by
Marc H. Wyman & Chris Bogues
XXVII. Prey
“I
shouldn’t have made you tireless,” Lonapal sighed. The eagle was
perched on his arm, but its head was swerving around, gleefully scanning
the sky for aanything to catch its fancy – and later to be caught by its
claws. Regretfully, Lonapal brushed his free hand over his forehead.
Nearly two days of endlessly roaming the small expanse of sky over the
Eternal City, and now he wanted to rest for a little while, be in his own
home, in his bed for a while and enjoy not having to move.
“Fly,
my little one, fly!” he said and shook the eagle from his arm.
Immediately the bird responded, flapped its wings and soared off. Lonapal
smiled when the bird quickly curved around to fly past the god again,
urging him to join it. “Not now, little one. I for one can tire.
Fly! And don’t worry about Koultirsp. I’ve shielded you from her
blasts. No other deity can harm you. Now fly!” He waved at the bird, and
after a little while the creature understood. It cried disappointedly,
then it left the god.
Lonapal
hovered in the air. “I must find a name for you, little one. A name that
fits your beauty. Majesty? Emperor? Or is that Empress?” He shook his
head. He hadn’t quite decided on the eagle’s gender yet. Shenaumac had
made his pet male, but Lonapal wasn’t quite so sure about his eagle. For
one thing he had so long wanted Alyssa to fly with him, it seemed – well
– wrong to have a male companion. Then again, he still held out hope
that one day Alyssa would learn to enjoy the pleasures of the skies.
But
there was still time for this, he decided as he dropped down towards the
Eternal City. The ground felt marvelously solid, and for an instant,
Lonapal enjoyed the feeling of having a floor under his feet. As much as
he liked – and craved – flying, there was something relaxing about
using one’s legs. Hadn’t they taken this shape for that very pleasure?
He
smiled and started towards his home. He was quite taken with walking
again, so much that it took him a while to notice that water was starting
to rise around his feet. He only realized when he had to force his legs
against the pressure of the water.
Lonapal
stopped, looked down. He was standing in a small lake, waves running over
its surface, blown by a wind he didn’t feel. A few fish were swimming
through the waters, in sparkling colors. To his left, a column of water
rose, its walls changing, coalescing into a more or less fixed shape, like
a frieze. “Mannannan?” Lonapal blinked.
Ahead
of him the seagod climbed out of the lake, to stand on its surface.
“What?” he challenged.
“The
lake, it wasn’t here before,” Lonapal said and scooped some water up
in his hands. “Is there a… a reason for this?”
Mannannan
grimaced. “Koultirsp tore down the buildings around here – and my
fountains. Stupid goddess. Can’t contain her anger.” He shook his
head. “I didn’t touch your place, if that’s why you’re asking.
Don’t worry, it’s safe.”
“No,
that’s not –“
“Then
don’t distract me, hear?” Mannannan shot back. “Bad enough I don’t
get to go to my oceans, but I’m going to have my water around me. Now
get out!” Without waiting for a response, the seagod sank back into the
water, his shape seemingly merging with the waters of the lake.
Lonapal
shook his head sadly. Why did Mannannan have to be so edgy? He’d wanted
to talk, no more. If the seagod had created a lake and needed to occupy
himself in this way, that was his choice. Admittedly, Lonapal had nearly
forgotten about their captivity. It must be terrible for Mannannan, he
knew. How much time did that god spend in the Eternal City anyway, away
from his beloved oceans in the mortal world?
He
climbed out of the water, reconsidered and transported himself to his
home. His legs were still soggy, water pooling around his feet in the
middle of his house. Lonapal sighed, made the water disappear, then went
to his bed to lie down and think.
A
name for his eagle…
Darktime
had fallen when a loud noise interrupted Lonapal’s musing. He hadn’t
yet decided on what to do with the eagle, and now somebody was knocking on
his door, rather forcefully.
The
god shook his head, sighed, and opened the door while he got up and
smoothed his hair. “Lonapal!” Taurkémad’s voice cried from the
entrance hall.
He
stopped in his tracks. She sounded concerned, worried. His regrets
vanished as he quickly transported himself to the entrance hall – and
was surprised to see no only the goddess but also Shenaumac. The God of
Sharpened Things looked like his house had collapsed on top of him, his
clothes ruffled and dirty, trails of debris and dust on his face. Not to
mention the tears running down his cheeks.
