Leaping down onto the warm rocks, Draa headed straight into the desert, past the gorge at the Nest's southern entrance. The morning was splendid: the air shimmered with heat over the dunes; his ears caught the furious squeaking of insects devouring prey in their constant, all-consuming dance with larger creatures; beneath the cliff, in the darkness, he spotted the pale cocoons of drones, positioned as lures for foolish beings; sunbeams played upon exposed silver ore, untouched for many decades.
Despite the lifeless appearance of the yellow expanse stretching to the horizon, the desert teemed with life. Familiar figures, mostly Malformed children, often crossed his path, busily carrying baskets in the crooks of their arms and prodding the sand with wooden sticks to uncover corpses or rummage through burrows to catch juicy scorpions. On the dune crests, lean, wiry Malformed with enormous ears or keen noses leaped, scanning for the slightest trace of strangers. One such scout turned his eyeless face toward Draa, grinning at the boy. Draa answered the responsible Malformed with a bow, trusting he would hear the movement of his joints.
Beneath the sand, in precisely measured locations, lay rattling traps designed to alert the sentinels. The Malformed did not fear Softskins, perceiving any intrusion as a future feast, but neither were they fools. Twice, humans had burned past Nests, driving the herd from metal-rich lands. Eight times they had tried to do so here.
After twenty minutes of walking, Draa approached the longstanding site of such a battle, a tale Gaur had told him back when the boy still considered the massive guard a decent fellow. Like giant claws tearing through hide, dozens of metal tips jutted from the sand, casting long shadows useful for telling time. The older generation claimed these things were merely the fringe of an ancient civilization, buried by an unknown cataclysm beneath the earth. No one argued, as nature had proven powerless to topple these motionless mountains.
At their bases lay rusting heaps of scrap metal. The Softskins had come in great force, rushing toward the Nest atop their metal carriages that spewed steel shafts. The herd had awaited them, descending upon the invaders from above in an all-consuming flood. During the battle, the Softskins' carriages had attempted to reverse, to gain firing distance…
Then the chieftain had sheared through one metal pillar with a single stroke. How he had done it, Draa did not understand. The pillar was wider than the gates themselves, and claws could not physically reach from one edge to the other—but the proof, the clean cut visible on the halved hundred-meter structure, spoke for itself. Out of curiosity, descending into this valley, Draa had struck the pillar's base, producing a loud ring, and failed to dent the surface.
The Softskins caught in the trap were torn apart. All that remained were their dented machines, breached and crumpled by hundreds of limbs. Draa desperately wanted to know what these strange contraptions had looked like and how they moved. What had that long tube, connected to the wrecked turret, done?
Peering under a destroyed machine, he found wire-wrapped boulders. Selecting one, he carefully proceeded deeper among the protruding metal pillars, locating the nearest depression in the sand. Shade, and consequently coolness, was a luxury in the desert, and many animals nested here, often becoming food for stealthy hunters.
From the edge of the funnel-shaped depression, which occupied the entire twenty-meter passage, he tossed the boulder down the slope, holding onto the rope’s end. Below, in the darkness, the sand churned. The boy yanked the stone back into his hand, and a jet of sand, meant to knock an animal off its feet, shot up at him from below.
Draa stood his ground, and the subterranean predator leaped from the center of the depression, covering the distance to him in an instant on six hairy legs.
Flat, broad, the sand lion bore a single greenish hue. From above, the creature resembled a circle on eight limbs, but the front parts of its body were not legs but enormous mandibles, strong enough to hold prey while the creature burrowed back underground. Draa saw no eyes on the creature; its entire face was occupied by a gaping maw, full of flexible and agile feelers seeking flesh into which to inject liquefying venom. The bristly coating on the sand lion's carapace warned the insect of air currents, through which it perceived its external environment.
So Draa took a deliberately slow step back, feigning shock. As the creature leaped its final bound, he drew his right arm back, knowing with certainty that now it could not evade.
Once the creature's mandibles lashed out, encircling him, Draa seized the sand lion's head with his left hand, pulling it toward him, and drove his right fist straight into its open maw—crushing the proboscises, tearing the throat, driving his knuckles upward. The sharp edges of the mandibles scraped against his bony casing; the creature's legs dug into the sand, trying to drag them both downward where it could smother him. Through clenched teeth, Draa let out a deep growl.
