Curupira stopped as soon as the words left her mouth. Stopped and stared at her sister, willing the words back where they were safe.
Suddenly it was real. The half-dared hopes, the fears, the pain, the anger at her own fate . . . Curupira had never been good at expressing her emotions: it was why she let anger win so often. But there was no defense now. She looked up at Maya and saw complete empathy on her twin's face as Maya felt her emotions roiling. "I love him," she whispered.
"I know, sister," Maya answered, just as softly. "I know you do." Curupira's face crumpled, and she began to cry softly. Maya stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her twin sister, drawing her into her arms.
"I love him," Curupira sobbed. "I love him so much, it hurts. And it hurts so much, Maya, so much. And I've made him hate me. It was easier! Because then, then, I could be angry with him for leaving me, when I pushed him away!" Curupira was sobbing helplessly.
"Oh, sister," Maya murmured. She stroked her twin's hair. In ten thousand years, she had never seen her sister like this. So fragile and vulnerable. All of her defenses were stripped away, leaving a young girl, a young demon, who had fallen in love with a young mortal. A young mortal who didn't 'belong' to her.
No more words needed to be said. Many twins shared a bond, but the tie between twins of preternatural blood was far stronger. Emotions passed between them, the more formed convention of thought pushed aside in favor of the most elemental of needs.
Pain. Love. Fear. Reassurance. Hope.
"He loves Kyra. He can't love me," Curupira gasped, and Maya tightened her embrace around her sister. Unfairly, she knew, she felt anger rising toward the unknown Kyra. Despite Curupira's many flaws, Maya believed in her sister, and believed she was just as worthy of love. So for her sister, her twin, to fall in love with a man who loved someone else . . . that was the greatest cruelty of all.
With just a touch, Maya saw into her sister's mind, her memories. Saw Curupira confront a still-weak Dar after the boy had nearly been killed by Ruh . . . because of Ketzwayo. Maya hissed. Ketzwayo again. She heard the young, shaken BeastMaster warn Curupira not to hurt his friend. And how could Maya blame him for not trusting her sister? Curi hadn't allowed him to know her as Maya, and their mother Pelagia, did.
At last, the storm passed and Curi rested her head against Maya's shoulder. It was just the beginning, but it was a beginning nonetheless. Wherever things went from here, whether Curupira ever admitted her feelings to her "worthless" BeastMaster or not, now it was out in the open. Now it was real. Now Curupira had someone else to feel her pain, to understand her anger, to share her fears. As it had always been, even when their personalities diverged so completely that their very domains split.
They were twins, sisters, best friends. And whatever came, now, later, always, they would face it together. Curupira was not alone, and that was the greatest gift of all. When she felt her sister's sobs easing, Maya straightened slightly. She looked down into her sister's face and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she sat back and smiled. "Now," she pronounced. "What we need, twin dearest, is a plan."
Curupira frowned. "A . . . plan," she repeated uncertainly.
Maya nodded. "Most definitely."
"For what?"
"Well, for one thing, to give your 'stupid' BeastMaster reason to stop fearing you."
Curupira shook her head. "I don't think we can."
Maya waved a hand. "Nonsense. I know the perfect way."
Curupira frowned. Maya leaned forward and whispered the exact details into her ear with exaggerated drama. Curupira drew back, stunned and blushing furiously. "MAYA!!!!"
Her twin just smiled. "Well?" she asked. "The boy needs to see the flip side of a demigoddess' powers. And how . . . nice . . . a demon can be."
Curupira blushed more, but she was beginning to smile. And not just at the images that had been provoked by her sister's suggestion. "You can’t be serious."
"I'm perfectly serious!" Maya said, placing her hands on her hips. She scowled at her sister, the expression so determinedly serious that Curupira started laughing. Which was, naturally, exactly what Maya had planned. "Hey. We don't know if your Dar will get his Kyra back . . . but in the meantime --" She waggled her eyebrows wickedly. "--we can give him reasons to be as dazed and confused as you accused him of being, now can't we?"
