Aurora Wolf

The Skin Changer’s Victim

by Mike Phillips

A Story of the Crow Witch

Smoke coiled like serpents, circling protectively around the Coach’s head before dispersing into the air. The ash glowed red at the end of Read the rest of this entry »

Daughter of Challow

By

Neil Carstairs

Erin Escril lay in warm sunshine and watched as a dragonfly hovered above her, seemingly unaware of her presence, before settling onto a stem of threadgrass.  She Read the rest of this entry »

White Knight, Red Princess

by Billy Wong

Carl ambled from the campfire to the side of the large cart, careful not to spill the bowl of soup.  “Come on, Nat, you’ve got to eat,” he said softly after he put the spoon to her mouth and she declined to open it.  “Aren’t you hungry?”  Read the rest of this entry »

One Whole Dimension at the Tips of Your Fingers

By

Keith Kennedy

He had writing fingers.  Got them when he was fifteen, for his birthday.  Didn’t want them anymore.  Computer input was coming back, the new fad, so retro. Read the rest of this entry »

WAITING OUT ETERNITY

by

Steven P. Servis

Heaven was death to me as I lay shivering in the hotel shower, Read the rest of this entry »

Fairy Dust Guitar

by John Miller

Smoke’s lazy haze hangs over the bar and the customers chatting over their drinks. Some patrons actually listen to me play.  It’s a packed gig but sedated, Read the rest of this entry »

YOU ARE WHAT YOU READ

by

W. K. Tucker

Jane Hitchcock twitched the feather duster over the shelf of old books, stirring up years of dust that had settled upon their frayed Read the rest of this entry »

Future Tense

By

Rory Steves

     “No!” I screamed, “No! Must stop her! Must protect her!”

     The door opened, and in walked the blonde nightshift nurse with the needle. I could never quite see her face in the shadows. I pulled Read the rest of this entry »

Shaman Born

By Alva Roberts

            A thick sheet of ice and snow covered the land, the only breaks in the endless field of white were the evergreen trees, nature’s last stand against the encroaching winter. It was always cold but the elders said that there had never been a winter as long as this one. Spring should have come weeks ago. Erick Coldeye stood staring at the endless drifts wishing them away.

            Today was his fifteenth birthing day, the day when he was supposed to join the hunters and warriors as a man. If the storms came he would have to wait. His head told him it was a small thing to worry about. He had waited fifteen years. What were a few more days? But his heart yearned for the freedoms and privileges that came with manhood.

            “Erick, I have sent a runner for your father and brothers. If we hurry we will have time before the storm breaks. Follow me,” Horal, the village shaman said, his voice creaking with age.

            Horal was the oldest man in the tribe, some said in the whole world. What little of his hair remained was white as the surrounding snow. His back was hunched and he looked weak. But no man in the tribe, not the largest of them, would challenge the old man to a contest of strength. He could talk to the spirits and command the elements to do his bidding.

            Erick kept a respectful silence as he followed the elderly man to the stables. He would have to master an untrained mount before the eyes of the men of his family to be considered a man. It could take hours. The young mounts had just reached their full height, their shoulders level with the top of Erick’s head. They were young and powerful and would fight against his control for hours.

            Horal chanted in a low steady voice as Erick made his way to the fenced area outside the stable. All the young mounts were there. As Erick watched, one of the young bulls trumpeted and stamped his feet showing his sprit. He would be Erick’s mount.

            The mounts had thick brown fur, heavy ivory tusks, and long winding trunks. It was said that the mounts once had much larger cousins that could not be tamed, only hunted. The elders said a single beast could feed the tribe for a week. Erick was not sure he believed it.

            Shaking his head, Erick hopped the fence. This was not time to be thinking about the old one’s tales. This was the day he would become a man, he needed to focus his thoughts on the powerful creatures that stood before him.

            He pulled a long rope from his belt and wound it around his arm, as he watched the huge creature. He moved downwind from the mount, he could not let the half-tamed beast catch his scent. The beast’s were skittish around humans. The creature’s own smell was thick and musky. Every fiber of Erick’s being shook with nervous anticipation.

