Shards of History Page 2

  “Malia?” Dalibor said from a short distance away, sounding like his old self, and a tad concerned.

  Malia didn’t trust it, not when she couldn’t get his angry, contorted face out of her mind, nor wipe away the certainty that he could have hurt her that night. She stayed low and wriggled back, silently cursing the pebbles that continued to roll down.

  Dalibor’s feet crunched the dried grass around the base of the boulder. Malia pressed herself flat, her heart pounding so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a crack form in the rock. Her muscles tensed as she waited for him to scrabble up and find her. If she screamed for help, would those men in the fields hear her? Her hand began to work its way to the dagger. When Dalibor’s footsteps faded, she mumbled her thanks against the rock. She’d wait a while to make sure he was gone before climbing down.

  If he was back, that meant the men’s council would be meeting right now. They might know why the river was drying up. Malia hoped it had nothing to do with the Jeguduns. The idea of entering a war with them still weighed in her gut like a stone. Her brother Vedran had just returned a couple of days earlier from five days of tests and fasting. He was a braided man now, and he would have to fight.

  Moments passed without a sign of Dalibor. Malia couldn’t wait any longer. She had to pick the flowers and get back to Selu before it grew dark. Staying low, she turned and started down the rock.

  Two Jeguduns flew low over the canopy in the shallow valley west of her. Malia shrank against the rock. Jeguduns never ventured this far from the cliffs! She had seen only drawings of the creatures until now. They had down-covered humanoid bodies and massive wing spans that cast long shadows on the trees beneath them.

  The men in the fields wouldn’t be able to see them. The hill Malia was on blocked their view of this valley. All thoughts escaped her save for getting back to Selu and letting everyone know about these two Jeguduns. But something about the way they acted made her stay and watch.

  They flew in a straight line, a light-colored one followed by a dark one. The dark one caught the first in a burst of speed. Locked together, they went into a spin. Just before crashing into the trees, they broke apart. The light one darted away, but the dark one moved faster and caught the other again. They grappled, the details of their fight lost with the distance and the speeds at which they moved. Then the light one plummeted into the trees.

  The dark one hovered and, when it seemed the other would remain down, flew north. It quickly became a tiny dot and then disappeared.

  What had that been about? Maybe it had something to do with the men having been at the cliffs. Regardless, she had to tell the men’s council about this.

  The thought wormed its way into her mind. The fallen Jegudun was probably dead. Her hand went to the worn leather necklace holding the solitary Jegudun feather. She could collect new feathers for her necklace and for her mother’s. More importantly, there would be enough left over to use in bartering with other villages. Some had been less affected by the drought and had extra food, and Jegudun feathers were difficult to come by. And, the talons would make the perfect gift for her brother Vedran.

  But the Jeguduns’ reputed ferocity kept her from taking that first step. It was said that if any of Malia’s people, the Taakwa, tried to leave the valley, a group of Jeguduns would raise that person high in the air and drop them on rocks. Then the creatures would squat around the crushed body and feast on the person’s flesh. So if the fallen Jegudun still lived—

  A hand fell on her shoulder. Malia yelped as she jumped aside, her hand grabbing for her dagger.

  Dalibor regarded her with a frown, the lines deepening on his brown face. His hooked nose and dark eyes reminded Malia of a bird of prey. He had recently re-braided his hair; hardly any fly-aways stuck out.

  Malia’s hand moved away from the dagger.

  Dalibor’s gaze traveled to her hips where the red beads of her clan, Velebit, rested alone. His Papuk green beads had been woven around the red ones, marking their marriage. She’d taken those off soon after she’d set his things outside her home. His gaze, nearly palpable, lingered on her hips, then returned to her face. Malia wanted to take a step back and cross her arms over herself, but she couldn’t let him know that he scared her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She held up the empty bag. “To pick locust flowers.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  She shook her head. “I prefer to be alone.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “You can’t avoid me forever.”

  Malia walked away into the woods. Dalibor fell into step beside her, a slight limp to his gait. Malia came to a halt, putting her hands on her hips.

