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It was pretty rare that I ever got this close to the massive, heron-like creatures called braxilk. For any long-range transportation, we relied almost exclusively on Valeria’s shuttle. Unlike Stephanie, who had a braxilk of her own (whom she’d named Harriet) I’d never ridden or even touched one before. Seeing them swan into this part of the valley, huge and graceful on their many legs, was sobering. I could tell Tilly and Nasrin felt the same way, because they were hushed and still, watching the huge alien birds just like I was.
But honestly, comparing them to a bird just didn’t seem to do the big braxilk creatures justice. They were more like a gigantic bird crossed with something mythical, like a dragon. Long-necked and regal, they towered over even the tall alien males. Somewhat like the irkdu back in the Sea Sands, they had a hell of a lot of legs, long and dark blue, as well as six eyes each, their silver pupils somewhere between an Earth reptile’s and a feline’s. They all had similar colouring but arranged in unique patterns, nearly knife-like feathers glinting in shades of dove-grey, violet, cobalt blue, silver, and white. There were no saddles and no reins, and it was a testament to the intelligence and the training of the creatures that they followed every one of Warrek’s commands, coming to a relaxed stop, their big wings tucked up against their sides.
Since there were five braxilk, much like the rounds of archery, the men were split into groups of five. Warrek was speaking to all the men, and by the pointing movements of his arms I guessed he was laying out some sort of path for the race. Oxriel and Zoren listened intently while Dalk brooded with his arms crossed, staring suspiciously at the braxilk nearby.
Why do I feel like this is about to go about as well as the archery did?
Except it turned out I was wrong. Because if I thought the archery round went poorly for Dalk, it was nothing to the braxilk race. This time, all three of our Sea Sand lads were in the first group to race. They were assigned their braxilk and with some cautious trepidation, both Oxriel and Zoren mounted theirs alongside the two Deep Sky men in their group.
Dalk showed no signs of hesitation. He just ploughed forward, stalking towards the remaining braxilk with his tail lashing the ground and his ears laid low. The braxilk took one look at him and squawked. I may not have been an alien animal expert, but there was no mistaking the meaning in a sound like that. It very clearly meant back the hell up, buddy. Its head reared back, its metallic-looking feathers bristling as all six of its silver pupils fastened on Dalk.
Oh, boy.
“If that were a horse, I’d be worried about him getting kicked,” Tilly muttered from Zaria’s other side, watching Dalk fretfully.
“You’re telling me,” I shot back. I gnawed at my lower lip as Dalk paused and then tried to get close to the braxilk again, only to have it snap out its wings in a defensive pose and caw menacingly.
“That is not how you should approach a braxilk,” Zaria said, her voice low with concern. “They do not respond well to anger or aggression in an unfamiliar rider. He should come at it calmly, and speak in low, gentle tones.”
Yeah. Calm and gentle weren’t exactly Dalk’s strong suits.
And the braxilk seemed to know it.
My blood went suddenly icy in my veins, sickly and disorienting, as the braxilk’s sharp silver beak snapped so close to Dalk’s throat that I was convinced I saw the dark spray of black blood arcing out of his neck. I just about fell off the bench with relief when I realized that it wasn’t blood after all, the dark thing dropping limply, but not wetly, to the ground.
Nope. Not blood.
Hair.
The braxilk had bitten Dalk’s braid clean off.
Dalk’s hand shot out to grab the severed braid, but before he could reach it the braxilk snapped its powerful jaws again, grasped the braid in its beak once more, and then with a murderous-sounding growl, ate it.
I stared, mute and dumbfounded, as the giant braxilk swallowed Dalk’s braid – something longer and thicker than my arm! – like it was nothing but a slippery little fish. When it was finished it closed its beak and gave Dalk a feral, triumphant sort of look. Yum yum, motherfucker.
Dalk watched the braxilk, his tail twitching, his back muscles taut, his hair now coming to a choppy, bitten-off end at his shoulders. The braxilk biting off his hairdo didn’t seem to have calmed Dalk down, exactly, but it did appear to at least have given him pause. He regarded the braxilk with what I hoped were new sight stars, because I really didn’t want to see any other parts of him getting chomped.
“Dalk,” I called, my voice queasily hoarse at the thought of his arm or leg getting swallowed the same way I’d just watched his hair go down that feathery throat. “You need to chill out! Don’t come at it so aggressively. Pretend it’s... I don’t know. A woman!”
Dalk’s head swung to me with such force I was surprised his damn neck didn’t snap. The look he gave me was a deeply incredulous (and maybe even contemptuous) one, punctuated with a single punch of a word from his snarling mouth.
“What?!”
OK. Fair. That probably wasn’t the best advice since he seemed to treat everybody, women included, with the same kind of bludgeoning grumpiness.
“Well, I don’t know!” I called back. “You know how to ride an irkdu, so do it like that!”
“An irkdu would not be so flighty and ill-trained as to eat a man’s hair just for the crime of walking up to it,” he spat, stalking back and forth in front of the braxilk as it tracked his every movement.
“Say something nice to it!” I added helpfully. “Maybe it likes compliments!”
Dalk didn’t bother saying What?! this time, though I could tell he wanted to. He stepped up to the braxilk again only to have one big silver and violet wing shoot out and block his access to the creature’s back.
“If you do not mount your braxilk soon,” Gahn Thaleo called coolly, “then your entry will be considered forfeit and the other four will fly on without you.”
If looks could kill, Nasrin would have been sitting next to a corpse right about now instead of a living breathing Gahn. Dalk’s sight stars burned like furious copper flames in his gaze as he faced down the possibility he would once again place last in this round.
“Seriously! Talk to it!” I shouted, drawing his sight stars back to me. I added a sing-song, not-quite-taunting-but-OK-maybe-just-a-little-teasing note to my voice. “Be nice! I know you can do it!”
