The Phoenix and the Dove
Excerpt from Beyond the Darkness (June 2013)
1
Hmm?
Child, you ought to be in bed. It is late, and there is much to do when Una rises in the morning. Would you anger the Sun Goddess, and miss her glorious return to Baizon?
You would, would you? And why is that? Little one, you test my...a story?
Tcha. Fine, fine. If it will speed your sandy rowboat to the land of Nod, then I will give you a story that, in the fullness of time, you can tell your own grandchildren – only promise me you will go to sleep afterward. Do you promise?
Very well, then. Has your mother or father told you the tale of Daza and Ori? They have not? Well, then. Zana knows the story well. I have told this tale to all my grandchildren; it is now your turn to hear the story.
Hearken:
Ten thousand years ago, when famine and war ravaged the many glimmering children of Una the Sun Goddess, a girl-child was born to a tribe on the outskirts of the Imperial City of Baizon, the seventh child of Una. Superstitious dread followed the babe from her birth – for she was born with blood-red hair. It was the same unlucky hue as the Daza, the bird of death and rebirth. Her parents saw this as a terrible omen. Zunai are, in the normal manner of things, born with lon-fah hair...'tis what outsiders would call in their tongue greenish-black. This is why the child's parents named her Daza – in the ancient Zunai tongue, her name meant phoenix....but it also meant death.
On the other side of Baizon, at the same time as Daza, a boy-child was born to the Moflee tribe. He came into this world in the normal way, and with little complication. He was born strong, and his parents thought there was nothing untoward about his coming – except for his countenance. He was born so comely that if it weren't obvious he was a boy-child, his parents would have thought him to be a little girl. His name reflected that when his parents named him Ori, which in the ancient tongue meant beautiful one. His name was traditionally given to girls when they are born; even so, this caused very little misery to the child, as Ori's spirit was as gentle as his name.
The story I will tell you is of the famine that had decimated the Zunai population. The Zunai had become a dying breed, and on the sixteenth anniversary of her birth, Daza had decided to save her people by finding the legendary Moflee herds that once roamed all of Baizon. The Moflee, if found, would feed her tribe almost indefinitely – for each beast was fifteen or twenty hands across the narrowest part of their back, and at their shoulders stood twice as high as the tallest man. Unfortunately, Moflee had terrible dispositions, and would kill anyone or anything that happened across them.
Because of their uncanny intelligence and raging temper, Moflee were mostly left to their own devices on Baizon. Nearly no one, starving or not, would brave a Moflee hunt. Their sheer size alone prohibited a danger-free hunt. But their meat…ah, it was as sweet as honey. Daza remembered the bravest warrior of her tribe, and how her tenth Sun Festival was the best because this warrior – her father – brought down a lone Moflee by himself and graced the Festival with its meat. It was this memory that decided Daza.
2
Daza's sixteenth Sun Festival was like every other Festival since her tenth: hungry. Her family had fared better than most. The savannah begrudgingly gave unto their hunters a scant handful of sweet cacti and a clutch of Sand-Dragon eggs, and the family of Sand-Dragons that guarded the nest besides.
On the morning of Festival, Daza went about preparing the little reptiles' bitter flesh for consumption. She hated the taste of Sand-Dragon with a great passion. She sucked at her teeth in frustration, while her belly grumbled about being empty. She cut the meat as fine as she could, to stretch it as far as possible.
"Daza," said her mother over her shoulder, "if you cut that meat any finer, it will disappear into the batter."
"Good," said Daza. "Maybe the taste will disappear, too."
Her mother stood next to Daza at their fine chopping block, a gift from their neighbors when Daza was born. She gave Daza a withering glare, her arms akimbo. "Be thankful we have anything at all to share at Festival. Remember the Dark Year?"
She did. That year there was nothing to share at Festival at all. The rains did not come when they were supposed to, and the plains became desiccated, sere. Her younger brother and sister died that year, as did countless other Zunai. Very few spoke of the Dark Times; when they did, it was in hushed tones. No one wished to call that unfortunate luck upon the tribe again.
Hale children born before Winter Festival would die before the Spring thaws, simply because their mothers were too malnourished to feed them. Old tribesmen died during the leanest times because they gave up their rations to the nursing mothers and children, to no avail. Their tribe had almost been extinguished from hunger, and it angered Daza to remember her once powerful father and beautiful mother so diminished by starvation.
Daza made a moue. "That will never happen again, Mumma. I will give my own food to the others rather than see them starve." She drove the point of her dagger into the cutting block, where the blade quivered.
Her mother smiled, and to Daza's alarm, she noticed that the older woman had lost another tooth in the night. "Daza, you have not earned that honor. You may be an accomplished hunter, but your Rite of Passage has not been completed yet. When you are an adult, and have been offered to be married, then you can do this." Mumma shrugged. "Do not squander your childhood just yet. Enjoy it while you can."
"I wish my Rite of Passage was finished already," said Daza. "I would go out onto the savannah and bring back an entire herd of Moflee for the tribe."
Mumma laughed, and the sound made Daza smile. Her mother rarely smiled herself, and laughed even less. Daza liked the sound of her mother's laughter. "Daza, I do believe you would," said Mumma. "Your future husband will have to be stout of heart and soul to have a wife such as you."
"I would have it no other way," said Daza. "How else could he keep up with me? Besides, I need a strong man to help bring back a Moflee for Festival."
Since before we Zunai kept written records, we depicted the Sun-Goddess Una as a tall, glowing biped who rode a giant golden Moflee. The beast was for time immemorial used in the ritual sacrifice to Her.
Mumma shook her head hard enough that her lon-fah tresses flew. "No, Daza. You must not develop delusions of grandeur. Your time will come, so be patient."
Daza glowered at her Mumma. Why would one of her own High Chieftains (and ex-War Chieftain besides) forbid her from chasing glory? Hadn't Daza's own parents chased glory themselves...and caught it by the short hairs?
Many years ago, when he returned from the Hunt with his half-starved Moflee, Daza's father was bestowed the rank of Hunt Chieftain. It was an honor unmatched by any other save the War Chieftain (for in those days, we Zunai had already begun to despise our neighbors, Child) and the High Chieftain, who ruled over all of his or her tribe with wisdom and fairness.
Daza's High Chieftain (her own Zana, what the Others would call their grandmother) was wizened and ripe with years by the time Daza had reached her tenth year. Soon she would die, and the honor of her rank would settle on the shoulders of either the War Chieftain or the Hunt Chieftain—and, some few days after the Sun Festival, she walked the path to the Summerlands.
But Luck's chalice brimmed that year. The War and Hunt Chieftains did not (as they usually do) fight each other for the rank of High Chieftain, for the War and Hunt Chieftains were Daza's own parents. They, for the first time in Zunai history (according to my own Zana) decided to share in the role of High Chieftain, and rule their tribe with pooled efforts.
All of their tribes-folk saw the wisdom of this, all save the new War Chieftain that took Daza's mother's place. He did not think womenfolk were necessarily the best choice for High Chieftain, and voiced his opinion loudly (and often) whenever he got the chance.
So it went every year after Daza's tenth birth return, until the day she spoke to her Mumma about the Moflee. In those lean years, Sieca (which was the new War Chieftan's name) didn't gripe much about the High Chieftains, but rather their odd child, and the poor luck that her birthright had brought to her tribe. It was done in hushed tones, spoken behind cupped hands and pursed lips. It was much more sinister than his usual angry jabbering about inequality.
That night, after preparing the Festival supper, Daza lay in her sling, swinging. She thought about leaving her tribe in search of food. And glory, she reminded herself. To lie to myself is worse that a hundred thousand lies to Una Herself.
"We will not die," she said softly to herself. "I will not allow it."
What would her tribe do for her, she thought to herself, if she brought home enough food to last many generations? What if the Moflee could be tamed? What if the herds that had once darkened the plains of her land be brought back and be made to work, so that her land could once again yield grain?
Daza's mind reeled with many possibilities – if she did find the Moflee, her tribe (and all of Baizon, she was sure) would have food; strong pack animals; and, when they were tamed, sweet-natured bond-animals. The lean times would be over.
That settled it, then.
3
Months later, after the rains came and the savannah was green and alive, Ori surveyed the plains, and watched for his prey.
He was a comely, tall youth, full of dreams and armed with his father's old spear. His eyes roamed the plains in search of prey worthy of his mate-to-be. He would see his future mate tonight, at the Story Circle. His father told him that his very own intended would be there with her mother. If he was to prove to his intended that he was a competent provider, he must come back to the village before sundown with something ample.
Sinooki feathers...those would be received with great delight, for it was the Sinooki's plumage that decorated much of his people's art and clothing. He decided to hunt Sinooki. It would be difficult, perilous even, but worth it in the end.
Without taking his eyes off the plains, the young Mofleean reached into his leathern jacket. He drew out a small chunk of Moflee fat, wrapped in muslin. He propped his spear against his chest, and unwrapped the morsel. He bit off a corner of his treat, and relished the salty, sweet flavor of his breakfast.
He tested the air, tasted the nuances on the wind, and found that his intended hunt was near. He crouched down low, and studied the soil between his feet. He blinked once, startled. There were footprints in the dust that did not – could not – belong to any Mofleean. The footprints were alien, the feet that made the prints clad in an equally alien boot.
He stood, and spat the spent wad of Moflee fat in the dirt between his boots. He couldn't remember the last time he saw anyone but a Mofleean travel these parts. Most other people did not stand a chance against the fiends that roamed the plains.
There was a small, narrow valley that ran between two shallow cliffs. It was through this chasm that, if he listened hard enough, he could hear a faint voice on the wind, singing. It was in a language that Ori could almost understand.
Ori cocked his head to the side. The voice belonged to a female, it seemed. He shook his head. It was the wind playing tricks on his ears, he decided. No mere woman would dare risk her slender neck out here in the sticks. He put the woman's voice out of his mind, and focused on the task at hand.
He traversed the stone corridor, peered around the sheer rock wall, and saw his mark. A lone Sinooki, the bestial, humanoid hawk beings of the plains, stomped about the grassy slope before Ori. The Sinooki spread its wasted, stumpy wings and beat at the air around its head. It cawed rustily into the buttery golden light of morning.
Once more, the youth reached into his jerkin. He retrieved a tiny earthen jug that held an alcoholic substance so hot, it drove any creature with the misfortune of touching it insane. Ori could smell the wine through the cork stopper, and he had to center himself quickly lest he go mad himself. He licked his lips, and blew a relieved sigh when he found he could control himself enough to confront the Sinooki.
