Bride of the Trogarians (13 page)

She nestled between her mates, whose brawny arms were circled around her on either side. Iris listened to them breathing, felt one chest rise against her back as she watched the other she was facing fall. She felt safe, protected, cocooned.

And then, she felt something else.

She sat up with a cry, both hands going to her pelvis. It was a feeling she’d never felt before, a feeling she would try years later to describe but fail to, even when asked by the son who—at that moment—quickened with the life spark.

“He lives!” She was looking down, and began to laugh, and then cry with happiness. She looked to first Zios and then Utak as they sprang awake and sat up on either side of her. “He lives!”

She laughed again through her tears, and the brothers leapt to their feet, hugging one another and then reaching to raise her up together into their arms, holding her close, hands on her belly now. They were more than a mated trio now. They were a family. And they were going home.

Epilogue

She tried to remain calm. As the mate of the chieftains, after all, Iris often set the example. And Alben wasn’t the only youngling who would sit his first gyrand today.

Still, the sight of her small, sturdy lad reaching hand over hand to draw the freshly caught young animal toward him was enough to make her feel faint. The gyrand reared and bellowed; when it came down, its huge padded feet slammed the ground so hard it shook.

But her son kept hold, and on either side, her mates reassuringly held her hands.

The animal was exhausted after the long battle in which it had dragged Alben all over the arena. Gyrands, while having incredible stamina over ground, lacked it in situations where they were forced to leap or fight. The long neck lowered now as Alben said the secret words only male younglings knew, although that would change after the next harvest when the daughter who watched in the seats below would, for the first time, join the training with other females.

Iris had managed to change the way the Trogarians saw females. Theirs was still a patriarchal culture, but the males listened more now, and young females were taught to fight and ride after both Iris and Nora had passionately argued that in the event of an attack when the males were away, they should know how to defend their homes.

And the males had learned that learning these things did not affect the softness or respect shown to them by their female mates. If anything, Trogarian males were revered more than ever for this show of trust.

The gyrand was closing its eyes, the first sign of acceptance as Alben rubbed its head. The crowd was hushed as they watched the ancient practice play out. If the gyrand accepted Alben as its master, it would lie down to be mounted.

Sometimes the animals did not yield, and younglings were forced to wait until the following harvest to try again. The pairing could not be forced; the animal chose the master as much as the master chose the animal. It was the accepted way. Still, Iris said a silent prayer to the All that Is for the animal to yield. Alben wanted this so badly.

The front knees folded, and she could feel her mates squeeze her hands, the first sign that they, too, were as anxious as she was. The back legs folded. The animal was down, and turned its head to nuzzle Alben as he walked to the side.

The first test was complete. But the second—this was what tried a mother’s courage.

As soon as Alben climbed onto the gyrand’s back, it exploded with the force and agility one would not expect of such an oddly proportioned animal docile enough to run for days and ride quietly in spaceships when properly tamed.

This one was especially agitated, throwing its head like a club as it madly bucked around the arena. When that didn’t work, it made a wild dash across the arena, slamming on brakes just before hitting the wall, sliding and then turning on a dime to run the other way.

Alben was holding on, and—much to his fathers’ delight—
smiling
, the white teeth a flash in his tan face. The spectators roared now. Never had they seen such a display, at least not in recent memory. Alben was holding the fur of the gyrand with one hand, his free hand now using the lead that ran from the animal’s head collar to whip it across its flanks, left and right, left and right. The blows weren’t hard, but when the gyrand slowed down, the beating stopped. When it sped up, the youngling thrashed him with such force that after two more laps the animal made the obvious connection and moved from a gallop to a lope to a slow trot.

Alben rewarded it with long rubs up and down the neck. And when the gyrand stopped, the young rider reached into a pouch at his side and held out a piece of fruit. The long neck craned around to take the treat. Two more laps around the arena and Alben slid off. Now he walked away, the third test. And as he did, the gyrand followed, its nose at the youngling’s back.

Alben turned, and the gyrand put its chin on his shoulder. Alben reached up, hugged it around its neck, and scratched its ears. And stepped back. The rubbery lips of the gyrand ruffled Alben’s hair. He laughed. It crooned.

The bond had been made. Until one died, they would be together.

It was a good day. All the younglings had been accepted by their gyrands, but it was Alben’s training of his that was the talk of that night’s feast.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it when Lavos’ time comes.” Nora fed the chubby youngling sitting on her lap a sweet grub. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack today just watching Alben.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Iris said, and beside her, Zios gave her a mock stern expression.

“Perhaps I should lash your bottom for lying. I felt you shaking as I was holding your hand.”

Iris laughed at this and nodded. “Very well. Perhaps I was a little scared. But I am so proud.”

“As you should be,” Nora said, then fell quiet. “You’re a strong woman. And you—we—have strong men by our sides. I can think of nothing better, in this world or any other.”

The End

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