Escaping the Hunt

Chapter One

“Lu! The tree is on fire!” Hi Shri jostled her mate awake as she got to her feet and grabbed one of the two eggs in her nest, hoping Lu would grab the other. She could not carry both and stay airborne. She launched into the air, coughing from the smoke and squinting in the daylight. The canopy overhead provided enough shade to let her see to fly without colliding with one of the burning trunks. That frail protection would be gone soon, consumed by the fire that climbed every tree in sight. Nocturnal by nature, she wasn’t suited to flying in daylight.

Desperation and habit sent her toward the mountains. She hunted among them regularly. The small, furry mammals called Rataan lived beneath the foothills and could still be taken at dusk and dawn if one was careful and clever. Lu didn’t like her to hunt Rataan, but the hunting sagas said that since the Rataan no longer offered their dead to Divine Shaae, doing so was part of a Hooark’s duty to Him. So, when Hi did catch a Rataan, she generally found a ledge with an overhang or a cave in the mountains and perched there to enjoy her kill. She and Lu could hide from the fire in such a place.

Too bright! Hi escaped into clear, open air, safe from flame, fear of collision, and away from the worst of the smoke, but the midday sunlight hit her like a wind shear. She shrieked in pain and defiance. Closing her eyes, she glided, searching in vain for thermals, her senses overwhelmed by heat and light. A wind carried her, blind and disoriented, for what felt like an entire day.

“Hi!” Lu’s frantic call was a zephyr of hope in the midst of her terror. Until he’d called, she hadn’t known if he’d escaped the fire.

“Here!” she cried, knowing he’d be as blinded as she. “We must reach the mountains! I know places where we can shelter there.”

“The winds!” he protested, and Hi’s terror clamped down with a fresh grip. How could I forget? The winds near the mountains were capricious at the best of times. Now, with the air currents scrambled by the fire— But where else could we go? We can’t land here. The country between forest and mountains was covered with grass and brush, and it was the Jiques’ favored hunting ground. The large felines would consider two grounded Hooark a large and easy meal.

“Climb!” she suggested, unable to think of anything else. If they were above the mountains, they had a chance of escaping the erratic winds. Assuming we get that far and I’ve managed to choose the right direction.

The cold of high altitude would be dangerous for the egg, almost as dangerous as the fire’s heat. Burn, freeze, or crack open. There are no good choices, my poor treasure, Hi thought to the egg she carried. We must fly and hope Shaae shelters us.

 Hi and Lu climbed until the air grew thin. They were exhausted and had lost most of the altitude they’d gained before Lu finally found a thermal. They rode it in great circles for the remainder of the day.

The endless hours of flying and gliding provided ample time to wonder at the sudden fury of the fire. Usually there were warning signs—the smell of smoke, the sounds of animals stampeding, or clouds of insects fleeing. This time, none of those things had happened. The base of her tree, and every other tree within sight, had simply erupted in flame.

That is not normal, Hi thought. Even lightning-set fires arrive with warning, and there was no thunder. No flash of light woke me; the heat and crackle of flame did. Only one thing sets a fire with no warning. Rataan. Rataan tried to murder us, to destroy my eggs! I will have vengeance on them. Divine Shaae, grant that I may be the instrument of your vengeance!

When it grew dim enough to see, they found themselves closer to the foothills than Hi had expected. With aching wings, Hi searched for one of the ledges she used to rest after a hunt. She found one with a small depression behind it, not a cave, but more shelter from the weather than the cliff face. They landed and deposited the eggs in the depression. Hi settled down to resume her brooding and her shattered rest, turning away from the entrance so the day’s light would not disturb her. Lu was a warm presence between her and the entrance. She would check the eggs when she woke. Now, she was too tired to dwell on whether they had survived the harrowing daylight journey.

 

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The gurgle and smell of moving water woke Tarj Vas.