Oh, but this was so dangerous. A fiend berserked into madness was a dangerous creature indeed. It felt no fear. It felt no pain. It merely attacked until one of the combatants fell dead. The youth's heart trip-hammered in his chest. He swallowed, almost painfully, and gathered his courage about him. He stepped out into the open and caught the Sinooki's attention.
"Have at you," said Ori. He hurled the earthen pot at the giant bird-thing, and watched as the Sinooki struggled and writhed under the effect of the alcohol. It cawed in agony...and then rested its rheumy, red eyes on Ori. A thin foam gathered at the corners of the Sinooki's beak, and it rushed the warrior.
The Sinooki's beak cut the youth, as deeply as if it were made of steel. Ori howled as searing pain stitched across one half-developed bicep. In retaliation, he thrust his father's fine old spear at the bird's head. The spear tip glanced off its orbital bone, sending bright crimson droplets into the air above its head.
It shrieked its pain and fury at the young Mofleean hunter. For one heart-stopping moment, the youth quailed and almost dropped his father's spear. He regained his poise as the Sinooki took that moment to shake its head, probably in an effort to rid itself of pain and to free itself from the effects of the alcohol. Ori, fully in charge of his faculties now, rushed the Sinooki. He rammed the spear home, and this time the tip punched through pinfeathers and down and flesh. The Sinooki's blood flew, and the boy's blood sang.
As the warrior reveled in his fine aim and unwavering courage, the Sinooki lashed one stubby wing out, and caught the youth's head in a swooping arc. Ori became airborne. He fell back to Baizon; his breath whoofed out of his lungs when his body hit the hard-pack. As he shook off the effects of the stunning blow, he looked up as the Sinooki descended upon him.
From out of nowhere, a blur of red whickered past his peripheral vision. He glanced quickly to his right, but whatever had rushed past him was far too fast; the Sinooki lay dead and its killer was gone.
Bewildered, the man-child tipped his head back and tasted the wind. He blinked once. It was a woman. He opened his mouth, and his melodious voice carried on the wind. "Show yourself!"
At first only silence greeted his query; then, the woman that had taken his kill stepped out from behind one of the cliff faces of the chasm. Her hair glowed a baleful red in the bright sunlight, and Ori surreptitiously made a sign of warding. "Una's Shining Light," he said.
"I mean no harm," said the girl. "I did not mean to...the peril..."
"You stole my kill!" Ori narrowed his eyes at the girl. "I cannot bring this Sinooki back to my intended now! You landed the killing blow. It is unfit as a gift for my future wife."
The girl frowned at Ori, her eyebrows knit in concentration – as if she struggled to understand his almost-familiar words. "Your kill was clean. It was already dead...it needed to be made aware of that. I merely sped along the inevitable."
Ori brought his father's fine spear up again, and pointed it at the flame-haired girl. "Who are you?"
She drew herself up. "I've come searching for the Moflee."
The spear's tip trembled slightly. "It looks like you've found them," said Ori. He reached up and tapped his own chest.
"Hmm?" Daza tilted her head to one side. "I don't understand."
"My tribe," said Ori patiently. "We are called Moflee, after the animals we hunt and keep as beasts of burden."
"Truly?" Daza looked even more befuddled, if that were possible. "I search for the Moflee herds, to feed my people. When I had left my tribe, it was slowly starving to death."
Your..." Ori glanced at her hair. "What's your tribe called?" He took his own lon-fah hair and tied it back into a topknot.
"We are Zunai," said Daza, as her chest puffed with pride.
Ori walked to the Sinooki, and Daza followed. As Ori knelt before the giant flightless bird's body, he unsnapped the safety strap on his bone dagger and began eviscerating the Sinooki's carcass. He sang a song of thanks under his breath as he cut the Sinooki's entrails from its belly. He was careful not to mar the fine pinfeathers or useful down.
Ori glanced at her hair again. "I've never heard of your tribe. Have you traveled far?"
She watched the evisceration closely; the boy-child's hands were deft and sure. When Ori repeated his question, Daza had glanced up at him. "I...I don't know how far I've come," said Daza. I do know that I've traveled for seven whole moons."
"Seven moons," said Ori to himself, almost respectfully. "You're lucky to have survived for so long on your own." He finally cut the guts free from the Sinooki's body, and tossed them aside.
She stared at the steaming pile of viscera, and marveled at the boy's wastefulness. The pile of meat wasted at the young man's side would feed a Zunai family for a week. She inclined her chin at the bloody mess. "Is that truly inedible?"
He glanced down at the pile of guts. "Oh, you don't want to eat that," he said. "It's nasty stuff. Besides, we use the gut to make bowstrings and lacing."
Daza drew her pride around herself. "My tribe ate what we could find. If it was smeared with droppings, we ate it anyway."
The youth did not look up as he began skinning the Sinooki. When a quarter hour had passed in a somewhat companionable silence, he leaned back on his haunches and regarded Daza. "Forgive me. I had no idea your tribe was so poorly off." He stood, and waved his hand at the savannah. "The plains here are plentiful; there's enough here to feed both of our tribes for two thousand generations, even if we were wasteful and did not respect Baizon's bounty. Your people will never starve again."
Daza turned her face to Una's life-giving rays. "Thank You, Una," Daza breathed.
Ori tilted his head at the entrails. "Will you help me with this? If I don't squeeze the guts before I bring them home, Mumma will kill me for bringing them into the hut."
Smiling gamely, Daza nodded and sat cross-legged before the cooling viscera. As Daza helped Ori remove the foulness from the Sinooki's innards, she glanced up at Ori. She caught him sneaking a peek at her from the corner of his eye. When Daza caught him looking, he cut his eyes away from hers, embarrassed.
To cover his discomposure, Ori asked, "Your tribe...the Zunai. Do they all look like you?" He glanced at her hair again.
Daza pressed her lips together. "No. Not everyone in my tribe is an abomination."
Ori grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's just that...this is a special moment for me...for any of my people. It isn't every day the Daza comes looking for you."
Her eyes sharpened. "How did you know my name? I didn't tell you that."
Ori smiled. "In my tribe's ancient tongue, Daza means Phoenix. Your coming portends good fortune for my people."
"In my tribe, Daza means death." Daza made a face. "My parents had a sense of humor, it seems." She glanced up at her new companion. "What's your name?"
"Ori," he said, cutting the now-denuded Sinooki apart. Daza laughed with Ori, as he drew the back of his hand down his cheek. Ori meant the same thing in both tribes...'pretty one'. "My parents had a sense of humor too."
Together, they butchered the Sinooki, and loaded each piece onto a skiff Ori had brought to the site. He grinned at Daza. "Would you mind helping me drag this back to the village? My elders would like to meet you."
"All right," she replied. She shouldered one of the heavy handles, and nodded. "Lead the way."
Ori grabbed the other handle, and they dragged the cunningly made travois between them to his people's village.
4
As they approached Ori's village, it was no less than a wide-eyed wonder to Daza. Her own village was a collection of round, squat huts, built of straw and mud. They were solid and sturdy, but not pretty. The huts were built in a circular pattern around a common fire-pit at the center of their village, and there were many huts as each family had their own.
Ori's village looked markedly different. Instead of squat mud huts, their homes were long and built from sturdy wood and thatch. Each long-house had at least one fire-pit contained therein, so there was no outdoors common area. Their size spoke of communal living, with many families in each house. In the distance, Daza could see a strange, open construct made entirely out of what appeared to be stone.
They arrived, and Ori's clan was there to greet him. They received him warmly, and Daza was a bit jealous of how healthy – how happy – everyone looked. Ori's family (and the rest of his tribe) gazed reverently at Daza. Her disfigurement was of little consequence to them.
When the load of meat was carried to the smoke hut, a keening sound made Daza look up in fear. Here was the loathing she had come to expect from Ori's people. Sooner or later, Ori's people would cast her out, as her own tribe would have if her own parents were not the High Chieftains...
Daza frowned. As the sound neared, she realized the noise was a young woman calling for her affianced.
"Ori!"
The girl, a slim, pretty young thing with pale lon-fah hair and matching eyes ran for her beloved. Ori turned his head in her direction, and smiled hugely. "Nim!" He held his arms wide so the girl could embrace him. She kissed Ori to the mingled shouts of glee from the Moflee.
Ori held Nim at arm's length. "I'm so glad to see you've arrived safely."
Hugging Ori close, Nim twinkled at him. "I'm just glad to see you."
Ori nodded, laughing. He slid his arm around Nim's shoulders, and shifted his gaze to take in the rest of his gathered people. He motioned to Daza with his free hand. "This is Daza. She and I met while I was on the hunt."
The gathering crowd murmured. Daza could not make out much, but the one word she understood clearly was legend. The Moflee people crowded close to Daza, to touch her shoulder or whisper greetings. A few daring souls touched her fiery hair with quivering fingers. Daza's breath clogged her throat. There were too many people; too many people were too close to her, touching her as if she was a sacred beast ready for the slaughter.
"Ori...the Daza came to you?" said Nim in a whisper.
"She did," he replied. "I'm blessed...we're blessed. This brings us good fortune for our handfasting."
"Give her room, if you please," said a voice at the periphery of the circle. The owner of the voice pushed through the throng to Daza.
Daza almost laughed at the tiny woman that stood before her. She was comically small, this old woman, and seemingly as old as the stars. Daza bit the inside of her cheek to stay the mad laughter that threatened to erupt. When Daza did so, the old woman glanced sidelong at her. Daza had to stop her feet from shuffling in this woman's presence.
"Why are you here?" the woman asked Daza.
"I've come to these lands to find food for my people," she responded.
"The Zunai," said the woman. "Yes?"
Daza tilted her head at the wizened woman bemusedly. "How did you know?"
The old woman nodded, almost to herself. "It is the legend. We have been watching for the Daza since time immemorial, she who has traveled over many moons and miles to reach us from the Zunai on the other side of Baizon.
"But...I'm not this mythical being you seek," Daza said. "I'm just a woman."
The old woman nodded again, and made shooing gestures to the gathered crowd. "Off with the lot of you. The elders will have a word with this...woman, alone. We will meet after supper tonight." She took Daza's arm, and propelled her to an ornately decorated long-house. "We will speak of the legend in depth. You deserve to know."
Daza let the old woman steer her to the long-house. On the way, they passed a paddock filled with smallish, humped animals. On further inspection, Daza realized they were tiny Moflee. Stunned, Daza pointed and said, "Are these your Moflee? They are so small! The Moflee of our own legends are huge creatures. How do these little creatures feed all your people?"
