The Tribes of Feralis

Chapter 3

Devlin yawned and stretched, adopting his cat’s jaw to allow him to extend his mouth as wide as it was capable. He was now a fully grown Khatoolian adult of twenty-one summers, with a similar colouring and cat as his father Arik. But his eyes were all his mother’s, a large and startling green. He had not slept for long. The nights were now as brief as the flutter of a moth’s wing and, though it was still early, the Minor sun already dominated the sky. Today was a day of excitement and celebration, and his cat’s tail flicked out briefly to salute the day in greeting before retreating back into his body. He smiled at this indulgence. It was the day of the Summer Solstice, the longest and hottest sol day of the solar cycle, when the Minor sun set as the Major sun rose. Today they celebrated the unity of the four allied tribes with a festival of contests, feasting, and dancing.

Tradition suggested that the day should also meet another purpose: that of finding a lifemate, a woman who pleased both the man and his animal and so would successfully produce offspring. Well known by the women of Feralis, they anticipated this day almost as much as the men. It gave them the rare chance to move into a new and different kind of life, by attracting a mate from a different tribe.

The only tribe that did not join the celebrations was the exiled Skylaria. Perhaps exiled was the wrong word. They had chosen to live separately, after all, isolated and remote in the heights of the Black Mountains. No one missed them. It had been an age since they had been part of anyone else’s world. And yet … Devlin felt a painful twinge of regret at the thought of the bird-men. He remembered the Skylarian girl he had once met and wanted as his lifemate. He certainly hadn’t found her in the traditional way. He quickly quashed this memory, due to the instant stab of pain it evoked.

chosen herSwiftly, he turned his thoughts to the excitement ahead. Today was the last chance he might get to relax and enjoy himself, before the Deadly Reckonings, and he was determined to do just that.

He quickly donned his leather harness, twisted his belt round his waist, and slipped on his sandals; it would be far too warm a day for boots. Stepping out of his bedchamber, he found his father and sister sitting at the long silvan table in the main chamber. Flaxen heads bent together, they were engaged in fixing a bow, the same one his father had given him when he was ten summers old, before his cat had awoken. It had been made from one of the very last fallen, red titians.

“You two been at that all night?” Devlin asked, remembering he had left them at this very task when he’d retired to bed.

His father looked up. “What night?” he said, laughing.

“There, it’s done!” he said, turning away from him to address his sister Kyra. She took it up, stroking the long, smooth curve of the cherry-coloured wood and grinning.

Her blond hair was cut short and, with her tanned skin and the bow in her hand, she looked more boy than girl, despite her sixteen summers. This realisation shocked him. At sixteen, she was the same age as many of the girls who would be at the festival today, looking their best and hoping to attract a mate and protector. Did he really think that it was worth taking her? How could she compete with them when she insisted on looking like this? No Feralian in his right mind would bother to bargain for her.

Devlin strode over to her and plucked the bow gently from her hands. He chose to place it on the table rather than examine it. Her raised eyebrows told him this was not what she had expected. He surprised her further by taking her hands in his, grimacing as he looked them over. How short and grubby the nails were! How rough her skin! He raised his eyes to her face and flicked critically at the split ends of her shorn hair. She surrendered to his attentions with a puzzled expression.

Had he been a bad brother to let her do this to herself? He recalled the day she had chosen to cut her hair. She had always preferred less feminine pursuits but, after the day Kane had assaulted her, well … she’d also chosen to look less feminine. Ancestors forgive him, why hadn’t he done more? More to stop Kane and more to encourage her to be what she was—a very pretty girl.

His father distracted him from his musings by asking, “You off to the festival then, son?”

Devlin nodded.

“There’ll be plenty of pickings. Surely this time you’ll find someone to your liking, yes?”

Devlin dropped Kyra’s hands. He knew his father was disappointed he hadn’t found a lifemate yet and started to think seriously about breeding. He didn’t answer his father’s question. Instead he deflected it by posing one of his own. “Why doesn’t Kyra come with me?”

His father’s response was a frown.

“She’s old enough now to choose a mate of her own.” Why had he phrased it this way? he thought as soon as the words left his lips. Women didn’t choose a mate; they were chosen. “I mean …” he stuttered. “She’s long past her bloods. She could do with a mate and long-term protector.”

