Now, I do not have even that. My fated mate is going to die, and there is nothing I can do to save her. She died discovering the cause of our people’s sickness.
If Tammy dies, there’ll be nothing to fight for – and yet the fish-eating triad will claim that because she is dying, and not yet dead, that the fight should still take place.
According to our traditions, I suppose it should. We will have to fight to the death, because I know we’ll receive no mercy from the fish-eaters. Their hatred for Hadone is too strong.
Perhaps if they knew the truth of what happened to that human woman, they’d not even care about keeping the battle within the rules of our society. They would attack my triad without even care of banishment.
Perhaps I can’t blame them – not because I feel Hadone is deserving of such hatred, but because I feel the pain that the fish-eaters must have experienced when they lost their fated-mate.
I pick up Tammy. She’s so light – like a child. Her eyes are now closed, and she doesn’t breathe easily. Despite being in a coma, she’s unable to maintain the slow breathing rhythm of sleep. Her breath is raspy, instead; each lungful a struggle. I am glad that she’s not awake to feel the torture of her ragged, bloody lungs.
We walk slowly. Each step of my feet on the soft dirt makes my toes wriggle. I’d ache to feel this soft earth beneath my bare feet for a lifetime, walking hand-in-hand with my mate. Yet now, she has been taken from me – and in a few short minutes, we shall be taken from her.
We reach the hidden entrance to our tribal caverns, and descend into the darkness below. Together, we walk down the long tunnel until it opens up into the place we’d called home for nearly two centuries – until we were exiled because of our conflict with the fish-eaters.
And, appropriately enough, there they are. The fish-eaters are waiting for us. Waiting to end us.
And yet they look at us with shock.
“You could not even keep her safe? You’re failures – not even fit to be members of the Scorp-Blood tribe.” It’s their leader, Cornal, and his words are scathing.
“Does she live?” Ton demands.
“She lives,” I reply.
“Then we will still fight for her.”
23
Forn
I turn to Chief Rattler. He sits in the place of honor. In front of him, the ancestral fighting ground is open and cleared. Rattler and his triad stare at us without blinking.
“Tammy found the source of the sickness,” I say, to a chorus of gasps that turn into hacking coughs. A sick Aurelian is about to bite into a haunch of deer, but I rush to him, ripping the meat from his hands.
“What farce is this?” Yells Cornal, aching to fight us and rip our throats out with his bare hands.
I show everyone the piece of meat. There is black residue, so faint that unless you were looking for it, you’d never notice.
I show everyone the piece of meat. There is black residue in the other haunches that had been prepared for mealtime.
“The meat has tasted rotten ever since the beginning of the sickness. Now I think about it, I remember noticing it – and many others of you have said the same. This is because it’s causing the sickness. Tammy saw a deer eating of a black mushroom, which makes us ill. That’s the reason that our tribe is dying – not a disease, but a poison. We must eradicate the mushroom, and in the meantime, eat only fish like the fish-eater triad. That’s why they never got sick.”
An idea hits me. I’ll take a gamble, hoping that I can convince my tribe and spare my triad the bloodshed of a losing battle.
“Tammy was brought to us to save our tribe in our time of need. She is fated to us, but in a bond greater than mere love. We must consult the Orb-God.”
Ton growls. “You accepted the challenge. You will fight first.”
I shake my head. “We have the right to consult,” I reply. “That is our tribe’s most sacred rule.”
Ton growls, but doesn’t protest. Even he must abide by that standard.
I gently pull Tammy from the ground, grabbing her and holding her tiny form tight against my body. Her harsh breathing breaks my heart with every rasp. It was she who stopped me from seeking audience with the massive, pulsating Orb-God that rules our tribe; and at the time it had been the right thing to do. She was being tested just as the warriors of our tribe are; and she had not yet found the key to solving the mystery of this sickness.
But now she has – she has proven herself worthy. Having recognized that will be the key to our survival. Without the Orb-God’s judgement and benevolence, we have no chance of finding our fated mates; so even the fish-eaters will respect its demands.
Benevolence. No, that is not the word. Our God demands violence to prove our worth – a bloody sacrifice, to be given before he allows our people to grow and spread our seed.
Chief Rattler tries to stand, but he is too weak. “He has the right,” he nods, coughing and wheezing. More of the blackness leaves his lips. It was so simple all this time. The meat of game animals is what has been poisoning my tribe.
At the end of the cavern is the long pathway to the shrine of our deity. I have seen the Orb-God only twice before, both times to consult it for our future. The thing is huge, dwarfing me and making me feel so small and insignificant in its presence.
Our Orb-God is a rippling sphere of pure power, floating above the rocks and crackling with barely-constrained energy. It is a thing, a presence – a sentient creature that can show you visions of your future, or smite you