The old woman inclined her chin at the miniature Moflee. "These are our pack animals. They are stock from a failed attempt to breed the giant Moflee. We don't eat these Moflee. We are their friends, as well as their masters."
"Then, what do you eat?"
"There are many beasts that roam the plains," said the old woman. "We hunt them all, more or less...and that includes the giant Moflee that still run the savannah...if we can catch them."
"I must tell my people of this place," said Daza. "My people are suffering."
"We know," said the old woman. She raised one wrinkled hand at the longhouse. "This is what we must discuss. Shall we?"
5
Daza and the old woman entered the long-house. A handful of elders sat around a blazing fire, waiting for their arrival. The oldest of the gathered people inclined his head at the old woman. "Thank you for bringing the Daza to us, Ako."
"My pleasure, Kib," said Ako. She suddenly grinned impishly at Kib, and Daza guessed that Ako and Kib were not only Chieftains, but mates. She grinned, and nodded in greeting to Kib.
"Elder," said Daza.
"Sit, girl," said Kib. "We have much to discuss."
She sat, cross legged, next to the elder. "Zano," she said respectfully, "why was my coming such a big deal?"
"The legend," said Kib. He closed his eyes, and recounted the tale. "It has been known to us that one day, a woman with the Daza's hair would come. She would bring all the tribes of Baizon together in a way that no other could. Her way would be wrought with peril, and her path would be steeped in blood...but her coming will pave the way to a lasting peace for all of Baizon."
"Me?" Daza shook her head. "Why me?"
Another old woman spoke up, her pruned jowls quivering. "You are the sacrificial child sent here by Una Herself. You shall show the way to our people, and to yours. They already know you are here, and they are coming."
At that, Daza puffed herself up vehemently. "And what if I don't want to be a 'sacrificial child'? My people cared very little for me. I was not sent by my tribe...I came here on my own. I was an abomination in their eyes. Why would they care if I'm here, and why would they come here?"
"For the same reason you came here...to find food for your tribe. You will have very little choice in confronting your people." Ako stroked Daza's hair. "Fear not...you will find that your great sacrifice will not come until you are ready for it. It will not come to be until you initiate the sacrifice yourself." Ako patted her knee. "Your responsibilities will be great...but not every sacrifice needs to end with your death."
Daza sat between Ako and Kib, and absorbed their wisdom in silence. Ako patted her knee again. "Enough of this. Tonight is a night for joy. Ori and Nim are to be handfast tonight. You'll attend, won't you?"
Daza brightened. "Of course. Ori and I spoke of it on the walk to your village. I've been looking forward to it." Daza stood, and held her hands out to Ako. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."
6
In pairs and groups, Nim's and Ori's tribes stepped lightly to the odd stone construct on the hill behind their village that evening. They gathered at what appeared to be a huge open-air altar of sorts. Daza's heart leapt. Her own village had something like this many moons before her birth. Her own Elders told her of it when she was small.
When everyone had gathered, Daza was struck by how many people lived in Ori's village. Hundreds of Ori's tribesman were in attendance, and Nim brought a battalion of her own people – the Dromed tribe – with her as well. The throng made Daza's heart pound.
Ori and Nim walked to the altar, hands clasped. Somewhere, everywhere, drums began to throb, and the gathered crowd started to chant. They queued up, and then began to dance about in a circle. The tremendous gathering encircled the altar and dais, and began revolving around it. The large circle separated into many smaller circles, one inside the other.
The dance was intricate, barbaric, and the very core of life and faith on Baizon. There were many circles, but ultimately there was only one dance. As one cycle ended, another began, such as the life-cycle was on Baizon.
The many voices that rose in chant and song were melodious and many-layered, and the ground shook with the stamping of feet and the dancing of couples, singles, and groups.
When the tumult died down, Ako stepped to the altar, and held her hands up for silence. When the crowd quieted, she rested her hands on Ori and Nim's shoulders. She raised her voice so that the crowd entire could hear the ritual.
"I ask of ye all: hearken upon this Story, and heed of its words, as ye may never hear of it again. This is the holiest of days, as my own blood is handfast on this sacred ground. Una and her consort Neb have given to me this Story; this is Their Word, and They give this Story, in love, to this couple. This is their Legacy, and they must lock this Story in their hearts to tell their children, in turn, on the day that they are born. The Gods told me this:
7
"A man loved a woman. He showered her with devotion, and he gave her all that she did want. There was nothing that the woman desired that her affianced did not give unto her. She was so spoilt by her beloved, that he had no idea what to give her for their handfasting. He thought long and hard, for many days and nights, until his head was fit to split! His affianced saw that he was pensive, so she sent him away.
"She said, 'Beloved! Please go to the sacred spring that flows near my grandmother's home. It has given me peace and stillness in my heart when I have needed it. It has also answered my most burning questions, too. Go, and be peaceful and still for our Handfasting next month.'
"Well, he did go to this spring, and he sat by the water's edge, pondering his gift. He sat for many days, eating nothing but fruit from the trees in the glen. He sat until he became agitated and frustrated.
"He threw a stone into the spring. He said, 'Gods! What must I do? I have thought long and hard on this, and have not come across anything that I can give to my affianced. What do I do?' he cried in agony, since the Handfasting was seven days away, and he was a six day walk away from his heart's love.
"He then heard a many-layered voice in his head and his heart and his soul. It said, 'Fear not, for you already know the answer.' He looked about for the owner of the voice, but no one was there but himself, and the spring. 'Who are you?' said he, and the Voice replied, 'I Am...heed Me, son of Baizon. I am here to show you what you have already seen. What did you do, when you felt anger and frustration?' They asked.
"He picked up a rock, and threw it into the spring with a splash. 'I did that,' said he, and then he saw what his eyes did not see before. Rings; perfect, concentric rings flowed out from where the rock had submerged itself. Each ring was followed by another, and each grew until it had petered out by the spring's edge. The moon rose, full and lovely, above the man and the spring. It shone upon the water with silver light.
"The man knew. 'Oh I see!' said he. 'I know – I know now what to give my beloved!' He tore away to his home, taking not six days but two. He crafted a small silver and gold armband for his beloved, and then rushed to her home to be Handfast to her.
"After their ceremony and their Story, he stopped the traditional embrace. 'I have something for you, Beloved.' He presented her the trinket. She was used to his gifts of affection, so she said brightly, 'It is pretty, my Husband…but what is it?'
He smiled down at her and said: 'It is a symbol of all my love and devotion to you. It is silver, a symbol of the Moon, and of our Goddess's Consort, Neb. He will gift us with many children. It is gold, a symbol of the Sun, and of Una. She will bestow many blessings and the light of life upon our family. It is a circle, with no beginning, and no end. Such as my love is for you. I shall put it on your left arm. This will ensure that my gift to you will be closest to your heart. The spring showed me this. I thank you Mate, for your wisdom and your patience with me. I would never have thought of this without the help of you, and the Gods.'
"The woman smiled up at her new husband, and said: 'I know, Beloved. But you only know half of the story. You see, I had help from the Gods myself.' And with that, she presented her new Husband with the mate to her armband. It was a perfect match.
"She smiled again. 'Did I not tell you that you will find all your answers at that spring? All of my questions were answered there!' And that is your Story, given to me to give to you by the Gods. Lock it away now and remember to tell your children when they are born of this story, for it is theirs as well."
The crowd hurrahed lustily as Ori and Nim exchanged simple silver and gold armbands. Ori took Nim's waist and drew her close. They kissed lingeringly to shouts and cheers, then Ori and Nim ran hand-in-hand to an ornately decorated tent in the distance. Daza clapped and joined in the crowd's salvo.
8
The next morning, Daza was awakened by vigorously shaking hands. Sleep-muddled (and a wee bit drink-muddled), she pushed the hands away. "Lemme sleep."
"Wake up, Daza! There will be a hunt!" Daza's eyes flew open. She recognized Ori's voice, and it was filled with excitement. "Come, Daza! We have been asked to join the Great Hunt!"
"Moflee, then?" Daza returned Ori's delighted grin. "Is this your first Great Hunt?"
"Yes...yours as well?"
Daza nodded, her enthusiasm bubbling. "Yes."
Ori pulled Daza to her feet. "Let's go!"
/ / / / /
One dozen tribesfolk – Moflee, Dromed, and Zunai, all – strode across the plains in search of their prey. Every hunter was seasoned and adept...all except Daza and Ori. Daza glanced at Ori. He looked as green as she felt.
The Hunt Leader motioned them close. "We shall spilit into four groups. Ori, you and the Daza shall go with Sito. Heed his commands."
Daza nodded, as Ori clapped Sito's shoulder. "I shall do my best, Good-father." Sito was Nim's sire.
"Do me proud, son," Sito responded.
They split up, and Sito's hunting party took the Norther Reach. For two weeks Sito's party found nothing aside from the rather large family of babits Daza had managed to scare from their warrens, and the sackful of tatos Ori dug up from the partially frozen soil.
Daza had, at the end of that fortnight, begun to champ at the bit. Where were the vast, legendary herds of heavy-bodied Moflee? She tired of hasenpfeffer-tato stew. As the lengthening nights passed, Daza's impatience increased.
The night before the end of the hunt was cold, and frozen rain pelted the hunting party's tent. The three hunters huddled against each other in a vain attempt to generate heat. Neither Ori nor Daza could sleep. Come what may, the end of the hunt was tomorrow, and Ori's tribe was going to have to be content with the rest of the babits and tatos.
Ori grinned over his father in law's sleeping form at Daza, who had spooned her body against Sito's back. "I'll never live the babits down, you know this."
Daza returned the warmth. "The only other choice was to go hungry...and I don't recommend it."
He grunted sleepily, and let his eyelids slip closed. After a few moments of silence, Ori said, "I miss Nim."
"Mmm," murmured Daza. "She's a fine girl."
More silence, then: "I'm worried."
Daza had begun to drowse off herself. When Ori spoke again, her eyes flew open. "What about?"
"She and I." said Ori. "I don't know what your coming means to our tribe, or to Nim and I."
Daza remianed silent. 'Twas the best thing to do in this situation.
"Your arrival is fortuitous for my tribe, certainly. But I know more of the legend than my Zana told you."
She shook her head, bemused. "What do you mean?"
"The one the Daza finds is the one that gives his all to her," said Ori. "He forsakes everything in his life – and everyone – to serve the Daza. Even 'til death."
"We are friends," said Daza, frightened by Ori's words. "I wouldn't impose something like that on a friend. Nim has nothing to worry about. Nor do you."
"Thank you Daza...even if your words are a lie." Ori smiled, and let his eyes slip closed. For Ori, sleep came easily afterward. It wasn't so easy for Daza.
