Barbarian Mine (Ice Planet Barbarians #4)(50)

The slow thud and subsequent shake of the ground is what wakes me up. I sit up on my sled as another thud rocks the world, and realize we’ve stopped. It’s twilight, the suns fading into the purplish skies.

“Found ‘em,” Liz whispers.

In the distance, at the tree line, I see a few of the enormous heads of the sa-kohtsk. One grazes on the feathery tips of one of the pink trees. Another slowly rambles past, the thudding of its feet shaking the earth. They’re enormous, each as big as an airplane, and I worry all over again. I’ve seen them before, but I’ve forgotten how big they are. They’re grazers, but their sheer size and strength makes them dangerous.

Raahosh turns to the hunters, and his gaze flicks to Liz. “We’ll circle, look for the small one. If we can wound it, we can separate it from the herd. If not, we can try and run it down, corner it.” He nods at Rukh. “Are you ready?”

Rukh lets go of the sled pull and glances down at me. I want to protest that he doesn’t need to go, but he has to. This is for our baby.

Liz hands me Rukhar and I clutch him close. “You don’t want Rukh to stay with his mate?” Liz asks.

“Rukh is strong and fast. We need him,” Raahosh says. His gaze fixes on Liz. “You will stay with her.”

“You’re sidelining the vaginas?” Liz bellows. “The fuck, babe?”

“You cannot run, my mate.” He moves forward to her and pats her stomach, even though she tries to swat his hand away. “You are an excellent shot, but you do not need to race with the hunters to use your bow.” He kisses her brow. “Guard her.”

Liz grumbles, but doesn’t say anything else. I look over at Rukh and he touches my cheek, then joins the others. I love you, I think quietly. Stay safe.

It’s impossible not to think about the hunt that killed his mother and maimed his brother. Judging from the tense expressions on both Rukh and Raahosh, I’m not the only one thinking about it.

The men melt into the trees a few moments later, and then it’s just me and Liz sitting in the snow. Rukhar lets out a tiny wail and I automatically tuck him under my poncho-style tunic and offer him my breast.

“Well,” Liz says, and grabs the lead on my sled. “Let’s see if we can get a seat on the sidelines, I guess, and hope for a good show.”

I don’t care if the show is good. I just want to save my baby and have my mate come back to me in one piece.




RUKH



Raahosh has done this before, the others tell me. When Maylak’s little Esha was born, when the women received their khui, and earlier, when Farli was born many, many seasons back. But each hunt is equally dangerous, and some of the hunters were out on the game trails and we could not wait for them to return. Every day is another that puts Rukhar at risk, so it must be now, and it must be this herd.

We approach. There are six strong men. I do not know all their names, and for some reason, that shames me. They all risk their lives for my son to have a chance at his. This realization goes through my mind over and over again. My own brother leads the pack, his spear at hand, a ‘bow’ like the one Leezh carries strapped over one shoulder.

The sa-kohtsk herd is fearsome up close. The creatures have enormous mouths that gape open as their heads swing back and forth, sifting the air. There are several adults, each one so large that one foot can crush a grown man. In the center of the herd, the kit stands near its mother. It is only half the size of the others, and it is our target.

Raahosh stops, and as the hunters gather, he gestures at the kit. “I have a clear shot of it from here. We can wound it, then stampede the herd. It will be left behind.” He motions for the men to pair off. “Chase the adults. Make noise, but be cautious you do not risk your life.”

The men nod.

“Make sure they do not turn. The women are behind us, and we do not want the sa-kohtsk running in their direction.”

A trickle of fear traces down my spine at the thought. Har-loh is weak, and Rukhar small and helpless…and both are far too close nearby for my liking. But they must remain close so Rukhar can receive his khui. My gut churns uneasily at the thought. The dangers are many.

The hunters ready their weapons. There are spears, slings, and several men carry wickedly sharp bone knives like my own. One of the sa-kohtsk lumbers past, ignoring us as small and insignificant, and I think of my father and the hunt to get my khui. Did he feel the same heart-pounding terror as I do? Did his gut clench when he realized he was putting his older son and his mate in danger? Or was he too reckless to care?

I can’t imagine why he didn’t return to the tribe to get their help. He had to know the danger. Or did he just not care?

Raahosh pulls his bow free and carefully places an arrow. He aims it, and I watch as he launches an arrow. A moment later, the sa-kohtsk kit bellows in pain, and one of the adults bugles in distress. Feet move and the ground shakes. The hunt has begun.

The men split off, yelling and shaking their spears as they surge forward, chasing the confused animals. One lumbers into a trot, and the ground feels as if it is about to shake apart. Another follows it, and then the herd is moving forward, prodded by spears and screams from our hunters. We are small against them, but it is working.

At the center of the herd, the kit staggers. The mother noses it, trying to get it to move, and when it collapses to its knees, she bellows and then turns away from it, abandoning her child in favor of self-preservation. I see this from my vantage point next to Raahosh, and I’m suddenly frozen. My memories turn back to my father. This is what he chose. He sacrificed his own child – his firstborn son, Raahosh – when he was too injured. For a moment, I want the mother sa-kohtsk to turn around, to nudge her kit to its feet.