Challenged (Mates for the Raskarrans #8)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rardek

I know the rot spreads as far as the edge of our hunting territory, so I run until I reach it without paying close attention to the trees. Leaving my senses alert to any signs of predators or other raskarrans, I otherwise think of my linasha.

My Angie.

I go over every moment we shared in the dreamspace multiple times. Every flash of the fire in her spirit, every sharp, combative word, every hint of fear or discomfort that twisted her - I think through it all. Try to see through the surface of our conversation to the secret things it reveals about her.

I linger particularly on those final moments, when I touched her hair and she made that strange, breathless sound. Ridiculous pride buzzes in my chest, my heartspace racing to know that she is affected by me. That despite her objections of not wanting a mate, not wanting to touch, her body was reacting to me. Craving me.

Now to get my linasha’s headspace and heartspace in alignment with her body.

I chuckle to myself, because it feels so simple stated like that. As if I could just tug on one or the other until it falls into place. I do not think it will be so easy a journey for me and my Angie.

I think of her reaction to my dismissal of her apology. Of those cruel words other males have spoken to her.

Cruel and wrong. Aggression is unbecoming? Did the males that said these things to her have eyes? Or were they just so weak that they could not admire the fire in my Angie’s spirit without feeling threatened?

It seems to me that humans have very particular rules for their females. I suspect my Angie has found it challenging to contain the fire in her spirit within the shape they have demanded she take. That conforming to what others want from her has chafed at her, abraded her nerves, made her the angry, biting thing that she is.

Then I have come into her dreams and called her mine, and she has seen it as yet another shape being forced upon her.

The urge to turn round, run straight back to her, and tell her that I would never want to contain her is near overwhelming. But more than just the knowledge that the work I do here today is important keeps me running forwards. My Angie will not respond so well to words, I think. Even if she now speaks to her sisters, confirms that I am a truthful male, despite my teasing ways, I am not convinced she would trust anything I said. It took our sisters from the beach many long sunsets to stop flinching every time Namson spoke in his booming voice, for their shoulders to stop tensing whenever one of my brothers passed behind them. We earned their trust slowly, by showing again and again that we would only treat them with kindness and respect. It will be the same with my Angie.

Instead, I keep these new observations close to my heartspace, let my spirit ruminate on them as I run.

As I pass the outer edges of our hunting grounds, I start to focus on the trees, looking around me for signs of the blight. Branches sagging under their own weight that have no reason to be. Discoloured bark. It does not take long to spot them - a sign that the blight is still thick here.

I keep running a while, stopping every so often for a better look. When it becomes challenging to find signs of the blight, I slow to a walk. When I have not seen any for the depth of several trees, I stop. Have a really good hunt among the branches and trunks. Finding nothing, I track back towards the Mercenia hut until I find the first patches of rot. Tiny, not well established. The outer edge of the contagion.

Shemza gifted each of us hunters with a small pouch of stain this morning - a mixture made from certain herbs he uses in his healing that can be applied to surfaces, the colour not washing away even in the thickest of rains. It will also colour my fingers for several sunsets, but unlike the ichor of yesterday, it will not irritate my skin. I scoop up some of the substance, smearing it in a bright red slash across the infected tree.

When whoever comes out this way to prep for the burn sees these marks, they will know to travel five or so trees out from here before they start felling them. That way, there is a buffer between the contagion and the healthy forest, even before the wood from those felled trees is used to start the burn. The fire will not take all the afflicted trees, but it does not have to. Every afflicted tree that burns will widen that buffer a little further until it is too far for the contagion to cross. A neat and clever solution to blights. I do not know which of our ancestors came up with such a thing, but I am grateful to them for their cleverness, and how it continues to keep us safe so many generations later.

Because one marked tree might be missed, I go a short distance in either direction around the perimeter, marking each tree I pass. Anghar, Jaskry and Paskar will be doing the same at the end of their paths. Tomorrow, we will map along the paths an equal distance between those we have taken today, while warriors follow today’s paths and begin felling trees. I hope this way, working closely together, we will get much of the labour done by the time all of the frozen females are awoken. It would be nice for the tribe to be able to turn our back on the Mercenia hut as one, returning to our village together.

Satisfied I have marked enough trees, I put away the stain in my pack and start walking back towards the Mercenia hut. I eat a few light snacks as I go, needing the energy the food provides, but not the heaviness of too much of it sitting in my stomach.