            The wind suddenly shifted. Everything Erick knew about weather told him that it was impossible, but it did not matter. The young bull caught his scent. It turned, moving surprisingly fast for so large a creature.

            “Erick run!” his father yelled.

            The bull trumpeted and charged straight for Erick. Its footfalls sounded like thunder, as its huge feet slammed into the frozen earth. Erick felt his excitement instantly transformed into terror. Death was charging towards him.

            He jumped to the side in the last instant before the beast crushed him. It rumbled past him, smashing through the stable yard fence. The bull raised its trunk high into the air and trumpeted its freedom as it made its way into the forest.

The sound echoed through the stable yard, to be replaced by silence as his father, brothers and Horal stared, shocked and unmoving. Erick crawled to his feet and brushed the snow from his hair. Shame filled every fiber of his being. He had failed. He would not become a man this day.

            “Erick, come help us repair the fence,” his father called.

            No one spoke as they worked to bring logs over. Erick did not need to hear the words. He had shamed himself, had shamed his family. It would not be a surprise if his father disowned him. Erick’s eyes filled with tears but he choked them back, he would not dishonor himself any more than he already had.

***

            The storm struck just as they finished rebuilding the fence. The wind whipped around them, driving the hard small flakes into their faces. As they rushed to their thatch covered hut, Erick could see the other tribesman retreating into their homes. Only a fool would venture out in a storm such as this.

            “Erick, how was your trial?” Erick’s mother called out as they ventured into their home.

            Erick’s father caught his wife’s eye and shook his head. She made a gasping sound and reached out to as if to comfort him, but pulled her hand away before it reached him. Erick felt a lump form in his throat.

            “It was not his fault, the wind spirits acted against him,” his father said in a cold voice.

            Fear rumbled in Erick’s belly. Failing the test was shameful but the spirits acting against him meant he was cursed. No wonder his brothers stayed clear of him while they worked. After the storm, he would have to leave before his curse was brought down on the entire Coldeye clan. He would be out cast, there could be no worse punishment. His clan was the most important thing in the world. Without them he was nothing.   

            Erick crossed the entire room, to climb into his own bed. He could feel their eyes on him, judging, and would not let them see the tears he could no longer fight down.  He pretended to sleep, listening as they ate and spoke in quiet whispers about what had happened. No one knew the cause of the curse.

            Erick feigned sleep until the only sound was that of the wind slamming into the yurt. He waited few minutes then climbed to his feet, dressing in his furs. He would not allow his shame to taint his family.

            “Erick, what are you doing?” his younger brother, Leif, asked in a whisper.

            “Shhh. Do not wake the others. I have lost all honor. I will go find the bull and return with my honor.”

            “Don’t you hear the storm? You will never return! The wind spirits are already angry with you.”

            “What better way to test the curse? If I return then I will have a place in the Coldeye clan. If I don’t…tell father and mother that I love them.” Leif didn’t say a word as Erick left the yurt.

            Erick almost retreated to the safety of the yurt the second he stepped outside. The snow was knee deep, the drifts almost to his waist. The wind hammered at him, picking up the snow in great billowing clouds.

            “Hear me Spirits of Wind and Storm, I am Erick Coldeye. I do not fear you, nor your curse. I am a man. You will not stop me.”  Erick’s voice was carried away by the wind, so that he barely heard his own words.

            The wind picked up in strength as if to prove it heard him. Erick lowered his head against the furious strength of the gusts and walked forward. Snow caked the front of his body in white. He could not see.

            But he did not need his eyes to find the stable yard. It was a trip he made almost every day. Erick was shaking with cold and his hands were turning blue by the time he reached the recently repaired fence.

            A large shape was moving near the pen. He had guessed that the bull would try to return to the safety of the stables during the storm and he was right. The mount was leaning against the fence, trying to get out of the wind. There was still a chance to regain his honor.

            His numb hands fumbled at his belt, pulling free his rope. He made a huge loop and wrapped the other end around his arm. Everything had to be done perfectly. He would only have one chance.

