1 Spring 513 AV
The dust swirled in quick moving mini cyclones across the earth beneath the animal’s velvet nose as he breathed in and out slowly. His large chest moved up and down in a calm, soothing rhythm that always managed to put his mother to sleep as she lay at his side with her head settled against his shoulder. The sun was peeking over the rise of the earth far off in the distance. A new day, a new start; life was good, in fact, life was perfect.
“Azen,” Shay, S’hazende’s father, whispered to him. “My son, awaken, the dawn his here.”
S’hazende slowly opened his eyes to see the blurred shape of his father kneeling before him. Shay was considered an old man in human years. He had a kind face with wrinkles worked into the flesh about the edges of his mouth and eyes. His once black hair was woven with grey threads, making him look rather distinguished. His clothes were plain, nothing fancy; the man was a master of camouflage and survival tactics. The small family of three had always felt safe under the watch of their leader.
A low rumble was emitted through the horse’s nostrils, a rather endearing sound reserved just for his parents. S’hazende stretched his long black legs out in front of him and tucked his head against his neck before lifting it swiftly, bobbing it up and down in an attempt to wake his mother, Azande. The woman stirred at his side, a fair haired human with piercing blue eyes. As Azande awoke she put her arms around the young Kelvic horse and pressed her cheek to his. “Four years today, my boy is now a man.”
For the parents of a young Kelvic horse, this was rather normal, but to an outsider the thought of calling their child an adult after only four years of life might have seemed, to say the least, a bit odd. S’hazende pushed off from the ground with the aid of his powerful back legs and shook the dust from his jet-black coat, mane and tail. Having stretched, the Kelvic then took his human form, as bare as he was the night he was born, and wrapped his arms around his mother, burying his face against her neck. “Thank you,” he smiled slowly, breathing in the earthy scent of her hair before standing upright and letting his long arms hang at his sides.
Shay had gotten up early to prepare a hearty breakfast for his son’s big day. They had been travelling with a small off group of one of the great horse clans, a cut off of the Opal clan, for some time who were heading back to Endrykas, the city of tents. They had exchanged stories over the last few nights and information about the land. Shay had kept vast records of his encounters throughout his travels across the Sea of Grass, detailing his recollections in large notebooks he had put together and bound with flaxes and dry-grass. It was Azande who had taught them both the basics in reading and writing. Of course S’hazende had little patience for such things, especially writing; but he tried his best to please his parents.
S’hazende stared at the dried meat his father had traded traps for with the Drykas people. It was some kind of small game, possibly a rabbit. It had been some time since the family had eaten meat. Shay was a skilled fisherman, but with so little water to be found in the Sea of Grass, fishing wasn’t an option and so, the three had lived off of berries and other natural foods such as plant roots. S’hazende savoured the taste of the dried meat, chewing it until it wasn’t solid anymore and had lost most of its taste.
The tall male didn’t understand why his father had traded such valuable items for so little meat; especially since food could be hard to come by out in the grasslands and often the three of them had gone without. It wasn’t like the family to celebrate birthdays but this one was a little different. S’hazende was to leave his parents and join the Drykas people of the Opal clan to travel back to their city for work, just as he had always dreamed of doing. They seemed friendly enough and S’hazende wasn’t afraid of a little hard work.
After breakfast, Shay presented his son with a book entitled ‘The Hunters Guide to Survival’. “My father made this book,” Shay explained, “He gave it to me when I was sent out into the world to make a life for myself.”
S’hazende looked up at his father and smiled, accepting the book. “Thank you, father.”
“That book won’t let you down, my son. I have travelled all my life and added many notes and findings to my father’s work and I know as you go through life you will continue to add to it too. If you ever get lost, or hungry, or just need a few encouraging words, turn through the pages and rest assured that our knowledge will guide you for many years to come.” Shay put his hands on his son’s shoulders as he spoke. His voice was deep and always managed to keep S’hazende calm, even in stressful situations like this; the day he was to leave his mother and father and carve out a life for himself.
They can’t look after you forever, S’hazende told himself. They barely made it through the winter.
S’hazende pushed his father’s book into his backpack and turned to watch the small Drykas group as they finished pulling down their tents and began packing. It would soon be time to get moving, to head towards Endrykas, if any of them could be sure that they were going the right way to find the city of tents.