Curupira gave up and gave laughter free rein. "Mother would be shocked."
Maya grinned at her. "Mother would be jealous."
Curupira fell back against the leaves and laughed until her ribs hurt. Maya just grinned. That was, after all, what sisters were for.
~*~*~*~
Erell took nothing of her old life with her. Only a blanket to ward off the night-chill, and her hunting weapons. Knife in her boot, bow slung across her back, full quiver of arrows, and the carefully made spear. She said nothing to rest of the tribe as they stopped to watch her go. Keri had not told anyone of her plans, and Erell knew the old woman would keep her own counsel. Erell planned to put a good distance between her and her tribe before beginning her revenge on the demon; she wanted nothing to link her to her people, give Curupira cause to harm them later.
The forest was familiar for quite a distance, the trails well-known, the birdcalls almost individualized to her ears. But eventually, the familiarity faded and the lands became vast and unknown. Erell lost track of time; resolution had wrapped itself around her heart and mind, blocking the grief, blocking the pain. Eventually she remembered Keri's words and stopped to find food, keep up her strength. She hunted, killed with the same practiced ease of before, but it was automatic now. And she knew that these killings did not start her revenge, for she was still playing by the rules: when she killed, she portioned off what she needed as food, and left what remained to the carrion-eaters of the forest. It was still an even exchange.
Erell didn't know how long she traveled, but eventually she reached the Great Plains, of which she had heard only stories. A tribe called the Sula had lived and died near this place; her tribe had heard of their destruction by the war-loving Terrons. All Erell truly saw was the vast number of animals, and that this was the time and place to start her vendetta.
Choosing a target was difficult, for there were simply so many of them. Deer-like animals, huge gray-skinned creatures, lithe cat forms, sturdy oxen-types . . . Young, old, and middling. Solitary, and in tribes of their own. Erell watched them for a full day, finding patterns, judging strengths and weaknesses, deciding which death would cause Curupira the most pain. She remembered the trio of animals her brother had picked and set her sights on a similar group, made up of a beast she recognized from stories as a lion, its mate, and three cubs.
The best way to draw out the beasts would be to provide them with a fresh blood-scent, and she had seen the wariness of the deer-like creatures at their presence. Erell found a spot high on the crest of a hill, surrounded by high grasses, and settled herself in a good vantage spot. In a few hours, the animals forgot she was there, and her scent became mixed with the grasses and the earth.
Erell crept forward carefully, her spear strapped to her back, her bow in one hand, two arrows in the other, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Like the lion itself, she made her way slowly down the hill towards the grazing beasts. When she was a good distance away, she raised herself slowly.
The wind was blowing towards her, keeping her scent away from the herd and away from the lions. Erell rose until her eyes were above the high grasses, crouched upon one knee. She waited a bit more, perfectly still, searching for the right animal. The lions rested a distance away, watching the herd with curiosity but not yet enough hunger to warrant a chase. Given a free meal, however, Erell doubted they would leave the animals be. But at this distance, blood-scent alone would not be enough to rouse their interest. She notched an arrow and took aim.
Perfect stillness.Perfect oneness.
Perfect aim.
The first arrow flew. The antelope screamed as it hit, driving into the beast's rear haunch with all the ferocity of a lion's claws. The lions stopped looking merely curious. The antelope screamed again and tried to run; around it, the rest of the herd bolted in fear. The big male of the lion pride stood and stalked forward, nostrils flaring. One of the cubs stumbled after it, intent on finding out the source of the commotion as well.