            Erick ran forward throwing his loop around the creature’s snout and vaulting onto his back. The mount trumpeted a loud angry warning and surged to its feet, running into the woods.

            The wind tore at Erick’s face so hard that it felt like it was burning. His numb hands threatened to release their grip. It would mean death to fall off the beast so far from the village. He held on, testing his strength and stamina against the huge creature. He rode the maddened beast for hours.

            The mount slowed just as Erick thought his tired muscles could no longer hold on. He could feel the mount’s sides heaving beneath him as the creature sucked in cold air. Erick pulled the rope to the side, forcing the creature to turn. It was time to begin training the creature to obey his will.

***

            Just as the sun shattered the gathered clouds with the light of dawn, Erick turned the mount back toward the tribe’s lands. A huge grin covered his face. He would return with the dawn, as a man.

            “You fell to my strength during one of the worst storms I have ever seen. I will name you Frostfall,” Erick shouted to his new mount.

            The village was quiet in the still morning. The only sound came from the stables as the huge creatures trumpeted the dawn. There were no other sounds, no sounds of warriors checking their mounts, and no smell of food cooking.

            Something was wrong. Erick rode Frostfall straight into the village instead of stopping at the stable. The snow between the yurts was trampled and flat, tinted red with blood.

            Erick could see arms and legs sticking out from the drifts between the yurts. There were two dozen dead and more could have been hidden by the snow. Some of them were not of the tribe. They wore clothing dyed black, a bad luck color that none in the tribe would wear. Many of the yurts had been knocked over. Erick’s mind was numb. He could no longer feel his hands or his feet. He needed a fire soon or the winter spirit would claim some of his toes.

            “Erick. Is that you?” Horthal’s voice quivered.

            Erick turned his mount, and stared down. A yurt had fallen on the old man. The large timbers pinned him to the ground. He still held his bundle of unused spears, in his weak unmoving hand.

            “Shaman,” Erick shouted and started to slide off his mount.

            “Wait! Wait. Your mount is not fully trained. It may flee if you dismount. You will need it to save the rest.”

            “The rest? What happened here?”

            “The Empire’s Slave Takers attacked as we slept. They have a powerful shaman with them. The storm did not touch them. Most were taken before we even knew what was happening. You must save them. Take my spears.”

            Horal tossed his bundle of spears up to Erick who deftly caught it.

            “What about you?” Erick asked, fear and confusion strong in his voice.

            “I am old. I would survive but a little longer if you stayed. Save the tribe, Coldeye.”

            The Slave Takers were easy to follow. They were on foot heading South toward the Empire, as they marched they left a wide path through the snow.

            Erick followed, his anger growing. He had been too shocked and scared to feel angry before, but now he let it flow through him. The powerful emotion brought him energy and warmth. He would teach the Empire men to fear the Clan of Coldeye.

            The slavers came into view quickly, they must have waited out the storm in the yurts and left after the storm broke. He could see twenty or so of the black clad men and a single sled. The entire tribe trudged behind them, chained together at the hands and waist. He thumped his heels into Frostfall’s thick sides and pulled out the first of Horal’s spears.

            It was a thrilling moment. All his life he had trained to be a hunter and a warrior. He had practiced throwing spears from the back of the tribe’s small ponies to prepare for this day. The wind swept past his face and he could feel the freedom that came with being a man.

            His first spear buried itself in a man’s chest. Erick pulled another and threw it with the same result. By the time Frostfall reached the group, four were already dead.

            The foolish slavers grouped together to defend against his charge. Frostfall broke through them as easily as he had broken the fence the day before. Black clad figures flew through the air to the left and right. Erick threw another spear.

            The captured warriors of Erick’s tribe ran forward, using their own chains as weapons. Erick turned to make another pass at the largest group of slavers when pain coursed through his body. Electricity surged around him, and Frostfall.

            The young mount fell to the ground twitching and heaving. Erick tumbled off rolling over the cold snow covered ground. A man stood over him, carrying a long staff of plain white wood, wearing thick black robes the same color as the slavers.