9
A fine powdering of snow had settled across the plains the night before. It was cold, but the sky was as bright a blue as Daza had ever seen. The morning sky made her breath catch in her throat. Her eyes tried to take the entire sky in from horizon to horizon, and gave it up as a bad job.
Daza stepped lightly from their tent, and breathed deeply of the crisp morning air. She gave a brief prayer of thanksgiving to Una, before her eyebrows drew together. She could feel the ground beneath her feet thrum.
The tundra of the Norther Reach stayed frozen nearly all the time, sometimes as far as fifty feet down. This quality made thumping sounds made on the hard ground carry for many miles.
Daza blinked again, trying to make order of her chaotic, spinning thoughts. Something was coming...something big.
She dove through the tent-flap. "The ground trembles," said Daza to an already-awake Sito. "It's like Baizon is angry."
"We are too far from the Judindo Mountains for this to be a ground-quake or an eruption," he said, as he rubbed sleep-sand from his eyes. "Something's on the move."
"Moflee?" asked Ori, already dressed. "I was afraid we weren't going to come home with one. Let's go and meet it – shall we, Sito?"
"Mm-hmm," he said, rumbling affirmation. "Let's make your return with the Daza something special."
Again, Daza was struck dumb by the implications of Sito's statement. Wouldn't Ori's return be special for Ori and Nim? And why would Nim's own sire say that?
10
Daza and Ori rode Mima, Ori's little Moflee steed, as Sito stalked the odd sound on foot. They rode for one quarter hour, Mima's shod hooves clacking a rapid tattoo on the frozen soil. They snaked through the valley where Ori took down his first Sinooki, and turned the corner...where they came face to face with the largest beast Daza had ever seen.
The Moflee they nearly ran into stood thirty hands tall. Its chest was broad and deep. The animal's hide was a rich roan, and its bristles were heavy. The Moflee's eyes widened when it saw Daza and Ori, snuffling angrily into the chilly morning.
"Una's Mercy," said Daza in a breathy whisper.
"Hup!" Ori nudged Mima's flanks, driving her to action. The little beast whinnied and put on a burst of almost unnatural speed. Daza, sitting behind Ori, had to grab Ori around his middle lest she slip off Mima's back.
Mima ran hard at the giant Moflee. She circled the great beast, snapping at its ankles and drawing blood. The giant wild Moflee bellowed in pain and mindless fury. It reared up on its hind legs, striking out with its waving front legs.
One of the giant Moflee's hooves caught Mima under her belly. Her body became airborne, spinning erratically and ejecting Daza and Ori from her back. By the time she came back down to Baizon, the wild Moflee had fled, and Mima had died.
Dazed, Ori staggered to his feet, shaking with reaction. He looked at Mima, and wailed. Mima was his mount since he was old enough to walk on his own. Ori fell to his knees, his hands on his cheeks, keening.
A strong pair of hands wrapped around his shoulders and dragged Ori to his feet. "Grieve later! We take down the beast that took your Mima from you now!" Sito steadied Ori on his feet and nodded once when Ori got control of himself. "Let's go. We'll come to collect Mima later."
The three hunters carried on. When Sito ran ahead to find the wild Moflee, Daza made a face at Sito's back. "Cold fish," she muttered. She clapped her hand on Ori's shoulder.
"Don't, Daza," said Ori. He rubbed fitfully at his eyes. "Nim and Sito's tribe is much like yours. They do not have life-mounts. They just don't understand what it is like to lose your mount."
"I see," said Daza. They loped off in the direction that Sito had run, but just as soon as they began, Sito burst from the copse, the wild Moflee hot on his heels.
"Run!" Sito panted, the Moflee close behind. The beast bellowed, and it sounded like the end of all things.
Ori and Daza glanced around quickly, taking in their surroundings. Ori saw that the Moflee hadn't decimated every single tree in the copse. Daza nodded wordlessly to Ori, and together they ran for what was left of the trees.
They climbed the stoutest of the trees, and lay in wait for Sito to lead the Moflee to the copse. Sito ran on feet as swift as night, goading the Moflee over his shoulder. He deftly led the beast to the tiny stand...and as Daza and Ori leapt from the tree to the Moflee's back, the beast bore down on Sito.
When the Moflee was beneath them, they threw themselves from the tree and onto the giant beast's back. The two hunters flew through the morning on the Moflee's broad back as the Moflee bawled.
Ori stood suddenly, brandishing his father's fine old spear. Daza took her cue, and slid her dagger from its sheath. Together, they drove the razor-sharp points of their weapons into the neck of the Moflee. A fine spray of blood cascaded through the air, stippling the hunters' faces.
The Moflee staggered onward for a few yards, unmindful of its own death. It shuffled forward again, stopped to hang its head, before it sank to its knees. The great beast rolled to its side, throwing Daza and Ori to the frozen ground.
The two hunters scrambled up the beast's hide, mounting its rapidly cooling body. Ori flung his arm around Daza's waist, and buried his spear deep in the beast's flank. He grinned at Daza. "We did it!"
Daza followed suit, slinging her arm across Ori's shoulders. She squeezed him close. "That was great!"
They glanced over their shoulders to find Sito. When Ori's eyes beheld Sito's trampled corpse, he turned his whitened, tearful visage to Daza. "Una's Shining Light," he said, his voice shaking. "You are the legend!"
11
The Wester Reach hunting party found them, and it was through dumb luck that Nim was a part of that party. She wailed over her father's mangled body, not for one second allowing Ori to comfort her. When her tears dwindled, her hunters led Ori and Daza to the village.
When they arrived, Daza's heart skipped a beat. Sieca was there, along with his elite warriors. He inclined his chin at Daza. "Hello, monster," he said, his voice silky and dripping with malice. "I knew you'd be here."
Daza drew herself up. "How did you know?"
He pointed to Nim. "I met a hunting party on our travels...your little friend told me that you were here."
Daza glanced at Nim. Nim would not meet her eyes. Daza tapped her teeth together in annoyance, as she returned her gaze to Sieca. "What do you want?"
"This village, of course," said Sieca. "You see, ours is no more...thanks in part to your abandonment. Your people died of starvation and disease...and it was your fault."
"I won't take blame for that," said Daza evenly. "Our people have been starving for generations before I came around."
Sieca grinned. "Ah. Our little firebird has finally grown a backbone, I see. Well. As much as you think it wasn't your fault, it was. Everyone you knew is dead from malnutrition. Your mother cursed your name with her dying breath."
Daza paled. "Leave my mother out of this! I set out to feed our people, not to abandon them!" She swept her arm wide, encompassing the village. "Look around! There is much to be had, by both villages. Bring the survivors here, so that they may be fed."
"There is no one else," said Sieca in a growling whisper. "Everyone is dead!"
Daza shook her head. "I've only been gone seven moons! Surely our people could have eked out survival for that long! When I left we were poorly off – but not that poorly off!" Daza ran her fingers through her fiery hair. "Who is in charge of the survivors, now?"
"No one," said Sieca. "They are docile and pliant, and are glad to have a strong man to lead them. They will stay where I tell them to stay until I tell them to move. Aside from your father, the tribe is more than happy to stay put under my command." Sieca raised one hand to shoulder level. "If one or two more villagers die while I am gone, then so be it."
Silence descended. "Daza broke it. "Did you say that my father was alive?"
Sieca knitted his heavy brows at Daza. He suddenly pursed his lips as he let his eyes slip closed. "Caught me," he said. "You're just as bad as your mother."
"Is she still alive, too?" Daza reached for the hilt of her dagger.
Sieca wrapped his long fingers around the hilt of his own dagger. "It doesn't matter," he said. "You'll both meet Una soon."
Sieca moved, quick as lightning. Before Daza could even pull her dagger from its sheath, Sieca was upon her. He drove his dagger home.
Daza shut her eyes, waiting for the mortal blow. It never came. She opened her eyes, as red as her hair, to behold Nim. The girl had thrust her self between Daza and Sieca's blade. Sieca's cruel dagger quivered in Nim's chest. Nim wrapped her fingers around the hilt, almost gingerly, as she slid to the ground.
Sieca muttered a foul oath, and reached for another hidden blade. He had no time to grab it, as Nim's people were upon him in a trice. Even as Daza screamed at the members of the Dromed tribe to stop, Nim's people tore Sieca and his warriors to ribbons.
Daza dropped to her knees, and dragged Nim onto her lap. Daza cradled Nim's chilled body to her own. "Why, Nim? Why did you do it?"
"It...it was...the Legend," she said. "When I heard the Daza found Ori, I...asked the elders to tell me of the Legend." She took a deep, watery breath. "When the Daza finds her counterpart, he must sacrifice everything he holds dear, to better serve her."
"I'm not a god!" Daza gasped convulsively, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "No one needed to sacrifice themselves!"
"I knew, since Ori brought you back to our village...this must come to be," said Nim. "When Sito died...I knew."
Daza wailed, and drew Nim close. "I'm nobody! I'm no God! I'm an Abomination! You didn't need to sacrifice yourself for me!"
"I am subject to Una's Will, same as you are." Nim tightened in Daza's arms. Ori, who had kept his distance until now, finally knelt by Daza's side. He stroked Nim's hair. Nim reached up and took Ori's hand, smiling. "Daza...when...when you realize that you are serving Una's Will, good will come of this. Ori...will make a fine second. He is kind and good, and he will help bring the people of Baizon together in a way that was...un...heard of, before this moment." Nim swallowed heavily. "Don't fight it. I gave in to the imperative willingly."
Nim's eyes became fixed, glassy. She slumped in Daza and Ori's arms.
Ori shook Nim, called out her name. When Ori saw that Nim crossed the Veil to the Summerlands, his bereft wail could be heard for many miles. His sacrifice was complete, but it still tasted bitter.
Bitter.
12
And that is the tale of Daza and Ori...for the most part. Now go to sleep.
What?
No, this is not a fairy tale, Child. And I didn't tell you this story because you share the Daza's fire. This is true...this is the Legend.
I...what became of Daza and Ori, you ask? Well, no one really knows. That part of the story disappeared in the mist of the ages. Some say that Ori married Daza, and gave her many beautiful children. Some also say that Ori remained Daza's faithful subject until the end, yet he felt a raging bitterness toward his liege. It is not easy to give up everything to serve the Greater Good.
What we do know is that Daza and Ori brought together the tribes of Baizon, and fed everyone. They brought a lasting peace that we still enjoy. They've been gone for many thousands of years, but their legacy remains.
Even so...nothing lasts forever, Child. Enjoy what you have, now, and do not grieve overlong when that which you love is no more. Such is the way of life. All things come to an end.
