ISAIAH WAS DETERMINED to do everything he could to keep up with Cyra. To his relief, Indra unreluctantly followed her pace, and other than sitting as tightly as he could in the saddle, it required minimal effort. He had to contain himself not to suggest entering any of the villages they passed by. Though he’d gone four whole days without shelter when riding back home, he’d seen this as a very temporary thing that he’d never need to do again. Besides, it was colder now, and he sensed he needed more supplies than what he’d brought (the rope, his knife and book.) He wasn’t quite sure why he’d brought the book, as it had no other function than reminding him of past failures. Still, it was his grandfather’s gift - throwing it away was out of the question.
On the first day, the rain kept pouring down on them in a violent and unpredictable pattern, that’d make anyone in their right mind stop for shelter. He did not ask, knowing it was not the way of the Zuras. Cyra had called her visit to Tara “an exception” from this rule, and so he’d left it at that. A Zura’s life was spent outside, constantly moving from place to place, avoiding the villages – and for the most part, the fortresses. From his understanding, it was only during recent years that some of them had started working for the patrons. There was of course, the notorious torturer in the chambers, but more commonly they functioned as hunters, and would occasionally bring large prey (mostly eaten by the patrons themselves). It also seemed some were hired directly by the realm, operating as guardians – like in the new commander’s case. He considered the possibility Cyra might be one, but this was perhaps more of a hope than anything else. For the Zuras, it seemed as if no rules applied. Guardians on the other hand, were bound to the law as well as responsible for protecting all Araktéan citizens. At least, that’s what he’d believed until they’d killed Tzelem and let him drift off without a trial.
As he speculated more on his theory, he wondered why she wouldn’t have mentioned this. As the commander had said, it was strange for a man – as well as a woman – to lie about their profession. Was it possible the incident had reached the authorities in Nagár? Had the Zura commander changed his mind, and sent someone to take him back for his trial? It would certainly explain why she’d been so eager to bring him along. If she wanted to, she could have easily brought him by force of course, but for once, he considered the possibility that his father’s reputation might have helped him (making him at least seem slightly more dangerous than he was). With this in mind, he decided to do what he could not to spoil his cover. For now, he was still unbound and could perhaps run off if needed.
They made a few stops along the way, and though the language barrier made it somewhat awkward to communicate, Cyra was in surprisingly good spirits. The rain didn’t seem to bother her at all, and riding through the subtle storm seemed to be a completely natural thing. In the afternoon it stopped pouring for some time. But as it darkened, and the woods grew thicker around them, Isaiah once again heard the sound of falling water. At first, he worried it was more rain coming, but as the trees opened the path before them, he could see something else in the distance – massive amounts of water running down a tall hill, violently splashing its way into a pond. He gasped, for some moments unsure if what he saw was real.
“We sleep here.” The Zura girl commanded, stopping in front of the vertical river, as if it’d been the most common thing in the world.
“Isn’t it a little… noisy?” Isaiah asked. Though fascinated by the scenery, he didn’t feel comfortable going much closer to it – little less so, sleeping next to it.
“Yes, but this is only good water for miles. It keep wolves away also. Not bears – they no afraid of noise, but it’s the season for sleeping, so it shouldn’t be problem.” After this brief discussion with herself, Cyra jumped off her horse, leaving it unbound, as she walked to sooth her thirst. Isaiah had many questions but realized it would probably make him sound inexperienced. After all, it was just water falling, and probably a very ordinary thing for someone like her – as well as for the sort of someone she hopefully thought him to be. He did his best to look unaffected, and with the lump in his throat drumming in discontent, he directed Indra to a close-by tree.
“Why you trap her?”
“So that she doesn’t run off.” She looked at him, her face ever so disapproving.
“She no run away.”
“We’re not quite as close as you and your horse just yet…”
“I know her, she is Zura horse. If you good she no run. If she gone from you, you no need search her. Better let her find you – easier.”
“Oh.” he responded stupidly, remembering the fact she’d been given to the Huxleys by her tribe.
“You no remove stupid clothes you put on her?”
“Yes…” He said hesitantly, realizing how minimal her own horse’s gear was – just a thin cover over her horses’ back. Before he’d gotten the chance to remove the saddle and the mouthpiece (for the very first time), Cyra had gathered a bunch of sticks and branches. He stumbled around trying to do the same but noticed most of his findings were too soaked to take fire. Within a few minutes, she had managed to light up a small campfire. He threw his small contribution into it, realizing that keeping up with her would be difficult beyond the riding – if possible, at all.