After collecting the rest of his gear, S’hazende loaded his things up with that of the people who had accepted him and went back to say goodbye to his parents. Azande smiled up at her son, her wispy blonde hair swaying with the light breeze. Her arms were wrapped around Shay’s middle, who was a full foot and a half taller than his wife. S’hazende studied the pair for a time, as if attempting to commit the picture of them both to his long term memory. “I’m going to miss you,” the long, lanky teen smiled, the words making his mother catch her breath suddenly in an attempt to fight back tears.
“Be well, my son. Be wise, and remember all that we have taught you,” Shay offered his final words of advice before Azande piped up.
“Remember that manners cost nothing and a kind word will get you far. Don’t stray too far from the camp… I know how adventurous your spirit is. I want you to read every night,” she sniffed, “and trust only yourself.” Azande put her right hand to her son’s left cheek, smiling a small, loving smile that the boy knew he would never forget.
“We love you,” she whispered.
“And we are so proud,” Shay interjected. “Now go, and don’t look back, go in-“
“Into the night,” S’hazende smiled, taking a few slow steps backwards as he took in the final scene of his parents holding one another before turning his back and walking towards the Drykas people who were already on the move. S’hazende reverted back to his animal form and let one of the Drykas men fasten a makeshift harness to his form, allowing him to move a great deal more than any mere man could alone. It took everything in the boy’s being not to stop and look back at his parents and as he walked he focused on road ahead and maxim his father had drummed into him from birth, ‘into the night.’.
* * *
S’hazende had been walking with the off cut of the Opal Clan all day; his bones were heavy and his legs were tired. He felt that it might be impossible to manage another half mile and just when he was about to stop for a rest, someone up front began to wave a hand back and forth, signalling for the group to stop and set up camp. Being a black horse out in the middle of the Sea of Grass wasn’t all that comfortable on a hot day like this and seen as the group had been walking for the last five hours, S’hazende was glad for the chance to stop and catch his breath.
His velvet soft nostrils flared, ears pricked forward as the Drykas horses began to whinny, obviously thankful for the rest themselves. S’hazende joined in, calling to both wild and tame in the small herd of maybe eleven. Having spent most of his life on the road with his parents, the young Kelvic knew that it would be a while before the novelty of becoming part of a group would wear off. A man that had been travelling alongside S’hazende came up to the horse’s right shoulder to undo his harness. “You will help us set up the tents,” the man said in Pavi and though S’hazende had a basic knowledge of the Drykas language, the only word he recognised in the man’s sentence was ‘help’.
Once he was out of the harness, S’hazende walked over to the luggage and took his backpack between his teeth, racing to the top of a nearby hill and just out of sight so that he could change, taking his human form for the second time that day to slip into his wears. He wore black, a shade his father had favoured living out on the edge of civilisation. A simple black shirt, longs and a stretched well-loved cloak adorned his figure. The tall male stuffed the rest of his things into his backpack before slipping into his boots and pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
S’hazende raced down the hill as fast as his human legs would carry him. It was odd that a boy of such talents felt so comfortable in each of his forms, even if one worked on four legs while the other only had two at its disposal. Kelvic brains were wired in a way that only another Kelvic could possibly understand, though his ability to take to either of the two forms had always amused his parents.
One of the men gave S’hazende a hammer once he had returned to camp and ordered him to start work on banging the wooden stakes into the ground that helped keep the tents erect. Being that they were now in spring, the ground had seen a lot of water over the winter and was still moist enough to knock the pegs into the earth without too much effort. S’hazende watched the skilled men of the group set up their bedding and cooking tools once the tents were all up and smiled slowly each time he caught someone’s attention.
“Finished,” he tried to say in Pavi to a heavily tattooed man who came to collect his hammer and when the man stood there looking puzzled, S’hazende looked at his boots and scratched his head as if trying to recall the word he needed.
“Finished?” the man asked and S’hazende quickly nodded, repeating the word over and over in his head until it stuck.
“Go and watch the children,” the man then said and pointed to the small group of six or seven children playing on the hillside.
S’hazende followed the man’s line of sight to look back over his shoulder at the Drykas children and smiled, quickly counting them in his head; that was another word he would attempt to commit to memory.
The tall, lanky teen jogged over to the bottom of the hill and looked up at the kids who were taking turns to roll down the hill through the long grass on their sides, making high-pitched cries of laughter caused by their enjoyment. S’hazende smiled to himself as he watched them play; he had always wanted to be a big brother to a little sister or brother of his own, but seven little strangers no older than nine or ten would have to do.
