A Celegan meadow, a wide-open space where flowers and tall grasses grew, resided at the heart of each region within the Hollows. Each meadow was a perfect circle, ringed by hundreds of hollows and the dense forests that dominated the landscape. This perfection was no happenstance, but an intelligent, compassionate design, much like the shelter provided by a land where all the great trees had holes for the sons and daughters of Celegana. Perhaps these perfect circles, places without canopy where light shone down were gifts from Celegana, much like the hollows? Perhaps these were designed by the ancient wilders hoping to create a large space in a time long, long ago where communities gathered and celebrations occurred?
Tuya smiled, dreaming of the days of harmony and what life and love must have been like in these meadows. Music and dancing, talking and laughing, sharing blessings, these must have been the ways of gathering in this place of serenity. Instead, this beautiful meadow had been twisted into a site of death and domination. Now, this was a place of executions, of public beatings, of the raping of women on the day of first blood, of taking and taking until those with less had none. A land of the most fertile soil transformed into a place where growth was stifled in every way.
And today, Yaha projected, it will be a place of reckoning for those who defiled this place. This will be the place where you pull your roots out of this bad soil and carry yourself to where you belong.
I will find the good soil and grow, Tuya projected. Then, when I am strong enough, I will make this place how it is supposed to be. I will purify this land, make this a good home for all who grow here.
Yes, but first you must only focus on today. Look too far ahead and you will lose yourself in dreams.
No, I must see ahead, so that I know how much today means.
Yaha pulsed with reluctant agreement. Tuya, for once, did not exploit that stubborn woman’s rare moment of elasticity. Not today. Today, she projected, I am where am I must be as who I must be so that I can fly away from the girl that I was and show others like me how things should be.
Indeed. But always remember, I am proud of the girl you were, the woman you are, and the woman you will become.
Tuya sat in that pride and reflected it back to Yaha and buried it deep within herself. She was proud of how she lived her life. One could give oneself few greater gifts than living in a way they were proud of, nurturing the best parts of themselves even in the worst parts of their life. Tuya looked back and knew she did the best she could. With that pride came confidence that she would do her best today and in all her tomorrows.
She was still afraid. One did not grow up in the Hollows, in the shadow of Celegana’s Spire, and ever believe that everything would go as perfect as the ring around the meadow. She sat upon life’s precipice and one did not stand on the precipice and feel safe and sure. Tuya’s scars from a life where things were rarely safe and sure bled fresh doubts. The doubts spoke to her, trying to remind her that she was the helpless little khorota who was worth nothing. That small voice howled at the precipice, begging Tuya for attention and acknowledgement. It was the voice of all the tamers who tried to break her. It was the voice of the girl who walked to the cliffs and committed to her own death. It was the voice that she had learned to say no to.
Confidence did not blind her to the possibility of failure, of surprises, of struggle. Rather, confidence assured her that no matter what happened, she would do her best, that her best was among the very best, and her best would always be enough. No, confidence could not take away her fear but it could quiet the voice of the beaten-down little girl who always expected the worst. Confidence gave her the freedom to hope. It told her, far louder than that old voice, that she was worthy and that she had some control over her fate.
The first rays of light crested the hollows and pushed back the darkness in the meadow.
Norali agrees with you, Yaha projected.
She has always believed in me. Tuya thanked the Divine of her motherland for the gift of seeing even in the rampant darkness that was her earliest years, for the gift of hope. Without these blessings, without light in the darkness, she would not be on this precipice today. Even in the dim, dawn light, her eyes saw as if in the brightest of day and could make out the details in places farther than the typical human eye could see.
Masarga and the others gathered on the outskirts of the meadow, lurking in the little hollows, a web on connections linking them together. Their numbers swelled since the days of six girls around a fire. Most of the region, at least those with Celegan ancestry, were linked in their community. Even the farawaylanders moved about this place with less despair and were recipient to many of the blessings procured by the wilders. Color and life radiated throughout the region in the forest and in the meadow, willed to be the best it could be by this rising tide of young wilders. Masarga had her own hidden cache of numbroot, purple needleleafs, and paintakers and helped the others learn to do the same. Berries grew aplenty throughout the forest while mushrooms thrived in the dark places ensuring none would ever have to rely on the tamers to fill their bellies.
