Chapter 2

Chapter 2

T en days passed, and then twenty, and I did not die.

No hives formed on my skin. Fever did not take hold. Madness failed to creep in, at least in the way the victims of the disease had suffered from before their deaths. I talked to myself to hear a voice — any voice. The madness came in the form of the long pauses I spent listening for a reply.

None ever came.

I found that somewhat comforting.

Half of those who’d perished had heard voices whispering to them. Had their bodies been stronger at that point, the whispers may have led to dark and terrible things — more terrible than merely dying from some plague.

Summer faded into fall, and without the rest of the colony scaring away the prey, I hunted well. The moss in the cellar grew, requiring me to trim it back. I took the excess to the forest where we’d foraged it and hoped the evidence of our meddling would one day disappear, much like the soil had reclaimed the bones of my people.

On the surface, outside of the shape of buildings the foliage battled to claim for itself, we’d never been there at all.

The ghost birds accepted my presence, and the one I fed most often struggled to hunt. The third time I saw it, a female as far as I could tell, I realized the why of her struggles.

Something had claimed one of her legs, making it difficult for her to capture prey.

If she missed with her sole set of claws, the bounders fled faster than she could recover and take chase — or another ghost bird swooped in to claim her prize.

I named her Persistence, and when I heard the ghost birds cry, I called as well, and she came in the hope of food.

On the days the bounders hid well, I risked the waters, catching fish for her and throwing them to her, scrap by boneless scrap. On the days the bounders failed to evade us, I took care to hunt for her share, even if it meant I went without.

Each hunt, Persistence drew closer, until she hopped over on her one leg and stood at my side, observing me dispatch my prey with a rock while it struggled beneath my foot. I’d gotten lucky throwing three stones and striking two while I’d hunted my third by hand.

One I’d killed outright with my rock, the other lay stunned until I had a chance to dispatch it, and the third had given me some sport before I’d caught it. I picked the smallest, still larger than what the ghost birds hunted alone, and I placed it before the bird. “This one is yours.”

I wondered at how much Persistence understood, but she issued one of her odd hooting calls, which I’d assumed was either thanks, acceptance, or a greeting of some sort. She lowered her head to eat.

She did not fan her wings or hide the carcass from me. Her curved beak tore into the bounder’s soft throat, and she removed the fur enough she could access the meat beneath. I admired her efficiency, gulping down her meal with no wasted energy.

Long after the other ghost birds had flown away, Persistence ate, relying on me to keep the scavengers away. First came the wormlike burrowers. Their dark, mottled fur did a good job of disguising them in the leaves, and they came for the offal and bones with systematic thoroughness. The burrowers avoided me as much as I avoided them. While there was muscle beneath their fur, I found the meat to be bitter and gamey, unpleasant all around and only palatable if I starved.

After the burrowers came the bugs, and I picked up my bounty so they would not try to lay claim to my food. I used the worn toe of my shoe to deflect some of the larger pests away from Persistence’s meal, which worked well enough until the ghost bird finished, took flight, and landed in a nearby tree.

Satisfied the bird would survive for a while longer, I headed through the forest to where I stayed. Rather than live within the haunted walls of the shelters we’d constructed upon landing, I’d fashioned a home for myself from a giant fallen tree, carving out the inside and hardening the wood with heat and smoke from within. Dark red clay from the river’s shore made for excellent insulation, which hardened to a stone-like state in the sun and prevented water, insects, and predators from reaching me from above. Then I’d covered that with a layer of stone as an additional deterrent. Another layer of clay had gone in over that. Once satisfied with those precautions, I’d gathered kinder mosses and plants to grow over my fallen tree.

When winter came, I would stay warm and be protected from the snow. Spring would be a problem, but I’d figured out ways to seal the entry to my abode and protect it from the water destined to come spilling over the forest floor.

Clay, stone, and the waterproofed fabrics that had survived through the years would help with that.

Carving out the chimney had tested my skills and patience, but I’d taken one of the pipes we’d brought with us and installed it along with a wood stove, an invention I’d been told had come from Earth.