The second arrow flew and the antelope went down without another sound, a wooden shaft coming out from its chest, where it had cleaved the heart cleanly. The lion stalked forward, as did the cub, until it reached the fallen beast. Blood-scent was hot and fierce in the wind, as was the strong musk of the predator. Erell waited, slowly sliding another pair of arrows from the quiver. Six left. More than enough. She held the bow sideways so that only the top of her head showed through the grasses, if the lions had looked. They didn't; hunters were virtually unknown in this area. The cub cried a question, toddling forward until it reached the still form, then sniffed hungrily. Its father growled softly in response. He was confused, but the blood-scent was making him hungry.
Erell waited still, allowing the male to summon its mate and other cubs. It didn't take long. Erell raised herself slowly again and notched an arrow, then aligned the bow properly. Every movement was slow, careful, time taken without rush. She chose her target: the big male, the most threat. She took a deep breath, then released it, sending all tension with it as she began to draw back on the bowstring.
Perfect stillness.
Another breath, then release. Vision seemed to sharpen, narrow to her target alone, just as she had been taught over the past 15 years.
Perfect oneness.
A third and fourth breath, each one narrowing her focus further still, until she could see the exact spot where the arrow would enter.
Perfect aim.
The male nudged one of the cubs playfully as it tried to gnaw through the hide of the fallen antelope. The cub batted at it and mewled, then fell over as one of its siblings caught its tail and pulled.
Erell's hand trembled.
Deep breath, release. Tension leaving her, replaced by focus. Perfect stillness, she told herself. Another breath, release. Perfect oneness. Focus. See the target, hold the image in your mind of the arrow entering. Perfect aim.
The cub chased it sibling and the male watched with clear amusement. His mate nudged the third cub with her nose and then turned her attention to the antelope. Erell loosened the bowstring, flexing her fingers, and then drew back again. Perfect stillness, she repeated silently. Perfect oneness. Perfect aim.
Her hand continued to tremble. Her palm slid slightly on the grip of the bow, fingers damp with unfamiliar sweat. Erell blinked to clear similar drops that fell from her brow into her eyes. Perfect stillness. Perfect oneness.
The lion family began to eat, the adults barely making way for the cubs. The tremble of Erell's hands became a shake, echoing the uneven thudding of her heart. Perfect stillness. Perfect stillness . . .
Her chest burned with irregular breaths, her lungs joining her heart in the effort to escape the confines of their ribcage. Erell lowered the bow, and tried to clear her mind, then raised the weapon again. Her hands shook, no matter how many times she flexed her fingers. The lions continued to eat, the cubs spending as much time chasing one another as grabbing scraps. One of them looked her way and for a moment, their gazes met.
Erell lowered the bow a final time and dropped back until she rested on her heels. She stayed that way for a moment, allowing her heart to fall into something more regular of a rhythm, allowing the sweat to dry. Then she turned and started back towards the hillside slowly.
Once there, she untied her spear from her back and threw it to one side, doing the same with the bow and quiver. She sat with her legs semi-crossed, looking at the animals far below, watching as the lions finished their unexpected gift and then returned to the shade of their tree. She tried to think, tried to understand her reaction. It wasn't that hard, for all that she almost wished it were.
She had been raised to believe, with every part of her soul, that one hunted only for need. Those animals that were sacrificed were part of a balance with nature. The antelope had been part of that cycle because it would feed, if not the lions, then a number of other meat-eating creatures. But the lions themselves . . . they had no part of that cycle. They were "innocent," so to speak, and defenseless despite their claws.
Erell closed her eyes tightly and rubbed her thumbs against the inner corners. She could not kill the animals, not with hands that shook like this at the very thought of it. She opened her eyes and looked out over the plains, unseeing as other options firmed in her mind. No, she could not kill the animals, for they could not truly fight back. But a man could and would fight back, a man would make it a question of survival as well as revenge. Yes, she decided: a man she could kill. Erell's features once again became the mask her tribe had seen when she left them, and she stood and gathered her weapons.