“What
happened?” Lonapal asked.
Taurkémad
jutted her chin forward. “Tiger’s missing.”
“Have
you –“ Shenaumac had to stop and swallow. His hands were quivering,
aimlessly trailing over his upper body. “Have you seen Tiger? Please,
Pally, tell me he’s here, and he’s all right!”
“No,
I haven’t,” Lonapal snarled, overwhelmed by sudden worry.
Shenaumac’s
head lolled forward, the tears coming harder. “Oh, no, I had been hoping
he’d be… I’ve been searching for Tiger all day, everywhere, in the
rubble, in Mannannan’s lake, and…”
“Koultirsp,”
Taurkémad muttered. “She hates all pets.”
My
eagle! Lonapal was glad that he didn’t voice his thought – it
would have been so terribly only to think of his own pet when
Shenaumac’s was missing. “Let’s find Tiger first, all right? Then we
can…”
“Yes!
Find Tiger!” Shenaumac cried, grabbed Taurkémad’s tunic, already
halfway out the door. “We must hurry, if he’s hurt, if Tirspie has
–“ His voice broke again, overcome by tears and fears.
Taurkémad
shot a pleading glance at Lonapal, but there was no need for that.
“I’m coming!” the God of Light announced and hurried to join the two
other deities.
Together
they had been searching almost all darktime. Light was starting to seep in
around them, and there still had been no sign of Tiger. Nor, Lonapal had
begun to notice, had he seen his eagle in the sky. The bird didn’t tire,
and it couldn’t leave the Eternal City. Where was it? Maybe it
had perched itself on a rooftop, to observe quietly the surroundings. It
couldn’t see all that well in darktime, after all. He consoled himself
with the idea, yet consolation was starting to wane along with the
darkness around them. The brighter it got, the more his eagle should be
flying again!
“Where
else can he be?” Taurkémad frowned, one hand holding on tightly to
Shenaumac’s.
Lonapal
was glad that the God of Sharpened Things managed to keep himself
together. He was badly shaken, his eyes were wild with worry, but he
hadn’t rolled himself into a ball of worries. Not more than once or
twice. What would Lonapal do if something had happened to his eagle? Would
he take it as bravely as Shenaumac did?
He
didn’t want to find out.
“I
don’t know,” he answered Taurkémad’s question. “He can’t have
left the City, can he?”
Taurkémad
raised an eyebrow. “Cats have their own ways,” she sighed. For some
strange reason she licked her arm quickly and brushed it over her hair,
then stared at it as if she had never seen it before. “Forget it,” she
muttered to herself. “Shenaumac, could Tiger have gotten through
Haguen’s blockade?”
The
God of Sharpened Things didn’t react right away. He was staring at the
buildings around them, apparently looking through the walls, to see
whether Tiger was anywhere inside, in vain hoping for a mouse to happen
along. Then he shook himself, took a deep breath and wailed, “I don’t
know! Tiger’s a smart cat, he – Oh, Taurk, you know how cats are,
don’t you? And Haguen, he’s blocking us, the deities… I mean
he –“
“It’s
all right,” Taurkémad said softly and hugged Shenaumac. The god nearly
collapsed into her arms, wrapping his own around her body tightly, burying
his head in her shoulder. She darted a quick glance to Lonapal. “We can
get a view outside, can’t we? You’re the flying one.”
“Yes,
I am,” Lonapal asserted, already lifting himself off the ground and
rising into the air.
Taurkémad
smiled softly, held on to Shenaumac and raised both of them together, to
follow the God of Light.
Lonapal
concentrated, added his own brightness to the waxing daylight, surrounding
himself with it and beaming it out like a cone of radiance. First he saw
the walls of the Eternal City, as peaceful as ever, and then outside,
there was the landscape that the gods had made. Mannannan’s river –
the blue waters speckled with green – cut through the gently sloping
hills. Grass moved in a soft breeze. Bushes topped a few of the hills,
rocks peeked out from some others, a number of them covered with moss.
There was a grove of pear trees – Lonapal had enjoyed the fruit so much
he’d wanted some nearby -, and there were the cypresses that Mannannan
had liked near his river.