Physically, it is a harder journey home. The Mercenia hut sits at the crest of a slight hill - too slight to be noticeable just looking, but what the eye cannot see, the legs can certainly feel when running. I drink deep of my djenti berry tonic, hoping the bitter liquid will hold off the aches for a little while at least, then set off at a slow jog, warming up to a quick run.

Mentally, though, it is always easier to run towards home. Even an unpleasant temporary one such as the Mercenia hut. I smile. Home for me now will always be where my Angie is. It keeps my steps light, quick, to know that every one taken is one closer to her.

I hear the commotion of new arrivals before I break through the last of the trees to the clearing around the Mercenia hut. The sound of tents being erected, exuberant conversations, supply crates being stacked, all filter through the trees to greet me. So I am smiling broadly, even as I stagger to a stop, bending double to help my burning lungs take in more air.

Shemza is at my side in a moment, handing me fresh djenti berry tonic. I swallow it down so fast, the bitter taste dances right over the top of my tongue.

“Anghar got back just moments before you,” Shemza says. “He is by the fire now, taking his midday meal. We have saved some for you also.”

I nod my gratitude, my lungs still not containing quite enough air to speak, and allow myself to be guided over to the fire. A bowl is pressed into my hands, and I eat, the thick, meaty broth rich and flavoursome. Obviously made with the supplies Vantos and his group brought with them, not our own dwindling stock.

“You have found much the same as I have, then,” Anghar says. He is almost finished with his bowl, his breathing no longer laboured, though sweat still beads in his hairline, a sheen on the rest of his skin that has not yet dried.

“About a half day’s steady running to the edge of it,” I say. “I have pushed hard to get back.”

“Likewise,” Anghar says.

I give him a lazy smile. “A canny male with no particular thing waiting for him might have taken his time on the return journey.”

Anghar arches a brow. “So as to avoid putting up tents?”

I shrug. “I am not saying it is something I would do, merely something that could be done.”

Anghar shakes his head at me. “The sooner the encampment is made, the sooner the warriors are free to start preparations for the burn.”

“The sooner we may all be back to the village and you back to your Ellie.”

His eyes shine with the warmth of his feelings for his linasha, even as sorrow at her absence from his side lurks there also. “In this way, I was running hard to get back to my linasha, just as you were.”

I lean forward to grip his shoulder. “You will be beside her again soon. No one wishes to linger here a moment longer than necessary.”

Anghar’s sorrow shifts into mirth. “Larzon in particular has worked as if Lina herself is driving him onward.”

“Nice to know his energy has been used for something constructive this day, rather than just complaining.”

“Oh, I think there is still plenty of breath in him for complaining,” Anghar says, laughing.

“Let us get him using that breath to prep for the burn tomorrow, then.”

Anghar grins, then gets up, stretching his back and legs, moving his weary limbs slowly to ease out the stiffness that will be setting in.

“I think I will go now and make myself useful to the new arrivals.”

I bolt the last of my meal and rise to my feet. My own legs creak some, but I have not been still long enough for them to truly grow stiff. I hope I can keep it at bay until tonight, when rest and the djenti berry tonic will undo it all as I sleep.

“I will come also.”

“You do not wish to seek out your Angie now?” Anghar’s brows raise.

I pluck at my clothes. “I need to wash and change my clothing. She is not so keen on me that she will disregard my stink.”

“Yet,” Anghar says, grinning.

“Better to do the rest of the work first. I do not have so many fresh clothes left.”

We head over to where the tents are being put up. Despite what I said about needing to wash, I scan through the faces, looking for my Angie. I spy Rachel sitting on a chair brought out for her from inside the Mercenia hut. Vantos hovers nearby, unable to finish one element of putting up their tent without pausing to check in with her.

I see Sam, also, standing with Dazzik, the two of them looking at the Mercenia base with a fondness no one else would manage. But otherwise, human faces are difficult to spot amongst the raskarran bodies. I wonder if my Angie would even want to be out here, with so many unfamiliar faces. Probably not. I only hope Brooks has been able to look after her. That my Angie has found it in her heartspace to start letting her sisters in.