Fin
Hmm?
Child, you ought to be in bed. It is late, and there is much to do when Una rises in the morning. Would you anger the Sun Goddess, and miss her glorious return to Baizon?
You would, would you? And why is that? Little one, you test my...a story?
Tcha. Fine, fine. If it will speed your sandy rowboat to the land of Nod, then I will give you a story that, in the fullness of time, you can tell your own grandchildren – only promise me you will go to sleep afterward. Do you promise?
Very well, then. Has your mother or father told you the tale of Daza and Ori? They have not? Well, then. Zana knows the story well. I have told this tale to all my grandchildren; it is now your turn to hear the story.
Hearken:
Ten thousand years ago, when famine and war ravaged the many glimmering children of Una the Sun Goddess, a girl-child was born to a tribe on the outskirts of the Imperial City of Baizon, the seventh child of Una. Superstitious dread followed the babe from her birth – for she was born with blood-red hair. It was the same unlucky hue as the Daza, the bird of death and rebirth. Her parents saw this as a terrible omen. Zunai are, in the normal manner of things, born with lon-fah hair...'tis what outsiders would call in their tongue greenish-black. This is why the child's parents named her Daza – in the ancient Zunai tongue, her name meant phoenix....but it also meant death.
On the other side of Baizon, at the same time as Daza, a boy-child was born to the Moflee tribe. He came into this world in the normal way, and with little complication. He was born strong, and his parents thought there was nothing untoward about his coming – except for his countenance. He was born so comely that if it weren't obvious he was a boy-child, his parents would have thought him to be a little girl. His name reflected that when his parents named him Ori, which in the ancient tongue meant beautiful one. His name was traditionally given to girls when they are born; even so, this caused very little misery to the child, as Ori's spirit was as gentle as his name.
The story I will tell you is of the famine that had decimated the Zunai population. The Zunai had become a dying breed, and on the sixteenth anniversary of her birth, Daza had decided to save her people by finding the legendary Moflee herds that once roamed all of Baizon. The Moflee, if found, would feed her tribe almost indefinitely – for each beast was fifteen or twenty hands across the narrowest part of their back, and at their shoulders stood twice as high as the tallest man. Unfortunately, Moflee had terrible dispositions, and would kill anyone or anything that happened across them.
Because of their uncanny intelligence and raging temper, Moflee were mostly left to their own devices on Baizon. Nearly no one, starving or not, would brave a Moflee hunt. Their sheer size alone prohibited a danger-free hunt. But their meat…ah, it was as sweet as honey. Daza remembered the bravest warrior of her tribe, and how her tenth Sun Festival was the best because this warrior – her father – brought down a lone Moflee by himself and graced the Festival with its meat. It was this memory that decided Daza.
2
Daza's sixteenth Sun Festival was like every other Festival since her tenth: hungry. Her family had fared better than most. The savannah begrudgingly gave unto their hunters a scant handful of sweet cacti and a clutch of Sand-Dragon eggs, and the family of Sand-Dragons that guarded the nest besides.
On the morning of Festival, Daza went about preparing the little reptiles' bitter flesh for consumption. She hated the taste of Sand-Dragon with a great passion. She sucked at her teeth in frustration, while her belly grumbled about being empty. She cut the meat as fine as she could, to stretch it as far as possible.
"Daza," said her mother over her shoulder, "if you cut that meat any finer, it will disappear into the batter."
"Good," said Daza. "Maybe the taste will disappear, too."
Her mother stood next to Daza at their fine chopping block, a gift from their neighbors when Daza was born. She gave Daza a withering glare, her arms akimbo. "Be thankful we have anything at all to share at Festival. Remember the Dark Year?"
She did. That year there was nothing to share at Festival at all. The rains did not come when they were supposed to, and the plains became desiccated, sere. Her younger brother and sister died that year, as did countless other Zunai. Very few spoke of the Dark Times; when they did, it was in hushed tones. No one wished to call that unfortunate luck upon the tribe again.
Hale children born before Winter Festival would die before the Spring thaws, simply because their mothers were too malnourished to feed them. Old tribesmen died during the leanest times because they gave up their rations to the nursing mothers and children, to no avail. Their tribe had almost been extinguished from hunger, and it angered Daza to remember her once powerful father and beautiful mother so diminished by starvation.
Daza made a moue. "That will never happen again, Mumma. I will give my own food to the others rather than see them starve." She drove the point of her dagger into the cutting block, where the blade quivered.
Her mother smiled, and to Daza's alarm, she noticed that the older woman had lost another tooth in the night. "Daza, you have not earned that honor. You may be an accomplished hunter, but your Rite of Passage has not been completed yet. When you are an adult, and have been offered to be married, then you can do this." Mumma shrugged. "Do not squander your childhood just yet. Enjoy it while you can."
"I wish my Rite of Passage was finished already," said Daza. "I would go out onto the savannah and bring back an entire herd of Moflee for the tribe."
Mumma laughed, and the sound made Daza smile. Her mother rarely smiled herself, and laughed even less. Daza liked the sound of her mother's laughter. "Daza, I do believe you would," said Mumma. "Your future husband will have to be stout of heart and soul to have a wife such as you."
"I would have it no other way," said Daza. "How else could he keep up with me? Besides, I need a strong man to help bring back a Moflee for Festival."
Since before we Zunai kept written records, we depicted the Sun-Goddess Una as a tall, glowing biped who rode a giant golden Moflee. The beast was for time immemorial used in the ritual sacrifice to Her.
Mumma shook her head hard enough that her lon-fah tresses flew. "No, Daza. You must not develop delusions of grandeur. Your time will come, so be patient."
Daza glowered at her Mumma. Why would one of her own High Chieftains (and ex-War Chieftain besides) forbid her from chasing glory? Hadn't Daza's own parents chased glory themselves...and caught it by the short hairs?
Many years ago, when he returned from the Hunt with his half-starved Moflee, Daza's father was bestowed the rank of Hunt Chieftain. It was an honor unmatched by any other save the War Chieftain (for in those days, we Zunai had already begun to despise our neighbors, Child) and the High Chieftain, who ruled over all of his or her tribe with wisdom and fairness.
Daza's High Chieftain (her own Zana, what the Others would call their grandmother) was wizened and ripe with years by the time Daza had reached her tenth year. Soon she would die, and the honor of her rank would settle on the shoulders of either the War Chieftain or the Hunt Chieftain—and, some few days after the Sun Festival, she walked the path to the Summerlands.
But Luck's chalice brimmed that year. The War and Hunt Chieftains did not (as they usually do) fight each other for the rank of High Chieftain, for the War and Hunt Chieftains were Daza's own parents. They, for the first time in Zunai history (according to my own Zana) decided to share in the role of High Chieftain, and rule their tribe with pooled efforts.
All of their tribes-folk saw the wisdom of this, all save the new War Chieftain that took Daza's mother's place. He did not think womenfolk were necessarily the best choice for High Chieftain, and voiced his opinion loudly (and often) whenever he got the chance.
So it went every year after Daza's tenth birth return, until the day she spoke to her Mumma about the Moflee. In those lean years, Sieca (which was the new War Chieftan's name) didn't gripe much about the High Chieftains, but rather their odd child, and the poor luck that her birthright had brought to her tribe. It was done in hushed tones, spoken behind cupped hands and pursed lips. It was much more sinister than his usual angry jabbering about inequality.
That night, after preparing the Festival supper, Daza lay in her sling, swinging. She thought about leaving her tribe in search of food. And glory, she reminded herself. To lie to myself is worse that a hundred thousand lies to Una Herself.
"We will not die," she said softly to herself. "I will not allow it."
What would her tribe do for her, she thought to herself, if she brought home enough food to last many generations? What if the Moflee could be tamed? What if the herds that had once darkened the plains of her land be brought back and be made to work, so that her land could once again yield grain?
Daza's mind reeled with many possibilities – if she did find the Moflee, her tribe (and all of Baizon, she was sure) would have food; strong pack animals; and, when they were tamed, sweet-natured bond-animals. The lean times would be over.
That settled it, then.
3
Months later, after the rains came and the savannah was green and alive, Ori surveyed the plains, and watched for his prey.
He was a comely, tall youth, full of dreams and armed with his father's old spear. His eyes roamed the plains in search of prey worthy of his mate-to-be. He would see his future mate tonight, at the Story Circle. His father told him that his very own intended would be there with her mother. If he was to prove to his intended that he was a competent provider, he must come back to the village before sundown with something ample.
Sinooki feathers...those would be received with great delight, for it was the Sinooki's plumage that decorated much of his people's art and clothing. He decided to hunt Sinooki. It would be difficult, perilous even, but worth it in the end.
Without taking his eyes off the plains, the young Mofleean reached into his leathern jacket. He drew out a small chunk of Moflee fat, wrapped in muslin. He propped his spear against his chest, and unwrapped the morsel. He bit off a corner of his treat, and relished the salty, sweet flavor of his breakfast.
He tested the air, tasted the nuances on the wind, and found that his intended hunt was near. He crouched down low, and studied the soil between his feet. He blinked once, startled. There were footprints in the dust that did not – could not – belong to any Mofleean. The footprints were alien, the feet that made the prints clad in an equally alien boot.
He stood, and spat the spent wad of Moflee fat in the dirt between his boots. He couldn't remember the last time he saw anyone but a Mofleean travel these parts. Most other people did not stand a chance against the fiends that roamed the plains.
There was a small, narrow valley that ran between two shallow cliffs. It was through this chasm that, if he listened hard enough, he could hear a faint voice on the wind, singing. It was in a language that Ori could almost understand.
Ori cocked his head to the side. The voice belonged to a female, it seemed. He shook his head. It was the wind playing tricks on his ears, he decided. No mere woman would dare risk her slender neck out here in the sticks. He put the woman's voice out of his mind, and focused on the task at hand.
He traversed the stone corridor, peered around the sheer rock wall, and saw his mark. A lone Sinooki, the bestial, humanoid hawk beings of the plains, stomped about the grassy slope before Ori. The Sinooki spread its wasted, stumpy wings and beat at the air around its head. It cawed rustily into the buttery golden light of morning.
Once more, the youth reached into his jerkin. He retrieved a tiny earthen jug that held an alcoholic substance so hot, it drove any creature with the misfortune of touching it insane. Ori could smell the wine through the cork stopper, and he had to center himself quickly lest he go mad himself. He licked his lips, and blew a relieved sigh when he found he could control himself enough to confront the Sinooki.
