Paricus al Malik knelt in the softened peat, leaned forward, and placed his hand flat to the soil. No more than three inches from where he pressed his flesh, an animal track lay deeply imbedded in a patch of bare clay. The paw print had a large central pad, and four round toe pads, the mark of a great cat. Almost the entirety of Paricus’ splayed hand could have sunk into the impression of the paw, not including the toes of the animal. Most boys his age would have reached for the rifle at their back, seeking reassurance in lathed wood and tempered steel. Other boys would feel anxious, eager, perhaps even confident, knowing they were at the cusp of something that might define them as a man. But Paricus looked at the paw print pressed heavily into the earth, and his diminutive hand beside it, read the situation for what it was, and calmly envisioned the next step with a cold detached logic. A shadow fell across him as his uncle drew close, peering over Parcius’ head.
Liet al Malik grunted, impressed, and laid his own hand against his nephew’s shoulder. Like his brother, Liet was a tall man. He had sun darkened skin, and waves of black hair sweeping around his shoulders. Military life had chiseled the Liet’s body into a statuesque physique. At fifteen, Paricus was already six feet tall, and still several inches shorter than his uncle. Lean and wiry, with his own dark mantel cut short, he was a wolf compared to the lion accompanying him.
“If you survive this, your father will be quite pleased.” Liet said, only half joking.
“Don’t you mean if we survive?” Paricus asked.
“Oh, I’ll survive.” His uncle snickered. “It’s your job to kill the beast. It’s my job to bring you home, triumphant or dead. Anything more, and I am merely a spectator.”
“As you wish.” Paricus stood straight, and shrugged the rifle from his shoulder. “But I have no use for watchful old men. If our luck turns, I’m going to shoot you in the leg. Then I’ll kill the tiger when it stops to finish you.”
“Resourceful boy.” Liet smiled. “Even then, aim true. You may only get one shot.”
They crept along the trail for perhaps another hour without a word, moving slowly and staying low. The sun sank, and the shadows stretched in the orange gloom of twilight. The brush grew dense, and the trees loomed, pressing inward as though they meant to surround and imprison the hunters. There couldn’t have been a worse time to hunt a tiger, except perhaps in the dead of night. In twilight, the great cat could become practically invisible, but in moonlight, they were otherworldly.
“You’re stalling.” Liet spoke softly, suddenly, as the realization dawned on him. “Taking your time on purpose.”
“As you said.” Paricus replied, keeping his eyes forward on the brush. “Father will be quite pleased.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that he’s raising a mad man.” The older hunter hissed.
At that, Paricus chuckled softly. “A job well done.”
They came upon the rise of a hill, and Paricus led them in circling around rather than climbing over. He could hear the whisper and tumble of a stream nearby, and as they slunk around the rise, they found the bed of a shallow creek. Laying crumpled amid the rocks of the shore was the broken body of a small roe deer. It’s throat was mangled and it’s head twisted completely around to face in an unnatural direction.
Paricus approached slowly, his uncle close behind. As they reached the dead animal, a peal of thunder rippled through the air. Glancing up, Paricus saw only a peerless sky at sunset through the overhanging canopy, with the first stars peeking through the haze of blue and gold.
“Get ready.” Liet whispered.
Paricus tested the slide of his rifle, checked the bullet in the chamber, and thumbed the safety off. A second stroke of thunder smote the glade, this time punctuated with a long throaty growl. Paricus had never heard a tiger roar before. His father had once said that the vibration of the sound alone was enough to turn a man’s bowel to soup. Paricus loved how it reverberated through him, invigorating him. After a moment, he realized that he was grinning.
There was no sound to indicate the tiger’s approach; no rustle of grass nor the rending snap of a broken branch. Only it’s continued growling, like the rumble of an avalanche, heralded the creature’s intent. Paricus had always heard that tigers were notoriously possessive animals. He and his uncle had brazenly intruded upon the tiger’s kill, and the offense would not go unpunished. Paricus brought the rifle up, and pressed the stock to his shoulder.
“Remember this saying, Nephew.” Liet whispered fervently at his ear. “There is no greater truth, and its wisdom is as much a blessing as a curse.”
Then, switching to the ancient tongue of their House, he said. “Sopek tîrek û, şeyek hûn ê bibînin.”
“I don't like the look of that one.”
