted across one wall, the Ki’irinzi Mountains in the distance until blue skies darkened into a star-studded black.

“Drink,” an Ivoy commanded, holding out a cylindrical container. “As much as you want, Meorri, for water is abundant on Ivoy.”

Drafe twitched but accepted the gift. The sweet scent of water tickled his nose, and he tipped the bowl to his lips. Ice cold droplets fell onto his tongue. He paused after five.

“As much as you want,” the Ivoy repeated.

Drafe did so, drinking his full, feeling like a child with too much garak meat on his birthing day. As he leaned back, cradling the container to his chest, his stomach cramped. For the first time in his life, he’d quenched his thirst.