Oh, but this was so dangerous. A fiend berserked into madness was a dangerous creature indeed. It felt no fear. It felt no pain. It merely attacked until one of the combatants fell dead. The youth's heart trip-hammered in his chest. He swallowed, almost painfully, and gathered his courage about him. He stepped out into the open and caught the Sinooki's attention.
"Have at you," said Ori. He hurled the earthen pot at the giant bird-thing, and watched as the Sinooki struggled and writhed under the effect of the alcohol. It cawed in agony...and then rested its rheumy, red eyes on Ori. A thin foam gathered at the corners of the Sinooki's beak, and it rushed the warrior.
The Sinooki's beak cut the youth, as deeply as if it were made of steel. Ori howled as searing pain stitched across one half-developed bicep. In retaliation, he thrust his father's fine old spear at the bird's head. The spear tip glanced off its orbital bone, sending bright crimson droplets into the air above its head.
It shrieked its pain and fury at the young Mofleean hunter. For one heart-stopping moment, the youth quailed and almost dropped his father's spear. He regained his poise as the Sinooki took that moment to shake its head, probably in an effort to rid itself of pain and to free itself from the effects of the alcohol. Ori, fully in charge of his faculties now, rushed the Sinooki. He rammed the spear home, and this time the tip punched through pinfeathers and down and flesh. The Sinooki's blood flew, and the boy's blood sang.
As the warrior reveled in his fine aim and unwavering courage, the Sinooki lashed one stubby wing out, and caught the youth's head in a swooping arc. Ori became airborne. He fell back to Baizon; his breath whoofed out of his lungs when his body hit the hard-pack. As he shook off the effects of the stunning blow, he looked up as the Sinooki descended upon him.
From out of nowhere, a blur of red whickered past his peripheral vision. He glanced quickly to his right, but whatever had rushed past him was far too fast; the Sinooki lay dead and its killer was gone.
Bewildered, the man-child tipped his head back and tasted the wind. He blinked once. It was a woman. He opened his mouth, and his melodious voice carried on the wind. "Show yourself!"
At first only silence greeted his query; then, the woman that had taken his kill stepped out from behind one of the cliff faces of the chasm. Her hair glowed a baleful red in the bright sunlight, and Ori surreptitiously made a sign of warding. "Una's Shining Light," he said.
"I mean no harm," said the girl. "I did not mean to...the peril..."
"You stole my kill!" Ori narrowed his eyes at the girl. "I cannot bring this Sinooki back to my intended now! You landed the killing blow. It is unfit as a gift for my future wife."
The girl frowned at Ori, her eyebrows knit in concentration – as if she struggled to understand his almost-familiar words. "Your kill was clean. It was already dead...it needed to be made aware of that. I merely sped along the inevitable."
Ori brought his father's fine spear up again, and pointed it at the flame-haired girl. "Who are you?"
She drew herself up. "I've come searching for the Moflee."
The spear's tip trembled slightly. "It looks like you've found them," said Ori. He reached up and tapped his own chest.
"Hmm?" Daza tilted her head to one side. "I don't understand."
"My tribe," said Ori patiently. "We are called Moflee, after the animals we hunt and keep as beasts of burden."
"Truly?" Daza looked even more befuddled, if that were possible. "I search for the Moflee herds, to feed my people. When I had left my tribe, it was slowly starving to death."
Your..." Ori glanced at her hair. "What's your tribe called?" He took his own lon-fah hair and tied it back into a topknot.
"We are Zunai," said Daza, as her chest puffed with pride.
Ori walked to the Sinooki, and Daza followed. As Ori knelt before the giant flightless bird's body, he unsnapped the safety strap on his bone dagger and began eviscerating the Sinooki's carcass. He sang a song of thanks under his breath as he cut the Sinooki's entrails from its belly. He was careful not to mar the fine pinfeathers or useful down.
Ori glanced at her hair again. "I've never heard of your tribe. Have you traveled far?"
She watched the evisceration closely; the boy-child's hands were deft and sure. When Ori repeated his question, Daza had glanced up at him. "I...I don't know how far I've come," said Daza. I do know that I've traveled for seven whole moons."
"Seven moons," said Ori to himself, almost respectfully. "You're lucky to have survived for so long on your own." He finally cut the guts free from the Sinooki's body, and tossed them aside.
She stared at the steaming pile of viscera, and marveled at the boy's wastefulness. The pile of meat wasted at the young man's side would feed a Zunai family for a week. She inclined her chin at the bloody mess. "Is that truly inedible?"
He glanced down at the pile of guts. "Oh, you don't want to eat that," he said. "It's nasty stuff. Besides, we use the gut to make bowstrings and lacing."
Daza drew her pride around herself. "My tribe ate what we could find. If it was smeared with droppings, we ate it anyway."
The youth did not look up as he began skinning the Sinooki. When a quarter hour had passed in a somewhat companionable silence, he leaned back on his haunches and regarded Daza. "Forgive me. I had no idea your tribe was so poorly off." He stood, and waved his hand at the savannah. "The plains here are plentiful; there's enough here to feed both of our tribes for two thousand generations, even if we were wasteful and did not respect Baizon's bounty. Your people will never starve again."
Daza turned her face to Una's life-giving rays. "Thank You, Una," Daza breathed.
Ori tilted his head at the entrails. "Will you help me with this? If I don't squeeze the guts before I bring them home, Mumma will kill me for bringing them into the hut."
Smiling gamely, Daza nodded and sat cross-legged before the cooling viscera. As Daza helped Ori remove the foulness from the Sinooki's innards, she glanced up at Ori. She caught him sneaking a peek at her from the corner of his eye. When Daza caught him looking, he cut his eyes away from hers, embarrassed.
To cover his discomposure, Ori asked, "Your tribe...the Zunai. Do they all look like you?" He glanced at her hair again.
Daza pressed her lips together. "No. Not everyone in my tribe is an abomination."
Ori grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's just that...this is a special moment for me...for any of my people. It isn't every day the Daza comes looking for you."
Her eyes sharpened. "How did you know my name? I didn't tell you that."
Ori smiled. "In my tribe's ancient tongue, Daza means Phoenix. Your coming portends good fortune for my people."
"In my tribe, Daza means death." Daza made a face. "My parents had a sense of humor, it seems." She glanced up at her new companion. "What's your name?"
"Ori," he said, cutting the now-denuded Sinooki apart. Daza laughed with Ori, as he drew the back of his hand down his cheek. Ori meant the same thing in both tribes...'pretty one'. "My parents had a sense of humor too."
Together, they butchered the Sinooki, and loaded each piece onto a skiff Ori had brought to the site. He grinned at Daza. "Would you mind helping me drag this back to the village? My elders would like to meet you."
"All right," she replied. She shouldered one of the heavy handles, and nodded. "Lead the way."
Ori grabbed the other handle, and they dragged the cunningly made travois between them to his people's village.
4
As they approached Ori's village, it was no less than a wide-eyed wonder to Daza. Her own village was a collection of round, squat huts, built of straw and mud. They were solid and sturdy, but not pretty. The huts were built in a circular pattern around a common fire-pit at the center of their village, and there were many huts as each family had their own.
Ori's village looked markedly different. Instead of squat mud huts, their homes were long and built from sturdy wood and thatch. Each long-house had at least one fire-pit contained therein, so there was no outdoors common area. Their size spoke of communal living, with many families in each house. In the distance, Daza could see a strange, open construct made entirely out of what appeared to be stone.
They arrived, and Ori's clan was there to greet him. They received him warmly, and Daza was a bit jealous of how healthy – how happy – everyone looked. Ori's family (and the rest of his tribe) gazed reverently at Daza. Her disfigurement was of little consequence to them.
When the load of meat was carried to the smoke hut, a keening sound made Daza look up in fear. Here was the loathing she had come to expect from Ori's people. Sooner or later, Ori's people would cast her out, as her own tribe would have if her own parents were not the High Chieftains...
Daza frowned. As the sound neared, she realized the noise was a young woman calling for her affianced.
"Ori!"
The girl, a slim, pretty young thing with pale lon-fah hair and matching eyes ran for her beloved. Ori turned his head in her direction, and smiled hugely. "Nim!" He held his arms wide so the girl could embrace him. She kissed Ori to the mingled shouts of glee from the Moflee.
Ori held Nim at arm's length. "I'm so glad to see you've arrived safely."
Hugging Ori close, Nim twinkled at him. "I'm just glad to see you."
Ori nodded, laughing. He slid his arm around Nim's shoulders, and shifted his gaze to take in the rest of his gathered people. He motioned to Daza with his free hand. "This is Daza. She and I met while I was on the hunt."
The gathering crowd murmured. Daza could not make out much, but the one word she understood clearly was legend. The Moflee people crowded close to Daza, to touch her shoulder or whisper greetings. A few daring souls touched her fiery hair with quivering fingers. Daza's breath clogged her throat. There were too many people; too many people were too close to her, touching her as if she was a sacred beast ready for the slaughter.
"Ori...the Daza came to you?" said Nim in a whisper.
"She did," he replied. "I'm blessed...we're blessed. This brings us good fortune for our handfasting."
"Give her room, if you please," said a voice at the periphery of the circle. The owner of the voice pushed through the throng to Daza.
Daza almost laughed at the tiny woman that stood before her. She was comically small, this old woman, and seemingly as old as the stars. Daza bit the inside of her cheek to stay the mad laughter that threatened to erupt. When Daza did so, the old woman glanced sidelong at her. Daza had to stop her feet from shuffling in this woman's presence.
"Why are you here?" the woman asked Daza.
"I've come to these lands to find food for my people," she responded.
"The Zunai," said the woman. "Yes?"
Daza tilted her head at the wizened woman bemusedly. "How did you know?"
The old woman nodded, almost to herself. "It is the legend. We have been watching for the Daza since time immemorial, she who has traveled over many moons and miles to reach us from the Zunai on the other side of Baizon.
"But...I'm not this mythical being you seek," Daza said. "I'm just a woman."
The old woman nodded again, and made shooing gestures to the gathered crowd. "Off with the lot of you. The elders will have a word with this...woman, alone. We will meet after supper tonight." She took Daza's arm, and propelled her to an ornately decorated long-house. "We will speak of the legend in depth. You deserve to know."
Daza let the old woman steer her to the long-house. On the way, they passed a paddock filled with smallish, humped animals. On further inspection, Daza realized they were tiny Moflee. Stunned, Daza pointed and said, "Are these your Moflee? They are so small! The Moflee of our own legends are huge creatures. How do these little creatures feed all your people?"
The old woman inclined her chin at the miniature Moflee. "These are our pack animals. They are stock from a failed attempt to breed the giant Moflee. We don't eat these Moflee. We are their friends, as well as their masters."