            “What a young fool you are. Did you think your beast could defeat a wizard?”

            The man made a complicated gesture in the air and the dead slavers rose to their feet on unsteady legs.

            “It is a simple enough spell, I learned it when I was about your age. None of the other apprentices wanted to learn it, the reanimated dead cannot tell friend from foe.”

            The bodies stumbled toward the gathered men on unsteady legs. They attacked with hands and teeth, goring and biting both the tribesmen and the slavers.

            “I’ll have to call the whole thing a wash. Perhaps I could take the ivory from your trained beasts to recoup some of the losses. Hhhmmm.”

            The wizard turned his back on Erick obviously talking to himself.

            The necromancer walked over to stare at Frostfall. He made a strange gesture, not even looking at Erick. Erick’s breath was sucked from his lungs. It felt like something thick and heavy was wrapped around his chest.

            Erick struggled to move, but his body only twitched. He could not allow this.

            Then Erick felt a presence all around.  He could hear its simple thoughts and desires. Erick also felt his own panic building as he struggled for breath.

            Erick toiled to understand what was happening. Out of desperation, Erick tried to let the presence know his own thoughts. The ground around them began to shake. The wizard turned back, staring at Erick with a look of fear.

            Fire began to gather around the wizard. The air crackled with energy. The wizard’s eyes glowed with an unnatural green light.

            Frostfall’s thickly muscled trunk struck outward, smashing into the wizard’s back. The wizard tumbled to the ground just in time for a huge man shaped figure to pull itself out of the ground. The elemental was made of the earth itself. The creature knocked the wizard fifteen feet in the air with a single swing of its arm.

            Erick felt his breath return in a huge gasp that tasted sweet as summer berries. He rolled onto his back gasping, then felt something wet nuzzling against his face.

            Frostfall stood above Erick, his long snout rubbing up and down his face. Erick sat up and pushed the mammoth’s trunk away. He had made a new friend in his struggles.

            “Erick, you’re alive.” Erick’s father gave a joyful shout.

            “And a man,” Erick said, gesturing toward Frostfall.

            “And a Shaman,” his father said. “You were not cursed. Those who are touched by the earth and can feel its spirits are often betrayed by the air.”

            Erick stood, shocked into silence by the statement. He knew it was true. He would develop and train his power just as he trained to be a hunter. As a shaman he would be bring more honor to the Coldeye clan than any tribesmen ever had.

            “Let’s go home,” Erick said with a huge grin.

TREE LINE

By Christine Rains

Purl dove for the hand still visible above the white sand. Her fingers did not manage to catch a firm hold before it was sucked downwards. She heard a helpless scream and realized it was coming from between her own cracked lips. Fine grains flew up to pollute her mouth as another tentacle burst upwards to latch onto her wrist.

She felt Mirage grab her around her small waist and yank her backwards. She dug her sharp nails into the slick appendage, and it loosened its hold enough so that she could free herself. The two of them tumbled over backwards and down the small hill.

Her body ached, but her tears came from the pain in her heart. Purl curled up against Mirage and cried for the loss of her brother. His muscled arms embraced her with a tenderness one wouldn’t expect from a man that looked like him.

“Hush, woman. You’ll be okay.”

Purl shook her head and pressed her face to his bare chest. Her hands balled up in fists to beat against him. “Jerboa went onto the sand because of me. Me!”

She hadn’t been thinking. She had been playing with little Coati, trying to show him how to throw his boomerang. It was his favorite toy. It only skittered a body’s length out onto the sand.  She could jump that distance back to safety.

The others in their pack crept out from the trees, but did not move farther than a body’s length from their shelter. Children whimpered and many of the women wept. A few of them held open their arms, beckoning to the pair to come into the trees.

Purl continued to cry. She hadn’t been thinking, and it cost her Jerboa.

“Jerboa knew what he was doing and he did as he intended: he saved you.” Mirage stroked her shaved head. His thick fingers followed the one thin dark braid down.