Sometimes, I wondered if Earth was real — and if it had been real, what had driven us away. The times I had asked, nobody had been able to give me an answer.

I supposed my curiosity had been behind them banishing me to a plagued world with the other colonists.

Persistence followed me, gliding through the trees and landing on branches, staying ahead of me the entire way. When she reached my tree, she let loose one of her hooting calls.

It wouldn’t take much to expand my shelter to accommodate the ghost bird, assuming I could convince her to trust me.

My shelter wouldn’t be natural for her, but I suspected the bird had already adapted from what was natural for her due to her missing leg.

The door to my home, fashioned from the slotted slabs of plastic we’d used to make the floors of our structures, remained as I’d left it. I took care checking inside.

While few and far between, there were predators in the woods — smart ones that would cause me trouble if they ever lost interest in hunting bounders. Fortunately for me, the bounders remained plentiful, breeding early and often.

Should that change, I would be in trouble.

Inside the fallen tree, which was spacious enough I could stand and jump with no risk of hitting my head, I’d fashioned a bed for myself from logs I’d carved and harden in my fire, smoking out and killing any straggling bugs. I’d smoked out pests from the reeds used to form a mattress, stuffing one of the softer canvases I’d taken from the failed colony.

I’d smoked everything upon learning it kept the pests at bay — and I would smoke out my home a few times a year to keep it clean and free of the nasties of the forest. Along one curved wall, which I’d sanded smooth using tools I’d taken, I’d set up a table for gutting and skinning my prey. I still questioned the nature of the tanning fluids we’d brought with us, but it somehow worked. If I put the skins into the tub, they would cure, and the fur would dissolve away, leaving behind supple leather I could work with. The fluid had lasted for ten years — and from my understanding, as long as I stirred it and introduced some water every few weeks, it would last for a hundred more.

I wouldn’t even be a memory to the ghost birds when that stuff finally decayed away.

A second fluid, one I kept around and used infrequently, likewise processed the pelts, but instead of dissolving the fur, it kept it intact, allowing me to fashion soft blankets when I stitched them together. I’d made two such blankets in preparation for winter, and if I caught the softer bounders, I would gather more for clothing.

Thus far, the leathers had served me well, and I’d replaced my clothing with it.

On Galeize, I’d been valued for my ability to sew, and I missed those days. Had my ability to create clothes factored into being outcasted? I wondered, but as always, the answers evaded me.

Rather than worry about the past I couldn’t change, I focused on the work at hand. To get through the winter, I would need a stockpile of soap, jerky, and supplies, all of which the bounders provided. Everything would go to use, even the skulls, which made excellent bowls for storing small things.

The ghost birds enjoyed the bounder brains as well, and I would offer both to Persistence as a reward for following me home.

While the skulls could function as bowls, I’d procured a proper bucket, placing it below the grooves so it would catch the blood and other fluids while I worked. I couldn’t remember the man’s name, but I’d learned how to make soap from fat and fire from him.

Forgetting his name hurt. Day by day, I forgot a little more, until the thousand lives ruined from the colonization effort, mine included, became lost in a dreamy haze. I clung to Emeliara, but I expected she would likewise disappear, gradually and without fanfare, much like the receding waters of the spring floods.

The ash from the fire, when mixed with water, somehow worked with the fat to make a soap suitable for cleaning my home. I’d questioned the trick, but it’d worked — I also questioned how the nameless memory of a man had discovered it.

Our brethren on Galeize had left us poorly prepared for the realities of life beyond our home world.

I used one of the larger cleaned and smoked skulls, which I’d lined with leather, to store the fat I scraped away from the hide. The hide I set aside to deal with later in the day. I prepared the meat with salt, which we’d found in plentiful supply a few miles south of the ruined city.

I wondered if our predecessors had built their city on salt, the resource luring them into picking the spot.

In a few weeks, I would need to make a few trips out to the salt field and gather more.

