Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

path. And what other new hunter could ride his beast on the same day they bonded? He put on the most earnest expression he knew, one that pleaded, one that sought understanding. “And this majka was hunting us in the hills. I could sense him, and I knew… I felt that I could know him too. The Majka was in my soul as well. So I sent out my will, and he came.”

This was not entirely true. He had known that he would bond a multitude of beasts by the time he was twelve. But the majka had been hunting him, and it made for a good story, even if the truth was that the cat had not bent to his will nearly that easily. “One by one, they came to me. Not until the last beast walked at my side did my heart say it was done. And look – they are all mine every bit as much as the rhino is mine.” The muttering rose at this, but it could not be denied. There sat the mightiest beasts of Pacari, docile and obedient.

“I knew this would upset you all, and I am sorry. Hunter I am now, but I’m still half a child, and my elders are wise. I followed my heart in this. But I am not so special! Look at them – I think we all could do this. I know it. Why do we keep ourselves to only one bond-beast, or perhaps two if we live to a great age? We can be more. Think of how mighty the Granaal would be if each of us battled with all the great beasts of our land beside us!” The arguing amongst the tribe grew too loud and no one could hear him. He clamped his lips shut, wishing his people were a little less stupid.

Kest had spoken his piece; he gestured to Pul, ceding to his authority. No one else noticed. The fat, powerful man stared at him with a surprising amount of calm, his gaze searching and thoughtful. Kest returned the look with as much equanimity as he could muster, unconsciously counting the seconds before looking down so that he would seem neither weak nor disrespectful. Dancing that line was a skill he had long since put into his bones. The chief crossed to him and put a heavy hand on his shoulder, facing the crowd. “You should have waited,” he said quietly. Kest’s mind raced, but he couldn’t unravel the sense of the older man’s words. Waited for what? For him to die? For me to be chief? I have waited!

The chief raised his hands to the others, and they gradually subdued themselves. More than a few of the women were crying. His mother was one of them. Her face was composed, and she did not sob, but water streamed from her clear, wise eyes, and Kest felt that familiar pang of shame even more sharply than before. The strange fighting man stood five paces behind them all, watching with calm interest, tall enough to see everything over the short, muscular Pacari islanders. Kest wished the earth would swallow the man up. This is for the tribe, foreigner. Begone. The bearded giant looked Kest in the eye and quirked an eyebrow at him almost as if he had heard the thought.

Pul let the silence hang for an uncomfortably long time, looking from the tribe’s families and back to Kest. Then he inspected each of the bond animals in turn, touching them one by one on the forehead. The young hunter cast calm to the animals, willing them to stillness, but still the old bear growled at the chief. The old chief proceeded down the line without acknowledging the bear’s warning or showing the least hint of wariness. When he reached the rhino, he stroked her horn and murmured to her fondly. She nudged forward against his touch playfully. He looked over to Kest, skewering him with his gaze. He spoke loudly, intending everyone to hear. “It’s an unbelievable thing you’ve done, Kest. What hunter knows his own heart well enough to split it among so many? And at your age? What hunter has a soul so great that all the beasts can live within it? It makes the people wonder, and doubt. Some of us are old, and we wish to be done with our doubts. So I ask you, young one,” the chief cried, making sure everyone heard, still touching the rhino. “What is her name?”

Kest blanched. “Her name?” His mind raced back over the last several days. Did she tell me her name? She must have. They had crossed the hills and the sands together, and she responded to his every request. She belonged to Kest – she must have said her name. And yet he recalled nothing. What is your name? he cast desperately at her… and then recoiled in shock and pain, clutching his head as his loud, echoing thoughts bounced back at him like a tree branch someone had been holding out of the way. Pul gave him a hard look and shook his head. He blocked me! How did he do that? He hadn’t even known that was possible. The rhino cow stared at him sedately as if waiting for him to speak to her.

“I don’t know,” he whispered into his hands. The tribe muttered at each other, not hearing him. “I don’t know her name,” he said again, loudly this time. Pul had wanted everyone to hear, and Kest would not mutter his answers or hide from his tribe even though his shame felt like standing in a bonfire. “We worked together and travelled to gather the others, and she follows my lead. She is my rhino. But I haven’t learned her name.”

The chief paused for effect. “Do you know any of their names?” He seemed sad.

Kest ground his teeth. “No, my chief.”

The older man’s eyes softened and seemed nearly pitying. “And do they know yours?”

Kest had