Why had he phrased it this way?Kyra stood at this. “Do with a protector, could I?” she challenged. “I don’t need protecting. And a lifemate is nothing but a euphemism for a live-in slave and baby breeder!”

Their father laughed. “I’m stuck with you then, am I?” He knocked her shoulder and she grinned. “Maybe I need to make your life here less comfortable.”

Devlin growled in frustration with them. His father was too reluctant to admit his little girl had grown into a woman and needed to belong to someone else.

“Come on, Ky,” he said to Kyra, determined to do his duty by her, even if his father wouldn’t. “Why don’t you come, if not just to enjoy it? You’ll love it. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” she remarked. “Fun for you maybe, what with the hunting and sports to be had. But I won’t be allowed to take part, will I? I’ll be expected to do what? Simper and stare and giggle into my hands while some overgrown cub tries to persuade you to hand me over? No thanks!”

Devlin laughed at her. “With an attitude like that, no one would dare come close enough to even sniff at you.”

“What do I care?” she said. “I’m not interested in men.”

He sighed then and gazed at her fresh, beautifully freckled face with eyes so green and deep, just like his own. He briefly caressed her chin. “They could be interested in you though, you know. If you made more of an effort, you could even pass for pretty!”

She smacked his hand away. “Urgh, shut up, Dev! I don’t want to be pretty. I know what men’s ’interest’ is and I don’t want that either.”

Arik interrupted then, clearly anxious to support his daughter’s reluctance to go. “She’s too young,” he interjected. “She’s still needed here. And nothing anyone could offer would be enough to part with her.”

Devlin decided not to press it, but he wished Kyra had agreed to come along. Creator knew, she was happy enough to follow him around the rest of the time. What if he didn’t survive the DedRecks? Even now, his father didn’t want her to leave him. He’d carry on using the excuse she was too valuable until she became too old to be of interest to anyone. As he left, he tried to shrug off these worries.

It was the turn of the Ulvaria, the wolf-men, in their Timber Hills to host this summer’s festival. As he entered Ulvarian territory, he was impressed by the huge trees that dominated the hills. They weren’t silver and slender, like the silvans, but brown and wide with trunks that towered to the skies and then burst in a star-like avalanche of green darts, more akin to thin fingers than leaves. No wonder the Ulvaria carved out homes in them, apparent from the man-sized doorways visible in the largest of them. The ground beneath the trees was scattered with bushy, conical structures. These bore their seeds, hard and brown, a complete contrast to the downy, gossamer-like seeds the silvans carried. The smell the ground produced was also different, the dried darts carpeting the floor giving off a fresh, zingy scent.

As he followed the path that had already been beaten through the forest, toward the sounds of the festival, he paused to wipe the sweat from his face. The Timber Hills were not called “Hills” for nothing. From the moment he had hit the Silvan Forest border, his journey had seemed to be nothing but uphill, with the occasional dip and lurch just to unbalance him. Well, at last he was now travelling into the Lupus Valley and moving in a downward direction.

He had passed many going the same way, of course, given that the Timber Hills lay in a southerly direction, whether you came from the Silvan Forest or the Arturian Rugged Lands. His fellow travellers had been in high spirits, laughing and calling out in greeting, many journeying sensibly by cart, oxen straining at the ties. The usual tension between strangers was relaxed on a day like today. Even the Arturia had been friendly with him, one family offering him a ride, but he had politely declined. He didn’t feel like engaging in social small-talk and he welcomed the physical effort of walking and the warm-up it was giving his muscles.

The trees cleared with an abruptness that took him by surprise and he almost fell down the ridge that marked their end. He laughed. What a way to make an entrance that would have been! The land sloped away, green and lovely, settling in an open valley, milling with people and tents, circled on either side by tree-lined embankments. The effect was quite stunning. At the head of the valley sat a flagpole, bearing the royal flag, symbolised by a green serpent on a white background entwined around a flaming blue sword. Even here, the Reptilia liked to remind everyone of who was in charge. The only concession to the Ulvaria was a white flag at the opposite end of the valley, bearing the black outline of a wolf’s head. This marked the starting point of the festival hunt. He paused for breath, indulging his cat senses in the marvellous scents arising from this colourful assembly of Feralians and provender, and then entered the melee.