Paricus sipped his beer, and pretended he couldn't hear the two sailors at a nearby table. They were crewman aboard the airship currently moored at the local docks. Paricus had spent most of his morning negotiating passage, bound for Alenari, the land of his mother's people. The captain recognized him, Paricus was certain, though the man hadn't yet been able to put his finger on why. Paricus had shaved his head and wore clothing to conceal most of his face, a heavy high collared coat, but he still looked too much like the drawing of the man on the wanted poster tacked to the bounty board out front. It was proving problematic.
“Big man like that,” One of the sailors was saying, not nearly as quiet as he thought, “always looking for trouble. Or in the middle of trouble.”
“He paid right fair for ‘is passage.” The other replied. “I don't know what yer on about, honestly.”
“I'm jes saying.” Insisted the first man. “I'm jes saying that a big man is trouble. There're only two good professions for'em; a stable hand, and a blacksmith. That fellow nei’er smells of shit, nor wears an apron. I'm jes saying is all.”
“Bollocks.” The other snorted, a little loudly.
“I hear'd that skypirates will sometimes slip aboard honest ships by pretending to seek passage.” The first man hissed. “They wait till nightfall and then gut the crew, and call in their comrades to come finish the job and take the ship.”
“Come off it, man.” The other fellow sounded ready to change the subject. “I don't see no pirate. Just a bloke in need of a lift.”
“Oh aye?” The first speaker exclaimed. “We shove off in the morning. We'll see if ye say the same tomorrow night, when he slips up to yer bunk and gives ye a smile from ear to ear.”
After that, thankfully, they began to talk of other things. Sighing, Paricus rolled his eyes, and slouched over his mug. He was exhausted, strung thin by stress, poor diet, and dehydration. Having been constantly on the move for days, it made him anxious to suddenly be stuck, waiting. But the captain refused to push his time table forward, and had no bunk available for Paricus before tomorrow. Which meant there was little for the big man to do except keep his head down, and wait.
The sailors finished their drinks, dropped some coins onto their table and rose to leave. Indus was finally able to relax in their absence, which came as a surprise, as he hadn't realized how tense their conversation was making him. No one else in the moderately packed taproom paid him any mind, which was a relief. Paricus took another drink, then began to finger around in one of his coat pockets for a small purse. The captain had taken most of his coin. The innkeeper held almost everything else, but Paricus was sure he could afford a heel of bread at least. A bite of bread, a mug of dark beer, it was the most comfort he'd known in months, and likely the last he'd get for some time.
Liet al Malik grunted, impressed, and laid his own hand against his nephew’s shoulder. Like his brother, Liet was a tall man. He had sun darkened skin, and waves of black hair sweeping around his shoulders. Military life had chiseled the Liet’s body into a statuesque physique. At fifteen, Paricus was already six feet tall, and still several inches shorter than his uncle. Lean and wiry, with his own dark mantel cut short, he was a wolf compared to the lion accompanying him.
“If you survive this, your father will be quite pleased.” Liet said, only half joking.
“Don’t you mean if we survive?” Paricus asked.
“Oh, I’ll survive.” His uncle snickered. “It’s your job to kill the beast. It’s my job to bring you home, triumphant or dead. Anything more, and I am merely a spectator.”
“As you wish.” Paricus stood straight, and shrugged the rifle from his shoulder. “But I have no use for watchful old men. If our luck turns, I’m going to shoot you in the leg. Then I’ll kill the tiger when it stops to finish you.”
“Resourceful boy.” Liet smiled. “Even then, aim true. You may only get one shot.”
They crept along the trail for perhaps another hour without a word, moving slowly and staying low. The sun sank, and the shadows stretched in the orange gloom of twilight. The brush grew dense, and the trees loomed, pressing inward as though they meant to surround and imprison the hunters. There couldn’t have been a worse time to hunt a tiger, except perhaps in the dead of night. In twilight, the great cat could become practically invisible, but in moonlight, they were otherworldly.
“You’re stalling.” Liet spoke softly, suddenly, as the realization dawned on him. “Taking your time on purpose.”
“As you said.” Paricus replied, keeping his eyes forward on the brush. “Father will be quite pleased.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that he’s raising a mad man.” The older hunter hissed.
At that, Paricus chuckled softly. “A job well done.”