There is no water here, his sleepy mind insisted. This is a sleeping chamber, and not one near the bath house. The steward of Skee Tsk Burrow would never allow such a choice accommodation to be occupied by one who worked with dyes. The stink one such as Tarj carried with him would permeate the place. Removing the odor would be expensive and time-consuming. So dyers, tanners, and those who worked with the dead were shunned by their “betters” and banished to seldom-used exterior chambers of any Burrow.

Reassured that the sound of water was the remnant of a dream, Tarj rolled over to go back to sleep. He rolled off the edge of the narrow bed and into knee-deep water. Cold, knee-deep water! Spluttering, and now thoroughly awake, Tarj became aware of other sounds—panicked voices, frantic splashing, and desperate pounding on his chamber’s door.

“Wake up! Wake up! The Burrow is flooding! Wake up! We must get outside!” The pounding ceased, and then sounded again on his neighbor’s door.

Flooding? How could the Burrow be flooding? It hasn’t rained in days, there are flood controls. The Burrow shouldn’t be flooding! Tarj shook his head in disgust at the panic mongers. Flooding indeed, it’s probably a broken pipe in the bath house. Still, if the water had reached his chamber, it must have been a major pipe.

Increasingly nervous, Tarj grabbed his cloak and rolled it up. Tucking it under one arm, he moved to the door and opened it. Waist-high water poured in from the hallway and only Tarj’s grip on the door saved him from being shoved against the bed or the back wall.

Holy Mother! Tarj dragged himself into the hallway and moved toward the nearest exit, grateful, for once, to be banished to an exterior chamber. The distance was mercifully short. The water pouring in from outside confirmed that this was a flood and not a problem with the plumbing. Tarj made it outside to discover he’d escaped one nightmare, only to land in another.

Movement above his head and a brief flicker of shadow were his only warnings to throw himself into the muddy water and roll frantically to his right. The female who’d followed him was not so lucky. The Hooark seized her and soared away, silhouetted against the waxing moon that Rataan called Mushroom Cap and the fullness of the larger moon, Old Blood. Tarj’s scramble up the low hill to the earthworks that formed the southern edge of the stockyards held more terror than Tarj had experienced in his entire life. Surely the Holy Mother is protecting me, he thought, as he reached the nearest tunnel in the earthworks. He’d seen three others taken by Hooark during that frantic journey, but he’d been spared.

Tarj huddled in the wet murk of the tunnel until dawn. By that time, a half-dozen others had joined him, and Tarj had made an astonishing discovery. The others were not subjecting him to the usual scorn anyone who worked with the dyes became inured to. Everyone huddled in that stretch of tunnel stank of mud, garbage, and sewage. They were all covered in mud and slime. In their misery, they were equal. Amazingly, this new tolerance did not end when the sun rose higher and the day warmed. His new companions found Tarj’s knowledge of the local geography valuable. They were Taan’s Servants for the most part, and had spent nearly all their time at this Burrow underground. Most of them had no idea where to go for help, or, if they did, had no idea how to get there. Instead, they argued about why the flood controls had failed.

“They were just checked!” one Servant protested. “I authorized the repairs three days ago. The repair crew chief swore he would have the repairs completed within a day.”

“Perhaps the materials were faulty,” another suggested. “It’s easy to miss small defects, especially if you’re trying to meet a deadline.” The first Servant shook her head. She said, “I know this crew chief. He takes pride in his work. He’s always very careful. I think this is a new hunting strategy of the Hooark. Why else would there have been so many waiting above the burrow entrances? One or two might get lucky and notice, but I saw at least four, and there were probably dozens spread out across the flooded area.”

“I’m less worried about how it happened than why,” a third Servant said. “What have we done that the Holy Mother would condemn so many to drown?” Silence descended as they considered that question. Drowning was the Holy Mother’s worst punishment, reserved for heretics and unrepentant sinners. To have condemned so many of Her servants to such a fate meant that she was very angry.

It was a hungry, miserable journey to the nearest Burrow to find help, and more misery followed as the extent of the disaster became apparent. The vast library housed within the Burrow was gone, so much water-logged mulch. Of the hundreds of residents and visitors, less than thirty had escaped death by water or Hooark.