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

children. Every Pacari adult he’d ever known had cares and sorrows of one kind or another, and yet some of them bonded beasts. He remembered Puldaergna crouched at the common fire, brooding over the troubles and fights of his tribe. He often sat so, distant from all those around him except for his great bull rhino Kyrak. The tough old beast lay on the ground behind Pul, brooding together with him. No man is free from care. That isn’t what stops me. It’s… it’s… He could have sworn he felt a jab between his ribs, and in his mind, his mother glared up at him, eyes demanding, mouth set in a line, requiring honesty and truth.

It’s pride, he admitted to himself, tears pricking at his closed eye, hands clutching at the grass. He wanted to be the great one, the chief, the winner, and when he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, he’d recoiled from his life and the beasts around him like a child pulling his toys away from friends. He’d been a sulky boy, where a man… a man would have… asked for help.

All his troubles, all he’d lost, could have been avoided had he simply asked for counsel from his elders. Pul, his mother – they’d have listened if he’d said he wanted to bond many beasts at once. But no, he wanted to impress everyone, to be the perfect child, the next chief! At every step, there had been those who wished to help, and always he turned away to go it alone. Even Gamarron, as frustrating as he was, had wisdom to impart, and Kest’s course would have been much smoother had he simply listened.

No more. It was no way to live.

As simply as that, the shackles fell from his mind, and his thoughts soared. He cast his cares to the wind, shouting his need silently to the natural world around him. He did not command the beasts as a master but instead presented himself as he was: a creature of the world, bearing the scars of many trials, seeking any who might be willing to help. He felt naked, raw, his spirit exposed to the cold, harsh light of day. Minutes passed in agonizing silence. Sweat dripped down his face, and he felt the stares of his hidden companions on his back. Finally, he sighed. He had failed. The beasts had rejected him.

Then, faintly, in his mind sounded the words We come. Vitality rushed through him, and his heart surged to life. He found the minds of the ones who had spoken, and he told them what he wished. Surprisingly, they assented. He laughed into the dirt, incredulous.

Hearing the noise, Gamarron called out. “Kest? What is it?”

Not daring to lift his head or make any noise, he flapped one hand in the old man’s direction, hoping the message was clear. Stay back and shut up! He could hear the beasts with his ears now, a faint stirring of the air presaging the arrival of his curious new friends. He kept very still and hoped the others would do the same. The stirring became a whispering, which soon resolved into the deep, powerful flap of large wings. It was just as he’d hoped. Chill downdrafts washed over him, ruffling his long hair and pushing at the trampled grass. He thought he heard someone gasp, but the creatures did not startle or retreat. Three distinct thumps, surprisingly weighty, echoed around his head. The was a moment of complete stillness, and then he felt the gentle peck and push of raptors’ beaks nosing through his hair. The cloying smell of rotten meat wafted over him. The massive vultures that were feasting at the battlefield had come to his call.

Need? came the query. It was not a word so much as a feeling. It took long experience to truly share thoughts with a beast. Most Pacari wouldn’t even be able to sense this much at a first meeting.

Up. Need to see like you. He tried to send them an image of soaring over the trees, looking down over swampy water.

Heavy, complained one of them, grabbing gently at the meat of his arm with its beak and shaking it to show him how much meat he carried. Hard.

Please, he sent urgently. Great need. Greatest need.

Food, one of the others bargained enthusiastically. The raptors’ thoughts were far more friendly and playful than he would have imagined from scavengers. Nevertheless, good ripe meat was a priority.

Food, Kest agreed. After. Lift me up?

This suggestion was greeted with raucous squawks and a series of chattering quorks. The birds hopped about, maneuvering around him, and then one of them jumped onto his back. Hard, strong, scaled digits wrapped around his shoulders and dug into his collarbone as another raptor settled atop his hips, getting a firm purchase on his belt. Kest reached up and wrapped his hands around the knobby legs that gripped his shoulders so that his hands wouldn’t hang free. The third vulture wrapped its feet around his ankles, and he wondered if this was really going to work. He felt trussed like a boar on a spit. He’d never heard of anyone trying to fly with birds. Most Pacari weren’t stupid enough to try something like this.

Dangerous, echoed one of the vultures heartily. Fun! We go! The flap of wings filled his ears and with a sickening lurch in his stomach, they lifted clear of the ground. He clutched desperately at the claws holding his shoulders, his eye clenched shut. That didn’t stop him from seeing the heat of the ground cool in his second sight as it grew more distant. It was terrifying. His heart was knocking painfully in his chest. Man was never meant to fly.

No, agreed the birds. They didn’t seem to mind violating the laws of nature. They labored mightily to lift him, but there was joy in the exertion. He tried to ignore the pain of the talons poking into his flesh and the tightness of his