The Pack

            Our ancestors roamed this land since The Dawn.  We were the rulers, the protectors.  Our justice was feared.  Our mercy offered relief during times of sickness and drought.  Never did we require assistance or favors.  Never did we have to meet with one of the Kept in the middle of the night to arrange food for our kin and safe passage through our land.

            Our land.

            Ours.

            We had always known of the Furless.  Throughout our history, they had taken from our pack as well as the packs of others.  Sometimes, our kin became Kept.  Other times, they were used to replace the fur the Furless were without.  The Furless were unpredictable and impossible to trust.

            When the barrier went up, it was our own poor luck to be stuck on the inside of it with young and elders unable to jump high enough to clear it.  Many discussions took place.  Wait until the young are old enough then kill the elders and escape.  Dig our way beneath the barrier.  Try to trick the largest antlered of the Wild Herd to stampede through.

            Then the elders saw the Kept Herd.  Hideous, fat creatures barely able to stand on their own to eat.  They didn’t migrate.  They followed the same patterns every day.  Their Furless Masters left them alone in the care of a single, barely effective Herd Keeper.  Even the elders could bring one of these grazers down.  And they did.  And they wanted to stay.

            More discussions took place.  Killing the elders came back as an option, but too much infighting brought an end to that option permanently.  Then, one day, the pups started to play with the young of the Kept Herd and a few of the young females started to grow close with the Herd Keeper.

            We were stuck; destined to grow as fat and lazy as the herd that had trapped us here.

            Those of us able to scale the barrier did.  We kept strong, continued to take care of our responsibility to the Wild Herd.  On the advice of the Herd Keeper, we took the remains of the Kept Herd felled and buried them out of sight of the Furless.

            We learned from the Herd Keeper that the Kept Herd did have a purpose for the Furless.  Like us, they used the herds for sustenance.  How, we had no idea.  We never saw the Furless on the Hunt.  They had no claws, had no fangs.  While their herds were fat and slow, they seemed fatter and slower and without pack.

            Curiosity bettered us when we noticed some of the Kept Herd being hidden away inside large caves that proceeded to run away.  After more discussion, those of us able decided to follow.

            It was hard to follow as the caves moved at speeds beyond our capabilities, but it left a foul scent that we were able to track.  When we arrived, we saw how the Furless were able to turn the Kept Herd into their food.  It was disgusting; an embarrassment.  One of the Furless noticed us watching and offered us discarded innards.  Those of us that tried them became sick for days after.

            The Herd Keeper knew what became of his herd, but did not care.  He knew how disgusting the Furless were.  He did not care.  He was as disgusting as they.

            One of the elders grew lax and sloppy, lulled into false security by the very comfortable situation.  We watched the Furless raise the stick and squeeze it, saw the small projectile fly across the field, watched the elder jerk then drop.  His light gray fur turned red as he bled out.  The Furless pointed his stick across the field.  A warning.  Some of us understood.  He took the elder away.  We are still not sure what became of him.  We did not mourn him as we usually mourn our fallen.  There was nothing noble in how he died.

            The Herd Keeper offered us condolences, but it was clear he felt the Furless was right in his actions.  We forbade the young and the females from seeing him.  He grew angry.  Another elder was killed.  We were left with limited choices.

            Those of us able and willing to leave left.  We escaped the barrier and the territory of the Furless.  One by one, the elders were killed as their carrion was found and traced to their poorly dug and hidden dens.  The Herd Keeper was not kind to the females.  Focusing on his duties to the Furless and the Furless themselves left him with little time to take care of them and the pups they created.  He brought the young to the attention of the Furless.  We do not know what became of them, but the females are devastated and the Herd Keeper unconcerned.

            We are much happier on our territory.  It’s smaller now with some overlap with other packs, but we are learning to live with that.  The other option is just too unthinkable.

Faceless

            She lay on the platinum birthing altar alone in the birthing room.  Golden statues of the most powerful animals of the land offered her only protection.  The lion, the tiger, the elephant, and the wolf stood in each of the four corners of the room.  The osprey sat on a perch hanging from the ceiling over the altar as protection from any evil that should chance coming in from above.  Hidden in the soil beneath the altar was the spider, protecting from evil of the underworld.