S’hazende slowly walked to the top of the hill; sure he would have a better view of the group from up there, the camp and possibly even any approaching dangers. Living out in the middle of nowhere promised a man all sorts of worries, or why else would the Drykas people entrust their precious children to a complete stranger? S’hazende could see some of the mothers watching their children from their tents, where they sat preparing meals and mending well-worn boots.
The hill wasn’t high enough to see too far into the distance, but S’hazende thought he could see a small herd of horses and above, a good mile or so away, a couple of birds of prey were circling high in the sky. His chocolate coloured hues narrowed slowly as he studied the pair, just slowing flying in lazy circles above the earth. He pointed the sight out to one of the Drykas children and she stood watching for a time before going back to her game.
S’hazende had always been a highly curious young man with little to no restraint. When he set his mind to a task or idea, it was very rare for him not to follow through. He wondered then if anyone would miss him, should he decide to go and investigate what it was that had the two birds so interested.
After a good half hour the children were summoned back by their parents and S’hazende was free to spend the rest of the afternoon as he pleased. As much as he might had enjoyed trying to socialise with the Drykas people, he had grown far too curious as to what was out beyond the camp, that which was interesting enough to attract some of the local wildlife. “I’m going that way,” he pointed after gaining the tattooed man’s attention. The man nodded and went back to his meal, which smelt like some kind of gamey soup.
S’hazende picked up his backpack and headed off towards where he had seen the birds flying high in the sky. They had landed a few minutes before the children had finished playing, so he wasn’t a hundred percent certain that he would end up in the right location; but it was worth a shot. Every hundred metres or so the man would look back and judge how far he had gone from the camp and made sure he was keeping it in sight. Getting lost wouldn’t have been the best way to spend his first day without his parents.
* * *
It seemed the man would need to learn to judge distances better than he had, for by the time he had reached the small clearing in which he had seen the birds land, the place was deserted; or so it seemed. The air was heavy with the smell of decay and the bare earth beneath his feet felt firm, as if it had been compacted under the weight of the many creatures and beings that seemed to have passed this way. There were long winding tracks that snaked through the grass away from the dirt patch that stretched about ten by thirty metres.
S’hazende put his backpack down at the edge of the clearing and removed his boots to feel the earth beneath his toes. He ducked low beneath the long grass surrounding the area and looked about, not sure that he was alone. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his stomach tightening; perhaps caused by the too real smell of death that filled his nostrils and made his mouth feel suddenly dry. He rolled his tongue over his lower lip and rubbed them together before he then crept forward along the grass line.
As he moved along the ground, more of the clearing was revealed to him; the smell that hung in the hot air also increasing. The young man had only moved a few metres about the open space when a large broken skeleton came into view. From the distance, some fifteen metres away, S’hazende could make out the animal’s large ribcage, stripped of all of its flesh and innards. The creature’s rancid, decaying coat still clung to its back, which led S’hazende to assume that whatever had taken the animal down worked from the soft flesh of the stomach to the depths of its massive frame.
It wasn’t until the creature’s skull came into view that the boy could place exactly what it was, assured when he looked upon the distinctive horn. “Olidosapux,” S’hazende mouthed, removing his cloak for fear of dirtying it, before attempting to get any closer. The earth around the carcass was a wet mud, warmed to an almost uncomfortable temperature. The clearing looked as if it had once been a small waterhole, perhaps one that had drawn the local wildlife from far and wide. It had all but dried up with the coming of the new season, save for a puddle about two metres wide to the right of the dead Olidosapux, which seemed no deeper than a foot to look at it.
S’hazende looked about the opening once more before approaching the body, still keeping his own low to the ground. He examined the hollow ribcage, barely breathing; both for anticipation and to save himself from the smell. That was when he realised, when the heavy panting of something very real and very close echoed in his ears. His chocolate coloured eyes went wide; his body frozen as he listened to whatever stood behind the rotten curtain of flesh, paced around the large carcass and came into view at his left.