Two hunters locked in mortal combat.
The chitinous plates on the sand lion's nape bulged outward. The creature clenched its jaws one last time, and his hand burst through, clutching soft tissue. Draa hurled the twitching body away from the depression, greedily licking his arm. His eyes flashed green, illuminating a pair of waiting Insectoid drones. The Malformed crushed their necks underfoot, stuffing their thin legs into his mouth.
More food. Kill and devour, hunt until the last breath… He froze, fighting the thrill of victory. His stomach rumbled, but the Malformed, breathing heavily, retrieved his tool, hoisted the motionless sand lion onto his shoulder, gathered the drones, and left the shadow of the overhanging cliffs.
Bloodlust washed over Draa in waves, lending speed to his stride. He wasn't sure what was happening. Mom assured him that all Malformed went through this phase, but he hadn't noticed Eshtu or Vyfka losing control like this. The changes didn't particularly frighten him. So far, the urge to maim granted useful bursts of adrenaline without clouding his mind.
To the west of the sand lions' hunting grounds, right on the border separating them from Softskin lands, stood a hill. Its only notable feature was a protruding rectangular platform. It bore no trace of rust; passing sandstorms did not bury it; and any Malformed attempting to dig down to its foundation inevitably stopped, retreating with curses.
All the space around the platform tingled with diffuse electricity, pleasantly agitating the nerves. Before Euka was born, his parents used to come here to enjoy a massage, as William called it. The deeper the Malformed dug, the stronger the tingling became, eventually causing unbearable pain. The elders had declared the place cursed; the chieftain had decided not to dispel this nonsense, and the site had lost popularity.
Draa considered it an excellent frying pan.
Approaching the platform, he stopped before a dark sphere lying on the sand. A strike of his claws opened the unknown object, and within it, blue sparks merrily crackled. On the front of the sphere, the size of Draa's foot, was another incomprehensible circle, like a human pupil. This thing hadn't been here before. He kicked it, shrugging at the lack of response, and climbed onto the scorching surface, leaving the sand lion on the dune.
Must be some trash blown in by the wind last night.
Draa folded his hands on his stomach, basking in the thermal bath, listening to the sizzle of his harvested drones. Life is good. It just won't always be this way. Dad is looking for another home for us—that's obvious even to the blind. But what did that note about the wounded man mean? Had he actually saved a person from another tribe? Draa took a half-roasted carcass and shoved it into his mouth, crunching the carapace between his teeth. He'd always wanted to meet an outsider, learn their speech. Judging by the fact that Dad had let the wounded man go, they had talked. If we can talk, we can coexist. Anywhere would be better than… than waiting for the chieftain.
A hissing from the broken object tore him from his daydreams of his family arriving at another herd, earning glory by protecting Softskins from Insectoids. He attributed the first bark to thoughtfulness, but upon hearing a second, Draa rolled off the platform and ran to the dune, hiding behind its crest.
"Who's there?" he asked, tensing.
“There... there... I,” responded a voice from the depths of the discarded sphere. The words came out blurred, as if the voices of cubs were merging. The second circle buzzed, shifting until he was reflected within it. "I pose no threat to you whatsoever," the sphere said with absolute clarity and certainty. Green flashed in its 'eye.' "My name is Artificer. May we speak?"
“Already...” Draa swallowed. “Already speaking. Are you inside the ball?”
“No. I am connected to the drone... the ball mentally, so to speak. Thank you for your trust...” Artificer paused, as if expecting something, then continued. "We require assistance." He modulated his intonation, weaving growls into stresses like a true Malformed.
"Are you stranded in the desert?" Draa stood to his full height. "In that case, you need to run before He finds you. Tell me where you are, and I'll lead you out."
“Not far. I don’t require evacuation. Few things can budge me.” Draa thought he detected amusement in his interlocutor's voice. "The assistance is required for five missing persons. Their names are Bagpal, Rudrani…" three more names followed. "They disappeared from the settlement in the evening, and we suspect abduction. I assume the abductors may well have been attacked by Malformed of your tribe."
“Herd,” Draa corrected. “If so, they’re dead. No Softskin has ever left this place alive.”
"You exaggerate. My inquiries located a family who retrieved their daughter from this place. According to their testimony, the leader of the hunting party did not permit his subordinates to touch them."
Great. He thinks Gaur spared them! Draa decided to keep his mouth shut.