The sound of young ones crying reminded her that she had only given birth once. The child hadn’t survived, but she had many precious years ahead of her to provide for the pack. Jerboa had known her value, and he had sacrificed himself for her. Though she understood the reason why, it did not make the pain and the guilt easier to bear.

* * * *

The morning came on with a bright fierceness. Purl held vigil for Jerboa throughout the night, but the sun signaled her mourning was over. It wasn’t nearly enough for her, but daylight wasn’t to be wasted. She sucked back her remaining tears and ate the first meal of the day with the rest of the pack.

The group huddled with her treated her as if she were a fragile thing. They didn’t think her strong enough to even bury the cores from her fruit. A child had done that for her. Purl bore their treatment with silent irritation. She shouldered two large waterskins to show that she was able to do her share of the work this day.

“Let me take those for you.” A female with three braids and a new growing bump in her belly ran a hand over Purl’s head. “The children want your company and stories today.”

“You cannot do this work, Cascade, and you know so. The children can wait for their stories.” Purl forced a grateful smile to the surface and bent to kiss Cascade’s small swollen belly. She didn’t wait for any further response, but turned on her heels and walked west to follow a line of men and able women towards the water’s edge.

It took the whole morning to reach the edge of the forest which fell off into the sea. Purl swiped the sweat from her forehead and squatted by the tree line as a half dozen of the men readied the poles to dip the skins down in the water. No one dared to move nearer to the water’s edge. The creatures of the sea were more monstrous than those of the desert. The pack had no choice but to live sandwiched between the two and pray there were no floods or sandstorms.

Mirage came up behind her and crouched down so that his legs were on either side of her body. “I will help you with your skins. The water is choppy today.”

Purl peered over her shoulder at him and smiled. She appreciated the help and the fact that he didn’t try to take her work from her. There was also a physical thrill having him so close to her like this. He had started to court her a week before, and Jerboa had encouraged her to accept him. She would honor her brother’s wish, and if she bore a son, she would name the child for him. “May we do it first before the sun gets too hot in the sky?”

The large man nodded and rubbed his cheek against the back of her head before standing. “You may go first on the pole I have set.”

Though she knew Mirage was giving her special treatment, it was different than how the others had done so. His intentions flattered and excited her. Purl stood and slipped the skins off her shoulders as she approached the long dipping pole. She securely tied the first skin to it and stood back to take the handle. Mirage positioned himself behind her as an anchor.

“Ready for the first one.” She gave him the warning and began to lower it down into the sea. Her heart raced with the danger of what they did, but it was essential to their survival.

The skin sank into the water, and the pole bent as it filled. Purl said nothing as they worked. None of the pack on the poles uttered a word. She lifted it with a grunt and was glad for Mirage’s muscles. He took on the bulk of the lifting and they hefted the full skin upwards, setting it down so that she could tie it closed.

She set it back in the trees and knotted the second skin to the pole. “Ready for number two.” She nipped her lower lip as they lowered it down. She leaned back as it filled and felt Mirage’s chest against her back. A small smile quirked up her lips, but it was suddenly yanked away as she felt extra weight on the pole.

“Up!  Up!” Mirage clenched his jaw as he pulled up on the pole in hopes they wouldn’t lose it. Down the line of dippers, there was another harsh cry to yank up.

Purl dug her heels in and used added her strength to Mirage’s as they lifted the skin out of the water. A small sea beast clung to the full sack and had pierced it with its beak. It still attacked even though it wasn’t finding any meat to soothe its voracious appetite.

Three men in loincloths stood near with spears, and as the skin was brought closer with its passenger, they struck out at it. Its tentacles were no more than four feet long, but it managed to catch one of the weapons and tried to yank the man towards it. One of the others lurched in and drove his spear through its conical body. It hissed and thrashed, releasing both skin and weapon. Its fate now was no other than to feed the pack.

There were more screams from down the line. A bigger monster had taken hold of another pole. Five hunters tried to pull it free, but a thick tentacle lashed out from the water to grab hold of the head man, Oryx, as well as the wood. Blades gleamed under the sun and slashed at the slimy appendage.

