Wars of the Aoten Read online

  Chapter XII

  Artur gently placed Andreia upon the ground in the midst of the Rufoux village, and disappeared into the wood. Wyllem followed.

  “There is a secret. So said Andreia.”

  “If a secret lies hidden,” replied Wyllem. “Shouldn’t it follow that we must also root out a keeper of the secret?”

  “That would follow, yes. Is it you?”

  “No, I must confess. But do you suppose the knowledge dwells here in the forest?”

  Artur thought of Theodoric, and barked. “I doubt it.”

  “Then why do you withdraw away from the village?”

  “Because peace dwells in the wood, and solitude. At least it used to.” Artur scowled at Wyllem’s unwelcome presence, and he drove deeper than usual into the forested land.

  Not to be deterred by this abuse, Wyllem continued his pace alongside Artur, but he kept silent for the moment. Questions raced through his head, but he couldn’t strike upon one he thought helpful. The two headed directly westward, well away from the Aoten camp. Birds twittered above them, interrupted only by an occasional raucous squawk from one of the larger ones. Small animals bounded out of the way of the oncoming footsteps, unaware that the land had only just seen a bloody, deadly conflict. The minds of the Rufoux were out of sorts with their world. A hummingbird trailed behind.

  “What if we built a high stockade, taller than the giants, all around the village?” Wyllem finally asked.

  “For what purpose?”

  “To keep the Aoten out.”

  “It would do a much better job of keeping the Rufoux in.”

  “But, for protection …”

  Artur replied angrily, “Wyllem, we fight for our lives, true. But we also fight for the lives of our forefathers. The Rufoux rule Medialia as its greatest clan. Our fathers and mothers before us built a culture of might, of warfare, of metalworking, and tending the fields. All the clans covet our fields. And all the clans clear their paths before us; we can go anywhere we wish throughout Medialia, without fear.”

  Artur stopped and peered into the treetops. “Anywhere! Do you hear?”

  Wyllem looked overhead as well without knowing why.

  “We go where we wish. We allow the borders of the other tribes, but if we want to, we will cross those borders without thinking twice. It is the Rufoux way. Now should we build a prison around our village, and declare that we’re afraid to walk about Medialia? No! Never, while I’m chieftain. The Rufoux will forever be free to go where we please, and if we must drive out the Aoten to do so, we will. If we must kill every one of the Aoten, we will.”

  “How many have we killed so far?” asked Wyllem.

  Artur didn’t answer; he got the point. At the current rate, there would be no Rufoux left to roam Medialia and plenty of giants left over. He sat down heavily in some dense undergrowth.

  “What can we do that we haven’t tried already?” asked Wyllem.

  “There remains a secret. Andreia said I would know when I hear it. She said so.”

  “You put much stock in this girl, Artur.”

  “Yes. Not since Lauræl … but what does that matter now? Neither is that the Rufoux way.”

  Silently they sat together against a tree. Artur drew aimlessly in the dirt with a stick, studying his designs while thinking of other things completely, and Wyllem continued to sort his questions. The thoughts fell dead in his mind; not one had an answer.

  Time passed, and eventually the men heard a throaty grunting noise easing closer behind them. Silently they exchanged glances and turned upon their hands and knees. Creeping quietly through the underbrush, they poked their heads through the other side and spied out the source of the rhythmic snorting.

  A magnificent therium made its way lazily through the forest, coming into a small clearing, sniffing about at the leaves overhead. Rufoux seldom saw therium, simply because they didn’t usually enter into the animals’ deep-forest domain; Artur and Wyllem felt like worshippers as they beheld the huge beast. Its lips curled around small branches and gathered them into its teeth, and its six horns stood menacingly over its snout and brow. The trees groaned and complained as the beast pulled its food loose. This one had apparently just enjoyed a mud bath, for brown slime and algae covered its back and sides. Limp stems of water plants hung to wiry hairs sticking out in all directions, and small birds flew down to quickly stab at seeds and ticks stuck to its hide before making a hasty retreat back into the trees.

  “Come,” whispered Wyllem. “Show me how you bring down a therium.”