~*~*~*~
Another day, another wildebeest, Tao reflected, watching Dar finish tying the poultice to the creature's wounded knee. A long look into the animal's eyes, presumably giving it directions on how long to leave the poultice on, and then Dar stood. The animal let out a short sound that might have been thanks, and ambled away.
Tao shook his head. "One of these days, I'm going to write a story about you."
Dar frowned as he returned to the campfire. "Story?"
Tao smiled. "Yeah. A story. About a man who can speak with animals. I think it would be vastly entertaining to an audience." Dar chuckled and just shook his head. Tao's smile widened as he thought through the idea. "It would make quite a legend, you know. A warrior with such an ability . . . or a healer."
"A healer just for animals?"
Tao shrugged. "Why not? And such a healer who could actually speak with the animals he tended -- imagine the adventures that could lead to. Why, look at the adventures your life leads to."
"And this man would encounter an Eiron scholar?" Dar asked, smiling. Amusement shone in his eyes, and his tone was gently teasing. "Sometimes I wonder how your mind works, Tao. You come up with the most . . . amazing ideas."
Tao made a face, knowing perfectly well that "amazing" was not the first word Dar was going to use. He tossed a pebble at his friend. "You'll see, Dar. One day, stories like that will be immensely popular, told in tribes all around the world."
Dar shook his head. "If you say so," he acquiesced.
Tao nodded. "I do."
Dar grinned. "All right." He picked up the two halves of his staff and clicked them together, turning the staves into one smooth piece. He still remembered his pride, and the smile of approval on his father's face, the day they finished carving the weapon. Much as he teased Tao about "writing," it wasn't as alien a concept to him as he pretended: his staff had a collection of totems, which was as complex a writing system as the Sula had ever needed to develop. But he knew that if he said as much to his friend, then whole new paths of conversation would open and never be abandoned -- and those paths brought back memories too painful for Dar to wish to deal with.
Writing had not been of great use to the Sula, but stories had been immensely important; Kyra was only one of a long line of storytellers, and Dar could still recall the sound of Akishi's voice as the old woman wove tales of great warriors and clever hunters. That is, he could recall it clearly if he was not careful to avoid any such memories, and Dar was always very careful. No, it was best to allow Tao to believe he had neither any knowledge of nor interest in writing.
So Dar left Tao to his Eiron writing, and strange "maps," and concentrated instead on the simplicity of movement that his daily practice sessions with the staff. He could lose himself in those movements, in the careful turns and muscle-memory of swipes and dodges, in the concentration needed for leaps and rolls if one wished to avoid landing wrong. Dar had landed wrong more than once, including a time that had wrenched his knee painfully, when the ground had turned out to not be as firm as he had believed.
He had been immensely annoyed at Tao for insisting that he stop and rest his knee, soaking it for well over an hour in the cold water of the nearby stream, but he knew now that the pain would have been far worse and recurred at the next difficult turn if he had not followed that sage advice. Now, Dar could smile at his friend's anxious -- and exasperated -- clucking over him, but at the time it had reminded him far too strongly of the healing expertise (and exasperation) of the Sula healer, Peran. Peran had been one of the first to fall to Terron lances as he tried to reach and aid the wounded, and Dar had gotten there just a moment too late to help.
The BeastMaster pushed those thoughts and memories away as he began his routine, letting the clean motions wipe away all the hurt and self-recriminations. He was distantly aware of Tao watching with something close to envy, as well as the ever-present feel of the minds of his animal friends, who felt a mixture of amusement and confusion at the "strange ritual." Animals had no need for such exercises for, with very few exceptions, they lived solely in the here and now: the past was done with, the future was not yet here, and neither could be affected, so why worry about them? Unfortunately, humans were not so lucky.
Ruh informed him of another watcher approaching, a woman who did not seem interested in attack for she came openly. Dar gave it only a mental nod of acknowledgement, keeping his concentration on the flow of his movements. Soon enough, he decided, they would know if the woman would even wish to stop to greet them. As it turned out, she did.