Anghar walks with purpose through the chaos, aiming straight for a particular tent. It is his father, Harton, who builds it. I am surprised to see Harton has come out all this way. He may not be an elder truly, but he has grown fond of his comforts of late. With the addition of Walset and Darran’s brothers to our tribe, he has even been able to slow down a little, to rest more, as those approaching elder status have earned the right to do. I wonder what prompted him to travel, but suspect the answer is the same as it has been for others not hoping to find their mates. They just want to see this place for themselves.

Then I have an even greater surprise as I spy Callif heading in our direction, carrying piles of pelts and other supplies in his arms. I go to him, taking half of his burden and greeting him with a broad smile.

“You have managed the journey easily enough, then?” I say, noting his good colouring and the strength in his frame.

“It has been some seasons of the moon since I was injured,” Callif says, a little snippy. “I am well enough to go walking.”

“And we will have you out hunting again in a few more sunsets, it seems,” I say, trying to bolster his pride some without encouraging him too far. It has taken a lot for him to recover from his grievous injuries - not just physically, but in his headspace and heartspace also.

“I hope my travelling here persuades you all to stop coddling me,” he says, frustration sharpening his tone. I suspect he is tempted to snatch what I have taken from him back into his arms, as though he could prove his strength this way.

“I think I would enjoy a little coddling, personally,” I say, my smile broadening once more as I see another surprising, but welcome, face. “What are you doing here, little one?”

Molly beams at me, giving me a brief moment to set down my load, before leaping into my arms for an embrace.

“Liv want humans to help with new females,” she says in her ever improving speaking of raskarran words. “Liv make Khadija chieftess for when she is here. Ellie-” She gestures to her belly, shaping a large bump with her hands. “Carrie have Ahnjas. Hannah and Mattie…” She shakes her head, indicating their reluctance to leave the borders of the village. “So Sam come and I come.”

“And you will be a great aid to Grace and Rachel, I am sure.”

Molly’s smile is dazzling. It is strange, but she has grown so much in these past few seasons of the moon, and yet it has only made her look younger. She is more vital, more relaxed. More willing to be the youngling that she is, rather than striving to be a female full grown.

“Have they started with the waking yet?”

Molly shakes her head. “Soon. Just letting Rachel and Grace make tent. We wake only one today, maybe two. Tomorrow, many. Once we have learned how.”

“They should wake them all now,” Callif says, looking up at the Mercenia hut and shuddering. “No one should be trapped in such a place.”

My ears prick, listening for a hint of the fervour his tone used to possess when discussing the females in any capacity. I can detect nothing. Only concern for their wellbeing. Somewhere on his long journey back to health, I think my brother has finally grown up.

The tents are already mostly built, so I aid in other ways, bringing over supply crates and helping to distribute the contents. It does not take long before everyone is situated and supplied.

“These things are for the females,” Rachel says, resting her hand atop one of several crates that have not been touched. “Clothes. Boots. More tents for the return journey.”

Of all the females who arrived on the beach, Rachel’s speaking is the best. She is almost as fluent as Sally and Jassal now, after a rainy season spent practising with her mate.

“Perhaps you could help me find some clothes for my Angie,” I say.

The beaming smile she shoots me puts some colour back in her cheeks. “You are mated? Rardek, I am so happy for you. I have not met your linasha yet. She is nervous of the forest? The tribe?”

I nearly laugh. “Nervous is not the right description. Unhappy, yes. A little angry. Perhaps a lot angry.”

Rachel puts a hand to my arm, her smile all warmth and sympathy. “Hard for her, being brought to this place without her knowledge. Perhaps I would have been angry also, in her situation.”

That does make me laugh, and I lean close to her. “You do not have a single speck of anger in your spirit, sweet Rachel.”

We look through the crates, finding a soft pair of leathers and a long-sleeved top perfect for the cooler weather. Rachel finds three pairs of boots of different sizes for my Angie to try, and hands them to me with a smile.

“This will make her more comfortable,” she says. “Mercenia clothes are not nice. The fabric is scratchy. Boots rub the feet. Hurt. Perhaps once she is comfortable, her heartspace will start to open.”

I think of the clothes that my Angie conjured for herself. A soft, loose fitting top. Bottoms that moulded to her legs but moved with her well, not constricting her. Yes, I think my Angie likes her comforts. Perhaps bringing her these things will be the first step to showing her that my actions will always be as my words promise. That I will always consider her needs, that her comfort and happiness is important to me.

That I would never seek to extinguish the flame that burns in her spirit, only nurture it.