Under A Wild Star

by SwordTune

Ch 2: New Cycle's Eve

They climbed up the mountain paths surrounded by an enchanted world of greens and blues. Zoak trees, with their dark blue leaves, dripped cold dew down to the new grass and flowers that sprung from defrosted soil.

She had seen it fourteen times, but Nisus was still stunned by the mountain’s beauty. In a few more weeks, it will look as if winter had never even happened.

She and August were on the path to another clan’s camp. Tomorrow would be the day the Melt officially ended, and it was their duty to check if the mountain had fully cleared. They usually were, but once every ten cycles or so a Melt would be particularly slow at warming up.

Nisus dug her hooves into the craggy rocks and pushed higher up the path, cutting through more dangerous corners to make short the time.

“We’re in no rush,” August reminded her. There were dozens of clans within a day’s walking distance, but each team was responsible for only one path.

“I haven’t seen the Kerns in three cycles,” Nisus said, continuing without her cousin.

August chortled. “You have a special sweetheart waiting for you or something?”

Nisus snarled at her cousin, jerking her head toward her hunting kit. “They have more herbs for medicine than we do. Last time I got a cut from a hunt, I had to ice the wound for days.”

She tightened the leather strap of her kit around her shoulder and pressed forward. Though the Kern clan higher up the mountain, it was a sister clan to theirs, both being lowlanders who thrived off the bountiful hills surrounding the mountain during the warmer seasons.

With the Melt over, more and more creatures stirred in the forests. Nisus saw blaze snakes, slender and long reptiles with fangs as white as the snow they hibernated under. Warmed by the sun, the snakes rolled out of their tunnels in knotted bundles, spraying oils from their fangs that burned after being exposed to air for some time.

Adder-hares bounded about as well. Like most rabbit-like animals, their legs were lumpy with powerful muscles, but these hares were not fleeing from prey. Their heads were a lot like blaze snakes, though they used digestive venom to kill the field mice that scurried through the bushes.

The sun passed its zenith when August and Nisus rounded the mountain into Kern territory. They stopped at the Splitting Creek, a long stream of water that marked borders for a lot of clans. Its source came from the very top of the mountain, where ice could melt all cycle and never seem to shrink.

The cousins didn’t say a word to each other. They opened their hunting kits, found their water skins, and collected as much as they could from the creek.

Nisus put a cork in her waterskin and dumped her head into the water, drinking as much as she could without drowning.

August sat up and drew a sip from his waterskin. “I thought you were tougher than that,” he teased her desperate gulps. “A hunter should be able to make this hike without trouble.”

Though her mouth was still in the creek, he caught her glaring from the corner of her eyes. Sharp griffon-given pupils cast the same look that Nisus used whenever August boasted how he was so much better at magic.

She pulled her head up, gasping for air. “I don’t hide myself like a jack who thinks he has something to prove to the jills.” Nisus looked at the deep gulps August was taking from his waterskin. “Plus if I did, I’d do it better.”

After minutes of rest, the two of them turned their eyes across the creek. Rushing water covered a lot of noises, but the snapping of twigs was unmistakable. From behind a thick zoak tree, a tall chimaera with dark brown scales walked out.

The single horn in the middle of his forehead had white scales in a spiral pattern. A rare trait, among the clans of the mountains. Kerns were one of the few clans to grow horns. The hunter waved to them, pointing to stone outcroppings just slightly downstream. It was an invitation to cross into his clan’s land.

August didn’t hesitate to take the first step. His tall but thin frame gave his legs more than enough reach, and his bony wings stretched out to balance his upper body. Against the rocks, he needed only to dig his hooves into a groove and he was firmly in place to take the next leap.

Nisus followed, managing to jump across the creek at the same pace despite their differences. She was average in height but still shorter than August. It was her lean muscles, crafted from over a decade of hunting, that gave her a spring in her step that shot her quickly over the rocks.

“August!” the chimaera greeted them immediately when they had crossed. Coming closer, Nisus could see how big the hunter was. Her cousin may have been the same height as this Kern, but that was where the similarities stopped.

It looked as if he had swallowed August up when they embraced each other. As they squeezed their arms around, the Kern looked as if his scales would burst from his skin. The diamond-shaped scales stretched and strained, fighting against sharply defined muscles that looked like they had been forged from metal.

August’s long arms clapped the chimaera on the back. “Beran, old friend, it’s good to see you.”

Nisus looked at the two, a little confused. She had known August for as long as she knew herself. This “Beran” was a stranger.