  “You walk behind me where you belong. We’re not married anymore.”

  “The clan mother hasn’t made a decision on that.”

  “I told her what happened that night. How you behaved towards me.”

  The deep fan of lines around Dalibor’s eyes faded, his face softening. “I’m sorry for that night, for everything that happened. And I’ll keep saying I’m sorry until it’s enough. The first thing I did when I got back was to find you so I could apologize. I haven’t eaten, I haven’t rested. And all I could think about while I was gone was how much I must have hurt you.”

  He spoke all the right words, and yet … and yet, Malia wondered who truly said them. She was beginning to think there were two Dalibors. One was the man she married, the one who apologized to her a moment ago, the one who used to surprise her with small bags of pecans or a few extra beads. The other was a shadow Dalibor, the one who had shoved her against the wall, the one who had broken a bowl that held a lot of meaning for her, the one she still thought capable of harming her.

  “I can’t forgive you,” she said.

  “Then I’ll wait until you can. Give yourself some time. Don’t push your mother to finalize the end of our marriage.”

  “I,” she bit her lip. What could she say to that? She’d made her decision, and she hadn’t made it lightly. Maybe someday she could forgive Dalibor, but that didn’t mean she wanted him back in her home.

  Seeking to change the subject, she gestured towards his leg. “I noticed you limping. What happened at the falls?”

  Dalibor grimaced. “We’re not done talking about our marriage.”

  “There’s nothing more to talk about until you’ve spoken with the clan mother.”

  He sighed. “The men’s council will report everything tonight. But I suppose telling you now wouldn’t hurt.

  “We made it to the cliffs without any problems, and we picked up a lot of men along the way. There were about three dozen of us. We chose six men to climb to the top of Tuvin’s Falls. But before they got far, Jeguduns attacked. That’s how I got hurt. It’s only a mild sprain, clan mother be praised. And nobody died. The Jeguduns didn’t seem intent upon killing anyone, perhaps because there were many more of us than there were of them. But each time we tried climbing the cliffs, they attacked. Then we tried to climb all together, but that’s when more Jeguduns arrived. They outnumbered us. We decided it was better to return and figure out what to do next than try to climb the cliffs again.”

  “So the Jeguduns do have something to do with the river drying up.”

  “They certainly didn’t want us looking for the source of the problem.”

  Malia thought of the fallen Jegudun and wondered again what it had to do with all of this. Maybe she should tell Dalibor about it, let him bring the news back to the men’s council while she went on to gather the feathers and talons. But he might insist on coming with her. He might want one of the talons for himself, and for some reason, she didn’t want that to happen. Had she truly become so petty? No, it was something else. It just seemed wrong for Dalibor to have a Jegudun talon.

  “Any sign of Outsiders?” she asked. A shiver ran down her arms at the mention of those living outside the valley. They, too,
had been involved in the war between her people and the Jeguduns. They were said to be pale skinned, and they kept large lizards as companions. But none had been seen during Malia’s lifetime, nor had her mother or grandmother seen any.

  Dalibor shook his head. “The villages along the perimeter of the valley are preparing, just in case there’s any sort of attack.” His voice softened. “But don’t worry. Selu is far enough away from the cliffs that we’ll have plenty of warning. And I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  Malia’s hand brushed against her dagger again. “I’ll be able to take care of myself.” She held up the empty bag. “I should find those flowers and get back before it gets dark.” She walked away with her back stiff, hoping Dalibor understood the dismissal this time.

  A few strides later, she glanced back. Dalibor was limping away, towards the village. She let out a deep breath.

  She cleared her mind and let her feet carry her towards the fallen Jegudun. The creatures had fought over a copse of aspen on a distant hill, and so that was where she went.

  The trees thinned, allowing large swatches of sunlight to fall on tall grasses and wildflowers. Mature pine towered over her. Their scent lingered in the air as she crushed needles beneath her leather-clad feet. She crossed dry washes that zigzagged over the slope. Every so often she paused, listening and looking for signs of Dalibor following her. Then she would go on.

