“Izzie, this is Laralla. She is the finest zuraach in this or any other tribe.”
Laralla looked up and flashed her a friendly smile. “And this is the finest paxha that I have ever seen. Your mate is a very skilled hunter.”
Pleasure filled Izzie at this female’s praise of Baralt. “He’s very special,” she agreed.
“I must begin before the scales begin to decay. I want to capture every detail.” Laralla smiled again. “And I am sure that you are ready to start preparing the feast, Zemma.”
As Izzie watched in fascination, Laralla bent over the paxha. She began by placing a thin layer of cloth beneath each of the fins so that they were easily distinguished from the rest of the body. After making a few notes in an elaborate leather-bound notebook, she scattered a fine substance over the paxha, making sure that every inch was covered. Then she unrolled a long, wide sheet of what looked like a very fine paper. She positioned it carefully over the body, then took a soft brush and worked the paper against the scales.
Izzie finally realized that she was essentially making a rubbing of the paxha. That explained the clarity of the image in Baralt’s bedroom, but somehow the process transformed the fearsome-looking creature into a fine work of art.
Both she and Zemma watched as Laralla worked quickly but with exquisite attention to detail. After she finished with the tail, she waited a few minutes and then very carefully removed the paper.
“There. I have no more need of the body.”
“What do you do next?” Izzie asked.
“I will take this back to my studio and lay in the colors. The machi powder captures the texture, and then I add the shading. The end result is an image that can be transferred to wherever Baralt would like it.”
“Did you do the one in his bedroom? It’s beautiful.”
Laralla looked pleased. “Thank you. It was a fine specimen, but this…this is the best I have ever seen. It is an honor to render it.”
Carefully rolling up the paper, Laralla nodded and hurried away.
“I had no idea,” Izzie murmured.
“It’s fascinating, is it not? I wanted to be a zuraach when I was a child.” Sadness crossed Zemma’s face, but then she pushed it aside and grinned at Izzie. “Now comes the messy part.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the paxha has to be skinned and cleaned in order to be prepared for the feast.”
Izzie gave the creature a disgusted look. “Really? And we have to do it?”
“It is tradition that the females of the household prepare the paxha.” Zemma paused, then her eyes sparkled with mischief. “But many things are changing these days. I wonder if Baralt’s admirers would care to assist.”
Izzie looked down into the main cavern and saw that the crowd of young warriors were still clustered below. One of them looked up and saw her watching. Before he could duck his head and look away, she gestured for him to come and join them. He raced up the ramp looking pleased and nervous.
“Yes, mistress? Did you summon me?”
“I did. While we are of course thrilled that my mate had such a successful hunt, the creature is so large and there are only two of us to prepare it. I was wondering if perhaps you and your friends could assist?” She all but batted her eyes at him, and she saw Zemma laughing behind his back.
He looked first shocked, then thoughtful, then finally excited. “Of course we would be happy to help. And perhaps you could reward us with tales of your mate’s prowess while we worked.”
She almost laughed at the casual way he slipped that in, but it was a small price to pay not to have to touch the paxha.
“I don’t know that many stories, but I could tell you about one of his fights? If you would like that.”
He grinned. “I look forward to it. My name is Petralt.”
“And I am Izzie.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Izzie, mate of Baralt.”
He went to gather the rest of his companions, and Zemma laughed. “You, my sister, are a genius. It’s about time these males learn to clean what they kill.”
Later that evening, Izzie leaned sleepily against Baralt’s side. To her surprise, the paxha, stuffed with edible mosses and roasted over an open fire, had proven to be delicious. The group of young warriors had been cheerfully efficient as they’d followed Zemma’s instructions to prepare it. Izzie had been in the middle of the story of Baralt’s fight with Goolig when he had rejoined them. He had looked startled but not disapproving, and he seemed to have regained his usual equanimity. When he’d joined the youngsters in cleaning the paxha, they had bombarded him with questions. He had answered willingly enough, although he’d made no attempt to either portray himself as a hero or to deemphasize the downside of the gladiator lifestyle.
“But you were free,” Petralt had said at one point. “Free to go wherever you wanted. Free to find a mate.”
“Not as free as you would imagine. The fight contracts are designed to benefit the fight master, not the fighter, especially at the beginning. There were several times when I did not think that I would survive.” An abashed silence had fallen, and then Baralt had looked at her, and his face had softened. “But to find my mate, I would do it all again.”
When the young warriors had left, carrying the prepared paxha to a spit over an open fire of what appeared to be chunks of wood, they had been talking eagerly among themselves. They were still talking now, she noticed, huddled together on the other side of the fire. Zemma had joined them, and they were obviously delighted by her presence, but although Zemma laughed