“This is… your sister?” The brown giant looked at Nisus flashed a big grin, eyes lighting up with excitement through the curly orange mane that parted at his horn. “So you’re the hunter I’ve heard so much about!”

Without warning, he grabbed her arm and pulled her in for a meaty hug as well. If August had been swallowed up in Beran’s embrace, Nisus was definitely buried in it. She was both shorter and thinner, and could scarcely breathe under the weight of his welcome.

August laughed and tugged on his friend to relax. “She’s my cousin, Beran. Though the mistake is easy to make. We grew up together ever since,” August paused. “Well, our parents were close siblings, so were raised almost like siblings.”

“Did you tell me that before?” Beran let go of Nisus and patted her on the head. “Looks like you’ll have to help my memory, August, it’s been a while.”

The two jacks strolled further along the path, talking so much that Nisus wasn’t sure if she should be the one mistaken as a sibling, or Beran. She kept slightly behind them, listening as they talked to figure out how they knew each other.

It must’ve been six cycles ago when they met. The two friends kept reminding each other about a time they had spent in a ravine that had been hidden by ice, even though winter was over. The last time the Melt had taken longer was six cycles ago.

Nisus tried to think back. She was eight cycles old then, and the memory had blurred with other cycles, but she did recall a moment when August had gone missing.

“So, eleven winters of hunting, huh?” Beran asked, turning his head back and pointing his horn to Nisus. He slapped August on the back. “Hope this one wasn’t teaching you!”

She smirked alongside Beran’s booming laughter. “This would be my twelfth winter hunting,” Nisus added, “I’ll be fifteen cycles old come mid-spring.”

“It’s a shame the Elements made time so fleeting,” Bera said. His wide strides were already twice as long as Nisus, but he picked up his pace as if not to waste a second. “But I’m glad you came to check on the path. I was hoping I could ask a favour of your cousin, but I don’t think he’s a strong enough hunter for the task.”

“Hey,” August frowned, punching Beran in the shoulder. Nisus wasn’t sure if the giant even felt it.

“We had an attack last night,” Beran said, dropping his cheerful tone just a bit. “The beast took only food, but one of our Foretellers was injured trying to stop it.”

“Beast?” Nisus, suddenly interested, kept pace with Beran. “I’m guessing you didn’t get a good look at it.”

Beran shook his head. “That’s the thing, we did. No one in the clan knows what it was.”

That was strange. Nisus had heard about different animals that lived beyond the hills. Those distant lands might have been far away, but the clans weren’t ignorant about them. There were still hunters in living memory who had left the mountain, embarking on Life Hunts that could take years to accomplish.

Those who returned told stories of a body of water that could not be drained away by a thousand rivers. They said they saw soft hills that held no trees or grass, only coarse, dry sand. The animals they brought back from those hunts were as bizarre as the places they described. However, all of those strange creatures still had their hides displayed in at least one clan. For an animal in the mountain to be unidentifiable by an entire clan was, in Nisus’s mind, impossible.

“You’ll need to find it, then,” she ultimately said as they exited the forest, stepping onto higher ground where the soil was rockier and the trees were spaced apart, competing harder for nutrients. “Why not send some of your hunters?”

“And choose Kerns over Ghendings?” Beran barked a laugh. “Not when it comes to hunting. Your people have free reign over that skill. Besides, mine are still trying to gather the pieces of our home.”

“Not giving us much of a choice, then,” August said, catching the grin on his cousin’s face. Of course they were going to go on the hunt. Nisus couldn’t think of a better way to start the cycle than bringing down a mystery beast.

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That next day, Nisus packed her hunting kit with everything she could find in her tent. She really needed to tidy up. But that was a problem for later.

The bag that held her kit together had two loops of rawhide on its side, sewn into the thick leather to slip spears into them. Inside, a roll of twine and a few bone needles for sewing were wrapped up in a cloth made from ibex-sheepskin.

A box filled with an herbal poultice sat next to it. When chewed, the dried leaves turned into a thick paste that slowed bleeding and prevented infection. There were also waterskins, pieces of flint and pyrite, and her obsidian knife.

For all her preparations, Nisus still hesitated. She organized her cot, rolled up her blankets, and put everything to one side.

August swung by when the sky turned pink enough to cast a faint ray of light though the tent flap. “What’re you doing, sleeping in? Did you forget we have a beast to track?”

“Just a minute,” Nisus replied, wiping the dust off her claws. Her tent had never looked so clean. And empty.

She let her eyes finally drift over to the thing she had been avoiding. The bow hung on a rack made from ox-bear horns, unstrung. Nisus was glad August was here. He’d understand if she wasn’t able to pick it up.