Your girl has done well, Yaha transmitted. Even when you are gone, she will carry on.
Tuya knew that, knew Masarga was ready to take the lead, ready to carry on. Yet, sitting in the meadow, looking at the girl, remembering their last several days of conversations, knowing how much of a hole she would leave behind in Masarga’s heart, Tuya did not want to leave her behind to face the worst of this world without her, to enjoy the best of it without the person you loved most. She did not want to leave her as Zaya left her.
As long as she persists, a piece of you still exists within her. When she carries your lessons to the others, you will exist in them too. You will always be here, Tuya. Always. Just like Zaya.
That was true, Tuya realized, just as Zaya and Sarnai were still with her now, and often were in the hard moments of her life when she needed them. Still, she missed them, and would miss Masarga. It felt like she was leaving a piece of herself behind. Tuya doubted she would ever feel whole with that piece of herself still here in the Hollows.
I will return for her, Tuya promised herself. Will you be with me when we return, Yaha?
Yes. I will always be with you.
You know what I mean!
And you know what I mean, Tuya. I will always be with you. Just as you will always be with Masarga.
Tuya breathed as Zaya taught her and linked with another as she had with Sarnai so many times. She sat upon the ground in the center of the meadow, holding the spear as Yaha trained her. As more light spilled into the meadow, cresting over the seaward hollows, the absence of the tamers grew more worrisome. Yaha did little to ease Tuya’s mind, up in her perch in one of the hollows overlooking the meadow, predicting her own death and maintaining mistrust of Darrakh.
Tuya tried to reassure herself that Darrakh’s task took time, that the tamers would be slow to rally around him. Her wilding sense was clear to her, the tamers were gathered in the forest nearby, in the section where the biggest of the hollows stood, near the place where the old stones used to be, where many seasons ago Sarnai had her first blood. Darrakh was among the tamers and would ensure that today went differently than that rainy day etched into her memory like scrapings on a tree. Confidence and trust helped her sit, even if the seating was uncomfortable.
Instead of worrying, she reminded herself why their plan was good. Vindictive satisfaction coursed through her, knowing that she would escape by using the worst parts of Gurg’s power against him. The tamers would be too afraid to question Darrakh’s story, to seek out the Ezen himself to verify it. It was because everyone feared Gurg, and that nobody loved him, that Tuya would fly away to the faraway lands and be gone before the monster could catch her. The loveless man would reap the seeds he sowed in his rotten soil. Satisfaction made for good company while one was waiting on the precipice of destiny.
Tuya sensed their coming even before she saw them. Thirteen tamers, the whole lot of them who resided in this region, flocked into the meadow. Tuya breathed, as Zaya taught her. She rose, leaving the spear at her feet, and lifted her furs up until all knew there was first blood writ upon her skin.
“Hoo huh! Hoo huh!” the tamers howled, chanting themselves into a frenzy.
Tuya lowered her furs, their chanting calling forth memories of first blood, of girls she loved suffering, of being helpless to do anything to stop the pain. She did not breath as Zaya taught her now, but channeled her anger as Yaha taught her. For Sarnai and the countless others, this day the Hollows would see something new.
Darrakh stepped between Tuya and the other twelve tamers. To nobody’s surprise they taunted him, belittled him, and threatened him, howling and hooting throughout. Khangoon hurled a string of insults, laughing at his own cruel jest that Darrakh had a small breeder and underdeveloped beard because he was half-khorota. Yadakh vowed to not stop beating him until he was dead, swinging his stupid club at the air. Tokhun, the biggest among them, ripped off his furs, stroked himself until he was erect, and asked if girly Darrakh wanted to go first. Yet another tamer called for him to bend over, touch his toes, and take the breeder like a good khorota. All throughout, Tuya’s rage bloomed, scarlet and red as her blood, ready to be unleashed. Even Yaha felt sympathy for Darrakh.
We will kill these animals, Tuya! We will kill them all!
Her eyes went to the spear, wanting to feel the way she did when it went through Semug’s throat, wanting to cleanse this soil of the toxins that spoiled it. Soon.
Darrakh shouted over the din, “Gurgaldai ezen Celegan demands that the strongest of us claim the Chosen!”
