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

green roof overhead. South and back up the other side. I help. He wasn’t sure if that last bit was clear, but with a shudder and a huff, she began picking her way through the deep grass in the shadows of the narrow ravine. He leaned forward and, balancing with one hand on her many head horns, reached beyond her snout to lift a wrist-thick murder vine out of the way, carefully avoiding the thorns. He had no desire to spend the next three days squatting over a pit, leaking bloody stool.

The path back up should be visible by now. Did we miss it? He tried very hard to quell his rising concern. Rhinos were not particularly sensitive, but at an early age he had learned that any animals near him became agitated whenever he got upset. He broadcast his emotions – his self – far more widely than anyone he had ever met. It was one of the first signs that he was not an average Pacari. They should have seen it, even then. It was all the animals, all at once. I’ve been set on this path from the first. They’ll have to accept it. Will they accept it? No, they’re too locked in their ways. I just don’t know. Pride, excitement, and fear mingled in his chest as he imagined how they’d all look at him when he stood before the tribe. With difficulty he pushed the thoughts aside. He would do what he needed to do and accept the consequences. Worrying beforehand was for the weak. Pay attention, ratling. You’re going to grab an adder thinking it’s a vine with how distracted you are.

The thought came a moment too late. The forest had gone still while he wrapped his head in tangled thoughts, and a shockingly loud snarl at his right flank made him flinch. Pain ripped across his bare back as a heavy weight pushed into him, throwing him from the rhino’s back. He crashed down through the branches, crying out in fear and anger, pinned under the writhing, rippling weight of a predator. What is it? The rhino trumpeted in alarm, stamping and snorting as it caught wind of whatever it was that had him pinned. Its massive, horny rear foot thundered down only a handspan from his head. Stop! he cast out desperately with all his strength. The foot shuffled away uncertainly, and the weight on his back slackened as his attacker caught the force of his mental sending.

He didn’t hesitate – gathering his limbs beneath himself, he flung his body back with all his force, shaking his assailant free. Twisting to face it, he found himself face-to-snout with a majka. It had the blunt snout, rounded ears, and sleek form of a jungle panther, with a mud-red pelt and six strong legs that ended in wicked claws. It was a youngling. Kest would have been dead already otherwise. How long has he been following me? It surged at him, claws out, snarling fiercely. It used its middle pair of legs to try to pin him in place as they all did, but he anticipated the move and lifted his arms up and away from his ribs before the claws dug home, accepting the pain in his sides as the price for being able to fight back. He put his strong, knotted hands under the majka’s jaw and pushed up with all his strength. The toothy maw clacked shut on empty air beside his ear instead of in his throat. This close, embraced by the beast, he could hear the screaming growl vibrating in its chest through muscle and pelt.

From the corner of his eye he could see the great rhino. It had managed to turn itself around in the narrow slot of the ravine and had its horns lowered, ready to charge and skewer the smaller animal with its great snout horn. No! Kest commanded. He had no desire to be either gored or trampled in the midst of it all. I do it. He rolled over on top of the majka, and it spat and thrashed. He had a vise grip on its throat, and he kept his face buried close against it to protect himself. Pulling his knees in close, he thrust his feet into the inner hip joints of its rear legs, spreading them wide to keep the hunting cat from raking its rear claws into his belly. Disembowelment was not on the list for him today. The claws still digging into his sides and shoulders were bad enough.

No kill, he cast at it sternly, finding the tone of a mother putting down a rowdy cub. Enough. It yowled angrily at the air, thrashing in his grip. Shifting his grip on its throat to give himself more leverage, Kest let it surge forward a finger’s length and then slammed its head back against the ground. Bad cub! No more! And with that, the cat went limp, convinced of its role. He held its throat for another moment and spat a thick gobbet of spittle onto the young male’s muzzle, establishing his dominance. Then he stood, considering his options. Sloppy, Kest. If this were a bond-beast sent after you by its human instead of a half-grown cub, all your grand planning would have died before anyone knew of it. The majka was only half the size it would be when full-grown, but already impressively muscled and well-kept. The other one I found earlier is far bigger – no need to bring this one along. He addressed the majka, which watched him warily, tail lashing. Go home. No chase. It snarled at him, making the rhino stamp in warning, and then shot off into the underbrush. It wouldn’t bother them again.

He took stock of himself and winced at the deep punctures from the majka’s claws along his ribs. All’s well. Let’s go, he sent to the rhino. A little blood on the skin would look good when he arrived. He was