Purl couldn’t help there. She was too petite to be a hunter. Once the skin had been set on the ground, Mirage dashed over to help his pack mates as she used a blob of tree gum from a pouch she carried to seal the hole in her waterskin. She dragged it over to the tree line.

The beast that had latched onto her skin was no longer moving. It was deflated and its tentacles curled up along side of it. It was a baby compared to the monster still battling for its prize. When she saw it rear out of the water for a brief moment, it was twenty times the size of the dead one. It could eat a man whole.

She shuddered, remembering Jerboa disappearing beneath the sand last night. Did he suffocate first or did he feel himself being ripped into pieces? She choked back her tears, not wanting to think about it, but not being able to stop herself.

There was a triumphant cry as the men fell back with Oryx still in their midst. The pole and skin were lost, but their pack mate was saved. They retreated with great haste into the tree line as two more tentacles searched along the shore for their prey. A few of the pack growled with the desire for battle, but there could be no victory against a monster that large. They would have to be content with the smaller one still impaled on the spear.

Once the sea creature disappeared into the water, the pack traveled south against the water current. They finished their water collection a good distance away from the previous site before heading back to the village. There was great excitement when Oryx came back with a tale of survival and the feast of the beast.

The water was delivered into the ancient geothermal desalinators and more recently converted seawater greenhouses. Purl had been fascinated with the great kettles since she was a little girl, and she had helped with the design of the greenhouses to grow food the pack needed instead of having to forage far for them. She didn’t have the skills or physique to be a hunter, but her mind was of great worth to the pack.

The feast was prepared and there was a celebration of life that night. Purl felt the sharp contrast to the previous night, but it was not one of bitterness. Her guilt still nagged at her, but she did her best to ignore it. She had to carry on and not give in to her sorrow.

The Elders led the pack in song and there was the call for one of her stories. The children still awake piped up and pleaded with Purl to tell them one. Since she had denied them earlier in the day, she took up a spot by the Elders around the bonfire. She smoothed her hands down over her short hide skirt. She cleared her voice and there was silence.

“Humans were born of the earth. They rose from the mud as small, weak creatures, but soon grew strong. They learned to walk on two legs to reach up to the trees and pick the juiciest of fruits. They had not claws or beaks like other beings, but they had keen minds. What their bodies could not do, they built tools to do the work for them.

“Humans expanded their knowledge, learning great things. The tools they built grew in size, too. They had immense villages and could travel the sea in a day. They stretched their arms from coast to coast of all the lands in the world. They took up the earth and the sea for themselves. They claimed their dominion over it.”

Her voice took on an ominous tone. “They eventually forgot they were of the earth. They believed themselves greater than it. The earth and the sea – who had always fought against one another – whispered together. They would be destroyed by the humans if they continued to take from them. They could not allow such a terrible thing to happen.

“The earth and sea trembled with their rage. The deserts grew and buried the fertile lands. The sea spread and swallowed whole civilizations. As the humans had spread their arms across the world, the earth and sea created their own hunters to stretch out and reclaim their domain. Millions of humans perished and those that survived were left with only tiny strips of forest to hide within.

“We still hide, caught between the earth’s and the sea’s rage. As long as we do not extend our reach beyond our given strip, they will not claim us as they have the rest of the world. Our ancestors’ greed had lost them their lives, but we will not repeat their mistakes. We will take care of the little we are given and we shall not stretch our arms beyond our village.

“One day, the earth and sea will forgive us. Their rage will not last forever. Until then, we use our arms only to work and embrace one another. This is the lesson we have learned.”

Children stared up at her with wide enraptured eyes and adults nodded along with her telling. A few of the men raised their mugs to toast Purl and her story. It was the oldest tale of the pack and the one most retold. None of them must ever forget.

She retook her seat on a log and the singing resumed. A few of her pack mates came up and told her how much they liked her telling. Children were carried off to their beds and the moon rose higher in the sky.