  She shook her head as she realized she trusted Dalibor so little. Why couldn’t he be more understanding? More gentle? Kinder and self assured?

  Like Enuwal, a tiny voice whispered in her mind. Her cheeks burned. Because of Dalibor’s jealousy, she couldn’t even think of the healer without guilt any more. And of course he was a gentle, kind person. As a healer, he needed to be so. She pushed the thoughts aside. She had to focus as she neared the Jegudun.

  The pine gradually gave way to young aspen. The forest was finally taking over and covering all traces of the fire that had destroyed a large portion of it years before. Malia had been young, but she recalled how her family had prepared to flee Selu if the fire came in their direction. Huge billows of smoke had risen above the hill, and the air had grown acrid with the smell of it. She paused a moment at the boulder carved with the clan symbols of the women who had been caught in its midst. Of the five, two had survived, not by running, but by hunkering down in an open area free of grass or other debris the fire could feed on. The flames had swept over them, singeing their hair and clothes a little, but otherwise leaving them untouched. She marveled at the quick thinking that had saved their lives.

  Soon she neared the spot where the Jegudun had fallen. She slowed, scanning the area for any signs of it. Wind rustled aspen leaves, the only sound other than her soft footfalls. The lack of animal sounds raised the hairs along the base of her neck.

  Something rustled in the tree above her. Malia’s hand flew to her dagger as she crouched and looked up. A squirrel chattered at her, then bound along the tree limb. Malia pressed a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. Her heart raced as if she’d just run uphill. Then she grinned and shook her head at her reaction, glad nobody had been around to see her jump at a squirrel.

  A few steps later, the aspen opened to a meadow about twenty paces across. The grass grew as high as Malia’s waist in some spots. Yellow cinquefoil bloomed along the perimeter. The wind died, and everything went still.

  To Malia’s left lay the Jegudun, a small, human-like figure with wings. Standing, it would probably be no taller than a five year old child.

  The creature’s face reminded Malia of a wolf. Sharp teeth lined an elongated snout covered with down, and a short beard clung to its chin. Its eyes, set forward in its face, were closed, and its tufted ears, although pointed, seemed relaxed.

  Feathers on one side of an outstretched wing melded from light gray to dark gray on the other side of the wing. Blood covered its right shoulder.

  Feathers gave way to down on its face and barreled chest, but that was the only thing soft about the Jegudun. It had squat, heavily muscled legs, and arms separate from its wings. An outstretched, human-like hand ended in curved, sharp claws that could easily tear flesh.

  The tension in Malia’s muscles eased as she realized the Jegudun was dead. She imagined those men at the cliffs, facing a horde of these creatures, and shook her head. She didn’t think she could stand up to one living Jegudun, much less a bunch of them.

  Malia swallowed the knot in her throat and inched forward. She reached a trembling hand towards the wing. The feathers were soft and smooth beneath her fingers. Emboldened, she ran her hand along the forward edge of its wing, moving to its bloody shoulder. Hard muscle lay beneath the down.

  The Jegudun’s other arm whipped around to grab her leg. Claws dug into her flesh. The creature yanked, toppling her onto her back.

  Malia hit the ground hard. She kicked her leg, trying to pull free, but the Jegudun’s grip was a vise.

  It sat up, snarling, showing two rows of sharp teeth. Malia cried out and fumbled for her dagger, but it was pinned between her hip and the ground. The Jegudun pulled her towards it, her skin scraping against the ground. She imagined the creature’s teeth clamping on her leg and tearing out flesh, or burying its snout into her soft belly until it reached her intestines. I won’t die this way.

  The Jegudun leaned over her. Malia punched it in the mouth, and pain exploded in her hand. The creature didn’t even flinch. It hissed, and hot breath washed over her, smelling of carrion.

