By Tooth and Claw - eARC Read online

  When Sartas Rewl decided to take her hand as a mate, nothing and no one could sway him then, either. Not that she wanted him swayed. The clan had newly settled—in the same spot where they rested to this day—and Sartas came to her in the light of the new moon. Up until then, she had been the perfect maiden, and had turned down plenty of suitors; some were young, some old, some wealthy, others strong or brave. She would always rationalize that each one had some flaw, but secretly she knew; she was waiting for Sartas Rewl. No one else was her match.

  Her pleasant reminiscence had been interrupted by a distant rumble. It wasn’t the thunder that she had been half expecting, however. This was deeper and somehow…more sinister. Then the ground had begun to tremble, only a little bit at first and then growing in intensity, and she knew that something was horribly wrong.

  It had been instinct that had saved them; her instinct, that said “This is not rain, it is not earthquake, it is something else, get off of the ground” and sent her racing around the group, scolding and swatting and sometimes throwing the kits up into the trees. “Climb!” she had yowled at them. “Climb! Higher! As high as you can!” The Clan of the Long Fang was blessed with many things by the Aedonnis; one of them was deep forests with towering trees. Not just high, but huge in girth, some so big that it took several Mrem with their arms outstretched to ring them. More blessings came in the form of the long water-vines, tough enough for adults to climb and swing from, not just kits, vines that wreathed the trunks of the larger trees and made them trivial to climb.

  It was painfully slow progress; first, to get everyone to realize the danger, and second, to get everyone climbing. Many scrambled up the trees, but there were some that could not; the youngest kits that had to cling to their mothers, the elders needed help from the older kits. Meanwhile the distant mutter grew to a growl, the growl to a rumble, and the rumble to a roar. The earth trembled and the trees swayed, and there was a wind rushing through the forest carrying the scents of wet earth and salt. By this point everyone’s instincts had kicked in, and danger! thrilled along every nerve. Reshia herself swarmed up a huge tree at last, moving as fast as hands and claws could take her, her eyes on the distant top of the tree, her mind fixed on that goal.

  Somehow and somewhere along the way she had picked up two mewling kits, both of them clinging to her back, their tiny claws pricking her through the leather of the working-tunic she always wore to forage, to protect her from thorns and stings. The kits were terrified at this point, silent rather than crying in terror, digging in like little burrs. More instinct; it would have taken a strong Mrem to pry them off her now, and a good thing as well.

  She saw the trees swaying and toppling before she saw the wall of water itself. By that time the roaring was so loud it would have drowned out any other sound. It certainly drowned out the noise of the trees being broken off and crashing down just ahead of the flood.

  Reshia didn’t recognize it at first for what it was. It looked—it looked like a wall of churning earth, dark brown, roiling with splintered trunks, tossing with broken branches. She had just a moment between sighting it, and when it hit her tree, and the huge tree shook like a sapling in a windstorm. She clung to it as the kits were clinging to her, claws locked into the bark. Some were not so lucky. The impact shook some of her clansmates from their trees, sending them to fall into the water below. Others hadn’t climbed up high enough, or were even still on the trunks near the ground. And others still hadn’t found a strong enough tree; the force from the oncoming water was enough to topple thinner trees as if they were saplings in the path of an Arx. It was all that Reshia could do to hold on to her tree with all of her might as it swayed with the power of the flood.

  The power of the water, the horror of what was happening, had bludgeoned her into a state of numb mindlessness. She had only been able to close her eyes and hold with claws that cramped into position, whimpering, until long after the worst was over.

  * * *

  The flood had caught the hunters in a relatively “good” place; somewhat higher ground, and a grove of the largest trees in their part of the forest. It made a good channeling trap.

  The rooters they had driven into the trap had given them their first warning; before any of them even heard the first noise, the creatures suddenly went absolutely insane with terror. Insane enough to forget their fear of the Mrem and literally try to run over them…insane enough for some of them to try and climb the trees themselves.

  Later, Sartas learned that his instinctive reaction had been the same as Reshia’s; to climb the trees. He screeched the order; his battle-trained hunters followed it. The grove stood, although on the side that took the first impact, there was a virtual island of debris piled up against the trunks.

  Sartas’ first thought, when the initial wave was past and they were stranded in the treetops in a slow-rising flood, was for the rest of the Clan. Reshia and the foragers were nearest them—if they survived—

  They survived! Reshia is smart! He had to tell himself that, or he would have gone insane, right there and then. He knew where they were going to be, and aside from the water everywhere, he thought he could still find the place. And almost all Long Fang Mrem knew how to travel tree-to-tree. Learned first as kits as a part of playing games, and later honed for survival. There were plenty of Liskash-relatives that were more than big enough to take out a small hunting party, much less a single hunter, and often the only way to escape one was to take to the trees.

  “Report!” he snarled, pitching his voice to carry. One by one, the names of his hunters came back to him through the branches. Some, impressively enough, came from higher in the trees than he was. “Gather on me!” His tree was enormous, and a little higher than he had managed to get there was a huge limb that was more than enough to take the weight of the entire party without even bending a little. Once everyone had joined him on the massive tree, he called out to them, steeling his voice; any sign of weakness, and panic might overtake them all. “We travel together! We need to find the rest of the clan, get to the kits and elders!” He extended a claw in the direction that Reshia had told him she would take the others to forage. “We will go this way! Use the vines, and only go to a tree that looks sturdy!”