            Surrounding her, the white brick walls absorbed her guttural yells as she entered the last stages of childbirth.  Witnesses were not allowed to such a sacred event.  It was her solitary task to birth and prepare the child for viewing.

            Time passed her unnoticed until the child did come forth followed by waves of blood and after birth, most of which was absorbed into the altar she lay on.  Without giving herself the chance to catch her breath, she picked up the boy-child by his feet and laid a firm slap across his tiny back.  He coughed and sputtered then began to wail the song of all newborns. 

            She took the newly made silver knife from the obsidian table nearby the altar and carefully cut free the cord that had bound him to her, destroying the only connection she was allowed to have.  She cleaned him with a soft moist cloth from the same table and placed his trembling, crying mouth to her breast.  She wrapped him to her with a long swath of linen, blocking her view of him and allowing him to suckle in quiet peace.

            The child secure, she went about the careful task of removing all blood from the room and herself.  There was not to be a trace of it when the priests came to offer the altar to the gods. She disposed of her bloody rags in a stone hearth, which she would set alight when she left the birthing room. The smoke from the fire would purify the air, releasing it of the scent of birth.

            When this was done, she brushed out her long black hair with a golden brush and separated her breast from the sleeping child.  Carefully, meticulously, as she had practiced from a young age, she wrapped herself and her son—the child—in a light white woven cloth. The child did not stir, staying deeply asleep as was proper.

            She held him close to her as she walked over and set the hearth alight. Then she walked up the white stone steps that led out of the front of the room and blinked as she reached the sun outside. Two guards flanked the opening in the sandy ground but did not acknowledge her as she walked past. They took up their place behind her and without a word followed her to the palace.

            The palace doors opened before her.  Dust blew in from the outside along with the hot moist air that blanketed the land.  The child’s father sat in his gilded throne, resplendent in his long black robes, and only she could see how truly anxious he had become.

            She walked toward him down the long white fur carpet.  As she neared, he stood to his full height, the tallest male in the land—as it should be.  She reached him and knelt before him.  Her head lowered as her arms raised, presenting his child to him.  She uttered two words:

            “Your son.”

            The slight weight of the life she had carried within her left her body wholly and entirely as he took his son from her hands.  She remain knelt, her head bowed as he strode toward the balcony which hung over the many waiting peoples of his kingdom. He raised the now crying baby over his head in display and spoke in a booming voice.

            “My people of Sharain! I give you your future King! From this day forward all will know and all will fear the name of Charac.”

            She heard the crowd cheer and she allowed herself to fill with pride for the briefest of moments.  Her hands felt cold, her body empty.  She remained kneeling, her head down, her arms at her sides.  The corners of her vision showed her many royal nannies coming and snatching the wailing baby from his father’s raised hands.  They would take him to the nursery.  He would not know a mother except for them.

            Her hands start to curl into fists, but she stops them.  If a guard saw this, she would lose her head.  She thinks of how she was trained for this moment from birth.  When she was too young to understand, it was a game to her.  How to swaddle a cute baby ape.  How to make the pretty white stone gleam.  As she aged, the game faded into something else.  She learned how to best please the King so that he would give her a son.  The pretty white stone was stained with the blood of sacrificial calves instead of the juice of vukka berries.  Calves whose throats she had to slit herself.

            She thinks of the others.  The others who had their heads removed in this very spot as they presented their King a daughter instead of a son, but not before they saw their squalling babes cast over the balcony into the wretched crowd below.

            More anger fills her.  If she had birthed a daughter, she already planned on running.  It had happened in the past.  They tried to hide those stories from her, but she found them and she listened to them.  She understood what they had done, how they had gotten away.

            But, she did not birth a daughter.  She birthed a son.

            Charac.

            A slight smile tries to creep up on her.  That was the name she had wanted for him.

         She had heard other stories.  Faceless women were able to move about more freely than they realized.  Her son would know her.  He would know her, respect her, come to her for guidance and wisdom.  As the Birther of the first son to be seen in this kingdom since the King himself was born, she would be given status.  She would be given a choice of activities to while away her time.  Already, she had chosen the library.  Charac’s studies would be dictated by an overseer, but carried out by her.  The secrecy of the Kingdom will be its downfall as the overseer will not know who she truly is.  Even the King himself would not recognize her in a hall despite the son they had made together.

           He was a fool, the King, but he was correct about one detail: All will know and fear the name Charac.