She took her time eyeing the bow, feeling in her palms the sinews and deer-hawk antlers that encapsulated the wood core. Bows like this were hard to make. One could take months of work, or even a whole cycle if the chimaera was picky over little details.

At the centre, a diamond shape was carved into antlers and then dyed indigo using flower petal stains. It was the symbol of inspiration, her father had once told her. It was meant to inspire others and provide the materials to make more bows.

Nisus closed her eyes and forced herself to pick up the quiver lying on the floor below the bow. She slung it over the same shoulder as her kit. She grabbed her bow, produced a fine then, and then bent the bow back with her hoof, bringing the ends together to attack the new string.

“Ma, Pa, I’ll handle it. Just inspire me.” Nisus stepped outside her tent, pacing quickly ahead as to not draw attention. But, apparently, it couldn’t stop August’s prying eyes.

“You’re bringing their...” his voice trailed off. “That’s rare.”

“Not sure what kind of beast it’ll be,” she said, keeping a brisk pace, “but it escaped a clan camp. It can’t be easy to hunt down.”

They left the camp just as Foretellers and their kin from up the mountain came down with toboggans with goods to trade. Highlanders were always the first to show up. Living near the peak of the mountain was rough. Up there, snow fell for the whole cycle and ice never melted.

“Hold on,” Nisus said, making her cousin wait by the camp entrance. She brought her bow because a mysterious creature could be too much to handle with just a spear, but an old obsidian knife wasn’t in any shape to go hunting either.

She left August and walked by the highland tents. Each clan’s traders decorated themselves and their tents with unique items from their home. Some were understandable, like the Crystallers who showed off the gemstones they mined with embroidered furs. Other clans were bizarre, like the Crankcasters, who covered their tent with scrap metal from their spring-powered contraptions.

To Nisus, the Ironhearths fell in the latter category. They lived so high, trees were scarce and building with wood wasn’t an option. Hides and furs covered their tent, but the frame was built from tubes of metal instead of branches.

Nisus approached one of the traders. He wasn’t a hunter or a Foreteller. The Ironhearths had chimaeras dedicated to making tools. Metal was, by all accounts, a more difficult material to work with.

“Good morning,” she greeted him.

The middle-aged jack with short silver hair smiled, nodding and speaking with a heavy highland accent. “Gootaye, grele!” He slapped her on the back. “Dou winnaeby anadinou sey?”

Every word out of his mouth was another reason every clan needed its Foretellers. Dialects changed between clans, but there was no greater difference than between the highland and lowland clans. Only Foretellers had the time and experience to learn and memorize all the different ways of speaking.

She made a face at him, saying nothing and just picking up one of his steel spearheads. The barbed blade looked fit for cutting wide gashes and hooking onto skin. Similarly, other blades were made for specific purposes. Some were thin and long, covered in small hooks that would snag onto a creature’s fur. Horrifying multi-blade heads seemed as if they could tear whole pieces off of an animal.

“A knife,” she said to him. “I just need a knife.”

The Ironhearth, looking back at her with confused eyes. “Imufade melulanth isind vry goot.” He pointed to a quiver of arrows, and then to her bow. “Dou windis?”

Nisus covered her face. How does August do this? she asked herself, imagining his voice repeating all the highland words she was supposed to know.

“Nehf,” she said in more a question than a statement. To assert her point, she produced her obsidian knife from her kit. “Nehf. I want a nehf.”

The chimaera’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. Step by step, they traded words in a slow conversation, negotiating price and material quality, only to realize they both completely misunderstood each other. Nisus had thought the crafter said he had many knives to trade. He shook his head and repeated himself two more times to her. He didn’t have any knives to trade. Frustration washed over Nisus as she put away her knife with a shaky claw. If she wasn’t surrounded by guests, she would’ve screamed at the language barrier.

Instead, she gritted her teeth and thanked the crafter for his time in the best highland dialect she could manage.

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“Even the best of them have such a heavy accent!” Nisus threw her arms around in disbelief as they marched over the stream into Kern lands.

“Come on, their Foretellers speak the lowland dialects well enough,” August said in defence of the Ironhearths. “You must’ve lost patience too soon.”

“Five, August,” she grumbled. “I tried talking to five traders before we had to leave. The only Foreteller around was selling nets and wires with his hunters. No knives.”

“You could’ve asked him to translate for the other traders,” he said. “Or you could’ve brought me along.”

Nisus rolled her eyes. “I bet you speak highland as bad as they speak lowland.”