  The vines provided a network that strung trees together. While it wasn’t precisely easy, his hunters knew how to hook their legs over a vine and pull themselves along to get to another tree. If trees were close enough together, it was also possible to leap from limb to limb, extending the claws in midair so that the Mrem could sink them deep into the bark on landing. Twice, his hunters weren’t as nimble or sure of themselves as they could have been; two different hunters fell, crashing into the water. Both were able to be saved, but one had a broken arm.

  “We can leave you here and come back for you, take you with us and go slower, or leave you to catch up with us however you can,” Sartas told him, as one of the others bound his arm to a couple of sticks after it had been pulled straight. The Mrem’s nose and lips were almost white with pain, but he nodded his understanding. “You might be able to pole yourself along one-handed on a log.”

  “Go. Save as many as you can. I will manage.” Sartas nodded curtly to him as the others finished binding him. The clan—family—always came first, always before oneself. Every warrior understood this, and Sartas was proud to see one of his being so selfless without even a second thought.

  “We’ll be back for you, along this path. If you aren’t here, mark the direction you went; we’ll find you.” Without another word, he was off again, leading the other hunters swarming back up the trunk and into the treetops.

  And he would never forget the moment that he knew that Reshia and the kits were still alive—when he heard them, singing valiantly, their voices cutting through the leaves, her voice rising above all the others. And then, her chiding. “Sing! Sing louder! The hunters will hear us and come for us! Sing!”

  Clever. She’s always been sharp. The hunters all gave a cry as soo
n as they heard the singing. After the confusion and biting worry, some wept with relief as they swung to their loved ones. Others were not so fortunate, finding that their mates or kits were not among those in the trees. Sartas, for the moment, had no thoughts for either. His heart was near to bursting as he enveloped Reshia in his embrace. It didn’t matter what happened to this world; whether it drowned or burned or was rent to pieces; so long as he had her, there was hope.

  * * *

  There was more heartbreak to come, when they found nothing but a rippling sheet of brown water where the camp had been, and no sign of the Dancers. By this point it was obvious that whatever danger there was, it wouldn’t be from the great predators, so taking their cue from Reshia, they had all begun to sing, hoping for some response, any response, from those who had been left in the camp. They did pick up a few stragglers; a couple of agile kits, a handful of adolescents, and one shockingly spry elder, and finally, the injured warrior that had been left behind. When it was painfully obvious that there were no more to be found, they made their first camp of the flood-times in the tree, using vines to tie themselves in place so no one would fall in his sleep.

  It was hard living, and it took the clan several days to find good ground at the edge of the flood waters. Sartas Rewl was surprised to find others as they descended from the trees; stragglers and survivors from other clans. Too few, in his estimation; how far had these waters gone? What was left of their world after such destruction? That was when they started scavenging. Some was taken from what had washed up on the edges of the water; very little of it was usable, and much of it had to be repaired. The rest had to be remade from scratch, which was no easy task with almost all of the tools and materials that the clan owned having been swallowed up in the floods. There were trickles of good news as, one by one, some if their mounts and even a few of the pack-beasts came back to them. The snapped reins and broken halters told the tale; like the forest animals, the mounts had sensed the danger, fought their tethers until they broke, and made a run for higher ground. But the water rose with every day, and Sartas began to fear that it would not stop until the entire valley was under the churning, brackish waves.

  He wondered where the water had come from. Then, unexpectedly, the kits found the answer one morning. A small group that had been out foraging had strayed a little further than they were supposed to. In doing so, they had found a small pool of water that had been left behind after the initial rush of the flood. What was left in the pool, however, was not small. They ran back into the temporary camp, breathless and half-terrified. “It’s a monster, a real monster!” Sartas’ first instinct told him that it was what he feared most; Liskash. His clan was in no state to fight off even a loosely organized attack at this point. Grabbing a spear and gathering the warriors, he set off with one of the kits leading him.

  It didn’t take the group very long to reach where the kits had found their prize. The waters had come over this part of the woods, and receded. Because of a rather large ditch at the base of a small hill, some of the water had been retained. In that pool of water, half-submerged, was what the kits had discovered. The “monster” was—thankfully—dead. Very dead. And a good thing, too, since it was the biggest animal Sartas had ever seen in his entire life. It was easily fifty times as long as an adult warrior Mrem was tall, probably longer, since it had twisted up in its death-throes. One thing was certain: it could have swallowed an adult warrior whole without thinking twice about it. The creature had two rows of small fins that flanked its sides, with a long barbed crest on top. The thing’s head seemed blunted, with the mouth and jaws elongated for several strides before it ended in a sharp beak. Its maw was filled with rows of teeth, interlocked like a saw; Sartas didn’t want to imagine what a bite from them would feel like. Assuming it actually bit you before it gulped you down… He’d seen a Fisher-Flier toss a minnow in the air, catch it, and swallow it whole once, and he could easily imagine this thing acting the same with a Liskash or a Mrem. What could such a thing prey upon that would keep it fed?

