Putkwyz, Ch.9, "The Beasts of Mount Zaput"

9

The Beasts of Mount Zaput

Sacacon stood erect and brushed his hands over his stomach. “I’m getting hungry. Did you bring anything to eat?”

“No, just water.”

“All I brought is water and a few tak tortillas. We’ll have to hunt something if we want to eat tonight. Mountain zebocs live on the side of the mountain. Of course, we don’t have to eat. Fasting can aid religious communion.”

“A healthy body leads to a healthy mind.”

“Yes, I believe that more than the other. Let’s go hunting.”

Descending into the tree line north of the cave was Sacacon’s idea. He had brought his rifle and thought we would have better luck on the north side of the mountain, which rarely was visited by Putkurs.

He was right. The north side of the mountain stepped down in a series of escarpments falling from geological terraces. On each terrace were purple meadows among the forest of black trees. Something shrieked and howled in the distance, a terrible, threatening yowl.

“What was that?” I asked.

“That is a creature you don’t want to encounter. It’s the cry of the bashi, a fanged predator that rules these wilds. It calls to claim its territory and keep other bashis away. It is a fierce, savage animal, but it avoids Putkurs if it can.”

I followed him down into the gloomy shadows of the dark trees until we were at the edge of a small purple meadow in which grazed a small herd of wooly ungulates, their heads moving back and forth as they crunched through the violet sage and purple grass and blue iridescent flowers.

“Here are wild northern zebocs. That young female looks healthy.” He nodded toward a plump brown nanny at the edge of the herd.

He raised the rifle, aimed and fired one shot. The zeboc at which he had aimed fell suddenly as if it had turned from a muscular engine into a ragdoll, and the remaining alarmed, surefooted beasts hoofed noisily away, snorting and huffing, baaing and scrambling onto an outcropping of stone.

We strode into the meadow and found the downed beast lying among the plum grass and glistening blue flowers. “Right through the heart,” said Sacacon, kneeling down over his kill. “A lucky shot.”

He pulled a long, sharp, curved knife and gutted the steaming animal. Then he tied its hooves together, found a branch that was long enough and slid it between the legs to make a transporter. We hoisted the zeboc carcass by its hooves and toted it back to the cave.

I went in search of forked limbs to make a roasting spit while Sacacon skinned and beheaded the zeboc. I also went to the trees to gather a load of wood and tender for the fire.

While doing so, I heard an especially fierce, piercing shriek close by. Made apprehensive by the cry’s startling proximity, I dropped the load of wood, stood and looked around. Not more than thirty meters away, a large black and tan-spotted muscular bear-like animal, glared at me with red eyes and snarled, opening its mouth wide and showing long incisors and smaller teeth, all sharp and deadly for seizing and cutting flesh—a bashi. I pulled my pulsegun from its holster and waited, hoping that the beast would not attack and that I would not have to kill it. Remembering all the resources of my armor, I flicked on the force field, which covered me as an almost invisible shimmering bowl.

Then suddenly behind me, I heard the crack of a rifle. The bashi screeched and rolled over and thrashed about in the brush. Sacacon ran past me, stopped near the bashi and shot again. The thrashing stopped.

I flicked off the force field, ran and stood beside the emperor and looked down at the beast, now just a lump of flesh and fur and bones cooling on the cold dirt of the forest. I estimated that the creature weighed twice as much as I, and its paws held sharp claws as deadly as its teeth.

Sacacon said, “The fact that it stopped near you and shrieked was not a good sign. It was warning you to clear out of its territory. I couldn’t be sure it would attack or not; I couldn’t take the chance that it wouldn’t have.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. But I was safe, waiting for it to make the first move.”

Pulling out the curved knife, he said, “They have two basic moves: a straight ahead sprint ending in a slashing knock over, or a circling and closing until they think they have the advantage. Since he wasn’t circling, I feared he would soon dash at you. They have been known to back away from Putkurs, but from you he wasn’t picking up the scent of a Putkur. In fact, its bit of confusion probably gave me time to come down.” While he talked, he used his curved knife to skin the Bashi, made a bundle of the skin and paws and head and hoisted that on his back. “This will make a nice trophy. In the old days, to kill a Bashi was a sign of bravery and command, a signal that one was a leader. So I will take it back with me and tell the story of how I fought a Bashi and won. Good public relations. My people will take it as a good omen for the coming conflict.”

I bundled the sticks and branches together and carried them in my arms. Walking back to the cave, I asked, “Do you think it followed the trail of blood from the zeboc?”

“Likely. The blood was fresh, so it might have thought it was following a wounded animal.”

He set the Bashi pelt aside.

Then we made the spit and built the fire and set the zeboc flesh to roasting inside the cave, so the heat was captured and warmed the cave. From his pack, Sacacon pulled some salt crystals and a little golden slavva to rub into the meat.

“You seem at home in the woods,” I said.

“Remember that we Putkurs were nomads before we settled into cities. Hunting and camping and fishing are still considered essential skills for an adult male. Our favorite hunt is to ride an arbez into the desert and run down a smagos among the brush. On another trip when I have more time, you can go with me on such a hunt if you like.”

“I would like to.”

“Well, before darkness falls, I have something for you.” He found the valise and carried it into the light outside the cave. I followed him. He unlocked the valise and opened it. Inside was the logbook of Captain Hennessey. He lifted it and handed it to me. “You have more use for this than I do. Take it.”

I took it. “Thank you, but why?”

“Now that I know what is in it, it can serve no purpose for the empire. Once it is interpreted, the religion of Zacon will be finished, and I need the religion at least until the war with Radimeer has ended.”

“What did you tell the priests?”

“I told them I was returning the book to Zacon.”

“Then you can say that in return Zacon gave you the engine.”

“Good. You’re a quick learner. I will rise early and take the Bashi pelt to the village and begin my story. By the time that happens, you should be with Mawgri on your way to Kunwyz. Well, let’s eat.”

I put the logbook into my pack and then joined Sacacon for dinner. I hadn’t realized how hungry I had become until I took the first bite of zeboc. We each had plenty to fill our stomachs, along with the tak tortillas and water. By the time we had finished, the black night had enveloped the mountain. I trod out to gather more wood and built up the fire, so it would keep the cave warm until morning.

When I woke, I was alone in the cave, morning had whitened the sky at the mouth of the cave, and the fire had been reduced to glowing embers. I ate some leftover zeboc, drank some water, gathered my things together and went out to the lip of the cave and waited for my beloved Mawgri.

Below, where Sacacon had killed the bashi, predatory flying creatures were circling and settling. Those creatures were scavengers and reminded me of buzzards, but they had brown and black feathers and a bald head and neck and not a beak, but a mouth with small, sharp teeth for gripping and tearing flesh. Mount Zaput and its environs was a cold, dark, sublime and savage wilderness, a perfect place for meeting a god or a devil.


End of Chapter 9


A year or two ago I saw that Ursula K. LeGuin was judging a science-fiction short story contest.  Not having any such short stories available, I condensed Chapter 7 "Daydreams," Chapter 8 "A Gift of the Gods," and Chapter 9 "The Beasts of Mount Zaput" into a short story and sent it to the contest.  I didn't expect to win.  I just wanted to think that someone whose writing I had admired since I was a teenager had looked at mine and thought it wasn't bad. (see the blog of Sunday, October 10, 2010, to read the story).

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