The day was already getting very warm and it would not be long before the powerful Major sun emerged to replace its brother in the sky. Today, the hottest day of the sol cycle, was not a day when a mammalian Feralian needed the extra warmth of his animal fur. The few Reptilia, by contrast, could be seen fully transformed, their scaly skin able to absorb the sunlight and use it as a source of additional energy. In such a state, their human hair disappeared and they became bald and incredibly ugly, in Devlin’s opinion. They were not without their female admirers though, baffling as this was to him.

Fellow Khatoolians recognised him and greeted him as he approached. He paused to indulge in friendly conversation with three of them. He took the tankard of ale one of them offered him with thanks, gulping it down gratefully after his long, hot walk. The ale was weak and sour, but it was free. They were all dressed like Devlin in very little, given the rising temperatures, sporting basic leather harnesses, groin belts, and sandals. They held themselves proudly, showing off their muscled physiques.

“Did you know, Dev, that the Ulvarian Lost One has been on the loose for four summers? He’s said to be bigger and more dangerous than any we’ve hunted before.” This came from Nyall, a black, panther-like Khatoolian with thick, curly hair. Devlin had been close to Nyall growing up, but they had drifted apart. Nyall’s mother Sylvie had tried to help his Pa with Kyra when she was small, but her own growing brood and the demand for her medicinal skills had soon taken up too much of her time to spare it elsewhere. Nyall had six sisters and doubtless some of them would be here today with their father, trying to attract a lifemate.

Devlin laughed. “That’s what they always say. At every festival, it’s the same. Every tribe likes to boast that their Lost One is the most terrifying ever.”

A Lost One was the traditional hunting prey at the Summer Solstice. They were the few unfortunate males who failed to make it through their turning, when their tribal animal awoke and fought for control of their bodies. These Lost Ones could not return to their human form and became completely feral. The only indication that they had once been human was their considerable size and intelligence. It was considered a kindness to immediately kill them, especially as they tended to roam close to home and become a dangerous nuisance. Killing them, however, was easier said than done and some inevitably escaped.

“Ah,” said Nyall. “I take it you’re going to take part in the hunt, then? Think you’re more than a match for this big, bad wolf?”

Devlin snorted. “I’m a match for any wolf.”

“What was that?” someone behind him said.

Devlin turned and found himself face to face with a dark-skinned, long-haired, muscular man of a similar age to himself, with striking blue eyes. His smell and appearance marked him as Ulvarian.

“Like I said,” Devlin repeated, “I’m a match for any wolf.”

The Ulvarian grinned, revealing his sharp, wolverine teeth. “You cats are always caterwauling about how good you are, but I have yet to see a Khatoolian win anything.”

Some of Devlin’s fellow Khatoolians made growling noises and moved up next to Devlin, ready to assist him in responding to this insult.

“Well, you’ve not seen me before, have you? I’m Devlin.” He put out his hand. “Your next Alpha.”

The Ulvarian roared with laughter at this and the tension eased. He gripped Devlin’s hand. “I like you,” he said. “You’re a joker. Welcome to our festival, Khatoolian. My name’s Terrell.”

Nyall tapped Devlin on the shoulder then and Devlin turned away from the Ulvarian, breaking contact. “We’d better get moving, Dev. The hunt’s about to start.” This was evident from the number of men now making their way toward the white flag at the opposite end of the field.

Devlin quickly put down his tankard and moved to follow his departing companions. He was surprised to find that the Ulvarian made no signs of following them.

“Coming?” he enquired, looking back toward Terrell.

Terrell shook his head. “I’m not one for hunting my own kind, no matter how much of a pest they are. I’ll just stay here and take my pick of the prettiest females.”

“You do that, Terrell,” he said, “but those girls will soon desert you for me when I return the victor.”

Terrell laughed and shooed him away. “Go play, kitten,” he said. “I bet even a lost Ulvarian will prove too much for you.”

“He won’t stay lost for long,” was Devlin’s parting shot.