The woman stepped out from the cover of the trees, but remained silent and still until he finished his practice. Whoever she was, Dar had to give her points for both the silence and the politeness of waiting. When she cleared her throat gently, Tao startled and nearly fell as he tried to stand and turn at the same time. Definitely points for silence, Dar thought in amusement, especially when Tao turned back around and glared at the BeastMaster for not looking at all surprised. "You could have warned me," the Eiron muttered.
Dar grinned, then looked back at the woman as she approached. She was beautiful in a soft, understated way, her beauty held in the toned, lean lines of her body, as well as in the classic bone-structure of her face. But it was also in the slight amused tilt of her head, the curve of a smile to her lips, the laughter in her eyes. Her hair was cropped short, dark brown but streaked through with soft red and gold from exposure to the sun. The tone of her skin was similar to Kyra's, but more golden than olive. Her eyes reminded him vaguely of Tao's, catching the sun in such a way as made them look almost tawny at this distance.
She approached with that soft smile, the stretching of her lips almost seeming unaccustomed to the action. Dar had the sense that she had not truly smiled in a long time. As she neared, he saw that her eyes were closer to green than gold, darkening as she came into a patch of shade.
"My apologies," she said, looking at Tao. The Eiron seemed as appreciative as Dar of her looks. She looked back to the BeastMaster and continued, "You move unlike anyone I have ever seen. Too graceful for a Terron . . ."
Tao snorted slightly. "Or some Eirons," he added.
Dar glanced at him with a smile, then back at the woman. "I had many teachers," he told her. "I am called Dar. This is Tao." She carried nothing but a spear, bow, and a quiver of arrows, but all the same, Dar decided to offer, "You are welcome to rest by our fire, if you have the need."
The woman paused, then smiled softly again. She approached and unslung her bow from her back, then laid down the spear. "I am called Erell, and I thank you." She paused, as if something had suddenly occurred to her, and straightened slowly, frowning. "Dar . . . That is a Sula name, is it not?"
The BeastMaster nodded. "It is."
'Erell' frowned still. "I had heard that the Sula were all killed by the Terrons, four winters ago."
Tao saw the pain in friend's eyes and decided to field the question himself. "All but him," he said quietly. "Did you know of the Sula?"
The woman nodded, but her eyes were fixed on Dar. "My tribe, the Kislii, would trade with them on occasion, but the distance limited our meetings."
Dar nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "I remember. It is said that the Kislii are great hunters, but live in harmony with the forest around them. Your people and mine had much in common." Dar glanced at her weapons and smiled. "My father once told me that it was from the Kislii, many generations ago, that we learned to make bows. And from the Sula that the Kislii first learned of the Demon Curupira." A flicker passed through the woman's eyes, gone too quickly to be identified. She nodded but said nothing. Her gaze remained on the BeastMaster, a faint frown on her brow.
Tao looked from one to the other, catching on to the tension that seemed to be growing on the woman's part. "You are far from your lands," he said, trying to bring her attention away from whatever had so captured it. "Are you on your way somewhere?"
The woman answered, but only her words were directed towards him. Her gaze remained on Dar. "I am looking for someone," she said quietly.
"Who?" Tao asked. "Maybe we've met them. We have traveled a great deal . . ."
"A man," the huntress replied. "One who is favored by Curupira, and given the ability by her to speak with her animals in order to guard them."
"Ah, the BeastMaster," Tao said, smiling. 'Erell' nodded. "Then you are in for a very short journey indeed." He motioned at Dar, who was watching the woman with a frown of his own as he tried to interpret the expression on her face. "Curupira's BeastMaster, from what I understand from Dar, has always been a Sula. And the particular Sula she chose most recently, is Dar himself."
The huntress asked Dar quietly, "Is this true?"
Dar nodded slowly. "It is."
The woman let out a low breath, then nodded and raised her chin. She told him softly, "Then you're the one I am here to kill."
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