The offal went into the bucket with the blood, and before I got to the serious work of preparing the meat for my supper and for turning into jerky to store for the winter, I offered Persistence the brains on a wooden dish I’d carved and hardened for myself.

To my amusement, the bird didn’t even wait for me to set the plate down before she swooped in and landed nearby, hopping to come closer.

I left her to her meal and returned to my work. To remind me of who I was and wished to remain, I said, “I am Kithya. You are Persistence. This is our home.”

The ghost bird ignored me, which suited me well enough.

It beat being alone.

***

Something strange and new made a hooting call deep within the forest, and the sound thrummed straight to my bones. The ghost birds all froze over their prey, and one by one, their heads popped up. They turned, and some of the birds fluffed their feathers in an attempt to make themselves larger than they were.

Persistence hopped closer to me, and she made a low whistling cry, something I’d learned was one of distress.

As the hunt had gone poorly for me, and I would not be taking a bounder back with me, I snagged Persistence’s partially eaten prey and pulled it closer. The carcass wouldn’t slow me down much, but removing the blood and gore from my leathers would provide a challenge.

With fall well underway and winter swiftly encroaching, I feared there would be many more days where the bird ate and I relied on fish or my stores to get by.

As such, I couldn’t afford to leave her meal for the scavengers.

Another hooting call sounded, closer and to the side. The ghost birds took to the air, abandoning their prey, landing in the highest branches above. I appreciated not being fully abandoned. Persistence remained, and she bobbed her body. As she’d decided to accompany me, I’d taken leather from the bounders, sewn it together, and fashioned bracelets I wore around my forearms so she could perch. Aware of her struggles with one leg, I crouched and offered my arm to minimize the distance she had to hop.

She’d gotten used to my hand on her breast to steady her, and she rubbed her beak against the exposed flesh of my hand, careful to keep from cutting me. Once certain she wouldn’t fall, I snagged her bounder by its hind legs and straightened.

If I judged from the rustles and the infrequent hoots, we were surrounded. If push came to shove, I would throw Persistence in the air and whistle for her to fly to safety. Until then, I would stand my ground, wondering what manner of beast had come calling.

The other times I’d encountered the larger predators, we’d done an admirable job of scaring each other. Shrill cries and yells tended to drive off most. Thrown stones or a sacrificed carcass took care of the rest.

If I lost Persistence’s meal, I would fish for her once the danger passed. Somehow, we would survive.

Somehow.

The rustles drew closer, and flashes of color through the foliage indicated I dealt with more than one being, all larger than me by far. I’d been neither tall nor short among the colonists, and if I judged by some of the flashes, the smallest of them had at least a head of height on me while most towered at least two feet over me.

What I faced, I couldn’t tell.

The forest hid them well.

“Who are you?” I asked, standing firm but tense as the shapes drew closer. They’d stopped hooting, much to my relief. I disliked when sound could rattle my bones within me.

Persistence hunched as best as she could, and I kept my hand on her breast to keep her steady, digging my fingers into her feathers and giving her a hearty scratching. The gesture comforted both of us, or so I thought. She settled, and as nothing lunged at me, I relaxed, but only a little.

Death had come calling again, and I wanted to see what would lead to my demise. In some ways, I appreciated an escape from the rigors of survival. Day by day, the fear of dying from disease had eased, but the loneliness had not.

There was only so much Persistence could do.

She couldn’t speak to me, not like another human could.

The thickets rustled and swayed nearby, and a large, feathered form pushed through. It stood on two legs, which reminded me somewhat of a bounder’s, built for long and powerful leaps. Like a human, it had two arms, but its hands sported massive, curved claws. The presence of silvery caps on them startled me.

What sort of predator covered its most potent weapons?

I realized it had claws on its feet, too, with two larger than the rest, and it tapped at the ground in what I guessed was impatience.

The bright colors came from its plumage, with a chaotic rainbow splashing its crest, which it snapped up. Its hands, feet, and tail were a pristine creamy color, much like a bone stripped of its marrow and left out in the sun to dry. Splotches of rainbow coloration covered the rest of its body with a few patches of blue in between.