They came upon the rise of a hill, and Paricus led them in circling around rather than climbing over. He could hear the whisper and tumble of a stream nearby, and as they slunk around the rise, they found the bed of a shallow creek. Laying crumpled amid the rocks of the shore was the broken body of a small roe deer. It’s throat was mangled and it’s head twisted completely around to face in an unnatural direction.
Paricus approached slowly, his uncle close behind. As they reached the dead animal, a peal of thunder rippled through the air. Glancing up, Paricus saw only a peerless sky at sunset through the overhanging canopy, with the first stars peeking through the haze of blue and gold.
“Get ready.” Liet whispered.
Paricus tested the slide of his rifle, checked the bullet in the chamber, and thumbed the safety off. A second stroke of thunder smote the glade, this time punctuated with a long throaty growl. Paricus had never heard a tiger roar before. His father had once said that the vibration of the sound alone was enough to turn a man’s bowel to soup. Paricus loved how it reverberated through him, invigorating him. After a moment, he realized that he was grinning.
There was no sound to indicate the tiger’s approach; no rustle of grass nor the rending snap of a broken branch. Only it’s continued growling, like the rumble of an avalanche, heralded the creature’s intent. Paricus had always heard that tigers were notoriously possessive animals. He and his uncle had brazenly intruded upon the tiger’s kill, and the offense would not go unpunished. Paricus brought the rifle up, and pressed the stock to his shoulder.
“Remember this saying, Nephew.” Liet whispered fervently at his ear. “There is no greater truth, and its wisdom is as much a blessing as a curse.”
Then, switching to the ancient tongue of their House, he said. “Sopek tîrek û, şeyek hûn ê bibînin.”
...Follow a tiger’s trail, and a tiger you shall find.
Kingdom of Eurul, Skyport of Bayhaven
15 Years Later
Kingdom of Eurul, Skyport of Bayhaven
15 Years Later
“I don't like the look of that one.”
Paricus sipped his beer, and pretended he couldn't hear the two sailors at a nearby table. They were crewman aboard the airship currently moored at the local docks. Paricus had spent most of his morning negotiating passage, bound for Alenari, the land of his mother's people. The captain recognized him, Paricus was certain, though the man hadn't yet been able to put his finger on why. Paricus had shaved his head and wore clothing to conceal most of his face, a heavy high collared coat, but he still looked too much like the drawing of the man on the wanted poster tacked to the bounty board out front. It was proving problematic.
“Big man like that,” One of the sailors was saying, not nearly as quiet as he thought, “always looking for trouble. Or in the middle of trouble.”
“He paid right fair for ‘is passage.” The other replied. “I don't know what yer on about, honestly.”
“I'm jes saying.” Insisted the first man. “I'm jes saying that a big man is trouble. There're only two good professions for'em; a stable hand, and a blacksmith. That fellow nei’er smells of shit, nor wears an apron. I'm jes saying is all.”
“Bollocks.” The other snorted, a little loudly.
“I hear'd that skypirates will sometimes slip aboard honest ships by pretending to seek passage.” The first man hissed. “They wait till nightfall and then gut the crew, and call in their comrades to come finish the job and take the ship.”
“Come off it, man.” The other fellow sounded ready to change the subject. “I don't see no pirate. Just a bloke in need of a lift.”
“Oh aye?” The first speaker exclaimed. “We shove off in the morning. We'll see if ye say the same tomorrow night, when he slips up to yer bunk and gives ye a smile from ear to ear.”
After that, thankfully, they began to talk of other things. Sighing, Paricus rolled his eyes, and slouched over his mug. He was exhausted, strung thin by stress, poor diet, and dehydration. Having been constantly on the move for days, it made him anxious to suddenly be stuck, waiting. But the captain refused to push his time table forward, and had no bunk available for Paricus before tomorrow. Which meant there was little for the big man to do except keep his head down, and wait.
The sailors finished their drinks, dropped some coins onto their table and rose to leave. Indus was finally able to relax in their absence, which came as a surprise, as he hadn't realized how tense their conversation was making him. No one else in the moderately packed taproom paid him any mind, which was a relief. Paricus took another drink, then began to finger around in one of his coat pockets for a small purse. The captain had taken most of his coin. The innkeeper held almost everything else, but Paricus was sure he could afford a heel of bread at least. A bite of bread, a mug of dark beer, it was the most comfort he'd known in months, and likely the last he'd get for some time.