"Then, what do you eat?"
"There are many beasts that roam the plains," said the old woman. "We hunt them all, more or less...and that includes the giant Moflee that still run the savannah...if we can catch them."
"I must tell my people of this place," said Daza. "My people are suffering."
"We know," said the old woman. She raised one wrinkled hand at the longhouse. "This is what we must discuss. Shall we?"
5
Daza and the old woman entered the long-house. A handful of elders sat around a blazing fire, waiting for their arrival. The oldest of the gathered people inclined his head at the old woman. "Thank you for bringing the Daza to us, Ako."
"My pleasure, Kib," said Ako. She suddenly grinned impishly at Kib, and Daza guessed that Ako and Kib were not only Chieftains, but mates. She grinned, and nodded in greeting to Kib.
"Elder," said Daza.
"Sit, girl," said Kib. "We have much to discuss."
She sat, cross legged, next to the elder. "Zano," she said respectfully, "why was my coming such a big deal?"
"The legend," said Kib. He closed his eyes, and recounted the tale. "It has been known to us that one day, a woman with the Daza's hair would come. She would bring all the tribes of Baizon together in a way that no other could. Her way would be wrought with peril, and her path would be steeped in blood...but her coming will pave the way to a lasting peace for all of Baizon."
"Me?" Daza shook her head. "Why me?"
Another old woman spoke up, her pruned jowls quivering. "You are the sacrificial child sent here by Una Herself. You shall show the way to our people, and to yours. They already know you are here, and they are coming."
At that, Daza puffed herself up vehemently. "And what if I don't want to be a 'sacrificial child'? My people cared very little for me. I was not sent by my tribe...I came here on my own. I was an abomination in their eyes. Why would they care if I'm here, and why would they come here?"
"For the same reason you came here...to find food for your tribe. You will have very little choice in confronting your people." Ako stroked Daza's hair. "Fear not...you will find that your great sacrifice will not come until you are ready for it. It will not come to be until you initiate the sacrifice yourself." Ako patted her knee. "Your responsibilities will be great...but not every sacrifice needs to end with your death."
Daza sat between Ako and Kib, and absorbed their wisdom in silence. Ako patted her knee again. "Enough of this. Tonight is a night for joy. Ori and Nim are to be handfast tonight. You'll attend, won't you?"
Daza brightened. "Of course. Ori and I spoke of it on the walk to your village. I've been looking forward to it." Daza stood, and held her hands out to Ako. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."
6
In pairs and groups, Nim's and Ori's tribes stepped lightly to the odd stone construct on the hill behind their village that evening. They gathered at what appeared to be a huge open-air altar of sorts. Daza's heart leapt. Her own village had something like this many moons before her birth. Her own Elders told her of it when she was small.
When everyone had gathered, Daza was struck by how many people lived in Ori's village. Hundreds of Ori's tribesman were in attendance, and Nim brought a battalion of her own people – the Dromed tribe – with her as well. The throng made Daza's heart pound.
Ori and Nim walked to the altar, hands clasped. Somewhere, everywhere, drums began to throb, and the gathered crowd started to chant. They queued up, and then began to dance about in a circle. The tremendous gathering encircled the altar and dais, and began revolving around it. The large circle separated into many smaller circles, one inside the other.
The dance was intricate, barbaric, and the very core of life and faith on Baizon. There were many circles, but ultimately there was only one dance. As one cycle ended, another began, such as the life-cycle was on Baizon.
The many voices that rose in chant and song were melodious and many-layered, and the ground shook with the stamping of feet and the dancing of couples, singles, and groups.
When the tumult died down, Ako stepped to the altar, and held her hands up for silence. When the crowd quieted, she rested her hands on Ori and Nim's shoulders. She raised her voice so that the crowd entire could hear the ritual.
"I ask of ye all: hearken upon this Story, and heed of its words, as ye may never hear of it again. This is the holiest of days, as my own blood is handfast on this sacred ground. Una and her consort Neb have given to me this Story; this is Their Word, and They give this Story, in love, to this couple. This is their Legacy, and they must lock this Story in their hearts to tell their children, in turn, on the day that they are born. The Gods told me this:
7
"A man loved a woman. He showered her with devotion, and he gave her all that she did want. There was nothing that the woman desired that her affianced did not give unto her. She was so spoilt by her beloved, that he had no idea what to give her for their handfasting. He thought long and hard, for many days and nights, until his head was fit to split! His affianced saw that he was pensive, so she sent him away.
"She said, 'Beloved! Please go to the sacred spring that flows near my grandmother's home. It has given me peace and stillness in my heart when I have needed it. It has also answered my most burning questions, too. Go, and be peaceful and still for our Handfasting next month.'
"Well, he did go to this spring, and he sat by the water's edge, pondering his gift. He sat for many days, eating nothing but fruit from the trees in the glen. He sat until he became agitated and frustrated.
"He threw a stone into the spring. He said, 'Gods! What must I do? I have thought long and hard on this, and have not come across anything that I can give to my affianced. What do I do?' he cried in agony, since the Handfasting was seven days away, and he was a six day walk away from his heart's love.
"He then heard a many-layered voice in his head and his heart and his soul. It said, 'Fear not, for you already know the answer.' He looked about for the owner of the voice, but no one was there but himself, and the spring. 'Who are you?' said he, and the Voice replied, 'I Am...heed Me, son of Baizon. I am here to show you what you have already seen. What did you do, when you felt anger and frustration?' They asked.
"He picked up a rock, and threw it into the spring with a splash. 'I did that,' said he, and then he saw what his eyes did not see before. Rings; perfect, concentric rings flowed out from where the rock had submerged itself. Each ring was followed by another, and each grew until it had petered out by the spring's edge. The moon rose, full and lovely, above the man and the spring. It shone upon the water with silver light.
"The man knew. 'Oh I see!' said he. 'I know – I know now what to give my beloved!' He tore away to his home, taking not six days but two. He crafted a small silver and gold armband for his beloved, and then rushed to her home to be Handfast to her.
"After their ceremony and their Story, he stopped the traditional embrace. 'I have something for you, Beloved.' He presented her the trinket. She was used to his gifts of affection, so she said brightly, 'It is pretty, my Husband…but what is it?'
He smiled down at her and said: 'It is a symbol of all my love and devotion to you. It is silver, a symbol of the Moon, and of our Goddess's Consort, Neb. He will gift us with many children. It is gold, a symbol of the Sun, and of Una. She will bestow many blessings and the light of life upon our family. It is a circle, with no beginning, and no end. Such as my love is for you. I shall put it on your left arm. This will ensure that my gift to you will be closest to your heart. The spring showed me this. I thank you Mate, for your wisdom and your patience with me. I would never have thought of this without the help of you, and the Gods.'
"The woman smiled up at her new husband, and said: 'I know, Beloved. But you only know half of the story. You see, I had help from the Gods myself.' And with that, she presented her new Husband with the mate to her armband. It was a perfect match.
"She smiled again. 'Did I not tell you that you will find all your answers at that spring? All of my questions were answered there!' And that is your Story, given to me to give to you by the Gods. Lock it away now and remember to tell your children when they are born of this story, for it is theirs as well."
The crowd hurrahed lustily as Ori and Nim exchanged simple silver and gold armbands. Ori took Nim's waist and drew her close. They kissed lingeringly to shouts and cheers, then Ori and Nim ran hand-in-hand to an ornately decorated tent in the distance. Daza clapped and joined in the crowd's salvo.
8
The next morning, Daza was awakened by vigorously shaking hands. Sleep-muddled (and a wee bit drink-muddled), she pushed the hands away. "Lemme sleep."
"Wake up, Daza! There will be a hunt!" Daza's eyes flew open. She recognized Ori's voice, and it was filled with excitement. "Come, Daza! We have been asked to join the Great Hunt!"
"Moflee, then?" Daza returned Ori's delighted grin. "Is this your first Great Hunt?"
"Yes...yours as well?"
Daza nodded, her enthusiasm bubbling. "Yes."
Ori pulled Daza to her feet. "Let's go!"
/ / / / /
One dozen tribesfolk – Moflee, Dromed, and Zunai, all – strode across the plains in search of their prey. Every hunter was seasoned and adept...all except Daza and Ori. Daza glanced at Ori. He looked as green as she felt.
The Hunt Leader motioned them close. "We shall spilit into four groups. Ori, you and the Daza shall go with Sito. Heed his commands."
Daza nodded, as Ori clapped Sito's shoulder. "I shall do my best, Good-father." Sito was Nim's sire.
"Do me proud, son," Sito responded.
They split up, and Sito's hunting party took the Norther Reach. For two weeks Sito's party found nothing aside from the rather large family of babits Daza had managed to scare from their warrens, and the sackful of tatos Ori dug up from the partially frozen soil.
Daza had, at the end of that fortnight, begun to champ at the bit. Where were the vast, legendary herds of heavy-bodied Moflee? She tired of hasenpfeffer-tato stew. As the lengthening nights passed, Daza's impatience increased.
The night before the end of the hunt was cold, and frozen rain pelted the hunting party's tent. The three hunters huddled against each other in a vain attempt to generate heat. Neither Ori nor Daza could sleep. Come what may, the end of the hunt was tomorrow, and Ori's tribe was going to have to be content with the rest of the babits and tatos.
Ori grinned over his father in law's sleeping form at Daza, who had spooned her body against Sito's back. "I'll never live the babits down, you know this."
Daza returned the warmth. "The only other choice was to go hungry...and I don't recommend it."
He grunted sleepily, and let his eyelids slip closed. After a few moments of silence, Ori said, "I miss Nim."
"Mmm," murmured Daza. "She's a fine girl."
More silence, then: "I'm worried."
Daza had begun to drowse off herself. When Ori spoke again, her eyes flew open. "What about?"
"She and I." said Ori. "I don't know what your coming means to our tribe, or to Nim and I."
Daza remianed silent. 'Twas the best thing to do in this situation.
"Your arrival is fortuitous for my tribe, certainly. But I know more of the legend than my Zana told you."
She shook her head, bemused. "What do you mean?"
"The one the Daza finds is the one that gives his all to her," said Ori. "He forsakes everything in his life – and everyone – to serve the Daza. Even 'til death."
"We are friends," said Daza, frightened by Ori's words. "I wouldn't impose something like that on a friend. Nim has nothing to worry about. Nor do you."
"Thank you Daza...even if your words are a lie." Ori smiled, and let his eyes slip closed. For Ori, sleep came easily afterward. It wasn't so easy for Daza.