The tamers went silent, and their focus collectively went to Darrakh. Darrakh, beautiful and wonderful Darrakh, delivered on his promise. “He who sees all, hears all, and knows all grants he who claims her one day to use her before delivering her to Celegana’s Spire. He who does this will be given great honor and will be gifted all of the Great Ezen’s claimed.” Darrakh took a breath and met Tuya’s eyes, his expression barren as sand, his voice quaking with emotion, he bellowed, “For he will have need of no other, once he has the one he has chosen.”
Tuya touched her hand to her heart, feeling it flutter for the tamer who went against everything they tried to make him into and gave her the chance she needed to fly away. She could not repress her smile, such was her gratitude, her love. She would have need of no other, for she had the one she had chosen. Darrakh pursed his lips, winked, and turned to regroup with the tamers.
I was wrong, Tuya, Yaha confessed. You found the one good man in this land and made him yours.
Khangoon, the loudest and most violent of the tamers in the region, was a muscular beast of a man with the red-tinted color of the Atmana. “I have waited many seasons for this day! You will spend the sun’s cycle with your face in the mud and your bottom in the air, khorota! Tamer Khangoon claims her!”
Tokhun, a pale imitation of Gurg, a creature of obvious Gidiite descent, with large everything, pale skin, red hair, and deep blue eyes, strode forth, holding his blood-filled violator in his gigantic hand like a Gidiite greatsword. He was a man famously hard on his claimed, a man known to lose himself in fits of fury while raping, a man so bulky that it was hard to imagine a spear even bothering him. He was a man that would look good with his innards fertilizing the meadow soil, his blood sating the thirst of Tuya’s spear. “Step aside, little men and half-khorota! Tamer Tokhun claims the beautiful one! Tamer Tokhun shall break her in for the Great Ezen and Tamer Tokhun will dominate any who think to stop him!” He pumped himself, eyes never leaving her.
Khangoon scowled at the eleven who did not step forward. “Where are all the mighty tamers! Did only two men emerge from Celegana’s Spire or did all of you fail to fill your feeder with your breeder!” He marched to Darrakh and gripped him by the furs. Tuya crouched down, reaching for her spear, ready to throw it across the meadow if this man dared to hurt her beloved.
“Baby Darrakh, where is your passion? You who have followed her around like a baby bird. Eyes of the Ezen. Become a man and make your claim!”
Darrakh ripped himself free of Khangoon. His face twisted with hatred, distorting his softer beauty, showing a side of him she did not know was there. For a moment, he looked like every other tamer, full of rage and vitriol. “Like the baby bird, I take whatever scraps my big brothers leave behind.”
Khangoon roared with laughter. Tokhun thrust his penis in Darrakh’s direction. “Pathetic! You are no tamer! You are khorota!”
Tuya’s fingers tensed around the handle of the spear, hidden in the high grasses. I want to kill them, Yaha! I want—
Stick to the plan, girl! Do not let their animalistic insults deprive you of wisdom!
Tuya hissed, but she released the spear, and waited for the plan. If the plan worked, twelve bodies would soon be strewn across this meadow. Unfortunately, only five tamers staked claims on her. Even Yadakh, a tamer who viciously declared his intent every chance he could for seasons did not step forward and announce his claim. At the end of the day, the tamers were all cowards, trained to bow to those with more might. The plan underestimated this cowardice and, therefore, the plan failed.
I will show them who is mightiest.
No! There are too many! Do not be a fool, girl!
The five claimers positioned themselves in a circle, arguing over how to settle the claim. Tokhun demanded a brawl, last man standing taking the khorota. The other four wisely called for a taming battle where the only one who refused to submit to another would win the claim. They bickered, those not claiming hooting and hollering, adding their envy and hatred into the mix by calling the four cowards while they called Tokhun stupid and small-minded. Khangoon struck first, forcing his mind toward Tokhun before the behemoth could attack with his gargantuan fists.
Four bloody noses would not suffice. She might be able to get away, but even if she did, leaving so many tamers behind would be the doom of Masarga and the others. I have to, Yaha. I must.
No, Tuya! No! We must prioritize you! Without you, this is all for nothing!