“I guess I should go out hunting before it gets too dark.” Isaiah suggested, or rather – he affirmed – with his most confident voice. He’d show her. If no more than a small rabbit, he would somewhat have proven himself – if even just enough to keep her doubting the ‘vastness’ of his skills. He wasn’t sure of how he’d escape. If it’d be necessary or even be worth an attempt. They hadn’t passed any village for miles, and though he’d kept up thus far, it didn’t mean he’d have a chance of actually outrunning her. Zuras were naturally born hunters.
“Tara give us much food. No need for hunt.” He was surprised by her response. She was of course very right in this regard, but he’d always imagined them eating their prey half raw, feasting on its heart and tearing up the liver with their bare hands. Raw flesh was said to be the secret behind their strength and longevity, so he’d doubted she’d even bother touching Tara’s light food. Either, the Zura diet was less bloody than the captives claimed it to be – or she was trying to seem civilized.
“Alright, I will go find some larger branches to keep the fire alive.” She picked one up from the ground and stuck it into the rising flame.
“Here.” She said, allowing the torch a little too close to his face, as she handed it to him.
“In case of danger.” He wasn’t going to ask her what sort of danger, thinking he would certainly recognize it if it showed up. Instead, he nodded and walked into the woods, hoping that it wouldn’t.
After some time allowing his eyes to befriend the dark, he managed to find a few big, dry branches the rain had missed. He had to extinguish the torch in order to carry all of them back, and stumbled around for some time, focusing on not falling over, while following the sound of the falling water. As he walked, he suddenly noticed another sound. Stopping for a moment it became more apparent, and the unfamiliarity of it made his heart skip a beat. Listening even closer, he became almost certain it was some sort of growl, and so he left behind all the branches and started walking as fast as one could without running. As he got closer to their camp, he stopped – realizing the noise was not luring somewhere in the darkness surrounding him. No, from in between the trees, he could see its source, standing up tall in front of the vertical river and heading towards Cyra. Hundreds of times bigger than in the paintings he’d seen, and yet, so unmistakably a bear. A very real and very woke one.
Isaiah froze as he took in the size of the beast. At least as terrifying as he’d imagined it to be, roaring in fury, and as tall as both of their horses. Cyra was standing a few feet away from it with a torch. He couldn’t see her face, but she was bending down (looking as if she was calculating the bear’s next move). He tried calming down, reminding himself that the bear had not seen him, and if anyone, a Zura would surely know how to fight it. He decided the wisest thing would be to stay back, and to only interfere if things got worse. It seemed like a reasonable conclusion, but only for some rapid heartbeats, as he noticed her limping. In the dark, he could see her pants had been ripped, and so, it seemed things had gotten quite bad already. Instinctively, he reached for the knife in his belt. He’d left his own in the pack, and only had a slender kitchen knife Tara had given to cut their fruit - insisting that certain knives had certain purposes. Though not its given purpose, he’d thought it would be sharp enough to slay a rabbit, and now wished he knew whether the size of an animal had anything to do with the thickness of its skin.
Feeling the length of the blade under his right hand, he observed the scene for a few long seconds. Again, he felt hesitant, looking for knowledge he realized he did not have. It was still possible that Cyra did – that she could take care of it herself, even with her leg wounded. Before he could finish this comforting thought, he saw her falling to the ground. He hadn’t even noticed the bear taking a swing at her, and in a moment of pure panic and something resembling fury, he forgot all about his suspicions. Pulling the fruit knife out from his belt, and without further consideration, he ran towards the beast, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he screamed with the full strength of his lungs. The sound was much louder – much more terrifying, than he’d ever thought himself capable of. It was as if it came from something, or somewhere, else. Running, with the blade aiming straight towards its furry throat, he had successfully gotten its attention, and just as its large body started raising towards him, his own froze. It was a strange sensation. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t move in any direction, but the bear could – and the bear did.