“Over
there.”
Taurkémad’s
voice was dire and taut. She’d grown a third hand, beside her regular
numbers holding on to Shenaumac, and was pointing in the opposite
direction of where Lonapal had been looking. Now he followed her pointing
finger. Before he saw anything, cold ran through him, and he knew what he
would see.
Blood
drenched a hill, a red flow that had washed over the green grass. Feathers
clung to the blood, large, majestic feathers that had once belonged to a
mighty and beautiful bird. “My eagle…” Lonapal whispered, then his
eyes took in the sight.
On
top of the hill, the carcass of his eagle lay, butchered by giant claws
and fangs. There was no need to wonder what kind of beast had done the
deed, for the winged, feline creature was still there, its gargantuan head
buried inside the cadaver, tearing strips of flesh from it.
Emptily
Lonapal repeated, “My eagle…”
“Tiger!”
Shenaumac yelled, broke free of Taurkémad’s hold and raced towards the
wall.
Lonapal
didn’t understand. There was no sign of Shenaumac’s tiny pet, there
was only his own, murdered, slaughtered by this winged cat that –
“No…”
“Koultirsp,”
Taurkémad said bitterly. “She’s changed Tiger and used him to kill
your eagle.”
“Tiger!”
Shenaumac rushed through the air, vaulted over the wall and landed next to
the winged cat. The other gods stared at this feat, disbelieving. The
blockade had vanished? Shenaumac had just left the City!
Lonapal
for one didn’t wait long. He followed his fellow god, not caring to
wonder about Taurkémad. His vision was filled by the sight of his eagle
– and the cat feeding on the bird. Anger welled up in him, he
filled his hands with lightning, ready to destroy the murdering beast.
“Don’t,”
Taurkémad was suddenly before him, her hands clasping shut around his.
“It isn’t Tiger’s fault. Koultirsp made him do it. The cat is as
much a victim as your eagle is.”
Lonapal
didn’t want to hear, he wanted to shove Taurkémad aside, take his
vengeance to the cat and – Over her shoulders, he saw Shenaumac collapse
on the hill, staring at what had once been his pet Tiger, one arm
stretched out, trying to reach the beast. Tears were running free over his
cheeks, and Lonapal heard his sobbing.
Finally
he lowered his hands. “Koultirsp,” he growled.
“Right,”
Taurkémad said. “She altered Tiger like she did my little dwarvies.”
“I
want to…” Lonapal had to stop, anger choking his throat. “I want to
make her pay!”
Taurkémad’s
eyes flared. “And I want to make her hurt.”
“Then
let’s.” Lonapal couldn’t remember his voice sounding so harsh. It
was a good sound, though.
The
goddess nodded. “Let’s,” she agreed.
United
in wrathfulness, the two gods went searching for Koultirsp and vengeance.
Tiger
raised his head from his impromptu plate of meat and noticed his master
cowering nearby. He was mystified how small his master was, but more than
that he was concerned by the cowering and sobbing. Tiger grunted, walked
over to his master and stubbed him playfully in the side.
“What?”
Shenaumac muttered, immediately checked the sky for any nearby gods. None
were there, and a smile started spreading on his face. “Oh, Tiger!” he
cheered and slung his arms around the cat’s head. Tiger growled with
relief that his master was coming to his senses – and then froze when he
realized that the growl changed into a soft mewing, and he was shrinking,
soon small enough to fit into his master’s hands.
Oh,
well, it had been a nice experience while it lasted. Now he rubbed his
head against the god’s chest, mewed petulantly. Time for some nice
stroking.
“You
deserve this,” Shenaumac whispered and obliged the cat with enjoyment.
“You’re such a good kitty, Tiger! Yes, good boy, good boy!”
Tiger
happily agreed. His stomach was rather full now, amply filled with tasty
bird meat, and he was getting stroked.
“Well,
of course, I was good, too,” Shenaumac continued. “There should be an
award for acting, don’t you find? Best god in a dramatic performance…
and best pet, too, obviously.” He casually changed his appearance back
to the orderly standard, rubbed his nose with Tiger’s and gleefully
waited for the lightning bolts in the distance, signifying the battle
between Koultirsp and the vengeful (not to mention gullible) gods.
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