"Other instances involved released prospectors who chose not to risk passing a message of their savior. In the event of the family's demise, we require confirmation of their death," Artificer hissed briefly before resuming. "There have been certain frictions between the locals, and both sides have their share of legitimate grievances, but we are speaking of children! I promise full protection, fair compensation, and shelter in exchange for cooperation."
“Somewhere the chieftain can't find me?” Draa clarified.
“Once the mission is complete, he will never be a hindrance to you.”
Draa considered. The offer was dangerous, suicidal. Artificer could easily betray him, shoot him with a fire-tube. He didn't believe in the survival version of the people. Surely the chieftain had gone after them today and was already feasting on their bones, sating his malice. But what option did he have left? Mom and, one day, Euka would never have peace here. His family couldn't survive, and Dad's pleas were ignored, as Artificer had revealed. The chance for a different existence was infinitesimally small, but Draa wasn't going to ignore it.
"Shelter… Could it be multiple Shelters?" the boy dared to ask.
"Yes. Bring friends, and I guarantee their safety," Artificer promised. "You will find another sphere here, buried in the sand. It will arrive unnoticed within the hour. Subsequently, it will guide you through the perimeter to allies. Bear in mind, this task is extremely dangerous. If the children are alive, the information alone is enough for me...”
“It’s alright.” Draa thumped his chest, hoisting the sand lion onto his shoulder. "I can take care of myself. I'm already ten."
“How old?!” A hiss, mixed with a burst of sparks, escaped through the crack. "You are a minor? Deal amended. Wait here, I will extract you to a safe location."
"I haven't fulfilled my part of the bargain yet," Draa scowled.
"To hell with that! Stay here; do not take risks."
"Why are you so worried about me?"
"I served as a police officer... a guardian of the law. I promise I’ll get your friends out... Are you listening to me?”
“Everything will be fine,” Draa promised, heading toward the Nest. The burst of concern and the mention of a police officer convinced him of the rightness of his decision. In his book, there was a policeman who risked himself to rescue hostages. "I need to tell my family."
"Grab them and come here," the sphere hissed. "You don't need to investigate…" With a soft pop, the sphere exploded, scattering into numerous fragments.
Draa sniffed the air, detecting no scent of life from the crackling pile rolling down the slope. So how did they talk? Was it magic?
He returned with a pounding heart, waving to the scouts running in the distance, completely forgetting about the uneaten Insectoid. Had he made the right decision? He needed to consult Dad. Finding out the fate of the missing was easy; just ask any guard. It was safe, and they were just waiting for the opportunity to boast about how they defended the domain, greatly exaggerating their achievements. No, what worried him most was what fate Artificer had in store for them. After all, the chieftain wouldn’t pose a threat to Draa if Draa were dead. Words mattered.
Nevertheless, he wanted to believe. And that meant he could not trust his judgment. Faith had never saved anyone.
Approaching the Nest, he stopped, hearing harsh cries. In a disorderly throng, hundreds of warriors were returning from battle, led by the chieftain, dragging torn corpses. The front ranks scaled the wall, climbing onto the balcony and issuing triumphant roars, gathering the Malformed within. Their leader was in high spirits, periodically leaning toward a nearby mutant with a burned face and exchanging jokes with a scout, dismissively waving a paw when the woman bowed. Spotting Draa in the distance, he pressed two claws to his temple in greeting, whistling at the sight of the boy's prey.
Draa answered with a nod, his whole body trembling. Before the chieftain, four girls were being pushed along, barely reaching the monster's knee. In tattered suits, they shielded themselves from the heat with their palms and tried to support the last, larger girl. For a second, the bodies parted, revealing the child's face.
She was weeping bloody tears, baked by the heat, that streamed from the ragged holes where her eyes had been.
He had learned everything Artificer required, and he understood with certainty that this man had not lied about the missing, at least. He could tell his family, receive the reward, flee from this beast and its merciless rule… But Draa refused. Everything within him rebelled at the idea of allowing the chieftain to do to these children worse than he had done to others. Perhaps Softskins were evil, but these girls were far too young to have committed any crime against the Malformed, and no matter what they had done, he could not justify leaving them to a fate more horrible than death.
Family. Eshtu... And probably Vyfka and Tigfy. Must find. Draa clenched his fist, deciding. The main thing was to get this right.