  “No thanks,” said Artur.

  Artur and Wyllem watched enthralled while the creature ambled along. This animal truly mastered the land, unafraid and uncaring. It needn’t worry about shelter, nor hunger, nor attack. In utter confidence it dumbly packed its belly on the abundance of the land and filled its lungs with prosperity. The great mass of muscle and horn could easily mow down the two Rufoux if provoked, but short of that, they felt quite safe.

  Artur nudged Wyllem and pointed to their left. A movement under cover of the bracken caught his eye. The men froze, now not in wonderment but knowing they were in real danger of their lives.

  The malevolent head of a thylak appeared from the undergrowth, stiffly, stealthily. It might be upon the two men in an instant, giving them no opportunity to fight in such close quarters. But this thylak did not notice their presence; its eyes fixed upon the therium. Artur glanced toward Wyllem as if to say, “It’s crazy.” Slowly it emerged, crouching to the ground, waiting for the perfect moment, or for its courage to arise, or for the therium to drop dead.

  From the thylak to the unsuspecting therium and back again, the Rufoux men watched the drama unfold. Artur found himself rooting for the hunter, not even half the height of the therium’s shank, amazed at its brazen audacity, its readiness to defy death as well as its huge prey. He caught his breath as he saw the thylak begin its assault.

  Approaching the therium from the back, the thylak crept along faster and faster until it broke into a full run. Now at the side of the therium, it leapt upon its shoulders and sank its fangs into the thick skin as well as it could. The startled therium let out a bellow. It reared up on its hind quarters and came down with such a crash that the thylak went tumbling to the ground. The animal ducked away before the therium could crush it under a hoof, but instead of running for cover as Artur expected, it circled back around toward the therium’s rear.

  Again the thylak jumped upon the therium’s back, and again it crashed to the ground. Again it gathered itself out of harm’s way and prepared for another attack. Again it made for the giant beast’s neck. Again Artur elbowed Wyllem and pointed.

  Out of the underbrush had come another thylak, stalking as did the first one before breaking into a sprint. Both animals now leapt upon the therium’s back, and both fell squirming upon the ground. The therium turned and cried out in fury, charging with its horns and pawing the ground, but the thylak jumped out of the way. And then yet a third came.

  The therium spun in confusion now, but every time a thylak made for its shoulders, still the behemoth shook it off. No longer could it even think about stamping out the lives of its attackers, though, as two or three immediately replaced every one or two shaken off. Survival now entirely occupied the hunted creature. And then a fourth and fifth came.

  Now constantly thylak hung upon its back, or shoulders, or hindquarters. The therium kicked and bucked, but the onslaught didn’t relent. Finally it turned and did something the Rufoux had never seen: It ran. It ran for its life. But as it reached the thicker foliage, the therium met with the glaring eyes of the full pack of thylak, waiting in ambush.

  They poured out of the undergrowth, more and more, piling upon the panicked therium. Ten, twenty, thirty — the swarm of predators defied counting. At full gallop a long line of the beasts appeared from among the trees to leap upon their prey. The swarming animals covered the screaming therium like a fur coat; some thylak leapt into the attack
only to sink their teeth into other thylak, so thick did they cling to the beast’s hide. And still more they came; Artur and Wyllem looked on, entranced in horror.

  The therium twisted and wailed mournfully; it tried to butt attackers off with its horns and scrape them off against trees. But still they came. The thylak, despite their reputation for cowardice, never ceased until the therium fell upon its knees; and at that moment the question was suddenly settled. Teeth too sharp, bodies too heavy, blood flowing too red, the therium could no longer hold up under its enemies. One last jerking attempt at freedom, and the mighty animal lay down in the dust of death.

  Artur and Wyllem let out their breath for the first time in what seemed a half-hour. Never had anyone seen such a thing: A therium brought down! The Rufoux themselves never attempted a wonder such as this, Artur thought, then caught himself and grasped his necklace. The overwhelming numbers of thylak had brought down the most powerful of all the wooly ones, the small making themselves mighty through incredible numbers.

  “Perhaps the thylak do learn,” said a voice from overhead.