We might share the same ancestors and live with them under the same bio-dome, but our stories aren’t the same. We think the Crash Landing trapped our ancestors on this planet. They say their gods brought us here, to teach us how to be free.

– excerpt from Sukren RockSpire’s Missives on the Cursed

Written 870 years after the Crash Landing

Rajani glanced down the slope at Chief Bikash. He was near the dormant volcano’s base, inspecting a spear cannon installed by the hunters. It was almost time. Adjusting her breathflower mask so her words would not be muffled, Rajani turned to her twin sister, who was taking point for the first time. “Are you ready?”

Her fingers clenched tight around her syrinx gun’s handle, Lainla wiped away the sweat trickling down her neck. Rajani studied her sister for a moment, then reached out and touched her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. All the training you put in was for this moment.”

Lainla took a deep breath, drawing in the petals fixed to her mask. “So you think I’m ready?”

Rajani looked at Lainla, a little surprised. She and Lainla years ago had worked out an understanding. Rajani, three minutes older than Lainla, was the bolder sister; Lainla, the friendlier one. Rajani was the lead hunter of the Jinkari Table; Lainla, the more skilled hunter. It was in line with Rajani’s role as Lainla’s lead hunter to offer reassurances, but it was not in line with Lainla’s to ask for them.

“It’s not my opinion that matters, it’s Chief’s,” Rajani finally settled on. “He may be an ass, but he’s not careless with his hunters. He wouldn’t have assigned you to this task if he thought you couldn’t do it.”

A half-smile touched Lainla’s lips. She adjusted her glasses over her skygold facemask. “True.”

“Ni! Get down here!”

Kebet, one of Rajani’s friends, was signaling to her to get into position. Rajani squeezed Lainla’s hand, then half-climbed, half-slid down the incline to join Kebet and the other ballista wielders. As she did so, she tried hard not to think about what would happen if a mammole attacked Lainla, but it was difficult to ward off the image of lumbering paws crushing her sister’s body into the dirt.

It won’t happen, Rajani told herself. Lainla’s a good hunter. The best in our cohort.

Only somewhat reassured, Rajani hefted her hand ballista over her shoulder. It was half her height; a slit ran through its long rectangular structure. Turning the crank handle near the trigger, Rajani winched a thick bowstring back through the slit, then slid a bone-shaft pike in after it.

One of the hunters standing near Rajani glanced up as the sun passed behind a cloud. “I don’t know why Chief is keeping us out here. We should be heading back to the bio-dome. We’ve killed eleven mammoles this season.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Eleven isn’t that many,” Rajani replied, although she understood the hunter’s concern. She could smell the coming rain in the swollen gravel and soil around her. The torrent would turn the volcano’s purple moss and yellow lichens into churning orange mud.

“Eleven would be enough if –” the hunter started to say, but others hushed him. Lainla had finished sneaking up to the mammoles at the top of the slope.

Rajani steadied herself. Her job and that of the hunters near her was to harass the selected mammole towards the cannons. Further up the volcano, on the other side of the draw, another team of ballista wielders stood tensely at attention. The air all around ached with unshed rain. Rajani’s entire body was taut as she waited – would the waiting never end? – for Lainla to lead a mammole down the gully.

“There’s your sister,” Kebet whispered.

Lainla was creeping backwards, steering the mammole down the ravine. The shaggy beast lumbered forward on enormous, shovel-like paws, dirt-toned fur covering its massive body. As far as Rajani could tell, Lainla’s shot had been true, the syrinx gun’s needle catching the animal right between its eyes, injecting it with an emblindening neurotoxin. Lainla was keeping the animal moving forward by waving before it a flag covered in female musk.

If Lainla managed to keep up the charade until the mammole was past the highest-placed team, she could consider her part successfully executed. But the trick would only last so long before the mammole realized it was not surrounded by its mates.

Rajani prayed silently. Lainla just needed a few more seconds…

A warm morntide breeze swept over them. It pushed the flag against Lainla, blowing the scent down the gully, away from the mammole. The mammole began snorting in the clear air. Its footsteps faltered. Rajani stared as her sister reacted by grabbing the flag with her other hand.

“What is she doing?” Kebet whispered.

Another chimed in. “Has she lost her mind?”

Lainla had wrapped the flag around her hand and thrust it into the mammole’s snout. Barely allowing herself to breathe, Rajani watched as Lainla urged the mammole forward, her hand only a finger’s width away from its needle-sharp teeth.

Then it was done. The mammole was beyond the first team of ballista wielders, who began shooting their pikes into the mammole’s backside. Roaring, the mammole tore into the ground with its powerful forelegs. The hunters persisted in their assault, propelling the animal down the ravine.

When it passed the hunters on Rajani’s shelf, Rajani shot her pike into its thick flesh. Once more the mammole tried to escape by tunneling into the ground. It flung shards of gravel into the air. Ignoring the rocky rain, Rajani aimed her ballista so her next pike would tear into the mammole’s rear end.

Without warning, the mammole reared up and swiped at the ledge Rajani was on. Its massive paws tore into the rock under her feet. Hunters careened down the mountain in a shower of stone, their pike ends slicing through the air as they fell. Rajani ducked, then found herself rolling into the gully, her hands clinging to her still-loaded ballista.

All at once mammole jaws were snapping in her face. She could feel the animal’s breath on her skin. Shoving herself to the side, Rajani scrambled forward on her hands and knees, a crumbling ravine wall to her left, a heaving animal body to her right. As soon as she was clear, she turned, aimed her weapon, and shot at the mammole’s backside.

Overcome by pain, the mammole rushed down through the draw – right to where the spear-loaded cannons were waiting.