Tuya crouched, touched the spear, remembering her promises, the reasons she worked so hard to become a weapon. I can live with your disapproval, Tuya projected. I cannot live with Masarga’s death anymore than you could live with mine. She is daughter to me, as I am daughter to you. If you do not understand that—
Remember this when it is my turn to risk it all for you.
Tuya snorted. Had Yaha ever been more Yaha? Still, she would not have her any other way, sensing her crying up in her perch, sensing her care and worry, trying to tell herself that twelve was not too many for Tuya of the Hollows.
Twelve at once? I thought you knew me to be wiser than that? Tuya grinned, silencing her thoughts in the link, savoring Yaha’s utter bewilderment. She stepped forward, halting at a patch of the red swirlythorns Sarnai had loved most of all the flowers. This is for you, Sarnai, and for all like you.
“Tamers!”
Blood trickled from Tokhun’s nose as Khangoon retreated from his mind. The other tamers halted their hooting, leaving behind a sweet silence. Wind blew from the seaward side, sending forth the scent of salt. Tuya’s dark hair blew behind her, strands of waist-length blackness unfurling to her sides like wings. Time to fly away, Tuya, she told herself. Her silver eyes scanned the tamers. “Tomorrow I will belong to the Ezen. Today, I belong to any who can claim me.” Tuya paced, circling the red swirlythorns. “Why only one of you? Why not a turn for every tamer.” She narrowed her eyes at Darrakh. “A worm for every bird.” She smiled at them, trusting in their tamer nature, in their need to dominate.
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The tamers laughed, their lust and desire flaring from them so intense she could almost see what her mind sensed. All of them, enraptured with the idea that they could have a turn. Even Tokhun, so set on needing to triumph was humbled by the mental battering he barely endured. Even Khangoon, drained from his battle with Tokhun would rather get her for free than need to win against three more tamers. Twelve of them, flooded with the dream they harbored for seasons, the dream of having one chance to breed with the good khorota chosen by the Ezen.
Yadakh rushed deeper into the meadow, wielding his club, boisterous again. “Yes! This is the answer! She has wronged us all! How many tamers did she get killed by the dark ones! What of Semug? Of Makhun and Jhorgal? She has been a thorn to us for all her seasons! We owe it to ourselves to make her hurt! Let us all make her bleed!”
“Yes!” Khangoon declared. He lifted his furs and threw them aside into a patch of paintakers, sky-petaled with a sunny center. “We all claim her! I go first!”
Khangoon made it three steps before Tokhun lunged forward and gripped him by the throat. “I go first!”
Yes!
Yaha’s joy burst through the link, melding with Tuya’s. You crazy girl!
Big Tokhun dropped Khangoon to the ground, pressing his knee into his chest as his big hands crushed the life out of stronger-minded tamer. The word you were looking for is clever, Tuya projected.
Khangoon flailed, gagging for air, hopeless to overcome Tokhun with his body. Khangoon’s consciousness rushed from him, reaching for Tokhun. Alas, Tokhun’s walls were strong and a dying man did not have full command of their mind, or even close to it. Khangoon’s stream was hazy, lethargic. The loudest of tamers died a quiet death, with nothing but choked gurgles being permitted the air they needed to create noise. Still, they were beautiful sounds to Tuya.
Eleven more.
Tokhun rose back to his feet, his erection fallen into the bushes of hair surrounding its mound. Breathing heavy, he glanced at Tuya. “I go first!” He seized his breeder, tugging at it as he strode toward her. “Get ready, khorota.”
Tuya crouched in the grass, ready to spring at him with her spear, feeling the fear without letting it freeze her. She scrambled for ideas on where to go next. Fight him now, while he is on his own, or to try and pit them against each other? When none of the other tamers challenged Tokhun’s primacy, she braced for the battle, ready to show them how strong she was.
Alas, if you could rely on tamers to be anything, it was to be vengeful, to fight for their pride, even after they were dead. Khangoon’s consciousness left his body, seeking a final tame, a second life. Tuya saw it flowing around Tokhun, as he tugged himself and walked through the grass toward her. Khangoon’s vapor permeated Tokhun, his eyes going blank, his arms went limp at his side, his face strained like he was trying to pass excrement as big as he was, as he waged war inside his own mind, battling for domination of his own corporeal shell. Blood trickled from nose, then ears, then mouth, then eyes, as Tokhun gave mental ground to Khangoon. The other tamers stalled, the brighter ones realizing what they witnessed, the others openmouthed and confused like the dolts they were, telling Tokhun to get on with it so they could have a go.