9
A fine powdering of snow had settled across the plains the night before. It was cold, but the sky was as bright a blue as Daza had ever seen. The morning sky made her breath catch in her throat. Her eyes tried to take the entire sky in from horizon to horizon, and gave it up as a bad job.
Daza stepped lightly from their tent, and breathed deeply of the crisp morning air. She gave a brief prayer of thanksgiving to Una, before her eyebrows drew together. She could feel the ground beneath her feet thrum.
The tundra of the Norther Reach stayed frozen nearly all the time, sometimes as far as fifty feet down. This quality made thumping sounds made on the hard ground carry for many miles.
Daza blinked again, trying to make order of her chaotic, spinning thoughts. Something was coming...something big.
She dove through the tent-flap. "The ground trembles," said Daza to an already-awake Sito. "It's like Baizon is angry."
"We are too far from the Judindo Mountains for this to be a ground-quake or an eruption," he said, as he rubbed sleep-sand from his eyes. "Something's on the move."
"Moflee?" asked Ori, already dressed. "I was afraid we weren't going to come home with one. Let's go and meet it – shall we, Sito?"
"Mm-hmm," he said, rumbling affirmation. "Let's make your return with the Daza something special."
Again, Daza was struck dumb by the implications of Sito's statement. Wouldn't Ori's return be special for Ori and Nim? And why would Nim's own sire say that?
10
Daza and Ori rode Mima, Ori's little Moflee steed, as Sito stalked the odd sound on foot. They rode for one quarter hour, Mima's shod hooves clacking a rapid tattoo on the frozen soil. They snaked through the valley where Ori took down his first Sinooki, and turned the corner...where they came face to face with the largest beast Daza had ever seen.
The Moflee they nearly ran into stood thirty hands tall. Its chest was broad and deep. The animal's hide was a rich roan, and its bristles were heavy. The Moflee's eyes widened when it saw Daza and Ori, snuffling angrily into the chilly morning.
"Una's Mercy," said Daza in a breathy whisper.
"Hup!" Ori nudged Mima's flanks, driving her to action. The little beast whinnied and put on a burst of almost unnatural speed. Daza, sitting behind Ori, had to grab Ori around his middle lest she slip off Mima's back.
Mima ran hard at the giant Moflee. She circled the great beast, snapping at its ankles and drawing blood. The giant wild Moflee bellowed in pain and mindless fury. It reared up on its hind legs, striking out with its waving front legs.
One of the giant Moflee's hooves caught Mima under her belly. Her body became airborne, spinning erratically and ejecting Daza and Ori from her back. By the time she came back down to Baizon, the wild Moflee had fled, and Mima had died.
Dazed, Ori staggered to his feet, shaking with reaction. He looked at Mima, and wailed. Mima was his mount since he was old enough to walk on his own. Ori fell to his knees, his hands on his cheeks, keening.
A strong pair of hands wrapped around his shoulders and dragged Ori to his feet. "Grieve later! We take down the beast that took your Mima from you now!" Sito steadied Ori on his feet and nodded once when Ori got control of himself. "Let's go. We'll come to collect Mima later."
The three hunters carried on. When Sito ran ahead to find the wild Moflee, Daza made a face at Sito's back. "Cold fish," she muttered. She clapped her hand on Ori's shoulder.
"Don't, Daza," said Ori. He rubbed fitfully at his eyes. "Nim and Sito's tribe is much like yours. They do not have life-mounts. They just don't understand what it is like to lose your mount."
"I see," said Daza. They loped off in the direction that Sito had run, but just as soon as they began, Sito burst from the copse, the wild Moflee hot on his heels.
"Run!" Sito panted, the Moflee close behind. The beast bellowed, and it sounded like the end of all things.
Ori and Daza glanced around quickly, taking in their surroundings. Ori saw that the Moflee hadn't decimated every single tree in the copse. Daza nodded wordlessly to Ori, and together they ran for what was left of the trees.
They climbed the stoutest of the trees, and lay in wait for Sito to lead the Moflee to the copse. Sito ran on feet as swift as night, goading the Moflee over his shoulder. He deftly led the beast to the tiny stand...and as Daza and Ori leapt from the tree to the Moflee's back, the beast bore down on Sito.
When the Moflee was beneath them, they threw themselves from the tree and onto the giant beast's back. The two hunters flew through the morning on the Moflee's broad back as the Moflee bawled.
Ori stood suddenly, brandishing his father's fine old spear. Daza took her cue, and slid her dagger from its sheath. Together, they drove the razor-sharp points of their weapons into the neck of the Moflee. A fine spray of blood cascaded through the air, stippling the hunters' faces.
The Moflee staggered onward for a few yards, unmindful of its own death. It shuffled forward again, stopped to hang its head, before it sank to its knees. The great beast rolled to its side, throwing Daza and Ori to the frozen ground.
The two hunters scrambled up the beast's hide, mounting its rapidly cooling body. Ori flung his arm around Daza's waist, and buried his spear deep in the beast's flank. He grinned at Daza. "We did it!"
Daza followed suit, slinging her arm across Ori's shoulders. She squeezed him close. "That was great!"
They glanced over their shoulders to find Sito. When Ori's eyes beheld Sito's trampled corpse, he turned his whitened, tearful visage to Daza. "Una's Shining Light," he said, his voice shaking. "You are the legend!"
11
The Wester Reach hunting party found them, and it was through dumb luck that Nim was a part of that party. She wailed over her father's mangled body, not for one second allowing Ori to comfort her. When her tears dwindled, her hunters led Ori and Daza to the village.
When they arrived, Daza's heart skipped a beat. Sieca was there, along with his elite warriors. He inclined his chin at Daza. "Hello, monster," he said, his voice silky and dripping with malice. "I knew you'd be here."
Daza drew herself up. "How did you know?"
He pointed to Nim. "I met a hunting party on our travels...your little friend told me that you were here."
Daza glanced at Nim. Nim would not meet her eyes. Daza tapped her teeth together in annoyance, as she returned her gaze to Sieca. "What do you want?"
"This village, of course," said Sieca. "You see, ours is no more...thanks in part to your abandonment. Your people died of starvation and disease...and it was your fault."
"I won't take blame for that," said Daza evenly. "Our people have been starving for generations before I came around."
Sieca grinned. "Ah. Our little firebird has finally grown a backbone, I see. Well. As much as you think it wasn't your fault, it was. Everyone you knew is dead from malnutrition. Your mother cursed your name with her dying breath."
Daza paled. "Leave my mother out of this! I set out to feed our people, not to abandon them!" She swept her arm wide, encompassing the village. "Look around! There is much to be had, by both villages. Bring the survivors here, so that they may be fed."
"There is no one else," said Sieca in a growling whisper. "Everyone is dead!"
Daza shook her head. "I've only been gone seven moons! Surely our people could have eked out survival for that long! When I left we were poorly off – but not that poorly off!" Daza ran her fingers through her fiery hair. "Who is in charge of the survivors, now?"
"No one," said Sieca. "They are docile and pliant, and are glad to have a strong man to lead them. They will stay where I tell them to stay until I tell them to move. Aside from your father, the tribe is more than happy to stay put under my command." Sieca raised one hand to shoulder level. "If one or two more villagers die while I am gone, then so be it."
Silence descended. "Daza broke it. "Did you say that my father was alive?"
Sieca knitted his heavy brows at Daza. He suddenly pursed his lips as he let his eyes slip closed. "Caught me," he said. "You're just as bad as your mother."
"Is she still alive, too?" Daza reached for the hilt of her dagger.
Sieca wrapped his long fingers around the hilt of his own dagger. "It doesn't matter," he said. "You'll both meet Una soon."
Sieca moved, quick as lightning. Before Daza could even pull her dagger from its sheath, Sieca was upon her. He drove his dagger home.
Daza shut her eyes, waiting for the mortal blow. It never came. She opened her eyes, as red as her hair, to behold Nim. The girl had thrust her self between Daza and Sieca's blade. Sieca's cruel dagger quivered in Nim's chest. Nim wrapped her fingers around the hilt, almost gingerly, as she slid to the ground.
Sieca muttered a foul oath, and reached for another hidden blade. He had no time to grab it, as Nim's people were upon him in a trice. Even as Daza screamed at the members of the Dromed tribe to stop, Nim's people tore Sieca and his warriors to ribbons.
Daza dropped to her knees, and dragged Nim onto her lap. Daza cradled Nim's chilled body to her own. "Why, Nim? Why did you do it?"
"It...it was...the Legend," she said. "When I heard the Daza found Ori, I...asked the elders to tell me of the Legend." She took a deep, watery breath. "When the Daza finds her counterpart, he must sacrifice everything he holds dear, to better serve her."
"I'm not a god!" Daza gasped convulsively, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "No one needed to sacrifice themselves!"
"I knew, since Ori brought you back to our village...this must come to be," said Nim. "When Sito died...I knew."
Daza wailed, and drew Nim close. "I'm nobody! I'm no God! I'm an Abomination! You didn't need to sacrifice yourself for me!"
"I am subject to Una's Will, same as you are." Nim tightened in Daza's arms. Ori, who had kept his distance until now, finally knelt by Daza's side. He stroked Nim's hair. Nim reached up and took Ori's hand, smiling. "Daza...when...when you realize that you are serving Una's Will, good will come of this. Ori...will make a fine second. He is kind and good, and he will help bring the people of Baizon together in a way that was...un...heard of, before this moment." Nim swallowed heavily. "Don't fight it. I gave in to the imperative willingly."
Nim's eyes became fixed, glassy. She slumped in Daza and Ori's arms.
Ori shook Nim, called out her name. When Ori saw that Nim crossed the Veil to the Summerlands, his bereft wail could be heard for many miles. His sacrifice was complete, but it still tasted bitter.
Bitter.
12
And that is the tale of Daza and Ori...for the most part. Now go to sleep.
What?
No, this is not a fairy tale, Child. And I didn't tell you this story because you share the Daza's fire. This is true...this is the Legend.
I...what became of Daza and Ori, you ask? Well, no one really knows. That part of the story disappeared in the mist of the ages. Some say that Ori married Daza, and gave her many beautiful children. Some also say that Ori remained Daza's faithful subject until the end, yet he felt a raging bitterness toward his liege. It is not easy to give up everything to serve the Greater Good.
What we do know is that Daza and Ori brought together the tribes of Baizon, and fed everyone. They brought a lasting peace that we still enjoy. They've been gone for many thousands of years, but their legacy remains.
Even so...nothing lasts forever, Child. Enjoy what you have, now, and do not grieve overlong when that which you love is no more. Such is the way of life. All things come to an end.
Fin