“Alright, then,” August sighed, stopping to pull out a flint knife from his kit. He handed it to Nisus. “If it’ll stop your whining, take mine. You’re better with it, anyhow.”

Nisus took the knife and inspected it. The flint couldn’t hold as sharp an edge as obsidian, but it was more durable and still sharp enough to skin an animal. She took some twine from her kit and wrapped up the blade to protect it from chipping.

“I’m not whining,” she folded her arms, storming in front of August. “I just wanted a good knife.”

“Whatever, cousin,” he rolled his eyes, keeping a distance behind.

Noon passed, and soon it was evening when they reached the Kern clan’s camp. Beran waited with them at the camp’s entrance, along with three other hunters almost as large as he was.

“Welcome back, friend!” He waved to August. “Glad to see the path wasn’t too slippery this time.” The goliath laughed at his own joke, though his voice was so deep and loud that Nisus thought it sounded more like a mountain cat’s roar.

Beran welcomed them both into the camp, providing two small bowls filled with a black soup from the clan’s lunch. Despite looking like dirt, the Kern clan’s thick herbal broths could make a hunter feel refreshed and energized even after a long day.

Nisus drank sparingly. It wasn’t right for a hunter to fill their belly before their prey was downed. Beran and his own hunters scooped bowls of the soup as well, picking out squares of chopped meat and roots to chew on.

While they ate, Nisus noticed August’s mark was glowing. Her cousin’s eyes seemed to ignore everything around them, focusing only on the trees around the camp.

Weg finden yege. Wayfinding magic, it was one of their clan’s unique spells. Foretellers used it to track animals that left behind few signs.

“What do you see?” Nisus asked. She followed his stare, over to a large hole in the camp’s walls. A spell wasn’t necessary to know that whatever caused that damage must’ve been huge. Clans in the lowlands, where timber was plenty, built with walls out of solid zoak logs, locked together by countless layers of twine and resin.

“I don’t know of any creature on these mountains that could’ve done that,” August muttered, leaving the soup cauldron to take a closer look.

Beran watched the two Ghendings run off as he scooped another bowl for himself. “Are we starting now? We haven’t even finished second lunch!” Reluctantly, he and the other Kern hunters emptied their bowls into their bellies and hurried to catch up with Nisus and August.

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The trail of snapped trees continued for about a mile from the Kern camp, continuing from rocky forests back down to the thicker woodlands. A good hiding spot for most animals.

Nisus let her cousin give the directions from behind her, but every chimaera in their group agreed to let her lead. Magic was useful, and August’s senses were surely supernatural while he used it, but Nisus had more experience hunting and fighting animals.

The Kerns were impressed. They tracked the beast through their clans territory, marching across rocky forests that the Ghendings weren’t native to, yet the two cousins took to the task like they had lived in the woods for cycles.

“That’s my keus-bhrater,” Beran boasted to Cerran, another Kern hunter. The charcoal-scaled chimaera smiled, but said little.

“Try to lower your voice,” Nisus hushed as she slowed her pace. “Something’s not right. Look ahead, the trail suddenly stops.”

“You mean you can’t track it?” Beran lowered his voice as much as he could.

Nisus shook her head. An ox-bear couldn’t hide its trail, she thought to herself, let alone whatever monster created this.

She stretched out her arm, aiming her claw to the trees. Her spell, drogomos yege, constructed an imaginary line across the path of destroyed trees. Nisus’s eyes widened when she compared it to her own arm. The beast was easily seven or eight reaches wide if it made this path. There couldn’t be too many places for it to hide.

August tapped Nisus on the shoulder. “Look,” he said, pointing up from where they stood. Leaves were torn off the tall zoak trees, but the path seemed wider above than it was below. Nisus looked over her shoulder, stretching out her own vestigial wings.

“Nothing that big can fly,” she finally said, gesturing to the path they stood in. “A deer-hawk doesn’t even come close.”

“It is still possible,” Beran said. His lighthearted cheer was still written across his face, but the furrow over his eyes told Nisus he was serious now. “It attacked our camp at night, after all. We wouldn’t have seen it if this is where it flew off.”

“Doesn’t matter if it did,” Nisus said, bending down to pick up a budding zap-apple flower from the zoak trees. “It flew low. The beast is heavy.”

She pointed to the broken tree path on the left, holding out the bud. It was a faint but wide trail, several reaches wide, of flower buds. Suddenly, the fear of the unknown washed out of Nisus. Hunting was put into her blood by the Elements. Big or small, grounded or flying, she’d find her prey.