Who makes the better weapon? Tuya asked Yaha. A stupid man full of desire or a dead man who has nothing to lose?
The best weapon is you. Trust yourself, Tuya.
Seeking wisdom within herself, needing to find her own answers, Tuya reacted, putting her faith in controlling stupidity over directing vengeance. She broke her link with Yaha and reached out with her consciousness. Let me in, Tokhun. I will drive him away and then we can be together.
Barely clinging to himself, Tokhun gave her the opening.
Be gone, khorota! Khangoon raged. This coward’s body will be mine! He projected images of himself using Tokhun to rape her, to strangle her, like he had been strangled. None would have her except him, not even the Ezen! If he was going to die, he would bring as many as he could with him back to Celegana.
What a relief to know that one could trust in themselves! It is over, Khangoon. The better man killed you, just as he will kill the others, and then he will have me to himself while you return to Celegana, a failure, a weakling.
Khangoon pushed on her mind, growing stupid with rage, trying to throw her out. Tuya stood firm, warding off his little nudges, years of honing her mind rendering them laughable. She swatted him away, reminding him again and again that he was dead and this was the end, that he belonged to the dirt now, that he would never hurt anyone again, nor would he ever be hurt again. She pressed on his wounded pride and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, killing his narcissistic consciousness.
Tokhun joined her in repelling Khangoon and she fed his tamer stupidity. I only want a man who doesn’t die when he claims me. I want his perfect breeder to make my belly swell with worthy seed. I do not want you, Khangoon, you who dies first of thirteen. You most unworthy, pathetic half-khorota. She laughed in their twisted link. Be gone.
Tokhun pushed on Khangoon as Tuya wrapped her mind around his, strangling him psychically. Tokhun battered at Khangoon’s fractured psyche. She is mine, stupid Khangoon! Half-khorota! I will have her! ME!
Khangoon’s mind dissipated, dying as his body had.
Prove you are the strongest, Tokhun. Prove this and you will have me to yourself, Tuya transmitted, remaining linked after Khangoon was truly dead. Kill the rest of them. Prove you deserve me. Tuya projected images of herself, mounted atop him, going up and down, up and down, over and over again, and she felt his breeder swell through the link. Tuya sent a shockwave of her desire, a barrage of true feeling, of excitement for what would happen once Tokhun finished killing the other tamers. Kill them.
Tokhun wiped away the blood running from his facial orifices. He beat his chest, shouting down at his fellow tamers, “I will be her only one! She is my claimed! MINE!”
Yes. Let them know who is worthy. Kill them all.
Tokhun charged into the other tamers. He knocked two to the ground and seized a third by the neck, Ganzorig. Tokhun twisted, Tuya astounded by the unnatural Gidiite strength he wielded, projecting respect for his power as Ganzorig’s skull was snapped to the side, the head twisted in the wrong direction, dark beady eyes that would never see again. Ganzorig tried to take Tokhun’s body for himself with his final tame. Tuya swatted him aside, before Tokhun even registered the attempt at intrusion and Ganzorig’s vapor streamed into the Hollows, full of hatred but with enough sense not to challenge her.
Ten more!
The other tamers backed away, none wanting to face Tokhun alone, their fear matched only by Tokhun’s ambition. Yadakh lifted his club. “Brothers! We can take him down together, be done with him forever, then we all get our turn with the Chosen!”
Three of the tamers, Yadakh included, charged toward Tokhun, while another five of them sent their consciousness out to tame the giant.
Tokhun grappled Aduchin as he charged, overpowered him with ease, and slammed him into Yadakh, knocking them both to the grass. Tokhun rushed the third tamer, hefted him up, and dropped his back over his knee, snapping his spine like a twig. The body was flung toward Tuya, clinging to life. He glared up with black eyes full of hatred, unable to move anything below the grimace of his lips.