As Isaiah thought about his own death, time once again seemed to be in flux – though in a very different way than before. It was as if all surrounding sounds went quiet. As if the world allowed him to hear nothing but his own final heartbeats. The beast raced towards him. It put him to the ground with its large mouth growling inches from his face. Its teeth, sharp enough to dig through his flesh with minor effort, and its breath stinking with rage. As Isaiah completely gave up on his body and life, all his past troubles felt insignificant. His every worry, every fear he’d had the past weeks, suddenly became insignificant and for a moment all he felt was a deep appreciation for the peaceful childhood he’d had. As he accepted his death and got ready to drift away to some eternal dream, he felt the weight lifting from his chest. For a moment he thought he’d died, but the ease seemed far too physical and opening his eyes, he saw the animal standing back up. The release of pressure felt like reaching the surface after being underwater for too long. The humid air filled his lungs. A roar ran through his ears, and with eyes widened, he could see the brief flicker of Cyra’s thick braid from behind the animal. He then saw her sword (a large, double edged blade), planted in between its neck and upper back.
“Move!” She commanded, and he just barely managed to roll to his right, as the bear’s body fell heavily to the ground. A second later, Cyra was panting on the top of its back, murmuring something before rapidly getting up, reclaiming her blade and wiping it clean. She then turned towards him. He would have never thought it possible for anything, and less so – anyone – to look more terrifying than a ravenous bear. Yet, her almost black eyes came disturbingly close, and he felt his shivering intensify.
“Are you blind?” She barked. And though he saw her expression more clearly than he’d prefer in the moonlight, he was unable to utter a single word. Noticing his panting, her expression softened ever so slightly, and she offered him her hand. Had it not been for the beast laying right next to him, he would have stayed down for some more minutes to get his breath back, but he took it – allowing her unlikely strength to almost effortlessly lift him back on his feet. She measured him.
“You are without scratch.” She said, almost accusingly and with a strict frown between her eyebrows.
“I… I don’t know.” Blood was rushing through him. It was as if his heart was beating in places it shouldn’t – but she was right. Not only had he survived, but somehow, he hadn’t gotten any injuries.
“Did you no see this was brown bear?”
“I… I just saw…a bear.” He said stupidly, as he hadn’t given much thought to its color. She looked at him, this time more so in disbelief than anger– though not as much as he himself felt about being alive.
“Have you no see bear before, shelako?” The last word was said in a tone so spiteful, it made him not want to know what it meant.
“Only in paintings.” He stuttered.
“Paintings?” Isaiah nodded.
“Are… are you alright?” he finally got himself asking, hoping to change the subject from his obvious ignorance. Instead of looking at her leg that seemed to be in an even worse condition from up close, she turned towards the bear.
“I’m fine. Bear is no fine. What you did was stupid. I did have him under control.” Isaiah frowned. Surely, she should be grateful that he’d come to her rescue – or at least attempted to.
“I didn’t doubt that you did. It’s just… I saw your leg – and then I saw your fall… I wanted to help.” In truth, he had doubted her. He’d wanted to save her, and it had taken every bit of courage he had. He wished he could feel at least slightly proud of himself for the act, but he didn’t. It was just like his grandfather had said once: “It is the courageous and the foolish who die young, and they often die holding hands – with themselves in desperate prayer.” He felt like one of those brave fools from the hero tales. The ones who risked their lives to save ungrateful women. Not only didn’t this particular one appreciate his efforts in the slightest, but now he’d proven himself to have no skills in combat, and probably blown his cover (if he’d ever had one in the first place, that was).
“Never attack a brown bear. Stay down. These animals are dangerous but very precious. We no slay them unless we must – understand? Black bear, you must stand up and attack. White bear…” she sighed, then she made a hand gesture that made him understand that he wouldn’t have been this lucky, had it been a white bear.
“I just wanted to help. I thought Zuras always worked together...”
“You are no Zura. You don’t know anything about Zura.” She said, and now that she seemed personally offended as well, he thought it best to keep quiet.
“We sing prayers for it tonight. Prayers to its spirit.” She said, more so into the air than to him. Then she walked out in the woods to fetch dry branches he’d failed to bring back.
Normally, Isaiah wouldn’t have felt even remotely comfortable taking part in such a death ritual. Compared to almost being ripped apart by it, honoring its death didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. Nor did Cyra’s obvious displeasure with him, which he strongly sensed, even if she kept her tongue and distance. After some prayers in her tribal language, she finally cut the enormous animal open. Isaiah, respectfully, forced himself to watch.