“Bed with me tonight, lovely storyteller.”  Mirage’s breath was hot against the back of her neck. She hadn’t noticed he had crouched down behind her.

“I don’t know,” Purl teased in a whisper. “I’m fair tired after my telling and hauling water around today.”

His big hand crept around her waist and tugged her back against him. “I have my own story I want to share, but only you are meant to hear it.” The tip of his nose ran along the outer shell of her ear, and it sent delightful shivers through her body.

“Then take me to hear this story. I’m curious as to what a brave hunter like you might have to tell.” Purl was led away from the bonfire and to his hut. The story he told her had no words, but he made impressive use of his mouth. They fell asleep curled together long after the moon had reached its peak in the sky.

* * * *

Mirage woke her with his lusty appetite that left her pleasantly sore between the legs. Before he left the hut to start his day’s work, he kissed her flat stomach.

“What are you doing?” Purl giggled from the feeling of his whiskers. “You cannot know if there’s a child for you to greet.”

“I know.” His dark eyes flashed along with his grin. “My seed has been planted within you and you will ensure it will grow. I have seen the wonders you do, woman.”

She flushed and sent him on his way. Purl scraped off the night’s sweat and went about her own work tending to the immense kettles. Their ancestors were brilliant to be able to build such things. It had taken her years to learn how to keep the desalinators working. Humans no longer had the tools to build such things any more. If the kettles were to break and they could not repair them, they would have to rely on the water provided by the greenhouses and there was not nearly as much produced by them.

Purl did her rounds with the kettles and before she could head towards the greenhouses, two children ran up to her. Sand Cat grabbed her hand and jerked on it. “You have to come right now, Purl. There’s something in the house of beans!”

Whorl was two years older than the boy, but she was trembling. “Please. You must hurry.”

“Go fetch some hunters.” Purl told the bushy haired boy. He sprinted off and she took up the girl’s thin hand. “Come. We can’t lose this crop when it is so close to harvest.”

The pair ran along the worn path and passed six other long buildings before they came to the one that housed the beans.  A crowd of women and children stood out front. Only three of the young women without any braids held spears as they stood guard by the door.

“Purl!” Cascade held her eldest child against her.

Purl released the girl’s hand and put a comforting hand on her shorn head. “Tell me.”

“Something broke in through a window on the side. None of use seen the thing, but it sounds like a warpig.” Cascade moaned with that possibility.

“We heard it snorting!” One of the older boys piped up.

Nipping her lower lip, Purl nodded and stepped up to the door to peer in through the glass. Several tables were knocked over and there was a rustling of plants near the rear of the greenhouse. “Warpigs are stupid. We can frighten it out of there.” She gestured to the trio with the spears. “You come with me. The rest of you go to the other buildings and make sure everything is secure. It will be safer for you there, too.”

No one questioned her. Purl had not seen many years, but she was wise. The majority of the group hurried away and she took a deep breath. With a silent motion, she opened the door and reached in to grab a spade. It would do as well as any of the spears. She did not plan on killing the warpig. They were rare in the forest and she’d rather chase it off so it could go on its way than kill it.

There was a round of snorting from the back as the animal found something succulent to eat. Purl used her hands to command the other women, indicating two go along one side and she would go with the third along the other. They would herd the warpig up the middle and through the door.

The mist in the greenhouse already coated her with a shimmering layer. Trickles of sweat ran down her back to mingle with it. Purl moved with care over the fallen tables and damaged plants. Most could be saved, but they had to rid themselves of their unwanted guest first.

As they neared the rear of the greenhouse, she could see a rounded spiky back. It was no doubt a warpig and one that came to just below her waist. None of them wanted to be near the beast, but it would be more afraid of them than they were of it. Purl looked across to the other two women and counted with her fingers.

At three, they hollered at the animal and startled it into flight. It veered to one side and upon seeing the spears, dashed to the other side. It nearly ran into the head of the spade, but it turned in time to run forward. The women ran after it, shrieking and barking. More damage was done with the warpig’s retreat than it had upon entering.