Her spear ended Khadak’s life swiftly. His consciousness seeped out of his body and wrapped around Tuya. She felt his anger, his desire, and, his confusion. No matter how much he lashed out with his mind, he went right through her, as if she were not there. Tuya shared Khadak’s confusion as his mind fled deeper into the Hollows in search of second life, but the confusion quickly evaporated, in the heat of more urgent matters.
Tuya repelled mind after mind as they assaulted Tokhun, trying to seize victory over the big tamer’s physique. Even six-on-one, they were outmatched, Tuya’s confidence growing as she willed them back to their bodies, sending them where they belonged.
Nine!
More of the tamers engaged, realizing they were not going to defeat the gargantuan tamer with their minds. Tokhun crashed toward them with his fists, throwing them off him as he weathered blow after blow, each strike adding to his determination and rage. Tuya felt the rush, the furor, at a capacity her body knew nothing of, neutralizing any semblance of pain as she continued to fuel his desire which ignited his determination anew with every strike.
Alas, even the biggest bear could be brought down by a pack of wolves. Yadakh slammed the club into Tokhun’s back, driving him down to his hands and knees. Tuya infused Tokhun with strength, willing him to might. Be yourself. Be strong. She projected images of his breeder filling her, in and out, in and out, over and over again, her shouting his name, begging him for more, telling him how big he was, how strong.
Tokhun caught Yadakh’s next swing. Rushing forward, throwing several tamers off him, he seized the club from Yadakh. Tuya bound herself to him, guiding his reflexes, pressing him into lion form. She flashed her will and Tokhun was caught in the flow of her thought such that it felt like it was his own. Using his body, wielding him like she would her own spear, channeling his rage, his determination, and his desire, he burned like a fire reaching above the clouds and she kept feeding the fuel with each thought, each pulse of emotion a log on the flames she stoked.
The club smashed into the face of another tamer, staggering him until the follow-up cracked the top of the skull and left him bleeding out among a patch of tall yellow flowers.
Eight.
Tuya wielded command of her club, springing Tokhun through a series of assaults in lion form against a group of tamers still trying to force their way into his mind. They were defenseless, their minds running into a bond with no gaps for them to infiltrate. You do not belong! she bellowed, mentally, the club crashing down on them, Tokhun roaring.
Seven. Six. Five.
The final four tamers charged. Two of them seized Tokhun’s arm before he could swing the club. He elbowed one of them, Yadakh, as another tamer jumped on his back and wrapped both of his arms around Tokhun’s neck. Tokhun reached for his strangler’s head with his free arm but the fourth tamer bit into Tokhun’s nipple, tearing it off in a spray of blood. Yadakh worked to pry away the club from Tokhun’s weakening grip. The fourth tamer rammed a jagged stick into Tokhun’s left eye, twisting and gouging. Even through the rage, the determination, the desire, Tokhun’s pain was blinding.
Be yourself, Tuya projected, making sure not to soothe his pain but to channel it into action. Claim me! Kill them!
She flooded his mind with what to do and he seized onto the strategy, letting it flow from him as her mind merged with his. Yadakh stumbled to his back, spilling to the ground with the club in his grasp. Tokhun dropped to a knee, both hands free, and pried the strangler from his neck, tossing him at the eye gouger. Tuya lunged Tokhun forward, gargantuan fist crashing into Yadakh’s stomach before he could swing the club and then delivering Tokhun’s knee to his face, leaving him on the ground with a river of blood flowing from his ruined nose. Tokhun seized the club and swung it hard at the biter, bringing it down, once, twice, thrice, until all that was left of him was the misty essence of his mind, fleeing into the Hollows.
Four.
The eye gouger slashed with the stick, breaking it across Tokhun’s back. Tokhun groaned, stumbled forward, and roared, twisting toward him. With one hand, he seized the man by the throat, lifting him high, roaring in his gagging face. With his other hand he shattered the man’s skull with the club.
Three.
Tuya, using her own eyes, warned Tokhun. He shifted his head in time to deflect another stick from the strangler. The jagged branch careened off Tokhun’s blindside ear. Burning with rage, his pain starting to break through to him, exhaustion on its heels, Tokhun flung the club at the man. The heavy log collided into gut and the strangler bent forward, gasping for air. Tokhun gripped both sides of his head and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed, until the bones caved in. She kept her own eyes rather than shared his, not needing to see more than she had to of the destruction.