“Bear meat no taste good but make you strong. Zura don’t waste anything.” She said the last sentence firmly, making his cheeks burn hot. The truth, he realized, was that he did not know anything about her people for certain. He’d just heard stories. More stories than he could count on both hands, and the flaming glare she gave him suddenly made him remember one of them. One too disturbing to entertain and that he hadn’t dared consider for longer than the tiniest blink of a moment. It’d been told one night by one of the oldest captives, a former bandit, who had once witnessed the revolution, as well as the riots that had followed. One who’d seen most corners of Araktéa, and the obscure paths that lead to them. His claim had been that it was not the raw hearts of animals that was the reason a Zura’s lifespan far surpassed that of villagers and captives. It was human flesh. The idea had repulsed him so much, he’d chosen to mostly forget about it, and now, as he again remembered the horrid anecdote, he found himself hoping Cyra was a guardian bringing him to trial after all.
“You okay?” She asked. They had spent about an hour in silence. He’d observed her as she’d skinned and prepared parts of the bear (partly petrified and partly relieved something else was for supper that night).
“Yes.” He lied.
“Eat some meat.” She ripped off a large piece from the spear, chewing it thoroughly. Though more tired than hungry, he didn’t want to risk offending her any further, and so he took a piece and started chewing. It had the stubborn texture of a leather boot.
“Well? What you think?” She asked and Isaiah shook his head.
“My master used to tell me what a talented bear slayer he was. How good fresh bear meat tasted…” “Yet, another confirmed lie from the great knight.” He thought reluctantly.
“I eat better bear before. This one skinny.” The taste itself wasn’t terrible, but its toughness made it almost impossible to swallow. Still, Isaiah ate and chewed as if it’d been his last meal. “This could easily have been the other way around.” He thought, again recalling that he’d almost been ripped to pieces some hours prior.
“Who was your master?” Cyra interrupted his grim thoughts, and he felt himself hesitating for a moment, before saying “Tzelem Huxley.”
“A Huxley… Then I understand why you so eager to kill.”
“I only wanted to save you. You were the one who said it was hibernation season.” He argued, regretting it as he said it, though her mood seemed to have turned more tranquil.
“It is. I don’t know why it awake. Why it is angry… It is male, it can’t be because of cubs…” She said thoughtfully, and then concluded: “Nature changing. It is no good.”
“We better lower our voices then, there might be more of them around.” They had not spoken a lot during the journey, but whenever Cyra said something, she did so with a significantly louder voice than any other woman he’d met.
“You think I speak too loud?” He held up his hands defensively.
“That is not what I said.”
“But you are thinking!”
“Are you a sorceress?” he asked, wondering if she could read his mind too. Whether she already knew everything about who he really was.
“Don’t be stupid.” She frowned.
“Are you a guardian?” She looked sincerely surprised by the question, if not amused. He hadn’t planned on interrogating her in this way, but the constant apprehension of not knowing her motives was already unbearable. There was no way he’d be able to escape her anyways – less so now that she’d seen how clueless and defenseless he’d acted in nature’s company.
“Stop being stupid I say. I am Zura, only Zura. No real Zura can be guardian. No Zura make sorcery.” She made some strange movements with her hands and rolled her eyes excessively as she took another bite of bear.
“Okay.” He sighed. Though yet to trust her, he believed she was telling the truth as her emotions seemed to live on the outer surface of her sharp face. When talking with him, it was anger or irritation for the most part – but sometimes curiosity and even excitement. Whatever her agenda was, he didn’t think she could lie very well.
“Also, never try save me again, shelako… Understand?”
“I understand.” He assured her, having no problem on agreeing, as it might save him some trouble in the future. Besides, he didn’t owe her anything, and if he needed to play anyone’s hero it would only be his grandfather’s. Only for a little while.
As they laid down to sleep on each their side of the fire, he found her a shade less intimidating.
“Where is he now?” Cyra asked, as he looked at the stars lost in thought.
“The bear?”
“Your master.”
“Oh… he died.”
“You kill him?” Isaiah’s heart stopped for a moment.
“No.” He said, wishing his tone had been more assertive. Yet another thing he needed to work on – build a firmer, more convincing voice, that might be strong enough to survive out there.
“You are the son of Ares. I had to ask.” Cyra explained herself, not seeming suspicious of his answer. He wondered if she would’ve cared if she knew the truth, if she’d think of him as a murderer despite the fact that Zuras were known as the most violent tribe in Araktéa.
“It’s alright.”
“Lots of hot blood in your veins …” she said thoughtfully, and their eyes briefly met somewhere in between the campfire. The wind turned, blowing smoke his way. Drying them with hot, gray heat.
“Tomorrow we leave early – you rest.” She commanded.
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Shelako…” She frowned and turned her back to him.