Chapter 10
Trees - Brina
As her body passed in front of me, I saw Klala twist and straighten her arms and legs to release the skin between them. But this only slowed her fall, making it easier for the lion below to attack. Before she had even reached the ground, a lion grabbed the back of her neck with his immense jaws and snapped it. For an instant I had frozen, gripping the tree, unsure of what was happening. Then I went into action. I released a shot at the lion on the ground. Usually, when faced with an emergency, people do not rise to the occasion, but sink to the level of their training. Fortunately I had reloaded my bow after the first shot, without even thinking. Many hours of training had taught me to instantly reload my bow and to aim for the heart and lungs of the target. The arrow met its mark, and blood poured from the lion on the ground. So much blood made me queasy.
Unbelievably, the lion on our tree was still climbing toward us.
I have seen wild lions climb a short way up a tree, but usually they back down after shimmying up a few feet. This incensed animal continued to climb. Garwin gave the whistle to retreat. I replaced my bow in my quiver, scrambled down my branch, leapt to the trunk, and climbed, faster than I had ever moved in my life. When I reached a branch that was high enough, I leapt and glided to another tree toward the safety of the forest center. My peers all did the same, followed by Garwin.
We had killed two men and injured a lion, possibly fatally. A lion had snapped Klala’s neck right in front of my eyes. I dug my claws into the trunk and hugged the tree with all my might. My whole body was shaking. I started to cry. I knew warriors were not supposed to cry. But I had known Klala since we were small children. We had spent hours in the forest: playing tag, racing as we glided side by side. We had combed each other’s hair, shared secret crushes, and spoke of dreams of the future. Klala was dead, taken down like a common beast. My chest was heaving, the tears were flowing, and I was quietly sobbing.
“Shh…it’s not safe.”
I hadn’t noticed that Barque had landed beside me and slipped his arm around my shoulders.
“Shh,” he whispered again, gently.
I realized that I was endangering the entire troop with my noise. I looked into Barque’s steady, but gentle gaze. Then, I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, and listened. I heard the scraping of claws on a tree and the roar of a lion. The first lion was trying to back down the tree we had left. I turned to see that two more cat riders had appeared from the bushes beyond where we had struck the men. They were both looking fearfully from treetop to treetop and aiming their bows high. Although I had acted stupidly, thankfully they did not seem to have heard me.
“Cover me,” a young man with long tawny hair said in the cat rider tongue. He climbed off his lion and leaving the cover of the bushes, the cat rider pushed aside some hanging vines and took a few steps toward the bleeding lion, which was lying near Klala. “I thought they didn’t kill lions.”
“Let’s get out of here,” the other man said, still pointing his arrow from tree to tree.
The braver one stopped to examine one of the Ground Dweller bodies on the ground.
“This man is dead,” he announced.
“Then leave him. Get back on your cat. Let’s get out of here!” the frightened one repeated, pulling on his lion’s mane. He turned the cat back the way they had come, while looking over his shoulder still aiming his bow at the trees just above him.
“The cats would know if they were still here,” the braver one answered, nodding toward the largest lion who was still having trouble backing down the tree.
“They’ll be back. We need to go.”
The large lion’s back legs reached the ground, but it did not go to the living men, instead it approached one of the dead men, stood over him, and started to nudge him. I was surprised that it didn’t try to eat him.
The brazen man with the light hair nodded toward Klala’s body and said “Looks like there’s fresh flier meat here. We should try to bring it back for the cats.”
“You’re crazy! This isn’t safe. I’m leaving!” the other man said as he reached the bushes, still astride his animal.
The man with the light hair took a couple more steps in the leaf covered ground toward where Klala lay, and as he stepped down, he seemed to trip. In the next moment, he was lifted into the air, as the four corners of the net came together around him. The net had been strung from a vine and attached to a bent branch. Many such traps had been set around the perimeters of our forest.
“Pergassi, run!” the man yelled. The lion in the bushes answered his command by roaring in a voice that seemed to shake the whole forest, and then disappeared into the brush from which they had come. We had captured a cat rider.
Twang.
Several arrows landed just short of the other man as he retreated into the bushes on his cat. He would have been dead if the archers had shot to kill. The lion near the dead man started, tensed with wild eyes, and then ran. I hoped they would not return with more cat riders.