Two.
Tokhun discarded the strangler and caught his breath. Yadakh was curled up on the ground, trying to dam the blood rushing from his nose. He crawled away, backwards, crying for mercy as Tokhun retrieved the club and stalked after him. Yadakh should have crawled faster.
One more. Tuya crouched down in the grass. One more. She gripped her spear, fingers shaking with exhilaration tainted only by the smallest drop of fear. One more. She rose among the red swirlythorns, carrying her spear, carrying her future in her hands, with only one more tamer between her and freedom.
Blood and bodies desecrated the meadow, the antithesis of the harmony this sacred place represented to Tuya. Tokhun stood, nude, one-eyed, one-nippled, covered in blood, much spatter from his vicious brutality, much of it his own. “One more,” he said, searching for Darrakh. “Where are you, baby Darrakh?”
“You will not find him,” Tuya said, breeze blowing her hair out like unfurled wings behind her.
Tokhun opened his mouth, looking as stupid as ever, as stupid as every tamer she ever knew from Zalmug to Jhorgal, Makhun to Khangoon. He was the epitome of them all, even Gurg, with their many shared features. They knew nothing but hatred and domination. All with fragile egos, using raw violence to sustain their fickle sense of self-worth, pushing others down so that they could feel like they meant something. Tokhun never would have imagined that he was the last one. Even now, with her in his head, these thoughts transferring between them, he could not grasp, could not understand. Tuya broke the link, done sharing minds with this disgusting creature, this club that had served its purpose and now was to be discarded like the rotten, thoughtless log that it was.
“You are the last one, Tokhun.” She stepped forward. “Make your claim, tamer, and discover who is the mightiest Celegan in this meadow.”
His mouth hung open, still slow to grasp. How he let his mind believe what he wanted it to, how his tamer nature was used against him, these things dawned, like the sun rising through the trees, casting light onto the truths that would be exposed this day. Tuya’s confidence thrummed within her, lit by all who helped her get this far and all who watched on the edge of the meadow. Little girls who learned they were not alone, that they could be strong, and one foolish tamer who learned he was all alone and that all the physical might, all the taming prowess of his ancestors would not save him from her now.
Tuya brandished her spear, moving with finesse into quetzal form. She performed maneuvers, pirouetting and darting in a circle around Tokhun, warning him of her speed, flashing him warnings of her deadliness like the rainbow feathers of the Mahagan birds who gave this form its name. With her mind her own, she sensed the spirits rising around her, as a network of wilders shared a collective pride. Even if Tokhun was too stupid to know he was already dead, these girls, these young women, were who she showed those rainbow feathers to. Tuya wanted these moments to make memories that lasted long beyond her time in the Hollows, echoing through the links these women would share, and those they would form with the women not yet shown how strong they were, or not yet born into this world that lied to them, that told them they did not belong to themselves.
She pointed the spear at Tokhun, the rage building on his face as he heaved, and she sang out for all those women that helped her get here, for all those who watched, for all who were yet to be, and, most of all, for herself. “I, Tuya of the Hollows, am not property to any tamer! I belong to myself!”
All around the meadow, the call arose. First, from Masarga, then from Enkhti, Berude, Seruun, and Ibakha. Yaha joined the chorus and so did Darrakh. Soon, Tuya was certain, each woman, even those who did not speak the Celegan language, carried the call upon their tongues or from deep in their throats. A hundred voices, voices tired of the way things had been all their lives, tired of monsters like Tokhun and the other eleven already slain in the meadow dominating them, tired of being afraid, tired of hopelessness, of helplessness, tired of being silent, chanting in unison. It was perhaps the most beautiful sound Tuya heard in her first sixteen years, one she would remember for all of her years. “Tuya of the Hollows! Tuya of the Hollows! Tuya of the Hollows!”
Tokhun’s veins burst in his neck, his teeth gnashed together, grinding little bones. He stretched out oversized arms and pointed at her with his bulky finger, his messy red hair not fiery enough, nor his blood-soaked visage red enough to convey the rage emanating from his consciousness. “You belong to me! Khorota!”