It swerved towards the left corner where the irrigation pipes came together. Purl shouted out a protest, but the warpig could not understand her. It smashed through the pipes and out through the glass of the side. A length of flexible piping was caught around its fat neck and the fleeing animal dragged it with it as it ran.

“Stop it!  The pipe cannot be replaced!” Purl was already running out the door after it.

The warpig’s fear gave it a boost of speed. It raced to the east, to the desert. Purl’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest. She could not lose that piping and she continued to chase after it even when the other women had stopped.

Behind her, she could hear something larger crashing through the woods. “Purl!  Purl!”

She recognized Mirage’s voice, but did not stop. The trees thinned out to nothing and there were only scrubby bushes between them and the sands. “We have to catch it! I need the piping!”

The fleeing animal ran out onto the white sand. It stumbled but picked itself up to continue onwards. It was slowed by the desert and Purl managed to close some distance. Mirage’s longer legs let him catch up to her.

“Let the beast go!”

“No! I need that piping.” She protested, speeding out into the desert.

Mirage growled with his anger and scooped her up over his shoulder. He darted back to the safety of the trees. He held her even as she fought against him. “Calm down, woman. Once the warpig realizes it isn’t being chased, it will discover where it is and flee back here to the trees. We will get your piping then.”

Purl ceased her struggling and nodded. She hadn’t been thinking. It would have been like the day she lost Jerboa. She was breathing heavily as he placed her down on her feet. They crouched down and watched the warpig from the cover of the trees. Mirage pointed to the animal, showing her that it had slowed and regained some of its senses. It made an alarmed squealing noise and hurried back towards the tree line.

She grinned up at him and gripped her spade tighter. He was the hunter, but she would help as needed. Mirage chuckled under his breath and gave her rear a pat before readying himself to strike out at the animal.

Before the warpig could get as far as the bushes, two brown tentacles burst out of the sand on either side of it.  They couldn’t get a hold at first, but they tripped it and as it rolled with a terrified screech, one of the appendages wrapped around it. The animal was lost, and Purl would have let that be if it weren’t for one thing.

“The piping!” She burst forward with plans on hooking the piping with her spade. Her stomach trembled with the memory of Jerboa being pulled under. She whimpered, but she couldn’t let the pack suffer for lack of food.

Mirage snarled and sprinted after her. His speed carried him past her and he thrust out with his spear to try to get the piping. He stabbed the warpig and slashed one of the tentacles. Blood gushed out and made the sand clump together in gory red chunks.

Another tentacle erupted from the sand and twined around his thick calf. Mirage’s spear was stuck between the ribs of the warpig and he could not pull it out while maintaining his balance. Purl felt tears burn her eyes and ran up to whack at the tentacle that held him. It didn’t loosen its grip, but the sand creature did pull the squealing beast under.

Mirage dove to one side, ripping the piping from around the warpig before it disappeared. He was flat on his stomach and tried to find traction with his one free hand. He held out the piping to her. “Take it!  Run!”

“No! Mirage!” She beat at the tentacle again, but the skin was too hard and it had a firm hold on its prey. Instead of taking the piping, she dropped her spade and locked her hands around his wrist to pull him with all her might.

The bulbous head of the sand creature crested the surface, but it found a new hold and yanked on Mirage. Hunters threw spears from the tree line, but none of them found their target. His leg was sinking downwards and Purl screamed her protest.

“Let go!” He bellowed.

“NO!” Purl could not stand to lose him after Jerboa gave his life for hers.

Mirage ripped his arm free of her hold and pushed her back so she stumbled into the bushes. She screamed again as he was sucked further into the desert. She had not seen him pick up the spade, but it was in his hands and as his body went into the sands, he plunged the tool downwards with a  fearsome cry.

The spade vanished, but Mirage did not. He scrambled out of the hole and rolled into the brush next to her. He didn’t stop, but gathered her up and sped back to the tree line. Over his shoulder, Purl could see the piping laying on the sand undisturbed.

“The-”

Mirage silenced her with a kiss. “We’ll go fishing for it later, woman.”