The net with the man inside it was lifted high into the air. As he struggled, his legs fell through the mesh. If the man tried to cut himself loose, he would fall to his death. We waited for a long time.
Finally, a whistled message from afar informed us that the cat riders had all retreated. Villagers glided from the side trees to our troop tree and other nearby trees, until they surrounded the man dangling high above the forest floor. Garwin signaled for my troop to join them. Concentric rings of archers formed in the trees around the dangling captive. No longer hidden in silence in the forest, the inner circle all began a low noise that slowly increased to a crescendo, while aiming our bows directly at him. Right when the sound reached its loudest point, we all fell silent.
I have always loved the freedom of the feeling when I leap from a branch into air, just as I love the feeling as my arrows release from my bow. Those arrows are like sisters to me. I can feel their flight and judge the distance, just as I can judge my own trajectory. Although I love the excitement of being an archer, I cannot stand the sight of blood. I hated the cat rider for Klala’s sake, but I was glad that according to custom, he would not be killed here, in front of my eyes, unless he foolishly refused our demands. Instead, he but would face the council at twilight for a decision. Hopefully the man would willingly throw down his weapons.
Garwin whispered in my ear, the words I knew were coming. “Brina, tell him to throw down his weapons.”
I carefully strung together the words, with odd sounds, that Baskrod had spent so many nights patiently teaching me to form. I had sometimes practiced the language with some merchants who knew it, but had never spoken it to a real cat rider. Would he understand me?
“Throw down your weapons or die,” I intonated, putting my tongue to the roof of my mouth and blowing to let out the difficult rasping sound in the cat rider word for “die.”
Silence. The cat rider struggled to turn in the snare towards me, to see who had spoken to him.
“Throw down your weapons or die,” I repeated in the strange language.
The man pulled one of his arms back into the net, grabbed the hilt of his curved sword, and dropped it to the ground. We heard it drop and bounce in the brush below. After awkward swinging around, he was able to remove a dagger from a leather strap at his ankle. That too he dropped to the ground. After we heard it hit far below, there was silence. The only movement was the swaying of the trap.
Garwin said to me, “Tell him not to try our patience. He must drop his bow.”
I vaguely remembered that the cat rider term I had used was a word that meant hand to hand combat weapons. Interpreting was not easy, even though Baskrod was an excellent teacher, and languages had always come naturally to me.
“Do not try our patience. Drop your bow,” I stated loudly and firmly, hoping I had gotten the words right.
After a pause, the man replied, “My bows have all left me.”
“What did he say?” Garwi
n asked.
“He says his bows have all left him,” I translated, puzzled.
Garwin furrowed his brow and angrily stated, “The man must be a fool to play with us. Anyone can see, he still has his bow. Tell him we will not ask again. He must drop his bow now, or die.”
I thought that perhaps the boy just wanted to die quickly, as he dangled in the air with so many arrows aimed at him. Our customs allowed us to give him his wish, if he did not follow our commands. My head started to ache, as I reviewed the words in my mind. A man’s life, albeit a cat rider, was hanging on my words, so I must get the words right. I thought about his answer which made so little sense.
He had said his bows had all left him. Maybe he was thinking of arrows? But I had used the word for bow. Just as I was about to repeat the same phrase, I realized: in our language the word for “bow” is the same as the word for “friend.” I had used the cat rider word for “friend”. Our lives depended on our bows to such an extent that we even gave them personal names. If cat riders had a separate word for bow, I did not remember it.
Garwin nudged me, “What are you waiting for?” he asked.
“We will not ask again. Drop the thing you shoot your arrows with,” I stated.
“My Plushka,” he stated. “Why didn’t you say so? You almost got me killed.” He shook his head, and to my great surprise, he smiled at me. Then he dropped his bow and a clatter of arrows with it.
Before the bow even hit the ground, his net started to move, tossing him about within its confines, as he was transported along our system of pulleys and vines toward the interior of our village. I was glad that my part in dealing with him was over.
“What was that about?’ Barque asked as the net slid away.
I told my troop about my mistake, and for a brief moment the tension was relieved, as we all laughed, but just as quickly, a shadow fell over our hearts, as we remembered the horrible duty that still faced us.