More of its kind emerged from the surrounding forest, and while all of them had pale feet, hands, or tail, their colors were otherwise varied, from sunny yellows to bloody reds. I wondered at the significance of their matched pale coloration.

Persistence fluffed to make herself as big as possible and hissed at the encroaching predators.

They stared at me with slitted eyes, reminiscent of the felines of Galeize. Their muzzles, long and covered with feathers, twitched as they breathed. One opened its mouth and showed off its teeth, each long and curved and meant to tear into prey.

The fear that had surged upon realizing something moved in the forest subsided. If any one of them decided to kill me, they would — and they would do so with swift efficiency. Everything about them screamed lethality.

Their beauty came a close second.

I stroked Persistence’s breast to soothe her while turning in a slow circle to admire the predators. Only the one had mottled rainbow coloration, and of them, it was the smallest, closer to me in size. The others could devour me in two or three bites with little risk of choking.

Persistence hissed again.

The predators lowered themselves, crouching until they were at the bird’s eye level. A crimson one with a pale crest, hands, feet, and tail hopped a pace forward, close enough I could reach out and touch if I dared. It began to coo, bobbing its head much like a bird.

Persistence’s feathers settled, and she made a similar cooing sound, and she clacked her beak. Due to her missing leg, she struggled to bob as the other ghost birds did, although she somewhat mimicked the motion.

The one with the rainbow patches and crest hopped forward, joining its brethren in cooing and bobbing.

Then, it spoke, although I failed to understand the words; every now and then, I recognized something , as though it spoke a language that had been related to mine once upon a time. I’d heard of such things, of how language could evolve until it no longer became recognizable by the original speakers.

“I don’t understand you,” I said, wondering if it might recognize any of what I tried to say.

Every crest snapped upright, and the creatures whistled, warbled, and cooed to one another in a different language, one with no similarities to my own.

Huh. The giant predators were multilingual.

How fascinating.

Of the two closest to me, I preferred the little one with the rainbow plumage; something about it seemed different compared to the others. Its resemblance to the others ended with the pale coloring of its hands, feet, and tail; in bearing and physique, its kind shadowed it.

I understood standing in the shadows and being outcasted.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped forward, prepared to shield Persistence if I needed.

The predators stilled, their gaze tracking my every movement. Their nostrils flared with their breaths, and I wondered what they smelled on me. Did my scent tell them I was prey, easily subdued and devoured?

I stretched out my hand but did not touch the feathered muzzle. “May I?”

Some, if there had been any left to bear witness, would have found my question to be foolish. I couldn’t understand them, and I had no idea if they could decipher my words.

Much like a curious bird or cat, it tilted its head to the side. Then, with motions as slow and deliberate as mine, it stretched out its neck and bumped my seeking fingers with the tip of its nose.

I appreciated the warmth of its life, a reminder that I was not alone. When I didn’t lose my hand to it, I followed the line of feathers up until my hand rested between its eyes with plenty of space to spare. Curiosity got the better of me, and I scratched it the same way I could Persistence when she allowed me to.

The feathers proved soft and downy, and I could lose myself for hours in the pleasure of touch.

A bounder’s fur, when in its prime, had similar softness but lacked the same radiant warmth. Emboldened, I stroked up to the creature’s crest, and it lowered its head to grant me easier access.

Persistence issued one of her rebuking clacks and a whistle, took flight, and landed on a nearby branch, doing her equivalent of spitting curses at the predators interrupting her meal. With a soft laugh, I carried her bounder over, and as she had landed within reach, I placed her meal where the branch and tree met so she could eat. “I’m sorry, Persistence. Eat.”

Then I returned to the rainbow predator, did my best to clean the blood off my hands, and busied myself burying my fingers into its plumage.

If it decided to eat me, there were worse ways to go, and I’d enjoy every moment spent marveling that such a being existed. While it wasn’t human, it was the closest thing I’d seen to one since Emeliara’s death.

I enjoyed the moment while it lasted.