S’hazende’s heart was pounding so hard he heard it in his ears, drowning out everything else. He could barely bring himself to look as a deep growl was emitted from the tall, lanky, wild dog at his side, with just a couple of metres separating the two. A thick drool flew from the animal’s mouth as it barked at the boy, obviously very thirsty and hungry. The Olidosapux looked far too old to provide any sort of scraps for the dog and S’hazende quickly realised that he looked a whole lot tastier and probably worth the fight.
Having lived on the road with his parents the majority of his short life, S’hazende had come across a few wild dogs in his time, most of them travelling alone, though it wasn’t rare to come across them in packs which were a lot more intimidating. It seemed alone, the same feeling that overwhelmed his family when faced with three or four dogs, now sat with him, staring down his long, straight nose at him. Fight or flight? He didn’t know how he had the time to ponder the thought, but his reaction seemed to come almost instantaneously.
He took a bone in hand that had once been a part of the Olidosapai’s back leg. At one end of the bone was a small patch of fur clinging to the dry, wrinkled flesh. As the foot long piece of bone was scooped away from the earth, the teen’s fingers folded about it so tightly it seemed impossible to consider that he might ever let it go. The wild dog lunged at the boy, met by the ruthless swing of hard Olidosapux bone to the jaw. His father had always told him, never aim just to strike, but to drive your swing right through, aiming past the animal in an attempt to drive its brains out through the back of its skull.
The force of the swing had caused S’hazende to turn away from the momentarily stunned animal and as adrenalin pulsed through his views, the boy’s flight instinct was activated. As he scrambled to get to his feet, he was attacked from behind, the hungry feral dog knocking him onto his front and going for the arm that clutched the bone. It had all happened so quickly, the boy would later recall; he didn’t know how he had managed to walk away so mildly injured.
As the dog took the end of the bone in its mouth, S’hazende managed to twist his body and drive the animal back by shoving the bone forward and down the animal’s throat as hard as he could. A high-pitched yelp escaped the dog before it was on the attack again, only S’hazede hadn’t managed to hold onto the bone and the dog had quickly rid himself of it only to lunge at the young Kelvic once more.
S’hazende managed to grab the dog by the scruff and underside of its throat. They scuffled until S’hazende was able to force his weight down on the animal, pinning it to the ground. They were both slick with hot mud and the dog managed to get in a couple of good scratches as the boy resorted to drowning the animal in the thick sludge so near to the carcass. He prevailed, even as it seemed there would be no end to the creatures struggle, twice burying his own face in the hot sludge to ensure that the dog could not resurface, even for a second. When the thrashing and then small, helpless flinches finally stopped, S’hazende felt himself relax though his heart was still pounding furiously.
When he finally managed to sit up, the young Kelvic cleared the majority of the mud from his face on his shirt and sat for a too-long moment, filling his lungs again and again, savouring the sweet victory that had won him his life. It was then that the flood gates opened and the boy started to cry. He cried for joy, for the pain and the bitter-sweet success. He cried for feeling so alone, so far away from the comforting sense of togetherness that came with being a part of a family. He cried because he knew he would never see his parents again and that meant he was truly on his own in this harsh, unforgiving world that would swallow a man whole given half the chance.
After taking a moment to gather his thoughts and assess the damage, S’hazende crawled towards the bone that had helped save his life and turned on the dog’s lifeless form, beating its lanky form until he felt its warm blood paint his hands and spit up against his shirt and neck. The action had exposed the dog’s right hip bone, which looked as if they had been crushed under the seemingly relentless attacks.
Satisfied that the dog was dead and that it wouldn’t come for him should he turn his back, S’hazende collected his backpack and slipped it over his shoulders. He then put on his boots and took his cloak, twisting it until it looked like a long, thick rope. One end of the rope was tied about the animal’s hind legs, while the other was looped and tied in a knot that S’hazende threaded over his left arm and head. He would drag the body back to camp, bone in hand, hands painted red and wearing a mask of dried mud over his face.
The Drykas people would be happy for the location of the Olidosapux carcass; no doubt finding a use for the bones and unique horn. Perhaps one of them would even help him skin the wolf and cure the coat properly. Seen as they were people of the Opal Clan, he would also ask that one of them examine his scratches and offer advice as to which plant found amongst the tall grasses would best aide the healing process and hopefully see his skin go unmarred.
As the boy walked away from the clearing he felt sure of two things. One, he wouldn’t rush off to explore such a dangerous land by himself in a hurry, and two, he was finally happy to agree with his parents and realise that he was no longer a boy, but a man.