  “What…is it?” One of the junior warriors warily prodded at the beast’s carcass, as if to make sure that it was still dead.

  Another warrior piped up. “A new horror created by the Liskash? Something we haven’t encountered before?”

  Sartas shook his head. “Something vomited forth from the sea. There are tales of giants and monstrosities in the deeper waters of the sea. That is why even the Liskash do not venture far out on the salt waters.” The Liskash made boats; the Mrem would use a boat if they could capture one, but he had never heard of a Mrem making anything more complicated than a raft. No matter how delicious water-creatures were, venturing out far from a shore…did not appeal.

  “Can we eat it?” It was the kit that had lead the warriors to this spot. His belly rumbled, looking at all of the meat sitting there.

  “We don’t know what it is, or whether it might be poisonous to us or not. Besides, it is already half-rotted. We leave it behind.” Sartas knew that there were a lot of hungry eyes that were on his back at that moment, and none of them happy with the decision, but they still obeyed. Things had been very lean for his clan, even with everyone doing whatever they could to forage for food. If it had been before the flood, things might not have been so hard. As it was, everything and everyone had been pushed together along the waters; almost everything easy to reach had already been picked over. It would not be very long until the clan was reduced to nettle teas and bark soups, if they weren’t diligent.

  Sartas Rewl was silent for the rest of the walk back to camp, consumed by his thoughts. It occurred to him that finding the sea beast on land was a very appropriate sign for what his clan had become; a fish out of water. Hopefully, they’d fare better than the “monster” in this strange new world they had suddenly been thrust into. The question that troubled him the most was how exactly they would do so.

  * * *

  A distant rumble jarred Sartas back to the present day. Virtually every head came up, ears pricked and twitching nervously at the sound. When it died away, proving that it was the sound of thunder and not another flood, the tension eased. Mrem were quick to adapt; it was what had saved so many of his clan when the waters came crashing down around them.

  But if there was thunder, there would soon be rain, and this was as good a place as any to stop and hunker down. “We camp here!” he called, and saw relief in the adults at his decision. No one wanted to have to make a wet camp. Better to stop now, and get some level of protection and comfort before it was miserable work to try to do so.

  And now there was a mad scramble for fallen branches, and a frenzy of cutting down vines. Because, thanks to the still-rising water, there was no promise that the camp you made on dry land was going to still be dry when you woke up, so tents were always pitched on top of platforms, so the worst that happened in the morning was that you got wet feet. Ideally, the platforms were knee-high or higher, with shallow trenches dug around them. That was the work of every kit old enough and anyone else who could be spared.

  Sartas had too few warriors; with the waters on the rise and only Aedonnis knows what out in the woods, he wanted to keep guards on watch at all times. After a hard day’s march and setting up camp, in addition to hunting duties…it became difficult to find anyone that could still stand, much less be alert for threats. Often, he took it upon himself to walk the camp, inspecting preparations and checking the perimeter. He had to keep himself abreast of what was happening among his people. What starts as a small problem today can become a catastrophe tomorrow, if left unchecked. The clan was hardy, but even the best of them could only take so much hardship before the edges start to fray and unravel.

  But today they were cutting the march short. With luck that meant someone else could help him. Thunder rumbled in the distance again. He twitched an ear. It didn’t sound appreciably nearer. He hoped it was a slow-moving storm. Small favors from the gods were to be taken where they could be had, these days.
r />   Sartas was just starting his rounds when he spotted one of his scouts among some of the older kits; Mreiss Lrew, the youngest warrior left to the clan. He was scratching designs in the dirt with a stick, looking positively miserable.

  “Shouldn’t you be helping the others finish making camp?” Sartas Rewl stood with his arms crossed, looking down to where Mreiss was kneeling. The young warrior looked up with a start, quickly throwing the stick away and sweeping away the dirt when he saw who was talking to him.

  “Sir, the kits are all set up, sir,” he replied. “And everyone else…” His ears flattened. “Uh…kindly refused my help.”

  “Chased you off, did they?” He snorted. “Their loss. Come help Reshia. Tell her I sent you.” Mreiss nodded once before dropping his eyes to the ground and running in the direction of Sartas and Reshia’s tent. He’s troubled. It’s best to keep him busy, keep him working. I’ll have to keep a close eye on Mreiss Lrew in the days to come.

  * * *

  The next few hours passed quickly for Mreiss Lrew. As commanded, he assisted Reshia in setting up the tent she shared with Sartas Rewl. Theirs was one of the few that only housed the two of them…but it was tiny, and had been made from pieces that had been scavenged out of the flood. Sartas Rewl made certain that no one in the clan was wanting for anything before he took supplies or provisions for himself and Reshia; he made sure that everyone was fed and had a place to sleep before he looked to himself. He had been a good talonmaster; he was a very good clan leader. At least in Mreiss’s opinion. He never talked down to Mreiss, not like some of the others did. When he didn’t want Mreiss to do something, he always explained why.