He reached out with his mind, too stupid to realize that he could not succeed where far wiser tamers failed. A wild stream of hatred and wrath pressed against her consciousness, the meagre vapors swirling around her. She was done letting tamer hatred control her, finished being afraid of a tamer’s wrath. Armed with love for those watching and love for herself, swathed in confidence and hope, she knocked his consciousness aside, flinging it back to his body.
Bellowing like a frenzied beast, Tokhun grabbed the remnants of the shattered club and charged her. Tuya moved through water form, quick, slippery motions executed with precision, her eyes and mind reading Tokhun’s actions before they happened. She was gone long before he arrived, instead introducing him to the spear. The first backslash cut through the back of his leg, severing a tendon. Tokhun crashed to his knee, howling like it was his first blood.
Tuya circled around him, lifting the spear high so all could see the blood dripping from its tip. Either the chanting grew louder or it echoed more powerfully within her. Tuya adjusted into lion form, disregarding all Yaha’s lessons about never playing with her food. She taunted him, ready to pounce, she growled with the fullness of her throat, “You belong to me, tamer.”
His anger propelled him forward, even if his wounded leg made him clumsier and more lethargic than before. Tuya pounced, plunging the spear into his chest and driving it straight into the back of his ribcage. Gasping, he grasped for the spear’s shaft, and his fingers touched only empty air. Blood squelched from the wound, bubbling and thick, the hole left in his chest wheezing like a tamer who found himself staring breathlessly at his death.
“Tuya of the Hollows! Tuya of the Hollows! Tuya of the Hollows!”
She shifted back into quetzal form, spiraling around him faster than he could keep up, her spear painting the air with drops of blood. He stumbled after her, unable to form words without his lung, barely able to keep standing with the certain nick in his heart. The first rock struck Tokhun in the side of the face, courtesy of Masarga. Many more followed, flowing from the hands of his claimed, of little girls he had beaten or shamed, from those who had been wronged by tamers again and again.
Tuya led the new call as the stones barraged him, kept him staggering to the side and crying out in pain like the smallest child beneath the brutality of the largest tamer. “Hoo huh! Hoo huh!” howled the wilders.
Seasons of oppression, of beatings, of screamings, of starvings, of being thrown into the mud, hair pulled, dragged helplessly, bodies desecrated in hatred, souls torn apart, built to this moment. They were not khorota. They were not useless. They were not helpless. They were good enough. They were worthy. This long winter could end and a new spring would arrive. Flowers long withered would grow again and know themselves to be beautiful.
Tokhun shielded himself from the rocks, struggling to keep his feet as more blood left his many wounds. Tuya blasted him with light, her eyes beaming silver through the meadow, centered upon him. The radiance blinded him, and stones kept coming, along with insults, and cries of freedom. Tuya took her spear and struck from snake form, severing his manhood.
He lunged out at her, desperate and afraid, his anger dying, as it tends to do when you are the helpless and hopeless. Blind, staggering, quickly dying, and stupid, Tuya did not need to have prescient eyes to predict his last charge. Her spear sliced through the back of his other knee, and he buckled to the ground.
She knew he would never get up again, but it never hurt to respect your enemy’s strength. She was a little empagong, slowly circling to the front of her prey. Blood everywhere on him and strewn all around him, bereft of his masculinity, kneeling before a lowly khorota, head bowed, a hundred women chanting, “Tuya of the Hollows! Hoo huh! Tuya,” Tokhun finally saw more with his one eye than he ever had in his life. His lone blue eye was empty of the rage, the lust, the hatred that carried him through his life. He saw a woman worthy and he knew it was the end, and that like the other eleven tamers she helped him kill, he never had a chance.
Perhaps he deserved pity. She did not feel it. Perhaps he deserved gratitude for slaying the others. She did not offer it. Perhaps he deserved some measure of mercy. She would grant him that which he had given too many women.
The wind blew at Tuya’s back, tossing her hair out in front of her. She assumed wind form, leapt up, and plunged the spear into his open mouth.
He slumped to the ground, spear caught somewhere in the back of his throat. She pressed her foot against his neck and pulled it free, his blood spilling onto the red swirlythorns that Sarnai had loved most.
Zero.