  Malia struck its wounded shoulder. The Jegudun whimpered and grabbed at the spot. She rolled just enough to free her dagger. She yanked it from its leather scabbard. Always it had been a tool for digging or cleaning, never for defense. Now it was the only thing standing between her and this Jegudun. She found herself silently thanking Dalibor as he was the one who kept it sharp and clean.

  She drew back and aimed for the creature’s wounded shoulder, but the Jegudun knocked the weapon from her grasp and pinned her arms at her sides.

  Malia strained against the creature’s hold. “Get off me!”

  It rolled to its feet, wings outspread as if about to take off in flight, and stood a couple of paces away. For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds in the meadow were the Jegudun’s rapid panting and Malia’s deep gasps.

  Then a glint near the Jegudun’s feet caught Malia’s attention. The creature followed her gaze. It picked up the dagger.

  Malia scrambled back and straight into a tree. The rough bark pressed through her tunic and into her flesh. The Jegudun bared its teeth. Without her dagger she stood no chance against the creature.

  Her mind raced. She could jump to either side, but the Jegudun was close enough to catch her. He could easily leap onto her, talons ripping down the length of her back, teeth burying into the flesh of her neck. She choked on a sob.

  The Jegudun limped forward. Malia rose on wobbly legs, hands forming fists. She wouldn’t make victory easy for the creature. The Jegudun stopped a few strides away and tossed the dagger to the ground beside her.

  Malia snatched it, holding it before her, ready to strike.

  The Jegudun’s eyes held pain and something more—intelligence.

  Malia rocked back on her heels. All this time she—everyone—had assumed them to be pure animal, driven by instinct, dangerous to the Taakwa. But this Jegudun had gotten off her when she said so, had returned her weapon to her. And now it could easily attack her, but it stood where it was.

  The dagger slid into its sheath with a hiss. Malia couldn’t believe she was putting her only weapon away while facing a Jegudun, but she wanted to know more about it, and a threatening posture probably wouldn’t help. She held her hands up, palms to the sky, and waited for the Jegudun’s next move.

  The creature folded its wings halfway, whined. The fighting had caused more bleeding, and now red covered most of its chest, and a few drops covered its leg. Feathers hid most of the Jegudun’s groin, but could not altogether hide that the creature
was male. He probed tenderly around the wounded shoulder and whined again.

  Malia loosened the water pouch from her waist. “You must be thirsty.” She held out the pouch. “Would you like some water?” It was strange, speaking to a Jegudun as if to another person.

  He nodded. Despite the creature’s intelligence, she wanted to avoid his teeth and claws, so she tossed the pouch to the Jegudun.

  He snatched it easily, like an eagle plucking a pigeon from the air. After a brief hesitation, he pulled off the cap and drank, his throat bobbing as he did so. When he had his fill, he recapped it and tossed it back. Then he bowed his head.

  “You’re welcome,” Malia whispered. She had to get away from here and try to figure out what all this meant. She backed out of the meadow. When the Jegudun was out of sight, she turned and ran home.

  Chapter 3

  Kushtrim squeezed his left leg against his dragon’s side. She responded by banking left. The Maddion camp stretched before them, the tents forming an impromptu village along the banks of the river. Kushtrim squeezed both knees together and pushed down, the signal for his dragon to land.

  Straps over his legs held him in the saddle, important during maneuvers, not so important during easy flights such as this one. A strip of cloth held back his twisted ropes of brown hair, keeping them from whipping around his face in the wind. A heavy tunic and pants kept him warm.

  The dragon’s hind legs touched down first. Her forelegs dropped to the ground, and she folded her wings tight against her sides. Kushtrim pulled the saddle straps, freeing his legs. He stepped onto the dragon’s bent foreleg, then hopped to the ground.

  He patted her russet-colored shoulder. She stood as tall as an elk, a little too high to easily climb on and off her back. Around the edges of her folded wings, her sides pulsed, brighter when she breathed in, fading as she breathed out. Kushtrim ran a hand along her neck, her skin slick as a snake’s. She snorted, and twin plumes of smoke blew from her nostrils.