Page 2 of Changelings
It wasn’t for her that his heart ached. It was for the mother who teased him, who welcomed debate across the dinner fire, who taught him to walk and write and politick. He’d miss that mother dearly.
Balar didn’t always agree with her. Asdumas, second son, he didn’t have to—but he did have to obey. And he had. For years now, Balar had been a good manticore male. A good son.
But too many disagreements had begun to pile up, growing taller than a dung heap. The future of the tribe was clouded—Artash and his faction were circling, already choosing an insipid, weak-willed cousin to become the nexterez. Balar and his own faction had resisted it, supporting their own presumptive, but they numbered fewer.
After this, he knew there would be no place for him and Soren in the tribe.
Sometimes that was the way of it. Mantii prides had split before, when they became too large.Barzi, they called it. A culling.
So be it.
His mother knew him well enough to know his decision before he even voiced it. Her whiskers twitched, and the lines beneath her eyes lengthened. She shook her head once.
“If Soren must leave, then I go with him,” said Balar.
The pride gasped in shock, some cried out, while Artash just grinned. Beneath Balar’s paw, Soren jerked.
“You can’t do that,seska,” Soren murmured.
There was no other choice for Balar—pride and honor demanded it.
“I won’t allow it,” his mother announced, swiping her claws through the air in denial.
“This isn’t for you to decide,amat.” Balar nodded, even when his mother laid her ears flat. “No one may denybarzi, not when it is freely taken.”
Curling his hand under Soren’s arm, he pulled his brother upright. Soren stared blankly at him, still dazed. Blood ran down his neck and chest in a gory display, but with a little salve and honey, he would heal. Perhaps the scars would entice a female.
Clapping Soren’s shoulder, he turned his brother toward their abodes.
“Stop!” called theerez. “You cannot!”
No one made a move to stop them.
Artash and his faction would be happy to see the backs of them. Others respected the choice and ancient rite. And a very few joined them.
First Diar stepped forward, another brother of their father’s line and loyal to Balar. Next came Akila, cousin on his mother’sside, a surprise; but then, Akila never met a challenge or adventure he’d turn down. And last young Kiriken, whose left leg had been weak since birth—and who’d been left alone to tend the hunting fires.
Balar walked, his brothers beside him, deaf to the demands then cries of his mother. He hardened his heart to the sounds, let the smoke burn away any doubts or fears inside him. This place held nothing for them—hadn’t in a very long time.
And so it was that five of them set out to seek their fortunes. Somewhere beyond the savannahs, perhaps. Where a male might make his destiny—and find a pretty mate he didn’t have to share.
1
Eight Years Later
Balar walked into his favorite pub in the village of Granach to riotous applause. Throwing his arms wide, he showed off his fangs in a beaming smile, garnering more cheers. He shook the creeping mist from his mane and fluffed his wings—although he’d frequented this establishment many times and saw no new faces inside, it never hurt to put one’s best paw forward.
Diar and Akila ducked beneath his arms, eager to get inside out of the night’s chill. Over Akila’s shoulder, he winked at Bettie, his favorite barmaid.
The buxom Bettie had caught his eye long ago, and it was with much regret that his wings didn’t stir for her. When a manticore met the one who was to be theirs, it was said they’d know it from how their wings shivered and shook, releasing a single feather.
Such was a sign that theturuk, the manticore’s bestial half, accepted a potential mate. Unfortunately for Balar, histurukwas a choosy bastard. Over two years they’d been living in the human Darrowlands, and if Balar had had his way, he’d be wedded and bedded already with a cub at his feet and another on the way.
Bettie would’ve been his first choice. A milkmaid in the next town over would’ve been his second. But the fussyturukwould have neither, and Balar hadn’t come all this way, brought his brothers far past anything any mantii had ever known, for anything less thansaba em pash-ket, the falling of the feather.
He could have his fun, but no promises could be made. No vows given nor gifts exchanged. All he wanted was to spoil a mate of his own. And a feminine touch would likely do his brothers some good. Balar himself wasn’t truly picky. A good woman who could laugh, tease, hold her liquor, and take him lustily every night was all he asked.
Balar’s lips curled in a smile as Bettie tossed him a wink. Truly, he could be happy with her.
